Chapter 8: The Enemy of My Enemy
[5 days prior in Solitude]
The tavern door swung inward with enough force to crack against the wall.
A few heads turned at the sound, but Yaza paid them no mind. Heat washed over her as she stepped inside, carrying with it the stink of pipe smoke, roasted meat, spilled mead, and too many bodies packed beneath one roof. Somewhere beside the hearth, a bard plucked lazily at the strings of his lute, fighting a losing battle against drunken laughter and the clatter of tankards.
Yaza heard none of it.
Her eyes had already found him.
Tharun sat comfortably at a table near the back of the tavern, looking so utterly at ease that the sight alone was enough to make her blood run hot.
He wasn't alone.
An Argonian sat across from him, dressed considerably finer than the dockworkers Yaza had seen crawling around the city. A leather satchel rested against his chair. Between them, Tharun slid a small pouch across the table.
The Argonian scooped it up.
Coin.
Yaza's eyes narrowed.
She knew him.
Gulum-Ei.
Whatever business the two had been conducting was apparently finished. The Argonian tucked the payment away, offered Tharun a shallow nod, and turned toward the door.
Then he saw her.
His stride faltered.
Yaza kept walking.
Gulum-Ei shifted to one side to pass her, but Yaza made no such effort. Her shoulder crashed squarely into his chest, sending the Argonian stumbling into the edge of a nearby table. Tankards jumped from the impact. One tipped over, spilling ale into the lap of an unfortunate patron.
A curse followed him.
Gulum-Ei caught himself and looked back.
Yaza looked back too.
Whatever words had been gathering behind the Argonian's teeth died there. He straightened his clothes instead and hurried for the door.
Yaza continued toward the table.
Tharun calmly reached out and steadied one of the cups Gulum-Ei had disturbed.
"You."
His eyes lifted.
Yaza lunged across the table.
Her hand shot for his throat, fingers already curling around the empty space between them.
She never touched him.
Tharun merely flicked two fingers.
Green-gold light twisted into existence above the table.
Yaza stopped.
The spell gathered itself into the translucent shape of a kneeling Orc. Bruises stained his face. Heavy iron shackles hung from his wrists, their chains trailing beyond the boundaries of the illusion into nothingness.
For the first time since entering the tavern, the fury vanished from Yaza's face.
Her hand remained suspended mere inches from Tharun's throat.
"Nagrub…"
Tharun smiled.
"Why don't you have a seat, hm?"
Yaza didn't move.
She could kill him.
The thought came with startling simplicity. Her hand was already there. One movement. One squeeze. She could crush his windpipe before half the drunken fools surrounding them even realized a fight had begun.
Then her eyes shifted back toward Nagrub.
The chains hanging from his wrists gave a faint rattle.
Yaza slowly withdrew her hand.
The chair complained beneath her weight as she dragged it back and dropped into it.
"The fuck is this?" she snarled. "I thought we had an arrangement."
Tharun glanced toward the tiny figure between them as though he'd nearly forgotten it was there.
"One you became distracted from."
A lazy wave of his hand snuffed the spell away.
Nagrub disappeared.
Yaza's eyes snapped back to him.
"I'm merely offering a reminder of what's important."
"I would've never taken this fucking job if I knew—"
"Yes, yes." Tharun sighed. "Dirty tricks. Dishonorable tactics. Cowardice. I'm sure there's an Orcish proverb somewhere that adequately expresses your displeasure."
The wood beneath Yaza's fingers creaked.
Tharun noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"But let's make something clear."
He leaned forward, and the trace of amusement disappeared from his face.
"This may be a field trip away from Daddy for you, but for me…"
His voice lowered until Yaza could barely hear him beneath the noise of the tavern.
"…this is deadly serious."
For a long moment, they simply stared at one another.
Yaza could feel her pulse beating behind her eyes. Every part of her wanted to reach across that table again. Tharun knew it too. That was what made the bastard's calm so unbearable. There was no ward between them. No guards standing at his shoulders. Nothing stopping her from reaching across the few feet separating them and breaking him apart.
Nothing except Nagrub.
Then, as though their conversation had become too tedious to warrant another moment of his undivided attention, Tharun leaned back and raised two fingers toward a passing barmaid.
"Another."
The woman approached with a bottle tucked beneath one arm and an easy smile on her face.
Yaza watched her take the empty cup.
Watched her replace it.
Watched her uncork the bottle.
Tharun said nothing.
The ale began to pour.
A thin amber stream splashed against the bottom of the glass and slowly climbed its sides.
Yaza's fist tightened beneath the table.
Halfway.
The tavern seemed louder now. Chairs scraping against floorboards. Men laughing. Firewood popping in the hearth. The bard's fingers wandering from one chord to another.
Three quarters.
Tharun simply sat there.
Waiting.
The barmaid topped off the glass.
"Anything else?"
"No."
His eyes never left Yaza.
The woman smiled and disappeared back into the crowd, blissfully unaware of how close the table she'd just served was to becoming a grave.
Only then did Tharun reach for his drink.
"Three weeks."
Yaza's jaw flexed.
"And then what?"
No answer.
Tharun lifted the glass but didn't drink.
Instead, he rolled his wrist slowly, sending the ale circling around the inside.
Once.
Twice.
Something moved beneath the foam.
Yaza's eyes dropped toward it.
At first it was little more than a distortion in the amber, a shadow bending strangely with the movement of the drink.
Then she saw the chains.
Her body went still.
Nagrub's tiny form rolled through the swirling ale, curled against the bottom of the glass with his shackled wrists drawn close to his body.
Yaza's breath caught.
It was barely a sound.
Barely even a movement.
But Tharun saw it.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
He brought the glass to his lips.
Yaza watched the image of her brother rise with the ale until it distorted, broke apart, and disappeared against Tharun's mouth.
He drank.
Slowly.
Then swallowed.
When he lowered the glass again, there was nothing left inside but ale.
Tharun released a quiet breath of satisfaction.
"Do try not to disappoint me…"
He set the glass gently upon the table.
"…again."[Current Day]
For several seconds, no one moved.
The scrape of steel had been the only answer to Yaza's arrival.
Taviiah stood nearest to Eradros, dagger already drawn. Delphine had moved almost simultaneously, blade held low at her side as she placed herself between the Orc and Esbern. Gav's axe was already in hand, the other hand hanging loosely beside him.
Yaza looked from one face to the next.
Then down at the collection of weapons pointed in her direction.
Her brow rose.
"Nice to see I'm remembered, but that ain't how you welcome an old friend."
"How did you get in here?" Delphine demanded.
Yaza glanced at her.
"One foot in front the other…right behind you."
Delphine's grip tightened around her sword.
"Easy." Yaza raised both hands, though the grin tugging at her mouth made the gesture anything but reassuring. "You'll make me nervous."
"Good," Taviiah said.
That drew Yaza's attention.
The two women stared at one another for a moment with burning recognition.
Yaza's grin widened.
"Still angry?"
Taviiah took a step forward.
"Won't happen twice, I promise."
"Taviiah."
Eradros's voice stopped her.
Not because he'd asked particularly forcefully. He hadn't. His eyes hadn't left Yaza since she'd appeared.
Something was wrong.
The last time he'd seen the Orc, she'd just slain a blood dragon to get to him. There had been no conversation. No warning then.
Now she'd walked directly into Sky Haven Temple and announced herself to a room full of people who had every reason to kill her.
And she was using her words.
Yaza seemed to notice his scrutiny.
The humor left her face as she pointed at Eradros.
"You."
Eradros blinked.
"Me," she continued. "Outside."
Taviiah actually laughed.
It was short and utterly humorless.
"Absolutely fucking not."
Yaza didn't so much as look at her.
"Not a question."
"Yet somehow you got an answer."
"Taviiah—"
"No." She shifted closer to Eradros, keeping herself firmly between him and Yaza. "Minevi would kill me if I let you out of my sight with that woman."
Yaza folded her arms.
"Do your girlfriends always fight your battles for you?"
Eradros's mouth opened.
Gav beat him to it.
"Your skull would be cracked already if his girlfriend were here, trust me."
A beat passed.
Yaza looked between them.
"Oh."
Eradros closed his eyes.
"Don't."
Yaza's grin returned.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were going to."
"I was thinking it though."
"Keep it that way."
For the briefest moment, some of the tension bled from the room.
Only some.
Delphine certainly hadn't lowered her weapon.
"Nobody is going anywhere," she said. "Not until someone tells me what this is about."
Yaza's expression hardened again.
"That's between me and the elf."
Yaza's eyes flicked toward Delphine.
Then back to Eradros.
"I'm not asking twice."
Taviiah's dagger rose another inch.
"And I'm not—"
"Taviiah."
This time, Eradros put a hand on her shoulder.
She turned toward him.
"You cannot seriously be considering this."
He looked past her.
Yaza stood near the entrance, arms folded, watching them argue over her. She had found her way inside without any of them noticing. Whatever else she might be planning, she'd chosen to announce herself.
"You could've attacked me," he said.
Yaza's eyes narrowed slightly.
Taviiah frowned. "Eradros."
"Hold on." His gaze remained on the Orc. "She got inside. Could've waited until I was alone. Put an axe through the back of my skull before anyone knew she was here."
Yaza tilted her head.
"Still could."
Taviiah's dagger shifted.
Yaza sighed.
"Joke."
"Not your strength," Gav muttered.
Eradros studied her a moment longer, then stepped around Taviiah.
Delphine caught his arm.
"Wait."
He stopped and looked at her. Her sword remained drawn at her side.
"She follows us into this place, refuses to explain herself, and you're going to let her take you outside?"
"I'm going to let her talk."
"She can talk here."
"Apparently not."
Delphine's grip tightened.
Eradros glanced toward Yaza. She stared back impatiently, but made no move to hurry him.
"If she wanted a fight, she's had plenty of chances to start one," he said.
"That doesn't mean this isn't a trap."
"No. It doesn't."
He faced Delphine again.
"But I'd like to hear what she came to say."
Delphine searched his expression. He let her, making no attempt to pull away.
Finally, she released his arm.
"The courtyard," she said. "No farther."
Eradros nodded.
Behind her, Taviiah still looked ready to object. His eyes met hers.
"I'll be right outside."
"That's close enough for me to hear you scream."
"Comforting."
"It wasn't meant for you."
Yaza rolled her eyes.
Eradros adjusted the bow across his shoulder and walked toward her. As he passed, he stopped.
"Try anything—"
"Yeah, yeah."
"I was going to say Taviiah will kill you."
Yaza glanced toward the Redguard, unimpressed.
"And Gav will make your corpse our pack mule."
"Sure you'd make a good one."
Gav hadn't dismissed the axe. He rested it against his shoulder, a wide grin spreading across his face as his eyes traveled over her.
Yaza stared at him for a moment.
Then she looked back down at Eradros.
"You lot done?"
He walked past her and out into the mountain air.
After a moment, Yaza followed.
[Meanwhile]
Far from Sky Haven, Kin and the others followed the road out of the marshlands, their shadows lengthening on the road behind them.
Kin made it as far as the stream before Minevi stepped into his path.
"Sit down."
He looked past her. The road curved uphill through the trees, still pale enough to follow in the fading light.
"I'm fine," he said, eyes betraying him. "We've got a lot of road left."
"You're bleeding into your boot."
Kin glanced down. A dark line had worked its way beneath the leather, gathering along the sole.
He wasn't going to fight her this time. He huffed, then took a seat on a nearby rock.
Behind him, Passha lowered their supplies onto a flat stone.
She threw back her hood, ruffling the colorful feathers on her head loose before taking a seat herself. She probably wouldn't say it aloud, but she was glad for the stop.
Soon after, they had a fire going. Damp wood hissed beneath it, sending smoke between the branches overhead.
Kin sat on a fallen trunk with his injured leg stretched out. Minevi knelt beside him, carefully working the blood-stiffened fabric away from the wound. He watched her hands until movement at his other side drew his attention.
Bhishiir crouched beside the metal arm.
"Raise it."
Kin did. Something clicked beneath the elbow, followed by a faint grinding sound.
The Khajiit's ears twitched with intrigue.
"Again."
Minevi looked up.
"Can that wait?"
"Maybe," he replied, eyes never leaving the arm. "But the next peril we face will not."
"That's why I'm here."
He didn't respond with words. Just a huff before taking a hand off the arm.
Kin lowered it slowly.
Both of them looked at him.
"Leg first," he said.
Bhishiir held his gaze for a moment, then settled back on his heels.
"As you wish."
Minevi returned to the wound. When she pulled the cloth free, Kin's thigh tightened beneath her hand. He immediately tensed up, a bit surprised at the severity of the wound.
"Sorry," he said through gritted teeth. "It's really raw."
"You're allowed to say ow," she said, reaching for a clean cloth. "Just hold still."
"I'm trying."
He looked at her, but she was already reaching for the water.
Across the fire, Passha broke a dead branch against her knee, then fed the pieces into the fire one by one.
For a while, the crackle of the flame was the only conversation.
—
Bhishiir eventually got his chance to tend to the arm, and he wasted no time doing so.
"Open your hand."
Kin spread the metal fingers.
"Close it."
He made a fist. Bhishiir held the wrist, feeling something shift beneath the plating.
"Any pain?"
"No."
"Here?"
A claw pressed near the attachment.
Kin flinched.
Bhishiir glanced up.
"That," he said, "would be a yes."
"It's sore."
"Sore is useful information. Brave silence is considerably less so."
Kin rolled his eyes but said nothing. He knew Bhishiir was right. He just wasn't in the mood to hear it.
A small tool disappeared into the seam beneath Kin's elbow. Bhishiir turned it, paused, then turned it back a fraction.
Minevi sat opposite them with her shield across her knees.
She had been staring at the dent for some time.
Now she slipped her hand beneath the inner strap and tried to pull it taut. Pain caught in her shoulder. She stopped, waited, and tried again.
Kin noticed. Seeing Minevi struggling with it, with anything, was a bit unusual. Still, he wanted to help if he could.
"Let me."
"I've got it."
The strap slipped from her fingers.
Neither spoke.
Then Minevi rose and brought the shield over.
Kin braced it between his knees. With his left hand, he fed the leather through the buckle and pulled it snug.
Minevi watched his fingers. Despite having a new arm, he was still heavily dependent on his real one.
He handed the shield back and let her try it on.
"Too tight?" he asked.
She tested the strap.
"Not at all. That'll do just fine."
She stayed standing beside him for a moment longer, almost talking herself out of speaking.
"Back there—"
Kin looked up.
Minevi's eyes drifted to the metal arm resting in Bhishiir's hands.
"Thank you."
His expression softened a little.
"Are you kidding?" he said, faintly smiling at her. "You'd have definitely done it for me."
She looked down at the shield.
"Yes," she said. "I would have."
Bhishiir's tool stopped moving.
Minevi glanced at him, waiting.
Whatever he saw in her face persuaded him to return to his work. He knew he'd given her a lot to chew on and didn't intend to stir the hornet's nest again.
—
Once Bhishiir finally cut him loose, Kin made his way to the side of the road and crouched at the stream just next to it.
The bandage pulled when he bent his knee. He shifted his weight and dipped his left hand into the water, rubbing dried blood from between his fingers.
Some of it took more effort than he expected.
Footsteps disturbed the gravel behind him. Then he saw a second reflection in the water next to his.
It was Passha.
She lowered herself onto a stone within reach and held out a cloth.
He looked at it, then took it without saying a word.
She sat beside him listening to the stream, watching their reflections dance on the water's surface.
Neither spoke until Kin broke the silence with a deep breath.
"Minevi send you?"
"No."
"Bhishiir?"
"No one sent me, child," she said flatly. "I am simply here."
Kin sighed through his nose. He wished someone had sent her. At least then, he wouldn't have to answer the inevitable question hanging between them.
Passha watched the water.
Behind them, something metallic tapped against stone. Bhishiir was still working with his tools. Minevi said something too quietly for either of them to hear.
Kin scrubbed at the crease beneath his thumbnail.
After a while, he finally spoke up.
"You were going to ask me something, yeah?"
"I've asked already," she replied calmly. "But what I really want to know now is why it bothers you so."
He stopped.
The stream tugged at the loose edge of the cloth.
"Because I don't know what he meant," he said, pausing to find the right words to follow. "But I can't shake the feeling that whatever he meant, he wasn't just talking out of his ass."
Silence hung between them for a moment. Then Passha looked out into the distance while crossing her legs.
"Thought so."
Kin glanced at her.
She didn't return it. She simply rested her elbows loosely on her knee.
"Thought so," he said. "That's it?"
"What else would you like me to say?"
He looked back at his hand.
"Something to the contrary, maybe."
She shook her head.
"We both know I'd be lying. I'm as curious as you are."
Kin didn't respond. After all, she was right. There was no sense in trying to hope it away now.
Then Passha reached out and caught his wrist.
Kin's eyes lifted sharply.
"Enough," she said. "Scrub any more and the cat will have to make you another prosthetic."
He looked down.
The blood was gone, but he had rubbed the skin beneath his thumb raw.
Passha released him.
From the fire, Minevi called that there was food.
Kin rinsed the cloth once more. He watched the water run clear through it, then wrung it out.
When he stood, Passha stood with him.
She waited while he found his balance, then together, they went back.
[Back at Sky Haven Temple — Outer Courtyard]
Eradros stopped a few paces from the courtyard wall and turned to face her.
Yaza glanced back toward the entrance.
"Your friends really going to stay in there?"
"Sure," he said, already tired of her. "Long as I don't scream ouch too loudly."
"Fucking hilarious," she said, clearly unamused. "Hope you haven't been surviving off jokes alone."
"My survival isn't what you should be worried about."
Her eyes narrowed. Eradros stood with his hands loose at his sides, watching her. When she stepped closer, he held his ground.
"You seemed smarter when you were running."
"And you seemed like the type that doesn't waste time."
Her jaw tightened.
For a moment, neither moved. Wind tugged at his cloak, lifting its edge away from the blade at his hip.
Yaza noticed it.
"You think you're ready for me?"
"If that's why we're out here, let's find out."
That caught her off guard—only slightly.
"Otherwise," he continued, "cut the shit and get to the point."
She looked deeper into his eyes. There was no bluff behind them.
"Well?"
Yaza folded her arms, her fingers gripping the leather at her elbows. She opened her mouth, stopped, and drew a slow breath through her nose.
Eradros's expression remained unchanged.
She hesitated a moment longer, brow furrowing as she gathered her words, then she sighed.
"I need your help."
This almost made Eradros laugh. He turned away from her, facing the mountains surrounding them.
"And what makes you think you have any friends here?"
Yaza rolled her eyes. She wanted to snap, but instead, she took a deep breath.
"I think you'll want to know what…who exactly I need help with."
Eradros gave her an incredulous grin.
"Is that right?" he responded, almost mockingly. "I'm listening…"
Yaza stepped closer, arms folded.
"Are you familiar with an Altmer by the name Tharun?"
That wiped the grin from his face instantly. He knew that name all too well. He turned to look at her, and now she was the one wearing the grin.
"Hm. Thought that might get your attention."
Chapter End—