| Book Information The Emperor's Hand |
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| Added by | Stirk | ||
| ID | xx004D1F | ||
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15 |  |
2 |
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| Found in the following locations: | |||
acrinus Concillius, servant of the magnificent Emperor Uriel Septim VII in the secret Order of the Blades, decorated field officer, wondered once again how exactly he had managed to get himself into this particular situation. Strapped to a dirty, blood-stained table, with a man standing over him holding a wicked-looking knife that glowed red in the gloom, he reflected that perhaps life was getting a little complicated these days, and that he should consider early retirement if he ever got out of this room alive.
Macrinus screamed as another cut was opened up in his side with the red-hot knife. His torturer took a step back and looked to the shadows, where several figures could just be made out in the gloom of the chamber.
"Continue," was the only command, and the torturer turned back to him. Selecting a new weapon, this time a wicked-looking curved blade, he went back to his terrible work. Again and again terrible cries rang out as the torture continued, but Macrinus knew he could not allow himself to give in, he would take his secrets to the grave if necessary.
"You could make this very easy on yourself," came the voice, thick with malice. "Just tell us the name of your Blades contact and what your mission was and all your pain will go away."
Macrinus gritted his teeth against the pain, and forced out his words. "Please sir, I am but a poor merchant who came to this fine city to trade my wares, I know nothing of what you speak."
"You lie Imperial! You are here to spy on the court of Duke Angus, to serve your precious Emperor. Tell me what I need to know.'
'Never,' yelled Macrinus, his remaining strength fading fast.
'Very well,' came the voice, 'but you will break, no matter how long you must remain here.'
With these words echoing in his skull, Macrinus slipped into unconsciousness, the black veil creeping slowly across his eyes as the room spun around him. He was unstrapped him from the table, and unceremoniously dragged from the room, back to his dank cell.
He awoke later, unsure of how long it had been since his ordeal in the chamber. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. His wounds looked fairly fresh, but as they reopened every time he moved that wasn't very surprising. The pain wracking his body was unbearable, and for a long time he lay huddled in the corner of the cell, letting his body heal itself. His thoughts wondered back to the start of the month, to his private audience with the Spy Master in the Imperial City, where he had received his orders for this particular mission.
'It will not be easy Macrinus,' the Spymaster had said, 'The Duke is well guarded and any attempt on his life will be dangerous in the extreme.
'If my Emperor wishes him dead then I will kill the man, but why does he not employ the Dark Brotherhood in this matter, I am not used to carrying out assassinations.'
'The Emperor fears the mission is too important to be given to people he does not trust. The Duke must not know you are coming, it is critical to maintain complete secrecy.'
Well, that obviously hadn't happened, reflected Macrinus. He had been betrayed by someone, although he didn't know who. Very few knew of his goals, and the swiftness of his capture suggested that he had been betrayed by someone close to the mission. He had been in Skyrim barely two days when he was surprised on the road to Falkreath, so they had known he was coming. The thought of a spy in the Blades rankled him somewhat, and he vowed to sniff out the traitor if he got out of this. When he got out of this, he corrected himself, he had to keep thinking positively.
Shifting his weight slightly, he attempted to stand. The pain that shot through his body was unbelievable, and he collapsed to the floor, reopening the deep wound in his side. Blood rushed from the wound, coating the already sticky floor. His head became dizzy, and he retched, bringing up blood and bile. Macrinus knew that he could not take another session with the torturer, his body was ready to give out. Yet he could see no way out, and sleepily he lay his head on the cold, hard stone floor, and began to drift away.
As he did so, he remembered a gentle lullaby. It was familiar to him, yet he could not say where he had learnt it. The words tumbled slowly from his mouth, seemingly following their own will, provoking something over which he had no control.
"Akatosh, Great Dragon God of Time, lead the others in your silent prayer.
Mara, Goddess of Love, keep me safe and care for me.
Stendarr, God of Mercy, show me your compassion.
Dibella, Goddess of Beauty, keep me smiling still.
Zenithar, God of Work and Commerce, toil to bring me closer.
Julianos, God of Wisdom and Logic, find for me a safer place to be.
Kynareth, Goddess of Air, bear me aloft away from harm.
Arkay, God of Life and Death, stay thy judgement for another day."
As the words spilled out they took on a life of their own, Macrinus could do nothing as the walls around him began to slowly spin. He felt his body being gently lifted off the floor, and realised that it was him spinning and not the cell, but he had no control of his limbs to try and stop his motion. The words of the lullaby were still repeating themselves, except now they were not coming from his mouth, but bouncing around the walls of the cell seemingly by themselves. The noise rose to a crescendo, and then with a huge pop Macrinus' world shattered around him and he blacked out once more.
When he finally awoke, it was to find himself laying on an uncomfortable bed, little more than straw heaped on a stone plinth. Testing his muscles, he found that he felt a lot better, well enough even to stand he thought. Climbing to his feet, he tried to walk to a nearby doorway, but his body protested and he was forced to sit back against the bed. Hearing his exertions, a man in a flowing robe entered the chamber.
"Greetings stranger," he began, "I wouldn't try to go too far for a while, your injuries were very grave and it took a long time to heal your body. You should rest a few hours before you try to move around too much."
"Where am I'" asked Macrinus.
"In Falkreath of course, at the Temple of Kyne, we found you collapsed on our doorstep nearly four days ago. Your injuries were not caused naturally; may I enquire as to what happened'"
"I was being tortured," Macrinus said matter-of-factly, "the last thing I remember was lying in a cell in the dungeon when I heard a song that grew and grew, and then I blacked out, I don't know how I came to be here at all."
"Perhaps you could remember this song' Recite it too me I mean'" enquired the priest. Macrinus told him all he could remember of the song, which was now just a dim memory in his mind. As he stumbled through the words a smile grew on the man's face. "That explains a lot then," he said.
"Whatever do you mean'" enquired Macrinus.
"Thats not a song you were remembering, it was a spell. A Divine Intervention spell to be precise. I don't know where you learned it or why you cant remember it now, it's a fairly common spell though if you're adept at the magicks. You appealed to the Divines for mercy and they delivered you to us."
"Amazing!" breathed Macrinus, temporarily stunned. He wondered how he had come to learn such a spell. He was not a master of magic but even so he knew a few helpful spells, but the most puzzling thing was that the spell had again faded from his mind. Perhaps it came from his Blade training then' An inbuilt safety measure that had been planted during the years he spent preparing his mind and body with the Order masters. Wherever it came from, Macrinus was glad for it, because it had saved his life.
Now he had work to do, his mission was still the main priority, so after thanking the Temple for their aid, he began to make preparations for the next stage of his assignment.