Chapter VII
On the Road Again
The Hall of the Elements went quiet for only a second after Veryn collapsed on the floor. “Murderer! Murderer!” the first cries went up. Someone barrelled into Bricca's back, a clumsy move to try and disarm her and she knocked them away. It was Enthir, now scrambling from the body on the ground, afraid to touch it.
She had expected Mirabelle to attack her as well, tried to ground herself against the womans magic, but Mirabelles attention was with the panicked students around her and with the pulsing blue light that came from the Eye and was flooding the room.
“Everyone! Evacuate the premises! We will convene in Winterhold,” she shouted. “Make sure everyone gets there safely!”
The people in the hall amassed at the door, trying to push through as fast as possible, hurrying to get away from Ancano and the Eye. Mirabelle stayed behind until she had directed everyone outside.
“Let us at least bury the bodies,” she said. “The Archmage too – he did not survive the explosion.”
Ancano only laughed. “Leave, mage, unless you want to join them.”
Mirabelle snarled and stepped forward, flinging a glob of spittle at Bricca. She tried to step away in time, but the wet dribble hit her throat and slid down on her clothes.
“I will not leave the College like this, Thalmor. Your petty games aren't over yet.” With that, Mirabelle turned around and slammed the doors behind her, leaving Bricca alone with Ancano.
"Well, that's it," she said. "They're both dead. I'll get rid of the corpses for you, and then we'll talk payment."
If only he agreed to this. It was bad enough that Mirabelle was trying to make off with the bodies as well. Thank Sithis that Ancano had not one shred of decency in him and refused. It would've been a disaster if Mirabelle had taken them, just as it would be a disaster if Ancano refused her now as well. Gods, if only he didn't become suspicious right now and decided to get rid of them himself. Luckily he just grunted, which she took as a 'yes', and then the elf turned his attention back to the Eye again. Excellent. She dragged out Veryns body roughly, his head hitting the stone floor a few times, but once she was away from Ancano's sight she picked up the elf and threw him across her shoulders. She grabbed his backpack too, which was lay discarded in the entrance hall. Despite Veryn being lighter than she had expected the muscles in her shoulders and back burned by the time she reached the Midden. She threw the pack on the ground, hoping he didn't keep anything fragile in it, and then slid the elf off her shoulders too. The room they were in was small and dimly lit by some torches, but it was relatively warm and dry compared to the rest of the Midden. Someone had once done alchemical experiments in here, as evident by the burnt cauldrons and shattered glass alembics that lay discarded in a corner. Her own pack stood against another wall, her various saddlebags from months ago condensed to one pack that contained only what she needed. Veryn looked utterly dead when she knelt down near him. His lips had turned a pale grey and his face was drained of all blood. He didn't breathe and when she touched his skin it was cold. And yet, there was still some hope for him, taking the form of a small bottle of antidote that currently resided in Bricca's left front pocket. It had all been a ruse, one where Veryn was now suspended between life and death, the result of a nifty little poison called Languorwine. It had its legitimate uses in the school of Restoration magic. Healers often used it to cause the onset of death early with the elderly and sick. It was kept a secret, something that was only whispered and written about, but with the antidote, Languorwine could be used to fake someone's death. Aedoric had stabbed Motierre with it back in his time, and the pin she had stuck in Veryns shoulder had been coated by the poison too. Bricca knelt down and pulled the pin out. It was long and thin, like a knitting needle, and had penetrated deep into his flesh. She hoped it hadn't caused too much damage. For a moment she hesitated, wondering if she should give him the antidote now, but she still had to move the Archmage and deal with Ancano, and she did not want to leave the elf on his own when he woke up.
Bricca ended up dragging the Archmage as far as the dead skeevers, tossing him in between the frozen carcasses. He had been the main target of Ancano's explosion, which had thrown him all the way outside where he lay in the snow, his head under an angle that would have been impossible had he still been alive. Bricca searched through his clothes, taking some small pieces of valuable looking jewellery with her. Undoubtedly, it was enchanted and would fetch a good price at a Thieves' guild fence. When she sat with Ancano in the Archmage's quarters a good hour later, it turned out she wouldn't have to worry about money for a long, long time. Two hundred and fifty golden septims lay on the table, in neat rows of fifty each. A small fortune, enough to buy a house and live comfortably for the next couple of years. Bricca smirked as she heaped the gold into pouches. This was a nice reward for all the trouble she'd gone though. Already she couldn't wait to see Astrids face when she brought this back. While the Dark Brotherhood was by no standards poor, it was not swimming in gold either, and the septims would be welcome and put to good use.
"It is good to see the Dark Brotherhood live up to its reputation," Ancano spoke as he signed a letter to Astrid to conclude his deal. "I will make sure my superiors know so, too."
Bricca kept up her smile, and nodded at Ancano friendly, despite her wish to strangle the elf at the spot.
"That is great to hear," she answered, trying to keep her tone of voice light, pretending this was just another normal conversation between her and a client. "I am honoured by your recommendation."
It took far too long for the ink to dry, and Bricca started to feel more and more uncomfortable under Ancano's scrutinizing gaze and his attempt to keep up a conversation. She almost ran out of the door when the Thalmor was finally done, and sighed in relief once she had made the climb back to the midden. Veryn was lying exactly as she had left him. Bricca searched through his clothes, looking for any weapons he might have kept hidden on his body. His dagger was a nice weapon, with a handle in the shape of a horses head, but the blade was damaged and blunt, with ugly corrugated spots dotting its surface. She found two other knives, small ones, and took them with her, before forcing the antidote down his throat. Bricca had no idea how long it would take before it worked. In fact, she didn't know if it even worked at all. Slightly anxious she hid herself in a shadowy corner, hoping that the elf wasn't dead after all.
It took nearly half an hour before she noticed any effects, but then Bricca could hear a heart beating and a wheezing breath. Before long, Veryn regained consciousness by screaming in terror. Looking on in bewilderment and having no clue what to do Bricca watched him curl up on the floor, clawing at his head and whispering the same words over and over.
"Hey!" she called out softly, wondering if the elf had lost his mind. "Are you alright?"
Veryn only reacted by curling up further. "Please", she heard him say. "Please, don't. I'll tell you whatever you want. Just stop. Please. Don't do this to me!" Only when she called out his name a few times the elf seemed to snap out of his panic. It took an eternity for him to stand up, shaking and swaying on his legs.
"Come to finish the job?"
He stared at her almost defiantly, his voice cracking. The dark elf looked dreadful. The skin around his eyes was red and swollen and his forehead was littered with small bloody gouges where he had raked it open. Bricca tried to think of something reassuring she could say, something friendly and soothing, but before she could do so Veryn lunged at her, slamming her head against the wall. Instinctively she pushed him away, causing him to crash to the ground again.
"Damn you! Just listen to me; I can explain this!"
The back of her head pounded painfully. The elf didn't listen and instead dragged himself to his feet again. He threw a ball of fire at her. It hit her robes and sizzled out. Bricca pressed her back against the wall, breathing in and out quickly while her stomach tried its hardest to squirm its way out of her body. Fire. She hated fire, Sithis be damned. She barely managed to dodge a second fireball, shielding her face with her arms. Thank Mara that the college-issued robes she wore were enchanted against magical damage, lest an enthusiastic initiate accidentally explode himself. Immediately she wondered how long those enchants would hold now that they were being bombarded. Dodge the fire. Step aside. Don't let it hit you.
"Veryn, don't do this," she pleaded as more fire sheared past her right ear and almost took her hair with it.
Of course he didn't listen to that either. She edged towards him slowly, dancing between the endless flames that kept coming her way. Her breath caught in her throat when she was hit again. Her legs froze and she stood dazed for a few seconds. The awful heat tried to creep it's way up her robes, leaving the stench of charred leather in its wake. Veryn ran away from her again down the hall. Bricca had to admit she was impressed how he managed to stay on his legs, let alone keep casting spells. She could see he was weakening though, his casts faltering more often. He was terrified, his eyes wide and crazed, and when another fireball exploded on the ground just before her feet and the elf staggered and had to lean against the wall for support, Bricca made a break for it. She ran towards him, only to sit down on the ground a few seconds later, her eyes burning as Veryn had done his little trick with the flash of light again.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, blindly making her way to the other side of the room. "Where'd you go?" Her face and hands burned as if she just had ducked them in scalding hot water. Wincing, she sat down for a few seconds until her sight cleared up. Meanwhile, she kept listening to her surroundings, and to the fast beating heart that was moving in the halls below her. As soon as she could see the faint outlines of the room again she started running after Veryn, ignoring the dizzying way the halls of the Midden spun around her. She followed the sound of the heart, running as fast as she could, her feet barely touching the ground. It was almost intoxicating to hunt, and it reminded her of running around the small villages of the Colovian Highlands with her coven, going in for the kill. When she caught sight of Veryn the elf was frantically trying to outrun her. Bricca smirked as she launched herself, landing on his back and slamming both of them on the stone beneath. She planted her knee on the elf’s back and wrenched his right arm on his back as well, twisting it up as far as possible, causing him to cry out in pain. With her free hand she bent back his hand, putting a fair amount of tension on his wrist.
"Use any magic again and I'll break it," Bricca said. "Do you understand?"
Veryn grunted, managing barely to force out a yes. He had stopped resisting now, seemingly in too much pain.
"What do you want from me?" he rasped, his voice far hoarser than usual. "Are you going to deliver me to Ancano?"
Bricca relaxed her grip on his arm slightly. "No. I want you to hear me out. Unfortunately, this seems to be the only way to get you to listen."
The elf cringed and attempted to curl up again, trembling. Bricca sighed, shaking her head. This was useless. She moved her hand a little, touching as much skin as she could and then forced him to listen to her, like she had done with Alain Dufont. Veryn was too weak to stop the magic and slumped to the ground, suddenly unnaturally calm. Bricca let go of his arm and sat down against the wall, running her hands through her hair.
"Listen, I never had the intention of killing you, al right? Dark family doesn't kill dark family." She sighed again, smiling wryly. "It's all Astrid's fault that we're in this mess, anyway." Bit by bit she recounted how the matron had asked her to spy on Cicero and how the Night Mother had started to whisper to her. She told Veryn of how Astrid had become angry and had sent her away to the College to deal with Ancano.
"So you are the Listener now?" Veryn peered at her with narrowed eyes, his look vacant. He'd scrambled to the wall opposite her, huddling against the stone and cradling his arm.
Bricca nodded. "I am. And every time I try to ask her for advice She's being awfully silent thus far. At least Ancano was easy at the start. Just kill the Archmage, he said, and do it slowly. And so I did, poisoning him over the course of the last few months. But then, two weeks ago, he wanted me to kill you. He kept ranting about the damn Eye and about how you were a threat to him. I couldn't refuse him, he threatened the Sanctuary!" She stopped to take a breath. The skin on her arms was itching. Blasted fire.
"Better to kill off one member than have everyone else dead too?"
"Yes." She grunted. "Believe me, if I could have stepped out I would. But I couldn't, so instead I tried to think of a way to work around Ancano's command and make sure you survived. It took me a while to find something. The pin I stabbed you with was coated with a poison, Languorwine. It caused you to become as good as dead. Right now, Ancano and everyone at the college thinks you're gone. Once his fellow Thalmor learn that you'll be entirely safe from them as well. We should head to the Sanctuary soon and-"
"We?" Bricca shivered slightly at Veryns laughter when he interrupted her. Had the elf finally gone mad, or was he usually just very good at hiding his insanity?
"And what about the College,” he asked. “Did you make any room for that in your plans?"
For a moment she felt at a loss for words. "Well..." She shrugged. "It's been through worse, hasn't it?"
Veryn moved slightly. Bricca wondered if he was going to try and attack her again, but all he did was conjure a bit of magelight. He shook his head. "The College is as much of a home to me as the Sanctuary is to you. And now you have left it in the hands of a Thalmor." He looked sad, the way he sat hunched over against the wall, gazing up at her accusingly. "You didn't think of that. By Vehk, you could have talked to me instead of stabbing me in the back."
"Ancano only demanded that I killed you after you were gone to that ruin. I had no chance to talk to you."
"Do you even realize what you've done? Not only does Ancano have the College. He has the Eye as well. And in his hands, the Eye becomes a weapon. Somehow he found a way to use the powers of the Eye without using the Staff of Magnus. He found a way around it by channelling the magicka that has been built up in the College since it's existed. I don't know how long it will take until the wards start falling and all of the buildings here will crumble into the sea. Perhaps Ancano will figure out how to bend the Eye to his will first and hand it to the Thalmor. Then we'll have the second Great War on our hands."
Bricca fell silent for a while, mulling over what Veryn had just said. "The Dark Brotherhood doesn't judge," she said eventually. "We just do our contracts, regardless of what the effects are. But you, you're not going back to the Sanctuary, are you? You're not going to pretend you're dead."
"No." Veryn grinned, baring his teeth, a mad and mocking smirk that was exaggerated by his scars. "I'm not a little bird you can keep in a cage. Even if I came with you now I would have left the Sanctuary sooner or later. No, I'm heading to Labyrinthian to search for the Staff of Magnus so I can claim the Eye for myself and decipher it."
"That's the large haunted city near Morthal, isn't it? Travellers and caravans avoid it."
"I don't mind." Veryn stared off into the distance. "I'm not afraid of ghosts or draugr. If anything, confronting Ancano afterwards will be much worse."
"I could travel with you for a while," Bricca offered. She wasn't sure exactly why. "I am headed for the ruins of Volunruud myself."
That caught his attention. "I thought you wanted to go back to Falkreath?"
"The Night Mother told me there would be someone waiting for me at Volunruud. Astrid doesn't want me to go, but Astrid put me in this mess. I don't care about what she wants or not. If she hadn't been so damn upset none of this would have happened."
"And I would be dead." Veryn rubbed his shoulder, grimacing in pain. "At least you put in some effort to keep me alive. Thanks for that, I suppose. Did you bring my pack down here? I need it."
More than two hours later they stood at the edge of a tall cliff. Behind them was a narrow frozen path that led back into the Midden, and before them, at the foot of the cliff, the sea crashed against the rocks. Veryn shook his head.
"You said you knew the way out, but now you want us to go down here?"
"Yes." Bricca knelt down at a large pick driven deep between the rocks. She shoved some of the ice and gravel away to reveal a thick rope, almost the size of her fist, with even thicker knots running along it. "We can hardly walk out of here as if nothing happened. Going along those narrow bridges will make us a wonderful target for everyone, including Ancano."
"I know." Veryn scowled at the rocks. "You said that before. But climbing down? By Vehk, this will be great."
He sounded bitter, and when she asked what was wrong he turned away in frustration.
"I can't climb. I can barely support my own weight after the Thalmor."
Bricca climbed down twice, taking first her own backpack and then Veryns. She waited at the bottom of the cliff, watching Veryn struggle to climb down ungraciously, hitting the jutting rocks every so often. He had managed to get about three-quarters down when she heard him grunt, and then yell in alarm. The elf was losing his grip on the rope, trying for a second to keep himself up with one hand before he slipped away. He fell down on the rocks, the snow softening his landing only a little. When Veryn sat up again he was clutching his shoulder.
“It hurt too much to continue.” His voice was hoarse and he seemed to holding back his tears.
Bricca winced. “I'm sorry. I stabbed you after all. Maybe I should have found another way out.”
The elf shook his head. “It's fine. It's not just the wound either. The Thalmor...” His expression darkened and he stared off over the sea. “They used to hang me from my wrists for hours. My joints and nerves are wrecked to the extent that magic can't fix them any more.”
He turned abruptly, grabbing his pack and heading off for the narrow track nearby. It was nothing more than some flattened and worn-out rocks that were now covered with a thin layer of frost. It took a while to cross them, slippery and dangerous, but in the end they reached the muddy hunting trail that led to Winterhold. They headed towards town to pick up their horses. Spring was coming, and as they rode away from Winterhold the weather turned gradually more depressing. The snows of winter had made way for endless chilling rains, and the roads had turned into a mush of half frozen ice, water and mud. Initially, the road ran to the south, but after a few days curved around the mountains and started running westward. On the right side it was guarded by steep cliffs, and on the left the sloping rocky terrain was rough and nigh impassible. High above, rising from the mountains, loomed the statue of Azura, facing to the east, to Morrowind. There were barely any inns or villages around and the road was almost entirely empty as well. Only after they passed the crossing where the road split towards Windhelm did they encounter more travelers. By now they were used to the solitude, so when they arrived at the Nightgate Inn they were taken by surprise. The place was packed and almost overflowing, and it was nearly impossible to get a room. They had to offer double the usual price for the innkeeper to agree to make room and stable their horses.
"The damn road is collapsed," he said. "Half a day from here. Can't complain though. Haven't had business like this in years."
The taproom was filled with traders, travellers and Stormcloaks. The latter sat clustered together, their cloaks and boots splattered with mud. They'd ridden here all the way from Windhelm to make the road accessible again. An avalanche had buried it under a thick layer of rubble, rocks and loose chunks of ice that had broken off from the small glacier above.
"Looks like we'll be stuck here for a while," Veryn said. Bricca rolled her eyes and sighed, wondering if the Night Mother had foreseen this too. Volunruud was days away, and with the road damaged those days might soon turn into weeks. At the back of the room, the Stormcloaks had started to sing, the local bard playing a familiar tune. All hail to Ulfric, you are the High King! She looked away from them again. Obscenities and shoddy drawings were carved on top of the table she sat at, some covered by globs of wax from the thick, drooping candle in the middle. The flickering light played with the thick green glasses that held their ale, and idly Bricca wondered when the short pit would drown. Opposite her, Veryn was staring at the flame, hunched over and resting his fingertips against each other. Some of his fingers were almost as mangled as his face, with missing nails and mottled pink burns, and crooked joints where they had been broken. A sudden thought about the College came to her.
"Why do they call you lord around here? I know you're a thane of Whiterun, but a thane isn't a lord, not in Winterhold or the rest of Skyrim."
The elf slowly lifted his head, the candle reflecting in his eyes. He seemed taken aback by the question and took his fair time to think about it.
"I am a member of the Dunmer Great House Telvanni, and of high enough rank to own land within Morrowind," he finally said. He seemed avoidant, as if he didn't want to answer at all. Bricca couldn't see if he was lying, but she felt as if he didn't tell the whole truth. "My holdings there would make me a lord in the other parts of the Empire, and the mages of Winterhold are keen to call me that. But ever since Red Mountain erupted the lands have been destroyed and covered in ash, and as I was not in Morrowind at that time, they have been looted and plundered in the aftermath of the destruction." He grimaced. "The last time I was there, during the Great War, barely anything was left."
It was clear he did not wish to talk about it any more, and before long he headed off to the small and cramped room the Innkeeper had managed to free up. Bricca followed not long after. The elf had fallen asleep on top of the lumpy mattress and ratty blankets. Bricca lighted the oil lamp and took a map from her pack, spreading it out on the rickety wooden table. She'd taken it from the Arcaneum, and it showed the majority of Skyrim, with all the holds borders and major Imperial roads marked in red ink. By now the once so great stone roads had fallen prey to the weather and the war, but they still were a much better choice than the muddy tracks that ran along the countryside and the host of small towns. But the Imperial roads went the wrong way, and none of them passed even close to Volunruud. She followed some of the lines with her fingers. There were some paths running south from the Nightgate Inn, towards a giant's camp and then curving off both towards the Pale and Eastmarch.
"It might work," she muttered too loudly, pulling the lamp closer.
"What does?" Veryn squinted at her sleepily.
"Going south through the wilderness. It will take longer than taking the road, and there's giants and mammoths, but I don't care about idling here for what might be weeks."
"Can I see?" He walked over to her to study the map. Bricca tried not to stare at the jagged ridges that criss-crossed Veryns arms and shoulders or the gnarled mess of scar tissue covering most of his back. Despite the warmth of the inn he was shivering badly.
"How's your shoulder?" she asked, peering at the small, scabbed over wound.
The elf scratched his shoulder. "It's healing." He pointed at a splotch of ink on the map, his fingers twitching and unable to stay still. "That is Volunruud? How do you even know there's someone waiting for you?"
"The Night Mother said there would be."
"And if there isn't? The Night Mother spoke to you months ago."
"Motierre will be there." He had to be. Astrid would be so amused if Bricca went to visit Volunruud for nothing. "The Night Mother showed me how the ruin looks." She hoped that the image of a domed tomb sticking out from the snow that sprang in her mind whenever she thought of Volunruud was indeed the right place. She looked up at Veryn again, who was swaying on his legs. His fingertips were white where he gripped the table in an attempt not to fall over. “Are you alright?”
“ I – yes.” He staggered back to the edge of the bed and sat down, rubbing his head. “I just need some moon sugar. I ran out and -”
Bricca snorted derisively. “So you're an addict?”
“No!” He glared at he r. “No. I only use it to kill the pain in my head and hands. Astrid never set the bones right when she healed me.” He flexed his left hand, but Bricca could see he was unable to fully stretch his fingers. “This isn't your business,” he said through clenched teeth. “ Just leave me be.”
“I'm only trying to help you,” she said softly.
“You tried to kill me.”
“Would you rather have I did?” She grinned when she saw him tense. He did not answer her and stood up again, pacing up and down the room anxiously before looking at the map again.
“Labyrinthian lies here, at this mountain pass.” Veryn held his finger at some mountains not far from Volunruud. “Regardless of what you're doing, I'll take that south road tomorrow and get that staff.”
The next morning Bricca joined Veryn for breakfast. The elf had managed to get in a few more hours of broken sleep and was now listlessly picking at his food. He was still shivering and had dark circles under his eyes. He looked at her, the suspicion from the evening before gone, and didn't object when she followed him to the stables afterwards. By the time Bricca had saddled Shadowmere, Veryn was shaking badly enough to nearly fall from his horse.
“I think,” he said, teeth clattering, “that I'll ride with you to Volunruud. I'd like to see if the Night Mother was right.”
“Can you ride like this? You seem ill.” Bricca still felt bad about what had happened under the college. Veryn had quiet since then, and visibly anxious, not unlike the first months he had been with the Brotherhood.
“I don't get ill.” Veryn ducked away in his cloak, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “I never do. This is because of the moon sugar. I couldn't grab more from the college before we had to leave. I've been through withdrawal before. It's awful, but it might get better in a few days.”
Bricca didn't push the subject any further. Veryn had told her yesterday it wasn't her problem, and as long as he kept up with her he would be right about that.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Unlike what the Night Mother had shown her, the entrance to Volunruud wasn't covered in snow, but a muddy drab. Like most ancient Nord tombs, the shape of the entrance reminded Bricca of a pot: a dome with a stone staircase leading down to a hollowed out middle, where a door led to the burial sites hiding underground.
"This is it," Bricca said. She left Shadowmere to his own devices. The Daedric horse objected heavily to being tied to a tree, and he wouldn't wander off too far away. Mud covered the inside of the ruin too, causing her boots to make squishy noises. Veryn followed after her, his breathing ragged. While he was clearly doing better than two weeks ago when he'd run out, the lack of moon sugar was visibly causing him pain and exhaustion. Astrid could never have intended for this to happen when she sent Bricca out to the College, but it wasn't Astrid now who had to ensure they both came home alive and well. Bricca went into the first hallway on the left, the one from her vision, Veryn coming immediately after and then through the dried out well, guided by the Night Mothers black hands. She laughed softly when she opened the rotting door and stood face to face with two Imperials. One of them was dressed like a nobleman, although his clothes had suffered under the Skyrim weather, and the other wore the standard Imperial armour: a leather breastplate and skirt, both plated with steel, and high steel greaves that reached to his knees. A gladius hung loosely at his hip, but once he spotted the two coming in he stepped forward with a bared longsword.
"What do you want?" The guard was at least two heads larger than Bricca and broadly built. "Who are you?"
"The Night Mother has answered your prayers." Such a simple sentence, but the effect was huge. The nobleman scooted away from behind his bodyguard. Amaund Motierre had the pale skin and slightly pointed ears of a Breton, but the heavy-set facial features and thick dark hair of an Imperial. He had a puffy face with sagging cheeks, and was cleanly shaven.
"You've come! You've actually come! And within a day too! This dreadful Black Sacrament, it worked!" Motierre's voice was surprisingly high, and did not fit his look at all.
"The Night Mother hears everything, Amaund." Bricca smiled at him, satisfied to see him suck in a whistling breath. He was scared, his head bobbing up and down as he spoke.
"We – we've only been here for a day! Yesterday we did that dreadful ritual... and now you're here already. I-well, I would like to arrange a contract. Several contracts, actually, culminating in something that might well have more significance than anything your organization has done in centuries." Motierre swallowed, although speaking had appeared to give him some confidence at least. Bricca motioned for him to go on, keen to hear any details. Putting the Dark Brotherhood back on the map could never be a bad thing. "As I said, there are multiple targets, and I'm sure you'll find them to be quite, well, varied." Motierre gave a fake little cough. "I'm sure someone like you might find it even... well, enjoyable. But these targets I speak of, they are all but a means to an end. The end of the most important target. The reason why I came to this filthy pit to speak with cut-throats like the two of you." He glanced up and down between Bricca and Veryn, ill at ease, his eyes darting from left to right. "What I seek is the assassination... of the Emperor."
Motierre smiled nervously. Bricca stared at him. The Emperor. Did he truly say the Emperor?
"It is a shocking request, I know. But you are the Dark Brotherhood. This, this is what you do, right? You must understand, so much has led to this day. So much planning, so much manoeuvring, and now the day has finally come to arrange the kills."
Bricca smiled back at the man. "Business is business." Her voice sounded a lot more confident and calm than she felt. The Emperor! Indeed, the Dark Brotherhood hadn't killed a target like that in centuries, and especially not after it had fallen into decline. Would they even be able to off the Emperor at all? "We ask half of the pay up front."
Motierre fidgeted. "Rexus! The items.”
His bodyguard walked over and handed Motierre a thin leather bag. In it were a sealed scroll and an amulet, diamond-shaped and made of gold, with a pink stone set inside an eight-pointed star.
"The scroll contains further instructions for your superior. The amulet is very valuable. You can use it to pay for any and all expenses."
Bricca reached for the amulet, studying it closely. "How valuable is valuable?"
Motierre licked his lips. "Five thousand septims at the least. And if the contract is fulfilled and the Emperor dies you will be rewarded with a fee of twenty thousand septims."
Behind her, she heard Veryn mutter something in suprise. "Twenty thousand?" she asked, incredulous. It was a ridiculous amount of gold, enough to buy a title and land and rise to nobility, and then have some gold left over too. She thought of the two hundred and fifty Ancano had paid her. Divines, that paled to what Motierre promised. So this was what the Night Mother wanted?
Motierre nodded. "In hard coin, for the Dark Brotherhood to spend as it wishes." Bricca saw the little nobleman smirk when he read her expression. He had her, and the Dark Family that surrounded her. Emperor Titus Mede II would die.
Table of Contents ||< Previous || Next >
Comments
I will have proper lit... more