Two months after the events of Book 1
Riften wore a somber veil that morning. The sun hid behind thick clouds, and mist from the docks rolled across the streets like ghostly fingers. The entire city seemed drowned in shades of grey. Still, the townsfolk carried on with their day, for this was nothing unusual—Riften always breathed damp and dim, pressed close to the water.
Through the front gate entered a cloaked figure, his presence unnoticed by the guards and citizens alike. He moved quietly, skirting behind the houses to the right of the main road, until the crooked headstones of Riften's cemetery came into view. At last, he stopped before a wide stone tomb with a walk-in entrance.
"Now where is it… ah."
His voice was low, muffled by the hood as he groped along the wall. Fingers closed around a chain. One firm tug—and the stone coffin within shifted as the floor rumbled beneath it. Slowly, the slab slid aside, revealing a stairway descending into darkness. The man smirked, released the chain, and stepped down. The stone closed behind him, sealing away the secret.
A ladder led further below, down into a cavernous stone chamber—the Cistern. Here, beneath the city, Riften's drainage converged. Circular in shape, the chamber's hollow floor was bridged by narrow walkways that led to an island at the center. It was the heart of the Thieves Guild.
But before the man could take another step, a bowstring creaked taut. A drawn arrow pressed against his temple.
"You've got a pretty pair on you to show up here again," came a sharp voice.
The hooded figure did not flinch. "I appreciate the warm reception, but I promise I'm not here to make trouble… scout's honor."
"Honor my arse. Give me one reason not to put this arrow straight through your memory."
"That leather you're wearing so thick you can't feel my blade at your gut?"
The archer glanced down—sure enough, a dagger pressed against his abdomen. He broke into a grin, lowering the bow.
"One of these days, I'll get the drop on you, I swear it."
"Keep trying," the hooded man chuckled, slipping the blade away. "I get tired of being the best around here, really."
They both dropped their hoods at once, laughter breaking the tension.
"It's good to see you again, brother. How long has it been?"
"Far too long, Niruin."
The Bosmer archer—dressed in supple brown leathers, bow slung across his back—smiled wide. He had been practicing in the Cistern when fate delivered his guest.
"And what, pray tell, brings Eradros the prodigy back to us?"
"Let's call it a nostalgia trip for now, eh?"
"Fine by me. You're looking for Brynjolf, I reckon."
"Is he around? I'd love to have a word with my old mentor, if he's not too busy."
"Last I saw him he was at the Flagon. Might want to hurry, before Mercer pulls him away for something."
"Thanks for the heads-up."
Eradros turned to go, but Niruin called after him.
"Oh, and don't think you'll be leaving without a friendly competition between marksmen!"
Eradros only raised a hand in farewell, smiling without looking back.
He wound his way through the Ratway until he reached the Ragged Flagon. The tavern was slower than usual, its usual bustle dampened to a drowsy hum. Familiar faces lingered—same barkeep, same guild cutthroats—yet a heaviness seemed to hang over them all. Eradros slipped his hood back up before entering and claimed a quiet table. He signaled the barmaid for a drink and waited, ears open.
Nearby, Delvin Mallory leaned across a table, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight. He whispered to a companion:
"It's a curse, I tell ya. Lady Luck ain't happy with us. How else d'you explain all the shit that's come down the pipe lately?"
His drinking partner nodded grimly.
Moments later, the barmaid arrived with Eradros' drink. She lingered, studying him.
"Sorry… do I know you from somewhere?"
Before Eradros could answer, a hand clapped his shoulder. A familiar voice leaned close.
"You know, we don't really like unfamiliar faces in our bar… but you're not an unfamiliar face, are ya, pal?"
Eradros smirked, lifting the cup to his lips. "When did you notice?"
"Oh, come on now. I was on to you before you even pulled the chain. I see everything in this city—you know that."
Brynjolf, brown-haired and broad-shouldered, slid into the seat across from him and waved for two more drinks.
"Don't worry. I won't blow your cover just yet. Vex might still be sore about your little vanishing act. Let's keep the reunion between us for now."
"Look, Brynjolf… I didn't leave because of anything personal. It was just—"
"Save that explanation for her, lad. What I want to know is what brought you back."
Eradros sighed, staring into his cup. "It's hard to explain. It just doesn't feel right."
"What doesn't?"
"Gallus' death. Karliah. All of it. That's why I left the guild. None of it sat right with me then, and it doesn't now."
Brynjolf's gaze softened. "What Karliah did took everyone for a spin. I still struggle to believe it myself. But you mean something deeper, don't you?"
"When word came that Karliah killed Gallus, we believed it. But the smell of death lingered, even after she was gone. If she truly murdered him and fled, why does the stench of wickedness still cling to this place?"
Brynjolf leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Best we carry this talk back in the Cistern. Quietly, now."
"Right."
They rose from the table together, the clink of glass and murmur of the tavern folding around them as they made for the back door.
"Barmaid… hold those two drinks for me, will ya? I've got some business in need of sorting out. I'll be back soon," Brynjolf called over his shoulder.
"Sure thing, Brynjolf," she answered, already wiping a mug.
They moved down into the Cistern, walking close to the low wall so their voices carried no farther than the stone between them. Other guild members lingered in shadowed corners, but the chamber was wide; as long as Brynjolf and Eradros kept their distance and their tones low, no one would overhear.
"Okay. Now that we're clear I have to ask. Are you saying you don't think Karliah did it?" Brynjolf asked once they had a moment alone.
Eradros rubbed the heel of his hand over his jaw. "I can't say for sure, and as of right now I don't have any proof."
"Why don't we talk to Mercer about it?" Brynjolf suggested.
"I don't think—"
A voice cut across them from behind.
"Talk to me about what? And who the hell is this?"
They turned. Mercer Frey filled the walkway—black leather, traveling roll at his feet, eyes narrowed at the newcomer. He and Brynjolf had both aged a touch since Eradros last saw them; Mercer's face wore the same sharp amusement and barely concealed contempt.
"Oh, we were debating on if we should announce the return of an old friend," Brynjolf said, keeping his tone light.
Mercer set his things down and studied Eradros. Recognition flickered only when the hood came off.
"Well I'll be… if it isn't the deserter! What happened to the pirate life? Did you finally get sea sick?" Mercer's sarcastic greeting was aimed to needle; he rarely made an effort to conceal displeasure at Eradros' presence.
"No one becomes a pirate to stay one forever. I got paid… I got out. End of story," Eradros replied coolly.
Mercer's smile sharpened. "Ah… but I heard you also got caught. Now… what's the story behind that I wonder?"
Mercer was skilled at psychological prodding; he meant to unsettle. Before Eradros had a chance to answer, Brynjolf switched the subject.
"What's with all the gear? You planning a vacation or something?"
"Sadly no. Business trip, and serious business at that," Mercer said, then leaned in with a conspiratorial tilt. "I normally wouldn't share this kind of info with an outsider present, but he was there when it happened. So why not? I got a lead… on Karliah's whereabouts."
Brynjolf straightened. "This is serious. What do you intend to do then?"
"I intend to end this, once and for all. She's evaded us long enough. Once Gallus is avenged, we'll finally be able to move forward as a guild." Mercer's voice was flat with certainty.
Brynjolf frowned. "Do you think that's what the guild needs right now? Revenge?"
"Look around you, Brynjolf. You see the state this place is in. It's been this way ever since she double-crossed us, and I don't think things will just go back to right with her still on the loose. For all we know, she could be waiting for another chance to murder one of us. Besides, this is the morale booster we've been praying for. Don't tell me you sympathize with her now." Mercer's eyes gleamed with the sort of conviction that brooked no dissent.
Brynjolf opened his mouth, then closed it. He had felt that sting of betrayal for a long time; Mercer's argument landed like a hammer.
"You may be right about that, friend. Are you going alone?" Brynjolf asked instead.
"I was going to, considering you had to stay and run the guild in my stead, but now I don't have to. He's coming with me." Mercer pointed at Eradros.
The two men blinked in unison.
"Me? You're joking," Eradros said.
"He's no longer a member of the guild. Is that really wise?" Brynjolf protested.
"Do you trust him?" Mercer asked.
"Of course… I practically raised him," Brynjolf replied.
"Then that's good enough for me. Besides, you don't need to be a member of the guild for this one. Just being another victim of Karliah's will do." Mercer turned his gaze to Eradros, eyes cold and appraising. "Do this for me… and maybe I forget about you abandoning us all those years ago, hm. How's that sound?"
Eradros had spent a lifetime skirting Mercer's contempt. He'd never sought the man's approval; Mercer was a distant superior best avoided. But here, now, was a chance for answers.
"Fine. Where to?" Eradros asked.
"That's the spirit, my friend. I've got intel saying she's been holed up at the very same place where she murdered our brother. A place called Snow Veil Sanctum, a ways north of Windhelm. It's a three-day trip on horseback, and I plan on heading out tonight."
"Tonight? He just made it into Riften this morning," Brynjolf said, concern warring with the urgency in Mercer's plan.
"No worries. Let him rest up for tonight. If you take a carriage from Riften to Windhelm in the morn, and travel up from there, you should make it in time. I'll be camped outside the place until you get there." Mercer folded his arms as if the timetable were a trivial detail.
"Then it seems we have a plan," Eradros said after a breath.
"Good to hear." Mercer bent for his pack and began walking past them. He stopped a moment, leaned in close with a final, thin smile. "Oh, and if you don't show up there… don't ever show up here again. Clear?"
Eradros turned slowly and returned the glare. "Crystal."
Mercer's grin widened with amusement at Eradros' restraint. "Glad we understand each other. Now… I'm gonna go finish packing before I head out. You guys take it easy."
When Mercer disappeared into the deeper shadows of the Cistern, Brynjolf placed a hand on Eradros' shoulder.
"Are you sure you want to get mixed up in guild business again, lad?" he asked quietly.
"It's fine. This is precisely what I came for after all. To get to the truth," Eradros answered.
"Karliah is a very skilled warrior, you know. She won't be easy pickings if you two end up facing off."
"I didn't know Karliah for very long like you all did. To me she was just a part of your group of friends. But during that short time she was always kind to me. She would even steal extra food from the market to make sure we all ate. I just don't see how a person like that can murder their lover and betray the entire guild."
"Like I said earlier… still struggling to wrap my mind around it to this very day. Karliah, Gallus, and I were as thick as thieves. No pun intended. I've resented her ever since she left us," Brynjolf said, voice thick with history.
"Come three days from now we shall have our answers," Eradros said, voice steady.
"I actually prefer that you be the one to go now that I think about it," Brynjolf admitted.
"Don't think you could go through with it if it came down to that, huh?" Eradros teased.
"Ha… I'm afraid you may know me a bit too well." Brynjolf allowed a rueful smile.
Eradros turned for the ladder that led up to the street. "Worry not, old friend. Whoever the culprit is… I will do what needs to be done."
"You're not staying here for the night?" Brynjolf asked.
"Think I'll grab a room somewhere without so many criminals around."
Brynjolf chuckled and waved him off. Eradros climbed the ladder and emerged into the wet air of Riften. He found lodging at the Bee and Barb, drank a few more cups while turning the trip over in his head, then fell into a restless sleep beneath a thin blanket.
He stared at the ceiling as his thoughts meandered around questions and possibilities. Whoever had killed Gallus and left the guild fractured—whoever reeked of death in the Ragged Flagon—Eradros suspected there would be blood on someone's hands before this was over. He could only hope that, when the dust settled, he would be standing on the right side of it.
The next morning found Eradros already about town, gathering supplies for the long road ahead. He left the general goods store with his pack a little heavier, intent on leaving Riften before noon. But as he neared the front gate, he spotted Brynjolf—and beside him, Vex. Even at a distance he could tell she was angry, arms crossed and words sharp against him.
"There he is now," Brynjolf muttered.
Vex turned, her pale hair catching the weak light. Her scowl deepened as she stormed toward Eradros.
"Hey… Vex. It's been a—"
The punch landed before he could finish. Pain bloomed across his mouth, and he stumbled, clutching his lip as blood welled.
"You weren't even going to say you were back, and now you're already leaving? Coward."
Eradros wiped at the blood and gave a rueful half-smile. "I deserve that…"
"You deserve a lot more. But you're not worth making a scene over."
"Afraid it's a wee bit late for that, luv," Brynjolf sighed. "Come, let's continue this outside the gates, hm?"
Vex shot him a glare but turned anyway, shaking her hand as if even the blow hadn't satisfied her. The three of them passed through the gate, silence thick as frost. Brynjolf was already in trouble for keeping Eradros' return quiet, and Eradros still nursed his bleeding lip.
"Well? Say something, dammit!" Vex snapped at last.
"I'm sorry, Vex…"
"Wrong answer. You know what you have to do to make right with the guild."
"He's not here to rejoin," Brynjolf cut in.
That gave her pause. She turned her full attention on Eradros, eyes sharp.
"Then what the hell did you come back for? And why is Mercer taking you of all people to deal with Karliah?"
"By the Divines—how much did you tell her?" Eradros asked, shooting Brynjolf a look.
"Not I, lad. Blame Delvin. You know he's got an ear everywhere, and a soft spot for Vex."
Vex's voice dropped to a growl. "Brynjolf, what is all this about?"
"We can't go into it right now, luv. Better you let us handle this. I need your attention on something else."
"What's more important than taking down Karliah?"
"Did you find something out, Brynjolf?" Eradros asked quietly.
"Nothing concrete. Just whispers of a newly bought house in the city—procured with guild funds."
Vex snorted. "Let me guess, you want me to infiltrate and poke around. Figures."
"What's the matter, Vex?" Brynjolf needled. "You should be jumping at the chance after your little Golden Glow fumble."
Her eyes flashed. "How was I supposed to know they tripled their security?"
"I suppose you couldn't have. But that's the past now. I need to know your head's in the game. Whatever's inside that house, getting caught is not an option."
She crossed her arms but lifted her chin. "Trust me. I've got this. You're talking to the best infiltrator in the guild, after all."
"Good. Get to it, then. The sooner this is over, the better."
Brynjolf handed her a folded slip of paper with an address. He didn't meet her eyes; the gesture alone made it clear this was an order. Vex bristled but accepted it.
"Fine. But don't think I'm done with you yet, Eradros. You'd better come back in one piece."
She left them with that, boots crunching across the frost. Only when she was gone did Brynjolf exhale and turn back.
"Go and meet Mercer. I'll take care of things until you two get back."
"You sure?" Eradros asked.
"Not in the slightest. But it's all we can do for now. Now get going."
With that, Brynjolf disappeared back into Riften. Eradros turned toward the waiting carriage by the stables.
"Where to, traveler?" the driver asked.
"Windhelm, please."
Eradros dropped a pouch of coin into his hand and climbed aboard. He leaned back against the wooden seat as the horses pulled away, the road ahead already weighing heavy.
Three days later.
Snow had swallowed the world. Windhelm's jagged silhouette rose from the tundra, carved entirely from stone and frozen breath. Eradros disembarked stiff and cold, paying a visit to the stables before continuing north.
The keeper returned leading a sturdy almond-colored mare with brown flecks through her coat.
"Her name's Sasha. Take good care of her now," the man said.
"Sure thing. Thanks again."
Eradros saddled up and pressed on into the white. The journey blurred into endless snowfields and biting wind, Sasha growing skittish as the storm thickened. When she balked, stamping and tossing her head, Eradros leaned down, his eyes glowing faint green.
"Now, now… there's nothing to fear, my friend. If you are unsure, I will guide you."
The mare calmed, her eyes briefly glimmering with his own light, and resumed her steady pace.
"Good girl. Extra carrots for that," he murmured, patting her neck.
Hours later, a faint firelight flickered atop a hill. The ruins of Snow Veil Sanctum loomed—stone pillars half-buried in drifts, and at their base, a man-made pit leading down to a sealed doorway. Mercer's horse waited tethered near a campfire, though the man himself was absent.
"Ah, you finally made it. I was beginning to wonder."
Eradros turned. Mercer Frey emerged from the treeline, arms full of firewood.
"Were you cloaked just now?" Eradros asked warily.
"Why do you ask?" Mercer grinned, dropping the logs.
"I just swept the area. You weren't anywhere."
"Alright, you got me. Damned mountain lion's been shadowing the camp. Had to throw it off my trail." Mercer smirked. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"
Eradros ignored the jab and took a seat by the fire. They prepared in silence until Mercer finally broke it.
"Before we go in there, I have to ask—why are you really here?"
"I told you. I'm taking you up on your offer. Making things right with the guild. Nothing more."
Mercer studied him, unconvinced. "I think it's important we don't bullshit each other. We're about to face a murderer, and I'd like the man at my back to have it. You didn't come all this way just to rejoin. I've heard the tales—what you and your crew got up to in the Dominion, robbing the rich and crooked. Diminishing their influence."
"What of it?" Eradros asked.
"How about the fact you haven't said a word about it—or where you've been since? If I didn't know better, I'd say there's a story there."
"Your imagination's getting the better of you."
"Is it now? Then tell me… where'd you drop the Redguard boy off, hm?"
Eradros froze at the mention of Kinetrius. Of course Mercer would know—the guild trafficked in information more than coin. He resumed sharpening a blade before answering.
"The boy is no concern of yours. I'm here to set things right. Once this business is done, I'll be gone."
"That's noble of you," Mercer sneered. "And precisely why you don't belong in the guild. Too damned honorable. We're all criminals here—except you, criminal with morals. Gag."
Eradros ignored him, laying his weapons aside to rest.
"Y'know, you should be more like that friend of yours—ah, what was his name? Rashish! Where is he nowadays?"
"Dead, last I saw."
"Oh, pity. Fiery lad. Reminded me of myself." Mercer chuckled.
"That's too bad. But I'm turning in. I want this done quickly."
"How right you are. I'll take first watch," Mercer said smoothly.
Eradros left him to the fire.
At dawn, strong winds swept the camp. The horses grew restless under Mercer's voice.
"Settle now, settle. We need you to behave while we're gone."
Eradros emerged armored and ready.
"Good," Mercer said. "Let's get this over with."
Together they descended into the pit. Mercer produced a peculiar key and slid it into the sanctuary's lock. The stone groaned open, a breath of cold air rushing out to meet them.
"This is it," Mercer murmured. "It ends where it all started."
He extended a fist. "No matter our differences… we do this for the guild."
Eradros hesitated, then met the gesture. "…For the guild."
Side by side, they entered the dark. Whatever awaited, Eradros was at peace with the outcome—so long as the truth came to light.
Chapter End—