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All she saw was the glint of moonlight in a straight, sharp line flashing into the man beside her. He groaned and slipped to his knees, falling sideways onto the ground.
"By the Eight," Lormingga whispered in horror. A scaled hand clamped across her mouth, preventing her from saying anything more.
"It's over," a voice rasped softly. A soft cloud of ash filled the air and she coughed, wondering why the assassin hadn't killed her, too.
When the dust settled, Lormingga realized she was alone. Only the smear of blood on the floor beside her indicated where her companion had fallen. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Lormingga looked around carefully. Alone. She lifted her unbound hands to her face and prayed.
"And for that, you must pay."
Lormingga felt the blade slipping through her flesh before she saw the Argonian rise beside her. Her mouth moved soundlessly and her hands clutched at where the weapon had pierced her throat.
"I had no proof you were involved, woman," the Argonian said, wiping her blade on Lormingga's shirt before sheathing it. "Thanks for admitting your guilt before I left. This journey would've been inconvenient for another Shadowscale to take so soon."
As Lormingga sank to the floor, the Shadowscale assassin added, "We are all part of the Pact now ... except for traitors like you."
And then the assassin, like Lormingga's life, was gone.