There is a part of me that wants to be cautious here – all of this was a long time ago, and some things should be left well enough alone. We did what we did and I do not regret it, but I’d not like for my stories to lead some brave-or-stupid adventurer down into the dark without any idea of what they were getting into. At the same time, the thing about going into dwemer ruins – or any of these places, really – is that nothing ever gets lost in time. There’s always some scholar, or some brave-or-stupid adventurer who will stumble along and find a ruin, or an artifact, or some scrap they probably should have left well enough alone. That’s just life, I think.
So, I’ll do this – I’m not telling you where Irkngthand is. And I’ll also tell you the Eyes aren’t there anyway; and no I won’t tell you where they are. What I will tell you is that ruin was full to the brim with Falmer; now I expect it’s just full to the brim. You don’t need any bigger sign about leaving the past where it is than the Falmer – or any greater symbol of why I personally don’t shed a tear that the dwemer are gone. Yes, they had technology and to spare, but for all their gold and wonders, their cruelty and deviousness isn’t something our world needs.
Enough of that somewhat mystical vein – the point was we were now heading to a nestbed of Falmer, the snow elves who had been left in darkness, poisoned with herbs for so long they no longer remembered who they had been. Marcel’s mark was a huge statue, apparently the only piece of art left showing what the Falmer used to look like, and its eyes in particular; two gems almost the size of your head. This sort of score would set Mercer up for life, and he could happily sell one off for triple a king’s ransom, then sail out of Skyrim forever with the Key. This was why it was so imperative to stop him if we could.
Three of us, one of him – it should have been good odds. Thing was, the falmer were already on their guard – Mercer had been true to form and slaughtered quite a few on his way down. These wretches were blind and legion, but even they hadn’t heard him coming, or could find him once he vanished. Karliah had been right; his skill was impressive. Problem for us however was that now the Falmer were on the alert, jumping at every sound and roaming with those rather unsettling giant bugs on leashes like Nords using guard-dogs.
There were just too many of them to fight so it was all sneakwork. Scarely daring to breathe, we crept down into the depths which were lit by glowing blue from strange fungus growing from the walls. It was strangely beautiful in a way, but it was rather heartbreaking too – I’ll kill draugr without compunction, believe me. But these creatures? It was difficult to do – they’d not asked for their lot, but then does anyone?
We didn’t really have the luxury of bleeding hearts however – we were ever aware that Mercer was ahead of us and if we didn’t carry on quick, we’d lose him. Brynjolf had pored over the sketches and had plied Delvin for details, but we didn’t know the way very well. Even with Nocturnal on our side, would She actually give us the luck we needed, or would She think it amusing to watch us stumble about into a crowd of Falmer?
We managed it, but only because we were damn good at what we do. Hail to you, Brynjolf and Karliah! I raise a mug of mead to your memory, and I hope the pact you made was worth it; a more professional set of footpads I have never known. We ducked and dived and twisted and used every trick in the book, and being a Nightingale, we had many tricks. We snuck round an entire camp of falmer before they knew we were there, and followed Brynjolf’s taps on our shoulders to indicate which way to go in the labyrinthine darkness. Our cowls gave us excellent sight even in the dark so we weren’t fumbling around too badly. We did have to kill a few falmer, but not too many…and certainly not as many as Mercer had done, if some of the bloodstains were any indication. We even found a note from the bastard – “One step ahead”. His arrogance knew no bounds, but of course he’d expect he was being followed. His paranoia had truth behind it.
Finally we came to a massive door marked with script in a language long forgotten. It was sealed, but there was half a footprint in the dust to one side – a booted foot, unlike the falmer’s clawed toes.
“Think this is it,” Brynjolf whispered behind his mask, crouching beside the door with his Nightingale blade across his knees. ”Can you get the door open, Karliah?”
“I can,” Karliah murmured back, already starting to work. ”I can hit him with an arrow but we still need to be silent if we’re going to get the surprise on him, he may hear the door.”
“I’ll take care of Mercer,” I said flatly, drawing my own black blade which I wore on my left hip. It was come to it now – I was finally going to have that bastard in my reach, and I’d have it done.
“I’m not letting you take him on alone,” Karliah said, her voice flat but dripping with venom as she carefully worked the mechanism for the stone door. ”It was my man he killed, remember.”
“I remember,” I said quietly, tapping the sword I was wearing on my right. ”You want to come and give him the killing blow, by all means, do. I don’t begrudge you at all.”
We looked round at one another, nodding. Everything in position now – now or never.
The door slid open silently – all these years and it didn’t make a single scrape. I thought I had been prepared for the sight, but I wasn’t – the statue was huge; a crosslegged Falmer sitting regal and poised with a torch in the air. It was incredible, and rather depressing as well – the Falmer had fallen far. But that wasn’t really our issue here. The stairs were covered in blood and slain Falmer, and Mercer himself clung like a spider to the side of the statue’s face, one eye already as empty as the current Falmer’s sockets. Mercer hadn’t wasted any time once he had been upon the prize and he’d cut down anything in his path. He was secure in thinking he was the only one here, and he wasn’t rushing the job. Well and good, at least till we’d surprise him.
My blood was boiling now, and I could feel Karliah tense as the string on her bow beside me. Brynjolf stayed by the door to block off any escape, even though I know he was of a mind to rush right up with us and get in on the attack. Mercer was still trying to chip the last Eye out of the statue’s face, so I made my way quick as I could up the stairs, casing the place as I went, taking the utmost care not to splash about in the water pool below the stairs.
But whether it was a trick of Nocturnal or just plain bad luck, I don’t know. Somehow, Mercer’s senses let him know there was someone there – that tingle on the back of the neck, the itch between the shoulderblades. I watched it happen even as I considered just sprinting up fast as I could – he went from casual to stiffening slightly, then freezing in place for a moment before he scanned round the hall, then over me, then back as he stared in disbelief at the Nightingale on the stairs making her way up toward the Falmer’s head.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Mercer grunted, jumping down upon the ground. His hands were slicked with blood, leaving smears on the second gem which he casually slid into his backpack as he surveyed me and the other two at the door. ”Karliah I expect, and that redheaded twit as well. Who’s the third, enquiring minds want to know?”
“Back from the dead, coming to haunt you,” I said as I pulled the cowl back from my face. Yes, I know, it was dramatic but I wanted to see his reaction. I wasn’t disappointed; his eyes widened and his face flushed crimson. I’ll spare your delicate ears because the curses he aimed in my direction are not to be repeated in polite company, but I got a fair bit of satisfaction out of it anyway.
“Mercer Frey,” Karliah called out from below as she began to make her way through the pool below. ”You will answer for your crimes; the death of Gallus, the robbing of the Guild, the breaking of your oath to Nocturnal and your post as a Nightingale.”
I have to admit, Mercer was quick. The rage was gone now, and that damn smirk had returned, but there was a gleam in his eyes that made me crouch and prepare my guard. “I’ve got a better idea,” Mercer replied, stretching as he drew his blood-slicked blade. ”How about we skip the monologue, and just go right to the fun?” Without further pre-amble he leaped forward, and the fight was on.
And now that I was on the business end of a fight with Mercer, I fully understood Karliah’s warnings – the man fought like a daedra in a corner. I would give his cursed skin that credit – the only thing more cunning and vicious to fight was a dragon, and even then dragons can’t move as quickly as Mercer could. There were a few moments when I thought he’d score a final hit on me, but Karliah managed to save my skin yet again as we both battled the man. Two against one may seem unfair but you’d have to have seen the man move; it was only just a fair fight.
There was nothing else for it now – he’d just wear us down at this rate. I drew the other blade and whirled round in an arc, bashing against Mercer’s guard. That caught him off balance – I don’t think he had been expecting his own stolen sword to come into play, but so it did. I struck him a grazing blow across the shoulder but the effect was almost instant; ice formed across his arm and chest, and spread rapidly. He roared in fury as his feet stuck to the floor, frozen in place as the spell was taking hold. In seconds he was frozen to the spot, his eyes glaring balefully at me, and I just glared right back.
“Karliah, you have the honours,” I said calmly, stepping back and gesturing to the Dunmer with one hand. She didn’t say anything at all – no pithy last words, no oaths. She let her blade do the talking, and with a fury I can only marvel at she sliced her blade right through Mercer’s frozen neck. His head bounced down the stairs and came to rest, ice-rimed eyes staring at the ceiling.
I tipped his body over with a grunt – the enchantment didn’t last long, but that was no bad thing as I had to try and find the Key on his corpse. Mercer’s leathers were thawing, and his blood was only just beginning to flow. I began to search his copious pockets, nabbing whatever I could find and tossing the backpack to Karliah as Brynjolf came up the stairs.
“Does anyone else hear that?” Brynjolf said, darting a glance uneasily round the walls. We could; it was a soft rumble, but we couldn’t tell from where it was coming from at first – although I was too busy trying to figure out where the Skeleton Key was.
“I think it’s coming from that pipe – ” Karliah began, just as I found what I figured I was looking for; at least it felt like it. A strangely formed key was in his utility belt pocket. As soon as my hands closed on it, I felt a jolt down my arm. I blinked and shuddered – it felt both wrong and right at the same time, I don’t really have any way to describe it. I was just going to ask Karliah if this was the Key when the rumble became a roar, and the pipe above us belched water like the whole sea had broken into the chamber. Actually, water was coming in from everywhere, the walls, the floor, the ceiling. It was filling fast – and although we all looked toward the door, we could see it was closed now, and already submerged.
“Could open it with the Key, couldn’t we?” Brynjolf shouted – we were casting about desperately but couldn’t see any way out.
“The way this water is coming in it’s going to flood the whole Sanctuary, we’d never outrun it!” Karliah called back.
No way out, or so it seemed. But I’m a Boiche – and what’s the first rule of being a Wood Elf? Always look up. Maybe that was it…or maybe it was the Key. Either way, as the water was already lapping at our ankles, I could see above the head of the Falmer that there was a hole, leading upward.
“Up this way!” I called out as we were soon swimming, with nothing but a scant bit of space between the ceiling and the water now. Who knew where the tunnel would lead, but it seemed our only chance. So up we went, holding our breaths and hoping that Nocturnal would realise if she killed us off the Key would be gone.
Up, up and up, and then, amazingly, the tunnel spat us out into a cave. We staggered out into the feeble Skyrim sunlight, blinking and soaking wet, but alive. All of Irkngthand Sanctuary flooded out, and the last likeness of the Falmer gone as well. I suppose that’s just how things are supposed to be; let it lie. But we’d won the day, and after a fair bit of cheering and a few tears behind the masks from Karliah which we pretended not to notice, we had done what needed to be done.
“There’s one last thing to do,” Karliah said quietly as she stepped forward and unslung her bow.
“The Key needs to go back, right?” I said. I could feel it in one of my pockets, a tempting weight – but I knew it was a stupid thing for a mortal to have, Dragonborn or not.
“Yes, you’ll have to take it to the Sepulchre, and walk the Pilgrim’s Path. I’m afraid I cannot come with you…I am not in Nocturnal’s good graces, and I’d never make it.”
“Surely I could – ” Brynjolf said but I shook my head.
“No, I’ve got this,” I replied, my mind already thinking ahead. It was time to play my ace, and hope it was enough, as I was pretty sure I’d be having a word with Nocturnal towards the end, and I meant to have it out before I saw Vilkas again. ”You two get back to the Guild, sell those gems, and get things in order. I’ll be back when I can.”
They were both reluctant, but I suppose they accepted the authority in my voice – already a done deal that I was now Guildmaster, even against my wishes! Before they left, Karliah gave me her bow; a beautiful thing, ebony and exquisite (so no breaking of the Meat Pact there!). A beautiful weapon and I used it for as long as I was in the field until I handed that too to my daughter, and she carries it well.
And so we made our weary way back to Riften. At least I managed to get some sleep in an inn before I found myself venturing once more to return what had been stolen, and to play one of the biggest gambles I’d ever played in all my days.
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