Chapter 35: Into the Dark

The roaring of the river just a few hundred feet away echoed through the air, interrupted occasionally by a silent moan, barely audible in the noise. If Karliah was standing slightly further from its source, she would not be able to hear it, even with her sharp, elven senses. She frowned. A few Dunmer were lying on the ground just a few feet away from the nook where she was hiding, bleeding, their limbs twisted into very unnatural positions. Above them were standing several Thalmor representatives, each of them holding a sturdy studded club. Sure, she thought to herself, for some things, these are way more effective than the sharpest swords you can get. What a hideous bunch of creatures.

There was no way she would ever call the orthodox Thalmor 'elves'. She absolutely refused putting herself together with the likes of them. Then again, she remembered how much she had to stain her hands when escaping from Mercer Frey and the Thieves Guild under his command. Maybe she wasn't that different after all.

One of the standing Altmer raised his club and smashed it against an ebony-skinned leg. A dark elf screamed, the echo of his sharp voice resounding in Karliah's head, hammering at her senses. She bit her lip and squeezed the hilt of a dagger she was carrying, holding her breath as she watched.

No, she reminded herself for the hundredth time, you can't save them. You mustn't. Otherwise they might be the last ones you ever save.

"Come on, filth," a high elf said, his voice but a mere whisper, and yet perfectly audible to everyone, including Karliah. "One word and you can end this."

The thief knit her eyebrows. She had no idea what they were talking about, but it seemed that the Thalmor were trying to extract some kind of information from the Dunmer. She strained her ears, holding her breath in order to catch the conversation which might prove essential.

One of the Dunmer, a man with black hair tied up in a long ponytail and a strange tattoo on his left forearm, spat at the interrogator and topped his gesture off with a loud snort. A well-aimed kick in the stomach made him cough and hiss in pain, but the man kept his rebellious stance. Karliah's eyes focused on his tattoo for a while and she tilted her head to the side curiously. Undeniably, it was shaped as the symbol of Talos. She wondered if the Dunmer wore it just out of spite for the usurpers, but it somehow made her curl her lips into a mild smile. This was one of the strangest things she had ever seen.

"She's somewhere in the city," the Altmer snarled and pulled out a dagger. "Speak and you don't have to suffer." The tip of the dagger buried itself slightly in the Dunmer's sole and made a few small circles. The dark elf screamed in pain. Karliah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The Thalmor was obviously skilled in torture. Not many people knew the pressure points on the feet well enough to be able to cause such pain throughout the whole body. Shivers ran down her spine when she imagined the terrifying elf playing with his victims for months without killing them, only breaking them down skillfully. The nails on her fingers cut into the flesh on her fists. She had to do something.

"Please, stop!" a Dunmer woman with grey hair and withered skin pleaded. Her glistening deep red eyes were the only proof that she was alive. "Our leader never told us where she hides. She had a good reason not to."

"You're lying."

Another Altmer man tapped the interrogator's shoulder. They exchanged a few words which Karliah did not understand as they were spoken in the older version of Altmeri language. She frowned and then gasped when the interrogator grunted angrily and smashed his club against the woman's upper arm. She cried out and so did her tattooed companion. Karliah gritted her teeth and stood up. She would not stand this any longer.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"They really don't know anything," she said, calm on the outside while deep inside she trembled in fright. "I, however, can lead you to her."

"And you are?" the Altmer asked with a raised eyebrow, one hand still gripping the club while the other one squeezed the hilt of his dagger.

"Tarjah," she replied without hesitation. "Her secret right hand. At least that's what she thinks."

Karliah's conscious was screaming at her. She had no idea what she was doing.

"Oh?" the man drawled. "And can you prove it?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let's see… how about killing this filth here?"

Karliah turned to the lying Dunmer, concealing her horror behind the impenetrable mask of indifference. At least she would let them die fast. No better fate would have awaited them anyway.

The Dunmer woman looked at her with a mixture of pain and plea in her eyes. There were four of them in total, all lying on the ground helplessly. The thought made her sick. The woman closed her eyes slowly and opened them again, and for some inexplicable reason, a scenery of withered trees, falling dead leaves and vast wasteland of nothing but death flashed through Karliah's mind. The spark in the woman's eyes died slowly. She was giving up, begging the thief to end her life. Karliah stepped forward.

"I'm sorry," she articulated voicelessly with her back to the Altmer. The woman's eyes widened.

"Farenhel!" she cried suddenly and the sound tore Karliah's heart apart. "Please, don't kill him! Don't kill Farenhel! Somebody save him!" The man beside her rose on his elbows heavily and covered her mouth.

"He'll be fine, so just shut up!" he hissed.

Karliah hesitated for a short moment before articulating "I won't." Then she pulled out a dagger and stabbed the powerless dark elves one after another right into the heart. The Altmer behind her laughed savagely and she secretly gritted her teeth again.

"Good girl," the interrogator said affectedly. "Now you're going to lead us to her and maybe we'll let you live."

"I'm on your side!" she retorted, careful to put exactly the right amount of disconcert into the statement. The Altmer laughed dryly.

"We'll see about that," he replied and the thief shuddered at the almost tangible feeling of contempt in his voice. "I'll hold onto this for a while." He grabbed the dagger she had been holding, twisting her hand slightly to express dominance. Handing it to his companions, he took Karliah's bow and all the visible weapons she carried. Then he examined Karliah thoroughly, making sure he had not missed anything. Karliah smiled to herself as the secret place where she hid a dagger, small enough to fit under her foot, was left unnoticed. So far, the plan worked perfectly. With the exception of several unlucky victims whom she might have at least saved from suffering. And if she's lucky, she might not even need the dagger.

"Do you know where Calixto's old house is?" she asked in a colorless voice.

"Calixto? Is he a citizen?"

"Was."

"Not on the list then. In that case, naturally, we wouldn't know where his house is. Do lead us there. Just try to avoid doing anything funny, or my hand might just… slip." The elf caressed the hilt of his dagger lovingly and Karliah shuddered. She walked towards the city, purposely stepping on the loose cobblestones in the paving and making slightly more noise than she was used to. They didn't need to know she was a trained thief.

They entered Windhelm through the east gate which Karliah found quite convenient. Calixto's house was just around the corner, and she knew well that it would be empty. No one dared approach that place ever since Aislinn had uncovered the murders its owner had committed. There were talks among the city folk about her and how she unscrupulously purchased Hjerim, the place where he had been conducting his wicked rituals, and decided to live there without a second thought. Some admired her for it, some denounced her, but there was no one who thought nothing of it. The local priest of Arkay had offered to make her a purging ceremony, but as far as Karliah was concerned, Aislinn had just waved her hand, laughing it off with a mocking comment about superstitious people. For a woman who encountered draugr and Dragon Priests on daily basis, Karliah thought she sure was a brave one. Or foolish, if there ever was a difference.

Karliah suppressed a shrug and led the party to the left, toward the deserted house. She could not help but wonder why all the empty buildings withered so quickly. It looked tens of years older than the surrounding houses, some of the stones missing from the ragged walls, while others had been scratched by the tiles which had fallen onto them from the roof and now lay broken on the ground beneath them. The loft beams were starting to rot, and splinters stuck out of them occasionally.

She turned to the group of high elves following her closely in tow, the interrogator still holding his dagger at the ready. She knew he watched her every movement and frowned inwardly. This would be the most difficult part of her plan and she had to make sure his attention was turned elsewhere when she was about to execute it.

"This is it," she said. "I doubt it's open though."

"Try it," the order came firmly. "No funny movements."

Karliah turned back to the house and grabbed the door handle. The massive wooden wing wouldn't budge an inch. She looked at the elves with a hint of feigned despair in her face.

"Let me see," the Altmer grunted impatiently and took a step forward. He studied the lock for a while and then gave up with a shrug. "We don't have time for this," he shook his head and the next moment, a small sphere of fire shot out of his hand. After repeating the process several times, a large hole, enough for a man to fit in, was formed in the wood. With a smirk, he grabbed Karliah's shoulders and shoved her inside. She staggered slightly before gaining support by grabbing the beam holding the stairs on her left. The man behind her paused and took a close look at the place before following her inside.

Karliah pointed a shaky finger at the room to her right. She was shoved again and barely managed to stay on her feet this time, bumping into one of the innumerous crates which now filled the room and blocked the passage to the bed. She waited for the elves to gather around her and pointed to a chest at the back of the room.

"There it is," she announced. The Thalmor turned their attention to the dark corner where the chest lay for a moment, and in that very split second, several things happened.

With the words "Nocturnal preserve me," Karliah jumped back to the door, grabbing a dagger attached to one of the elves' waist. The Nightingale Subterfuge, the skill that she had chosen as a reward from Nocturnal during her last visit to the Twilight Sepulcher, activated and all the Altmer went into frenzy, attacking each other while unable to break free from the spell. She quickly used the opportunity to slay them before they made too much noise and someone else noticed it. Soon, the elves lay there on a pile. Karliah searched their bodies for possible weapons and scrolls. To her satisfaction, she found a flare scroll which she immediately used to burn them. Soon, she was walking the streets of Windhelm with a set of scrolls, soul gems and other useful trinkets, and no other indicator than the burnt front door showed that something had happened in the former House of Curiosities. She had placed several vials around it, trying to make it seem as though one of those "curiosities" exploded there. It would take the usurpers quite some time to decipher what had really happened there, and by then, there should be a number of other things occupying them.

The thief moved through the city sneakily, peeking behind every corner, studying every crevice so she would not be discovered. She had left her bow and most of her belongings hidden behind Calixto's house, only keeping a well-hidden pair of daggers and other small things which were not visible at first sight. She was unsure, however, if there was some kind of dress code ordered by the Thalmor, and judging by the notable absence of dark elves in the streets, their freedom was probably quite limited. She had decided against taking risks, and so she used every thief trick she could think of to go undetected.

Her destination appeared before her in a just a few moments. She scanned the ragged façade of the New Gnisis Cornerclub, stopping at the frayed banners and massive stone pillars before the entrance. The detect life spell that she cast indicated no other presence whatsoever. Silently she crept to the door and opened it ajar, examining the situation. The place was quasi empty, quiet, dark gloom spreading all around. It was not the lively inn she remembered it to be, though the bartender was definitely the same.

Ambarys Rendar stood with his elbows propped against the counter, staring absentmindedly at a candle on one of the tables. Karliah spotted an ugly scar stretching from the left side of his chin up to his left temple. His eyes were glassy and his linen clothing ripped at several places. Dark stains covered most of its surface and Karliah was sure they weren't caused by spilt wine. She quickly crawled inside and shut the door behind her as quietly as she could. Carefully she cast the detect life spell again to make sure no one was watching and then stood up. Ambarys raised his head slowly, staring at her for a moment before his eyes widened in surprise.

"You," he whispered hoarsely. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm…" Karliah hesitated. "I'm looking for someone called Farenhel."

The bartender gave her a scrutinizing look.

"Don't expect any help from me," he replied at last. "An armed person, here in Windehlm? Naturally, you'd work for those s'wit. How many times have I told you I'm not going to tell you anything?"

"Why are you here?" Karliah asked.

"What do you mean, why I'm here?! This is my house! Yes, even without customers, it's still my house! Now get out of here before I get you out myself. Permanently."

Karliah took a few steps toward the counter and looked the man into the eye. "There were four of them," she said quietly. "Four Dunmer at the mercy of several Thalmor officials. I overheard their conversation; the Thalmor were apparently looking for their leader. I stepped in, pretending to be their ally who happens to know where the leader is. One of the dark elves, an old woman, told me then to 'save Farenhel'. Care to elaborate?"

The Dunmer watched her doubtfully. "Where are they?"

"The torturers, or the Dunmer?"

"Both."

"Dead. The Dunmer's bodies are at the docks. You won't be able to find the Thalmor. I lured them into Calixto's house and burned their corpses."

There was a grave look in his eyes. He exhaled deeply and shifted his weight, staring into the tiny flame of the candle again.

"It's not safe here," he told her quietly. "There's a possibility we're being spied on."

"I checked."

"Nevertheless," his voice now turned into a mere whisper, "it's not safe here. At seven in the evening, the guards in the city all change patrols. Look for this symbol." He drew a strange set of squares with common central point, the corners of the inner ones touching the sides of the outer ones, onto the counter using a piece of charcoal. He quickly erased it again the moment Karliah's eyes turned away from it. "You'll find what you're looking for."

"I don't have time," she pressed.

"We're doing what we can here. I'm only allowed to be here so they can spy on me and gain information. I'm not gonna let them have the pleasure."

Karliah leaned over the counter and their faces almost touched. "The armies of Whiterun and Riften will be here soon. I need to learn as much as I can before they start the siege."

"Somebody's going to save us?"

"If you cooperate."

"Right," he nodded. His eyes wandered around for a moment, glancing timorously from one corner to another. "Farenhel is not a person. It's a codename for a house."

Karliah furrowed her brows. "Faren… hel… the pale one's den?"

"Well, she's not exactly a dark elf. But she gives us hope. She always has…"

"Nir—"

"Shhh!"

The thief nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'll make it worth the risk."

"Go," the bartender urged her. "May Azura protect you."

Karliah gave him a pensive smile and headed back to the door. It was time to visit an old friend.

The cold wind rippled Farkhali's dark fur and she shivered. Her eyes were open ajar, gazing upon the dark horizon. A storm was raging on the south-east edge of Skyrim, vast enough to overhang beyond its borders and into the Falkreath hold. Quite a few people in Riften must be experiencing a sleepless night. For a moment, she had the feeling she saw the dark, jagged silhouette of a dragon against the lightning which set the skies ablaze, but it could have been a cloud, or her imagination was pulling a prank on her senses. Nonetheless, the sight made her shudder. She shook her head and turned her attention to the road which spanned before her.

She was standing at the borderline dividing three holds – The Reach, Whiterun and Falkreath. If it weren't for the plains spanning far and wide, this would have been a good strategic point. The leveled ground, however, made it easy to siege, and not even the Dwemer could tame the rocks in the mountains behind her. The people of nearby Rorikstead led a harsh life full of hard work without being able to leave their fields unattended, never setting foot further than a few miles away from their farms, and even then it was usually to hunt or provide food from some outer source. They barely even visited Whiterun, the capital of their hold, relying on couriers and travelers to take care of whatever they might need there. Shivers ran down Farkhali's spine when she imagined herself being tied to a small piece of land, with no freedom whatsoever.

She made for east, heading to Whiterun. Under different circumstances, she would have considered staying at the Lakeview Manor for a while, but given the situation, it was out of question that she allow herself a single break. The city of Whiterun was in grave danger and she was determined to protect it. Why she had stepped out of her comfort zone to fight for a whole city? She did not know, though every time she thought about it, Balgruuf's face appeared before her eyes, as if he was really there, following her every footstep.

"Damn those blasted marble eyes of his," she grunted silently. She leapt quietly between the shadows like the cat she was, searching for rocks and bushes to cover her. The night was coming to an end, but the storm hid the rising sun completely, making it easier for her to conceal her presence. She had little reason to hide though, as not a single elf seemed to favor walking outside in such a hideous night. It was the kind of night when the damp chill in the air crept under your skin and made you tremble with cold, and not even Farkhali's thick velvet fur was enough to stop it. She saw a pair of skeletons guarding Gjukar's Monument which she was passing, but they paid her no attention and she decided to do the same. For a single moment, it seemed like there was something else beside the skeletons, a strange, shapeless figure, but whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

An hour or so had passed when the dark silhouette of Fort Greymoor appeared on the horizon, but before Farkhali could take another step, she noticed movement on her right. She crouched beneath a rock and cloaked herself in shadow completely, studying the land to the south. A single body moved in the bushes, heading for Falkreath, and judging by the elegant, stealthy jumps and the posture bent slightly forward, balanced by a long tail, she assumed it was a Khajiit. The figure was cloaked and clad in light armor which Farkhali could not identify, hurrying to the south-east as though their life depended on it. And maybe it did, Farkhali thought to herself.

For a reason she could not quite understand herself, she decided to follow the stranger. She just somehow had the feeling they had something to do with what was happening in Whiterun, and after a quick consideration, she came to the conclusion that the detour will be worth it. Quietly she circled the rock and crawled behind the figure, keeping enough distance to remain unnoticed. The further they went, the easier it was to hide, for they entered the woods of the Falkreath hold after not so long and the trees offered beautiful lines of shadows to blend in.

White mist covered them after a while and Farkhali had to pay extra attention to keep track of the stranger's movement. Luckily, they more or less kept along the road to Falkreath. The humidity thickened and she could hear the silent splashing of the water in the lake to her left. The Lakeview Manor was very close, and for a while, she wondered about the state of the now abandoned house.

The stranger's pace quickened and Farkhali added a little bit of magic to her shadow step, muffling the sound of her footsteps. She was quite sure the Khajiit before her did the same, as she barely heard the sound of their feet touching the ground. They started climbing the slope ascending from the lake, passing a giant without providing the chance for it to notice them. A moose crossed their path and ran away quickly upon noticing them. The stranger paused for a moment and Farkhali had to press herself to a tree trunk. The cloaked figure straightened their back and looked around as though they were searching for something. Then the stranger nodded and took a path to the south.

They passed the Falkreath watchtower, surrounded by tall pine trees whose shadow Farkhali found quite soothing, and proceeded in the way of the hold capital. A number of tents emerged from the mist after a few moments and Farkhali could see the black and gold of the Thalmor banners. She scowled sourly and watched the Khajiit attentively, hiding behind a thick bush. The figure stopped before the camp and released a ball of magical light. An elf, clad in glass armor, his face hidden almost completely under his helmet, approached them with a greeting, raising a silver cup he was holding in his hand.

"Ah, our errand boy returns," he drawled. "So what's the news?"

The "errand boy" pointed at the cup, drawing an imaginary circle with his fingers. "Smells like Cyrodillic brandy. Where'd the high one get it?"

"Ah, this? Helgen. We made quite some use of the place."

Farkhali made a mental note to send someone to Helgen as soon as possible.

"This one would be very pleased to have a taste."

"Really now? Well, tell me the details and I might consider giving you a drop. Where'd you come from anyway?"

The Khajiit pointed north-west, in the direction of Farkhali's hideout. It looked like a flashy gesture, as though he was bragging about it.

"And how many days did it take you?"

"Just one," he said. Farkhali shuddered. What was wrong with that conversation? It sounded like they were purposely hiding something, avoiding the subject, as if they were talking in ciphers.

"And?"

"I swear on my fur, it was quite an adventure…"

"Just get to the point."

"Ah, by Nocturnal, patience, my friend…"

"Give me some good news and maybe, just maybe I'll forgive you for calling me a friend," the elf hissed.

"We've got a dragon on the loose. But luckily, a great lizard followed it."

A dragon on the loose? No matter how much Farkhali thought about it, the conversation did not make sense to her. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling slight uneasiness, and took a deep breath to help her concentrate. The elf's lips, barely visible from under the helmet, curled in an ice-cold smile when the Khajiit waved his tail playfully. She furrowed her brows. The tip of the tail was pointing to a rock standing aloof, as though it was gesturing…

Gesturing? Farkhali asked herself. Of course. Every line that Khajiit had said was accompanied by a gesture. A secret code where everything had been said. The first gesture for an enemy, the word one to tell their number, fur for a Khajiit, Nocturnal for a thief… everything had been conveyed. Her heart skipped a beat.

She slowly turned her eyes to the rock the Khajiit's tail was pointing to and there, underneath the branches of a nearby tree, she spotted a presence. It was barely visible, as though someone had painted the pattern of the surrounding rocks and leaves on its surface, but she was sure something moved there ever so slightly. And there was only one person who could have concealed themselves this way.

Farkhali's felt her heart sink. The Khajiit before her beat her at her own game. They knew she was there, and they were obviously enjoying the moment of her realization, waiting for her to take the first step. Sure, they had time. There were three of them against one, including her sneaky Argonian nemesis who, to Farkhali's great concern, was able to keep up with her and without revealing her presence the entire time, and an extraordinarily perceptive Khajiit who was also an exquisite actor, most probably with a generous portion of intelligence.

Would it be safe to retreat? Would they notice? They probably would, since the Khajiit knew about her all along. He knew exactly where she was. But it was still the only option she could think of and she decided to give it a try. She located the closest shadow behind her, moved to it—

And suddenly, she was surrounded by flames and all the shadows were gone. A throwing dagger whizzed past her, missing her cheek by an inch. She turned around to face her enemies. The Hunter was looking right at her, her mouth twisted into a sly grin.

"Let her be," she purred to the others. "This one is mine."

Farkhali looked around frantically. This was a nightmare. There was light… light everywhere, burning her eyes, taking away her safety and freedom, stinging, scorching, flickering in a deathly dance. There was no escape, no shadows to slip through.

"Payback time, Malkin," the Argonian said with a sweet smile. She pulled a wand out of her shoe and spun it around her fingers.

"Oh, don't tell me you're holding a grudge against me for what happened last time," Farkhali drawled with a sneer. "That would make me very sad."

"Grudge?" the Hunter laughed. "Let's just say I don't like having unfinished business."

"Too bad," Farkhali sighed theatrically. "I was looking forward to becoming your friend." She pulled out her dagger and crouched, ready to charge at her opponent. She wasn't given a chance.

The wand waved before her and the light around her intensified. Suddenly, the world around her changed. She was drowning. She was floating in the air, enclosed by a ball of light which shone through her. There was nowhere to hide, no place for a single inch of shadow. Not even on her body. Her flesh was burning and she could smell the stench of her charred fur. The glow was eating her away, painting her fur white, blinding her, taking everything from her, little by little. Then she felt her body stiffen.

I can't move, she thought with despair. Her usually calm mind was panicking. In such a short time, she felt the pain of losing everything she had. The wicked Argonian had uncovered her weakness and used it against her without the slightest hesitation. She had underestimated her. Balgruuf's face appeared before her again. She must save the city!

Her body fell to the ground with a thud. Sharp pain spread from her right hip and then her body tingled, slowly losing the sense of touch. The image before her eyes changed back to the misty woods of the Falkreath hold. She lay in a circle of scorched ground and an Argonian in a strange, shapeless armor of indistinct color stood in her view. She came closer so Farkhali could only see her feet. Then, suddenly, one of those feet lunged towards her and the view blurred, fading into dark nothingness.

I am so very, very sorry for the extremely late update! A lot of you sent me awesome reviews and I was really happy to read them, so I thought just before Christmas that I really should reward you with a chapter. But there it was, two months of studying for exams, getting close to a complete breakdown, laying down with tonsillitis again… marvelous times, marvelous times indeed. Mimics Sheogorath. But I really haven't forgotten about you.

I think I really forgot how to write. If this chapter seems sloppy to you, I apologize. It will get better, I promise. I'm making big plans for the following chapter, so you definitely have something to look forward to.

By the way, the name "Farenhel" – I made it up. The Dunmeri language reference that you can find on the internet is really not all that extensive so I kind of had to. Oh well. I hope you don't mind. :D

Jakeice10:As always, thank you for your nice and encouraging comments! I'm glad that you get absorbed by the atmosphere, it makes me feel like I'm taking the story where it's supposed to go. :)

dart0808:I'd like to see you carry thousands of brooms. Could be fun. :D

Twillin:Now that you say it… it is pretty funny. Uhm. By the way, Aislinn has this strange habit of changing armors/dresses throughout the story… I think she might need to do it again very soon. :D Thank you for the awesome review – and for your endless supply of fun. :D

Pietersielie:I think the reason for going to Cyrodiil was actually mentioned there before, but you'll see soon enough. Thank you for the beautiful review!

Guest:Glad that you liked it. I wonder if it's physically correct though… but oh well, I'm writing a fantasy. I guess a dragon isn't physically correct at all. :D Thank you for the awesome review as well. ^^

As always, thanks to dart for taking the time to edit the chapter. Hopefully you like it. I'll try to have the next update done sooner.

Stay tuned!

Mirwen