Chapter 47
They left Solitude and followed the main road to Dragon Bridge and Frost River Farms. But from a half mile past Frost River farms and woodmill, they left the paved road to cross west over the Frost River and to the slope near the Chillwind cave. The Asbjorn wagons, built smaller than regular cargo wagons, and their strong, sturdy mules, climbed the steep slope with little problem to higher ground until they found an old dirt road. This route was well west of Robbers Gorge and north of Broken Tower Redoubt. Valdimar, scouting ahead, found a Stormcloak clamp and a robbers nest. Tariq had everyone wait at a hunter's shack built at the top of a slope that had a marvelous view of the land below while and he and his housecarls went to clear out the robbers.
The robbers den turned out to be another ancient fortress — probably Second Era of the old Falkreath Kingdom — built into a hillside, forgotten and unused until robbers found it.
They entered and witnessed that Falmer had also found their way here. The dead non-Falmer bodies were relatively fresh, no more than two days past. The only survivor of this slaughter was barricaded in a small room. Tariq had found him by shouting and recognizing the red aura ghost the shout made visible beyond the thick door and stone wall was larger and stood straighter than the Falmer ghosts. Yelling through the door for the survivor to come out revealed a fear-crazed Orc who threw the door open and attacked them. They were forced to kill him because he was in berserk mode and couldn't listen to reason.
"That's it for the survivors," commented Lydia, "up here anyway. Do you wish to hunt the Falmer, my thane?" she asked, gesturing to the gaping hole in the granite block wall in the kitchen and storage area.
He stepped in a few feet and saw traces of Dwemer architecture. "No," he stated, coming out. "If robbers or necromancers think this is a perfect place to hide, I'm happy to let the Falmer have them. And I suspect the hagravens and briarhearts of this area have enough sense to warn their own away from here. We can now travel on this road without worrying about an attack by robbers, and we will be long gone by the time night falls and the Falmer come out."
Despite the remote location, the robbers had a respectable treasure chest. Their armory was more than sufficient for their number, showing they had plenty of Legion and Stormcloak casualties in this wilderness to scavenge from. Lydia rode back to camp and returned with Edmund and an empty cart. Edmund looked amused as he surveyed the chests and barrels to be loaded. "I can have most of these sold off within two days of arriving at Markarth," he assured Tariq.
The dirt road descended to the paved road west of Broken Tower and near the Karthwasten bridge. When he'd last been here, it had been to rescue a kidnapped child. Ainethach, the headman of Karthwasten and owner of the two silver mines there, had used a redirection spell to hide himself and Tariq's horses from the Forsworn. Edmund knew a stronger variation of that spell that not only encouraged people outside the spell area to ignore the sight of the wagon train but also muffled the sounds of the mules and wagons. Tariq would have been interested in such a spell except that it also required nerve-wracking patience as its use restricted their entire party to move no faster than a tired turtle. However, Valdimar was interested and paid Edmund to learn the spell.
… … …
From hunting robbers to hunting goats. To be more precise, tracking down two dozen yearling goats stolen from Karthwasten.
The thieves weren't from Broken Tower. That group hadn't bothered Karthwasten after Tariq's raid to rescue the girl they'd stolen. And as the girl hadn't reappeared at Karthwasten and the people at Karthwasten had went through a public mourning and burial ceremony over an empty coffin for the girl (the Forsworn didn't know the coffin was empty), the Forsworn were convinced that any retaliation against the village was pointless. Ainethach had made some token gifts to the Forsworn ("tribute" to be blunt) for peace. The goat thieves had to be from another tribe.
When Tariq agreed to fetch back the goats, Ainethach sent a messenger to Broken Tower saying he'd hired an outsider mercenary for the goats, so that should stop the local tribe from interfering if they saw battle. As a precaution, Tariq agreed not to wear his Dwemer armor, which he had worn during the Broken Tower raid.
Idgrod's intuition said to head south. Ainethach warned them that direction was Karthspire, the largest of the Forsworn camps. There were also robbers at an above-ground Nord tomb called Four Skull. And then there was the second largest Forsworn camp of the Red Eagle fanatics that guarded the tomb of Red Eagle, an ancient hero said to resurrect whenever there was need in The Reach. He marked all those camps he knew about on Tariq's map.
If Karthspire had wanted to buy the goats, Ainethach would have reluctantly sold them what they wanted. The robbers at Four Skull would have robbed them of more than goats. The briarheart in command of the Red Eagle fanatics was also someone Ainethach would not have refused if he had come to buy the goats. However, that one wouldn't concern itself with petty matters like basic living needs, so it was likely subordinates among the many smaller camps in the area. Ainethach recommended those camps to be checked first.
Again, Idgrod's was able to guide them past many small encampments to the general area where the goats were, or, would eventually be. The goat thieves were moving about. Sadly, she suspected there wouldn't be that many goats to rescue because the thieves were likely distributing the meat to their compatriots.
There was already fighting in the camp as they arrived. A lone warrior was taking on the Forsworn. A Redguard in full medium-weight battle armor of distressed heavy leather and light orichalcum plates. Tariq was also surprised to see the sash of a warrior of the Temple of HoonDing. He fought using an orichalcum kilij and buckler. The buckler didn't prevent him from switching between one-handed and two-handed grips on his swordplay. The buckler was used as a close-range weapon. An enemy in arm's reach should expect to be punched with the buckler's spiky surface or sliced with the buckler's edge. His movements were efficient, his technique, flawless. This one had a solid mastery and Tariq admired this display of the classical sword skills.
Tariq spotted an archer creeping from cover to aim at the swordman's back. "Valdimar, blast him." The Nord shot an ice spear to kill the archer. The Redguard sensed the attack behind him. He finished the two warriors he'd been engaged with and whirled around to face Tariq. The blazing green eyes above the heavy dust veil widened at seeing him and then narrowed. Anger radiated from him.
Normally, Tariq would be on his guard, but instead he inexplicably felt uneasy embarrassment.
Logic caught up to his instinct and emotions, and he finally recognized the warrior.
He was used to seeing his father in a priest's robe or a scholar's robe. And on rarer occasions he would see his father in light pants and sleeveless shirt when he was in the yard engaged in sword exercises. This was the first time he'd ever seen his old man in battle armor.
This was the second time he'd been knocked down to realize his parents were people beyond the stock roles of his childhood.
His father pulled the veil down from his face.
"Tariq.
"Your son is a fine, healthy boy. Faleen is an impressive young woman. Calcelmo has claimed the woman and boy as his own and will fulfill your duties towards her Forebear family, but you still should show your respect to them. Your mother is also in Skyrim. She traveled ahead of me with the Wakefield merchant to Solitude. I don't know what you're doing now, but forget it. You're coming with me to Solitude."
"No, father, I won't," Tariq automatically snapped back. He grabbed his surging childish rebelliousness and forced it down with a deep sigh. In a calmer tone he said, "Honor and greetings, father. Normally, I should be shocked by your sudden appearance, but mother warned me you were in The Reach. She's with me, but back at Karthwasten with the rest of my party, and with Aunt Taarie. I'm here only because the headman at Karthwasten asked me to track thieves who had stolen all their goat yearlings." The others stepped up at Tariq's gesture. "My shields. Lydia and Valdimar. My battle companion, Lady Idgrod of Hjaalmarch.
"And this is my father, Selim ibn Zayad, chief priest of the Temple of HoonDing in Sentinel."
Lydia bowed stiffly to Selim ibn Zayad. "My honor to meet the esteemed father of my thane." She straightened and looked up, boldly meeting the older man's critical eyes. "I see where your eyes and height come from, my thane," she remarked. "And the coloring. Very elf—"
"We have no elf blood," Selim interrupted, coldly.
Lydia dared crack a humorous smile. "Same reaction. Yes, my lord," she said soothingly to Selim. "My thane has explained the physical characteristics of the Zarixa bloodline."
She looked past them to the makeshift pen of bleating young goats. "I'll see to the goats while you two talk," she announced.
His father glanced between Lydia and Idgrod. "When are you ever going to properly marry?"
"Not again, father. Not even mother or the grandmothers nag me on this as you do."
"Only because I know your nature, my son."
"So you keep saying, father. But I'm busy right now."
"Ah, yes. So I've heard. Too busy chasing the incarnate of Sep. The 'Lion of Yokuda' wasn't enough an accolade, was it? Now you've gathered this 'Dragonborn' title to yourself. Things should get interesting when you attract the attention of the Emperor."
"Interestingly enough, father, he was in Solitude for the wedding of a cousin. I've dined with him twice. Mother, a bit more often." He smiled tightly seeing his father's scowl. "I trust mother, don't you?"
"Insolent whelp. It's the Emperor I don't trust. Has he tried to kill you yet?"
"He gave me a sword for taking out the Dark Brotherhood Assassins hired to kill him."
"Typical. He sent you into a nest of assassins hired to kill him for trouble he caused. Was the sword worth it?"
"Yes. A sword that originally belonged to Captain Ali of Taneth."
"Windshear? I hope you properly appreciate it. I never understood why Ali gave his sword away to that feckless fool."
"As I heard it, Captain Ali may be a brilliant naval strategist and sailor, but he had become infatuated with a particular noblewoman. A brilliant strategist of sea battles does not mean he had the proper skills for the games of the aristocracy. Lord Cornelius and his Forbear kin rescued him, his reputation, his crew, and his ship from her greedy family. Windshear was the only thing of value he had to give for this rescue."
"Who told you that?"
"Mother."
"Hah. Did she also tell you the part where he was the one who introduced Ali to the lady and her family? He knew their avarice and brought them a plump seabird to pluck and devour. Of course it was his obligation to extract Ali from those predators. Ali shouldn't have felt obliged to give away such a valuable weapon."
Tariq shrugged. "Such is fate. It is now in my hands instead of at the bottom of the ocean with the good captain."
"He wouldn't be at the bottom of the ocean if he still had Windshear," his father grumbled. "With Windshear, his ship could have outmaneuvered the elven ships and scuttled them. Windshear's force could have snapped their masts."
Something moved behind his father, someone that had been lying behind rocks and bushes. Seeing Tariq's movement, his father looked back.
"Still alive, Logrolf? Good," he said.
He looked back to Tariq. "That one is why I am here. I had to extract him from this camp. A priest of Boethia that Molag Bal wants sacrificed to him."
"Ah?" Tariq tilted his head in interest. His father shrugged with irritation.
"Later," he replied curtly. "Let us return to your mother first and then we can properly share our stories."
Once they were all back in Karthwasten and comfortably settled around a fire with tankards of juniper beer in hand, his father explained the situation.
A line of Boethia priests, Logrolf being the latest, had been guarding and sealing a hidden temple to Molag Bal for decades. And, like his predecessors, had been routinely desecrating Molag Bal's temple by reconsecrating its altar to Boethia. But Logrolf had failed to find a successor to take over the duty. And due to age and sickness, had trouble maintaining a regular consecration schedule. That evil Daedric Prince had started making trouble.
Selim had been shopping with Finea's children guiding him. Traveling back to Vlindrel Hall through one of the narrow streets around the central canal, they were accosted by a Stendarr Vigilant asking anyone who would stop about a small, sealed house. Reports of strange noises from within the house had attracted the Vigilant's attention. Furthermore, upon observation, he'd seen no one going in or out of the house for days, and he was able to detect evil energies seeping out from the house.
Curious, Selim had followed him back to the house and sensed daedric power imbued in the locked door. He also sensed a second unholy daedric power coming from behind the locked door. Two opposing daedra? The one from inside was Molag Bal. Who was the other warding the door? This was a puzzle, and he didn't like it.
While he liked the Vigilant's enthusiasm for charging in to battle evil, he feared the young man sorely underestimated the challenge. He'd warned the young man that this wasn't just a cult of Molag Bal worshipers but the Daedric Prince himself.
But while Selim was delivering the groceries and children to Finea, the young fool had broken the seal. Selim felt he had no choice but to go in and try to salvage the mess. Still, he'd been unprepared and knew it. He'd been forced to kill the young man who'd been driven insane by the Prince — committing an unintended blood sacrifice and sin of slaying an innocent. This negated any holy protections Selim had and gave the Prince the power to trap him inside.
The choices he was given by Molag Bal was to starve to death inside the house or to fetch the ailing Boethia priest currently responsible for his temple's desecration. And once the old priest was brought back, sacrifice him to Molag Bal by executing him with the black rusty mace hanging over the altar.
Obviously, he'd agreed to fetch the priest. However — and he expected Molag Bal to expect this — he'd not agreed to the murder of this priest of Boethia.
Logrolf, who'd chosen to sit apart from them but still close enough to hear, snorted at this.
"No, he would not have missed that," Logrolf said. "But he's confident that if you make the mistake of putting yourself within his reach, he can force you to do his will for the mere fact that you will value your own life over mine, who will die anyway regardless of your choice.
"You can't go back in," Logrolf told Selim. "He'll just trap you again since bringing me back means you've submitted to his will. Your god will not be able to get you out unless a divine warrior was sent to rescue you."
"Is there a reason you haven't told anyone of this danger?" asked Rosa of Logrolf. "Or is it there is still a danger of Worm Cultists? Do you believe the Forsworn would resort to Molag Bal worship to be rid of the Nords and elves? You say your god is Boethia. How strong is his influence in The Reach? I know the Dunmer worship a goddess of the same name, although I think that Prince is acknowledged to have both male and female forms. How do you recruit worshipers?"
Tariq sighed. One of mother's amusements was poking dogmatic thinking with her sharp pinning needles. Religion, in her eyes, was just another fashion trend. Not that she was dismissing the importance of gods and religion. All existence, after all, was a patchwork of many threads, many cloths — and her life was all fashion. Poke, poke, poke. You either had a mess of holes or a sturdy suit. One would think that marrying a priest would mute that fussy nit-picking, but his father claimed he welcomed the challenge of passing his sermons beneath her measuring eyes. If it survived her cloth shears, he had a sermon worth delivering.
And now she was inspecting the tatters of Logrolf's life and contemplating how to patch it to last a little bit longer.
"I appreciate being saved from the Forsworn," Logrolf growled. "But none of this concerns you."
Before Selim could respond to this impertinence toward his wife, she snapped, "Perhaps not, as I'm going home to Sentinel. If the people here in Markarth eventually fall to Molag Bal, I suppose that's their business. But shouldn't they have the option to choose ahead of time?" The look in her eyes had both Tariq and Selim internally groaning.
"Logrolf, rest up tonight. Tomorrow we will go to your house so that you can perform your usual ritual. Husband, enlist Calcelmo's and Faleen's help to report this danger to the lord of this city. Tariq, I want you on your best behavior when you go inform the Thalmor Justiciar. He won't care, of course, if the Nords fall to Molag Bal, but do convince him it will look bad if such happens while he is on watch here. And do use the time to assess the strength of Ambassador's Elenwen's combat group, as it he must he one of her wings."
"Rosa, You will talk to the jarl. I will go with Logrolf," growled Selim.
"No, you will not. That evil Prince would like nothing better than having you two show up," Rosa retorted. "I'm too weak to lift that unholy mace that demon expects Logrolf to be beaten to death with. Logrolf, I'm trusting you to be able to resist its commands to take my life."
"Mother, you can't go there. I will go instead, or, at least, I will send one of my housecarls with Logrolf," said Tariq.
"No. I'm betting that since I'm a frail, old woman—" both father and son snorted at this, "—Logrolf and the Prince won't think much of me as a combatant. I expect their mutual contempt of my weaknesses will shield me somewhat. I also expect, Logrolf, that you can still resist Molag Bal's fury once we begin reconsecrating his altar to Boethia."
"I can," said Logrolf, a touch arrogantly. "But it will get violent inside. He'll try to break my concentration by harming or taking control of you. You may not be able to lift a mace, but something like a knife, a sharp pottery shard, a piece of wood — anything is a weapon when used with intent. And, madam, your protestations of frailty is laughable in the face of your men's reactions to those words. You may be no match for me in true combat — even as truly old and frail as I am — but I would be a fool to think of you as incompetent and helpless and unable to do serious harm me even while losing."
They all argued a bit more, eventually persuading Rosa to wait until after Jarl Igmund and the Thalmor had been consulted and their cooperation gained. Jarl Igmund would likely dump the matter on Calcelmo, and Tariq was sure Brother Verulus, priest of Arkay, could be persuaded to help. As far as the Thalmor's cooperation, Tariq had the feeling his mother might be a better persuader. His father agreed. But they also agreed she wasn't ever going to get near the Thalmor.
As for Logrolf's house, Rosa's plan was leading unless they could come up with something better. Logrolf mocked them for meekly giving into a woman's whims. "Put her in a room and lock it," he advised. He'd do it himself, but as he'd said, she'd probably do him serious injury if he dared lay violent hands on her, if her men didn't intervene first.
… … …
Justiciars historically operated in triads. Their origins as "the Fists of the Thalmor," the aggressive combat arm of the order encouraged this battle formation in their thinking. In Skyrim, First Emissary, Ambassador Elenwen was the lead, the Coordinator. Also stationed in Solitude was Third Emissary Rulindil, the Investigator. There were other Justiciars roaming about in Skyrim looking for trouble. Tariq suspected Justiciar Ondolemar to be the Second Emissary, the Instigator, the although the mer did not use that title. But his responsibility to control The Reach and train Dominion troops new to Skyrim would point to him being the Second Emissary above all the other Justiciars operating in Skyrim.
Getting a meeting with him was as simple as showing up in the palace and pouncing on him when he made his daily walking rounds to meddle in everyone's business.
"I'm a busy mer; I have no time for your petty concerns."
"My concern is Molag Bal taking over Markarth."
The justiciar hesitated and then scowled at him. "How is this my concern? Aren't you taking care of it like you did with that Namira Cult, that Vaermina incident at Dawnstar, and that matter with Meridia's temple? You are known troublemaker with Daedra as well as an enemy of the Dominion, Lion of Yokuda. Ah, apologies, in Skyrim you are the mighty Dragonborn, glorious son of Akatosh and slayer of all Skyrim's evil foes. Are you not already involved with vampires insofar as to have a vampire to your harem? Indecent man. Although I should expect such immorality of Dibella's prize stud dog. Handle Molag Bal yourself."
Tariq was taken aback. This mer could hardly cry "decency!" when this dog of the Thalmor had its nose so deep into Tariq's personal life.
"I intend to," Tariq replied stiffly. "This is merely courtesy, Justiciar. I wish to inform you of the situation as it now stands and how I plan to deal with it. Hear me out, then decide if you wish to participate or continue to ignore it as beneath you."
The justiciar wasn't an absolute fool. He may be disdainful of Nords, but he had proper respectful wariness when it came to the Redguards, especially this Redguard. He went as far as to invite Tariq to his quarters where they could converse in private; even showed unusual and unexpected courtesy as a host to offer Tariq wine and refreshments. And he kept his mouth shut as Tariq told him the story of the dead Stendarr Vigilant, Logrolf, the disguised temple of Molag Bal, and the duty Boethia's priests had performed since the end of the Planemeld and Worm Cult sect in Markarth.
Tariq left out any mention of his father, claiming to have discovered and rescued Logrolf from the Forsworn while he was hunting down goat thieves. However, he suspected the justiciar already knew Selim and Rosa's presence in Markarth and that they were the parents of the Dragonborn enemy.
"Interesting. I will take your story under advisement," was all he said afterward, and rose to escort Tariq out of his quarters.
"Molag Bal's presence benefits no one," Tariq repeated. We will seal it tomorrow for another year. Unfortunately, Logrolf does not have that many years of service to give. A more permanent measure, that of destroying that temple, would take the consent of the jarl to destroy a small section of his city. That's relatively easy compared to gathering the magicka to destroy the place."
"I see. Stupid and inefficient, as expected," muttered the justiciar.
Tariq chose not to take offense as he didn't think the Justiciar was aiming that comment at him. "A question. Mere curiosity, you understand," said Tariq. "Are you the Second Emissary? Considering your importance in Skyrim, I am curious why you do not use that title."
"I am not," Justiciar Ondolemar answered curtly. "My position is too important to be distracted by the petty politics First Emissary Elenwen must deal with."
"I see. Who is the Second Emissary?"
"Unimportant, as was obvious by his failure at Winterhold."
… … …
A week later, his father, Brother Verulus, and Mother Hamal said blessings at the door to Logrolf's house — prayers first for a safe journey and safe return and then stern rebukes of evil spirits and forbidding unholy attachments.
Tariq and his father were unable to convince Rosa let someone else go in with Logrolf. Logrolf sneered at them for caving to the whims of a woman, however, notably wilting under her amused smile.
They entered the cursed house.
Markarth guards kept the former tenants and other onlookers from the designated area. The night before, volunteers from Dibella's Temple had warned affected residents of what was to come and urged them to gather their possessions. The Temple had offered temporary shelter for the displaced and let it be known some patrons, led by Thane Tariq, had donated the gold distributed to them as compensation for their sudden homelessness.
Ondolemar showed up to reinforce Calcelmo's protective barrier around the house.
Molag Bal was not happy. His angry roars and curses could be heard in the streets. What amazed and terrified Tariq was that he could faintly hear his mother's voice. She was laughing and taunting the demon god. Tariq never suspected his mother knew those kinds of words or could be so vicious of speech.
"Oh, my. Rosa is in rare form," said Taarie. "I'm certain she has Molag Bal so angry he's not paying attention to what Logrolf's doing. You might want to go support your father. I'm sure he's realized by now—
"Haha! What's that? Molag Bal accusing of being Boethia in disguise? That must make you Fa-Nuit-Hen of the Maelstrom, Tariq. How appropriate now that I think about it."
"Who?" asked Tariq.
"Oh, a Dunmer demi-Prince of combat, a collector of martial skills. Go ask a mer from Morrowind if you want to know more. Now, like I told you, go to your father. I'm sure he needs your support." She gave him a strong push to get him moving.
He found his father with his head down, muttering angrily under his breath, and pacing in a tight circle. Battle nerves, Tariq judged, and too dangerous to even talk to. Nothing short of true battle would distract Selim, and Tariq didn't want to be forced to hurt his father, so he leaned against a wall and watched while warning others away from approaching Selim.
Logrolf completed his dedication of Molag Bal's altar to Boethia. Once outside, the Thalmor moved in.
"What are you doing?" Tariq demanded.
"We are going to obliterate this patch of foulness," the justiciar declared loudly. "The Dominion will not allow the continuance of this blasphemy. We intend to blast it from existence."
Property owners protested. Building here were tightly packed. Indeed, many shared the same walls with Logrolf's house. To that, Ondolemar replied, "I've already informed your jarl of my intentions. He has agreed to compensate you for your buildings. Don't bother me any further with your petty concerns."
Blowing a deep hole in Markarth was satisfying as evidenced by the grins on the Dominion faces.
Tariq and his family left as Ondolemar boasted of the glory of the Dominion and its dedication to ridding the world of Daedric evil like they ended the Oblivion Crisis.
… … …
"Only because it's you, my Dragonborn Thane."
"My inestimable thanks, my lord," replied Tariq, forcing an empty smile for Jarl Siddgeir.
By the worst luck, the week his party had arrived in Falkreath to visit the fancy luxury bathhouse venture created out of the ancient vacation bathhouse of Savirien Chorak, the last Akaviri Potentate, it was exclusively reserved by Jarl Siddgeir.
But since he had promised his mother a few days of hot water baths and other pampering luxuries that ladies love, he went in to request a favor from the jarl. Siddgeir was delighted to oblige. He was holding a grand week-long event at the bathhouse in two month's time and had invited all the most powerful and richest of Falkreath's nobles and significant power movers from other Holds and the Empire. Being able to parade the fabled Dragonborn, hero of the Empire, Slayer of the Dark Brotherhood, and thane of his Hold in front of them would greatly enhance their perception of his importance.
Although the jarl didn't exactly say those words, Tariq knew the tiresome role of "pet hero." When he was younger and hadn't yet earned his "Lion of Yokuda" title, he'd played that role of the young, brash hero — with all the fierce posing and loud, roaring boasting the role entailed — enough times to gain support for his many skirmishes along the southern coast of Hammerfell against Thalmor intruders. Very well. As long as the jarl promised his mother a peaceful stay unbothered by local politics Tariq agreed. The jarl kept his word and kept himself and his drinking buddies away from Tariq's party.
His mother and Aunt Taarie had seen many Akaviri structures in the Imperial City, and this bathhouse was favorably compared with the examples in the Imperial City. Siddgeir had put out some decent money to have the grounds redone into tasteful gardens featuring some of the loveliest flowers in Skyrim.
"A well done exorcism," said Aunt Taarie. "Curious how many ghost Blades you had to lay to rest. I am somewhat shocked that they dared raise their swords against a Dragonborn considering their oh-so-sacred oath of service to your kind. But then, such oath did not prevent them from cutting the throats of the Remans."
"Technically, it wasn't the Blades that did it," said Lady Rosa. "Just Akaviri politicians working with the Morag Tong. As for the Blades, it wasn't treason exactly. The founders of the order were Akaviri. I'm sure that even in death their oaths locked them to loyalty to Savirien Chorak."
"I suppose," conceded Taarie. "I wonder if it was the Morag Tong or the Dark Brotherhood that finished off this lot? I'm inclined to think the Brotherhood since their base was also in Falkreath. Although if it was the Morag Tong doing a thorough job, either the Brotherhood cowered in their hidden cave or the two forces slaughtered each other. In secret, of course, they would not advertise their war to the Nords."
"Or it could be the servants of the dark temple not too far from here to the west," suggested Tariq.
"That? Oh, no. That's Nocturnal's abode," Taarie said dismissively.
"You know this, how?" asked Rosa.
"Oh, a time ago, one of our bulk purchases was stolen from a caravan. I was beyond furious. These were grand silks from Summerset we had ordered for the coronation suit of High King Darden, the grandsire of the late Torygg. Other merchants also suffered from that theft and we formed an investigation party and hired Companions to track and catch the thieves. They fetched back a Nightingale, if you can believe it. We should have been suspicious at how easy it was to get the Nightingale to sing. When we arrived here, we knew we had been tricked. There was no way we could get inside. Not us, not the Companions. We had no choice but to let that laughing Nightingale go."
"What is a Nightingale?" asked Tariq.
"A myth," said Taarie sourly. "The nearest Prince Nocturnal has to priests of her faith and guardians of her temple. Each proper Thieves Guilds of Nocturnal has three Nightingales. The legendary Grey Fox leads the guild in Cyrodiil. I don't know who leads the guild in Riften, but I'm sure that Black-Briar woman knows. I knew a wine merchant who once offended her. Next thing, all his warehouses and stores began losing stock. Stalls and stores selling his wines found only his products stolen. Money and other expensive goods were taken from his home and the homes of his associates. Even the heavily guarded banks he used were infiltrated and only his gold was taken. He finally gave up and went back to Hammerfell. Last I heard, he was recovering financially. Evidently, the vendetta of the Skyrim Thieves Guild did not extend to the Hammerfell chapter, and Black-Briar has no pull there to enforce her will.
He wandered over to Nocturnal's temple. Only a facade and door were visible. It wasn't just another pocket space temple pretending to be hidden inside a mountain. No, he sensed it was a direct doorway into Nocturnal's territory in Oblivion. Such a sneaky prince to nestle next to the skin of Mundus.
Giving into a whim, he knocked on the door. As he expected, there was no answer. He left a gift box at the door. Inside the box was a beautifully embroidered veil and a fastening pin in the shape of Ebonarm. Ebonarm and Nocturnal were enemies. He was curious to see what the prince would make of that.
Did the Celestial Guardian Thief outranked the Daedric Prince of Thieves? It would be interesting to debate this with a Nightingale, if ever he found one and such person was willing to talk.
The route from Falkreath into Hammerfell was through Craglorn Pass, the road leading to the ancient Nedic city of Elinhir, known as "the City of Mages." Nowadays, the small city was known for magicka devices. While his father searched for a caravan going to Sentinel, Tariq escorted his mother and Taarie through the market.
"Lion of Yokuda! Flea-infested dog! Finally you scrape up the courage to show your mangy hide here."
Tariq groaned in irritation and embarrassment. Not in front of his mother.