Echo of Summer (One-Shot Draft)

• Posted by A-Pocky-Hah! October 12, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Short Story - 1,208 views

  So about a year ago, I wrote a draft for a thriller story set in Summerset Isles Alinor, but only managed to finish the first chapter before I was swept away by the current called ‘real life’. Since then this first chapter was left in the archives of The Workshop where it remained, collecting digital dust… until now, that is.
  Having read it again after so long, I felt rather proud of this writing piece and decided to ‘officially’ post it in The Story Corner as one-shot draft (with some minor editting) so it can enjoy some limelight (before it’s left forgotten once again in the dark depths of Apockyhah...)

   

  ~0~

   

  The Altmer watched as pedestrians walked pass by in front of the cafe. He sipped a cup of his warm canis root tea while seated at an iron-wrought table underneath a yellow-striped canopy.

   

  It was a bright morning in the heart of the capital city of Alinor. The sun was high up in the sky, casting its radiant light down upon the city only to be refracted and scattered when hit by the tall crystal glass towers that dotted around the city. Streaks of rainbow patterned light spread throughout the streets, making the very ground looked as if it were made of glass.

   

  The Altmer wore a brown-and-yellow tunic with black linen pants and black shoes. They were loose and breathable. Ideal for the current weather. He was called out here today by the music. It told him to wait at a side street cafe called Morning Brew. And so he waited, and waited for almost an hour, ordering a light breakfast meal and two cups of canis root tea as he did.

   

  He was waiting for someone. He did not know who, but the music will tell him when he sees it. Another half an hour he waited (during that time he ordered another cup of canis root tea), then he saw him.

   

  He was an Altmer just like himself with a slight wrinkly face and white-blonde hair tied to a ponytail. He wore a rich blue quilted doublet with silver embroidery and pleated boots. Walking beside him was a tall burly Khajiit in steel-plated armor.

   

  The music played images in his head. He had seen them before. They were the images that he was taught to remember all those years ago. One image came up. It was him, the Altmer in the blue quilted doublet.

   

  Five-Seven-Nine-Zero.

   

  That was it. The Altmer raised a hand to call out for a waiter. One of them came to his table. She was a young Bosmer woman with a sweet face. He gave her fifteen caran which was equivalent to thirty septims and said, “Thank you,” before leaving the cafe.

   

  He trailed the target and his bodyguard at a safe distance of thirty feet while blending in with a crowd of Altmeri pedestrians. The music had ordered him to eliminate the Altmer in the blue quilted doublet, but the bodyguard was making things difficult for him. He would need to figure out a way to distract him before he could reach the target.

   

  The Altmer in the tunic continued to follow them until his line of sight was cut off when the two turned left to a corner. Rather than following them around the corner, he took a detour by heading left on the adjacent street then turning right into an alleyway. Exiting the alleyway, he regained sight of his target. They were heading north now, towards the city’s great market plaza.

   

  The streets opened up as they went further north. The plaza was a huge flat circle lined with culanda lamps and covered in light grey marble flooring. Restaurants, pavilions, gardens, and small shops surrounded its circumference. The market stood at the center of the plaza. It was big. An enclosed commerce building two stories high that took about a third of the plaza’s surface area. The arched walls were plaster white. The roof made of colored glass that, when hit by sunlight, shimmered. Four wide galleries extended out from the main building from four sides. They served as entrances into the market. When view from above, the market plaza resembled much like a blazing sun, and radiated like one too. It was truly a marvel of Altmeri engineering...

   

  ...and he couldn’t ask for a better place more. It was crowded, noisy, and full of anonymous faces. In the morning rush hour, one could easily get lost in the market plaza… or slip in and out without anyone noticing.

   

  That was the advantage of being in a heavily-populated area. The disadvantage was that it was also easy to lose your target. He had to keep a constant line of sight of his target. Blink, and he’ll miss him for the rest of the day. It was fortunate that his large furry bodyguard acted as a walking marker of sorts. He stuck up like a thumb.

   

  The Altmer followed them into the market through the south entrance, which was known as the Gallery of Steel. It was where all the blacksmiths and metalworkers from around the city gather to craft and sell their work. The air inside was hot and thick with smoke and sweat. What was once idle chatter and murmurs of citizens outside were now replaced with the loud ringing of hammers beating steel, and the hissing of hot metal being dipped into water.

   

  They were harsh and disorderly, not like the music in his head. Flawless. Harmonious.

   

  The target and his bodyguard stopped at a blacksmith shop.

   

  He hid amongst a small crowd, and observed them from a relatively safe distance. In truth he was close enough to deliver the kill. But he wouldn’t risk it. He was still needed once he was finished with this mer.

   

  No. Wait.

   

  A blacksmith came out from the stall and greeted the target, calling him ‘Orendil’.

   

  Orendil. That was his target’s name. He was taught to remember that name, as well as few more others. Should he forget, the music would always remind him.

   

  The blacksmith and Orendil were talking about something. He couldn’t tell what with all the noise inside the gallery, but he didn’t need to care because it ended in just a matter of seconds.

   

  The target was back on the move, and so was he. They moved out from the Gallery of Steel and into the main building. The crowd was denser here. If he needed to make his move, now would be the time.

   

  The Altmer weaved his way through, closing in on Orendil. He was determined to end this now. His hands were steady as he reached into his left pocket. He then started to mentally count the distance.

   

  Forty feet... Get closer.

   

  Slowly, he pulled out his weapon. A stiletto with a blade as thin as a needle.

   

  Thirty-five feet... Get closer.

   

  He was just right behind Orendil. Only a few more steps.

   

  Twenty feet... Stop!

   

  Orendil’s bodyguard looked back. The Altmer lowered his head and put his stiletto back into his pocket, silently cursing. The tension was high in the air. He feared that he was compromised, but soon that doubt quickly faded away.

   

  A few seconds later, the Khajiit turned his head back around.

   

  False alarm, the Altmer thought. Must be getting paranoid. He would be too if he was in the Khajiit’s position. Paranoia meant increased awareness, and increased awareness meant a lesser chance of a successful assassination. The clock was ticking for him. Change of plans, he decided.

   

  Reaching for his other pocket, he took out a small bag of coin. Pulled the string and poured its contents onto the ground. Within seconds, everything broke into chaos.

   

  “Money!”

   

  “Mine! It’s mine!”

   

  “Hands off! They’re mine!”

   

  A mob of elves swarmed his location, their eyes gleaming with greed. The Altmer had already moved away from his position. He saw the Khajiit bodyguard got caught in the elven tide, unable to do anything except hiss and curse, leaving Orendil very vulnerable.

   

  Now.

   

  He went for the attack. Started by casually walking towards Orendil. Eye contact was avoided by looking straight ahead. He brushed his shoulder against the target. It was like a light shove. But in that fraction of a second, he had pulled out his weapon and pricked Orendil’s skin with the blade of his stiletto. The mer didn’t even feel a thing.

   

  Mission complete. Commencing exfiltration.
  

   

  The Altmer quickly moved away from the scene. He had at least two minutes before the poison took effect. Five minutes before anyone noticed someone was dead. Five guards rushed pass by him. They were likely sent to stop the commotion. Three minutes then.

   

  He exited the market through the Gallery of Spice on the western side. The sun was still looming at the east. He barely felt like he had spent an hour inside. He made his way out of the plaza and onto the street.

   

   

  By now the poison would’ve already kicked in. Orendil would be dead. A few people will start screaming, not that he would hear them from outside. Panic ensues. And after that settles down, the guards will be left puzzled at the sight of an Altmer lying dead on the ground.

   

  An assassination done perfect. It was just what he had trained for to achieve.

   

  Standing on the sidewalk, the Altmer in the tunic raised a hand when he saw a rickshaw approaching. It was the public mode of transportation here in Alinor. A carriage with two iron-shod wooden wheel, retractable canvas roof, and a cushioned seat for two, pulled by a single person. Horse carriages weren’t allowed in the capital city lest they marred the streets with their shit.

   

  The rickshaw pulled up in front of him. It was manned by a grey-furred Khajiit wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat with holes cut for the ears. He climbed up onto the rickshaw and gave the Khajiit five caran.

   

  “To East Side,” he said.

   

  “This one will get you there in no time, sir.” The Khajiit nodded humbly and started pushing the rickshaw forward.

   

  The Altmer leaned his head back. He closed his eyes to get some rest. The music in his head slowly faded away as he fell into slumber.