A Cold Land

[Alecto Mordane]

"Damn to Oblivion!" Glarast spat as he lowered his bow. Jarada lay motionless and face-down in the dirt. Falx was on his side and gasping as blood pooled freely beneath the wound on his back, and the light of a Restoration spell sparked feebly in his clutching fingers, but it was too little, too late. The Imperial mage shuddered as his last breath rattled in his throat.

"Sodding, mud-sucking, shit-eating son of a mudcrab!" Kirhire snarled as she knelt beside Falx. She didn't bother checking his pulse, as she knew the sight and sound of a man passing through the mortal mists to Sovngarde, or wherever the Imperial's beliefs had him bound. Instead she seized the alchemist's pouch at his belt and dug inside, and was rewarded with a clinking of glass. She pulled out two vials filled with sparkling red potion and tossed one to the Bosmer.

"Let's go skin us a cat," she said.

"Wait!" Glarast protested. "I don't like this. This Khajiit's had some training. He's too fast, too subtle."

"And what am I, a skeever?" Kirhire snapped.

"No, and neither were they," the Bosmer said. "We need to raise the alarm. Round up the whole gang."

"I'm not letting that bastard get away!"

"Damn the stubbornness of Nords!" Glarast put another arrow to his bowstring, wheeled around, and fired into his watchtower. The arrow snapped a cord that had been bound to the lever, and a trap door fell open, spilling a heavy load of boulders and scree onto the path below with a thunderous crash.

"That'll get their attention, at least," he said. "Now, you take the left, and I'll take the right. And be careful."

The two bandits split up and crept to either side of the forging shack, but Kirhire paused by the smoldering pit to pick up the still-glowing spar of iron that Jarada had been working before he died.

[Kazahan]

With a quick breath and check to make sure he wasn't too badly hurt - a little healing potion soothed the ache in his arm from holding the shield against the bashing mace of the Nord - he moved again, hearing the din of the trap the Bosmer had set off and a few voices raised in confusion further in the walled camp.

Wasting no more time, he moved to his right, and turned the corner just as the woman was picking up a red hot bar from the forge. The wood elf was in front of him, and was momentarily distracted. Kazahan took the chance offered, and bull rushed the archer, closing the distance too quickly for him to fire an arrow, but the canny little elf stepped to the side, closer to the large woman who was roaring and brandishing her mace once more.

The Khajiit followed through with his attack, and the archer only had time to pull a shortsword from its place on his hip before Kazahan's steel longsword sliced into him, cutting from his lower left side to his upper right shoulder. He fell, and Nord woman roared in fury, a name falling from her lips as she set upon him with mace and burning iron. He brought up his shield in time, and weathered her mindless assault as best he could, the ache in his shoulder blossoming into a full blown throbbing pain that lanced down his arm and into his fingertips. With one final smashing blow onto his shield, the Nord woman finally stopped attacking, panting, and fell to her knees, an expression of anguish coming over her face when she looked over at the dead spawled form of the wood elf.

Kazahan used his sword to tilt her face up, and placed the tip of the blade against the hollow of her collar bone. A quick downward thrust, and a gagged coughing gasp, and the woman was dead. Kazahan took their unused vials of healing potion and downed them quickly, breathing slow and deep and giving himself some time to allow it to work before killing the rest of the group here.

[Alecto Mordane]

"What was that?"

Ulmakh gro-Urgassh looked up from the dice game he was playing with his two confederates and in the direction of the distant sound of growling stone. The painted Nord on his right grunted and heaved out of his seat. "Sounds like Glarast pulled the rock trap," he grumbled. "It took us ages to set that up."

"Perhaps the gang from Bilegulch decided to inquire about their missing gold," the gray-scaled Argonian replied.

The huge Orc snorted and took a pull from his Emberbrand wine. "Go see if the milksops need any help mopping up their mess," he said. "Yell if you need me."

"Agh, fine," the Nord said, picking up a steel war axe and shield, while the Argonian closed his claws around an iron flail. Ulmakh raised his wine bottle again and spied a shadow moving across the back of the cave wall from the campfire toward the tunnel that led down into the mines.

"And where do you think you're going, Lucard?" the Orc said. "Fever gone already?"

A scrawny Breton teenager with a mop of untidy black hair flinched and closed his arms around a book with black binding and blood-red symbols etched on its cover. "I... I'm going to check the dig," he said. "See if any of the lads is down there. You know, to help."

Ulmakh spat on the cave floor and waved the boy away. "Go on and hide yourself, you worthless coward. I'll deal with you once we've finished our game."

Lucard recoiled like a whipped dog, but he hurried off down the tunnel into the mine. Ulmakh scoffed and took another swig from his wine.

Then he heard shouting - first the Nord's voice, and then the Argonian. And then they both fell silent.

Scowling, Ulmakh stood from the table and put on his horned iron helmet. Then he took up his Elven warhammer - light, fast, and deceptively powerful - and turned to face the door to the camp outside.

[Kazahan]

The door burst in, framing Kazahan with the morning's light. In his right hand was a bloody sword, and his left arm bore a steel shield. He wore no helm.

"Khajiit comes from the Jarl," he growled, stalking into the mine.

The Orc growled, though he seemed to be eagerly anticipating the fight. He hefted the warhammer and charged; Kazahan sidestepped and swung his sword at the back the Orc's neck. Ulmakh shifted and readied his warhammer for another great blow, only to find the Khajiit slamming his shield into his face, followed by three swipes of the longsword, one of which bit into his side through a weak point in his armor.

[Alecto Mordane]

Bleeding from his under his arm and from his large, hooked nose, Ulmakh growled from deep in his chest like a slavering wolf and backstepped to put some distance between himself and his foe. The warhammer was strongest at the end of its reach, where it could swing the fastest and hardest. This Khajiit was nimble on his feet and tricky with that curved blade of his, but that light armor meant that one good blow would end him.

"You're not bad, cat," Ulmakh grunted. "On another day I'd have offered you a spot in my crew. You could have made some real money. No such luck now."

The Orc feinted right, then swept his hammer low through the campfire in the center of the cave, scattering burning twigs and embers in Kazahan's direction. Then he shortened up his grip on his warhammer and brought it down in a whistling arc, driving the Khajiit back through the smoldering debris. The embers didn't bother Ulmakh's iron-soled boots.

[Kazahan]

The sword was long, but not long enough to give him parity with the orc and his warhammer's reach. Kazahan fell back, watching the orc step through the fire with nary a grunt. Kazahan struck forward, staying as close to the bandit chief as possible, and pushing him back into the fire. Even though the heavy armor protected him from direct contact with the flames, the heat and smoke would distract and blind him.

It worked for a few moments. Kazahan struck at will, scoring several small hits on the weaker points in the bandit's heavy armor, while all the Orc could do was yell in frustration. But a timely block and a quick shove put Kazahan off center at the optimal reach for a strike with a warhammer. Ulmakh swung, and Kazahan desperately brought up his shield to block; putting his whole shoulder into the defense. The head of the warhammer burst through the wood of Kazahan's shield; the force of the blow had rattled Kazahan from ear to tail, and all he could do was stare dumbly at the weapon's head for a moment.

The Orc made to pull back and swing again, but the warhammer had got jammed in the shield, and would not loosen. Kazahan, despite being shaken and weakened by the last attack, took his chance. He pulled back his arm with the shield, drawing Ulmakh by his still strong grip on the hammer's haft closer to him. A scream of pain and determination punctuated Kazahan's attack: a thrust underneath the chest piece of the Orc's armor. He was rewarded with a a brief moment of resistance followed by a muffled popping noise, and the sword slid into Ulmakh's gut. Kazahan pushed further and twisted, his sword bursting out of the Orc's back, and bringing him face to face with the large green mer.

"This was a good death," Ulmakh's voice was framed by what seemed to be a brutal grin. Kazahan pulled the sword out of the Orc, who fell to his knees by the fire. Kazahan panted, placing his sword at the Orc's neck and drawing the bloody blade across it. The Orc died seconds later; and Kazahan staggered back to rest against the wall, groping for another healing potion. A quick glance at his shield caused him to toss it aside with a subdued grunt, judging it useless.

[Alecto Mordane]

The cavern was quiet once more. To the back of the cave, behind the ruined fire, there stood a wooden chest with a lock, though that was hardly a barrier to someone skilled with a lockpick, and a table with chairs bearing the remnants of Ulmakh's dice game with his lieutenants and a few small piles of septims. To the left was a winding, sinking tunnel bridged by wooden support beams and leading into the depths of the mine, while to the right was a cage of iron bars walling off a cell of naked rock. Inside were three prisoners in ragged clothes - an Imperial, a Nord, and an Argonian.

"Thank the Nine!" the Nord exclaimed.

"Er, the Eight!" the Imperial interjected. "He's a Khajiit, you fool, what if he's with the Thalmor?"

"He can be with the Lords of Oblivion for all I care," the Argonian said. "Just, please, get us out of here!"

"The Orc has the key to this cell," the Imperial said. "It'll probably get you into that chest, too. You'll help us, right? I have money on the outside. I can see you richly rewarded!"

[Kazahan]

Kazahan rifled through the Orc's belongings, finding the key, and some gold coins, which he dropped into a satchel that hung about his hips. The key he used to open the chest. Within was a hide helmet, which he tossed aside negligently, and a long, straight bladed sword in a black lacquered sheath. This he picked up, but didn't draw it; he simply pulled it onto his shoulder and scooped out the twelve gold septims scattered along the chest's bottom.

Only after he'd looted the dead Orc and the chest did he turn to the cell. It was open in short order, but the Khajiit interposed himself between the three and the door leading outside.

"What do you know of these bandits?" he asked. "Tell Khajiit everything."

[Alecto Mordane]

"What, these bandits?" the Imperial said. "Well, they've been prowling the road to Markarth for months now, but what most don't know is they were set up here by Jarl Sidd--"

[Kazahan]

The Imperial's words were cut off as Kazahan's sword sliced through his neck brutally, causing it to fall to the ground with a dull thud, where it was soon followed by the rest of his body. Kazahan's gaze moved to the Argonian and Nord.

"Tell Khajiit what you know of the bandits. Everything."

[Alecto Mordane]

The Nord glanced down at the headless man and back up at Kazahan's bloody blade. "You know, I can't say I know a thing about them."

"Less than nothing really," the Argonian replied.

"I couldn't even tell you my name."

"I don't even know what province this is, to be honest."

"I don't even speak your language."

The Argonian swatted the Nord upside the head with the back of his leathery hand. "So, can we please leave, now?"

[Kazahan]

"You know nothing? Good, good," Kazahan said, ripping part of the dead Imperial's shirt off and using it to clean his sword. "Do be sure to tell everyone what you do not know, yes?"

He turned, and made his way into the tunnel that led deeper into the mine. He would be thorough, here. Then perhaps he'd get some more work that would keep him away from the Thalmor.

[Alecto Mordane]

The Argonian and the Nord stumbled out of the cell as the Khajiit disappeared into the mines. The Argonian made to dash out the front door, but the Nord laid a meaty hand on his shoulder. "Wait. I'm looting the chest first."

"With what?" the reptilian hissed. The Nord held up a single lock pick.

"And where in Oblivion's plane were you hiding that?" the Argonian asked.

"I've always got one," the Nord said. "And, mate, you don't want to know."

---

The mines grew cold and dark as they wormed further into the mountainside, illuminated here and there by scattered and guttering torches, but the darkness meant little to a Khajiit. Occasionally a tunnel branched off the main trunk, but never very far. Some of the tunnels had collapsed. Here and there were a set of manacles chained to the wall near an iron deposit, likely to bind prisoners by the ankles as they worked the mine.

Farther down still, old and moldering bones littered the floor. From another tunnel opening came flickering candlelight and a trembling voice.

In what was once a burial chamber, its smooth, round walls pitted with alcoves set with skulls, Lucard crouched with the black and red book sitting open before him, candles melted to the stone floor around him, and a complex of curves and lines forming an arcane Daedric glyph beneath him. Scattered around the edges of the floor were more bodies - the carcass of a skeever with a torn throat, an infant frostbite spider with its head crushed, a pair of rabbits freshly torn and bloody. In the young Breton's hand was an iron knife, and covering the floor of the passageway between the mine and the burial chamber were nearly a dozen yawning bear traps.

Lucard's eyes snapped open when he heard movement outside his chamber, and he leaped to his feet, menacing the darkness with his knife. His voice broke when he shouted, "S-stay away!"

[Kazahan]

"This one will do no such thing," Kazahan said, pulling his bow from his back and nocking an arrow. "Please stand still so your death will be as quick and painless as possible, yes?"

[Alecto Mordane]

The moment Kazahan reached for his bow, Lucard flattened himself against the near-side wall. It meant he couldn't see the Khajiit assassin, but if the Khajiit tried moving through the traps, he'd hear it.

"You don't have to do this!" he stammered. "I'm... I'm just an apprentice, I'm nobody! The others, did... did you kill them all?"

[Kazahan]

"Yes. Khajiit had the hardest time with the Orc, but he is dead also. Malacath will be proud of that one."

Kazahan pondered the situation. The dozen bear traps were spaced apart enough that he couldn't clear them in one jump. And apprentice mage was at such an angle that he couldn't stick him with an arrow. He glanced down to where the wall of the mine tunnel met the floor, and picked up a heavy, hand sized stone. He held it over one of the bear traps, and dropped it. It smacked into the mechanism holding the teeth of the trap open, and with a loud metal clang, they snapped shut. Kazahan kept his eyes on where the mage would appear, if he did turn suddenly, and gave a pained gasp, the sound jarring with the emotionless expression in his eyes.

[Alecto Mordane]

Lucard flinched at the cry, but he didn't move. Even if the Khajiit had trapped himself, he still had a bow.

"They're all dead?" the Breton said. "Ulmakh... Orngir... Glarast and Kirhire? All of them?"

He laid his head back against the curved stone wall. And then he began to laugh, until his voice echoed through the whole mine.

"Do you know what this book is, Khajiit?" he asked in a voice dripping with gleeful scorn. "No, of course you don't. They didn't. Even that idiot, Falx, just wanted to destroy it. It's necromancy. Ancient and powerful. You've given me an army. And now you're about to join it."

He peered down at the book still resting in the middle of the summoning circle, and he began to read aloud in a strange and savage tongue. The bony chalk on the floor began to glow with eldritch malice, and then the glow burst into a rapidly expanding ring of green light. When it reached the skeever and the spider, they began to twitch. It passed over Kazahan with no effect, but then it crawled past him back up the tunnel and over the bones of long-dead slave laborers, which began to slide across the tunnel floor and knit together. Two skeletons rose from the ground and lurched toward the Khajiit, one bearing a pickaxe, the other wielding a length of rusty chain.

---

"Well, hurry up!" the Argonian hissed. "That Khajiit will be back here any moment!"

"Look, I've only got one pick!" the Nord said. "I can't afford to break it."

A flash of green light burst from the mine tunnel, and the Argonian wheeled about. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That flash of light just then! Don't tell me you didn't see it!"

"By the Nine, Kaaj, you're imagining things! Now shut up and let me--"

There was a rush of air, and then the Argonian's head bounced off the top of the chest and rolled into the Nord's lap. The Nord turned to see Ulmakh standing there with a great, ragged hole through his middle and a bloody warhammer in his hands. The man screamed and barreled out of the cave faster than he'd ever moved in his life. Meanwhile Ulmakh lumbered off toward the mine, closely followed by the headless Argonian's corpse.

[Kazahan]

"You know, Khajiit knows a secret to dealing with a necromancer's risen warriors," Kazahan said conversationally, picking up the stone and dropping it on another trap further in. This was spaced though, and Kazahan jumped to it. Only one more jump, and he'd make it past the bear traps, with only two or three out of commission.

"Kill the necromancer, and his risen dead are no more," he growled, quickly making the last jump past the bear traps. He dropped his bow, and drew the sword he'd picked up from the chest. He stalked to where the young death mage stood, both swords held loosely at his sides.

[Alecto Mordane]

Lucard shrieked in fear and dove across his summoning circle, scooped up his book, and huddled back against the wall of the burial chamber.

"Just die, you stupid cat!"

With an outstretched palm, the Breton sprayed a gout of flames at his attacker, bathing the opposite wall in fiery retribution. For a moment, at least. Then the flames died with a pathetic spark and a wisp of smoke.

Panicking, Lucard opened his book and blurted out another spell. The skeever and the frostbite spider stirred again, and the skeever raised a hellish cry and leapt at Kazahan's ankles.

The spider chittered and leapt at Lucard, sinking its curved fangs into the side of the boy's neck. The Breton screamed and grappled with the writhing arachnid, but he could not throw it off.

[Kazahan]

A contemptuous swipe of one the swords he held sliced into the undead rodent, and threw it back to smack into the wall. He watched the spider and boy struggle with each other for a moment, before stabbing the looted sword through the spider and into Lucard's neck. The boy choked, his eyes widening, and tears beaded up and out of his eyes.

"Poor child," the Khajiit murmured, shoving his sword forward to completely skewer both the spider and the Breton's throat. "You did not understand what you were doing, did you? And now it is too late."

With a gurgled, pathetic sound, the boy died, and Kazahan turned, seeing the Orc he'd killed not minutes ago standing on the other side of the bear traps. He frowned.

"This is new to Khajiit. Should you not have been released on the mage's death?"