Old Habits Die Hard, Can an old dog learn new tricks? Options

[haute ecole rider]

This is the story I have been posting on the Unnamed Forum. I'm in the process of moving it over here for those who have not yet seen it. Enjoy!

Chapter 1.1a Escape

Waking up vomiting nothing but a small amount of bile, I gagged on the burning in the back of my throat. Coughing the last of it from my mouth, I curled on my right side on the foul cot, knees drawn to my chest. The rough wood of the cot’s frame pressed into my cheek. The smith’s hammer pounding on the inside of my skull sent stars shooting across the backs of my eyes. Grinding the heels of my hands into my closed lids in an attempt to drive the lights away only made the damn hammer pound even harder. Groaning, I turned until I lay on my back, opening my eyes.

Ignoring the taste of moldy stones on my tongue, I gulped down deep breaths of the damp air. The stars subsided as I stared at the stone blocks rising into the gloom above my head. The hammering slowed to once every shaky breath. Raising my thin wrists, I looked at the iron shackles encircling their ache. The prominent veins in the backs of my hands disappeared as the blood drained from them. Turning them so their palms faced me, I studied the ghosts of rough calluses, dark skin pale in the dim light of the window above my head.

Shouting. Clashing of steel on steel. A dark room spinning around me. Pitchers breaking, fluid flying everywhere. The helmed face of the Legion rider before me, his gauntleted hand holding my shoulder in an implacable grip, shouting something at me. My empty hands between us, palms facing the rider, my voice drowned by the chaos around us. Then the cold night air, my bare feet cringing from the rough cobblestones. Falling through the paving into darkness.

“Ach, what happened?” I muttered softly to myself. In spite of my whisper, the smith’s hammer pounded hard for a couple of heartbeats before slowing down again. Struggling to a seated position, I ignored the familiar stabbing pain in my left side, the hard throbbing in my right knee. Scooting my rump along the cot, I reached the pitcher sitting on the rickety table at the foot of the cot. Looking into the mug next to it, I grimaced at the dirty fluid inside. Picking up the pitcher, I raised it to my lips. Trying to avoid tasting it, I gulped the stale water hurriedly. Taking another mouthful and setting the pitcher down, I rinsed my furry teeth with it. Rising to my feet and leaning my right hand on the wall, I limped to the privy at the rear of the cell, spitting the foul water out.

“Awake now, are you, pretty Redguard?” the sarcastic, biting voice sounded behind me. Shooting a glare over my shoulder, I took in the barred door, the Dunmer in his cell across the way. “How do you like your cell?” he continued, his voice still mocking. Pretty, am I? Disheveled, filthy, thin and weak - no, pretty would be the last word I’d use to describe myself.

Turning around, I took a limping step through the trickle of faint moonlight falling from a window too small to show stars. Another limp took me past the table, its pathetic candle shedding little additional light. One more step brought me to the cell door.

“Roomy enough for you?” the mocking continued as I studied the Dunmer. He looked as unhealthy as I felt. Turning away from him, I limped around the small room, hunched against the sharp pain in my left side. Nausea roiled in my stomach, and my muscles quivered uncontrollably, their former strength forgotten. “I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you,” the other’s voice followed me on my limited perambulation. “No more sunshine, no more open seas. Just a box and a dirty sunbeam for the rest of your sorry life. Bet you’re glad it won’t last long, eh?”

“What?” I returned to the barred door, squinting at the Dunmer across the way. “I won’t be here long?” my voice cracked, weak in my still-burning throat. My dry lips split as I spoke.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” The Dunmer’s voice turned bitter along with his faded red eyes. “They put you here to forget about you. They don’t care if you die, Redguard.” His sharp-edged voice grated on my already raw nerves. The sound of a bolt being drawn back, a heavy door creaking open somewhere down the passage reached us. “Hear that Redguard?” the Dunmer’s tone became strident. “They’re coming for you!” He drew back into the shadows of his cell as I heard voices.

“Tell me what happened to my sons,” an old man’s voice reached me, heavy with grief.

“Sire, all we know is that they were attacked,” a woman’s voice, clipped with authority and respect, responded as booted steps drew nearer the cells. “We must hurry, Sire, we need to get you to safety.” I heard the slightest undertone of anxiety in her voice.

A tall figure, clad in steel armor with blue enamel and brass trim marking him as one of the Blades, lifted his torch at me. He stopped outside my cell, his Redguard features scowling at me in the guttering light. The woman, a little shorter than I and clad in the same armor, paused at the sight of me. Her blue eyes sparked angrily beneath the helm. “This cell was supposed to be empty!” she exclaimed softly under her breath.

“I don’t know, Captain,” the tall Redguard shrugged, keeping his cold black eyes on me. “Some mix-up with the City Watch.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the captain responded. Beyond her, another armored figure and an old Imperial man in royal purple robes appeared. The third Blade matched my height, and like me, turned out to be Redguard as well.

“Prisoner!” the captain’s voice crackled between the stone walls. My back straightened involuntarily, painfully, at the unmistakable command in the woman’s voice. “Stand back beneath the window!”

Although I had been out of the Legion for four years, old habits die hard. Complying with her order, I limped to the back of the cell, behind the moonbeam. The captain unlocked my cell door while I squinted through the grey light. Opening the door, she stepped back to let the other two Blades enter. The tall one advanced to stand between me and the others. Sensing his dislike of me, thick as molasses in a Skyrim winter, I accepted it, as I accepted the captain’s authority, since I could do nothing else.

“Watch the prisoner, Glenroy,” the captain ordered, moving to the side wall opposite my cot.

The slim sword whickered as Glenroy drew it. “Aye, Captain,” he growled, turning the blade so it shimmered in the moonlight between us. “You stay where you are,” he snarled at me. “Don’t even breathe.” Breathing slowly and shallowly, I stayed put. Looking past him, I regarded the other Redguard. Standing at ease near the door, his impassive expression scared me in its implacability. Years of combat in the Legion had taught me that the most deadly enemies are the ones you can’t read.

The captain started muttering under her breath, and I felt the unmistakable tingle of magicka shimmer over the plain rock face. Catching my breath, I realized the captain was a Breton, with high innate magicka. Probably trained as a battlemage.

The old man, his dark fur-lined robe a shadow in the shadows of the cell, stepped past the impassive soldier and peered at me, his sad eyes puzzled. “Come closer,” his voice smoothing from a grieved coarseness to a commanding tone.

Glancing at Glenroy, I hesitated, but he fell back to stand beside the old man, keeping his blade between me and the other. Acutely aware of the shimmering sword, I stepped forward into the light.

The old man’s eyes widened. “Ah, yes, I’ve seen you before.” His dark gaze held mine, once again becoming sad and resigned. “That means today is the day, and the hour is near.” Suddenly aware that the smith’s hammer had stopped pounding in my head, I stared at the old man.

Licking my dry lips, I remembered how the captain had addressed him. “Pardon me, Sire?” He can’t be - no, not the Emperor, not here, not in my cell! My eye fell on the large red amulet on his brocaded chest. The Amulet of Kings? The Emperor! Stiffly against the pain in my left side, I bowed. “How may I serve you, Sire?” Old habits die hard, very hard, indeed. Looking up, I saw a faint smile touch Uriel Septim’s eyes.

“I have served Tamriel all my life,” he answered. “You too, shall serve Tamriel in your own way. But you have your own path to follow.” His eyes grew even darker. “Be warned, though. There will be blood and death before the end.”

“Blood and death are not new to me, Sire,” I spoke softly, surprised by the weariness I heard in my cracking voice.

The wall of my cell crumbled beneath the captain’s hands, falling away in a cloud of dry, choking dust. A passageway appeared beyond. “Sire,” her voice cut between us. “We must go now, there is little time.” She disappeared into the darkness beyond the jagged stone edges.

Glenroy turned the top of the slender blade toward me as the Emperor started toward the opening. “What of the prisoner, Sire?”

“Leave her be,” the command voice was quietly unmistakable as Uriel Septim stepped through the opening, following the captain. “Her path may yet lie with ours.” Glenroy gave me one last glare, sheathing his sword and following the Emperor. The third Blade turned his back on me and brought up the rear.

Listening to the sound of their booted feet fading away, I glanced around the cell again. Something coiled in my belly, just below the breastbone. On my discharge from the Legion, I had once hoped to find peace and health after decades of blood and death. Peace and health had avoided me, and now a mere hint of blood and death had found me.

[haute ecole rider]

@ SubRosa, mALX1, D.Foxy: thanks for the comments.

@ Jacki: Welcome to Julian's story! I'm glad you're liking this so far. You're not the only one to comment on Julian's age and condition. She is not the first "older" character I've written; as a matter of fact, most of my characters in other fiction are in their 30's and 40's. That doesn't mean I don't enjoy younger characters, like Teresa and Buffy, et. al - they are terrific stories because they are told well. I hope you continue to enjoy reading Julian's story - there's quite a bit to come yet!

@ Destri: I'm glad you liked this chapter, and the interaction between Julian and Matius. I wrote it more as an experienced NCO "handling" a green lieutenant more than a man-on-woman thing. But I'm glad you picked up on the subtlety of that conversation.

The first Gate is always a memorable one, like your first kiss, your first, well, you know. The first time I played the Kvatch Gate, I was a nervous wreck the whole time, and hours later, when I finally got out of there, I just felt drained. That feeling is what I've been able to give Julian when I wrote this chapter.

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Chapter 4.1 The Kvatch Gate

A moment of disorientation, a red flash, then I found myself in a totally strange environment. Red sky, red rocks, boiling red lava, even the wind was red. It felt like Morvayn’s smithy, only a thousand times more so. The heated air robbed me of breath. The Gate stood behind me, my link back to a normal world.

Down a rocky slope in front of me, I spotted the surcoat of a Kvatch guardsman as he battled a scamp, fending off fireballs with his shield. Locating one of the fireball throwers, I moved forward to lend the soldier my blade. The scamp spun toward me as I neared him, hissing as he slashed his clawed hand at my face. Swinging the edge of the shield, I hit him hard in the nose, sending him reeling back. I followed, ignoring the pain in my knee, and slid my sword into his bony chest. After sweeping the tip of the sword across the inside of his rib cage, I stepped back, withdrawing the blade. The soldier finished off his scamp, then we were clear. For the moment.

The soldier turned to me. “By the Nine, I thought I’d never see a friendly face again!” he panted, sheathing his sword. Doing the same with mine, I wiped the sweat off my face. “But who are you?”

“I’m Julian, from Anvil,” I answered. “Where are the others? Matius told me there were six.”

He shook his head, looking around at the hostile environment, swaying with exhaustion. “Ilend Vonius,” he responded. “They ambushed us,” he pointed toward a closed pair of tall metal gates. “They trapped us on that bridge, picked us off one by one.” He looked back at me. “I escaped, and have been fighting daedra since. I can’t find another way across, though.” Now his brown eyes sharpened on me. “Matius is still alive?”

“Yes,” I answered. “You’re the only one left alive?”

“I saw them taking Menien Goneld prisoner,” he winced. “They took him to that big tower,” he waved at the tall tower barely visible beyond the war gates. He looked me up and down thoughtfully. “I should go and report to Matius, but if he sent you here, maybe we should stick together . . .”

Don’t tempt me. You’re exhausted. You’re more of a liability than my knee is right now. “Matius needs you more on the barricades than I do here.” Again my words surprised me.

“Thanks!” Vonius responded. “I’ll see you again when the Gate is closed. Best of luck!” He ran to the portal and disappeared. I took a deep breath against my audacity. I would have liked his company.

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Only one door unlocked, I looked around the hall again. The great tower that Vonius had pointed out had been the most difficult part so far, with the constant roar of that pillar of fire running up the center of the keep, and the dremoras and daedra infesting the passages and side halls.

Only the amazing magicka founts and the blood wells had kept me going. Slinking along the walls, hugging the shadows, I had crept ever higher and higher. My feet hurt, my throat burned, and my knee threatened to down me for good. My right shoulder ached where a fireball had hit me - twice.

Three doors led off this side hall, but only one was unlocked in the outer wall. Cautiously, I opened the door and peered out. A narrow bridge, high above the ground, connected the main keep with one of the smaller towers I had noticed from outside.

Akatosh! That’s a damned long way down! Forcing my eyes up from the vertiginous drop, I looked across the bridge at the smaller tower. Maybe the key to those doors is in there. Having nowhere else to go at the moment, I crept across the spindly bridge. Akatosh, don’t let any of those creatures find me here!

Fortunately the door opening into the smaller tower was unlocked, and I escaped into the relatively cooler interior. This tower had no central pillar of fire, and was quieter as well. A ramp spiraled up its inner walls from below. A guttural voice sounded above, and another, this one human, responded in pain. Torture? Menien Goneld? I crept up the ramp, making sure of each step before putting my weight on it.

I saw a glass floor at the top of the spiraling ramp, a glass dome above it, showing nothing but red, red sky. Corpses dangled down the center of the keep, suspended by chains from the floor. Thunder from outside shook the stone of the tower and vibrated through the scorched soles of my feet.

Nearing the dome, I could make out a cage suspended just above the glass floor. A man crouched within, stripped to his undergarments with blood splattered on his bruised and fair skin. His voice was angry, despairing. A tall dremora spoke to him in an interrogatory tone. Slowing down at the top of the ramp, I held my shield and sword ready. Waiting until the dremora was facing away from me, I stepped onto the floor. In spite of my caution, the glass surface thrummed under my feet, and the dremora spun around. He immediately approached me, his posture threatening.

“You should not be here, mortal,” his voice had an odd inflection, like stones tumbling down a long mountainside. “Your blood is forfeit, your flesh mine!” His mace swung for my head, trailing clotted blood and gore. Stumbling to my right, I came up hard against the side of the dome. The horned head of the daedric weapon snagged the edge of my shield, wrenching it down and twisting my elbow.

Bent off balance by the weight of the mace, I brought my right arm over and sought the gap between the churl’s pauldron and cuirass. The tip of the blade slipped between the metal pieces and bit into something soft. Twisting my body to face the churl, now starting to recover from his swing, I reversed my grip on the hilt. Raising it, I pivoted it around the tip in the other’s shoulder, and drove the blade in a downward angle as far as it would go. It sank in half its length before the end struck something hard.

Slipping the shield straps onto my wrist, I seized the guard in both hands and twisted it in place, causing the blade to tear through flesh and sinew. The dremora screeched, the sound almost too high-pitched to hear. He turned into me, his right arm useless, and punched me to the floor with his left hand. I hung on grimly to the hilt of my sword, which slid out of the churl’s body.

Scrambling backwards across the glass floor, I managed to raise my sword at him. The top of my back, where his blow had landed, screamed with the effort. The churl stumbled toward me, his mace dropping from nerveless fingers, blood seeping out of his right armpit, and red foam appearing at his mouth. He fell forward, and his great bulk struck the cage and set it swinging wildly.

The prisoner inside shouted as the iron enclosure tossed him from side to side. Struggling to my feet, I managed to catch the thing and bring it to a stop, though it nearly threw me off my feet. Panting, I managed to sheath my sword as the injured man subsided into moaning.

“Menien Goneld?” I asked, scanning the frame for a way to open it. He became quiet, and I glanced at him to see his eyes steady on me.

“Did you get the key?” he asked, pain making his voice ragged.

“There is a key?” I asked. “I can’t get any higher in that big tower, I need a key.”

“He has the key!” Goneld pointed at the churl I had just killed. “He’s the sigil keeper. Take his key, get to the top of the main keep, and take the stone. It’s the stone that’s keeping the Gate open!”

Limping to the churl, I knelt stiffly beside him and searched his corpse. A ring of keys dangled from a loop on his armor, at his waist. Getting the ring off took a couple of tries, but I managed in spite of my shaking fingers. Returning to the cage, I looked at the keys. Let’s see if one of these unlocks the cage. I’ve got to get Goneld out of this!

The injured Imperial shook the cage violently, catching me in the face and causing me to drop the keys. His desperate gaze met mine.

“You do not have the time,” he rasped. “Leave me! Hurry!”

Staring at him, stunned, I realized he was right. I can’t leave him here in this place, but he’ll only slow me down. He knows it. I know it. I could see encroaching death in his face. Stepping back, I drew my sword and swept the blade into vertical before my face, in the salute accorded only to Legion officers. Courage showed in Goneld’s gaze as I picked up the keys and returned to the ramp.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Apr 3 2010, 02:53 AM