Renartus
Four years later…
18th Last Seed 4E 201
Riften was a city built near the shores of Lake Honrich and lies close to the borders of Skyrim and Morrowind. It was known for two things: mead and fish. But the city was also known for a rather… regular activity.
The man was running away. He was clad in leather armor and his face covered by a hood. But that did not hide the sheer terror he had as the guards chased after him with swords raised and bows readied.
“Come back here, thief!” A few of them shouted.
The whole thing was taking place in the Grand Plaza, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle that is the marketplace. Merchants and bystanders alike watched as the thief tried to flee from half a dozen purple-cloth guards who were eager to haul him into prison.
I was standing at the doorway of the Bee and Barb when the thief ran pass me. In that brief window of time, I glared at him. It was a glare of many meanings. Some of them include, ‘Brynjolf ain’t going to be happy with this if you make it out alive,’ and ‘You idiot. You just had to break into the blacksmith’s house in broad daylight.’
One of the guards soon let loose an arrow at the thief. It struck his left calf, causing him to fall over, face first, into the paved stone floor. Blood was bleeding out from his injured leg as the guards closed in on him.
A few words were exchanged between the thief and the guards. Couldn’t make out most of it, but my guess is either prison or the chopping block. I saw the thief spat at the guards. Bad mistake. Next thing he knew, a sword found itself into his belly, killing him.
I sighed. Down goes another one.
Soon the plaza was back to its usual self. Merchants resumed selling their wares and the bystanders continued on with their daily duties. No one seemed to bat an eye about the dead thief now laid bloodied on the floor. It’s if it had been a regular thing here in Riften. The scary thing is… it was.
Four years during my stay in Skyrim and I’ve never seen such a high death toll for thieves before. An average of five thieves died in a year, in this city alone! Sometimes I wonder if it was a mistake to even go to this god forsaken province.
The door beside me opened and out came Katlynn, eating a honey nut treat with one hand. She was dressed in her day-to-day attire: a faded black coat jacket with a tunic underneath, dark linen pants, gloves and pleated shoes. They were light, comfortable and more importantly, inconspicuous to the guards. Most of them would probably mistake her for a mage than a thief.
“You missed most of the action, Kat.” I said to her. “So, got what you need?”
The young woman nodded. She presented her other hand and produced a sizable bag of gold. I kinda felt sorry for the poor sod that had left that thing back inside his room, thinking that it’s safe from all the thieves outside the inn.
“You know, I think you should really take a break from thieving one day.”
Katlynn shoved the bag of gold into her coat’s pocket and made a few gestures with her hand – her standard form of communication. “Why should I?”
“Well first of all, I don’t want you to become like that guy.” I pointed at the dead thief who was now being dragged towards the canal by two guards.
“Him? He’s an amateur.” The smug look she gave me boast of her usual self-confidence.
“So were you when Darius picked you up from the streets.” I shot back.
Katlynn frowned, remembering the Imperial who had been like a father to her while she, to an extent, had been close like a niece to me. My brother found her living in an alleyway in the Imperial City for gods know how long. He took her in and raised her like family, teaching her the true ways of the guild and even showing her the footsteps. Now she’s here with me, – this nineteen-year old silent thief with a grin like a Mania cat – and he’s hundreds of miles south in Cyrodiil doing what he does best.
“I miss Darius,” was the only reply she could give.
Now I feel sorry for bringing that up. “C’mon, let’s get back to the store.”
Riften was like a two-story building. You’ve got the first floor, and the ground floor. The surface of the city was the first floor, where most of the activity takes place and where most of the city’s inhabitants live. Then you have the canal, this long strip of waterway that serves as the ground floor.
We descended down a flight of stairs into the canal. Boardwalks lined the edges. They creak with every step. The walls had a door between every few yards. They were houses for the city’s ‘lesser’ folks. As we neared my store, we saw the guards dumping the dead thief’s body from the footbridge above. The body plunged into the canal waters in a loud splash before popping back up to the surface. The water around him slowly turned red as he floated down the canal.
Seeing a dead thief was always an unpleasant sight. It was like an ill warning. It makes you nervous, makes you question if the next body floating down the canal would be you or someone you know. I didn’t know the guy personally, but I bet he was probably another one of Brynjolf’s lackeys. Another novice swooned over by the Nord’s promise of gold and fortune. I have to admit, either his tongue is coated with honey, or people these days are just too easy to be persuaded.
Ignoring the floating corpse, we walked a few feet further until we reached one side of the canal where the store was located at. It was marked with a sign sticking out from one of the rows of wooden beams that support the walkway above us. The sign showed the image of western Cyrodiil, also known as Colovia. Above it were a few words which said, Little Colovia.
We entered the store through the front – and only – door. A small bell rang, announcing our presence. From his post at the counter, Varik greeted us and asked us how our day at the market was.
“Oh you know the usual stuff; a chase between the guards, a thief running away, and a dead body in the canal.” I replied sarcastically. “So anything new while I was gone?”
“One of Durgesh’s boys just came in here. He’s asking for the rest of the payment.”
I groaned in frustration. Seriously? This early? “Is he still here?” I asked.
“I told him to wait in your study.” Varik replied.
I went inside my study. There sitting at a bench was Durgesh’s boy, glaring at me like I was armed or something. He was a familiar face. I think his name was Ornir or something. He came in here two months ago to collect my monthly payment, which I handed over him without any qualms. Now he’s back, and this time he doesn’t look happy to see me.
The Nord tried to get up, but I gestured at him to stay seated and went to my own seat behind the desk. “So what can I do for you?” I asked in a relaxed tone. First thing when dealing with money-lenders is never show them that you’re afraid.
“Durgesh wants the rest of the money.” He said, straight to the point. Ornir was a stocky man – built like a keg – with coarse blonde hair that looked more like straw than gold. He had a scar on the left side of his lip. That’s how I knew that the guy was Ornir.
“Now?” I acted surprised. “What happened to the monthly payment?”
“Not my place to say. Durgesh just wants the rest of the fifty thousand you loaned from him.”
“Care to remind how much I still owe him?”
“Twelve thousand.”
The numbers didn’t surprise me. I could’ve settled it by the end of the year. My only question is: why does Durgesh want the rest of the debt paid now? Damn Orc must be getting greedy. I could ask his lackey why, but I doubt even he knows what his boss is up to. He just does what he’s told.
I tapped my fingers on my desk, thinking what to do next. All the while, Ornir was still glaring daggers at me. “Alright, here’s an idea.” I said to him. I reached for my desk drawer and pulled out a hefty bag of gold and toss it on the desk. “There’s two thousand septims inside this bag. Take it to Durgesh and tell him I’ll pay the rest by the end of Frostfall.”
“Durgesh wants all—”
“That’s two months’ worth of the usual.” I interrupted him with a calm yet firm voice. “I’m sure that’s enough to satisfy your boss until I get the remaining ten thousand.”
Reluctantly, Ornir stood up and took the bag of gold. “Ten thousand by the end of Frostfall?”
I nodded. “By the end of Frostfall, you have my word.”
“Words don’t pay debts, Imperial.” He brusquely said before leaving my study and headed for the front door.
Words don’t pay debts, but at least they can stall them.
After hearing the doorbell ring at his departure, I let out a sigh. Ten thousand septims in two months is quite a gamble I just took. But then again, life is without any risk. I look down at the ring hung around my neck and gave it a good stroke with my finger. For luck.
Katlynn then entered with a query look. “So what happened between you and that big ol’ brute?” She asked using her hand signs.
“Looks like we’ll be busy for a few weeks, Kat.” I said to her. “C’mon, let’s go down to the Flagon.”
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Comments
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Great lin... more
Oh I like this Renartus guy.
There is one small part which tripped me up though so I'll point it out. You may decide that it don't need looking at so have a think about it before you chang... more
There is one small part which tripped me up though so I'll point it out. You may decide that it don't need looking at so have a think about it before you change anyt... more
Originally, I wanted the readers to know what the character(s) are experiencing through their own eyes, so that's why I went for the 1st person narrative.
On a side note, this was supposed to be published early ... more