Killing in the Emperor's Name, A collection: An argonian assassin's world Options

[canis216]

Here you, the reader, will find works associated with Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun's life and work all together. His future stories will be found here, primarily. I think it's appropriate, as his tales have taken on a more serialized form--if not strictly so. I still intend to experiment with different perspectives and styles within his general narrative, so don't expect every installment to flow perfectly into the next--that isn't what I'm going for. I'd like to think that I'm using Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun's stories as a medium--evocation of the rough existence that is life on Vvardenfell.

[canis216]

An Obsession – Part Eight

“Spare a few more bolts?”

The question came as Heik-Auri and Nine-Toes steadily launched the tiny steel projectiles into the crowd below; there were perhaps twenty-five of their own band still fighting, along with whatever slaves had been loose within the compound—a motley crew of argonians and khajiit perhaps twenty in number still stood fighting with claws and weapons taken from the dead. Nearly fifty slavers and mercenaries still stood and fought; one more fell to a bolt before Nine-Toes responded to the request and passed over seven bolts.

“I’m running low myself. We’ll have to get down there soon.”

“Yeah… hey, is that lightning to the east?”

“I think it was. But no thunder. And no fires.”

“Damn.”

“No use worrying about. We’ve got fifteen bolts between us—let’s make them count.”

Two shots Nine-Toes used to bring down a big nord in chainmail. Heik-Auri used one from his powerful new crossbow to bring down the imperial crossing blades with two khajiit slaves, a second to fell a spear-wielding slaver sitting atop a plain strider—the dunmer tumbled off to face the wrath of the slaves and saviors. It took Nine-Toes three more shots to drop a pair of bonemold-clad mercenary guards swinging great axes. Heik-Auri was sizing up yet another shot—targeting a huge, claymore-swinging figure resplendent in orcish armor—when he heard Nine-Toes shout, “The Legion is here! Run!” He looked up, almost annoyed—until he saw a phalanx of one hundred imperial spearmen marching from the south. Blocking the way back to Argonia.

“Come on Heik-Auri, we must flee!”

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here!”

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The streets of Tear were mostly empty, which Heik-Auri supposed was reasonable considering that it was long after midnight and still raining. Still something wasn’t right—hell, nothing was right, and everything was completely opposite of what he and Nine-Toes could have hoped. There was no panicked populace racing through the streets, no fleeing of burning buildings, no desperate screams. Instead, they heard the sound of armored footsteps to their rear, to the fore, in any and all directions. The House Guards and the Imperial Legion were everywhere, Heik-Auri thought.

“We can’t keep running! They’ll catch us!”

Nine-Toes pointed to his right, a little south. “That alley. I think I see a door there. At least we might be able to steal a change of clothes—that might throw them off a little.”

They ran into the alley—and there was a door, locked. Heik-Auri quickly pulled out a pick from within his robe and jammed it into the lock. One… two… three…

“We’re in.”

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“I guess I’ll need to find a better lock-maker. That was supposed to be a ninety-point lock.”

“Um… it was.” Those were the only words Heik-Auri could expel from his mouth. What stood before him was, if not quite an anachronism, rather unusual. The imperial man standing before him, shirtless, showed no fear, no anger. He took a puff from a skooma pipe.

“So it was. Is that why you sought fit to break into my safehouse?”

“Safehouse? Oh shi… would you excuse me while I consult my friend here?”

The imperial nodded.

“Nine-Toes, what the hell did I just break us into? I swear I won’t do it again, any of this—I just want to lie on the beach and drink and linger in the sun, forever and ever—“

“Get yourself together! We’ll deal with it!”

“Times up” the imperial interrupted. “I hope you had a nice conversation, but I’m afraid that we have a problem. You, obviously, are involved in all this ruckus about town. Can’t say I’m surprised, what with all that activity down in Black Marsh lately—“

“You knew? Who—“

Heik-Auri was cut off. “Who am I? I’m with the Blades, of course. You didn’t think that we wouldn’t pick up on this little stunt of yours, did you?”

“It was none of your business! It was between us and the Dres!”

“Morrowind IS my business, young marshwalker.”

Nine-Toes stepped forward. “So you told the Legion to be ready for us, eh? But,” he said, looking over his unarmed foe and the bare room, “you didn’t get ready yourself.”

“Is that a threat, marshwalker?”

“Absolutely. But my honor compels me to fight you upon even terms. Are you prepared to fight hand-to-hand, to the death?”

“Let the first blow be yours.”

Nine-Toes dropped his crossbow and his dagger, and raised his scaly fists, moving forward for the first strike. He missed; or rather the blow was dodged expertly, as a dragonfly might elude an ogrim’s grasp. The imperial ducked low and delivered a savage blow below the argonian’s ribcage, dropping him to the floor.

“Stop it!” Heik-Auri called. “This fight is unfair; Nine-Toes is no master of unarmed combat, and you, Blade, clearly are. There can be no honor in such a mismatch. Will you fight me instead?”

The imperial considered, scratching his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “As you say, I have some skill in unarmed combat, and this one” he said, referring to Nine-Toes, who was just staggering back to his feet, “is clearly not. You think you are good enough?”

“It is not my strength, but neither is it my weakness.”

“I would rather see your strength.”

Heik-Auri raised his two blades, of ebony and daedric metal.

“You pack some rather fancy hardware for a guerilla, marshwalker.”

“Would you like to try one out?”

“Short blades aren’t my own strength I’m afraid. My greatest weapon is no weapon at all. And I hope you would rather see my strength, as well.”

“Indeed. Shall we?”

The imperial nodded and eased back into a defensive position. Heik-Auri held the dagger in his left hand, the shortsword in his right—the dagger he held in back almost like a shield, ready to block. The argonian stepped forward easily, with almost imperceptible effort; he feinted a thrust with the shortsword but brought the dagger down at a diagonal across the imperial’s chest—or where the chest had been but a split-second before. The imperial dodged the slash and instead brought his right fist down upon Heik-Auri’s shoulder, which accepted the blow easily, slipping away. Heik-Auri slashed with the shortsword, missing but pulling into a spin, bringing the dagger back around only to be blocked by his foe. The Blade delivered a kick; Heik-Auri intercepted it by bringing the hilt of his ebony shortsword down upon his opponent’s knee. Hard. Both went sprawling as the man somehow managed to kick Heik-Auri with his other leg.

The two combatants struggled to get up. Heik-Auri was first—he leaped upon the imperial and brought his dagger up to the man’s throat.

“Any last words, Blade?”

The Blade was remarkably calm, considering that a dagger was held to his throat. “Yes, as a matter fact. Do you want a job?”

Both marshwalkers’ eyes opened wide. “What?”

“I’m assembling a team of Blades to work under my command, on Vvardenfell. I could use you. Both of you.”

Heik-Auri frowned, then grinned. “And what if we say no? I could just kill you and be done with this business, head home.”

“That would be rather short-sighted of you, I think. You still have the Dres and the Legion looking for you. You’re good; but they’ll be out in force—and blocking the way back to Argonia. You have no choice but to head north.”

“Even if we join you, Dres still wants our heads. Are you just going to cast a fancy little spell, Blade, that will make that problem go away?”

“Well, I could invoke the Emperor’s name, but that attracts attention. No, I have a secret way out of here. And you can use it, if you join the Blades.”

Heik-Auri pulled the dagger away from the imperial’s throat and looked up at his clanbrother. “What do you think?”

“Let’s take the deal and get the hell out of here.”

“Done. We are at your service, sera—“

“Caius. Caius Cosades,” he accepted a hand from Heik-Auri, “and you are?”

“He’s Nine-Toes,” Heik-Auri said, gesturing to his friend. Then he grinned widely, thinking of… something.

“You can call me Always-He-Lingers-in-the-Sun.”

This post has been edited by canis216: Mar 19 2008, 09:37 PM