*****

Fires were burning in the city. Guard patrols were out in force, streets and buildings were searched, and conflicts ignited. Rumors from people fleeing to their homes, or from them, were that the Emperor was dead, killed by Dunmer assassins while at the negotiating table. Others said the Blades betrayed the Emperor and struck him down. Some claimed Daedra had appeared and cursed the Emperor before igniting him in front of his own court. Factions of the Imperial Guard were fighting one another, sometimes in the streets. A contingent of ships from Morrowind had been lit on fire with their crews still aboard and the docks were a chaos of Imperial squads clashing, gang warfare, and looting. Official proclamations and posters indicated the Potentate had issued a decree of martial law and an immediate sundown curfew while his forces rooted out hidden enemies of the Empire and purged a group of traitors from Imperial forces.

Turil and his companion were tucked into the back corner of a public house, where they sat nursing ales and keeping a close watch on the other patrons trapped in the inn by the suddenly enforced curfew. They had ducked into the inn just ahead of an Imperial patrol arriving, who now appeared to be conducting house-to-house searches of the neighboring buildings.

Turil noticed his companion passing a small coin with an unrecognizable symbol to the innkeeper when he ordered their ales, but as the man hadn’t mentioned it, neither had Turil. The Nord scowled a bit at the other patrons – a fairly typical Nord behavior when drinking, and shook his head at the sounds of protests filtering through one of the shuttered windows from outside. A landowner was objecting to the treatment of his family, or his things, by the local patrol of Imperial troops.

Turil started to lean forward, and then decided to keep his shoulder as still as possible instead. “What’s your name?”

The Nord turned his scowl from another Nord across the room to direct it at Turil. “What?”

“I’m Turil. If I’m going to die from Dunmer lynching in a bit here, I’d at least like to exchange names with the person that rescued me from being drawn and quartered as one of the first Dunmer blamed for what happened tonight. Who are you?”

The Nord chuckled, “You can call me Mikael. Who I am is entirely a different matter.”

“Alright, why did you rescue me then?”

Mikael frowned at him, “This is not the time or the place for conversation. Not that one, and not any other one that I can think of.”

“OK, why are we here?”

The Nord’s eyes narrowed, “Saw that, did you? We’re waiting to be contacted. It should have been by now.” He frowned again. “I’m going to get us a room for the night.” With that, the big man stood, moving with just a bit of a stagger, but far too much balance for a drunk man, over to talk to the barkeep.

Barkeep looks nervous, Turil noted. Hope Mikael, or whatever his real name is, sees it.

Mikael staggered back over a few minutes later. He belched loudly, slammed his mug down, which Turil noted sloshed most of the contents onto the floor and table, and then picked up a knapsack that he had retrieved earlier from the second sewer tunnel. While picking it up, he said quietly to Turil, “We should be going.”

Turil looked at the Nord’s expression, shrouded as it was by the dim interior torchlight. The Nord glanced in the direction of the barkeep behind him, and Turil nodded. “Right then. Off to get some shuteye are we?”

The Nord grinned, “One way or another, yes.”

They moved up the stairs, weaving slightly, Mikael due to his “drunk” condition, and Turil just in an attempt to keep his shoulder from shifting any more than it needed to. Once they reached the third floor, Mikael produced a key and opened the last door on the left. The big Nord sighed as they entered the room. “I always ask for this room when I stay here. It has a lovely view of the city.” He nodded at the shuttered window on the far wall and motioned Turil toward it.

Turil crossed the room as Mikael shut and secured the door behind them. Unshuttering the window, he saw that it looked out over one of the side streets. The building across the way appeared to be a brothel. He turned back to make a snide comment, and saw Mikael flipping out a small drawer behind the headboard of a bed. He pulled a pair of daggers from it, a handheld crossbow, and a couple of small vials.

He looked at the big man curiously, “I would have expected a greatsword stashed under the bed, or at least a broadsword.”

Mikael grunted, “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Turil glanced at the daggers, “Do I get one of those?”

“No.”

Mikael walked over to him, all listing movement gone, and handed him one of the vials, “You do get this though.”

Turil examined it in the faint light coming through the window. There was magic in it, swirling in the depths of the liquid as it glinted in the moonlight.

“It will help your shoulder.”

Turil shrugged, lifting the vial in his remaining working hand. He pulled the cork with his teeth, spat it to one side, and then downed the vial in one gulp. Fire, fire in his shoulder and arm. Burning, scalding him; searing the nerves and muscles and… warmth; warmth and a fading pain that vanished in three breaths.

He experimentally moved his right shoulder. It was completely healed, without a trace of the lingering swelling, scarred tissue, or any of the noticeable side effects of standard potion magic. He flexed his fingers and worked the joints a few times.

He whistled low, “That’s not standard issue stuff.”

Mikael chucked, “No… no it’s not.”

Turil turned back toward the window, “This is your great view?”

Mikael nodded, and reached under the bed, “It looks better… when you… there it is.” He pulled out a curved slender long blade from beneath the old wood frame. “It looks better when you take a step out.” The big man stepped lightly up onto the window ledge, cradling the curved blade in front of him.

Turil frowned at the sight. “That’s an Akaviri blade you’re holding. I thought you didn’t have a sword stashed under the bed.”

“I never said that.” With that the big Nord stepped out of the window and dropped out of sight.

Not hearing a crash or a muffled thump on the street below, Turil peered out. Mikael was perched on a small ledge that ran in a perimeter around the building. It looked to be hard to see from the street, due to the way the roofline worked. Mikael pointed toward the corner where the ledge disappeared, and then gestured left. Turil nodded. A second later, he followed, closing the shutters on the window frame behind him before he dropped.

They moved carefully to a neighboring rooftop, only stopping on the other side for Mikael to point briefly downward toward a side entrance to the inn. The barkeep was there, talking to two of the Guard monitoring the streets. He was nodding, and pointing to a piece of parchment one of the Guards was holding.

He followed the big Nord in silence for quite a ways then, marveling that the man’s weight didn’t break roof tiles or cause massive creaking on the beams of old structures. Rooftop paths were second-hand to any decent thief, and like squirrels in the treetops, it paid to practice your routes. That practice had the unfortunate outcome of revealing your roadways and preferred paths to any other member of the thieving community, and so there was an uncomfortable give and take between “publically” travelled routes in the underground communities, and each individual or group’s secret routes. Turil was familiar with all of the public routes in the city, and many of the private ones. He had never seen this one.

At a building corner four stories up, the Nord dropped down into a low crouch next to the roof edge and waited for Turil to join him. Mikael pointed to a building entrance hidden in a low recessed corner across a small courtyard. He then gestured with the thieves sign for “target”, and then followed up with “wait/stop” and “threat near”.

Turil scanned the courtyard. He didn’t see any obvious danger or choice ambush spots. The entrance itself, while hard to see, looked to be very difficult to approach covertly at all. The entire area around it was a clear, open flagstone courtyard. He muttered a small cantrip to sense magicka, and while he wasn’t a great mage, he was fairly certain that the courtyard didn’t contain a large-scale spell of any sort. The buildings around the entrance were all flat roofs with little to no concealment, and the only good observation spots for the entire cluster of buildings around the courtyard was their current location, or possibly the building across an alley from them.

He waited one minute, then two, scanning the building across from them while Mikael sat still as a stone, waiting for him to respond. Finally he spotted something, a very slight vapor that shouldn’t have lifted from a shadow. Someone hadn’t concealed their breath as well as they should. The courtyard was being watched.

He signed back “see them/it” in response, and Mikael pointed back the way they came. He nodded and as they started to shift back away from the courtyard edge, he spotted the second shadow. It was behind them, following the same route they had used to approach the courtyard. And if they could see it, from that location it could definitely see them.

Then he fell. It was a sudden fall onto his back, pushed by a force like a man strong-arming him in the chest. A crossbow bolt flickered across his vision, inches away from his nose as he fell. That wasn’t even the most startling moment of his fall. He landed softly to cushion his fall out of reflex, but was momentarily distracted by what appeared to be the slight mirage of what looked like a wing fading out of sight out of the right corner of his eye. He tucked and rolled as soon as he recovered, giving up stealth for speed as the crossbow bolt made a distinctive ping off the tiles of the roof. Moving forward at a 45-degree angle toward his opponent, he stopped short as the figure’s structure crumpled. Mikael had taken advantage of the assassin’s focus on his target, and responded in kind. A crossbow bolt had punched a hole in the approaching figure’s chest, and it folded around the wound as it collapsed to the rooftop.

Turil then rolled to the side and dropped flat while spinning to present a narrow target to the other rooftop. Where had the other one gone? Had it moved? He could see nothing on the other roof, but he was far too exposed here. There was a route to cross between the rooftops six feet in front of his current flattened position, an extended beam that could easily be jumped. It was too close, and shadows guarded the building façade just before it. The other watcher could be on either roof, and the only location that was good concealment other than its original location was…

He charged the shadows guarding the façade in a rush, and dove to one side just before reaching them. There was a muffled curse as the man hiding in the shadows before him loosed his crossbow too soon, expecting the charging attack to continue on its trajectory. The missile went wide to his left. The other figure lunged forward, a dagger’s shape glinting in his hand as the man left the shadowed façade. Turil barrel-rolled to one side and snagged a loose bit of tile along the way. Throwing it forward as he stopped his roll, it hit his attacker in the face, causing the man to rock back from the impact for half a second. As the attacker recovered from the instinctive protective reaction, he suddenly stiffened. Mikael’s curved Akaviri blade emerged through his solar plexus.

Turil hadn’t even seen the big Nord approach. Mikael slid the man to the ground with the blade still in place. He couldn’t shout or make a substantial noise with the blade pinning his diaphragm. Turil turned away as Mikael knelt on the man’s limbs to keep any twitching from knocking a tile loose to the street below. Not that they had been all that quiet a moment before, but as Turil scanned the remaining rooflines and courtyard, he saw no signs of movement or alarm.

Moving back to where Mikael was quietly retrieving his blade from the now dead man, Turil signed “clear” to him. Mikael nodded and then pointed to the shadowed façade and beam reaching to the other building. They moved into the shadows and then into cover on the other roof.

Mikael pointed at the hidden building entrance across the street, and signed “Now.” He then slipped over the side of the building and disappeared toward the street below. Turil, following him over the side, saw that there was a path down - deliberately altered broken bricks and shifted stones were just enough out of place to slip down a narrow route to the ground. Once on the ground, Mikael nonchalantly walked out across the square and down the narrow steps to the concealed building entrance.

After they were both inside, Mikael flipped a bar down across the doorway entrance, and turned to Turil with a grin, “I like you… you make good bait.”

Turil grimaced, “A dagger would have come in really handy back there for me.”

Mikael shrugged.

Turil turned to face the entrance hallway, “Now what?”

“Now we wait. If we aren’t contacted in five minutes, we leave again through the front door.”

“Not through here?” Turil gestured at the hallway leading away to rooms in the building before them. It looked like a dilapidated building for poor sector apartments.

“Not unless you want to die. I wouldn’t leave the threshold here.”

Half a minute after that conversation concluded, there was a grinding sound below them. A portion of the threshold floor popped up, and a curly-headed Bosmer appeared to peer at them. He pointed at Mikael, “You’re late.”

“I was delayed. Where is your drunk?”

“Pulled in. You saw the watchers?”

“We met the watchers.”

The Bosmer raised an eyebrow.

Mikael gave him a flat look, “We are temporarily clear.”

“Good enough, this location is shot now anyway.” The Bosmer started climbing down what Turil could now see was a ladder descending down into what looked like another underground tunnel.

Turil looked at Mikael, who gestured at the hole. As the Dunmer started his descent, he commented to the Nord, “You people like sewers a lot.”

The Bosmer stepping off the ladder below him made a sour noise, “Don’t start the avalanche if you don’t want a fast ride down the mountain… we work with the conditions we have available.” The curly-haired elf then peered up at Mikael as he climbed down after them, “Who is this anyway?”

“He’s our ‘assassin’,” Mikael responded as he landed on the loose rock in the tunnel below.

The Bosmer paused and re-looked at Turil, “He’s responsible for all of this?”

“No.” The Nord sounded genuinely angry for a moment, “He’s not.”

“Then who…”

“WE are.” The Nord scowled and stalked off into the underground tunnel.

Turil, who had instinctively started to follow Mikael down the tunnel, stopped then. “So… this has gone on long enough. Why EXACTLY am I here?”

Mikael turned around and pointed a finger at him, “You are here to serve as the only other witness to the assassination of the Emperor Reman Cyrodiil III, and to corroborate my report to the Commander and First Blade. After that, you are free to go… and spend the rest of your life running from the Potentate’s assassins. He doesn’t like loose ends.” The Nord turned and continued stalking down the tunnel.

Turil shook his head, shrugged, and started walking after the Nord. The Bosmer followed next to him.

Turil turned to the wood elf. “So what exactly is ‘your drunk’?”

The Bosmer looked at him for a moment, and then shrugged, “Guess it doesn’t really matter anymore. That’s our all clear signal here, if there isn’t a drunk hanging out in the square, the location isn’t safe.” His small face grimaced, “Not that we have a lot of those left.”

*****

*****

On a windswept hill in the Akaviri highlands, a lone figure waited in silence for clouds to cross the moon.

Shikantoh stepped out of the shadows made by the two moons over a small cluster of trees. Her face was calm; serene, as she considered the hills that fell away before her. Her movements smooth and simple, she walked along the border between shadow and light, watching the lights of a city glimmering in the valley below.

She paused then, just on the edge of the treeline, resting her hand lightly on the hilt of her ancient Akaviri blade. Looking back to her left and right, she stepped away from the treeline into the open meadow before her and addressed the shadows in the trees, “Come and dance then, if you would… I have no patience for shy suitors.”

A shimmering of air, a fraction of moonlight rippling like a reflection on water, faded into the form of two winged twilights, their wings folded back, claws retracted as they slowly bowed their heads to the human figure. Their disturbing, almost beautifully perfect faces lifted to meet her gaze, then the one to her left spoke. “We watch your path, first blade. Only that. This has been decreed.”

Shikantoh nodded to her Daedric escort slowly, considering, “Then watch, and do not interfere with my judgement.”

The winged twilight bowed again silently in its almost beautiful, disturbingly otherworldly way, “Our Mistress sends her greetings, and instructs to tell you, ‘The gate swings both ways…’”

Shikantoh paused then for a moment, her dark eyes reflecting the two moons’ light as she considered them. Finally she reached some internal decision, removed her hand from her well-worn sword, and nodded. “If she offers aid for my task, then I thank her. I would open the gate.”

The winged twilight nodded silently in response, then the two Daedric creatures floated to within arms’ reach of one another. Their wings began flapping quickly, then faster still, while hovering motionlessly in the air facing one another… as if fighting some unseen wind that slowly blew them apart while leaving the trees around them motionless in the moonlight. Finally a split, a tear, seemed to form in the middle of their beating wings, as if moonlight itself had parted the night air. They hovered apart then by three or four paces, still straining their wings as if attempting to rush together.

Shikantoh a’Corei-kan, first blade of the Kisane-teth Akaviri Dragonguard, stepped between them, and into the realms of Oblivion.



Azura stepped from the hilltop silence, observing her two creatures as their flapping wings slowed, their breath heaving and the gap between them closing as the tear of moonlight faded. As they settled to their knees, she decided that they were still beautiful; still perfect to her. She approached their drooping forms and rested her hands lightly on their two inhuman, perfectly sculpted cheeks, tilting their chins to bring their attention to her face.

“Go with her. Stay with her until the end.” The twilight creatures lowered their eyes in deference, and then vanished.

Azura considered the city below in the nestled roots of the hills. She lifted her eyes to the familiar constellations of Nirn overhead, and then looked through the torn veil before her toward the Akaviri she had sent into the realms beyond. Why had she helped the human seek her goal? It wasn’t simply to undermine her brothers in their schemes or play an interesting new game with the curious creations of her so-called Aedra siblings.

Some who know themselves safe… Azura mused as she surveyed the hills of Akavir under the cascade of stars, …are about to learn a hard lesson. The realms were no longer protected from one another, due to schemes of power. And in response a judgement had just been unleased in the realms beyond Mundus, one that would perhaps catch Daedra, Gods and men in its measure. And it was not hate, or pride, or power that had driven Azura to make her choice – but something else. Something as ephemeral to Azura as the wider realms were to the weak, frail creatures of Mundus. Some absolute truths felt less substantial than they did a short while ago.

It felt like… change.

The Daedric Prince of Moonshadow considered this as she stepped through the moonlight, back to her own realm.


*** End of Vol 2 ***