Hunting the Hunter Ch. 08

She looked around the clearing again. "I just stopped here for a short rest. I was hoping to make a little more headway then find somewhere a little safer to get some real sleep. I don't suppose you could ask her if she knows of a place."

Bella turned and looked at the spriggan, as though she were staring her down. The spriggan just kept tittering.

"Sounds like there's a cave nearby with nothing but a few others like herself...and bears apparently."

"Yeah, I've noticed they have a thing for bears."

"She says they won't harm us."

"Us-us or you-us."

"How do you mean?"

"Well you're all lions, and followers of Kynareth...I'm Mer...a Mer with a bow."

Bella smiled gently. "She seems to get that you're with us...and seems to know that she's not to attack you as well. I sense her confusion about it, but she accepts it. Which is enough. Come on."

They both got to their feet and Bella shifted, leaving just Ina and twiggy on two legs. Bella growled softly and the young-ones fell in line and as one they followed the spriggan to her cave.

It was farther than expected, but it was, thankfully, headed in approximately the right direction. True to form, the caves were fetching weird. She'd seen caves like this before, but usually when she did, she'd turn tail and would go find herself something easier to kill.

Now, this might sound odd to the inexperienced adventurer, but contrary to popular belief, vampires and necromancers weren't all that difficult to kill, not if you played it smart and sneaky. You couldn't be sneaky with spriggans, because guaranteed that first hit is not going to kill them...or the second. What skull or artery is there to pierce or sever? And how does one burn that which renews itself instantly? And that's before the bears. Always with the damn bears.

Zombies may be creepy, but bears were still...fetching bears! One does not take a thousand pounds of muscle and claw lightly if one wants to live long enough to reproduce.

Therefore one did not take them or their controllers on unless they had serious fire power, and some heavy back up. Now here she was trotting into a nest of the things. It was freaking her out a little.

They were taken into a little side cavern and left there to make themselves at home she supposed. There wasn't much there except damp rocks and more damp rocks. Ah well...at least it was secure. There was no way in Mundus those half-assed hunters were going to get in here. She couldn't have.

She dropped her pack and, using it as a pillow, curled up on a relatively dry looking patch of cave floor. The others followed quickly enough. She was beyond grateful that they decided to make it a group effort and clumped together for mutual warmth so that by the time everyone was settled they were essentially a pile of lion with a random dark elf tossed in to the mix. It was actually a warm enough arrangement that she was able to ignore the chill of the caves, and fall almost comfortably back to sleep.

**

Sundown in the Imperial city was always a prized moment of the day for its citizens. Especially on such a crisp, clear day as this. For this is when the magnificent spire at the heart of the city, the White Gold Tower, caught the last rays of light, and reflected them in a brilliant array of dazzling silver, gold and red.

It was in these few moments the city paused: merchants closed shop for supper or a walk, clerks left off their scribbling for a moment of fresh air at the window, gazing out over the green way or the courtyard of the Imperial University, and beauty lovers of all kinds took a few minutes to stroll the arboretums and garden walks. It was as if the city breathed as one, slowly and deeply, before returning to its fretful pace.

The temple district was no exception, and the priests guarding the temple of Talos stepped out to stretch their legs and admire the way the pristine white dome of the Temple caught the last light and reflected it back into the world. Some might have read a metaphor or two into it, others simply took pleasure in its unadulterated beauty.

Across the flagstone street the same warm light filtered in through the fine curtains drawn over the windows of the elegant sitting room, casting strange shafts of color into the cool darkness.

At the center of the room, quite out of place with the stately and conservative elegance of the decor, was a dark cushion placed carefully in the center of a circle of tallow candles, between which were figures drawn on the hard wood floors in what one hoped was colored chalk or red paint.

In the center of this circle, as still as a statue, knelt a handsome Altmer. He wore loose pants, but his chest was bare, and his pale silvery-golden skin glinted strangely in the flicker of candle light, and was tinted to a red-gold by the shafts of filtered light from the fading sun.

He bore the features of a full blooded Altmer. His long, lean frame had the gracile delicacy that his people were so well known for. His face too was long, and thin, with angular features. Though not in that sharp cutting way one sees in Dunmer, and which speaks to the cunning and violence they claim as part of their nature, but rather in a softer, elegant way, which only bespoke grace and nobility. Or that, at least was how he might have seen it.

His loose hair hung in long white strands over his bare shoulders, almost hiding the only flaw on his narrow chest—an uneven, cross-shaped scar raised over his heart.

His long fingered hands rested lightly on the silky material of his pants. His eyes were closed...though they saw. They saw far and long in all directions. Sometimes they saw the past, sometimes the myriad future, but now they saw into a candle lit room two districts over, one not unlike the one in which he presetly rested.

He saw a warm fire, and the ornate mantle over it. He saw the silk chaise, the side table holding the near empty bottle of wine. He saw a half filled glass rise to unseen lips— raised by the nude male, human body which stretched before him in a steaming bath. Across the bath, her legs entwined with the man's, reclined an attractive Breton woman. Her own glass of wine was resting on the floor next to the bath and her arms hung loosely over the edges.

She smiled. It was an expression of concentrated lust and knowing guile. She had a mouth that looked like it might devour you whole, and brilliant green eyes made to bore into ones mind and pulled away all rational thought.

She slid lower into the bath, her only half covered breasts dipping lower into the steaming water as her foot press slowly along the man's upper thigh, stomach, and chest.

Sarandus, the Altmer, smirked. He couldn't feel the movement, but his unwitting 'eyes' had looked down and followed its progress with interest. A hand came up and lightly caressed the finely turned ankle and calf.

The Altmer's brow furrowed. Delatour was too good at what he did to give himself away, or reveal his thoughts to Sarandus, or anyone else for that matter, and if Sarandus hadn't already been using him as his literal as well as figurative eyes, he would never have known about this particular creature.

He wasn't absolutely sure what she was or what she signified, but even through borrowed senses, he could see she was likely to be trouble. He had thought so before, and she'd done or said nothing to dissuade him from the notion.

Of course Delatour had no idea he'd been enchanted in this way, they never did. But it was common practice for Sarandus when dealing with those who managed his affairs. After all, one never knew when the knife in the back was coming. And it was always coming.

This was simply a form of insurance for the inevitable.

Normally he wouldn't take much interest in the assignations of his employees, but he had seen enough to know this woman called herself Telvanni, and had shown some interest in Sarandus specifically. She'd been asking questions.

Granted she possessed Delatour's subtlety and much of their conversations were more like skilled games and dances and contained little in the way of useful revelation...but it was enough to cause him concern. Normally he would have Delatour look into this, but it was possible he was already compromised. Or not...but he couldn't be sure.

"So...Messieur," She grinned and her eyes glowed, "have you given any more thought to a trip to the eastern courts."

Sarandus perked slightly, focusing on the woman once more.

"I have." There was a long pause and the woman's smile grew until she chuckled, drawing a curl of dark hair around a finger.

"I see."

The man maintained eye contact with her as her grin turned impish and as she slipped lower into the tub.

"You know, I've been...musing. And it occurs to me, that we're very much the same, you and I. It doesn't matter what out reasons. Nor our histories...though I'm sure you might disagree on that account." Her lip twitched.

"Oh? Dare I take that bait?"

"Does it tempt?"

"It wouldn't be polite of me to say it didn't." He smoothed back, his eyes and hand casting for the wine glass on the table. Sarandus could imagine the expression of polite indifference. The woman laughed lightly.

"It would be cruel of you to leave it off. But you must ask. I would seem to forward to offer up such intimate detail."

He cleared his throat theatrically, "What, pray-tell, to you mean by that, my lady? Are our histories so different."

"Indeed they are, sir. In the realm of lineage, I dare say." She smirked but said no more.

"You are cruel with your coyness, Madam."

"Well, I'm sure you already know too much. A lady must keep some of her secrets."

"What? That your name is invented?"

She chuckled. "And what else?"

"That you were not born Telvanni."

She said nothing, but smiled wickedly.

Delatour scoffed. "Crueler still. You mock me." Though there was a note of amusement in his voice.

"And what else should I do? Did you hope I would gasp and wonder at how you knew it? That I would be overcome by such skillful maneuvers?" She teased, her suddenly sultry expression belying her words.

"Then what, lady, do we have in common, if you will not enlighten me on the nature of our difference?"

She turned somewhat more somber. "I suspect you know that too. We want the same thing, you and I, and we'll do just about anything for it." She smiled and brightened, shifting slightly in the tub, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Do you know what the key to success is, Delatour?" suddenly shifting modes. "Diversification. Spread your investments around...always keep more than one iron in the fire. One plot or another is bound to trip up at some point. Some golden goose dies, a ship sinks, some busy body catches you doing something polite people don't talk about....diversify. That is my advice to you, my fellow traveler." She shifted again as she spoke, her leg appearing and disappearing beneath the line of his sight.

"I hope that isn't your sales pitch." He quipped after a moment.

She giggled, but gave no sign of stopping whatever it was she was doing.

"Est-ce que c'est?"

"Je n'oserais pas savoir."

"Alors, qu'est-ce que vous osez?"

"Rien."

"I don't believe you."

This time it was Delatour who chuckled and the woman's eyes fluttered closed as she moaned in pleasure.

The Altmer made a sound of disgust and his eyes flicked open, cutting short the scene and replacing it with the sight of the dimly lit room. He didn't time to waste sifting through whatever subtext might be hidden under their courtly nothings...if there was even something to find.

There were more direct methods which might be employed. He would have to think on it. Meanwhile, he had other matters to attend to. He rose, snuffing the candles with the wave of his hand, and waving a pale blue mage light into existence a second later. The little light hovered sedately behind him as he slipped back into his robes, and followed him a few paces back as he left the room and turned down the hall, away from the main stairs, taking instead a set of servants stairs down into the basement.

One half of the stonework room was storage, but behind this was a small door, and behind this was a store room of a different sort.

He passed a hand over the lock, willing the tumblers into place and the door to swing open.

The woman laying on the table moaned and shifted, twisting her head limply. Sarandus glanced at her as he passed, noting her still unconscious state.

He paused before his primary work bench, passing a critical eye over one of the alembic stills before passing on to the condenser, nodding with satisfaction and snuffing out the flame under flask with the tips of his fingers before running them up the length of the cool condenser with an affectionate pat, careful not to jostle the delicate layers of glass piping.

The woman groaned again and he sighed. He would deal with that first. He wouldn't be able to focus with her squirming around behind him.

He tugged up his loose sleeves as he turned, shrugging them into place. The female was a dark elf, some tidied up species of gutter rat that had come into Delatour's recent employ. He seemed to think her rather knowledgeable about the comings and goings of the local underworld. Sarandus wasn't fully convinced, but Delatour had made a good case.

The new female who had inexplicably made herself his enemy was said to reside in the waterfront, and casual inquiry seems to have illuminated the fact that the creature had ties with less than wholesome individuals.

And of course they were both Dunmer. He wasn't sure how useful that was as he had never known Dunmer to be any less suspicious of their own people than they were of everyone else. Their aggressive paranoia was practically legendary. But, it probably wouldn't hurt.

He had yet to get a look at the woman himself, through any of his borrowed eyes. A case of poor luck or poor timing. It was unfortunate one couldn't just pluck thoughts from the mind at will...dead or alive. The eye witness reports were hardly helpful. Red-haired Dunmer woman wasn't all that useful. Not when hair color could be so easily changed. The name was the only thing useful at this point.

Perhaps this female could be of use. Perhaps not.

But the more the merrier, they say.

He passed a hand over her forehead and she calmed, settling with a sigh.

She had no idea where she was or who he was. He made sure of it. She wouldn't remember a thing.

He stood next to her and slid his hands gently up the sides of her face, letting the pads of his thumbs fall and rest in the sockets of her eyes. He could feel them twitching beneath the thin delicate skin of her eyelids and smiled. He always marveled at the delicacy of the flesh. It's vulnerability. So little between the tender, sensitive working of her eyes and the rest of the world...or in this case the gentle pressure of his own fingers.

He pushed the stray thought away and focused on his hands, focusing his will into them, into the pads of his thumbs, feeling it roil and churn there, building and contorting to shape itself to the spells he whispered in a low, insistent voice.

It came to fruition all at once, pinpointing itself and aiming like an arrow toward the woman's mind. A metaphysical push and it was in.

Sarandus kept his hands over the woman's face, though cautiously as she bucked and writhed beneath him, her mouth an O of silent pain and terror. It wouldn't' do to put out her eye accidentally. He still had use for them.

He pulled away and let watched her a moment as she panted on the table. A few moments and he would check his work then have his man see to her removal. He considered sending her to Cheydinhal, but decided against it. They'd fled, that much was obvious, and he doubted they'd be returning any time soon. Besides, she was a resident of Chorrol, and it wouldn't do to be inconsistent. And if they fled to a city, Bruma or Chorrol were two of the closer options, not including the Imperial city of course.

He nodded satisfied. Besides, if Delatour's mercenary had managed not to botch the trap Sarandus had arranged, then it would be all the easier to flush out the remainder once the more powerful creatures had been secured. And who knows, they might not even be necessary.

And children did provide a very shabby quantity of blood. And died so easily.

He rang the bell by the door and returned to his work. Waving in the direction of the unconscious mer when his man finally arrived.

"Return her where I acquired her, sir?"

He made a distracted sound of affirmation and carefully drew his knife across the lotus, scraping the black seeds into a mortar. "And be sure the letter of instruction is somewhere she won't miss it."

"Very good, sir. Shall I send for Delatour, sir?"

"Not necessary. I suspect he's rather...preoccupied at the moment."

"Very good, sir."

Sarandus straightened and tipped his head toward the sound of the closing door.

"We shall see how good it is." He murmured.

**

It took Feric more time than he liked to slip by the guards and find his family.

In part because he knew some of them could be using enchantments as well, and he half expected to run into someone as he crept through the maze like halls of the ancient fortress. The air was cool on his bare skin, and despite being essentially invisible, he felt incredibly exposed.

But find them he did. However, he didn't much like what he saw. Somehow Mirisa and Owyn had gotten themselves trapped in a great hall, the gates around them closed tight. One of them looked like a it had dropped from above. A trap.

He was above them, looking down from one of the high walkways that crossed over head, too high for them to reach in any form as the walls were smooth and offered no hand holds. Not that it would have helped...he wasn't alone on the walk ways. There were hunters waiting there, though for what he could only guess. Some were training arrows on his people below. It was no easy thing to contain the snarl of rage that threatened to rip from his throat at the sight.

He looked around the room and saw what he thought...hoped, was the mechanism which controlled the gates shutting them in at the end of a different walk way. He took a deep breath.

He might be able to make the jump to the lower walkway as a human...but IF he did, it would hurt, and they'd probably see the movement, and definitely hear him. He knew he could definitely make it as a lion...but then they would see him...though, would they see him quickly enough?

There were three hunters on the walkway, one right in front of the gear and chain. He could take out one with his first jump, but one of the others would definitely be able to get a hit in. He sighed deeply. It was a risk he'd have to take.

He pulled the ring from his finger, slipping the ring under his tongue, hoping to hell he didn't accidentally swallow it as he shifted. He leapt, hearing a cry of surprise mid leap, but felt the hunter, a human of some kind, go down beneath him, screaming as claws shredded into leather armor. He bound toward the man who guarded the gears, dodging the arrow he fired toward him. The narrowness of the walk only let him dodge so far, and the metal barb nicked his shoulder, tearing the flesh, but not catching fully. He snarled in pain, and roared.

The sound served to startle the woman he now bore down on, and also to warn his people— an order to retreat. He heard their snarling replies...they would obey, if grudgingly. Another pain shot up his spine, coming from one of his hind legs, and another, though he couldn't discern where...hot...so hot...

The woman vanished and he threw his body into the space she had been standing, and felt it connect with hers. He knew she had a knife when he felt it slice into his already injured shoulder.