Rashan sat quietly, maintaining a composed exterior as Eldanaris coughed violently, still recovering from yet another round of waterboarding. After six or seven carefully posed questions, Rashan had long confirmed his suspicions—the elf was deliberately uncooperative, mixing partial truths with carefully measured deception.
Despite this, Rashan deliberately held back from escalating to harsher methods—like dental interrogation—not due to reluctance, but pragmatism. Even an uncooperative prisoner could still be useful, especially if the prisoner believed they retained control. Rashan knew that the Altmer were profoundly arrogant, an inherent trait he could strategically exploit.
"Let's revisit the specifics again," Rashan said patiently, maintaining the illusion of genuine contemplation. "Tell me more about the journey your reinforcements are taking."
Eldanaris paused briefly, visibly weighing his options. He began carefully, his voice strained yet steady, offering descriptions of terrain and routes—some genuine, some subtly misleading. Rashan listened attentively, noting the elf's deliberate choice of words, the hesitation on certain details, and the overly precise nature of others.
Rashan nodded slowly, occasionally interjecting brief clarifying questions that encouraged Eldanaris to elaborate further, subtly pushing him toward greater detail. Eldanaris gradually became more confident in his responses, his arrogance compelling him to embellish the truth slightly, believing Rashan was genuinely absorbing every word as fact.
Internally, Rashan matched each response to intel he'd painstakingly gathered—reports from informants placed carefully by Jalil, intercepted correspondence, and reconnaissance maps he had studied meticulously. Each truthful fragment Eldanaris revealed inadvertently confirmed what Rashan already knew, while each lie highlighted areas the elf wanted concealed. Rashan kept his expression carefully neutral, never betraying the satisfaction of having his intel verified.
Rashan leaned back slightly, feigning mild uncertainty to encourage Eldanaris further. The elf took the bait, offering deeper insights into their planned movements and strategic intentions, convinced that his half-truths were masterfully steering Rashan away from the truth. Eldanaris described terrain obstacles, weather conditions, and logistical considerations with increasing detail, certain each element fortified his deception.
The longer Eldanaris spoke, the more clearly Rashan could delineate truth from fiction, mentally marking each piece of valuable information. His patient, pragmatic approach was carefully designed to exploit Eldanaris's pride, allowing the elf to believe he was successfully manipulating the interrogation. Meanwhile, Rashan methodically pieced together a precise picture of the Dominion's actual plans.
Finally, Rashan exhaled softly, breaking the silence gently. "Very well," he said, allowing a hint of resignation to color his tone, reinforcing Eldanaris's misconception. Rashan had carefully guided the interrogation to maintain this fragile illusion—letting Eldanaris believe his manipulations were effective, even as each answer indirectly confirmed Rashan's known intelligence.
The careful dance of subtlety continued, Eldanaris increasingly convinced of his cunning, utterly unaware that Rashan had drawn him into a carefully orchestrated trap, each response reinforcing Rashan's true objective. Rashan's patient, pragmatic approach had already yielded what he needed; all that remained was keeping Eldanaris confident in his deception, ensuring the elf unwittingly continued to reveal valuable insights.
Rashan finally decided it was time to draw the interrogation to a close. Hours had passed—long, meticulous hours spent carefully extracting and verifying information. He stood, retrieving a detailed map illustrating Gilane and the various routes leading to the fort. The fortress they occupied sat strategically positioned east of Gilane and north of Taneth, deep enough inland to require at least a day's march from either city, providing tactical flexibility to launch inland invasions or swiftly support Taneth.
Rashan laid the map in clear view, his fingers tracing lightly along several marked paths. Three distinct routes could be taken from Gilane—the prominent Imperial Highway and two alternative, less conventional trails. The Imperial Highway was wide, flat, and easily traveled, but it was also open, exposed, and vulnerable to ambush, especially from Redguard units that preferred quick, aggressive engagements followed by rapid withdrawal into the surrounding wilderness.
The two alternative routes offered different strategic considerations. The northern trail, known locally as the Hawk's Pass, wound through rugged, rocky terrain, providing ample natural cover and defensible chokepoints, ideal for small, highly mobile units adept at guerrilla warfare. It was an attractive choice for a cautious commander looking to minimize exposure.
The southern route, called the Serpent's Path by locals, was narrower and trickier, running through dense vegetation and marshland that could severely slow progress. However, its challenging conditions also reduced the likelihood of encountering heavy resistance, as larger Redguard forces avoided its difficulty, potentially making it a tempting option for commanders willing to trade speed for secrecy.
Rashan doubted the Dominion would risk the predictable and vulnerable Imperial Highway, anticipating instead they would choose between the northern and southern alternatives. His eyes settled steadily on Eldanaris, whose posture had grown visibly weary yet remained defiant.
"Eldanaris," Rashan addressed him directly, maintaining his composed, authoritative tone, "which path will the company from Gilane use to reinforce this position?"
Eldanaris felt an aching exhaustion seep deep into his bones, a relentless fatigue born from hours of meticulous questioning. His ribs throbbed persistently, a painful reminder of his capture and vulnerability. Yet beneath his weariness and physical discomfort, a subtle pride simmered quietly. He immediately recognized the strategic intent behind Rashan's question—the young Redguard commander was intelligent enough to know the Dominion would never risk the obvious vulnerability of the Imperial Highway.
Maintaining his carefully constructed façade of defiance, Eldanaris allowed his breath to become intentionally labored, each inhalation drawn with a theatrical difficulty. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, deliberately strained, as though each syllable were dragged unwillingly from the depths of his fading resolve. The illusion had to be perfect, a delicate dance of apparent struggle and slow surrender, convincing Rashan of his eventual capitulation.
Internally, however, Eldanaris felt a quiet surge of arrogance, a reassuring warmth in his chest despite the pain. He was acutely aware of his deception, savoring the subtle power of controlling what Rashan believed. Each passing moment heightened his confidence that his carefully measured resistance was convincing, feeding his sense of superiority even as he outwardly displayed submission.
Finally, after a drawn-out silence punctuated only by his deliberately ragged breathing, Eldanaris slowly lifted his head, meeting Rashan's expectant gaze with carefully crafted reluctance. He let the tension build, allowing the Redguard to believe he was peeling back the final layers of Eldanaris's resistance.
"They'll… they'll take the northern trail," Eldanaris murmured softly, his voice carrying just enough uncertainty and resignation to reinforce the appearance of truthfulness. He subtly avoided Rashan's eyes, adding authenticity to his false admission, privately relishing his subtle triumph as he felt confident Rashan had fully accepted his carefully orchestrated deception.
Rashan's cold smile lingered as he settled back into his seat, his eyes fixed unflinchingly upon Eldanaris. The heavy silence stretched, charged with an unspoken tension that seemed to press physically upon the elf's battered spirit.
"Do you know what truly frustrates me about you Altmer?" Rashan's voice was low and measured, each word cutting deliberately into the quiet. "Even after centuries spent dancing obediently to the Empire's whims, and even now, humiliated and half-drowned after losing this fort, you cling desperately to your illusion of superiority. You genuinely believe you're the smartest presence here, simply because I haven't introduced you to any new horrors yet."
Without hesitation, Rashan surged forward, the back of his hand striking Eldanaris's face in a swift, decisive motion. The sharp sound reverberated briefly, the impact snapping Eldanaris's head to the side, a brutal punctuation to Rashan's words.
"You came to our homeland—my homeland," Rashan continued, voice hardening as he reached deliberately for his mask, slipping it methodically back into place. The stark, emotionless visage amplified the chilling weight of his words as he gripped Eldanaris by his hair, wrenching his head back harshly.
Leaning in, Rashan spoke quietly, pragmatically, his voice edged with a controlled menace. "The Anbu will haunt your Dominion's nightmares. Our very name will linger in whispered fears, a warning mothers use to tame unruly children—the demons in the shadows, waiting patiently for missteps."
His grip tightened, pulling Eldanaris painfully upright, forcing the elf to meet the empty, merciless stare of the mask. "When your battered ships flee our shores in defeat, scorched and hollow, driven away by Hammerfell's sons and daughters, one name will rise above all others, spoken in awe and terror alike."
He leaned in further, the mask now inches from Eldanaris's weary eyes.
"Anbu."
Rashan drew his dagger with cold, methodical precision, the blade gleaming briefly in the dim torchlight. Eldanaris barely registered the swift, lethal motion before the blade sliced deeply into the vital artery at his throat. A sudden warmth spread rapidly, saturating his clothing and soaking into the chair beneath him as his lifeblood escaped in steady pulses.
Eldanaris felt a dizzying wave sweep over him, the edges of his vision blurring as reality started to fray. The sounds around him became distant, muffled echoes, yet Rashan's voice pierced through clearly, deliberate and coldly confident.
"We will reinforce the opposite route, fully commit. Cassia, dispatch the messenger birds immediately. Assemble all available Anbu operatives. This fort will remain without reinforcement. We will deploy our full complement of nineteen Anbu to intercept the Dominion forces along the true path."
Eldanaris's thoughts raced sluggishly, confusion bleeding into dawning despair. He felt a deep, cold realization settling in his failing mind—his carefully constructed deception had been effortlessly unraveled. Each beat of his weakening heart hammered home his folly, the cruel truth becoming painfully evident: he had underestimated this Redguard, blinded by his own arrogance and misguided sense of superiority.
Regret and bitterness surged through Eldanaris, eclipsing even the pain of his wound. The proud Altmer had believed himself unassailable, only to be masterfully manipulated and discarded by this mere youth. With his last fleeting awareness, Eldanaris grasped the magnitude of his failure—he had become the very weakness he despised.
His vision faded further, darkness encroaching steadily, until at last it enveloped him completely. His final breath escaped quietly, a silent acknowledgement of defeat, leaving behind only emptiness and silence.