Burning Today Options

[Olen]

Some of you probably remember my last piece, Yesterday's Shadow and that it had a rather unsatisfying ending. I spent the summer rectifying this and now have a sizeable sequel/ completion to it which is itself now finished. It would probably be better to read Yesterday's Shadow before this as it would make more sense, however you should get by without it. If anyone wants I'll put a synopsis here, though Yesterday's Shadow isn't very long so you could just read it here (enough plugs yet?)

Anyway without further ado:

Burning Today

Prologue

Dervas wore boots while he worked. Shoes didn't last long in the decaying mixture of blood, vomit, drink and drugs which floored The Black Guar. The dark man had finally passed out and for the first time Dervas dared look at him. A worn man with a broken soul. Who are you? The Black Guar didn't get passing trade – the mixture of pushers, heavies and racketeers who made up most of his patronage didn't appreciate strangers. In the first hour the man, who now lay face down on the table, had knocked two out cold and broken another's arm. They left him alone after that and he them. Dervas wiped the remains of a line of sugar off the bar and nodded to the bouncer who went to move the man to his room.

Someone knocked at the door. Dervas ignored it. They knocked again, for longer this time. He cursed and went to tell whoever it was where to go. It was late an he didn't need any more trade. He pushed open the door, a curse dancing on his tongue. A sack crashed to the ground, gold clinked within. A Breton in black clothes stood in the doorway.

“What's his tab?” There was no need to ask whose.

“Sixty.”

The Breton showed no surprise, and counted out the gold. “Listen,” his tone offered pain if Dervas didn't, “You keep giving that guy drinks, drugs, whores, whatever he asks for okay? For him happy hour doesn't end, tabs never have to be paid. Push as much as you can into him. Don't worry - I'll be round a couple of nights a week to pay you. That sack,” he kicked disdainfully at the one he'd just dropped, “Contains a thousand drakes, payment enough I'd say. If he asks don't tell him, just give him more drink. Understand?”

Dervas nodded, his mouth was dry.

The man disappeared into the night.

Dervas walked back into the bar. He looked towards the dark man's room. Who are you? he thought again, And what have I gotten into?

[Olen]

5. Last Visit

Firemoth was dead by night. I slipped through darkened corridors. The keep slept. I knew the Mages Guild man lived somewhere above the Cult shrine, but I didn't want to go up that way. In all honesty I had no idea of what the mage might be capable of. I wanted every advantage, he might watch the corridor, I wouldn't use the one he'd expect.

Eventually I found a stairwell near the eastern corner of the fort. After the first story the thick stone walls gave way to draughty warped planks. They didn't look like they'd stop a determined woodpecker, let alone a Telvanni warhost. It made me wander what the guards had done to be stationed there. I passed another three floors, their darkened corridors weaved crazily off into the gloom. The air was rank with disuse and decay. Then I was at the top of the tower, a few crates lay broken around a ladder. Cheap arrows and empty bottles poked out from them. I climbed the ladder and opened the hatch at the top. There was a dull glow. I pushed my head out and realised why; in the lee of the thin wooden crenellations a brasier smouldered. Next to it slumped the dark form of a guard, a bottle hung from his limp fingers.

I froze. Dead? Then I saw his chest rise and fall. Only sleeping. I shook my head, what sort of place were they running? As stealthily as I could I hauled myself from the hatch and shut it. Judging by the amount gone from the bottle I could have just walked past him, but I crept north anyway. The cult lay on the ground floor at the corner of the north and east walls. The mage lived two floors above it. I hurried through the darkness until I reached another trapdoor back into the keep, I reckoned I was roughly above the cult shrine.

Inside was dark, the same musty smell permeated this bit of the keep as every other part. I started down the stairway, at the next floor I paused but decided I'd go down the same level as the mage. After descending I turned away down the darkened corridor, by the rust on their handles and the smell of damp most of the rooms were empty. I stalked twenty paces down it before I noticed the light which crawled though the cracks around a the third door from where I stood. My heart seized. The mage. I was already hiding in one of the door frames at the side.

Stop being so jumpy, I told myself. I was being paranoid. Even wizards couldn't watch so well that it was necessary to go halfway round the keep to approach them. I pushed myself upright against the cracked door where I'd hidden. It swung open. I looked inside. Nothing but cobwebs. But among the stoor an idea lurked. I liked it.

Moments later I was across the room. It was adjacent to the mage's. The window was stiff but I forced it and looked out. Sure enough light spilled from another only a few yards further along. I looked down. It was a long way, but there was an external beam in line with the floor level. I could probably climb along it. I looked again at the dizzying drop. A fall like that would kill me. But so would a mage, and I didn't intend to fall. I climbed onto the windowsill. My foot reached for the beam, I stretched for it but found only air. I eased myself a bit further. Again I flailed at air. A bit further. My toes met something solid but it was as slippery as hell.

To get my foot on it I'd have to be right out the window, past the point of safety. I took a breath and stepped. And slipped. I grabbed the sill and tore a nail from my finger. It groaned warningly but held. I took a couple of breaths. Still clutching the mouldy wood I swung my other leg over into the night. The beam was slippery but once I had both feet on it I felt more secure. But not so safe I wanted to let go of the sill. I had to though, so I gripped the side of the window instead, as much for comfort as anything. I didn't look down. Strangely it took an effort not to. I eased my way along the beam, one hand still locked on the side of the window like a child's hand on a toy. My heart pounded as I reached towards the side of the mages window. If I could reach both I wouldn't have to let go.

I couldn't.

I was going to have to let go for a couple of steps. I tried not to think about it as I willed my hand open. With a deep breath I shuffled reaching for the side of the next window. My probing fingers had just found it when a gust of wind swayed me. It wasn't much, just enough to distract me. I felt my left foot slip. A dreadful certainty fell, crashing down like treacle in my mind. Engulfing me with black fear. I lunged for the next window. My foot went. I scrabbled at it and got my foot back up. The side of the window frame crumbled rottenly away in my hand. But I was already moving. Before I'd realised I wasn't dead I stood outside my goal. Even better it wasn't locked.

It opened easily. I climbed in through some light curtains and crouched surveying the room.

"Quite an entrance," I froze, the voice chuckled, "Good effort, but never underestimate the paranoia of a Mages Guild member in a Telvanni town." His voice was like oiled silk. He was sitting at a desk facing me. I stood, "Don't reach for your weapons." He punctuated the remark with a little flicker of lightning from his fingers.

B'vek. I'd walked right into him. He wore a black robe. He was a breton. And the wan lamplight glinted on a white streak in his hair. This was my mark.

"Well, are you going to say anything? Or do you make a habit of climbing in though third floor windows?"

"I want answers," I said with more authority than I felt. I hate mages, you go to bash their heads in and don't know how dangerous they are until one, or other, of you is dead.

"As," he answered with infuriating calm, "Do I. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Ernard. Does the name Renera mean anything to you? I see that it does," I cursed how easily he read me, "Then am I to assume you were involved in something to do with the Guild up this way?"

"Yes," I said.

"I would dearly like to know what," this time it was his turn to give too much away. He was keen. And confident, too confident of his own intelligence.

"I'm not sure," I said, laying on just enough stupidity to make an impression, "It was a ruin of some sort, not that I'd know velothi from dwemer. There was a lot of magic there, especially round the fountains..."

"Yes," he eyes gleamed. Idiot.

"Well not really fountains, more... I don't know. It was like blue light in them, but liquid."

He was almost salivating, "Where was this. Could you find it?"

"Maybe," I said, trying to sound slow while my mind raced. I rubbed the lump of the windowframe which had come away in my hand, "I found a strange stone there. It seemed to work one of the fountains."

Hook.

"Do you have it," he was like a Khajit who'd been told the sugar fairy was coming.

"Ummm, I think so." I almost made a show of reaching for my belt. Then I paused, "You don't mind?"

"No! No! Show me."

Still holding the rotten wood in my palm I pretended to pull something from a pocket. Then I held my hand out in a fist. His eyes followed it. I stepped round the desk so there was nothing between us. He was too excited to notice. I let my fist tremble a little as he reached out. Then I opened my hand and dropped it.

Line.

The idiot let out a squeak and bent to catch it. His face met my kneecap coming the other way, I landed my hands on the back of his head just in time to give it a last push. I didn't give him a second before kneeing him again and then pulling a handful his hair forward and down to face plant him into the floor.

And sinker. He'd thought I was an idiot, and true he was more intelligent, but it was all brain and no sense.

I dropped on top of him though in honesty I needn't have. He was out of it, I think 'd broken his jaw on the first strike. I elbowed him on the back of the head for good measure before casting about the room. I didn't know much about mages, could he cast a spell with me on top of him, how long would it be before he had come round enough to try? I hate spellcasters. I had a nagging feeling someone had once told me it was almost impossible to cast a spell if you'd lost a lot of blood. It couldn't hurt to try. I reached for my knife.