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]

Next bit, as ever replies and criticisms are appriciated.

10. Duty

I took a while over the wine, the dose of skooma, albeit small, he relaxed me without any of the buzz of a bigger hit. The sun was well set but the bar was still fairly empty. Probably because word hadn't gotten round that the drunken mercenaries who are, almost universally, utter boats, had left. Eventually I finished the bottle and decided a second would probably help me sleep. I caught the bartender's eye.

"A second bottle if you would, and I'll settle up now." I handed him the gold and he gave me the bottle.

"Quiet tonight," he remarked.

"I thought it must be," I replied, "The mercenaries?"

"A bit but it was market day today. Hardly anyone's coming in from the outlying settlements just now."

"Really?" A few people had made comment about the backcountry being bad, but this suggested that it was a recent development.

"Well first there was Stent. I hear the whole town was found dead. Bit nailed to walls, corpses hung with their own intestines. And signs of magic everywhere. Then there was Ness, similar sort of thing but this time in broad daylight. And lots of isolated farmsteads have been attacked, but only in the last week or so. And then the day before yesterday news came in about Aldram. It's just a small village but they made a nice mazte there. Entire town was raised to blackened posts. The inhabitants were in a scorched mound in the town centre. Its a rouge mage I say and I'm not alone. Powerful one though.

"Any idea who?"

"None. Not even rumours. The odd old mage goes over the high side but it tends to only be the nearest town gets it, these aren't even near each other but that's not the strangest, news came in today about Firewatch."

"What?" I said, very reluctantly.

"There was a spree of murders," my heart sank, "Three in one night. And whoever did it was a sadistic whoreson. They say it might be connected. The first was a Camonna Tong brute, found beaten and left tied up to die of exposure."

I grimaced. I hadn't meant to kill Dalam.

Balas mistook my grimace and dove into the details, "They found him the next morning really beaten up, all bruised. But corpses don't bruise. He was tied up. But that's not the worst, gods know."

I knew. He was enjoying the telling a little too much.

"A barkeep, Dervas, he ran the Black Guar. It was a hole but I met him once, seemed alright. Not involved in any shady stuff. Anyway his place was torched an in the chaos he went missing. A smith found him in the morning really messed up. But it was the same guy, all the timings work out. He must have finished with the Camonna Tong guy and headed to the Black Guar. He took Dervas into a shed and smashed his leg up with a hammer, looks like he might have drowned him a bit. Not enough to kill him like, just to cause pain. Nasty eh? Then he must have set to work on the guy with a knife because I heard his hand was in tatters and he was beaten up too. He killed this one with a sword though - must've figured that the shed might offer protection from the elements."

I wanted to tell him to stop. I wanted to shut him up. But it would look too suspicious, and in a strange sort of way I felt I deserved it. Or at least owed it to the dead that I hear of my handy work.

"Even that wasn't the worst though. They guy must've been a professional because then he went to a local mage up in the fort," Balas leaned forward conspiratorially. Suddenly I didn't really want my wine, I didn't think anything was going to help me sleep then. Balas was too absorbed in the telling of the story in all its gory detail to notice, "The killer tied him up and bled him. Actually bled him, some people say he was a daedra worshipper or something, I hear they do that sort of thing but I have my own theory." he lowered his voice, "I think he might have been Dark Brotherhood, that's their sort of stuff that is. Anyway after that, or maybe before, he really worked the mage over. Cut off his fingers and broke bones. A few of his teeth were missing too and one of his eyes. They say he was made to eat it. It's hardly a wander people are afraid to go out."

Some of it was the usual rubbish which develops in the rumour-mill. But not enough. Not near enough. The skooma had brought some piece, that was gone and its sugar had the oily sweetness of a five day corpse. I wandered what I had been thinking that night. A dutiful rage had been on me, the idea of saving Varnan and myself, but it fueled only nightmares.

"Who told you this?" I managed.

Almost immediately I wished I hadn't. "A guy from Dervas's place. Even said he thought he saw the killer, new guy in town, weird like. Bad news, they called him that. Apparently he called himself Firen."

I was very nearly sick. I'd so nearly given this guy my name. They had my name. I'm not sure what it was: I knew I'd done the murders, but the idea of them staining my name was horrific, like fruit full of worms.

"Are you alright?" Balas noticed this time.

"Yes," my voice was weak, "I so nearly went there. And I need to be back on the roads tomorrow... Sorry I'll have to rest."

I staggered to my room and fell into bed.

I didn't find sleep for a long time. The murders and torture I'd committed chased my ruined name over the over the depression of my mind. Thoughts of my ineptitude danced with thoughts of Varnan's trouble. Surely it was worth it. I'd come so far now there was not turning back anyway. I'd saved him then abandoned him. In some way I was responsible, it was as much myself I was saving. But the images to go with Balas's descriptions hovered in the bedlam of my half-dreams, images of my own craftsmanship. Creations I remembered producing: the feel of knife on bone, the screams, the hot slick blood.

But behind the flying wheels of guilt and horror another terrible truth was dawning. The killings out back country were new. A mage was responsible. "I don’t know what I’ll do, what it will do.” Renera's parting words haunted my twisted sleep.