Mercer waited for her as usual behind his desk; Brynjolf stood beside him, but his eyes were the only ones to light up at her return—Mercer's narrowed.

"So what did you learn from Gulum-Ei, lass?" Brynjolf asked.

She watched for any reactions when she spoke. "He said it was Karliah."

Their reactions weren't held back. Brynjolf's mouth popped open as his usual stance of crossed arms fell in disbelief. For the first time, Mercer's impassive face dropped as the blood drained.

"No, it... it can't be. I haven't heard that name in years," he whispered. "I hoped to never cross paths with her again."

Macayla crossed her arms as she planted herself; she would get all the answers this time. "Alright, so you both know her. Gulum-Ei told me she murdered someone. What all did she do?"

"She betrayed the Guild by killing the previous Guildmaster, Gallus," Brynjolf began.

"And tried to kill me," Mercer finished. "Karliah destroyed everything this Guild stands for. After everything, we spent months trying to track her down, but she vanished."

That explained Gulum-Ei's fear of ratting her out; this Karliah sounded like she wouldn't think twice about killing the lizard if betrayed.

"But why do you think she's returned? Why is she mad at you?"

"Karliah and I were like partners. I went with her on every heist; I watched her back. I know her technique, her skills; if she kills me, there'd be no one who could catch her. If only we knew where she was..."

"Gulum-Ei told me she said, 'where the end began'. He didn't know what that meant, though."

Understanding clicked in Mercer's eyes. "I do; that can only mean Snow Veil Sanctum—where she killed Gallus and attempted to kill me."

He looked down at his desk for a moment, then pushed from it. "Then it's decided: we're going to end this now by killing her."

Macayla was taken aback for a second. "We?"

"Yes; we. I know how she fights, and she's a master marksman; no matter how well others say you blend in the shadows, she'll find you."

"I'm going too," Brynjolf interjected.

"No." Brynjolf turned to argue, but Mercer kept going. "You're the only one who knows what Karliah looks like. If something happens to us, she'd head straight here. You have to stay here and protect the Guild. To be safe, keep it on lockdown; no one comes in or out until we return."

He looked at Macayla. "Get ready; our destination is outside of Winterhold. We have to get out there before she disappears again." Mercer Frey headed off to prepare himself.

Brynjolf walked up to her; for the longest neither said a word—worry trembled in his eyes.

"Be careful out there, lass. Karliah's a clever one. You make sure you come back to us."

He was truly afraid for her. "I'll be back. I've almost been killed once; I'm not letting there be a second time."

***

Mercer Frey and Macayla left out through the graveyard exit; when the false crypt shut behind them, the Cistern was locked off. The moon had gone to sleep when the two thieves made their way out of Riften, banged on the stables until a sleepy stable hand appeared—Shadr, who recognized his savior, took their money for two horses—then set out at a steady gallop north to Snow Veil Sanctum, a five-day's journey by foot but shaved to two days on horseback.

Eager to get there, Mercer incessantly pushed them to keep going and barely let them stop. When the horses tired, they dismounted and walked beside their steeds. Food consisted of jerky or dried fruit eaten as they either rode or walked. They only rested when they both were about to fall out of their saddles; they didn't even bother to make camp, just rolled out their bedrolls and collapsed with exhaustion. They would sleep maybe three, four hours before they set out again.

On the trip over, Macayla asked for more about Karliah. Karliah was a Dunmer, did things her way, but he had never known a better thief. She and Gallus became really close to where he fondly called her his 'little Nightingale'. The title Nightingale triggered some sort of recognition, but Macayla couldn't recall why. Mercer had always suspected her but realized too late to save Gallus. He believed she got close to make him soft, and furthermore making it easier to murder him.

When she asked about that fateful night, Mercer said Gallus asked him to meet him at Snow Veil Sanctum; he didn't know why. When he got there and Gallus showed up, an arrow pierced his throat; Mercer was shot in the chest, but the arrow missed his heart. The last he saw of Gallus was of Karliah unceremoniously dumping his body through a hole atop the ruins.

After Gallus' death, the Guild tore apart—many tried to take his former position. Alliances were formed, and the Ratway became a bloodbath. Mercer wanted to hunt down Karliah, but months passed because of the infighting, giving her time to hide her tracks and vanish.

He didn't know why she had killed Gallus, but Mercer was determined to find out before he killed her.

***

They reached the ruins of Snow Veil Sanctum on the morning of the second day; true to its name, the crumbling cairn was nearly submerged under feet of snow. The air was dry and frigid, but the shrieking, icy wind piercing clothes and blindingly blowing snowflakes made it even more painful to breathe. Any breath came out in a puff of smoke and quickly evaporated in the freezing temperature. There wasn't much foliage in the frozen wilderness, but Mercer and Macayla had found a cluster of trees to watch the place from afar. Karliah wasn't getting a second chance at shooting Mercer out in the open again.

After a while of them watching for sign of her, Mercer dismounted. "I'll scout around to make sure she's here." He looped his horse's reins around a tree, unsheathed his sword, and walked out of their cover. She watched him trudge through the calf-deep snow as quietly as he could. He soon disappeared around the circular structure.

Macayla held her breath as she waited for Mercer Frey to return. Somehow their horses seemed to know secrecy was needed, so they refrained from snorting or loudly pawing through the frozen earth for something to eat.

A dying cry of some animal echoed out in the silent tundra. She wondered if it was an ice-wolf or some other type of bigger predator, like a snowy sabre cat. Macayla had the thought about tying her own horse up and venturing out to see about Mercer when she saw his form heading back to her. He wasn't crouched down any longer, trying to make himself a small target, and his sword wasn't out either; he calmly walked toward her.

"I'm positive Karliah's still inside," he said through puffs of exertion. "I found her campsite and killed her horse; she won't be escaping that way. Come on."

She dismounted, tied her horse to a tree similar to Mercer's, then followed his trek back through the snow to the ruins. The thieves got to the top and looked down to find aged stone steps curling down to a black iron door closing off the underground catacombs.

"You take the lead," Mercer surprised her by saying.

She looked at him. "Me?"

He looked back at her irritatingly. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression that I'm in charge..." He looked down at the entrance. "I know what to expect from Karliah, so I can watch your back and warn you in time."

No matter if he faced a life-or-death situation, Macayla could rely on Mercer staying dry and condescending.

She started down the winding steps with Mercer right behind her; all of them were cracked and chipped, but the stone slabs had been driven far enough into the walls she didn't have to worry about them giving way underfoot. At the bottom she walked up to the black door and looked it over for a key hole. The double doors were greatly intimidating: wicked looking bars were interlocked over the doors' junction, preventing entry completely.

"I don't think I can pick this; I don't even see a key hole."

"They say these ancient Nordic burial grounds are impenetrable." Mercer walked toward the door, then squatted to fiddle with something. "I don't see what all the fuss is about over these locks. All it takes is a little know-how and skill."

Something clicked from within and the interlocking bars unlocked, drawing back from each side to reveal the doors' junction. Mercer looked back at her.

"And I thought you were a thief."

She ignored his comment as she stepped up to the doors, pulled out her bow for good measure before opening one side, and walked in. Stone steps led down into a dimly lit hallway; Mercer followed her on light feet, too. As expected, in an ancient crypt, the air was old and musty. It was all too quiet, though; near a doorway, a howling wind usually slipped under doors—there wasn't a single sound. They were trespassing where only the dead belonged; Macayla repressed the shiver of premonition that they would belong soon.

"The stench in here... smells of death," Mercer whispered, voice as light as air. "Be on your guard."

They tiptoed through the ancient burial tomb, warily eyeing exposed sarcophagi, expecting one of the undead known to haunt places like this to burst out. Narrow slots had been carved into some of the walls; some occupied by skeletons, some not. They passed many burial urns; they usually held coin or gifts for the deceased, but Macayla and Mercer didn't check a single one—they weren't here on a job for money but to kill.

The thieves came into a circular room with two free-standing crypts and iron bars blocking the passage opposite them. A chain hung between the two sarcophagi; Macayla knew it would open the door but also awaken the dead.

"Not very subtle," Mercer said behind her.

"We have no choice, though." She headed out to pull the chain; Mercer positioned himself to the side of a crypt so when the door fell open, it wouldn't hit him and he would have the first strike against the draugr.

Macayla yanked down the chain and readied her bow with an arrow as she turned for the crypt she would cover. The chain rattled as it withdrew, raising the iron bars that ended with a loud bang. At the noise, both of the sarcophagi doors burst open and out stepped two draugr.

Draugr were long dead Nords, somehow resurrected to haunt and protect their burial tombs. They only resembled who they used to be in their forms; they were a little more than just skeletons—their skin had been long decomposed, gray, withered and stretched thin over their boney frames. Their ragged ancient Nord armor only exaggerated their appearance of crawling out of their gravesite.

Macayla's reeled back suddenly as her arrow struck where its heart used to lie. It turned its murderous, icy eyes on her; they were proven to be hard to kill. Another arrow embedded into its skull as it advanced toward her, unsheathing a rusty sword.

Mercer hacking away at the other one behind her sounded out. She continued to retreat as she hurriedly pulled out another arrow while it got closer. It stopped to roar at her, leaning threateningly toward her with all of its weight on one leg. Seeing her opening, she shot at that leg's knee.

The draugr immediately collapsed, losing its grip on the sword. Macayla pulled out her own and drove it down through its shoulder. The unworldly bright glow in its eyes faded as it died; she pulled out her sword to have it fall backwards.

Mercer's draugr lay dead to the side of him. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Most thieves are hesitant about killing..."

"I'm not afraid to kill when I have to."

"Hmm," he sounded; she could see it in his eyes that he thought about something but didn't voice it. "The way's open now; I'm positive there'll be more draugr."

Snow Veil Sanctum was practically alive with the walking undead. The majority of them were frail, but there were some stronger ones where Macayla and Mercer had to team up to take them down. Karliah had also left signs of her passing, mainly through traps reset to ensnare pursuers. One being strung bone chimes to awaken the nearby sleeping draugr; they got past safely, but when they opened the iron bars, the clanging roused them and they had to fight, anyway.

Even though they weren't here for loot, Macayla kept her eyes open for anything of interest to give to Delvin. It had become a habit of returning to the Guild with a valuable-looking trinket. Plus, it was fun and filled her pockets of coin. She saw a Model Ship, meticulously carved out of some dark-gray wood; the sails weren't cloth but made of some other wood to prevent damage. Macayla grabbed it, humorously thinking of approaching Delvin with it and telling him to be careful playing with his new toy.

After a good thirty minutes travelling deeper into the tomb, they came onto a long hallway ending at a large half-circular door. Open and ready bear traps riddled the tunnel leading to it. Macayla and Mercer carefully overstepped them as they headed for the door.

Macayla had never seen the door's like before: arranged in three tiers and each ring could be turned to a new image. The 'keyhole' was a circle set into the middle with the claw impressions of some strange key. She guessed that there had to be a certain sequence of images and the right key to open the door—and they had neither.

"Ah, a notorious Nordic puzzle door; quite impressive isn't it? They're impossible to open without its matching claw. I'm sure Karliah's already done away with the key, but we'll make do." Mercer walked up to the door, squatted down, and began to fiddle with it.

"Every door has a weakness; you just have to find it."

The inner ring suddenly turned to a new image, a design of a flying eagle matching the other two. Then, after the deep resounding thuds of locks unlocking, the impressive door receded downward into the floor. It revealed a large chamber, partially covered with snow and ice because of it being exposed to the surface somewhere—probably a hole in the ceiling.

Macayla shook her head. "You're going to have to show me your secrets."

"They're not something taught; you learn them from experience."

She stepped into the massive chamber, with Mercer trailing. She scanned the room for Karliah, eyeing the pillars on the loft from thinking that would be the opportune sniping location of an archer. But she didn't see or hear a thing. This looked like the inner chamber of the Sanctum. So where was Karliah?

Macayla walked further in to find a skeleton half submerged in the snow. Directly under the hole in the ceiling and from being face down, this had to be Gallus' remains. The surrounding snow had been disturbed, like someone had dug through the slush to unearth him. It had been done recently, though; Karliah was close by somewhere.

But something bothered her. Ever since making the connection between Goldenglow and Honningbrew Meadery, Macayla had been troubled. It had all been too well-thought-out to be from a blood-thirsty woman thinking only of attaining power. And now picking Snow Veil Sanctum, a significant place for both Karliah and Mercer, didn't seem to be just for sentimentality...

"I don't understand something," Macayla began, but kept scanning the room. "If Karliah is only after you and the title of Guildmaster, why go through all these smoke and mirrors? Why not just kill you since she's a cold-blooded killer? It seems like she's trying to prove something. None of this is making sense to me."

She didn't get time to register the bristling of her neck hairs of someone approaching behind before a bow twanged, and Macayla was shot with a sharp, burning pain in her left chest, above her heart. She staggered back for a second before her body seized up and her vision faded. She fell backwards. The arrow had been tipped with some paralytic poison. Macayla saw the image of Mercer looking up at where the arrow came from before everything went black.

***

Everything was blurry. Her left shoulder felt dead. Other than that one section, the rest of her was cold. Her body wouldn't react to her commands.

She kept blinking to clear her vision; it gradually did and she could make out two figures approaching each other. One had the arrogant walk of a man with a sword and dagger in hand and the other was smaller in frame and with a bow ready with an arrow. It took more blinking to make out her features: gray skin with the lavender eyes of a Dark Elf, a Dunmer.

Karliah; her name was Karliah. The other one was Mercer Frey.

"Do you honestly think your arrow would reach me before I cut out your heart?" Mercer asked cockily.

"I'm thinking about trying," Karliah growled.

"You're a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspiring."

"'To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies'." She put up her bow. "That was the first lesson Gallus taught us."

Mercer chuckled as he also sheathed his weapons. "You always were a quick study."

"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive."

Macayla tried to convince herself that wasn't remorse in Karliah's voice. She had to be mistaken.

"Gallus had his wealth, and he had you; all he had to do was look the other way."

What! Macayla had to have heard wrong; Mercer didn't just say that. Did Mercer kill Gallus and blamed Karliah for it?

They were quiet for a while, with his confession hanging between them. "Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales?" Karliah breathed. "Did you expect for him to simply ignore your methods?"

"I don't have to explain anything." Mercer quickly unsheathed his blades. "Come Karliah, it's time for you and Gallus to be reunited!"

Instead of clashing against Mercer's blades with the one at her hip like Macayla expected, Karliah whipped out a small phial and drank it. In an instant, she disappeared.

"I'm no fool, Mercer; crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise the next time we meet, it will be your undoing."

Karliah's voice disappeared; after a moment, Mercer turned and walked to her. She itched to rise up and strangle him, or at least drive her sword through his heart, but she couldn't move; she could only lie there.

"How interesting; it seems Gallus' history has repeated itself. I was trying to figure out the best way to kill you—you're quite skilled—but Karliah has provided me the means to be rid of you. This will become your tomb, as it was for Gallus. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you." He sheathed his dagger to pull out a phial and poured it over his sword.

Macayla fought to speak. At first, only squeaks made it through her paralyzed vocal cords, drawing Mercer's eyes. He looked at her interestingly, like examining a pinned butterfly, but then leaned in closer to hear as her noises congealed into words.

"I... will kill... you."

He chuckled as he withdrew. "Oh my dearest Macayla, no, you won't. If whatever poison Karliah shot you with doesn't kill you, mine surely will—it's been tested many times and is reliable."

Done soaking the blade with the poison, he put up the bottle, then looked down at her. "I'll make sure to give Brynjolf your regards; he had grown quite fond of you."

Swiftly, he drove his blade into her right chest. Her breath caught in her throat at the stab, then he ripped it out and the agonizing burning began; it felt like fire burned its way through her veins, igniting everything within her.

Her eyes drooped; she fought to keep them open, knowing if she slipped under the darkness this time, she wasn't coming out of it. Mercer watched her struggling to stay awake for a moment before turning away and walking out of view.

Her vision blurred again, and blackness rimmed it, steadily extending its length. Macayla's strength and willpower to fight faded with her sight. She never should've joked with Brynjolf about almost dying again; this time would be the last.