XIII

Alberic was lying on his bed, his eyes closed and breathing with difficulty. Flavia ran a hand over his sweaty forehead and saw that the boy was in the grip of a terrible fever.

- "Al', can you hear me?"

The young breton did not answer. He was unconscious, mumbling incomprehensible words in his delirium. An old khajiit named Zaradi sat at his bedside. She was a healer who looked after the Khajiit workers on the plantation when they were victims of wild animal attacks or accidents. She applied a wet towel to the young man's forehead before tightening the bandage on his shoulder.

- "What's wrong with him?" asked Flavia.

- "This boy has been poisoned. Probably a deathbell toxin if my nose is right," replied the khajiit healer. "I'm afraid he won't be around much longer."

- "Can't you do anything?"

- "It's a miracle the poison hasn't killed him yet. I understand that the boy ingested a large amount of moon sugar a few hours ago, yes? "

Zaradi turned to Princess Shazira. The latter nodded. She too was at Alberic's bedside and seemed more worried than ever.

- "For now, the moon sugar is slowing down the effects of the poison, but it won't last forever."

- "He... he's going to die?" the princess asked anxiously.

- "I'm afraid so, young lady."

- "Can't you save him?" Despite the situation, Flavia remained calm.

- "Ordinarily, I could prepare an antidote to neutralize the poison in his blood. Unfortunately, the hut where I kept my ingredients burned down during the attack."

- "So it's hopeless?"

- "I'm afraid so... all I need is a few of Jode's whiskers."

- "Jode's whiskers?"

- "It's a flower that grows in the region. It is used to create various remedies and antidotes."

- "Where can you find it?"

- "It's not a very rare plant. It grows on the cliffs east of here, about half a league away. I used to pick them myself but I'm too old now. Nowadays I buy them mainly from the big market in Corinthe."

- "What does this flower look like?" asked Flavia.

- "You can't miss it. It looks like nettle leaves with pistils shaped like big yellow whiskers."

- "I see..."

- "How about we go and get some," Gunnar offered, "It's not too far from here and I can still climb a bloody cliff."

- "In this storm?", Flavia said in a puzzled tone.

Outside, the elements were still raging. Strong gusts of wind were gusting and waterspouts were falling from the sky.

- "That would be suicide, even for you. Especially since the enemy might still be hanging around."

- "But you have to do something?!" shouted Shazira, who had been listening to the whole conversation.

The young khajiit was right, but Flavia couldn't ignore the risks either. Of course, she too was concerned about Alberic's fate, but the military discipline ingrained in her prevented her from making hasty or rash decisions.

- "It's too dangerous to go out right now," she said with her usual coldness.

- "So you're not going to do anything?"

The princess looked furious and Flavia couldn't blame her. She was still young and impetuous, after all.

- "Gunnar," she called. "When the storm subsides, we'll go get that flower."

- "You're not going to get it, right now?!" the young khajiit resumed incredulously.

- "There's been enough death tonight. We'll go after her when the storm is less dangerous.

- "But that will be too late!"

- "This discussion is over, Princess. It is long past curfew and you should be in your room. Captain Tasarr'Do, would you take her home?"

- "Of course," replied the latter. "Come on, Princess. You should get some sleep while it's still dark."

The Khajiit captain hurried to escort the princess out of the mercenaries quarters. Shazira tried to object, but Tasarr was firm and uncompromising. Once she was out, Flavia turned to Zaradi.

- "How much time does he have left? "

- "Hard to say. An hour, maybe more... he's already in the hands of the gods now."

- "I see... do your best, please."

The old khajiit nodded before returning to Alberic's bedside. Flavia then motioned for Gunnar to join her in the storeroom. The Nord followed his superior and closed the door behind him.

- "So, we're really not going to do anything for the kid?" he asked.

- "You know the situation. In this storm and with the enemy still lurking around, it would be crazy. It wouldn't save Alberic if we got killed too."

Gunnar muttered a reply under his beard. Deep down he knew she was right. Behind his big, shaggy bear looks was a warm, tender heart and he had quickly grown fond of Alberic. The Nord was just angry at his own helplessness.

- "If I brought you here, it's to talk to you about something else," Flavia said seriously.

- "What do you mean?"

- "I know a little more about the people who attacked us last night."

- "Oh, the cats finally spilled the beans?"

- "Yes..." She nodded, a serious look on her face. "And it's not exactly good news."

Calmly, Flavia told him in detail everything the khajiits had revealed to her. When she had finished her story, the Nord merely raised an eyebrow.

- "A daedra? Just that?"

Like all nords, Gunnar was fearless by nature and Flavia had never seen an opponent or monster too scary for his liking. And as always, his confidence had the gift of reassuring her.

- "No wonder the cats want to hide the princess." He sniffed loudly. "That’s not an enemy anyone can fight."

- "You don't say, Gunnar... but that's not what worries me the most."

- "What do you mean?"

- "We used the utmost discretion in escorting the princess out of Rimmen. No one else knew about this trip." She frowned. "And yet... they eventually found her."

- "I see your point." Gunnar now understood his superior's concerns. "How did they know where the cat princess was?"

- "That worries me," she said, running her thumb under her eye patch.

- "Well... she's a daedra, isn't she? She must have found her through her powers or something unnatural. "

- "Maybe," Flavia admitted. "Or else..."

- "Or else what?"

She hesitated for a long moment before continuing, aware of the gravity of her assumption.

- "Maybe there's a traitor among us."

* * * * *

Locked in her room, Shazira was gnawing at her claws.

Despite the late hour and her fatigue, she could not suppress her worry and anxiety. Worse still, she felt remorse. Alberic was probably the only person who was close to a friend in her eyes and he was dying. Every time she thought about the boy, she saw him lying on his bed, sweating and burning with fever. He must be in so much pain, she thought.

And she was convinced that it was all her fault.

If she hadn't dared the young breton to eat those moon sugar doughnuts, he would have been in full possession of his powers when he confronted the Dunmer assassin. In truth, and even without the moon sugar, the difference in level between the two fighters had been obvious throughout the duel. But even knowing this, Shazira felt responsible. And now poor Alberic was suffering and dying in his bed. Soon, guilt gave way to anger in the princess' mind.

She was not angry at the murderer who had hurt her friend and tried to kidnap her. She wasn't even angry at the one-eyed woman with the grey mane who had decided to do nothing to save the boy. No, she was angry at herself. Angry at her inability to help her friend. Furious that she was locked up like a fragile bird in a golden cage. Angry that someone was deciding for her what she should do and how she should live. But most of all, she was angry that she was left in the dark.

Shazira did not know why her father had kept her locked up in Rimmen's palace all her childhood. She didn't know why these murderers were after her and what they wanted from her. The princess had asked questions of her father, her older brother, Captain Tasarr and Councillor Sahkar. But their answers always sounded like lies to her ears. Even her aunt seemed reluctant to tell her the truth and that only made her more frustrated.

She had had enough.

In a rage, the young khajiit struck a silver dish on a table. The dish fell to the floor, spilling its contents. Fruit crashed or rolled to the floor and Shazira was about to hit a nearby flowerpot when she held back. She sighed as she lowered her hand, aware that her outburst would not change the situation. She was powerless and could do nothing but accept it.

Shazira wanted to cry but her eyes remained dry. She was too tired for that. Putting her hands on either side of the flowerpot, the princess leaned on the chest of drawers in a dejected attitude. Her ears were low and her shoulders felt heavy. She felt so tired.

She looked absently at the flowers. They were pretty plants with colourful petals and fresh leaves that smelled sweet and soothing. They had probably been picked this very morning.

The princess finally clenched her fists. There was no way she was going to stand by and do nothing. She was not the fragile, helpless little bird that everyone thought she was and she was going to prove it. With a look of determination on her face, Shazira walked over to her bed and pulled back the sheets before starting to tie them together with an expert hand.

She might not be able to defend herself or understand the events, but she was sure of one thing.

She could still save her friend.

* * * * *

- "You... you wanted to see me?", Imril asked in an insecure tone.

- "Indeed, Master Imril," Flavia replied politely. "Please take a seat."

The Altmer mage glanced nervously at her before taking a seat at the table. He had obviously changed his clothes after the events of the evening. The storeroom was a small room, sparsely decorated and with very little furniture. The khajiits used it mainly as a storeroom and pantry. The lack of space was accentuated by the presence of Gunnar and his muscular build. The Nord stood behind the High Elf mage, staring warily at him with his arms crossed over his chest.

- "What is this about?" the mage said.

- "First of all, I would like to congratulate you." Flavia bowed her head respectfully. "Thanks to your skills, we were able to repel the assassin who was about to attack the princess. She is safe and I am sure that your intervention saved the life of young Alberic as well. For all this, I thank you."

- "But... you are welcome, Captain." The elf seemed to have regained his natural confidence. "That is why I was hired, after all. As for the boy, his courage in the face of that assassin is to be commended. Sure, he was no match, but his bravery is still commendable. I hope he recovers quickly from his injuries."

Imril sat up straight in his chair, clearly in a hurry to leave.

- "If that is all you have to say to me, Captain, I should like to take my leave now. It has been a long and eventful night."

- "However..." Flavia's voice had suddenly become cold and calm again. "There are details that intrigue me. Please sit back down."

The altmer suddenly seemed troubled. He looked at the two mercenaries in turn with the same concern he had shown when he had entered the storeroom. Gunnar's hand rested heavily on his shoulder to force him to sit down and the mage thought it safer to obey.

- "Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?" ,he asked.

Flavia did not answer immediately. With her hands folded under her chin, she just stared long and silently at the mage sitting in front of her.

- "You know, Master Imril, I've seen a lot of battlefields in my career," she finally said in a calm voice. "So I've seen a lot of battle mages in action. Some charred their enemies by throwing fireballs at them. Others were roasting them with lightning. I've also seen cryomancers turn men into statues of ice before shattering them as if they were glass. " Her voice suddenly became more inquisitive. "But I've never seen them throw snow in the faces of their enemies before. Tell me, Master Imril... what kind of mage are you really?"

A heavy silence fell over the small room, interrupted only by the creaking of the frame under the assaults of the wind and the drumming of the rain on the roof. Faced with Flavia's accusing gaze and Gunnar's big muscles, the elf mage felt incredibly small despite his great size[1].

- "Well… I am a sworn mage and graduate of the... the Tower of Crystal[2]. I have received the approval and praise of my teachers and peers."

- "Really?" continued Flavia in a sarcastic tone. "Your professors and deans praised you for being able to throw snowballs with magic? "

- "I don't see what you're getting at, Captain. I... I recognize that my spell failed. The assassin threw himself at me and... and, in the rush, I wasn't able to focus enough."

- "An interesting excuse... but insufficient… Gunnar."

The Nord put his hand on Imril's shoulder again and began to squeeze it hard, tearing a face from the elf.

- "You're not very good at magic, are you?" Flavia said.

- "I... I assure you that I am a mage of great... talent and fame in my country. Ouch!" The altmer tensed as he felt Gunnar's iron grip squeeze his shoulder a little tighter. "All right! All right! Stop it!"

The mercenary captain nodded and the Nord eased off the pressure. The mage sighed before continuing.

- "I... I'm not a very good mage," he admitted.

- "Can we know how bad?"

- "I... I was expelled from the Tower of Crystal... I failed all the exams."

- "Great," sighed Flavia.

When she had learned that the high elf mage would be part of the expedition, she had initially been excited to take advantage of the talents of an altmer battle mage. It was common knowledge that the high elves had a natural affinity for magic and were among the best spellcasters in all of Tamriel. But with the numerous incidents that had occurred recently, Flavia had begun to have suspicions about Imril's abilities, and her instincts had not been wrong. This mage was nothing more than a fraud.

- "Why did you accept this escort contract?" she asked. "You knew this mission would be dangerous."

- "The truth is, I didn't know the whole thing would go this far," the mage confessed. "I thought we would be paid and released from our commitments once the princess was brought to safety. To me, it was easy money..."

- "Or perhaps you had another reason for being part of the escort?"

- "What... what do you mean?"

- "Those who are after the princess managed to find her despite all the precautions we took." She frowned without taking her eye off the mage. "You must admit that this is troubling, to say the least. Gunnar thinks it's black magic. As for me, I can think of a much simpler reason. I think there is a traitor among us."

There was another silence and Imril could feel Gunnar's hand squeeze his shoulder again. He seemed shocked by what Flavia was implying.

- "You... you think I'm a traitor? No! It's not me! I may be an incompetent mage, but I don't work for anyone but myself," the elf defended himself.

- "You'll have to be more convincing than that... Gunnar."

The giant Nord immediately obeyed, grabbing Imril's wrist and giving him an arm-lock that slammed the elf's face against the table.

- "It wasn't me! I swear it wasn't me!" the mage growled, wincing in pain.

- "Then prove it." Flavia was as cold and calm as ever.

- "If I had really been in the service of the enemy, why would the assassin have tried to kill me?!"

- "To get rid of a troublesome witness?" argued Flavia.

- "If I had wanted them to go after the princess, I would have had much better opportunities during the trip!"

- "That's more believable already," she conceded. "You've been away a lot since we've been here. What have you been doing?"

- "I... gnnnh... I was collecting ingredients... for my potions."

- "You're an alchemist now?"

- "It's the only thing I'm good at." With his head still slammed against the table, Imril had the greatest difficulty looking Flavia in the eye. "That's even why Kewan Madar hired me."

- "Our previous employer? What do you mean?"

The captain gestured to Gunnar, who released his grip. The mage sat up with a grimace as he massaged his aching shoulder.

- "He knew about your unfitness for magic and he hired you anyway?"

- "Yes...", Imril opined. "He was only interested in my skills as an alchemist."

- "For what reason?"

- "Well, you see, he needed me to..." The elf mumbled the end of his sentence.

- "Louder, I didn't hear anything."

- "He needed me to keep the milk fresh," he repeated in an embarrassed tone.

There was a long silence as Flavia and Gunnar looked at the mage in amazement.

- "To keep the milk... fresh?" she repeated slowly.

- "Well... yes," the mage admitted, looking ashamed. "Didn't you ever wonder what that Redgard merchant was carrying? Well, he was carrying milk... lots of milk barrels."

- "And so?"

- "You see, the Khajiits love cow's milk but they don't breed it. They import it from Cyrodil. And with a three-week journey across the Elsweyr desert, we had to make sure the milk stayed fresh at all times... hence my presence in the convoy."

- "Wait. That primary task Kewan was talking about for you... was to make sure the milk didn't go bad?"

- "That's right. With the right ingredients and a few basic spells, you can keep the milk fresh almost indefinitely," he replied with a hint of pride.

There was another long silence. Finally, Gunnar laughed, then snickered, then laughed out loud as if he had just heard the best joke in the world.

- "Ha ha ha! I can't believe it! The... the great high elf mage... he he he!" He could hardly speak as he was so hilarious. "Hired to keep the milk fresh! Ha ha ha! That's the funniest thing I've ever heard! "

Imril was now red with anger and shame at the nord’s mockery but he refrained from commenting. He seemed particularly offended. Even Flavia, usually so cold, could not help but smile at the contagious laughter of her comrade. But she quickly regained her seriousness.

- "That's enough, Gunnar," she ordered him. "Make yourself useful and go patrol outside."

- "Aye, aye, Captain... ha ha ha." The Nord saluted his superior before bowing to Imril in a mocking gesture. "Master milkman... pfff ah ah ah!"

Still laughing, he left the storeroom to leave the captain and the elf alone.

- "Please excuse him. Gunnar is kind of..."

- "Rude? Rest assured, Captain, it takes more than that to offend me." His irritated face and the redness of his cheeks clearly indicated otherwise.

- "So you're an alchemist?"

- "Indeed."

- "Then why are you pretending to be a mage?"

- "Oh, you know... it always impresses people and discourages them from approaching you or getting into trouble."

- "Then why did you study magic if you're not good at it?"

- "It's... complicated," Imril admitted, looking away. "Do you know the Gallenwë family?"

- "Never heard of them."

- "I am Imril Gallenwë, the youngest son of the Gallenwë family. They are one of the oldest Altmer families in the Summerst Isles and a long line of talented mages. I had no choice but to carry on the family tradition and was forced to study the arcane despite my ineptitude in the matter. My family was devastated when they realised that I would never be a talented mage... or even a decent mage."

- "Is that why you left home?"

- "Yes... though I didn't really have a choice[3]," he sighed. "And now I'm just an itinerant alchemist who hires out his services."

- "I understand better." Flavia nodded. "And now you're in the same boat as us. "

- "Captain, would it be possible to... to keep all this a secret?"

- "I accept... however, and from now on, you must remain at our disposal at all times and obey my every command. Is that understood?"

- "Understood, Captain." Imril looked relieved, to say the least.

- "Speaking of alchemy. Can't you do anything for the boy?"

- "I'm sorry," the elf replied with an embarrassed look. "If I had the right ingredients in my possession, I would have already prepared an antidote. Alas..."

- "I see..." Flavia looked disappointed. "You may go, Master Imril."

The false mage nodded at her before leaving, leaving Flavia alone with her thoughts.

She was relieved to know that Imril was not the spy in the service of the enemy, but that left the mystery unresolved. Who could the traitor be? Gunnar? No, it couldn't be. She had known him too long to question his loyalty. Alberic? Flavia had kept an eye on him throughout the journey and he was far too clumsy to play spy.

She sighed as she realised the obvious. If there was a traitor among them, it could only be a khajiit. She sincerely hoped that Gunnar was right about his story of daedric powers and that she was worrying for nothing. Flavia knew that her thoroughness could sometimes turn into true paranoia. Whatever the case, she wasn't going to unravel this by sitting around speculating.

With all the injuries and damage caused by the attack, there was still much to do. So she left the storeroom and went to the mercenaries quarters where old Zaradi was still looking after Alberic. The boy was in a sorry state, stirring weakly under the sheets and mumbling in his delirium as the healer tried to get him to drink some water.

- "How is he?" asked Flavia.

- "He's still breathing, thank the gods," the khajiit replied. "But I am not able to bring down his fever. Everything depends on him now."

- "Do the best you can, madam. Thank you again for looking after him."

Zaradi nodded, obviously disappointed that she couldn't do more for the boy. The captain knew how she felt because she considered Alberic's life her responsibility. He still had a chance to get out of this. A slim chance, alas. The storm was not about to subside and the poison in his veins could be his undoing before dawn. She could do nothing for him and that frustrated her. But feeling sorry for herself wouldn't help.

She was about to go out to join Gunnar and help him on his patrol when he suddenly entered the mercenaries quarters. He had a serious look on his face that did not bode well.

- "What is it, Gunnar?"

- "It's the cat princess... she's disappeared again," he replied.

- "Missing? Did the enemy come back to take her?"

- "Not really."

The Nord grinned as he motioned for her to follow him. Outside, the wind was still gusting, and Flavia could see that there was some commotion among the khajiits. They were running to and fro, torches in hand. Gunnar led her to one of the walls of lady Toziri’s mansion and she knew at once what his comrade had meant.

A rope made of knotted sheets and cloths was coming down from one of the windows of the princess's room on the first floor and was now swaying in the wind. Flavia looked at the rope for a long time before she breathed out a curse.

- "That girl is going to drive me crazy..."

* * * * *

Shazira stopped running for a moment to look around.

Despite the darkness of the night and the clouds that hid the moons, she had no trouble finding her way around with her cat kin eyes. Panting, she looked at the surrounding vegetation, which was becoming less dense as she moved away from the farm. The princess had been running like crazy since she left.

Escaping from the mansion had been child's play. She had turned off the lights in her room and told the guards that she did not wish to be disturbed while she slept. Then she had slipped out of the window on a makeshift rope. Shazira had done this so many times in the past that she had become an expert in the art of escape. With the bustle of the farm already, it had been very easy to sneak out of the property without being seen. And now she had finally arrived.

She looked up at the cliff as she swallowed and felt a lump in the pit of her stomach. The wall was fifty meters high and looked particularly steep. After all, she had hardly ever been out of the city and felt a little nervous now that she was all alone, lost in the wilderness. But she couldn't give up now. Not this close.

With a look of determination on her face, she started to climb the cliff.

The rock was hard and had many rough edges that offered safe holds. Quickly and smoothly, she climbed higher and higher up the wall. Khajiits were excellent climbers with their claws and natural agility. Moreover, they were immune to vertigo... or so Shazira liked to think. Although she had only climbed a few meters, she felt like she was on top of a mountain when she looked down. The storm made her climb even harder as the wind knocked her off balance and the rain made the rock slippery under her fingers.

Undeterred, she continued her climb and it seemed to take forever. Her precious silk dresses were in ruin now, torn by the few thorny bushes growing along the wall. She scraped her hands and knees on the sharp edges of the rock while the wind whipping her face disoriented her a little more. But she was more determined than ever because she knew that these small wounds were nothing compared to what Alberic was going through right now.

One grip after another, Shazira climbed higher and higher, squinting to see what she was looking for. She couldn't help but smile when she finally found it. Jode's whiskers were exactly as old Zaradi had described it. Its leaves and long yellow pistils swayed in the wind. The coveted flower was only a few feet away, but it took her many minutes to reach it. When it was finally within reach, she reached out to grab it. But in her eagerness, she had not secured her last grip sufficiently and her foot suddenly slipped on the damp wall.

Shazira clawed frantically at the rock to try to slow her fall and, in her panic, managed to grab the broad, sturdy branch of a thorny bush. She yelped and winced in pain as she felt the thorns digging deep into her flesh, but she refused to let go. Better these little wounds than to end up crushed to the ground like a pancake. With her heart pounding, the princess looked up at the flower that now seemed beyond her reach.

The young khajiit began to swing in an attempt to regain her footing on the cliff when a crack sounded above her head. Despite her light weight and small size, the branch was beginning to give way under her weight and the combined assaults of the wind.

Shazira felt panic grip her and she struggled to get back to the rock face. The branch snapped again at an alarming angle above her.

The princess wondered if this was a good idea after all...

Notes:

[1] Altmers, or high elves, are particularly tall, averaging two meters in height.

[2] Located on the Summerset Islands, the Tower of Crystal is one of the oldest buildings in Tamriel. Originally built as a place of worship, it was later converted into a school of magic and the seat of Altmer government.

[3] Family honour is a particularly important concept in Altmer society and many high elves have been driven into exile to avoid tainting their honour or that of their family.