Sloan moved through the room, chatting and laughing with the people she came across as if they were old friends, all the time circling her prey.

 

Mishi looked resplendent. No surprise, there. It was funny how she never seemed to get the assignments that would require her to dress as a pauper or a servant – hers were all high-society kills.

 

Sloan laughed to herself. It was too bad she hadn’t thought of that before – she could have hidden in the grimiest, lowest-of-the-low area she could find just to force Mishi to dress in rags to find her. Because find her, Mishi would. Sloan had hoped she had covered her tracks before she had joined the convent, but Gilna had found her. And if Gilna could find her, Mishi certainly could as well. She was the best hunter in the Vixen, save, perhaps, Kira herself.

 

If Sloan hadn’t stumbled at the exact right moment, she would have died at the convent by Gilna’s thrown knife, a fact that still bothered her. She had thought she would know if someone was there, but she hadn’t. By rights, she should be dead.

 

The strange bit of coincidence that had been her salvation bothered her still more. She couldn’t remember the last time she tripped over something. Part of her training had been learning to walk to avoid that exact possibility, no matter how ridiculous the hem of her outfit – one misstep could lead to ruin, after all. So to do so at that exact moment…if Sloan believed in divine intervention, that is where she would have laid the blame. As it was, she could only chew on the coincidence like a piece of meat that was too tough to swallow.

 

She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts circling through her head. The important lesson was, her initial plan of hiding was clearly not going to work – she would always be found, sooner or later. If she was going to die, she wanted to do it as the hunter.

 

She waved a feathery fan at her face, keeping it between her and her prey as she angled around the room. She was certain Mishi had not recognized her. Yet. The best hiding place was to be at the last place someone would expect you to be, and certainly Mishi would not think Sloan would be at this high-society, invitation-only soiree. It was Sloan’s one advantage. She just needed to get close enough to…

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance into the room of a new figure, one who stood out immediately. A lone woman with dark, short-cropped hair that looked as if it had been roughly shorn by a knife. Though her dress was of the latest fashion, it was too large for her and was cinched by a very out-of-place leather belt. She didn’t walk so much as lurch a few steps into the room, where she stood directly in the path of the established flow of the party and looked around like a doe caught in the open. Even had Sloan not recognized the woman, she would have loved her for how she was affecting the snobbish elite.

 

But, of course, she did recognize Trendil aka Swordsinger aka the leader of a large contingent of Stormcloaks that were not where they were supposed to be. Sloan made her way toward her sister-of-sorts as swiftly as decorum allowed as a new plan formed in her head.

 

When she got behind Trendil, Sloan whispered, “Stop fidgeting. You are terrible at this.”

 

Swordsinger started to turn but she stumbled and began to fall. Sloan caught her and guided her to a divan in a corner of the room, all the time apologizing to those they passed. “She had a fainting spell, poor thing.”

 

Trendil cleared her throat as Sloan perched beside her. “Thank you, I…um…” She stopped, clearly trying to figure out what to say next. Fortunately, Sloan knew the answer to that.

 

“It is good to see you again, my pseudo-sister. No, don’t slouch. Sit up straight. Good. Put your hands together like this. No, fingers…that’s right. Now smile and try to keep it there. Just nod if anyone tries to talk.”

 

Swordsinger did as she was bade and, although she still stuck out like a jackdaw in a flock of doves, the attention eventually shifted away from them.

 

Through her gritted-teeth-smile, Trendil hissed, “Do I know you?”

 

Sloan laughed. “I should hope so after all that time we spend in Labyrinthian together. No, keep steady and smile. That is a grimace, not a smile. Pretend you see someone you like. Or, for you, someone you don’t like getting a justly deserved sword through their gullet.”

 

That seemed to do the trick – Trendil’s lips curled up in a real smile, although this one was predatory. Sloan just kept from laughing as the nearest socialite glanced over and blanched at the expression and hurried in a different direction.

 

“Yes, that’s better. Now, how did you get in here? This is an invitation-only event.”

 

“We…um…found an invitation.”

 

Another soft laugh. “Did you, then? And you decided to pause the war to come to a party?”

 

“No to the first part, yes to the second. The war is here. I just need to find it.”

 

“Truly? Do tell.”

 

Swordsinger sighed as she shifted, though she kept up enough of the pretense that Sloan didn’t need to correct her. Quick learner! “The invitation came with a guest list. Imagine our surprise when a number of high ranking Stormcloaks were on the list of a party deep in enemy territory!”

 

“Indeed! Have you seen any of these people here?”

 

“Not so far. I’m thinking maybe they’re in a different part of the mansion. Maybe some dignitaries section. I was going to…” She stopped and sighed. “Well, I was going to try to find it.”

 

“I see. Is there anyone is particular you were hoping to find?”

 

“Aye. Benrad Gray-Mane.”

 

“I hear the tinge of hate in your voice.” Sloan smiled as the pieces of her plan snapped together. “I have a proposition for you.”

 

“I am listening.”

 

“It has surely become clear to you that you won’t be able to infiltrate this august group. However, that is exactly the sort of thing I am trained to do.”

 

“That is an interesting idea, but you wouldn’t know what information to listen for. If it even comes up.”

 

Sloan’s smile grew larger and she paused to greet a couple passing by before responding, “I don’t need to. I’ll bring Ser Gray-Mane to you.”

 

Swordsinger gasped then tried with clumsy flair to turn it into a cough, though it sounded more like a choking mule. “You can do that?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“All right. What do you want in return?”

 

Another laugh and Sloan inclined her head ever so slightly toward Mishi, who was standing near the banister of the wide sloping staircase. No one but Sloan would have been able to tell, but it was clear Mishi’s full attention was on them. Or, rather, on Trendil, whose entrance could not have been missed.

 

“Remember when I said I was no longer employed? That woman is Mishi, and she is one of the reasons that happened. She is going to attempt to kill me later tonight.”

 

“Oh, Aye?”

 

“Indeed. I was also going to try to kill her but, though my skills have improved over the years, I am not certain I can. You, on the other hand…”

 

“I’ve seen you at work. I find it hard to believe you would lose.”

 

“It would be a tossup. But I have likewise seen you at work. I have no doubt you would win.” Sloan paused again to greet an elderly man, smiling up at him as if they were the only two people in the world. After the man shuffled away, Sloan added, “That said, do not underestimate her. She is…very quick.”

 

“If you’re not sure you could beat her, she must be. All right, I’ll accept your proposal. How do I do this?”

 

“You only need to leave. She will soon follow. She likely believes you to be me, and further believes I am making myself stand out on purpose to lead her to a trap. But she is arrogant – she will believe herself able to defeat any trap I might lay down.” A final laugh and a shake of her head. “Little does she know.”

 

“And how will I find you after?”

 

“I’ll meet you on the hill opposite your camp at midnight. And I’ll bring your jaunty little friend with me.”

 

A pause and then a small laugh. “I won’t even ask how you know where our camp is. I’ll see you then.”

 

Sloan stood and dipped a small curtsey toward Swordsinger before moving away, smiling a little at the small but clear reaction Trendil had had to the Stormcloak name of Benrad Grey-Mane. The already-rich family was making a killing on this war – they had procured sole access to multiple rich mines in The Reach, an area previously off-limits due to the large number of Foresworn in the area. That number had been cut down severely over the course of the past few years and now the ore flowed out and the money flowed in. Sloan had no doubt who was to blame for the sudden shortage of Foresworn…or why her pseudo-sister might want to talk to the person who had masterminded the plot to procure the mines on the backs and blood of Trendil’s soldiers.

 

But first, Sloan had to make sure her original target had taken the bait. She was reasonably certain Mishi had not recognized her, but she was not prepared to stake her life on it. It was only after Mishi left the mansion a few minutes after Trendil’s departure that Sloan allowed herself a sigh of relief. Then she headed for the stairs.

*******

“Oh, your name is Dragonscorcher now? How very exciting! How did you acquire such a powerful name?”

 

Benrad/Jaunty/Dragonscorcher was a fop, with all the implications that generally provides. This was good news for Sloan – fops were among the easiest types of people to manipulate. It had taken very little flirtation to extract him from the private gathering of Thalmor, Imperial, and Stormcloak dignitaries and even less persuasion to get him to leave the mansion with her.

 

“Oh, it was a terrifying ordeal! Not for me, of course – I have faced many worse things, don’t you know.”

 

The trick now was to keep his attention away from the fact that the carriage was going the wrong way. Which was not a difficult task – nothing was more distracting than talking about one’s self, and that was what Benrad liked to do the most.

 

“Of course! You must be very brave, indeed! Why, I couldn’t imagine what I would do if I was confronted by one of those monsters! Do tell me all about it!”

 

And he did, for the next hour, regaling her with tales of feats as bold as they were unlikely. Sloan kept her eyes wide, her voice breathless, the wine in his crystal glass flowing, and inched a hand from his knee up his thigh in small increments. By the time they reached their destination, he was flushed and recounting the time he had run up a dragon’s tail and stabbed it in the eyes while it flew through the air – a story so outlandish, only the most inebriated of brains could come up with it.

 

She was saved from further stories when the carriage stopped and the door on Benrad’s side flew open, propelling the drunken lout out of the carriage and into a heap on the ground.

 

Trendil stood over him, glaring down. “You’re taking credit for my deeds now, are you? Just when I thought you couldn’t get more pathetic.”

 

“Wha…wait, who…”

 

Sloan slid across the seat and hopped out, using Benrad’s slumped form as a stepping stool, and glanced at Trendil and her hulking second-in-command, who stood protectively behind. “Did you get her?”

 

Trendil nodded and jerked her head toward a tree. A small table had been placed underneath. It held a small lantern, just bright enough to light the area, and a burlap sack. Sloan moved toward it, leaving Trendil to her victim.

 

“Now, Jaunty, you are going to tell me exactly what is going on.”

 

“Y…you! You’re supposed to be in The Reach!” The fop clearly had not grasped what was going on. The poor fool’s voice turned imperious. “You are hereby relieved of your post! You will report back to Windhelm for your court martial! I shall take over your…”

 

A slap carried across the hilltop, followed by a profound silence. It was in that moment that Sloan reached the table and, with a tug, opened the bag. She smiled as Mishi’s head, her hair still styled in the latest fashion, was revealed, blank dead eyes staring into the night sky.

 

Trendil’s grim voice etched a scathing blaze through the air. “You are the traitor. You sent us into The Reach only to gain those mines for your family. Then, after they were procured, you abandoned us there, left us to run in circles until we died.”

 

“I…no, that’s not…eep!”

 

Sloan turned back in time to see Trendil’s dagger set to the fop’s neck.

 

“You are going to tell me everything I need to know. Why has the war been stalled for so long? Where is Ulfric? Why is this entire region Imperial-free? Talk!”

 

“I…I don’t know! I just…”

 

Sloan shook her head. “My dear sister,” she smiled as all eyes turned toward her, “you aren’t going to get true answers from him like that. At best, he will delay you with half-truths. At worst, he will call your bluff and you will have to either kill him without gaining his knowledge or fail to follow through on your threat, thereby losing the upper hand. To do this right, to be sure his answers are true, it will take time. More than you were counting on, if I guess right. I assume you were planning on making him talk tonight and then disposing of him because you do not wish to keep him with you, when you surely have company members who would side with him.”

 

Trendil frowned at her while Hammerleaf raised an eyebrow and asked, “So what do you propose?”

 

Sloan smiled. “Leave him with me. I’ll have all the information you need in…” she tilted her head at Benrad, calculating his will based on what she knew. “…five days. Maybe a bit more, if there is more to him than meets the eye.”

 

Trendil snorted. “Unlikely.”

 

“You are probably right. Still, best not to assume.”

 

“True enough. We won’t be here in five days, though.”

 

“Not to worry. I’ll be able to find you. A group as large as yours is hard to hide!”

 

“You don’t have to tell me that!” Trendil frowned as she stepped back and Hammerleaf stepped forward and manhandled Benrad back into the carriage. “What about your driver?”

 

“Hm? Oh, no need to worry about him. He loves his family, and that makes him discreet. Doesn’t it, Bimut?”

 

The man didn’t look up – his head had not moved in all the time they had been there – as he mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”

 

“If you’re sure.” Trendil shrugged. “It’s not like we’re much of a secret anymore anyway. Even if he talks, it’s unlikely to make a difference. This will all be over soon. One way or another.”

 

“As you say.” Sloan climbed back into the carriage and gave the Benrad a pat on the knee as he struggled to sit up. He froze again as she placed her own knife against his cheek. “Now, then, where were we? Oh, yes, you were telling me about the time you stabbed a dragon in the eyes while it flew! So exciting! Please go on!”

 

***********

 

“It has only been three days. You’re back sooner than expected. Should I ask where our mutual friend is?"

 

Sloan smiled. “He decided to go bog-diving. Terribly dangerous hobby, that. As for the three days...you were right – there wasn’t much to him.”

 

Trendil shook her head. “This information…are you sure? It is…unbelievable.”

 

“It is the truth as he knew it.”

 

“But still…Ulfric, the Imperials, and the Thalmor are working together? It’s…”

 

“Hard to believe until you see all that has been going on.”

 

“It does explain things. Like why there aren’t any Imperial troops here. Or why we, the only group that was making progress, were sent to The Reach.”

 

“Yes. I have to imagine the soldiers on both sides of this thing are in the dark. Just politicians playing with lives for profit.”

 

Trendil sighed. “Well, not for much longer. We’re going to finish this war.” A pause. “You said you were unemployed. You could come with us, if you want.”

 

Sloan laughed. “I don’t think the soldier’s life is for me. Besides, my business is not done – I have one more visit to make before I can feel safe.”

 

“Oh, aye? Anything I can help with this time?”

 

Sloan shook her head. “Not unless you want to divert your entire operation to visit Riften with me. But that’s a little out of the way for you.”

 

“Seeing as it is on the complete opposite side of Skyrim, yes. Well, thank you – although the news you brought is about the worst I could have imagined, it is a relief to finally know the truth. Good luck with your…visit.”

 

“Same to you! I hear Solitude is lovely this time of year.”

 

“No, it is a terrible time of the year to visit Solitude. Especially if you are an Imperial.”

 

Sloan laughed. “I stand corrected.” She waved a mock solute and turned, pulling her hood over her head as she slipped out of the tent. One more person stood between her and her freedom from fear – it was time to cut off the head of the serpent. Or be cut off herself.

 

Either way, as Trendil had said, it would all be over soon.

 

 

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