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 Fading into the darkness like shadows, the group disappeared within nothing more than their booted footsteps marking their presence. For several moments I stood there, trying and failing to comprehend exactly what had just happened. With my eyes jumping between Valen Dreth’s astonished face and the open tunnel I knew I was not turning from such an opportunity. Before I realised what exactly I was doing, I had vanished into the darkness, only briefly pausing to stick my middle finger in Dreth’s direction.

 I carefully made my way through the tunnel, following in the Emperor and his guards’ footsteps as it changed from roughly hewn rock to ancient masonry that appeared older than time itself. With every metre I seemed to travel deeper into the catacombs under the prison, my sandaled feet stirring the dust of ages long since passed. There were no other options but to trail after them in the darkness as the tunnels and catacombs seemed to be blocked in every direction but the one they were travelling. With nothing more than the sight of bobbing torches several dozen metres ahead, my eyes soon grew accustomed to the darkness.

 The building concern and lack of understanding of exactly what I had found myself in was worrying. Less than an hour before my biggest concern was how I was going to be executed, and yet instead I found myself stepping in the boot prints of the most powerful individual within the Empire. His sons attacked, possibly dead? And now there was a threat on his life? These were not thoughts that filled me with ease. Obviously the passage in my cell had been set aside as some form of contingency for just such an occasion, but that didn’t explain his apparent recognition of who I was. For some reason that was more terrifying than anything else.

 I had followed them for long enough that my legs were beginning to ache after going for almost a fortnight without any exercise. They had continued on, moving with distinct purpose through the catacombs through every twist, turn, passage and doorway. Not once did they hesitate or divert from their path and for the most part I followed, lingering a few dozen metres behind, out of the sight of their torches but close enough that it helped me traverse the darkness. Every few metres or so the shadows twisted and bunched as the torches played their light across the alcoves and around ancient support pillars, but some deep seated sense of wrongness was worming into the back of my mind. I had not lived and survived so many years in Vvardenfell without trusting my instincts, and before I consciously realised what I was doing I had begun stalking through the shadows after the small group.

 As they moved through a hall of pillars, my heart began racing long before my conscious mind caught up with what my subconscious had noticed minutes before. Shapes moved in mockeries of men and mer, sliding around and between the pillars and hunting those within the tiny patch of light. What I had originally mistaken as tricks of the light and the way it shifted as the Blades walked soon began twisting and condensing around those imbued with a false sense of security from the light’s embrace. Years of hunting allowed me to pick out the movement that didn’t match the flickering torch light even as the shadows became silhouettes, the dozen or so flitting around the tiny group with what were unmistakably weapons gripped tightly.

 My cry of alarm was caught in my throat as one of the shadows suddenly exploded into action from behind a marble pillar. Appearing as though it had ripped itself from the shadows, the figure was well within arm’s reach of the Blade commander. It seemed to tower over her for an instant swinging its darkened limbs with such speed that no one could react in time.

 A scream of pure agony echoed through the confines of the catacombs, accompanied with the wet-crack of bones splintering with considerable force. Shrieking, and clutching at her shattered arm her dropped to the floor with a clatter and a rising explosion of sparks that illuminated her attacker. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was relieved to see a man wearing robes and plate armour rather than some daedra dragged from the depths of my subconscious. A wickedly flanged mace was held in an armoured fist, the Blade on her knees before him and within seconds other shadows flickered into horrible existence.

 Without hesitation or conscious thought, the other two Blades moved purely on instinct, ripping Katanas from sheathes and hurling themselves at the attackers. Utter pandemonium erupted in the enclosed space, the dropped torches sending gigantic shadows across the walls as they and their physical owners hacked, stabbed, kicked and struck at each other in a frenzy of movement. Roared battle cries overwhelmed grunts of exertion and the gurgling sounds of the dying. With wild abandon the attackers swarmed the pair of fighting men, the Blade Commander laying on the ground where she had fallen and the pale featured Emperor backing away from the melee with undue haste.

 What the Blades hadn’t seen was that they were surrounded with half a dozen armoured attackers reaching from the shadows. The crippling strike against the Commander had been the signal for the ambush, and the assassins moved with utter surety as they sought to end the lives of the remaining blades. As the majority of the attackers surrounded and hacked at the pair, one solitary individual rushed the Emperor from the side where there was no guard to save him.

 The Blades had ruined their vison by the torches they carried, hiding the assassins from sight but what the assassins hadn’t realised was they too had been left unable to see well in the darkness. I could tell by the way they moved and stumbled towards their victims that they had been foolishly staring at the torches. From my position further back I had followed with one eye closed, ensuring that I never looked directly at the only source of light. I relied entirely on my peripheral vison to make my way in the shadows, but now I was the only one in the catacombs that could fight both in the darkness and the limited light. Moving quickly, I opened both eyes, using the mismatched visons to see in the light and the darkness simultaneously. Without allowing myself to consider my actions I broke out into a run, crossing the distance between me and the assassins in seconds.

 Striding with malicious purpose, the assassin was so intent on reaching the Emperor with his gleaming obsidian dagger that the first he realised he was under attack was when I crashed bodily into him. Dressed in nothing more than rags, I was at a considerable disadvantage against an opponent as heavily armoured as the assassin. The blood coloured robes clung close to his flesh, and the esoteric plate armour he wore stabbed into the back of my mind with the greasy magical taint it extruded. My magical abilities were limited but there was no mistaking the fact that my foe was wearing plate armour conjured from the depths of Oblivion, especially as we found ourselves grappling with each other on the cold stone floor.

 The surprise was my only advantage and was one that I used to its full benefit. Even before he had realised that he was under attack I had busted my knuckles into the scowling face mask that he wore, forcing inarticulate howls of pain to be cut off with every blow. Flailing about, the best he could do was roll the two of us over until I found myself on my back, and if it wasn’t for the way I had grasped his knife hand with one of my own I could have very easily found myself bleeding out on the ancient tiles.

 "Gods. Damned. Bloody. Bastard!" I grunted, jamming a knee into his armoured chest while trying desperately to keep the serrated dagger from my face and throat. While marginally stronger and actually trained in comparison to my opponent, he was far heavier in his conjured armour. Before I could do anything more than jam an elbow into his throat he was suddenly pressing down hard, forcing his entire body weight down onto his dagger and gripping it in both hands.

 "Die, unbeliever!" he hissed through his mask, the scowling plate muffling the words with a metallic dullness. I could see the hints of madness in the depths of the mask’s eye slits, feeling him trembling with exertion as I put all my strength into holding him at bay.

 Chiming, and barely noticeable in the raging melee, I almost felt rather than heard the metallic echo of something dropping to the floor near us. Without breaking my gaze with the plated assassin panting on top of me, I quickly reached down with my left hand while the right held him back with an arm strong from years of using a bow. Desperate for something, anything to use against my blood maddened enemy, my fingers brushed over what was obviously a hilt before wrapping around it and jamming it into an eye.

 A powerful spasm ran through the assassin, his dagger dropping from nerveless fingers as I pinned the mask to his face with the dagger. Ten centimetres of pointed steel was lost in the depths of his skull, the point scraping at bone at the back of his head and the sudden loss of resistance almost made me throw the freshly dead corpse aside. There was no surviving such an injury but now that my blood was up I had twisted onto my knees even before the dead man had finished rolling onto his back.

 The battle as such was over, and in the dim flickering light of the dropped torches I could see half a dozen bodies strewn about. Blood had sprayed in darkening arcs in all directions, staining the white marble floors and pillars and soaking into decades of dust. The sudden lack of fighting and noise seemed even more deafening than the carnage that had taken place in the confines of the catacombs, and I found myself looking about at how all of the assassins were left sprawled about. There was no mistaking the fact that they were all extremely dead.

 The sudden cracking of energy stabbed into my mind and I recoiled from my opponent as his armour began to dissipate and slough away. Like spun sugar left in the rain the armour dissolved and ran into the cracks in the ground, evaporating into smoke before my very eyes. In seconds all that was left was the red-robed corpse with the hilt of a dagger jutting from a bloody eye socket.

 "What the fu-"

 My exclamation of surprise was cut away as I felt the distinct sensation of a peerless edge coming to rest against my throat.

 "I wouldn’t move if I were you." There was no mistaking the threat in the voice from behind me. "Are you alright Sire?"

 Gore ran down the gleaming edge of the katana and I felt some of it drip down the front of my neck and chest. Both of the Blades who remained standing were coated with blood, but none of which appeared to be their own.

 The Emperor moved into my field of view, moving hesitatingly but surely as he looked at his bodyguards. "I’m fine Glenroy. But... Captain Renault?"

 To my left the second Blade was kneeling down over the prone body of their commander. The look in his eyes said more than words ever could as he unbuckled the sheathed katana from her side. Her head and helmet had been caved in from a blow of considerable force, shattering her skull and ensuring that death had been quick and complete. "She’s... Dead. I’m sorry Sire, but we have to keep moving."

 Despite his position and noble birth, the death and carnage within the catacombs didn’t seem to bother the old man. As he gave a brief nod in return I realised that he was no stranger to death and violence.

 "What about the prisoner?" the katana didn’t tremble but I felt the tiniest increase in pressure of the edge into my flesh. "I don’t trust him. He could be working with the assassins."

 "If he was I doubt he would’ve rushed to our aid as he did." There was a dark chuckle from the Emperor as he looked at me and gestured to the corpse beside me. "I also wouldn’t have provided him with my dagger."

 Ensuring that I didn’t move anything more than my gaze, I glanced at the corpse and the dagger jutting from its eye. The hilt alone was covered with silver etching and gemstones. It was easily worth several years’ worth of legion salary and I felt strangely uncomfortable using something so expensive to take a life.

 "We should kill him. Just to be certain."

  "No, he is not one of them. He can help us."

 The katana hovered at my throat for a moment, remaining against my flesh just long enough to convey displeasure but not long enough to be considered insubordinate. Then, as quickly as it had appeared it had disappeared and I noticeably relaxed.

 "He mightn’t be one of them, but I still wouldn’t put any faith in a deserter." Snapping the Katana out to his side with an outstretched arm I watched as the gore that coated his blade was flicked across the floor.

 "Deserter he may be." The tone was cold from the Emperor as he moved between us, watching as I slowly rose to my feet. "He must help us."

 Turning he gestured to the Blade tucking his commander’s sword into his belt. "Baurus, give this man a sword."

 Although ordered to, Baurus clearly hesitated at the idea of arming me. Even as mentally juggled with the order he patted his hands amongst the small collection of weapons fastened to his waist before pulling a gladius and its sheath from his belt.

 "Are you sure about this sire?" his tone was wary as he held out the sword for me to reluctantly take from his hands.

 "I am sure." The Emperor’s expression was grim, but a half-smile ghosted up his face before motioning for the three of us to follow Glenroy’s steps.

 The darkness consumed us and I ran my hands up the scabbarded length of the Gladius that I had been given. Having a Legion blade made me feel a lot more confident despite how I had found myself standing next to the most powerful individual in all of Tamriel.

 "They do not understand why I trust you." He said simply, shuffling his way through the passageways with dust clinging to the hems of his priceless robes.

 "To be honest Sire," I replied, doing everything I could not to look in his direction. "I don’t understand either."

 He sighed, and I could clearly see that every year of his long life had left deep marks upon his body, mind and soul. If half of the stories that I had heard were true, he had experienced far more than any one man should.

 Each step was placed carefully into the floor, the priceless shoes he worn now permanently stained with gore. "How can I explain?" The question was directed at himself as we made our way down a short flight of stairs, but he was looking at me intently. "You know of the Nine? How they guide the fates with an invisible hand?"

 I snorted involuntarily, earning a backwards glance from Glenroy that was filled with obvious loathing and a threat of punishment if I continued to show disrespect.

 "I’m not on good terms with the Gods." With a shrug I ignored the Blade’s disapproving glance and cast my eyes through the shadows in front of us, closing one eye to preserve what little night vision I had left. "I doubt I would’ve found myself in such a position if it was otherwise."

 "How many have found themselves considering the same thing I wonder?" Despite the way that neither of his surviving bodyguards trusted me that allowed me to walk by his side, trusting in their skills to be able to cut me down before I could doing anything to their charge. There was a faint grin on his face as I glanced between him and Baurus following closely behind. "I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well..."

 His voice trailed off as he lifted his head to the ceiling, staring as though he could see the night sky despite the metres of masonry and soil above us. "The signs I read show the end of my path. My death; a necessary end, will come when it will come."

 "Aren’t you afraid to die?"

 For the first time since the cell our eyes met and I couldn’t help but shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the chill of the catacombs. "No trophies of my triumphs precede me. But I have lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the hour of my death... To face my apportioned fate, then fall."

 This time the smile on his face was grimmer, his eyes seemingly shrinking into his head and his shoulders slumping with the full weight of his age. "I go now to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, then we must part."

 I found myself lost for words, moving through the wider expanse alongside the Emperor and between his loyal guards. There was nothing moving within the area other than ourselves, our footfalls lifting tiny swirls of dust with every step. I couldn’t help but think that a combination of old age and grief had addled the Emperor’s wits, but he was so sure, so full of conviction that it was hard not to hold onto every word he said. Believing that I had been spared was one thing, but I wasn’t in the state of mind to believe I was free until I felt the sun on my face and the wind on my skin.

 Continuing in silence we made our way further into the undercity, passing through halls and passages that had long since been without the presence of mortals. From room to passage to rooms we passed through the ancient crumbling depths of the Imperial City and while I was hopelessly lost the two Blades at least knew exactly where they were heading. Unfortunately it seemed so did their enemies as we found ourselves facing an ancient metal portcullis that had been barred and chained with fresh looking steel padlocks linking it all together.

 At the sight of it, Glenroy showed his displeasure in a way we had all considered. As the echo of his boot smashing into the bars and chains died away he swore forcefully under his breath.

 "What about that side passage back there?" Baurus gestured to the darkened hallway a dozen meters further down the passage.

 In the depths there was an echo, a reverberation that plucked at the edges of our senses and almost as a single individual we all turned and shared glances. While faint, the sound of metal on metal and hurried footsteps began growing noticeably by the second.

 "Worth a try!" Glenroy snarled, dropping his torch to the floor and tearing his Katana free. The first sign of nervousness from the Emperor’s bodyguard was the way how he tested the edge of his sword with a gloved thumb.

 With Baurus leading the way, and Glenroy and I following closely behind the Emperor we moved through the doorway. The echoes were growing with every second and my new gladius was in hand without even realising that I had drawn the blade. We barely even made it more than a dozen metres down the passage before we came to a shuddering halt, seeing Baurus’ despondent expression as he shrugged at the tiny space we occupied. It was tiny, barely enough space inside the L shaped room to swing a sword. It was a dead end, both figuratively and literally.

 Cries of impending murder and further bloodletting echoed like the braying of hunting dogs as more assassins followed in our footsteps. The silence that had almost been deafening in our travel was now nothing more than a wish.

 "What’s your call sir?" asked Baurus, gripping his katana tightly and leaning into the passage at the approaching enemies.

 Glenroy paused, looking around the tiny room for a moment before looking directly at me. "Wait here with the Emperor," he spat, pointing to the floor with his sword and rolling the muscles of his neck under the splint mail gorget. "Guard him with your life."

 The sudden responsibility hit me like a charging orc and I nodded, struggling to keep the tremor out of my sword arm. For his part, The Emperor moved across to the far end of the room, leaning against the wall and feeling the exertion finally catch up to him as his Bodyguards rushed down the passage.

 Screams wracked the catacombs, broken by the sounds of metal on metal and the softer thunks of blades cutting deeply into flesh. Despite the level of fear that was threatening to consume me, I felt strangely at peace as I remembered of the numerous times I had faced similar situations over the years. Standing in the depths of the Imperial City, dressed in rags and standing between the Emperor and a horde of baying assassins was a far cry from hunting Ashlander insurgents or slaughtering Corpus beasts. The strange familiarity of standing firm and preparing to do my duty was a comfort at least, and compared to the fate that awaited me only hours before I felt glad that if I was to die I would die on my feet with a weapon in hand. Especailly compared to the alternative of hanging with piss streaming down my legs.

 "My guards are strong and true," came the voice behind me, and I glanced back to the Emperor who looked exhausted in the flickering torchlight. "but even the might of the Blades cannot stand against the power that rises to destroy us."

 "None will get past me while I’m breathing Sire." I replied, feeling the tension building in my shoulders and muscles for the expected killing.

 The Emperor shook his head sadly. "The Prince of Destruction awakes, born anew in blood and fire. These cutthroats are but his mortal pawns."

 In short steps he moved closer, lifting the giant gemstone amulet from around his neck and holding it out for me. "Take my Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. I have a secret son, and Jauffre alone knows where to find him. Find the last of my blood, and close shut the marble jaws of Oblivion."

 Questions filled my mind, tumbling over themselves in the effort to make their way to my mouth and be voiced. I stood there in shock, staring at the Amulet as though it was a venomous reptile and not quite being able to bring myself to grab it from his hands. The loud, ear piecing shriek of someone dying horribly from the passage broke my mental stalemate, and to both the Emperor’s and my own surprise one of the armoured forms of the Assassins rounded the corner drenched in gore.

 He had managed to fight his way past the Blades, but looked like he had gone through Oblivion to do so. One arm dangled nerveless by his side, drenched in gore that was entirely his own. A great chunk of armour, robe and flesh had been hewn from his shoulder and revealed the gleaming white of bone amidst the red-black of his conjured armour. His other hand gripped a wickedly curved blade, forged in the rough shape of a katana but not of any design made by mortal hands. It was longer than my solid, dependable gladius with its design seated in the history of the Empire but I felt confident in my chances. Especially when faced with a wounded foe.

 The screaming from the passage was deafening as I threw myself at the wounded assassin, watching as he drew his arm up high over the shoulder and swung with all his might. His blade was nearly a full metre in length and it made a keening sound as it sliced through the air towards me. I didn’t even bother ducking or blocking the blade, watching with grim satisfaction as his lack of skill imbedded the sword tip into the ceiling and jarred his entire arm.

 The sudden fear in the assassin’s eyes was clear even under the mask and hood of his conjured armour. With me rushing him, he tried to drag the sword from where the ancient marble had grasped it but failing to pull it free in time. Stabbing forward with years of practice and training, I rolled my wrist and arm into the motion, the tip of the gladius snaking out and spearing the assassin right in the throat. The razored tip of the blade made a mockery of the assassin’s conjured plate, spearing through the metal and flesh underneath with little resistance. While not an instantly fatal strike, there was little for him to do but release his grip on the sword, grasp at his throat and vainly attempt to stem the flow gushing from between his fingers.

 Behind him the passageway was full of the dead and dying. One of the Blades was fending off several of the assassins with a skill I had never seen, but his comrade was on his back. Sprawled out on the ancient masonry, he was the source of the terrible screaming as he went about dying messily. Several of the assassins surrounded him while the others fought on, swords and daggers rising and falling into the Blade’s broken armour and body. even as they cut the life from him and the grip on his sword wavered, he managed to jam his thumbs into a shrieking assassin’s eyes who had lost his mask in the wild melee. Both his and the assassin were locked together as the others hacked and stabbed in gouts of blood and gore, and I ripped my own sword away as my foe slapped wetly onto his face.

 Before I charge to the surviving Blade’s aid, motion in the corner of my eye stopped me in place. Somehow, in the darkness of the room another of the armoured assassins had appeared, leaping from an alcove behind the Emperor. Black-red and gleaming like the carapace of a beetle, an arm wrapped around the Emperor, pulling him back into the assassin’s embrace.

 Old man stiffened and arched his back away from the assassin and the cold intrusion of the blade in his vitals. Even as I tried desperately to cross the space between us I could see the two of them twitching as the killer stabbed the Emperor repeatedly in the back.

 "Stranger." The cowled and masked Assassin laughed as his blade tasted the blood of the Septim dynasty. "You chose a bad da-"

 Whatever words he had for me died with him as I lunged, putting the full weight of my body into a blow and almost leaping across the remaining distance between us. Twisting my hips and thrusting my sword forward, I used every ounce of my strength in an arm grown strong and muscular from years of using a longbow. The strike was perfect, moving faster than the assassin could react and punching through the obsidian mask like paper. Coated in the blood of the first assassin, the edge of the gladius came within a finger’s breadth of the Emperor’s right ear, rocking the killer’s head back as though punched. As they both fell backwards the entire length of the sword had sliced through teeth, gums, tongue and throat to erupt from the back of his skull. The force of my charge had been so complete and forceful that his front teeth were shattered on the hilt.

 The assassin fell backward, his dagger falling to the floor wet with the Emperor’s blood. He was dead before he even hit the floor and the hilt of the sword jutted from the man’s mouth like an obscene metal tongue when the armour sloughed away. Unfortunately, the Emperor’s mortality was not far behind. Falling with the dead weight of the Assassin at his back the three of us were left sprawled bloodily across the floor. I had seen enough mortal injuries to know that the knife had punctured a lung and had sliced arteries around his heart. Even if it hadn’t been a mortal wound, his advanced age meant that the shock alone was enough to kill him.

 An apology tried to rise itself to be heard but I couldn’t make my mouth preform the actions, staring into the Emperor’s face as it went white and the eyes started to turn glassy. He knew death’s approach with greater certainty than what I did. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth as the blood in his lungs made itself felt, but it did little to stop him from raising a hand and slapping it to my chest with the last of the strength that he could muster.

 The life leeched away from his body as he died in my arms. Soon, he too began to cool like the dozen or more corpses scattered between us and my pitiful cell. It all felt like a complete waste and for several seconds I knelt there, feeling the lightness of the wrinkled hand pressed to my chest and the solid lump of jewellery held tightly within.

 The fighting died off in the passage behind me, and I couldn’t bring myself to turn around to face what I expected to be my death. Even the anguished sob and the sudden clatter of dropped metal wasn’t enough for me to turn away from the dead Emperor.

 Bareheaded and drenched in gore, Baurus dropped to his knees beside me. If it wasn’t for the tiny trickles of blood from the corners of his mouth and the glassy eyes that stared into infinity, it would’ve been easy to mistake the aged man for merely sleeping.

 "We’ve failed..." Every word was torn from the depths of his chest and it was all he could do not to collapse with the weight of his despair. "I’ve.... Failed...."

 Neither of us spoke, my hand moving over the Emperor’s blank features as I carefully closed the eyes of the dead man. Despite the grip of death and the slackness of the muscles, I had to lower the Emperor’s hand from where it had been pressed into my sternum.

 The young Blade beside me watched as I went about providing the dead ruler with as much dignity as I could afford. The crushing sensation of failure was hard to stomach for either of us, and Baurus sucked in several gasping lungful’s of air. "The Blades were sworn to protect the Emperor, and now he and all his heirs are dead."

 For a moment he simply stared at the corpse, the Emperor laying on his back in all of his finery that was now ruined by the expanding pool of blood. The young Blade was quiet, but the sudden tenseness that filled him was obvious to even a blind man as he reached forward and pressed his hand into the Emperor’s chest.

 "The Amulet? Where’s the Amulet of Kings?"

 "I have it." I said simply, holding it by its gold chain and staring at the massive central jewel as I tried to comprehend all that had happened. "He gave it to me..."

 The silence dragged on as he searched my face for any trace of falsehood. "Strange." The whisper seemed to echo in the confines of the room as he turned back to the corpse. "He saw something in you. Trusted you."

 Unsteadily he rose to his feet but he gripped my offered hand as I hauled him up. Groaning as he started feeling his muscles cramp he continued looking me dead in the eye. "They say it’s the Dragon Blood that flows through the veins of every Septim; they see more than lesser men."

 "Why would he give such a thing to me?" I looked over the amulet, feeling its impressive weight. Between the gold and the series of gems it was almost a kilogram and infinitely priceless.

 With a dark chuckle he wiped his katana clean on the robes of the first assassin I had killed before sheathing it at his side. "The Amulet of Kings is a sacred symbol of the Empire. Most people think of the Red Dragon Crown, but that's just jewellery." A finger stabbed at the amulet dangling from my grasp. "The Amulet has power. Only a true heir of the Blood can wear it, they say. He must have given it to you for a reason."

 I shrugged. "He said I must take it to Jauffre."

 "Jauffre?" Puzzlement and suspicion warred for a moment in his eyes. "He said that? Why?"

 "There’s another heir, and apparently Jauffre knows where to find him."

 "Nothing I’ve ever heard about," Baurus chewed his lip and wiped his face with the back of his hand. It did nothing more than wipe more blood across his features already heavily streaked in gore. "but Jauffre would be the one to know. He’s the Grandmaster of my Order, although you would not think so to meet him."

 Moving over to the corpses I quickly patted them down for anything that might have been of use. Despite wearing rags I was not about to strip a corpse, especially how all of the assassins had been wearing the same blood coloured robes like some kind of uniform. It didn’t stop me from pulling rings and other tiny trinkets from their bodies though.

 "Why is that?" I asked, slipping a pair of rings over my fingers due to my lack of pockets.

 The Blade laughed, but there was little humour in it. "He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory, just outside the City of Chorrol."

 "That’s what? Two or three days from here?"

 Baurus nodded at my question "More like four. Especially on foot."

 A glance around the room showed little, except for the fact that one of the alcoves that had been nothing but solid stone when we had first entered was now a gaping hole. "I’ll need to get out of here first."

 "Glad to see that you are at least taking this seriously." He sighed loudly and ran his blood streaked hands through his hair. The clotting liquid stuck to the closely cropped hair that was now plastered to his skull with more than just sweat. "I know that this is a lot to take in all at once, but trust me when I say I know how it feels. No one will be more surprised than me that I’m sending an escaped prisoner off with the Amulet of Kings!" he paused for a moment, staring around himself with the beginnings of tears in his eyes. He had been one of the few chosen to guard the Emperor, and despite the fact he was the last of the trio that had entered my cell I realised that he was younger than what I was. "but... the Emperor trusted you for a reason, and I trust the Emperor."