Arenco scowled towards Marcel, mostly due to the indignant manner of his address. Still, it wasn’t as if there was much to debate in the situation; Gwinnir was becoming incredibly volatile and dangerous, and the Altmer was sweating through his robes as the mine was fast becoming a blast furnace thanks to the pyromancer’s incredibly dangerous use of magic. He wasn’t confident he could even speak; it felt like the very moisture had evaporated from his mouth. Still, he extended his hands and unleashed as powerful of an electric bolt as he could muster against the pyromancer, wavering the intensity of the inferno enough that the Bosmer was visible beyond the veil of flames.
 
It was enough for Marcel’s impromptu weapon, the hurled pickaxe, to pass through the flame, its handle burning into cinders, but the rough iron head of the weapon managed to maintain enough momentum and accuracy that it struck true, the heated metal working against Gwinnir as it raked across his skin, opening a rather sizable gouge in his flank. The spell was interrupted in the sense no new heat was being applied, and Bharzak’s opportune telekinesis-propelled rock struck him across the jaw, knocking his head askew with an audible crack that was heard even through the cackling flames and his guttural scream. His jaw was clearly broken, and the threat of incineration had passed.
 
Jonimir took advantage to the lull in the spell to cross over to his former apprentice with unmistakable malice and determination, grasping the Bosmer by the throat, choking him as he forced Gwinnir to look him in the eye. In his hand was a simple-looking steel dagger that had an eerie glow to it. “You are such a disappointment.” The Redguard stated, thrusting the blade into the side of Gwinnir’s neck, the blade glowing ever brighter, along with one of the pouches upon his hip. The pyromancer squirmed under his former master’s grip, but it was a losing fight. Within moments Gwinnir’s final gurgles escaped his throat and Jonimir removed the blade from the neck, the suction of air into the open wound accompanied by a spray of blood that fell across the stone floor, spent and useless. Jonimir cleaned his blade with a dirty cloth before returning it to its sheath and pulled the soul gem from his side, now glowing brilliantly with black light. 
 
“You may prove to be of use yet.” He said to the stone, looking at the mercenaries who had interrupted. “Jorwen, it has been some time… I regret it isn’t under better circumstances. Strange how the fates make us cross paths after our departure, is it not?” he asked, eyeing the prone and scorched form of Daelin lying motionless on the floor. “I still sense life in Daelin. Arenco may be able to stabilize him, but it is… unlikely to do much, I’m afraid.” He nodded at the Altmer, who hurried over to Daelin and placed his hands upon the Bosmer, which began to glow in soft healing light of restoration magic. “Now, it is obvious we had similar goals here, Gwinnir was my mistake to correct and you were doubtless sent here with your companions to deal with the treacherous swine, so I do not see the need for further confrontation. We parted as friends once, no reason we could not do the same again. Bharzak, to me. It is time to depart.” He said. The cruel looking collar about her neck was clearly visible, as was her discomfort at the arrangement.


Despite having been given a direct order by someone she had no other option but to obey, the orsimer mage found herself hesitating. She had been more than surprised to know that Jonimir had apparently been acquainted with these people—perhaps even having spent a decent amount of time in their company. From the way some of them had fought, she doubted they were in any way affiliated with his old 'guild', which was some small relief. And, after seeing how the man had treated Gwinnir, despite his lunacy and the fact he had been trying to kill them all, she wanted to be as far away from his agenda as possible, not to mention that she did not relish the idea of continuing to serve the Kamal forces. Now Bharzak saw she had a rather opportune chance to leave. Ordinarily, she would not deign to desert any organization she belonged to in such a manner, but she had not chosen to be a part of this one willingly. And as things were now, she found she would prefer to take the risk of potentially joining even worse company to escape her present situation.


"I don't think so," she replied evenly, crossing her arms in what might be considered a defiant gesture in an attempt to smother the feelings of apprehension she now felt.


Jorwen watched them talk amongst each other, having nothing to say to the mage who'd all but disappeared after the Reach. The way the Orc woman's eyes lingered on him and Marcel before she turned around to defy Jonimir only added more confusion to his head. He narrowed his eyes, finding the same collar on each of the mages before him. The make of them put him in mind of whatever metal the Kamal covered themselves in and this lended them no trust in his eyes. Slaves? Scouts? Would they kill him where he stood if he pried into the reason they all wore them?


His eyes flitted to each of the collars and the people wearing them, "I wasn't aware friends left without warning before popping back up like this." He nodded to the Orc, "It seems the woman is fixing to leave you for some reason."


"She's tepid about our little arrangement, but she'll come around, won't you Bharzak?" Jonimir asked, keeping his voice civil throughout, but the stare he offered the orc might as well have been daggers. Arenco was keeping an eye on the situation as he tried to resurrect Daelin. A gesture from Jonimir made him stop. "Well, if you feel that way, Jorwen, then I guess friends don't save each other. I will be taking my leave." Staring down Bharzak, he emphasized, "Now."


Jorwen frowned, "Answer one question before you leave your acquaintances to die in a hole, mage. Why are you wearing the collars?"


"Because there are those even worse than I who have a stake in my success, it would seem. I'd much rather not die because I turned out being a disappointment." Jonimir replied with a scowl. "You chose your path, I chose mine. Now let them diverge and not worry about what happened here again. You'd like to retire, wouldn't you? It would be rather dreadful if that never came to fruition." There was an air of malice to the tone.


If Jorwen were a younger man he may have been quick enough to cover the distance between him and Jonimir and split the mage's head open with his seax. If Jorwen were a younger man he may not have given it a second thought to throwing himself at the Redguard with blood on the mind. But Jorwen was not a young man anymore, no matter how much his old pride wanted him to be. But he got his answers, the metal was the same and the collars didn't look like gifts of jewelry. The Kamal had the intelligence to employ, albeit forcefully, foreign agents. This did nothing for Jorwen's unease at the Kamal. "Aye, fucking paths and all that shite. Go in peace, or whatever it is Redguards say to each other."


Jorwen's heart was beating like a war drum as stepped forward, the Altmer stepping back from him as he bent down and scooped up Daelin, his limp form heavier than it looked. He hoped Daelin would be able to be healed if he took him back to Rothvar's camp. He wanted nothing to do with Jonimir and his lot and even if Bharzak wanted to leave with them, he and Marcel wouldn't be much use against two strong mages. He spat at his chances and turned to leave, beckoning for Marcel to take Daelin so he could find Dax. If he could walk, good, but if he couldn't then he doubted Marcel could carry the big lizard. "Come with us or go with them, Orc. I understand your leader chose a path, should choose yours now."

Bharzak had regarded the exchange between Jonimir and Jorwen somewhat impassively, having done her best not to grimace or flinch at the Redguard's previous demand of her—one that had clearly bordered on being a threat. She was quite certain that now was as good a time as ever to separate from the Kamal, even though she might not be able to expect the third party present to pitch in and help her if a fight did ensue. However, she was surprised when the Nord offered her the chance of leaving with him and his companions. That might make the other collaborating mages decide to let her leave, but she still wasn't entirely sure her defiance wouldn't be met with violence. Looking to Jorwen, the orcish mage gave nodded slightly, saying, "I would be glad to part ways with my current associates."


Then, turning to send a rather unfriendly look to Jonimir, she added in a cool, indifferent tone, "I suggest that you let me leave. I have no desire to continue serving the Kamal forces."


While Marcel had never thought of letting the other mages get away, their help in taking down the feral pyromancer, the party's wounded, and his older companion's seeming indifference against the side they were serving kind of put him at a bad position to fight them all. He had fought against worse odds, and although the results weren't always pleasant, it somewhat felt like an affront to let a Kamal associate, and a damned Necromancer at that, to leave. The old Nord beckoned for him to pick up their wounded superior, but things just didn't feel right. He shot a quiet, conflicted look at Jorwen, and then Bharzak, inbetween eyeing Jonimir and the Altmer angrily. 


What were his chances? He could cover the distance between him and the mages, and he hadn't really used any of his skills to hollow out his magic battery. In truth, all the zapping, flames and everything else had amped him up. His main concern was about his companions, really. Would the old man help? Would the Orc help? Would the wounded survive? He turned his head to look at Daelin lying on the ground, and then back at the mages. He could feel the tendons in his right hand itching to pull the smallsword and lodge it in the arrogant Redguard's face. 


Jonimir weighed his odds, and from the weary looks on the mercenaries' faces, as angry as they were, they seemed to have suffered enough for one day. Enough to discourage them from doing something foolish. They did the bulk of the effort to put an end to Gwinnir, and both him an Arenco were unscatched and still ready for a fight. They'd both leave without further conflict and all he had to do was discard an Orc who was too weak and pitiful to defy his will. She was a disgrace to her kind, and in truth, her only forseeable use for her was as sword fodder and subsequent reanimation. She wouldn't make it far with that collar, regardless. Sooner or later, the sorcerors who melded it around her neck would discover she was no longer under Jonimir's guidance and would activate the spell runes within, puncturing her neck in multiple places with cruel spikes of ice. It was a fate that Jonimir would suffer if he displeased the Kamal, but they offered a surprising amount of autonomy, as if they could not conceive anyone under their thumb conspiring against them. 


"Very well, Bharzak. Do not let it be said that I am not a compassionate man, you can leave with your new friends. Jorwen, consider this exchange a token of my appreciation for helping with such a troublesome part of my life. Be well, and do not take it as a slight in me saying I hope we never cross paths again." The Redguard said, disengaging from the group and with a final look and nod of the head, headed out of the cave with Arenco in tow. Their footsteps faded into the cavern, and soon, there was nothing.


"Aye, die in a bloody fire." Jorwen grumbled when they'd disappeared down the tunnel. He looked at Bharzak, then Daelin, and wondered if the Kamal would come to collect the Orc. They didn't have strong walls around them this time, and the last time they'd met them in the open they'd lost a good portion of the others in the Company. He shook his head, getting to the task of digging through the debris to find Dax's body. He felt for a pulse, and thankfully, he found one. He breathed a sigh of relief, hefting the big lizard over his shoulder. "We'd best get moving. Put as much land we can between us and them, Orc." He trusted she knew who he meant.


He called over his shoulder to Marcel as he ascended the ramp back up to the entrance, "We're not leaving Daelin and I'm already hauling Dax."

* * *

[i]At the Nightgate Inn, a long night-march later...[/i]

The group had made it out of the mines, parting ways with the mages and taking one with them. Jorwen found his mind drifting back to the revelation that Jonimir was working with the Kamal, voluntarily or no, and even moreso to the mage's threat on his life. When they made it back to the camp, news of a Kamal patrol given to him by the others was also foreboding. Could the collars lead the Kamal back to them? If so, these four walls may be strong enough to stand a blizzard but the Kamal were tougher than cold winds. He tightened the fist he had on his knife, stuck into the tabletop, and rubbed his face. He was tired, they all were. Sevine had taken well to him appointing her as his Second, having taken charge after Daelin apparently had no plans to wake up. Daelin showed much less promise than the others when it came to healing, the efforts of Bharzak and Rhasha'Dar at least making sure that the Bosmer didn't die. He hadn't even opened his eyes from the time Marcel carried him out of the mines to when the Breton lowered him onto the bed.

He clutched at his chest and let go a long, gravelly cough, his eyes screwed shut in pain. He growled behind gritted teeth and took a few long breaths, damn cold air messing with his lungs. He got up and crossed the room, opening the door to reveal the landscape filled with nothing but mountains and snow, the sunrise coming out of the horizon a long ways away. Rothvar was still keeping watch, seemingly the only other person not complaining when Jorwen proposed marching rather than sleeping when the sun began to dip below mountains and snow-hills. It was appreciated, but he needed rested warriors, “You should sleep. I'll take up watch.”

Rothvar only shook his head, though the yawn betrayed him. Jorwen frowned, there wasn't much convincing a Nord when he had his mind set to a task. That much, he could respect the old soldier for, but there wasn't an enemy alive that could take a minute's sleep away from Jorwen if he could help it. Even so, he plopped himself down in the creaky chair, wrapping his cloak around him and sighing. “We've a long day ahead of us, we're marching to Dawnstar and we won't be stopping whether or not you fall on your face for lack of sleep.”

“Thank you for respecting my decision.” Rothvar's words held a little bit of sarcasm. There was a pregnant silence growing between them, Rothvar's eyes hardening on the mountains, “We didn't bury them.”

“We could have, but then those Kamal you all saw would've killed us if we...” He couldn't say wasted, time spent giving a good burial to a good friend was well-spent, he knew, “if we took the time to do that.”

“I know.” Rothvar grumbled, looking away from Jorwen and scratching near his eyes.

“A friend helped me to realize my mistakes were not something to run from, but instead learn from.” He took solace in the thought of sharing another fire with the Khajiit when he got back to Dawnstar, “Our dead ones will welcome us with open arms when we get past Tsun and cross the whalebone bridge. They will understand.”

“Aye.” Rothvar didn't look all too convinced, then he leaned forward over the wooden railing of the porch, as if struggling to see something in the distance. Jorwen looked too, but he could see nothing.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Rothvar shook his head, looking back once more before going back inside to warm himself, rubbing at his sleepy eyes.

Jorwen squinted, trying to see what Rothvar saw and his mind immediately conjured up images of the Kamal, memories of them from the docks and the death they wrought. He swallowed, shaking his head and sighing, wondering if he'd made the right decision in letting the Orc come with them. Every chief ponders the chance that his orders kill his boys. If he'd kept his damned teeth together, Daelin might be walking and talking and his own dodgy knees wouldn't be shaking under the weight of the others' lives now. He let go a grating cough that seemed to cut his lungs and spat something off the porch. Dawnstar was a long way away, but who knew where the Kamal were.