On the extremely long ride to Riften, she could do nothing but watch the woman writhe in pain and in fever, mumbling incomprehensible phrases and unfinished sentences. Karliah had had a time dragging the woman Mercer called Macayla out of Snow Veil Sanctum. She feared the streaks of blood the limp form left in the snow would attract predators, but once she reached her camp, found that they had already arrived, feasting on her slain horse. She had to quickly drop Macayla as the ice-wolves turned on her and attacked; three others came from a cluster of trees, maws bloody from feasting on some other dead animal.

She finished them all and dragged Macayla all the way into her camp, set on treating the viscous wound Mercer left her so she wouldn't die. The paralytic poison she shot her with slows the heart so she wasn't in danger of bleeding out. She wasn't sure what poison Mercer had used, but from what she had heard, it was guaranteed to kill.

Karliah cut the woman's shirt, creating better access to the wound. Bright and dark blood oozed out of the deep wound. Her poison tipped arrow looked to be the only thing keeping her alive.

Near the wound was a foreign dark-green liquid. She swiped some up on her finger, tasted it, and quickly spit it out. She cursed. It was a deadly poison made from the Jarrin root. If it had been on an arrow, Karliah could've cut the wound and sucked it out, but Mercer had stabbed her deep; the poison was in her bloodstream by now and killing her organs.

She looked at the poor woman. Karliah didn't have enough healing potions or restoration knowledge to save her. It was a shame she decided to shoot her to save her from Mercer, only to watch her die.

But she felt of her skin; she wasn't sweating yet from fever. That was good. Her body was putting up a fight; the poison hadn't been absorbed. She didn't know of any healers in Winterhold—if there were some in the College, you had to be a member to get access to them—but she knew of one in Riften, and in the Thieves Guild. Cynric Endell.

Karliah glanced at Macayla again, wondering if she would survive the trip and if venturing straight into the lion's den was the best idea. But she had to chance it. This woman could help prove her innocence from hearing what Mercer had said. Her plan to return to Snow Veil Sanctum, retrieve Gallus' journal for proof of Mercer's betrayal, and shooting him with the paralytic arrow to drag him back to Riften and answer for his crimes had failed. Gallus' journal was encrypted in some foreign language and seeing Macayla had forced her hand. The woman was her last chance, so she had to survive. She just had to.

After wrapping Macayla up tightly for warmth, she made a quick litter, and pulled her to the city of Winterhold, and rented the carriage. She paid the driver triple to forget what he saw, not ask questions and to hurry to Riften.

They reached Darkwater Crossing—only an hour left of travel—when Macayla turned feverish. It happened much later than Karliah had expected, but this still wasn't good news; it meant that the poison had finally been absorbed. She began to thrash, so Karliah wrapped her up tighter so she wouldn't hurt herself. Her incoherent mumblings caught the carriage driver's attention.

He glanced back at them. "Is she going to be alright?"

Karliah bit her fingernail as she watched the semiconscious woman suffer. "I don't know; she's dying."

So much was riding on Macayla's shoulders: not only her own will to survive, but Karliah's life, her redemption, and the lives of all those members in the Thieves Guild. If she died before they got to Riften, Karliah could call her life lost: the Thieves Guild would kill her without proof of her innocence and they were re-establishing their footholds in Skyrim so she wouldn't be able to hide much longer, and Mercer would kill her to keep her quiet.

Thinking of their sudden revitalization, it had to be attributed to Macayla joining them. Ever since Gallus died, the Thieves Guild had been in constant decline. She had no doubt that Mercer had caused it, but she was more scared of what she suspected: Mercer getting through those doors impossible to unlock without their keys meant—

"The shadows are mine," Macayla suddenly said.

Her words straightened Karliah's spine. The power resonating in her voice gave her chills. Her insensible babble had gradually turned logical and eerily resembling... Karliah shoved the thought away. It was just her comparing things when they couldn't possibly be similar.

But she couldn't deny that the similarity made her save Macayla in the first place. Mercer advancing behind her with his dagger out to slit her throat made her act quicker. But when Karliah first saw her and her eyes flickered immediately up to her, that deep void in her eyes froze her. The colors of dark blue and purple swirled deep within; her heart swelled with recognition of the dark aura. She could guarantee Mercer didn't recognize it from being too self-centered and none had been as close to her as she.

Then she began to talk through her suspicions out loud, coming closer and closer to the realization that Karliah was trying to prove something: Mercer's betrayal, not hers'. Karliah saw the decision reached in Mercer's eyes to kill Macayla as her back was turned. So Karliah shot her with the arrow originally meant for Mercer.

"We're almost there," the carriage driver said.

Karliah pulled out of her reverie to see him right: the trees had turned to those beautiful golden leaves of the Autumnal Forest and the road ascended up a hill.

"Hold on for just a bit longer, Macayla," she whispered down to the woman.

In compliance with Karliah's directions, the carriage driver stopped by the boarded up south gate of Riften, close to the hidden entrance into the Ratway. Karliah immediately hopped off and began pulling the semiconscious woman out. The carriage driver jumped down to help her.

"No, no; I have to do this alone," Karliah said.

He helped drape Macayla over her back. "I know; you thieves are a secretive bunch."

Karliah gaped at him.

"Don't gawk at me! Get her some help wherever you're going." He turned, climbed back up to his seat to take the reins, and steered the horse away; within moments, the carriage was gone to park at the Riften Stables.

Karliah snapped to and hurried for the hidden Ratway entrance. She found the secret lever hidden by a low-hanging branch, pulled it, and the hidden door opened in the wall. Karliah had a brief feeling of homesickness as the familiar smell of the Ratway hit her. She quickly shook it off as she ducked within—Macayla's survival was more important than her memories. She pulled the chain to shut the door behind her and set off for the Flagon.

Oddly, none of the lowlifes that acted as extra security for the Guild were around. But it just made it easier for her to hurry. Macayla drifted in and out of consciousness on her back; her mumblings had faded into puffs of air. Her strength was failing.

"We're almost there, Macayla; stay with me."

She opened the door to The Ragged Flagon and kicked it shut behind her. She hurried around the edge of the pool, drawing the attention of the three merchants that had set up shop in three of the four niches, to meet a stout dark-blond headed man—the bodyguard of the Guild. He slightly jolted with surprise at an unknown woman rushing toward him with another one limply hanging on her back. It took a moment for her to recall his name. Wasn't it Dirge?

"Dirge! It's Macayla; she's hurt bad! We have to get her to Cynric!"

His alarmed eyes turned to Macayla. Tenderly, he pulled the dying woman off of Karliah and cradled her in his arms, then turned for the Flagon's storage room; Karliah right beside him. Two other people approached them from hearing the urgency—she had kept an ear close to hear of the Guild's activities to see if they were close to finding her, so she knew it was Vekel and Tonilia.

"Dirge, what's— Macayla!" Vekel surged toward him.

The Redguard woman hurried beside them. "She's alive? Mercer said she was dead!"

"I'm holding proof that he was wrong," Dirge answered, never slowing as he headed for the fake storage cabinet.

Karliah hoped Mercer wasn't still inside the Cistern: he would kill her quickly, then stall long enough that Macayla would die from her wounds. The others had been too shocked over seeing Macayla that they hadn't had registered another one tagged along. So, Karliah tried to stay on the other side of Dirge and not draw attention to herself as all five of them ducked through the cabinet and hurried down to the Cistern entrance.

"Bryn! I have Macayla, but we need Cynric!" Dirge ordered as they stepped in and immediately headed toward an unoccupied bed.

Three people ran toward them, the one in the lead and the tallest being Brynjolf—the other two were Delvin and Vex. His worried face brightening with hope swiftly turned into disbelief then rage as he spotted Karliah.

"Karliah!" He whipped out his dagger. Ringing metal echoed around the room as others followed his lead by unsheathing daggers or swords.

Dirge turned on her. "You're Karliah?" He stepped protectively in front of Macayla on the bed.

She put her hands up to placate them. "Please, no! This isn't what it seems! I'm not here to hurt you; Mercer's misled you!"

Karliah unbuckled her bow and quiver and threw it on the ground, followed by her sword and dagger. "There! I have no weapons against yours! But I'm not your focus right now." She pointed at the woman prone on the bed. "Macayla's going to die if you don't help her!"

Reminding him of the emergency worked; Brynjolf frantically looked around. "Cynric!" A tall man hidden underneath a cowl ran up. "Go to her."

Cynric slipped past Dirge and kneeled at Macayla's bedside. Brynjolf glanced at Karliah. "Watch her," he ordered Delvin and Vex before he ran over too. The healer began to work, his hands glowing with golden light as he focused on Macayla's right shoulder.

The two ordered to guard her, moved closer with their daggers out and ready. Everyone crowded around to see what would happen.

"Something's blocking me and there's combating fluids," Cynric began professionally. "What happened? What's in her?"

Heads turned toward her. This wasn't going to be taken well. "Mercer stabbed her with Jarrin poison coating his blade." Brynjolf's head turned up to her with horror on his face. "And I shot her with a unique paralytic poison; it only slows the heart. It shouldn't be fighting you."

"I don't feel it's the poisons pushing back..." Cynric mused.

Brynjolf turned back to his fellow thief. "Then what?"

He shook his head. "I don't know; it's strong."

"Why did you shoot her?" Vex demanded, inching her dagger closer.

"I'll explain later; please, just save Macayla!"

"I'm trying," Cynric said, clipped and strained.

It was nerve-wracking, standing there useless watching petrified as Cynric's healing hands passed over Macayla's body with no reaction from her. Her breathing had turned light and shallow; she didn't mumble or writhe anymore—she just lay there like the dead. Brynjolf watched the woman's face the whole time, giving suggestions and asking questions without looking at Cynric; a hand slipped down to wrap around her unmoving one.

Karliah felt terrible; she had provided hope for these people only to watch it growing fainter. This Macayla meant much to them; everyone had their attentions glued on her, hope bright in their eyes. She had to do something, so she began to pray.

"Please, Mistress, don't take her yet; save Macayla, Lady Nocturnal."

All of a sudden, Macayla jerked rigid like something had shocked her. Brynjolf and Cynric jumped back, the healer removing his glowing hands.

"Did you—" Brynjolf began.

"You seek me too late, Karliah," Macayla's mouth moved, but Karliah recognized the voice by being someone else's—powerful, low and displeased, sending shivers up and down her neck. "You should've come long before. Why did you hesitate?"

No one spoke, mouths open and staring in disbelief. Karliah's knees wobbled.

Macayla's eyes opened. She smoothly sat up, then just turned her head to look at Karliah. Her trembling increased to uncontrollable shaking as those eyes fixed only on her. No longer were the colors of dark blue and purple distant, they swirled in full force in place of Macayla's normal eyes. She now looked at the Daedric Lord Nocturnal.

"My Mistress," she whispered as her knees gave out and she crashed to the floor.

"You seek my blessing for a mortal, yet flee from your responsibility. Is this how I am to be honored?"

"Lady Nocturnal, I... Forgive me," Karliah begged.

"That will depend on your behavior from now." She cocked her head to the side, looking like the ravens usually perched on her arms. "What happened, my child? What happened to your resolve, your strength I admired you for? Did shame hold you back? Because of your inaction, I had to take action personally."

"Lady Nocturnal?" Brynjolf hesitantly began.

Macayla/the Daedric Lord turned to him.

He swallowed. "Where... where is Macayla?"

She didn't respond for a long time, like she internally debated something. "Do not speak of this to her."

Macayla's rigidness disappeared, along with the colors in her eyes as Nocturnal left; she lifelessly collapsed into Brynjolf's arms. He caught her, then carefully laid her back; her head rolled to the side. She was no longer pale like the dead; she breathed evenly, looking like she slept. He felt of her forehead.

"The fever's gone."

Delvin shattered the stunned silence. "What the bloody 'ell just happened?"

Brynjolf looked at her. "Lass?"

Karliah was still on her knees, shaking, and too dumbstruck to respond. "She's disappointed in me," she mumbled shakily.

"Someone help her to her feet and get some mead into the poor lass," he told Vekel; he turned off for the Flagon. Delvin helped her up and held on to her arm. "We have a lot to discuss."

After looking down atthe immobile woman, he stood and directed them over to a table.