The following morning, he saw Dragonsreach in the distance. Fog had crept in during the cold night, and the sun had not yet vanquished it. In fact, there were still sparkling stars overhead. There were no moons, though. An hour later, he reached Whiterun’s gates and entered the town.
Normally, guards stood by, making certain the entrance was well protected. S’maash found it strangely deserted instead. He continued down the paved road into the center of town. There, he saw most of the guard. Their backs were to him.
“Excuse me,” he said.
One guard turned to face him with a snarkey remark, “Let me guess, someone stole your sweet roll.”
“No…what’s happened here?”
“That wizard, the Jarl’s…he just killed a caitiff,” another guard replied.
“Where did that demon come from, anyway,” a third guard asked.
Suddenly, they went wild with chatter. S’maash pushed through. A dead caitiff was sprawled out in the street, chest torn asunder. The demon was red and black, his skin stretched over a disfigured face; the dremora were awful creatures.
A trail of blood led from the beast, and S’maash followed it back to Dragonsreach. He spotted Farengar’s black silhouette climbing the steps to the palace, so he gave chase. Once he caught up to the wizard, he asked a barrage of questions.
“Calm yourself. I will answer once we are inside. Did you find it, Shalidor’s Insights,” Farengar asked.
S’maash was going to answer until he saw the still beating daedra heart in Farengar’s grip. The two entered Dragonsreach.