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]

22. Reasons and Excuses

It was the small hours of the morning when we left the dark alleys and silent market of Droyn behind. Even so we avoided the roads in favour of the marshy saltrice fields. My greaves were neatly folded in my pack and my boots and britches hung around my neck to keep them out the brackish ooze which had attempted to steal them with every squelching step. Keel-ha seemed unbothered by the occasional creature underfoot which slithered wetly like a damp nightmare. The fields extended for miles. Each bordered by a raised heap of stones picked from the marshy land to provide firm ground for carts. In the corner of one we found the week old corpse of an argonian slave discarded like an unwanted doll. We ignored it - the living give more pressing business.

The first hint of rose touched the eastern horizon as we trudged though another field, set apart only by the thinner consistency of its ooze - closer to gruel than porridge. "How much further?" I asked. The night had been wearisome and I wanted time to let the knocks I'd taken settle out.

"A bit," he answered.

Keel-ha had been distant since we entered the fields, he spoke only when I asked him a direct question, and then only a couple of words. Always his gaze flickered from side to side, near and far, before and behind. He twitched like the madmen you could pay to laugh at in the asylum in what remained of Ebonheart. When the moon cleared the clouds I could see he licked his lips without knowing, and rubbed his arms more than I would after a week's withdrawal. I could guess, but I didn't ask. I didn't really care.

The rose glow was distinct when we breasted what passed for a rise in the miles of stinking swamp. We could see over a few fields to a river flanked by high embankments. Beside the river was a raised patch of land, dry enough for a few trees to grow.

"This is where we go," Keel-ha pointed.


It didn't take long to cross the three rice paddies which lay between us and the rise. As we neared it Keel-ha raised his hand. I stopped and crouched.

"What is it?"

"Unless you want to do a good pincushion impression stay low. We take certain precautions." He unslung his bow, fitted a cord to it and pulled a green fletched arrow from the arrow-bag which hung from his shoulder. That was a soldier's set up, not like the quivers used by hunters from which the arrows would spill if you stumbled. He fitted the arrow to the bow and loosed it at the copse.

"What-"

"Now we wait," he said, "They come to us, not the other way."

We didn't wait long. And to give them their due the two Argonians were good, but not so good I couldn't trace them by sound from about fifty paces. One circled behind us and waited, in bowshot I presumed though I gave no indication that I'd noticed him, the other came close and gave a low hoot. Keel-ha responded with an equally inhuman sound. A moment later the high rice plants to our right parted and revealed a scarred argonian wielding a falchion.

He said something I didn't understand, the language was guttural and full of unexpected sounds. It had the harshness of an argonian speaking any other language, but multiplied tenfold. Keel-ha replied in the same language and a brief argument ensued before he addressed me in a language I could understand.

"There is some... anxiety about your race. He doesn't like having a softskin around. However," he turned to the other argonian, "I think Nakuma's recommendation should at least allow us to discuss this in camp."

The other said something in a foreign language.

"Firen doesn't speak argonian while you, Hassde speak cyrodiilic fine. I suggest you do."

"Fine," the argonian called Hassde glared at me,"We go to the camp and decide there." His accent was heavy, but intelligible.

It looked like they had used the place before, but it was far from permanent, just a ring of stones with a low fire and a few clusters of branches leant against trees to keep off the worst of the elements. A couple of argonians sat by the fire, one stirred a pot of broth while the other ran a whetstone over the end of a spear. His broad shoulders and general bearing told anyone that he knew how to handle himself. Another sat at the far side looking over the river. They looked relaxed but the instant I walked into the camp they were all on their feet.

"Who is this?" demanded the spear wielder. I noticed his tail was a mass of scar.

I opened my mouth unsure but Hassde cut over me, "This," he said in a scorn greased voice, "Is Nakuma's suggested addition to our ranks."

The broth stirrer said something fast in argonian.

"She will have her reasons," answered the first, "We shall have to see how good they are."

Keel-ha nodded, "He can handle himself, I saw him walk away from an encounter with a morag tong assassin."

"I think I've heard of you," said the first, I suspected he was the leader, "Fighter's guild yes? With that reputation I don't doubt you can fight."

"I don't question his ability to fight so much as how much we can trust him," it was Hassde who spoke.

"Who could I be working for," I replied, "About half of Morrowind has a contract out on me at the moment. I need the shelter you offer as much as I need your help in rescuing someone in the south."

They didn't look that impressed, the contracts would be hard, and possibly fatal, to fake but the rest was just my word. It was Keel-ha who spoke up, "Nakuma vouches for him. That is enough."

"It is indeed," replied the leader.

"So," said Keel-ha, "Introductions are in order," he paused. I was glad I was no longer an object to be discussed, "This is Firen, and these," he gestured to the assembled argonians, "Are the Argonian Defence Front. Myself and Hassde you already know. Our leader, Grey-tail, is holding the spear. This is Tehei," he gestured to the female who'd been stirring the broth, "And that lazy sack of meat is Kieras." He pointed to the argonian lying in the loam and looking over the river.

"And I," said a new voice emerging from the undergrowth to my left, "Am Hides-in-shade, or more normally Hides."

The way she moved reminded me of the second of the two who had met us, "I am guessing it was you who circled behind when Hassde met us then?"

"Yes," she looked surprised I'd noticed. Looking round the other faces they looked equally impressed.

"As Keel-ha said I had to leave town... promptly. Nakuma tells me you're heading south for something big, what are you planning?"

"Crushing the filthy Dres burden from the freelands of Argonia, driving the Empire from the marsh and slaughtering their legions." Hassde spat into the fire, "Forward Argonia." He performed an elaborate salute.

"Indeed," nodded Grey-tail in a less frenzied tone, "We shall free all slaves and cull any who have owned or profited from the practice as the animals they are."

I raised my eyebrows. "That would include all the Dres."

"That would include all the Dres and any who have traded with them. And any imperial officials in Black Marsh or Morrowind as they have done insufficient to stop it. They shall all die in time, however I intend to expediate as many endings as possible."

I nodded slowly and wandered who Nakuma thought I was to put me in with this bunch of homicidal lunatics. Though given the reputation which proceeded me I could hardly blame her, I decided to test the waters of their madness a little more before deciding, "And this mission, what's the target and to what end?"

"We scourge the country southward to the holding camps outside Tear where we will attempt to free as many as we could. With luck we can panic the Dres into doing something rash, if we kill enough of them they will recall their hunters. That's the real aim, give us some breathing space, maybe only a couple of weeks. It will be enough to change a lot in the marsh."

Again all I could do was nod. A tactic of random murder of civilians. It was a... novel idea, if not a new one. Not that I was about to say anything in front of them. I was simply glad that most niche groups do little but talk about their revolution: once they get crazy enough to see the enemy as objects, or worse irredeemably evil, it got messy. I'd done jobs cleaning up this sort of group. Cleaning in a sort of terminal way, once they'd gone this far there was no recovery. And now I was considering joining the murdering whoresons. I couldn't help but wonder how it had come to this. Desperation I supposed, not so different now. I needed to get to Varnan, I needed to stay clear of those who wanted me dead - which seemed to be half of Morrowind by now, why not add the Dres to the list? And, the thought came unbidden, I needed, perhaps more than anything, somewhere to unleash my rage. Something for it to sink its teeth into, to rend, to tear, to violate until it shrank exhausted away from the injustice the world threw at it. For I was angry now, the seeds of my fury, planted in Firewatch, maybe before, had found fertile ground. I hated the raiders who had destroyed the village of my childhood and left me nothing but poisoned memories. I hated the Empire for failing me, the legion for taking me, forging me into one of them. I hated the Fighters Guild for saving me again, for giving me somewhere to sell my unwanted skills. But mostly I hated myself for being too weak to force events, and for allowing the skooma, that loathed but so precious vial in its bag by my heart, for becoming the lock on the trap I'd laid around myself.

My rage had grown, black and stronger than my heart. I remembered Firewatch, I remembered the choice I'd made there and it was too late to turn back.

"I'm in."