They sat close to the tiny fire they’d started, well hidden in a shallow depression in the rocks. In spite of having put her hood back on, and wrapping both her cape and the long scarf around her, the cold was starting to bother Sayma and she shivered.
After leaving Ben Erai they had headed across the sand to Arenar’s oasis, then west toward the mountains, agreeing that being next to them would be to their advantage in case they needed to gain height quickly. Past the mouth of the box canyon leading to the Halls of the West the mountains took a sudden turn, stretching back to the east and blocking their way; and there was nothing for it but to skirt their edge, looking for a way to continue north.
They had done just that, pushing forward until finally the mountains dwindled to just a ridge of stone rising out of the sand and they were able to cross it. It was nearly full dark by then, so Brynjolf had gathered a few dead branches and made the small fire beside which they sat, and Sayma had pulled some bread and cheese out of her pack and shared it with him as they sat in the quiet.
“So I answered your question,” Brynjolf said out of nowhere, surprising her. “When are you going to answer mine?”
Sayma looked at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Back in Falkreath. You asked me ‘why’ and I gave you the best answer I have. And I also said that I could ask you the same question.”
“Bryn, I…”
“You owe me.” His voice was quiet, but intense, and he turned to stare at her as he spoke. “You really do. You know it. My life changed that day and I want to know why. A chest of gems is nice, but you know it’s not enough.”
Sayma shuddered again, not from the cold this time. It was so hard to come up with an explanation that sounded remotely sane, even to her. She sighed, and he shook his head.
“I’m not backing down. I was ready to drain you dry over this before I knew it was you. I want to know why.”
“I know, Bryn. I know.” She glanced at him. “That was one of the most terrifying moments I’ve ever had, do you know that?”
Brynjolf paused, examining her, clearly weighing what he would say next. “I’m sure it was. But the reason it happened was the question I need you to answer. Why? What possible reason made you just… walk away from us?”
From “us,” Bryn? Do you mean the Guild? Or us, our marriage? Does that even matter to you anymore? Can I even find words for you?
She gazed at him. Even in the dark, his eyes shone a vivid green that twisted her heart into knots. I need to at least try. Maybe you won’t accept it as a valid reason but at least I need to talk.
“It won’t even make sense unless I go way back. To Mercer Frey, even.”
Brynjolf frowned at her. “What about him?”
“Do you remember Bronze Water Cave?” I know you do. That was burned into my mind and it had to have been into yours as well. Please tell me you remember.
He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Of course.”
“I told you I wanted to kill him.”
Brynjolf turned away from her, poked the fire with a stick, stirred up the embers a bit and added a couple additional branches to it.
“And I told you that I did, too.”
“But I wanted to kill him in the same way you wanted to kill the Listener for not giving you the truth. Like some kind of animal. I wanted to rip him apart, Bryn. It was all I could think of, the whole time we were there. I wanted to taste his blood, see it on my blade. I wanted to watch him die in fear.”
Brynjolf was silent for several moments, and she could see him passing that information through his mind and rolling it around.
“It must be obvious that I understand that feeling. That doesn’t explain why you left.”
“It wasn’t the first time I’d felt like that. And it got worse after Mercer was gone. You kept telling me not to kill, not to kill, and I just wanted to more and more. It was like a voice in my ear. It’s why I know the voice saying ‘come to me’ right now isn’t my father, because some of what I heard back then was my father. I don’t even want to describe what I did for Torsten Cruel-Sea. It was driving me crazy, Bryn. I was afraid. Of myself. And then…”
The words started spilling out of her, then, all the things she had wanted to share with him all that time before but hadn’t dared to. Grelod the Kind. Astrid. Cicero. The Night Mother. The fire at the Sanctuary. There were so many things, and it felt so good to finally have them said even as it hurt so badly to rip them out into the open once more.
Again there was a long hesitation before Brynjolf spoke.
“And you couldn’t have told me about it? Couldn’t we have worked something out together?” His voice was calm, but he sounded sad, subdued.
And this is the hard part. This is the shameful part.
“I found out I was pregnant, Bryn.” Her voice caught, and she was grateful that it was dark and he wouldn’t be able to see the fat tears building in her eyes. “I’d been…”
He sighed in the dark, looking away over the hillside so that she couldn’t see his face. She was grateful for that.
“With Roggi. I know. I knew it would happen, before we ever got married. I hoped it wouldn’t, but I wasn’t surprised that it did.”
She swallowed hard, and had to work to force her voice out. “There’s no excuse for that, Bryn, and I know it, and if I could change a single thing about my life that’s what I would change. When I figured out why I was sick, I panicked. All I could think about was what would happen if my son had blonde hair.” She tried to clear her throat. “I’m so sorry, but I was afraid. Of you. Of all of it. I had to run away. Looking back now, it makes no sense – but that’s what I was thinking.” She sniffled. In spite of herself the tears standing in her eyes were threatening to run down her nose. “I was only thinking about myself. And I’m sorry.”
Brynjolf rose from the fire and walked a few paces away. He stood still for a few moments, then scooped up a stone from the ground and threw it as hard as he could at the mountainside. It ricocheted off the rocks, making a resounding crack that echoed for several moments.
“Damn it!” he growled. “Gods damn it, and my father, and me for being my father’s son.”
What is this?
“Bryn, come back to the fire. It’s cold.”
He returned, and sat down next to her, closer than he had been before but not touching. Still she could feel the heat radiating from him and was comforted.
“What was that about?”
He looked at her and shook his head. “My father was a hard man. He had a terrible temper, and he didn’t like me at all. I learned how to steal things as just a wee lad and he hated me for it. I got away as soon as I could. I wanted to stay alive. I always hoped maybe I’d turn out better than him but it seems I didn’t.”
He picked up a stick and poked at the fire again, angrily, sparks erupting from it and flying up through the air.
“I told you I was careful about feeding, when I was a vampire. Well, I tried to be careful, when I thought about it. I forgot a lot of the time, just like I forgot to cast the illusion spell. That’s how I ended up being a Nightlord.” He started to say something else, then closed his mouth, then started again. “I guess I’m not surprised that you were afraid.”
Oh Bryn. I’m sorry.
“I had no idea. All I knew was that you’d lost your temper with me the one time, and that was bad enough. I’d have been doubly afraid if I’d known what Roggi really is. But mostly I was afraid of myself, Bryn.” She looked into the fire and hesitated. “I… have to tell you something else. And I don’t know how.”
He snorted. “Just say it. It can’t be any worse than everything else we’ve had to tell each other.”
Well now he’ll hear what kind of a monster he married.
“Well, you know that the Emperor was killed.”
“Of course I do, everybody…” He stopped and turned to stare at her. “What is this?”
The words tumbled out of her. It was a dam breaking, the thing she had most wanted to be able to tell someone; and here he was, the one person most likely to understand it and at the same time most likely to be hurt by it. She couldn’t stop herself.
“It was me, Bryn. I killed him. It was just after that awful fire at the Falkreath Sanctuary. And the worst of it was that it was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know what I was thinking, carrying a child and doing that kind of work except that I knew I could do it and the Night Mother wanted it done. Nazir, Babette, Cicero and I were all that was left. I felt like I had to. We saved the Thieves Guild, Brynjolf – you, me, and Karliah. I had to do something for the Brotherhood. It was almost dead as well. And she chose me. The Night Mother. Of all the people in the world, she chose me to speak to. They listened to me. They wanted me. They looked to me.” She shook her head. “I know you all chose me in the Guild but it wasn’t like Nocturnal picked me. This was the Night Mother, Bryn. And… it still sounds pitiful, doesn’t it.”
It was silent for several long minutes, only the occasional snap of a branch in the fire making a sound. Finally Brynjolf reached for a water skin and took a sip.
“You assassinated the Emperor.”
“Yes. And all his guards. I killed them all.” She looked sideways at him. “And I enjoyed it.”
“I’m not sure what to say,” he mumbled.
“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m just very sorry. For all of it, and for what happened afterward, and for Andante…”
“Vitus,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Vitus Perdeti. Don’t be sorry about him.” He turned to look at her. “And don’t be sorry about Roggi. Listen, I’ve had years now to think about that. Roggi’s my friend. It was in the past. It’s done. You needed him, and he needed you. And I needed Vitus.”
She shivered. I’m so stupid with the cold. This is ridiculous.
He sighed, and moved next to her, putting one arm around her shoulders.
“Here. Get warm. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still angry that you left. But there’s no reason for you to freeze to death when I’m right here.”
Sayma shivered more, and wasn’t certain whether she was shivering from the cold, or from Brynjolf’s touch. But he was warm, and the fire was warm, and she found herself calming and relaxing in spite of herself. Maybe Mother was right. Maybe Bryn and Roggi would have taken care of me no matter what my son’s hair looked like. Maybe I was foolish to have been afraid.
An odd thought passed through her mind, causing her to glance at him. He was staring at the fire, frowning.
He hasn’t called me “lass.” Not a single time.
__
It was still early in the morning when they descended onto the sand once more and continued on their way. It was much closer to due west that they walked than Sayma had expected, and she wondered whether or not they should go north instead; but the plan had been to stay near the mountains and it seemed better to stick to it.
After a time they neared what was clearly a Dwemer ruin, tucked up into the side of the nearest mountain. Brynjolf ran up the steps onto the first of several landings, and then called back down to her.
“Are we going in?”
She pulled the map out of her pack and stared at it. There was no such ruin marked on it, and she didn’t remember Syloria having mentioned such a thing. Sayma waved Brynjolf back down the stairs and shook her head at him.
“I don’t think so, Bryn. Syloria, the officer back in Ben Erai, told me about two places we need to find, and they were both to the north, not the west.”
“Why are we heading west, then?” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“Because there was one other place she mentioned, specifically because I’m Redguard, and that was to the northwest. An old temple, she said, if I remember properly.” She looked up at the Dwemer ruin, and the part of her that was a dedicated thief started making its argument for going in. Dwemer ruins always had things of worth in them.
“Maybe we should go in anyway? We might be able to find some amount of wealth.”
Brynjolf also looked up at the shining domes of the place, and she recognized the same expression of avarice on his face that she knew she must be wearing. Then he shook his head.
“No. It’s tempting, but we can’t spend any more time here than we need to. Besides, I can’t imagine that this place hasn’t been picked clean over the years. If what you’ve said is true, they probably needed the coin for trading.”
“You’re right. Well maybe we’ll go in some day when everything at home has calmed down again.”
“Aye. Maybe we will.”
They started trotting along in the sand once more. From atop the next highest dune, they could see a huge building to the east. She pointed to it.
“I’m sure that’s one of the places we need to go. Positive of it.”
“Should we go there now, then?”
She shook her head. “No. I want to go find the temple. We should be almost there by now. We’ll come back to this complex here later.”
“Alright. That sounds reasonable.”
They headed out to the northwest again, hugging the edge of the mountains, keeping near the places where they could leap to a higher vantage point to escape danger. Sayma stole a glance at Brynjolf and smiled. We always have worked well together. It’s good to know that hasn’t changed in spite of everything.
They reached the place where the mountains turned east again in an unbroken line. On the relatively flat area before this corner of the two ranges stood a structure that was unmistakably an old temple, ringed by tall towers with open decks beneath elegant, rounded domes. There were palms growing within the outer walls, speaking of water inside. She pointed down toward it.
“That’s got to be it. Let’s go.”
But Brynjolf grabbed at her arm and held her back.
“What in Oblivion is that thing?”
There was a huge creature scuttling back and forth between them and the temple. It reminded Sayma of a chaurus, the large insects bred by Falmer in their caves; but it was larger than a chaurus and a bronzed, sandy color that blended into the desert. If not for its movement, she might have walked straight into its path and never seen it. As she stared at it, more movement caught her eye.
“I’m going to guess that’s a Dune Ripper. I’ll try to hit it from here. There’s another one down past it, as well, do you see him? But watch for fireballs. I don’t know about you but I’m not fond of them.”
“No. Neither am I.”
Sayma pulled out her bow, moved to a better vantage point, and took aim at the nearer of the creatures. The arrow landed squarely in its shell; but to her dismay it barely slowed the beast down. It turned and started rushing in her direction. She took another shot at it, which missed because it had caught sight of Brynjolf and turned just as she’d loosed the arrow. She saw a flicker of light at its mandibles and feared it was getting ready to spit fire. Even worse, she looked beyond it and saw yet a third Dune Ripper crawling up over the sand ridge toward them.
“Three of them, Bryn,” she called out.
“I’m on it,” he answered. She didn’t look at him, but saw another arrow whizzing down the slope to catch the second creature squarely.
She managed to kill the first of the insects after several more shots, and saw arrows reaching the third one far below. She turned to see that Brynjolf had done exactly what he said he’d do; he had taken the high ground atop a rock outcropping and was firing at the beasts as fast as he could. The remaining insect had turned back toward her, though, so she fired four more arrows at it in quick succession, finally dropping it.
Brynjolf jumped down and came to meet her.
“That was well done. And not a single fireball,” he said, grinning.
“No. I think we were too fast for them.” She smiled back at him. “Let’s go see what’s in this temple.”
They passed the corpses of the dune rippers. Sayma couldn’t help but shudder at the size of them. They glistened, their enormous segmented bodies almost a metallic hue in the increasingly bright sun. She examined one of them and gathered a sample of its blood.
“That’s for…?”
“I don’t know. Maybe potions? It seems worth getting some. Babette knows a lot more about alchemy than I do; maybe she can do something with it.”
“Heh,” he said. “Or Roggi. Did you know he’s pretty good at poisons himself?”
Sayma shivered. “I’m not surprised, but it still bothers me to think of him doing that kind of work, Bryn. He’s such a sweet man.”
“At least on the surface,” Brynjolf mumbled. “At least nobody ever has to wonder about me.”
Sayma stared at him for a moment and burst out laughing. “You are kidding, right? You, the guy in the fancy clothes selling fake elixirs to hopeful people in the marketplace? I’m sure they all look right through that and see a thief. Really, Red.”
He glared at her for a moment. Then his face relaxed and he chuckled. “Alright, I get your point.”
They reached the open end of the Temple and walked in, slowly. The place was exquisite. In spite of being ancient it was in excellent repair with only one or two of its elaborately carved pillars having toppled over the eons. The tile flooring, even with sand drifts here and there and grass growing up through dried and cracked grout, was still beautiful, the palest of green with an occasional pattern in white. Palms and a few other succulents clung to life in the old planters, untouched in ages but still clearly receiving moisture from somewhere beneath. The sun through the trees and through the latticework panels left elaborate shadows on the floor; and in spite of the rising heat of the day it was cool inside the temple’s walls. It was quiet, and peaceful.
The open corridor they’d entered led to an enclosed plaza, tiled but for the planted areas far at the end. There was an open structure in the plaza’s center, an enormous gazebo of sorts with a courtyard surrounding it; to the left was a fountain, still bubbling with the water that showed this to be an oasis. To the right was a well, in remarkably good repair, with cactuses and ferns growing around its base. Sayma turned to the left and passed the fountain, following the tiled pathway along the outer walls.
In each of the corners beyond the gazebo was a chest. Sayma opened them, and looked at their contents; but aside from a few coins in each there was nothing of any significance.
“Hmm. So why am I here, then?”
She entered the central structure. The room was tall, and serene, with ornate mosaics and latticework on the walls and a platform in its center holding a huge, curious structure with blank sides. Over her head was a dome in spectacular shades of orange, red, yellow and green. Before her was a low table with three books on it. She picked up each to find that they were spell tomes for basic spells in each of the schools of elemental magic: fire, ice, and lightning.
Sayma wandered around the gazebo for some time, trying to figure out what to do.
It’s in there, in the middle, whatever it is I’m supposed to find. The books have something to do with it, but I already know these spells. What is it? I don’t see anything in here that gives me a clue.
“Maybe there’s something you can’t see,” Brynjolf murmured from behind her, making her jump.
“I didn’t hear you come in. Don’t scare me like that,” she grumbled.
“Well now you’ve seen me sneak up on a mark,” he said. “Or rather, you haven’t seen me. Nor heard me, either. What about that spell of yours? The one that showed the portal in Falkreath?”
Her mouth fell open.
“Of course. Of course that’s what it is.”
She stood well back from the structure and cast Ancient Vision, which erupted noisily as usual. There, on three sides of the room, were three small pillars that had not been there before. She approached the first, quickly, knowing how little time she had before Ancient Vision would dissipate. At roughly shoulder height, the pillar was engraved with the symbol of a lightning bolt.
“Ok, even I can figure this out.”
She gathered her magic and cast Lightning at the pillar. In the center of the room, the blank walls began to sink down; they retracted about a third of their total height and then ground to a stop. Ancient Vision dissipated with its usual loud explosion, and the lightning bolt pillar was gone.
Sayma repeated the process twice more, first on the Fire pillar and then on the Ice pillar. As the walls reached their lowest extent and Ancient Vision dissipated, she turned to find a basin, resting on an ornate tile platform that reflected the glorious dome above. She stepped up to the basin and found, inside, another journal of Caio Umbranox, the sixth one she had located since entering the Eye of Cyrodiil, what felt like an eon before.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
“What?”
“It’s just a journal. I’m sure that Seviana Umbranox – she’s the woman back in the Reach – would like to have these. I have six of them, and they’re all by her ancestor. But why then would it be important for me to come here? What does this have to do with my being Redguard? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t know. Did you check everything inside the walls? I looked around outside and didn’t find anything except sand.”
“Hmm. I thought I had,” she said. “But I’ll look again.”
She walked around the inside of the gazebo, checking carefully under the low table and against all the walls, and found nothing. She did the same in the narrow corridor surrounding the gazebo. There was still nothing. Frowning, she stopped and glanced out one of the doorways, toward the plaza’s back corner, and realized that there was another of the open basins, smaller than the one in which she had just found the journal, nestled beneath its own small dome.
“Huh. I didn’t look in that earlier. But why would there be…” She trotted to the small gazebo and peered into the basin. There, at the bottom of it, was a large, ornate key.
“There you go,” Brynjolf said.
She picked up the key and nodded. “It’s the only thing we hadn’t found. But what does it go to, Bryn? The chests in the corners here were unlocked.”
“Something we haven’t run across yet, I’d wager.”
Sayma sighed. “Right. It’s the only explanation. Maybe I’ll know it when I see it. I hope so.”
They trudged back to the temple’s entrance. It was beginning to be truly warm now, and Sayma had been casting a flame spell. When they reached the fountain, she removed her hood and gratefully splashed some of the tepid water over her face. Brynjolf grinned, and stuck his entire head into the fountain’s flow, wetting down his hair.
“Better,” he said. “It’ll be dry again soon enough.”
By the time they reached the top of the partially-buried stairway leading away from the Temple, the sun was high in the sky and beating mercilessly down on them. Sayma put her hood back on; it was black, but it would keep the worst of the sun off her face. They ran up onto the dunes for a few hundred paces and looked around.
“Gods it’s hot,” Brynjolf grumbled.
“Yeah. It’s a desert. Make sure to drink some water. But see that group of trees over there? Looks like an oasis. Let’s head for it. We can splash down again. And then,” she said, scanning the area, “from there we can head to the big place. Al Shedim, I think she called it.” From where they stood, the huge structure was plainly visible, off to their left, about as far from the oasis as they were from it.
Brynjolf finished the sip of water he was drinking and nodded. They trotted down the slope they were on, into a bowl-shaped valley, and then up the side of the next dune. They were almost to its peak when they heard wolves.
There were three of them, large, dun-colored wolves that rushed at them from the oasis. Sayma took the first down without a problem; she heard the thwack of Brynjolf’s bowstring as he laughed at the second of them. It yelped, and fell, and they both turned to the third wolf. Brynjolf had his sword out and dispatched the animal easily.
“Ha,” he said, wiping his brow. “Hardly felt a thing.”
“Well that’s great,” Sayma said. “But you’re sweating again. Come splash off your face.”
“Sounds good,” he agreed.
The oasis was small, but cool, with a clear pool of water in its center. Sayma ran into it, gratefully wetting herself down; but she had barely gotten wet when three more wolves rushed down the hill toward her.
Makes sense. The animals stick near the water.
This time she took all three of them down herself. She had a sword with Daedric markings that she had taken from the Halls of the West; it was imbued with a Soul Trap enchantment that exploded, three times in quick succession.
“Guess I didn’t realize how many soul gems I’d picked up along the way,” she muttered.
“That’s quite a blade,” Brynjolf said, taking it from her and examining it before handing it back.
“Yeah,” she said, sheathing it. “It’s the only heavy thing I took on my way here. I liked the Daedric markings, and it’s sharper than my old soul trap sword. Seemed only appropriate after working my way all the way through Coldharbour and such.”
There were two more wolves between them and the next structure; she took one with her bow, and Brynjolf did the same with the other. She was just about to dash for the entrance to Al Shedim when Brynjolf called out, “Wait. Dune ripper.”
They chased it, with their bows. Brynjolf seemed particularly determined to get this one, following it down the side of the dune even after it was clearly hurt nearly to death. But it was now time to get under cover. The heat was rising in waves from the sand, and Redguard though she may have been even Sayma was feeling ill from it.
“Let’s go, Bryn,” she said. “We need to get indoors.”
“I’m right behind you.”
They scurried back over the dune and down the hill, into the long, shaded entrance to the huge edifice of Al Shedim.
