Enthir had retreated to a room in the basement of the Frozen Hearth when Dag returned to Winterhold. When she got there, she saw why; Karliah had made her way to Winterhold and joined him, as she’d promised. They were head to head in discussion as she made her way down the room toward them. Enthir looked up and smiled.
“Back, eh? And how is our friend Calcelmo?”
She sighed. “Exactly as you predicted. And no, he wasn’t keen on giving up his research.”
Dag handed over the rubbing.
“It would be inappropriate for me to ask how you obtained this, so I simply won’t. A rubbing, eh? Odd, I was expecting notes.”
“The original would have been a wee bit heavy to tote back here,” she said, grinning. “It was quite an escapade, Enthir. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
Karliah gave Dag a sharp look.
Dag had thought about it all the way back to Winterhold. The Forsworn at the gate, the whirling blades in the Laboratory. The feeling of watching herself do those things, rather than doing them herself. It was unsettling. Brynjolf had told her the Guild didn’t kill unless it was truly necessary, as it had been when Aringoth attacked her, and really that seemed the right approach for an organization devoted to moving wealth around. There was the Dark Brotherhood for other things. But that Forsworn man hadn’t attacked her. There had been no reason to approach him.
Yes there was, she told herself. He was going to kill that woman. Yes, said her other voice, and there were guards in the area. Maybe. Could they have gotten to him in time? You didn’t even look, did you? She didn’t know how to answer that question, and it had bothered her for the entire carriage ride.
Dag just shook her head. Later, Karliah. If I even tell you then. I don’t know what I would say.
“I understand,” Enthir said. “Now let me take a good look at this. Over here, please.” He moved to stand behind a table covered with a good number of scholarly tomes and maps already laid out. He used those to hold down the corners of the rubbing, and then started comparing it with Gallus’ journal.
“Hmm. This is intriguing, but highly disturbing. It seems that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey’s allegiance to the Guild for months.”
He paused to translate another passage.
“Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls ‘an unduly lavish lifestyle, replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures.’”
“What?” Dag exchanged a puzzled look with Karliah. “There’s nothing that I’ve seen in the Guild that could remotely be called lavish. Not a thing. It’s… disgusting down there. And Mercer – well I don’t know what he does when he’s not in the Cistern but he wears the same smelly leathers everyone else does.” Karliah looked down and tried to stifle a small smile.
“Enthir,” she said, “does the journal say where this wealth came from?”
Enthir nodded, peering at the journal and frowning.
“Yes, and you won’t like it. Gallus seems certain here that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild’s treasury without anyone’s knowledge.”
Dag fumed. Well that son of a… no wonder the Guild hasn’t been doing so well. And there he stood, sneering at Brynjolf about whether I would be a waste of Guild resources. Who was wasting the resources, Mercer?
“I can’t believe it. I could wring that skeever’s neck!” she growled, earning a surprised look from both Karliah and Enthir. “Sorry, but I could. He and I didn’t get along even before he tried to turn me into a piece of spitted meat.”
“Is there anything else, Enthir?” Karliah asked. “Anything about… the Nightingales?”
Enthir leafed back and forth through the journal, comparing it with the rubbing every so often and jotting down his translation.
“Yes, here it is. The last few pages seem to describe the failure of the Nightingales, though he doesn’t go into great detail. Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher.”
Karliah went pale. “Shadows preserve us. So it’s true.”
Enthir frowned, but his curiosity was clearly piqued. He stepped around to the front of the table, the translation of Gallus’ journal in hand.
“I’m not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher. What is it? What has Mercer Frey done?”
Karliah shook her head. “I’m sorry, Enthir. I can’t say. All that matters is that we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately.” She paused, clearly emotional. “Farewell, Enthir. Words…can’t express…”
Enthir smiled and patted her arm. “It’s alright, Karliah. You don’t need to say a word.”
He turned to Dagnell. “Listen, all I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They all respected Karliah, and she deserves better. Do what you can, and I’d consider it a personal favor.”
“Don’t worry, Enthir. I want it too. None of them deserved to be lied to for twenty-five years.” That’s basically my whole lifetime, she thought. It’s just horrid to imagine living in exile for that long.
He nodded. “If you’re ever in this area and find yourself in need of a fence, come see me at the College. I’ve been known to handle items of…questionable provenance.”
How amusing, she thought. Gallus was a thief who was also a scholar; Enthir is a scholar who is also a thief. I thought it was odd that he was so close to this whole thing, friendship or not. Now it makes sense.
Karliah turned to Dag. “We must hasten to Riften before Mercer can do more damage.”
“Well yes. I just hope he hasn’t already guaranteed our deaths. I’d like to see my house again.” I’d like to see my friends again. I’d like to see whether I can make something of a life in the Guild, or whether I really need to pack my things and head for the border. “Listen, Karliah, I have some questions, and I think I’ve earned a few answers.”
“Very well.”
“I keep hearing this phrase, Twilight Sepulcher. What is it?”
Karliah paused, musing. Then she nodded.
“You’ve come this far; I see no reason to conceal it any longer. The Twilight Sepulcher is the temple to Nocturnal. The Nightingales are sworn to protect it with their lives.”
What in the world? Dag thought. “Wait. Nocturnal. The Daedric prince?”
Daedric princes were among the most powerful of beings from the plane of Oblivion, each having a particular sphere of influence in the rest of the world. Dag knew their names, most of them, and a bit about what they did; Nocturnal, for example, was supposed to be the prince of shadows and night. Dag didn’t know much more about them than that, any more than she did about Talos, but she did know that they were a lot more powerful than mortals.
“Yes. Everything that represents Nocturnal’s influence is contained there in the Twilight Sepulcher. Now it seems that Mercer has defiled the very thing he swore to protect, and has broken his oath to Nocturnal.”
Dag frowned. None of this made a particle of sense. “None of this makes any sense, Karliah. Why would Nocturnal need that kind of protection? Thieves and temples?”
“I felt the same way when I first learned about it,” Karliah said. “In time, I hope you’ll come to understand.”
Dag fumed. I’ve been putting my neck on the line for weeks and running errands for the Guild and for you, and this is getting ridiculous.
“I don’t have time, Karliah. We don’t have time. And I’d understand a whole lot more if there were a lot less mystery, since we have a madman out there somewhere threatening us and everything we care about. You’re telling me that three people, three mortal people, were supposed to protect a Daedric prince. It’s insane.”
Karliah at least had the sense to look a bit contrite. “I’m sorry. As a Nightingale, I’ve been sworn to secrecy regarding the Sepulcher.” She sighed sadly. “I know the Guild hasn’t done much to foster faith, but I’m going to have to ask that you continue to trust me.”
Dag considered. She didn’t have much reason to trust Karliah other than the fact that she had administered the antidote to that paralytic poison; but Karliah was the only one who had all the pieces of the puzzle.
“And yet you’ve just told me what it is.” She sighed. “Ok, we’ll play it your way for now; but if things start going bad I’m going to do what I think I need to do, Nocturnal or not.”
Karliah nodded. “I’ll head back to Riften and scout around to see what is going on. It’s been twenty-five years; I don’t think they’ll suspect me right away. In the meantime, I want you to have this. It belonged to Gallus. Under the circumstances, I think he would approve.”
She handed Dag a sword. It was a beautiful thing, with an ornately carved hilt: a disc, with what appeared to be a highly stylized bird at its base and a round symbol above, perhaps the moons, she wasn’t sure. The sword pulsed with energy; enchantments of some kind.
“This was Gallus’ sword? Thank you, it’s beautiful; but shouldn’t you keep it?”
“No,” she said, smiling sadly. “I have one of my own. And I fear that if our friends in the Cistern aren’t willing to listen, you may have reason to use it.”