The Eight Bells Options

[Foster]

Part 1

The road was long and weary. Somehow it never seemed to end, because around the bend, just when it seemed it would run into one of the mountains, off it weaved down into a dell or round into a cleft, making each stop seem further. He'd been travelling nonstop now for five days, resting only for a few hours, tending to a campfire in the hope of keeping the wolves at bay. He could hear them, all around, howling in the peripheral gloom of the mountains, and he was suprised they hadn't made their move. He had no weapons that would have put up much of a fight; a rusty old shortsword, a bow with the strings torn and feathered. It was hardly a fair fight.

Shivering in his furs, he forced he continued to ride wearily on, his skin raw and his eyes narrow. The snow had nearly made him blind at the top of the pass, but now he was at least descending into the fertile basin of Cyrodiil, and that gave him a gleam of hope that maybe, just maybe, the worst of the journey was over.

He drew in a deep breath of the cold mountain air, and breathed out slowly to watch it spiral into the atmostphere of the morning. He'd only been walking two hours, and already he felt as though he would drop. Licking his lips, now a blistering mess thanks to the wind, Tor rubbed his arms against his sides and continued to draw his horse forward.

The sad part was leaving his home behind. It was now several months distant, and although he'd been foolish enough to select the path through Skyrim rather than Hammerfell - especially considering it was now into Frost Fall - he wasn't sure the path really mattered. Had he gone the other way, he'd have been complaining about searing heat that would parch his mouth. He smiled wearily. Either road, he still wished he could be at home, sitting with his eyes closed listening to the home fire cackle, or gazing casually as the ships sailed the seas outside of his window.

All of it was gone now. The house a ruin, the fire a mess of choking ash that had long since burnt out. The only fire in that wreak now was the glowing embers of the support beams, occasionally brought to life by the wind and the heat that resonated from the stones the night they had gutted his home.

He closed his eyes, fighting back the memory. One dark night, one pale moon that did not show their approach, and his entire family had been slain. He was the only one left. Tor Beldric, a boy that had been tempered to manhood amidst the destruction. He tightened his fist in hatred, memory of the oath, and memory of the task that lay before him. He stooped and reached into his saddle for some corn.

It all came down to the eight bells. His mother had known it, which is why her death had been ordered. His father and sister had little to do with it, except perhaps their natural gifts for defence. It was all due to the eight bells. He gently altered course along the pass, watching the hooves of his steed slip near the edge to send rocks scrambling down the side before the horse righted itself and pressed prints into the soft crunch of snow. He closed his eyes and recited the verse that his mother had taught him.

"Eight keys for eight locks, each one a bell,
Seven songs of fairness, one trembling death knell,
Open the Serpent, shift the wake, push forward to Bregale,
Slide the door as dark as night, do not heed the hail,
Eight bells to lift it high, eight to riches and glory,
Eight to purge the Blue Ring Tryst and end their dreadful story."

"Cute."

His eyes opened. On either side stood two warriors. On the left a vicious, snarling Dark Elf had a bow levelled at his heart, and a smaller man with an evil glint fingered a dagger. On the right stood two Nords, twins by the look of them. Dead centre were two more figures, one with sword, one with bow. He swallowed and tried to think. He didn't like where this was going.
"Please." he said, in an almost subdued fashion.
"Pleeeease." One of the men said, walking forward and flapping his arms in a mocking, laughing gesture. The others smirked. The leader turned to the man next to him. "Shamus, you know what to do."

The other bandit at the front pointed at Tor's purse.
"Money. Gold. Mullauh. Call it what you will, we're having it."
Tor swallowed, and shrugged. For all his will desired to drive the horse off the cliff rather than to submit, that wouldn't help his situation. He reached down and threw the purse at the bandits.
"Here." he said. One green bag with his entire lifes savings. Thirty Septims. Shamus gave it a look of scorn, and pocketed it, before looking up. His keen eyes caught something around the boy's neck.
"That necklace. Ours. Hand it over, now."

Tor looked at them with his ice blue eyes, trying feverishly to decide what to do. Beg? It wouldn't work. Defiance? He'd die. No matter. He couldn't surrender it.
"No." he said, simply. The bandits laughed. Shamus grinned, and made a motion to someone behind Tor.
"Mungo, if you please." he asked.

THUD. Pain, red, blinding bright neon, then nothing but darkness. Tor collasped, his head a bloody mess as he slid off the horse. From behind him, Mungo grinned, pleased that he'd had the oppotunity to hit something. Hard. Shamus walked forward, stooped, and grabbed at the neck of the traveller, ripping away the necklace.
"Mungo do good!"
Shamus looked up. "Yeah. He's still alive, but he's going to have one hell of a headache. Come on." he said, pausing only to look at the trinkets his fist now contained.

On the necklace were a few stones of little import, and eight minature bells. Shamus pursed his lips, looked around to make sure the others were more intrested in the paltry thirty septims, and pocketed it.

Eight minature bells. Strange, but he guessed it would fetch a good price.

[Foster]

Prt 20

The room seemed to freeze with each beat of his heart, each pulse that draw it out a few microseconds longer. He could see all the way back to that first day on the road, the first day when he had left the smouldering ruins of his family home, the day when the bells and their meaning was lost upon him. He could see the present, the charging throngs of the assassins, making their way to slay them all. He could see Wellin, injured and beaten, looking at them, preparing to fight to the death. He could see Kiera and her eyes filled with hope and dispair, meaning to form lines of tears. And through it all the first lines of the riddle played in his mind.

Eight keys for eight locks, each one a bell,
Seven songs of fairness, one trembling death knell.

He looked at the final bell on his necklace, before smiling, and flicking it, oh so softly.

The entire room filled with an epic roar, the sound waves reverberating through their bodies as they felt the awesome power of the tiny bell, meeting to perfection the designed acoustics to cause the sound to amplify and increase, developing into a bellowing, blowing rage of pure noise. Everyone, even Tor, found themselves collapsing under it. The wave expanded out, blasting Wellin and Kiera to the ground, sending the assassins flying backwards towards the door as the very foundations of the temple began to crack and splinter, the silver and jewels reigning down as the soundwave reached the very foundations, shattering them with a perfectly chosen note. The pillars began to crumble and fall, collapsing onto the assassins as they screamed, their voices drowned out by the powerful, overriding thunder of the sound.

Somehow Tor was able to open his eyes and watch the devestation, the cracks form, the roof split and shower, the silver rising up in clouds, the design of the entire cavern disintegrate. He watched with a quiet smile as he watched the dust rise and shower him as the vibration swirled around them, passing all with it's terrible sound. Around the Temple everything had collapsed, as had the very roof of the cavern, pouring in the brilliant sunlight that graced Cyrodiil, revealing the clear canopy of the morning light, peircing the darkness of dust and death. Then he felt something hit him, and his eyes closed.

Something wet passed across his lips, and he coughed, spluttering up water and dust in his lungs. He opened his eyelids slowly, focusing somehow on the bright skies above his head, and the face of Kiera, smiling above him. Her eyes were raw with dust and tears, trails where she had cried. He sat up and refocused.

They were in a massive crater, the walls a circular implosion, the sides draped in silver and rubble, dust and rock. Occasionally an upreached hand of an assassin, futily trying to scramble to safety, was immortalised forever where they had fallen. And in the centre, surrounded by the disasterous scene, Tor lay, with Kiera and Wellin looking down at him. He smiled, sitting up and groaning, stiff and sore, before reaching and handing the clutched deed to Kiera.
"This is yours." he said, smiling. Kiera smiled back, managing a laugh.
"Are you alright?" Wellin asked, brushing some of the dust off his face. He was covered from head to toe in brown and silver, yet somehow he had a smile on his face. He was glad it was over. Tor nodded.
"I am." he said, climbing to his feet and looking about. Beyond the crater there was nothing but greenery and forest, and a few horses. He turned, looking at three soldiers who had arrived on the scene. Wellin nodded to them.
"Imperial Legion. Apparently the noise of...this place... was heard as far as the Imperial City. They came to see what the source was. I've... I've told them everything."
"Good." Tor said, coughing slightly and looking about. "Did any of them..."
"Make it?" The Imperial Legionnaire asked, stepping forward. "A few. Dazed and confused; we've taken them all into custody, on the instruction of Lady Dorian."
"They understand the situation." Kiera said, reassuringly, tightening her hand on the deed.
"Shamus?" Tor asked. She closed her eyes, the tears coming down once more, sinking to her knees.
"We heard reports you were travelling with a bandit." The legionnarie said. "It doesn't appear that he survived."

Tor nodded slowly, drawing Kiera closer and tightening his grip, allowing her to drain her flood of emotions. Even Wellin looked a little sad.
"He saved us." he said, simply.

The legionnaires left ten minutes later, riding to report the situation. Tor watched them go, before turning to the others.
"Well, you have... a silver mine." He said to Kiera. She nodded.
"My family does, at least. And you each have twenty five thousand septims."
"Twenty..." Wellin's voice trailed off, thinking on it. "You know, I think I might be able to set up my own forge for that." Tor smiled.
"Do you need an assistant? I... I never thought about what I would do afterwards, and now... now I've got my justice, I guess..."
Wellin shook his head. "I don't need an assistant."
"Oh.." Tor said, before he saw the smile Wellin wore, displaying his contentment.
"I need a partner. Fifty thousand Septims will get us a good forge." he said. Wellin offered his hand. Tor seized it and shook, grinning the smile of a man that had finally found true happiness.

"Thirty Three thousand, three hundred and thirty three Septims." A voice corrected as they all turned to watch as he staggered toward them. Their mouths dropped as they watched the figure approach, covered in dust and blood, his face scared, his arms slashed, his clothes in tatters. "I gets my share still."
"Shamus?" Tor said, walking towards the apperition. "I thought..."
"That I were dead?" the bandit scowled, hobbling towards them. "It takes more than being hunted by twenty psychos and a rockfall to kill me."

The figure walked past Wellin and Tor, ignoring them, enraptured with another, his eyes only for Kiera. Somehow she turned, her face a mix of suprise, anxiety, and disbelief. Gradually her features turned to a smile, before the emotion erupted on her face and she clutched the wounded figure tightly, wrapping herself around him, her lips meeting his with unrestrained passion. Shamus dropped his dagger and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up and returning the kiss with passion, before finally detaching and looking deeply into her eyes.
"You know," he said, "being dead might suit me well. My bounty vanishes, I get a clean record... I think I might stay that way, if it's alright by you. Get a new life."
Kiera smiled playfully. "You know, I've been looking for another stableboy...one that I can romance to annoy my mother, you understand. Not for any pretentions of love, of course." Shamus looked into her gleaming eyes.

"Wouldn't I be outstanding in that capacity?" he asked, smiling in return, before returning to kiss her waiting lips.

THE END