II

The embers crackled softly in the large rusty iron brazier that struggled to light the dark corners of the burial chamber. But its function was above all ritual.

The high priest Jaro took the bowl from the stone altar and grabbed a handful of the ash from the container, throwing it into the dying flames. The embers took on a purple hue as they exhaled dark smoke. The black-furred khajiit put the bowl down before leaning over the brazier and inhaling the fumes deeply. His pupils dilated immediately before his eyes rolled back... he was in a trance.

Lost in this daze, he could hear distant voices piercing the veil of reality to whisper in his ears. Disturbing voices, seductive and terrifying at the same time. Inhuman voices coming straight from Oblivion. Jaro swam in the midst of this cacophony of whispers, searching for the one voice he wanted to hear and finally found it.

His muscles suddenly stiffened and he straightened his head. He babbled unintelligible words between his clenched lips as he answered an unseen caller. The embers of the brazier regained their glowing hue and the high priest sank to the ground, gasping for breath. He struggled to his knees and bowed to the altar, his forehead touching the dusty floor.

- "Yes, master..." he whispered.

Jaro got up to grab his staff and leave the burial chamber. The hairs on his back were still bristling, as they did every time he conversed with his lord. It was a delicious sensation of fear and excitement that ran through his body, and he now felt imbued with the evil glory of his master. But this was no time for euphoria.

In the main gallery, devotees in black robes with faces hidden by clay masks were kneeling before the tall statue of a snake wrapped around a skull. Fully devoted to their task, they chanted prayers in a long-forgotten language without paying attention to the high priest. There were men, khajiits and elves, all united in a common worship. It didn't matter where they came from, Jaro thought, they all served the same master in the end.

He ignored them to go to a hidden alcove. Faded red drapes covered the rocky walls, their patterns long since erased by the passage of time. In the center of the small room, two men sat cross-legged, facing each other and obviously in meditation. They were two dunmers[1] with skin as gray as ash and whose red eyes glowed like embers in the darkness.

- "Brother Dronos, Brother Rilos," the high priest called.

The two dark elves stopped their meditation and turned to face him. They bowed with the utmost respect before rising to their feet.

- "High Priest Jaro. Has our master spoken?" the taller of the two asked.

- "Yes, brother Dronos. He has recovered enough strength and will soon be with us." Replied the black khajiit. "He asks us for an offering to celebrate his return."

- "An offering?" the second dunmer, Rilos, raised an eyebrow. "A sacrifice?"

The high priest nodded.

- "Yes... but not just any sacrifice."

- "The father?" questioned Rilos again.

- "No." Jaro smiled from under his hood. "The girl with the moonlit eyes."

- "Then the time has finally come." Dronos squinted. "Tonight?"

- "Tonight, when the moons are hidden."

- "And the dreamer? Will he help us?"

- "His spirit is strong... he will not help us, but he will not interfere either.

- "We will do the master's will," the two dunmers answered in chorus.

- "You will not both go." The high priest shook his head. "Only one will be given the task."

- "It shall be done as you command, Father." Dronos clenched his fists as he bowed his head. "I will personally see to it."

- "No, brother," Rilos said. "Let me do the will of our lord."

Jaro frowned as he gauged the two brothers with his eyes, for they were already brothers before they joined the cult. Finally, he nodded slowly.

- "Make our master proud, brother," Dronos said solemnly. "Make me proud, too."

- "I will not fail you, brother," Rilos replied with determination.

* * * * *

The Sugar Paw was a modest inn located in the eastern part of the capital. Its customers were, for the most part, foreigners passing through, but many khajiits also came to rest after a hard day of work. They ate, drank and chatted with each other around skooma[2] kettles whose sweet fumes they inhaled. The heat of the day had subsided as the moons followed the sun in the sky and everyone enjoyed the coolness of the evening.

Captain Flavia was not resting, however. Sitting at a secluded table in the tavern, she had been writing with a quill on old parchments for several hours. The mercenaries under her command had been paid and the former legionary was taking care of the last formalities while chewing on some fresh dates.

- "Are you still working?" a loud voice questioned her.

Flavia didn't need to see him to recognize Gunnar. The Nord[3] sat down at her table and put down a plate filled to the brim with meat and pickled vegetables. Like all Nordic men, Gunnar was tall and of strong build. His bushy red beard was turning gray with age and his shaved head bore serpentine tattoos. Two sharp-edged axes hung from his belt.

- "I have to," Flavia replied. "We lost eleven men on the trip. I'm writing letters to their families and making sure the pay gets to them."

- "That damned desert cost us dearly," Gunnar resumed, sniffing loudly, clearly upset.

- "Indeed. Is that what's got you in such a bad mood?"

- "What? This? No. It's the hazard of the job." He cleared his throat without any discretion before resuming. "There's no way to find a jug of mead around here!"

- "You're repeating yourself, Gunnar. You've said the same thing every day since we left Cyrodil. It won't hurt you to be sober for once."

Flavia smiled as she saw the grumpy nord spit on the floor under the shocked gaze of the khajiit customers. Gunnar was still as loud and boorish as ever, but it was not for these qualities that she had hired him. They had known each other and worked together as mercenaries for several years already and she had quickly learned to respect him and his skill with his axes.

- "Now what?" he resumed. "What are you going to do?"

- "I still need to find someone I can trust to pass the money on to get it to the families."

- "I wasn't talking about that...I hear you want to quit?"

Flavia stopped writing before stretching in her seat.

- "Yes." she finally admits. "That was my last contract."

- "What are you going to do next?"

- "I'll go back to Cyrodil, I guess... maybe to my sister's place."

- "Mmmh...," Gunnar grumbled.

- "Don't tell me you'll miss me?"

- "Maybe..."

In any case, she would miss the nord in some way. It had taken her a long time to get used to his rough manners, but his open friendship and loyalty were priceless to her eyes.

A new customer entered the tavern and Flavia recognized him immediately.

- "Master Imril," she called before waving to him. "Join us."

The Altmer mage stared at her for a moment with indifference before shrugging his shoulders and making his way through the customers to join them. Gunnar pouted as he saw the elf approach.

- "Why are you inviting that schmuck to our table?" he said in a low voice. "He spent the whole trip sitting comfortably in the shade in his carriole while we did all the work. He didn't even lift a finger when we were being attacked by bandits."

- "Try to be polite for once, will you?"

Gunnar grumbled louder, but she knew he would keep his mouth shut. He wasn't stupid enough to provoke an Altmer cryomancer. The mage took a seat opposite the two mercenaries before ordering a glass of wine from the nearest waitress. Like all high elves, he was incredibly tall, even taller than Gunnar. His long, silky white hair framed a yellow-skinned face with sharp features, which only reinforced his haughty air.

- "What is it, Captain Flavia?" he asked politely.

- "I just wanted to make sure you got your wages for this mission."

- "Indeed." He didn't even bother to thank the Khajiit waitress who had just served him his wine. "I received them from Kewan Madar himself, who congratulated me at length for the work I did."

Flavia ignored Gunnar who was choking on his stew.

- "I thank the nine[4] that you accompanied us on this journey, master mage," she said politely.

- "You seem anxious though, Captain..." the altmer continued. "Is something upsetting you?"

The captain hadn't realized that her fingers had been tapping the table insistently for a while. She immediately stopped and looked out the window at the sky. The stars were already beginning to appear in the dawning night.

- "One of our mercenaries has not yet come to collect his pay and that worries me..." After a moment, Flavia sighed in exasperation. "Where the hell is that kid?"

* * * * *

- "I am innocent!", Alberic proclaimed while clutching the bars. "I've been manipulated! This is all a horrible mistake!"

His jailer, an obese khajiit dressed in puffy braids and wearing a large turban, locked the door of his cell.

- "Gashra believes you, stranger," he said affably. "Gashra believes you are innocent."

- "Then set me free!"

- "Gashra would love to do that. But Gashra would be paid less if he did, right?"

The young breton swore while kicking angrily at the bars. His keeper left him there, brooding on his anger. Damn cats! He had been very careful during his visit to the capital and had been more than cautious. All it took was a young khajiit to bump into him, and he was rotting in a cell under the palace.

Alberic sat on the dingy bunk in his cell, wincing in pain. His face was bruised after the Khajiit guards had beaten him. Ironically, he had spent all day guarding his purse for fear of pickpockets and now he was stripped of all his belongings and doubted he would ever see them again. If the captain saw him...

It was best not to think about it right now. He still didn't know what would be done with him and that was enough to make him anxious. How long would he have to languish in this dirty cell? Maybe he would never be released? What a sad fate for a first adventure.

He liked this country and its people less and less. If he could get his hands on this khajiit from the market, he'd make a rug of her hide! But she must have been far away by now...

* * * * *

Night had fallen and Shazira had not yet returned to the palace. Why should she? Jone and Jode were shining brightly in the sky and the khajiits lived as well at night as they did during the day, after all. It was even their favorite time of day, since the darkness made it easier to commit theft.

The young khajiit had spent all afternoon wandering the winding alleys of the eastern district, playing hide and seek with the guards. She smiled as she thought back to the moment when they had almost caught her. That poor stranger she had bumped into in a moment of inattention came at a perfect time. A little innocent lie and that was it! This simpleton had swallowed everything and had stood up to the guards believing he was rescuing a damsel in distress. This had given her the time and distraction she needed to disappear discreetly. Poor boy. She felt a little sorry for him because he had just been unlucky in crossing her path. Too bad. What was done, was done.

Shazira preferred to focus on the present moment. She didn't want to go home right away because she could already imagine her father scolding her like a young kitten before locking her in her room once again. She wanted to enjoy it before going home and a last little petty theft would certainly put her in a good mood before facing her father.

The princess pulled back her hood to hide her face as she entered the inn. With a practiced eye, she quickly surveyed the clientele, looking for easy prey. There were a few tired khajiits after a hot day's work, but mostly strangers passing through. Perfect. They made easier targets because they were less suspicious and their senses were less acute than the khajiits. Shazira's eyes scanned for any sign of apparent wealth and her gaze was quickly drawn to the sight of a full purse hanging from its owner's belt as an invitation to all thieves.

Shazira made herself as inconspicuous as possible as she nonchalantly walked to the table where the man was sitting with two other strangers. Her target's attention was all on his meal when he wasn't chatting with his companions. It would be easy. She hid behind a pillar to approach the tall man. He smelled of leather and sweat, and a vague odor of grease that stung her nostrils. Obviously, he didn't have to wash often.

The young khajiit's nimble fingers gently slid the leather purse out of her belt. With her other paw, she caught her precious loot to prevent it from making noise as it fell to the ground. And there! Very smoothly and no one had seen anything. Shazira smiled under her hood as she took a few steps away. The purse was heavy in her hand and no doubt well filled. Not that she needed the money, she was doing this mostly for fun, a way for her to feel like every other khajiit... free.

She was about to leave the tavern with her grip on her toes when two strong, shaky hands suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders.

- "Just a moment, little kitten!" thundered a loud voice from behind her back.

Shazira tried to struggle but was lifted effortlessly from the ground to be seated by force at the table she had just left. It was the victim of her theft who had caught her and who was now throwing her an amused look behind his long red beard.

- "When you steal from someone, you at least buy them a drink," said the stranger.

- "See." said a woman with a gray mane sitting at the table. "It has its advantages to be sober."

- "What do we have here?" the last stranger, an altmer in robes, resumed. "A khajiit thief. Not surprising in this city..."

- "Well, young thief?" the bearded giant questioned. "How do you plan to apologize?"

* * * * *

- "Thief?" the young khajiit said. "I'm not a thief! You dropped your purse and I was going to give it back to you, you fat brute!"

Gunnar leaned over Shazira, who wrinkled her nostrils at smelling his breath from so close.

- "Little one, I may be a nord but I'm not stupid."

Shazira swallowed while squirming in her chair. The Nordic giant was almost twice her size and his fists were almost as big as her head. She was starting to feel nervous in front of the barbarian.

- "What am I going to do with you," Gunnar resumed, clearly amused by her reaction.

- "What do we do with thieves in Skyrim," Imril asked.

- "Oh, we put them in the dungeon for several weeks... when there's room."

- "And when there's no more room?"

- "It depends... sometimes we cut off a hand or an ear... sometimes the nose too."

The young khajiit couldn't hold back a small cry of fear and it was Flavia's turn to speak.

- "Stop having fun scaring her."

- "Bah! If we can't have any more fun...," concluded the bearded giant. "Let's see what the city guards think. Come on, let's go, furball!"

Gunnar grabbed the young khajiit by the collar to make her stand up when she said hastily.

- "Take me back to my father and you'll be rich!"

- "What?" The nord suspended his gesture.

- "My father is a great lord, he will give you a fortune if you take me home!"

- "Because you think I'll believe a little thief and a liar? Pull the other one! I'm sure the guards are eager to meet you."

- "She may be telling the truth," the altmer mage interjected in a neutral tone.

- "What do you mean?" the nord asked.

- "Her clothes are far too nice to be those of a simple street thief." Imril pointed at the young khajiit whose cloak was now open in Gunnar's grip, "Finely cut spider silk[5] clothing and silver jewelry... either she's telling the truth or she's a very rich liar."

- "Mmmmh..." The bearded mercenary seemed to hesitate before turning his gaze to Flavia.

- "You're the one who caught it. You're the one who decides," she concluded.

Gunnar thought for a long time while staring at Shazira who did not lead much between his hands. She offered him a nervous smile and, after a brief moment, the nord cleared his throat loudly before putting the thief back on the ground.

- "Alright, let's get you back to your daddy." He frowned before taking a more threatening tone. "And watch out if you lied to us because if you did, I'll cut your tail off and make a nice belt out of it."

The young khajiit continued to smile awkwardly at him while trying to control her sudden fear... something in the man's eyes told her he wasn't kidding.

* * * * *

Rilos inhaled deeply the incense fumes of canis root and immediately felt his spirit rise as his senses diminished. He could no longer feel the heat of the brazier. He could no longer see the flickering embers. He could no longer feel the air against his skin. He could no longer hear the chorus of adepts behind his back. He was now alone with his mind and a feeling of euphoria seized him before it abruptly dissipated.

All his senses came back to him at once, pushed to the extreme. It was a painful experience to feel his senses suddenly exceed their limits. The heat of the brazier burned him. The glow of the embers almost blinded him. The air was scratching his skin. The chorus of adepts was deafening and the dunmer thought his eardrums would burst. He quickly gets used to his new limits and staggered to his feet.

The high priest Jaro then approached to look him in the eye with emphasis.

- "You are ready, Brother Rilos. And remember... you must bring the girl back alive. Our master demands it."

The dark elf nodded, still unable to speak as his brother approached in turn.

- "You'll do fine," Dronos reassured him, handing him a pair of cruel shaped and sharp daggers.

Rilos seized them almost ceremoniously to admire them for a moment before passing them to his belt. His fate was now in his hands.

- "I will do the master's will," he finally declared in a solemn tone.

* * * * *

Gunnar nodded as he looked around the reception room. It was richly decorated, with colorful carpets, precious wooden furniture and long tapestries on the walls. This was the home of a king, or at least a prince, he thought.

- "You may not have lied after all," he said to the young khajiit still trapped in his grip. "Looks like I won't be cutting your tail after all."

Shazira pouted with a sigh. This wasn't really how she thought she'd get home. When they had arrived at the pavilion that housed her father and his court, the guards had hurriedly let them through before guiding them to the courtroom.

- "I'm curious to know who your father is, young lady," said the mage Imril, who was also watching the room with a vaguely interested eye.

As if to answer his question, a door opened and three people entered the room.

They were three khajiits, all different sizes and species. The tallest of them had the features of a white lion and exuded a regal presence. His advanced age further enhanced his aura of authority and wisdom. Next to him stood a younger, smaller khajiit, a black-furred, green-eyed cathay. He wore weapons and armor and looked at the strangers with curiosity before frowning as his gaze fell on Shazira. The last khajiit, and also the oldest, was a small man with a hunched back and a white goatee. He wore small beads on his muzzle and a long red robe, no doubt a mark of his status.

The khajiit lion sat down in the large seat in the center of the reception room as the older man came forward. He cleared his throat before introducing himself.

- "Strangers, I welcome you to the home of my master, Khan Razirr'Ri. This is his son, Sharr'Ri." He pointed to the black-furred khajiit. "As for me, my name is Sakhar and I serve my master as his advisor and steward."

After this customary introduction, Flavia stepped forward to speak.

- "My lord, I thank you for receiving us at this late hour." She bowed her head politely before continuing. "I am Flavia Perona, mercenary captain in the service of the merchant Kewan Madar. This is Gunnar, a mercenary under my command, and Master Imril, a mage hired along with us."

Khan Razirr'Ri nodded before his advisor spoke again.

- "We understand from what you told the guards that you have found my master's daughter. We are extremely grateful to you for bringing her back safely."

Princess Shazira suddenly struggled to escape Gunnar's grip and ran to hide behind her father's seat.

- "They are bandits! They wanted to kidnap me for ransom!" she shouted.

- "You little... ! " The nord took a step forward but Flavia held him back with a wave of her hand.

Lord Razirr'Ri looked at his daughter with a raised eyebrow as his son looked up with a sigh. After a brief silence, the khajiit lion turned his attention back to the strangers.

- "What is your side of the story?" he asked in a deep voice.

- "We arrived this morning with the caravan of the merchant Kewan Madar. After registering at the city gates, the mercenaries under my command took their leave before receiving their pay. The three of us were at the Inn of the Sweet Paw when that young khajiit tried to steal that nord’s purse." She pointed to Gunnar, "She was caught red-handed and we were about to take her to the city guard when she told us about her father. She assured us that a reward would be given to us if we brought her home."

- "I see." the lion concluded with a sigh. "Shazira, come closer, little moon..."

The little khajiit hesitated for a moment before stepping out from behind the chair to stand before her father, her face low and her eyes fixed on her paws. The khan patted her muzzle and she yelped in surprise.

- "Next time you try to lie to me, make it believable. If they had really kidnapped you for ransom, they wouldn't have brought you straight home!" he scolded. "Now go to your room. You're grounded. Guards! Take my daughter back to her room and don't let her leave."

Two Khajiit guards stepped forward to quickly escort the princess out of the audience hall. Once she was out, Lord Razirr'Ri rose from his seat to address the strangers.

- "I am sorry for any trouble my daughter has caused you. She is still young and impetuous, but I am infinitely grateful to you for bringing her back in good health." He bowed slightly before continuing. "I cannot reward you, as my daughter has promised you, but I offer you the hospitality of my roof and my table for the night, if you will accept it."

Flavia looked at her two companions in turn before answering the khan.

- "We accept your offer with gratitude, Lord Razirr'Ri."

- "Good, good... that is settled," the khajiit lion declared. "Counselor Sakhar, please settle our guests in for the night and offer them something to eat."

- "Yes, my lord."

- "Eat and drink as much as you wish. As for me... I will have a long talk with my daughter."

Counselor Sakhar and the three strangers bowed one last time to greet the master of the house before he left the room, accompanied by his son.

- "This way, please." The old khajiit invited his guests to follow him through the corridors of the pavilion. "By the way, I seem to recall that a young smooth skinned stranger was arrested by Lord Razirr'Ri's guards this afternoon. He claimed to be a member of a mercenary company escorting a trade caravan that arrived in the city today. Could he be an acquaintance of yours?"

Flavia couldn't help but sigh before answering.

- "Most likely..."

* * * * *

Alberic's stomach was growling insistently and the sight of his jailer stuffing his mouth a few feet away from him didn't exactly help him ignore his hunger. The khajiit was savoring a large bowl of what appeared to be juicy, spicy cubes of meat whose tantalizing smell titillated the young breton's nostrils.

- "Hey...may I have some of that?" he attempted to his guardian.

- "Gashra would love to share his meal with the prisoner," the khajiit replied politely while licking his juicy fingers. "But if Gashra did that, he would have a lot less to eat, yes?"

Alberic grumbled as he sat back down on his bunk. He was really starting to hate these cat people and their manners. They could at least give him a piece of bread so he could go to bed on a full stomach.

The door of the prison suddenly opened and the young mercenary immediately recognized the figure that entered the room. He jumped up to stand at attention as Flavia approached his cell. He swallowed while feeling the cold glance of his captain on him. She stared at him for a moment in silence before sighing.

- "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

- "Cap... captain, I can explain everything. I was..."

She silenced him with a wave of her hand.

- "The guards explained everything to me," she continued. "But you still caused troubles. What did I tell you?"

- "To be careful..." the young man admitted.

- "And you obviously didn't take my advice since I'm meeting you in a cell."

- "I was tricked, Captain!" he defended himself. "I am innocent!"

- "I know that, Alberic. I was able to speak to Lord Razirr'Ri, whose men arrested you. After explaining the facts to him, he agrees to release you tomorrow."

- "Tomorrow? Why not right now?"

- "Because I asked for it."

- "But... why?"

- "To teach you a lesson."

Flavia ignored the boy's discomfited look to head for the exit.

- "I'll come get you in the morning," she said without turning around. "In the meantime, try to have a good night."

She closed the door of the prison behind her, leaving Alberic again alone with his jailer. The khajiit sniffed loudly while smiling at his prisoner.

- "It looks like you'll be keeping Gashra company for a while longer. Gashra is pleased to hear it. Nights are often long and boring here, yes?"

Notes

[1] Race of elves, also called dark elves. They come from Morrowind and Vvardenfell, volcanic provinces located in the west of Tamriel.

[2] Drink originating from Elsweyr and prepared with moon sugar. It can be consumed as a drink or through hookahs. Extremely addictive, it is forbidden in most of Tamriel but is still widely tolerated and used in the Khajiit society.

[3] Human ethnic group from the province of Skyrim, located north of Cyrodil. The Nordics are considered the oldest human people in all of Tamriel.

[4] There are nine deities in the official mythology and cults of Tamriel.

[5] Some of the spiders of Tamriel can reach particularly impressive proportions. It is therefore normal that their silk is harvested to make strong and high quality clothing. However, it is a rare material and therefore very expensive (and also very dangerous to harvest).