XIV

- "Where in Oblivion is that damn girl?!", Flavia shouted.

She and Gunnar had been searching the moon sugar fields for almost an hour, enduring the violent assaults of the wind and the downpours of the sky. Upon hearing of the princess's disappearance, Lady Toziri and Captain Tasarr immediately organised search parties, despite the limited number of men available. Armed with torches, the mercenaries and khajiits scoured the area around the estate with great caution while calling for the princess. The enemy that had attacked them earlier might still lurk around.

- "Gunnar!" she called. "Did you find anything?"

The Nord came out of a bush with a grunt as he pulled leaves and twigs tangled in his beard.

- "Nothing," he grumbled. "I didn't see the tip of her tail."

- "Damn it," Flavia snapped.

- "Do you think the guys in black caught her?"

- "Possibly..."

After inspecting the area around the manor, the captain had discovered footprints heading east. But once she reached the fields, there were no more clues. The princess seemed to have vanished. From that moment on, Flavia imagined all possible scenarios. Perhaps she had gotten lost or captured without anyone noticing. In the meantime, she and Captain Tasarr's guards were looking for any clue that she had been there. Unfortunately, the darkness and the storm made the search very difficult.

- "That little girl is good at sneaking away," Gunnar said as he searched a new bush.

- "Maybe, but it's more trouble than anything else," Flavia replied in exasperation.

- "I don't understand."

- "What's that?"

- "Why did she run away? She must know that it's still dangerous out there."

This question had also crossed the captain's mind. Why had the princess run away in the middle of the night and in the middle of a storm? It made no sense. In the past, every time she had run away, it had been to spend time with Alberic. Flavia had therefore thought that, worried about the young Breton's condition, she had gone back to his bedside on the sly. But the footprints found near the manor went in the opposite direction to the mercenaries quarters and the old Zaradi had told them she had not seen her. If only they knew Shazira's motives, they could point their search in the right direction rather than searching blindly. Flavia just felt that they were wasting their time.

As if to contradict her, a whistle sounded in the night, followed by distant shouts. The guards had found something. Let's hope it's the princess, Flavia thought. As she walked towards the source of the screams, she could see torches leaping left and right and converging in the same direction. When the captain arrived at the scene, she found two Khajiit guards in deep discussion. One of them was on one knee and holding an object in his hand.

- "What's going on?" asked Flavia as she approached.

- "We found this in the grass," replied the kneeling khajiit, handing her the object.

Bringing her torch closer, Flavia detailed what appeared to be a locket. It was round and the details on its surface were finely chiselled. A stark lion's head adorned its centre, its mane taking the form of both a sun and a crescent moon. No doubt silver. The captain was about to ask another question when Captain Tasarr'Do arrived on the scene.

- "I recognise it," he said at once, looking at the jewel. "It's the princess's moon amulet."

- "So she's been here," Flavia said, scanning the area.

- "Obviously."

Perhaps the princess had lost it without realising it, or perhaps it had been snatched from her when she was kidnaped. Alas, that was a poor clue. Flavia tried to remember the position of the manor and the direction of the footprints. She came to the conclusion that the young khajiit had continued east in a straight line.

- "We should continue to search east," she suggested. "It's the only lead we have."

- "I agree," the khajiit nodded.

Captain Tasarr turned to his men to give his orders and the guards obeyed at once. They spread out in groups of two to search the area and Flavia could see their torches fade into the night. With any luck, they would find her safely.

She just hoped they would be the first to find her.

*  *  *  *  *

Alone in the inner sanctum, Jaro was mad with rage.

He ranted and cursed as he violently knocked over the offerings on the altar. Pots and dishes flew into the cave and shattered on the floor and against the walls, spilling their contents. Usually he himself officiated at the deposit of the offerings and showed the greatest devotion in this task. But he was so furious that he had forgotten all restraint and common sense.

His fellow followers had returned a few hours before dawn in a pitiful state. Many of them were dead or injured. But above all, Dronos was not with them. The high priest had waited a little longer, hoping that the assassin had been delayed in accomplishing his mission. But now he had to face the facts. He would not return. Like his incompetent brother, the dark elf had failed to kidnap the princess. Worse still, he had probably been killed, too.

But Jaro's anger was, above all, driven by fear. He had failed for the second time and his master would certainly not be pleased to hear about it. How was he going to tell her such a thing? No, it was unthinkable. He had promised to bring the princess back to her and it could not be otherwise. The high priest did not even want to imagine the fury of the daedra when she heard the news. So what to do?

To go and kidnap the princess himself from the Golden Cane Farm? Ridiculous. He was not a warrior and never had been. If the two Dunmer assassins had failed, then he had no chance. At best he would be killed trying to reach his lord's bride. Yet that fate was more enviable than the torment that awaited him.

As he pondered his options, a sensual and sinister whisper suddenly rose from behind his back.

- "So, kitten... are we grumpy?"

At this voice, Jaro felt every hair on his body bristle. He turned slowly, eyes wide, to stare at the large obsidian mirror. The mirror was rippling with small waves and a fine vapour was rising from it to lick the floor of the cave. In his anger, the khajiit had not even sensed his master's presence.

- "Why don't you tell sweet Ophia why you are so angry," the otherworldly voice said.

The high priest threw himself face down in front of the mirror, bowing until his forehead touched the ground.

- "Mistress... this is such an honour," he stammered in a nervous, trembling voice. "I... we were not expecting your visit."

- "Do you think I need your permission for my voice to carry in this world?" the daedra resumed in a drier tone.

- "No... of course not, O mistress of the serpents of Oblivion."

- "That is better." Her voice was now honeyed. "Bend your back if you still desire my favor."

The way the daedra's tone and mood changed was disconcerting, even to Jaro who was used to dealing with it.

- "So? Why is my favorite cat priest getting so worked up?"

- "I... in truth..." The khajiit realized he had no choice but to tell the truth. "I... we failed to bring your bride back to you."

A long, heavy silence filled the cave. Jaro could hear the panicked beating of his heart, as if a ferocious beast was pounding against his chest to escape. Face down and tight-lipped, he dared not move or say a word. The high priest was expecting the wrath of his terrible master at any moment, and the silence that dragged on, second after second, only increased his anguish.

He gasped and yelped as he felt something cold brush against him. Without a sound, long snake-like tendrils of darkness had emerged from the mirror to crawl across the floor to the prostrate khajiit figure. Waving as if alive, they stroked their prey insistently.

- "So, you failed again... and that's what's making you so angry?" the daedra continued with amusement. "But I sense something other than anger in you... is it fear that makes your hair stand on end? Are you afraid of me, kitten?"

Jaro didn't dare answer as the anxiety rose in him. He finally nodded slowly, however. Not answering would only bring the demon's wrath upon him more.

- "How cute! Adorable!" Ophia's voice was particularly playful. "And now you're probably wondering what terrible punishments I'm going to inflict on you for your failure, right?"

- "I... I am at your service, mistress... in this life as in Oblivion," the khajiit swallowed painfully. "I surrender myself to your judgment."

- "What a touching example of obedience. You are so cute when you submit." There was no anger or bitterness in her voice. "So how am I going to punish you? Perhaps I could take your soul and inflict a thousand torments on it in my kingdom, what do you think? "

The high priest was sweating profusely despite the unnatural cold in the cave. He had been serving Ophia for years now and knew full well the torments she was capable of inflicting on those who had the misfortune to displease or disappoint her. He had seen it too many times when he communed with his master through his dreams.

- "You have nothing to fear, kitty," the daedra chuckled. "At least not yet. I will soon be able to return to Nirn[1] and create delicious chaos. But to do so, I demand that my bride be present when I rejoin this world."

- "Soon?" repeated Jaro. "Your followers will be overjoyed at the news, mistress. When… when will we have the honor of beholding your grace?"

- "Oh but very soon, my kitten. Once I am among you, I will be able to reward my most devoted servants." Her tone suddenly became more contemptuous. "And punish the less deserving... that goes without saying."

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- "We live only to serve you, Mistress Ophia."

He had replied in a calm, unemotional tone, but on the inside, Jaro was shaking with fear. He was just as fanatical and devoted as any of his cult brothers, but he was also aware that his life was now hanging by a thread. Yet death was not what frightened him most, for the daedras had the power to manipulate the souls of their unfortunate victims. Once dragged into Oblivion, these souls could not hope to escape and were promised endless torment. To the high priest, his master's message was crystal clear.

- "Exactly," Ophia said in a soft voice. "You have three moons."

Jaro was about to answer, but the words stuck in his throat. He could only nod before he realized that his master had already left. The heat had returned and the embers of the braziers were crackling again, making the shadows of the cave dance. The high priest shivered with the memory of the demon's last words still echoing in his head. He had only three days left to fulfill the daedra's wishes, or else...

The khajiit straightened into a crouch to think. How could he possibly capture the princess? Try another assault on the farm? No. Last night's losses had been too heavy and there were not enough followers left. Hire mercenaries or assassins? That was not an option either. It would take far too long and the cult couldn't afford to hire anyone. Jaro felt the anger rise in him again and he began to gnaw at his thumb claw. The task his master was asking of him was impossible with the means at his disposal and unless Princess Shazira was brought to him on a silver platter, he was doomed.

The high priest suddenly froze. Perhaps...

He leapt to his feet and left the mirror chamber with a determined step. He crossed the many natural galleries of the cave to join his brothers. They were busy praying or tending to the wounded who had returned from the Golden Cane farm. Not so long ago, the cult of Ophia had over sixty followers, all devoted to their dark master. Now there were only about twenty. But Jaro had no time to feel sorry.

- "Brother Coronus!" he called in a loud voice.

At the call of his name, the follower came running at once. He and a few others had not taken part in the attack on the farm because their alchemy skills were far too valuable to waste. Usually they prepared the potions needed for the cult's rituals. Now they were healing their wounded and dying brothers.

- "You called me, High Priest?" asked Brother Coronus, bowing.

- "Yes. You and the alchemist brothers will immediately prepare the dream manipulation ritual."

- "But... high priest, we must also attend to the injured." The adept seemed reluctant to obey. "Many will die if we don't take care of them right away. "

- "That's irrelevant," Jaro cut him off curtly with a wave of his hand. "Only the will of our master matters. Prepare the ritual."

The adept did not dare to protest in the face of his superior's authoritative and imperious tone. He bowed again and clasped his hands together.

- "At your command, High Priest," he replied laconically.

Brother Coronus joined his alchemist brothers in passing on the High Priest's orders. The latter pondered his plan as he looked thoughtfully at the busy adepts. If he couldn't bring the princess back himself, he would make sure she came to him.

It was time for the dreamer to be more than just a spy.

*  *  *  *  *

- "Princess Shazira!" called Flavia for the umpteenth time.

All around her, the same cry was echoed by Gunnar and Captain Tasarr'Do's guards. They had been searching the moon sugar cane fields for more than two hours without finding a trace of the princess. The men were tired after the night's fighting and badly needed a rest. Even Gunnar, who was usually tireless, was beginning to lose his strength. He was no longer the young Nord of old, Flavia thought. Just like her.

- "It's a waste of time," Gunnar grumbled, "Not a trace of the cat princess. She must be far away by now."

The mercenary captain didn't answer, as she understood her comrade's reasoning perfectly. It had been several hours since the princess had disappeared and, apart from her medallion, they had found no clues. If she had been abducted, as Flavia feared, then they had no chance of finding her. At best they could try to spot and follow the trail of her captors. But even that seemed impossible.

When she was still serving in the legion, Flavia had been the captain of a scouting corps. Spotting and following tracks was as easy for her as reading a map. But here, she couldn't see a single blade of grass lying down, not a single broken branch or footprint. The storm had erased everything.

Only the military discipline ingrained in her and her stubbornness prevented her from giving up.

- "We'll keep looking," she said in a firm voice despite her fatigue.

Gunnar grumbled louder at the order but did not protest. Flavia knew, however, that something else was bothering the Nord. Alberic didn't have much longer to go. The clock was ticking and the young Breton could not resist the poison in his veins forever. The horizon was already beginning to lighten, shyly turning pink, a sign that dawn was approaching. The boy could succumb at any moment and Flavia feared he was already dead. In her long military career she had seen many men and women die under her command, but never one so young, and she was beginning to regret accepting him into her company. Now he was going to die, alone and far from home. Flavia didn't know why, but the thought affected her strangely. Even though the life of a mercenary was harsh and rarely ended well, she was convinced that Alberic did not deserve such an end.

Gunnar's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

- "Captain, it looks like the storm is easing."

Flavia looked up to see that the Nord was right. The wind was no longer gusting and the rain had stopped, leaving a clear sky.

- "So what?" she asked.

- "We're not too far from the cliffs the old cat-woman talked about."

- "I think I know what you're getting at."

- "Captain, I request permission to go get the flower to save the boy."

Gunnar's tone was solemn but insistent and Flavia thought about his request. They had been searching for the princess for most of the night without getting any results or leads. The more time passed, the more the captain doubted that they would be able to find her. But with the Nord's proposal, they still had a chance to save Alberic. The choice was not easy to make, however, and Flavia felt torn between her duty to her employer and her responsibility as the boy's superior. She ruminated for a long time before coming to terms with the fact, which drew a deep sigh from her.

She was about to answer when a whistle sounded insistently in the distance.

- "Did they find anything?" Gunnar questioned, turning his head in the direction of the noise.

Flavia did not answer and the two mercenaries immediately began to run towards the source of the frantically repeated whistles. When they arrived at the scene, there were cries of joy and relief. The princess had been found, safe and sound. But when the captain looked at her, she was struck by her pitiful condition.

The young khajiit was freezing, her spotted fur soaked and dripping. Her beautiful silk robes were in tatters, torn, punctured and covered in mud. She had many cuts on her hands and feet, but above all she looked exhausted. One of the Khajiit guards was supporting her and Captain Tasarr, who had just arrived, untied his cloak and pulled it over her trembling shoulders.

Although everyone was relieved at the outcome, Flavia couldn't help but look at the young khajiit with an annoyed frown.

- "Where have you been?" she said sternly. "You could have been injured, captured or worse."

Shazira looked up to stare at the mercenary captain. She who usually looked at the one-eyed woman with fear and nervousness seemed, this time, strangely relieved to see her. The young khajiit reached into her torn robes and pulled out a bouquet of soggy flowers that she held to her chest, immediately handing it to Flavia. They had nettle-like leaves and long, large, yellow, cottony-looking pistils.

- "Please..." she managed to articulate in an exhausted voice. "Give them to Alberrric... save him, quickly. "

*  *  *  *  *

Brother Coronus's face was full of concentration as he manipulated vials and stills with the precision of an expert.

In a small cave converted into a laboratory, he and the other alchemist adepts were busy preparing the ritual of dream manipulation. It was a delicate rite that required meticulous preparation, with every ingredient measured out to perfection. They all worked with the utmost diligence under the gaze of the high priest. The black khajiit was nervous, his tail thumping the air as he paced around the laboratory. He gnawed on the claw of his thumb as he thought about his plan.

Diving into another person's dreams was a trying and risky experience. Jaro had done it many times before, and although he was used to it, he couldn't help but feel nervous every time he was about to perform the dream manipulation ritual. His mind could be drowned in memories, with no hope of getting out. He could also go mad reliving past events from a life other than his own. But all this was nothing compared to the torment that awaited him if he failed. His dark master would not tolerate another failure on his part.

- "High Priest." Brother Coronus' voice drew him from his thoughts. "We are ready to proceed with the ritual."

The adept held a vial with blue contents in his hands and a fine vapour rose from the neck.

- "Good," Jaro replied. "Prepare the ritual in the inner sanctum."

- "As you wish."

The alchemists obeyed at once and left the laboratory with various vials of strange-looking mixtures. The high priest looked at them thoughtfully before following them through the tunnels. Once in the sanctuary, they set up a silver basin in front of the great obsidian mirror. Into it they poured the contents of their vials, and the vessel soon filled with a fluorescent liquid that gave off wisps of vapour rising to the ceiling. As they went about their work, the adepts recited prayers in low voices, filling the cave with a slow, monotone melody.

When their work was done, the alchemists left the room one by one. Soon only Jaro and Brother Coronus remained.

- "Everything is ready, High Priest," said Brother Coronus, handing him the potion he still held in his hand.

The khajiit hesitated for a moment before taking the vial. He knew his plan was not foolproof. The dream manipulation only worked when the target was asleep and it had been daylight for several hours now. He might also not be able to convince the dreamer to betray his own people, as the dreamer's mind was particularly strong and stubborn.

No matter, Jaro thought. He would spend as much time as it took and use all his persuasion to carry out his plan. The potion had a sweet, soothing smell. The high priest drank it in one gulp before returning the empty vial to Brother Coronus.

- "Let the other alchemist brothers tend to the injured," he ordered the adept. "As for you, you will keep an eye on me during the ritual."

- "Yes, high priest."

The adept bowed and took a few steps back as Jaro approached the altar. He leaned over the basin to gaze at his reflection in the glistening liquid and took a deep breath of its vapors. After a final hesitation, he recited an ancient formula in the Daedric language. A single wave disturbed the surface of the water and the high priest's eyes rolled back into their sockets and disappeared beneath his lids.

The ritual had begun.

*  *  *  *  *

Alberic opened one eye but immediately closed it under the blinding sunlight. Immediately a multitude of unpleasant sensations assailed him. His mouth was dry and pasty. His head hurt like hell, but not as much as his left shoulder. His whole body felt like it had been beaten up. But the most painful part was his belly, as if a rat was nibbling his guts from the inside.

Shielding his eyes with his hand, the young breton managed to get used to the bright daylight. What time was it? His memories were confused. He remembered the storm, the strong wind and the pouring rain. He remembered Shazira's panicked face and the dark figure of the assassin chasing her. He had fought against the assassin but without much success. Alberic wondered if he was dead. No. He was in too much pain to be dead and as Gunnar so often said during their training: "If it hurts, you're still alive enough to feel it!" And on that, he would always start with a thunderous and joyful laugh.

The fight against the mysterious dunmer was the last thing he remembered. After that, it was pitch black. Apparently he had slept for a long time and his sleep had not been the most peaceful, judging by the dampness of the sheets and the mattress. Not to mention that mindless dream in which a big black cat with a disturbing smile kept asking him if he had any moon sugar on him, and which grew a little bigger every time Alberic said no.

Gradually the young breton became aware of his surroundings. He was still lying on his bed in the mercenaries’ quarters. The windows let in a bright, warm light, a sign that the day was already well advanced, and he could hear the birds singing outside. He could hear them better, though, without the deafening snoring.

Turning his head, Alberic found Gunnar sitting in a chair beside the bed. The Nord's head rested limply on his chest, which rose and fell with a slow, deep breath. He was sleeping soundly and snoring as loudly as a mammoth, the hair of his beard twitching every time he exhaled. He had probably dozed off while watching over him.

Further confirmation that he was still in the world of the living, Alberic's stomach began to grow hungry and he was increasingly thirsty. The young breton always kept a wineskin in his pack, hidden under his bed for fear of the khajiits' nimble and rapacious fingers. He straightened up to try to reach it before realizing that Gunnar was not the only other person in the room.

Shazira, unashamedly as usual, had decided to share the bed of the young breton. The young khajiit lay on the sheets at the edge of the bed, her slim figure covered by a long red cloak. Her eyes closed and her muzzle nestled against the pillow, she was sleeping peacefully. She was so close that Alberic could smell the tawny scent of her coat and see that it had seen better days. Her hair and mane were all dishevelled and covered in dirt, as if the princess had decided to take a midnight bath without taking the time to dry herself afterwards. What little of her clothing he could see was also in a sorry state and he noticed a multitude of bandages and small dressings on her hands. How had she ended up in such a state? What could have happened after he lost consciousness? Alberic was pondering these questions when a soft voice sounded near the entrance.

- "Ah, you are awake, yes?"

Old Zaradi smiled behind her wrinkled lips as she approached the boy. She held a large, sturdy wicker basket under her arm, filled with medicinal herbs, vials and clean bandages. Alberic had met her several times since he had arrived at the Golden Cane farm.

- "You have slept a long time, young man," she said in a low voice so as not to wake those who were sleeping. "That's a good sign."

- "What... what time is it?" questioned Alberic in a still tired voice.

- "Past noon."

- "Noon? Shit..."

Convinced that Captain Flavia was going to give him a hard time for sleeping so long, the young mercenary tried to get up, but the old khajiit stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. She was incredibly strong for a woman her age... or maybe he was even weaker than he thought.

- "Lie still. You need rest badly." She shook her head as she forced Alberic to lie back down. "That's an order from your captain."

The young breton did not insist, relieved to learn that he would not incur the wrath of his superior. He was about to make a request when the healer beat him to it by filling a bowl with clear water from one of the vials in her basket and handing it to the boy.

- "Here, you must be very thirsty, yes?

Alberic gratefully took the bowl and sipped from it. Meanwhile, Zaradi placed a hand on his forehead.

- "Your fever has broken. My antidote worked wonders." She smiled, looking relieved. "A little more and you would never have woken up again, boy."

- "What happened?" asked Alberic, handing the empty bowl to the healer, who filled it again. "I don't remember anything."

- "I don't know much more than you do. The farm was attacked and there were many deaths. You fought, too, but you were wounded and poisoned."

- "What else?"

- "That's about all I know. However..." She pointed to the sleeping princess with a wave of her chin. "I don't know all the details, but I understand that she's the reason you're still alive."

- "How so?"

- "As I said, I don't know the details. You should ask her when she wakes up."

The old khajiit stood up, putting some order into her basket.

- "I must leave you. There are other patients waiting for my care. I will come and redo your bandage in the evening. In the meantime, I advise you to rest and drink plenty of water."

She greeted Alberic politely before getting out, leaving the young mercenary alone with Gunnar and Shazira who were still sound asleep. As he drank the water Zaradi had left him, he stared at the sleeping princess curiously. What could have happened while he was unconscious? The young breton was tempted to wake her up and ask for an explanation, but she looked exhausted. Especially since her sleep seemed restless. The young khajiit stirred and winced weakly, as if she was in the grip of a bad dream.

Alberic placed a hand hesitantly on Shazira's head before caressing her gently. Shazira gradually calmed down and even began to purr softly. The young Breton thought that she had the right to sleep a little longer.

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Notes:

[1] Nirn is the name given to the world where the continent of Tamriel is located. It is also called the Mortal Plane as opposed to the immaterial plane of Oblivion where the daedras and other immortal beings reside.