They were on a landing high up in a cavern, undoubtedly once undoubtedly a place of grandeur judging by the bits of ornate carved stone collapsed onto the floor and around the perimeter of the place. What was still stunning, breathtaking in fact, was just before them: an enormous statue. Sitting in cross-legged position, holding an open book the size of a small home’s footprint, was a serene, beautiful, ethereal Snow Elf. Dag marveled at it. Did it represent a deity? Had people once come here to worship? Did the Falmer, even now? She had never seen a monument like it before, and it filled her with a sense of awe the likes of which she’d never experienced.
And falling from its beautiful head was a huge, bluish-pink stone, pried from its eye socket by Mercer Frey.
He dangled there at the top of the statue, not even as tall as its head, assaulting this amazing sculpture with a hammer. He caught the stone and slipped it into his pack, then turned to face them.
“Guard the door, Brynjolf,” Karliah ordered.
“I’m on it, lass. Nothing’s getting past me,” he said.
Dag moved out onto the lip of the balcony, still mesmerized by the beauty of the thing before her. She looked more closely and could see that the enormous ruff of its costume was splattered with blood. A dead Falmer lay at its base, its arms and legs bent at awkward angles. Even here, Mercer? You had to defile the statue by killing something on it as well as by prying out its eyes?
“Karliah, when will you learn that you can’t get the drop on me?” Mercer taunted, his voice bouncing off the walls and echoing through the cavern.
Dag’s blood began to boil. Karliah and Mercer were speaking, but she couldn’t hear them. All she could see was her prey. I’m coming for you, Mercer. I’m going to kill you.
Mercer waved in their direction and suddenly the platform on which she stood trembled, cracked away from the landing behind, and slid down to the floor, leaving Karliah and Brynjolf trapped at the landing above her. Dag fought to regain her balance.
Mercer walked down the stairs behind the statue’s shoulder and looked directly at her.
“When Brynjolf brought you before me I sensed a shift in the wind, and I knew it would end up with one of us at the end of the other’s blade.”
Dag growled. “Give me the Key, Mercer. You’ve lost. Just give it up.”
He laughed. It was a hollow, bitter sound. “Has Karliah been filling your head with tales of thieves with honor? Nocturnal doesn’t care about you, she doesn’t care about anyone. It’s clear that you’ll never see the Key as I do, as a tool of infinite wealth.”
Dag sneered. “You think this has anything to do with Nocturnal? You’re an idiot, Mercer. Nocturnal is just a means to an end. I’d rather have her with us than against us, but that’s as far as it goes. This is personal, you skeever.”
“Oh, revenge, is it?” He barked a short laugh again. “Have you learned nothing in your time with us? When will you open your eyes and see how little my actions differ from your own? Both of us lie, cheat and steal to further our own ends.”
The blood roared in Dag’s ears.
“Like you? You think I’m like you? Ha!” I need to kill him. I need to kill him right now. Dag reached toward her swords and then stopped. Time enough for that later. First he was going to hear her out. She smiled at him, a sarcastic smile, and paced back and forth without taking her eyes off him.
“Well, Mercer, you may be right about some of that. I’ve had a lifetime of doing whatever I could to make it, and yes, sometimes I’ve actually seemed to enjoy the less savory parts of it. But there are differences between us, you know. For one thing, I’ll never use another person as a shield. At first I thought you were trying to have the draugr get rid of me. Now I think you were just afraid.”
Mercer’s frown deepened. He pulled his deadly life-draining sword. Ah there we are, she thought. He didn’t like being called a coward. Perhaps it would make him reckless.
“Oh yes, and there’s more. I’ll never steal from my family. The Skeleton Key could have been your goldmine, Mercer, but you were too lazy to use it on anything other than the easiest possible target, the Guild’s vault. How pitiful.”
Mercer snarled. “Family? You make me laugh. How deluded. They’re not your family. They’re nobody’s family, and they never were. There’s not a one of them who wouldn’t turn on you if there was a profit in it.”
Dag glanced up at the ledge where Karliah and Brynjolf were watching, then back at Mercer. In spite of having been duped into joining the Guild, these people meant something to her. She felt like one of them. She wanted to be with them.
“Oh yes they are. They’re not my birth family. I don’t have one of those any more. But they are my chosen family, and they’re very important. And that’s the biggest difference between you and me. I’ll never kill someone I love out of jealousy. You’re a pitiful excuse for a man, Mercer Frey.”
Dag knew she was just spewing big words. Deep inside she was terrified of fighting Mercer. He’d already almost killed her once, and she’d seen how lethal he was. But she would fight him, because it was left to her to do and because he needed to die for everything he had done.
And? her sarcastic voice added. And why else?
Shut UP, Dag thought.
Mercer snarled and gave Dag a look of pure hatred. “Then the die is cast, and once more my blade will taste Nightingale blood.”
He looked up at Karliah and Brynjolf and made an odd motion toward them. Brynjolf cried out, an odd, stifled noise. Dag’s head snapped around in time to see him attack Karliah with his ebony sword. What? He was outlined in the same corrupted red glow that she’d seen from Mercer’s blade.
“What’s happening?” he cried. “I can’t control it!”
“Fight it, Brynjolf!” Karliah yelped, blocking and slashing at his sword. “He’s taken control of you!”
“I – I can’t!” he shouted, whirling and slashing at her.
By all the gods, no, Dag’s mind screamed. I saw this coming. Look at what Mercer’s tapped into. I have to do something or Karliah is going to die. She’s not nearly as strong in melee as she is with a bow.
Mercer practically strutted down from the statue. “Karliah, you and Brynjolf should get better acquainted. I’ll deal with you after I’ve taken care of your irksome friend.”
And then it got even worse.
The roof of the cavern had been weakened when Mercer had collapsed the lip she’d been standing on, and it started to fall. The room started filling with water draining from the cracked Dwemer pipes that lined the walls.
Dagnell flew at Mercer.
She chased Mercer, slashing at him whenever she could get close enough, drawing blood but being hit by that awful sword of his. She could feel both the sharp pain of the blade and the sick pull of her life force being drained whenever he landed a blow. Not only that, but Mercer kept zipping in and out of invisibility, making himself impossible to track. Coward! she thought. Stand up and fight me!
She chased him up and down the steps surrounding the statue of the Snow Elf, dodging pieces of the collapsing roof, becoming angrier and angrier for herself and for all the others. But the running and chasing was doing nothing more than tiring her, wasting all her stamina, draining her blood; and she needed to kill him, more than anything else she had ever needed, a need that went beyond her mind and deep down into her very gut. The sound of Brynjolf’s sword beating on Karliah’s just added to her need.
Then she remembered the poisons. She’d spent some time in her home using up every ingredient she had, making a number of common potions and poisons, trying her luck in spite of minimal training in alchemy, since she hadn’t known what would be ahead. Two of them, though, had turned out to be stronger than the rest. One was a slow poison; it wouldn’t kill him but it would make him very ill and hobble his movement speed. The other was Paralysis. It was not nearly as strong as the poison Karliah had used on her, but it was a strong mixture and it would do. Her heart started racing. It was perfect. The hunt is on, Mercer. Get ready.
She pulled her bow and dipped an arrow into the slow poison, then called out for him, taunting him with the one thing that she knew for certain made him truly angry.
“Stop hiding, Mercer. Come fight me. Can you really be that afraid of your newest recruit? A little Redguard girl who’s half your age? Are you that much of a coward? Show me your face!”
Mercer roared. She turned in the direction of the sound. To her left, at the top of the stairs, behind the Snow Elf’s head. Dag pivoted and let the arrow fly.
Mercer staggered. She’d hit him, not enough to kill him but enough to ensure that the poison was at work.
“Is that it?” he yelled. “Is that your best?”
He tried to move away, but the arrow had ensured that he could not move at speed. Dag smiled, a large smile, and dipped an arrow into the paralysis poison. She took aim. Like Roggi. Aim like Roggi. The arrow flew.
Mercer looked stunned for a moment, then fell backward, frozen.
Dag ran up the stairs to him and peered down at him, smiling, excitement making her stomach flutter. She spoke, quietly.
“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?”
She knew that there was only a moment or two left in which to act, but it seemed as though time had slowed by half. She pulled out Chillrend. It was all too perfect.
“I found this beautiful blade in your house, Mercer. I’ll bet it’s awfully sharp,” she said, passing it in front of his eyes. He looked angry, then terrified. And he couldn’t speak.
Dimly, as though from a great distance, Dag heard Karliah calling to her to get the Key before it was too late, they had to go, the room was collapsing, but Dag didn’t care, couldn’t see anything in the world except for Mercer staring up in fear. Her heartbeat was pounding in her excitement.
Hurry, lass, she heard. It sounded like Brynjolf, his voice anguished. I can’t control this much longer.
Dag slowly looked up at the ledge where he and Karliah were locked in battle. Karliah was tiring. Brynjolf was going to win. He was so much bigger. He was so much stronger. He was going to kill Karliah. And it will destroy him, Dag thought. He will fall apart. I’m sure of it.
Dag nodded. She smiled at Mercer, again, and then leaned down to whisper in his ear.
“Goodbye, Mercer. I’ll be sure to give your regards to Brynjolf.”
And then she showed him Chillrend once more, just before she stabbed it through his heart, just so that he would know he was being killed by his own sword.
She looked down at him and saw his eyes cloud over and nothing had ever felt so good. She saw the blood pooling on the stairs around him and dipped a finger in it, tasting it, the familiar metallic bite of blood, but this was not from her own wound, not from a random encounter, but from the body of her fallen enemy, and tasting it felt heady like a strong drink. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the thrill that was washing over her, relishing the moment, wanting to keep it with her forever.
The sarcastic voice in the back of her mind roared with laughter, long and loud and harsh. There it is. Always knew you were a killer.
Then a shout from Karliah caught her attention, broke the spell. The room was flooding more quickly. Water had risen almost to where she stood, and they need to find an escape. Dag grabbed the Key, Chillrend, the Eyes of the Falmer and everything else that was on Mercer. She looked about for Brynjolf. He and Karliah had jumped down into the water and were swimming, looking for an exit.
Dag started sculling as fast as possible, treading water, trying to find a way out. The air space was dwindling and the roof was shaking. She swam behind the statue’s head and ducked as a large section of the wall broke loose. Her head popped up from the water just as it lifted her up to see an opening, a tunnel that had previously been blocked. The tunnel that thief’s note had mentioned.
“Brynjolf! Over here!” she shrieked as loudly as she could, then scrambled up into the passage. She turned and looked behind her, desperate to see them, and the familiar figures rose from the water and dashed toward her. The tunnel was filling as well. They ran for the exit and emerged into a rising passage with a cave visible just beyond.
Dag put her hands on her knees and bent over, sucking air. Slow down, heart, she willed it. It’s done. It’s over. At last she had caught her breath enough to rise and approach Karliah. Brynjolf had already headed out toward the exit.
“I can’t believe it’s over. Twenty five years of exile and it’s done, just like that.” She paused, shaking her head. I can’t even imagine what must be going through her head right now, Dag thought. It’ll hit her later on and she’ll be a wreck for awhile.
“Now all that remains is to return the Skeleton Key to the Sepulcher.”
“We’d best get going, then,” Dag said, turning toward the cave.
“Wait,” Karliah said, stopping her with a hand on her arm.
Brynjolf was needed back at the Guild, she said, to maintain order until Dag got back. And Karliah couldn’t bear to face Nocturnal again at this moment, having failed to protect the key. Dag would have to do it alone.
Dag fumed silently. Right, she thought. While I’m away, as though I’m important to this. What would I be able to do to keep order, after all? I’m not the Guildmaster, and I never will be if I have anything to do with it. As to you, Karliah, you’ve already faced Nocturnal after losing the damn key, what’s your sudden problem at this point? She ground her teeth, but managed to hold her temper.
“At least tell me what I’m going into.”
Karliah explained that normally they would have had access to the inner sanctum of the Sepulcher from within Nightingale Hall, but it was cut off when Mercer stole the Key. Its only access now was by way of a thing called the Pilgrim’s Path, a set of trials that had been designed to test those who wished to serve Nocturnal in other ways. She had no idea what Dag would be facing.
Dag looked at her and sighed. Karliah is grieving. She’s ashamed. She’s not ready to deal with it all, not yet. I can do this much for her, even though it makes me feel taken advantage of. Again.
“All right, Karliah. Don’t worry. I’ll return the Key.”
Karliah nodded and headed for the mouth of the cave, leaving Dag alone with Brynjolf.
She walked toward his familiar figure, feeling odd. It was like a weight, from the satchel at her side, pulling at her. It’s the Key, she realized. Is this what Mercer felt like every day? It knows you, her other voice said. Dag shuddered, and stepped up to Brynjolf.
“I don’t understand why you won’t come with me,” she said.
She wasn’t close enough to see his eyes under the Nightingale mask, so she knew he couldn’t see hers pleading with him. You’re so much stronger than I am, Brynjolf. I’m not sure I can do this alone. I need you to come with me, I need your support, I can’t do this without you, and I don’t even understand why.
“Someone has to control that rabble in the Cistern,” he said calmly, “and right now, lass, I’m the only someone we’ve got. They won’t accept Karliah, not yet, and Delvin and Vex have no idea what we just did. They’re all waiting for news of Mercer’s demise. It couldn’t be a more precarious time. The last thing we need right now is for another power struggle to take more of our people, like it did after Gallus was murdered. And I need to reassure Maven that it’s business as usual with Mercer gone, and that a new Guildmaster will be appointed soon.”
He reached out to touch her shoulder, a gentle but reassuring squeeze. Dag sighed. He was right, of course.
“Listen, lass,” he said. “I have faith in you. I know that sounds odd coming from a thief, but these recent events have changed my perspective on a lot of things.”
The warmth in his voice told her that he did have faith in her. She nodded, looking at the floor. The ebbing adrenaline, the physical exhaustion, and the sound of his voice were catching up to her. All of it makes perfect sense, she thought. And yet, I simply don’t want to be alone yet again. Not now. I don’t know what will happen if I am.
They walked slowly toward the door. She felt the weight of the Key in her satchel, thought about what it could do, what Mercer did with it.
Suddenly she started trembling, uncontrollably. She stumbled. Brynjolf grabbed her arm to steady her.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of going into the Sepulcher alone? Karliah thinks you can do it, and I am willing to trust her judgment.”
“No. I’m afraid of what just happened. Brynjolf, you shouldn’t have faith in me. I killed him. I killed Mercer.”
There was a moment of silence. She couldn’t see his face, but was sure he was confused. So was she.
“Yes. That was the idea, wasn’t it? We all wanted him dead. You were just the one who got to do it.”
She looked up at him, knowing he couldn’t see her face but feeling as though he could read her in spite of it.
“But Brynjolf, I … I enjoyed it. When I was chasing him, when I killed him. I wanted to kill him anyway, but when I did, when I was closing in on him, it was like something bad happened to me. And now I have the Skeleton Key and I’m afraid. I’ve seen what it can do. Look what it did to Mercer. Look at what it did to you in his hands. I’m… afraid. If it can reach… whatever it was that happened to me in there… What is wrong with me?”
She suddenly heard Roggi’s bitter voice in her mind: “Sometimes I wonder what makes me any different from them.”
Brynjolf paused, a long pause. She couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and the pause terrified her. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke.
“You’re a survivor, someone who does what needs to be done, lass. Just like the rest of us in our little family. If we couldn’t kill when we needed to we wouldn’t be good at what we do. Even if we don’t do it very often, everyone knows that we can and will. That’s why I can get things done for us, and why Delvin has so much pull. People are afraid.”
She knew that was the truth. She had seen it in the eyes of people who spoke about the Guild, starting with the shopkeepers in Riften. Even the ones who put on a good show of independence at first caved in when they thought he might use force on them. The Guild members were not nice people, not weak people, even when they put on a show of gentility as Brynjolf could do so well.
He sighed. “I wanted to kill Mercer myself, you know that, you heard me say it more than once. I’m sure Karliah felt the same. I think we’ve all had moments when we just wanted to…” And he trailed off. What did he feel like, Dag wondered, after having that deep pool of potential for violence used against him like that? How terrible would it make a person feel to know they could do such things, even if they knew some of it already?
To her utter surprise, Brynjolf took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him, holding her close. He was warm, so warm. She was suddenly very aware of his muscles through the close fitting Nightingale armor. He held her for one, two heartbeats, maybe four. Dag knew how many, because she could hear them, they were his; or rather, it was theirs, matching each other beat for beat. It was by far the best hug she had ever had; no tepid, loose contact but a firm, strong, confident embrace that wrapped her in reassurance. If believing everything would be all right could give a man the power to make it so, then she was sure she would be fine. Then Brynjolf lifted her chin and looked at her, from under the Nightingale mask, so that they could both see each other. Dag couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but at least she could see his eyes above the Nightingale mask, brilliant emerald green, sparkling, warm.
By all the gods you have beautiful eyes, Brynjolf.
He let go of her, gently, then cleared his throat. He shook his head and spoke softly. “Don’t worry about it anymore, lass. He’s dead and it’s over. It’ll be all right. Now go take care of that key before it hurts someone else. I know you can do this. We’ll be waiting for you at home when you return. Without drawn weapons, this time.” She couldn’t see, but could feel, a grin beneath the mask.
Dag nodded and turned for the opening of the cave, the sun making her squint. She was just about to step through when she heard him again, speaking quietly.
“Just remember to keep your eyes open, and walk true with the shadows.” She thought she heard the slightest chuckle. “And, uh… thank you, lass.”
Dag whirled in surprise, but between her sun blindness and the black armor he had vanished. Huh? Thank you for what? Thank you for taking the Key, to be sure, but that hardly warranted a chuckle.
She stepped outside into the sun, disoriented, trying to take stock of where she was. The cavern had opened out onto the banks of a lake that fed a river flowing away to her left. Ancient bronze Dwemer intake pipes dipped into the lake, drawing up the water that had almost drowned them all. She looked at her map: Lake Yorgrim, the headwaters of the Yorgrim River that ran to Windhelm. They’d travelled all the way under the lake, from the mountain to its south to the range on its north.
She took a deep breath. It would be all right. It had to have been the tension, the dark, the desperation of the situation. It’s not me, she thought. It can’t be.
Karliah had marked her map with the location of the Sepulcher. It was tucked away in an isolated corner at the farthest end of Falkreath Hold, an area that Dag had never been to before. It was going to be a long, long walk. She started down the northern edge of the lake, heading west to where it seemed the waterway would narrow, every part of her feeling unsettled.
She wasn’t sure which was more unsettling, the way she had felt when she watched Mercer die, or the way she had felt when Brynjolf wrapped his arms around her. He’d obviously meant it as a comforting hug. Her body and the perfect synchronization of their heartbeats had told her something entirely different. And she had the uncomfortable suspicion that she had spoken her thoughts aloud again.
She was losing her mind.