Lucien’s trip to Anvil some weeks previously appeared to have spurred on both the traitor and the Black Hand – attacks on Lena and Lucien became more frequent still, and the Sanctuary was being invaded again and again. The hunt was relentless. Lucien ventured another visit to the Sanctuary, this time during the day, hoping to see his assassins, whoever was still alive, and may be boost their morale a little, since there wasn’t much else he could do. He went through the Black Door in the abandoned house, avoiding the well and hoping that it would have been sealed anyway. It was.

“Who goes there?” Gogron greeted him, his axe raised – he was on watch. “You won’t get past me!”

“Hello, Gogron,” Lucien said, trying to sound cheerful, or at least calm, and failing on both accounts.

“Speaker!” Gogron stopped, strained to look at Lucien, and only lowered his axe after some time. His face was swollen and he wore a bandage over the eyes. “Forgive me, I cannot see very well,” he said, grinning. “Got a cut over my face… But no matter! I can hear the vermin… No one will get past my axe!”

“I have no doubt, Gogron,” Lucien patted his arm. “How are things?”

“Dire,” Gogron was serious now. “Everyone’s wounded, one way or the other… Not one of us is at full strength. But we are all still alive! I can hardly believe it myself. Ocheeva’s strategy proves most effective…”

“That is good… You need to stand strong… We are getting close to finding the traitor, which means things will get much worse from now on.”

“The final stretch then,” Gogron nodded, his face set in resolve. “If I fall… It’s been an honour, Speaker.”

Lucien went to the dormitory wing and found several assassins in bed, bandaged up. Some could not stand, but, like Gogron said, everyone was still alive.

“Borba has been our life line,” Telaendril told him. “She’s been leaving supplies in the abandoned house… even after we ran out of funds.”

“Borba surprised me,” Lucien nodded. “Said it was time to show her colours… You must look out for each other and try to stay strong.”

“We do that, Speaker,” Telaendril said softly. “It’s good to see you… to know that you’re still alive.”

“The worst is still ahead,” he squeezed her hand. “Remember how you tried to kill me when I came to you with my offer?” He smiled. “You were good… very good. Better than our assassins that were sent after you… what? three, four times? And you improved since. There is no better archer in the whole of Tamriel, Telaendril.”

She smiled and blushed, and Lucien thought that perhaps he should have been praising his assassins a little more often – they did look up to him, after all. He went around the room and spoke to each of them, saying something personal every time.

“You are our mage,” he said to M’raaj-Dar. “Perhaps not a healer, but I know you have some vicious spells,” he grinned. “Do not hold them back.”

“Oh, I don’t, Speaker,” M’raaj-Dar grinned back. “And if all else fails, Khajiit will tear them into shreds with his claws. Khajiit never gives up… not even in death – this one’s ghost will come and help, should the body fall…”

Ocheeva was in the hall when Lucien came out of the dormitory.

“You took a risk coming here, Speaker,” she looked sternly at him, then smiled. “But we are glad to see you. We are all still alive, somehow… Gogron tells me the worst is coming next.” She became serious and nodded. “You are getting close to catching the traitor, this is good. Try not to die now… The Sanctuary will fall with your death.”

“Stay strong, Ocheeva,” Lucien touched her shoulder. “Remember our training… Everyone can be replaced. Should I fall, you will be the Speaker.”

“I’d rather not,” she sighed. “But I’ll do what I can for as long as I live… however short it may be.”

They stood in silence for a little while, Gogron watched them from the other end of the hall, his hearing was superb. He nodded to himself and straightened his back. No one would get past his axe while he was still standing.

Vicente was in his room. Lucien noticed how gaunt his face was, pale with a shade of grey – he was famished.

“I stay here to reduce the risk for everyone else,” he said. “I have not been feeding… not because Borba stopped delivering blood,” he waved his hand at a row of bottles, “but because of the powers that come with the hunger. I prefer to feed on the enemy,” he smirked, but his eyes were sad. “On our Brothers… I hope this madness will end.”

“We are close, Vicente,” Lucien nodded. “Do what you have to. Survival is key.”

Lucien stayed a bit longer, telling Ocheeva and Vicente what he discovered in Anvil, and that Lena would go there next.

“When she finds the traitor, she must bring her report to the Listener,” Ocheeva pointed out. “You cannot be the one to deliver it since you are a suspect yourself. The Listener will verify her findings, I am certain he won’t just dismiss them… It will cause a delay but it has to be done. During that time the Black Hand will move against you.”

“How do you know this, Ocheeva?” Lucien was taken aback, but there was no suspicion in his voice.

“Deduction,” she shrugged. “I am not the traitor.”

“Ocheeva is right, that will be the most dangerous time,” Vicente nodded. “Everything points to it.”

Lucien nodded, looking somber. “We’ll do our best.” He got up to leave. “This may be the last time we meet… if so, tell everyone – the honour has always been mine.”

…

Lena’s investigation of the Anvil lighthouse did not yield any clues to start with. She tried asking around, but being a vampire didn’t help and people simply refused to talk to her. The mages at the Guild weren’t turning her away as such, but Carahil was visibly boiling with rage every time Lena entered the building – she was strictly opposed to any form of undead, vampires included. As a result, Lena tried to stay away and had no where to sleep. She would usually curl up behind the chapel, trying to stay out of sight. She had to feed often to keep her vampirism down, and she felt guilty for using beggars when she could not find smugglers or bandits… But finding the traitor was more important to her, and she had to keep fit to do it.

One night she found a bedroll behind the chapel where she used to sleep, there was a note inside: “With Dibella’s blessings”. Lena looked around, she thought she saw a priestess’ robe behind the trees. “Thank you!” she said, but didn’t try to follow.

After a week or so in Anvil, Lena started noticing someone shadowing her. She felt she had to shake them off, or better yet kill them, and she could not do it in town, so she mounted her horse and rode leisurely East. When she was between Kvatch and Skingrad, she was attacked. They started by killing her horse while she was on it – the horse collapsed, trapping Lena’s leg under its weight. The blows came thick and fast, but Lena was still stuck, trying to free her leg… her iron breastplate protected her heart but it would not save her life in itself… “Should you die, do try to rise again,” she suddenly recalled Lucien’s words, said in a jest, no doubt – the idea was not to die.

“You cannot kill me – I am a vampire!” She shouted, finally pulling her leg from under the horse’s body. She jumped up, a dagger in each hand. She could not block or cast any spells that way, but that was not her intention. She spun in place, her daggers extended, slicing her attackers who did not expect such a move. She was bleeding herself, but it only fueled her rage. “I smell your blood, I smell your fear!” She screamed, twirling between them again. Two attackers in dark leather armour, the Brotherhood armour… They froze for a moment, but quickly recovered from their surprise, closing in on her from the opposite sides, silver swords in their hands, silver swords with a fire enchantment.

“We came prepared, vampire!” One of them cried. “Take that, foul beast!”

Their swords really hurt. Lena dropped one of the daggers freeing a hand to cast spells – vanish and try to escape, she no longer had any hope of winning. She vanished, but her boots were filled with blood and were leaving bloody footprints on the ground…

“Not every vampire can rise…” Lena thought. “Not if killed with a silver weapon… Forgive me, Speaker, I failed…”

She ran but her attackers pursued her, she heard their footsteps catching up… then there was a sudden cry and a thump – a fall, she figured. Perhaps he tripped on a root or something. She spun around and lunged at the other attacker, may be she still stood a chance… But his sword was quick and he parried, giving her a cut on a thigh. She stifled a scream, trying to ignore it, jumped back, readying a spell… she was not dead yet… But the assassin was skilled, he lunged at her with all his weight, knocking her to the ground, his sword poised at her neck. “Time to die…” she thought, expecting the final blow.

…

Instead of the burn of a silver blade cutting her throat, she felt the warmth of a hand checking her pulse.

“Vampires have no pulse, I forgot,” Lucien shook his head, wondering how to determine whether Lena was still alive. He had been on his way to Anvil, not having heard from her in two weeks after she left, so he thought she might have needed a hand. He saw the attack from far, and wasn’t sure what he was seeing – if those were bandits attacking a traveler, he was not going to intervene. “The Imperial Legion is supposed to be patrolling the roads, not spend their time sipping ale at roadside inns,” he scoffed. “I’ve got enough of my own troubles.” But when he approached, he realised that those were no bandits… He shot them from a distance, they were probably still alive, but they moved no more, and his priority was Lena, not some unfortunate Brothers who got the curse of this contract.

He pulled her free from the assassin and removed her breastplate thinking to massage her heart.

“Err… Does that even make sense?” He stopped. “I don’t know a thing about first aid for vampires….” He looked at her wounds and noticed that some of the cuts were still oozing blood. “Still bleeding… Does it mean she is alive? Let’s hope so… Well then, bandage the cuts, I suppose…”

…

Lena felt someone touching her neck searching for a pulse. “Vampires have no pulse,” she thought, “but I am not dead.” However, her wounds were severe, she could not even open her eyes. The person pulled her from under her attacker, removed her breastplate, placed his hands on her heart and gave it a push… then stopped, realising that it was futile. He bent over her, checking her wounds… His scent was bitter and sweet at once… Lena’s heart gave a jolt.

…

Lucien didn’t know what to do but decided to bandage Lena’s wounds and give her some time to recover, hoping that she wasn’t dead. He ripped up his shirt into strips and used up every last drop of a healing solution he had in his pack. “I need to be better prepared,” he thought. At least, a shirt was not imperative to wear under a robe. “I could not have ripped up my robe for strips,” he reflected.

Eventually Lena opened her eyes. Lucien was sitting by the fire, trying to brew a simple potion with aloe vera and some other herb… it wasn’t a lab, but it would do.

“Thank you for saving me… again… Speaker,” Lena managed to say in a small voice, she was still very weak.

“You live still!” He bent over her. “I could not tell… but I hoped…”

“You can never be sure with us,” Lena smiled. “Not dead, not alive…”

“Shush now, drink this,” he brought a cup of aloe vera tea to her lips. “It’s not a potion but I hope it will help.”

Lena drank and the warmth of the liquid spread through her body. She closed her eyes and slept.

…

When Lena woke up a few hours later, the night had fallen. She smelled roast – Lucien had killed a boar. He evidently prepared to camp there for a while, having refilled his skeins with water too.

“You look pale,” he said, having examined Lena’s wounds. “I think one of the Brothers is still alive… perhaps he’s got enough blood to sustain you.”

“I don’t want to feed on our Brothers,” Lena objected. “They got that contract…”

“You don’t have a choice,” Lucien looked her in the eye. “The boar will not be enough. It will dawn soon.”

He was right, of course. Lena got up with difficulty and walked over to her attackers, both lying a short distance away. One was already dead, the other still lived. He looked at her as she approached, but did not resist when she turned him over, exposing his neck. “Forgive me, Brother,” she said, sinking her fangs into it.

She took it all, massaging his heart after it stopped. He died in her hands, his life feeding her existence. But she had no choice, besides he would have died anyway, most likely.

She returned to the campfire, now able to sit unaided. Lucien was slicing up the boar on the spit, carving its flesh where it was ready for eating. He used lotus leaves as plates, and Lena smiled at that.

“Thank you, Speaker,” she said. “Thank you for coming to my aid again.”

“Call me Lucien,” he looked up. “Please, these are no ordinary times… And stop thanking me.” He looked away and Lena thought that he wanted to add something but changed his mind. “Tell me about Anvil.”

Lena told what she had discovered, which wasn’t much.

“I could not get into the basement of the lighthouse,” she said. “Not yet, anyway. The lighthouse master doesn’t have the key – he said that the tenant insisted on taking every key to it, and indeed I couldn’t find any keys anywhere. I couldn’t pick the lock either, not even with magic… Then I thought to watch the door until it opened, but someone was shadowing me, and I tried to lose them… and ended up here.”

“You were right to lead them away,” Lucien nodded. “We’ll have to try again, we are getting close.”

They talked a bit longer, then took turns sleeping with one of them keeping watch. The night was quiet, as was the day that followed, but they both knew that the hardest part was still to come.