Gathering Clouds, Chapter 16

  • Chapter 16

     

     

     

     

                          ‘You there, kitty,’ the innkeeper said, scrubbing at his grimy bar. ‘I don’t have any money for you and my meals aren’t for free. So if you’re here to beg, try your luck elsewhere.’

     

                    Diia blinked, then took a good look at herself. Her fur was dishevelled, her fingertips ached where her claws were missing, and a couple of cuts on her face had reopened. Mementos of her fight with Terse. No wonder I managed to sway the Praefect so easily. She couldn’t help but laugh. The stigmatism against beastfolk was becoming quite evident, and her appearance certainly didn’t help.

     

                    ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, sitting down at a vacant table. ‘I’m just here to meet a couple of friends.’

     

                    The innkeeper grunted dubiously. Diia heard him mutter ‘Thrice-blasted urchins’ under his breath.

     

                    It was the morning of the kits’ third day in the Imperial City, and as they had originally planned, they were meeting at the Merchants Inn in the Market District. Diia frowned, troubled. Ambarro she knew all too well, but it was highly unusual for Harrow to be late.

     

                    She gave the inn a quick inspection. It had seen better days. Some of the windows were boarded up, there were a few chips in the stonework of the walls, and the air was stiflingly musky. A couple of guests were coming down the stairs from their rooms, bleary-eyed and yawning. The dining hall wasn’t particularly crowded. Half a dozen Nords were sleeping their ale off on one table. Two watchmen in light armour occupied another one, sharing a loaf of rye bread and honey and talking in low voices.

     

                    ‘Excuse me,’ she called. ‘But could I have some water, please?’

     

                    The innkeeper scowled at her. ‘Two septims.’

     

                    Diia was digging into her pouch when one of the watchmen lifted his head and exclaimed, ‘Lucien, what th’blazes are you trying to pull? Water never used to cost anything, and I hope to Mara it never will.’

     

                    Lucien’s scowl deepened. He filled a large clay cup from a pitcher and slammed it down on Diia’s table. Some of the water sloshed out. The watchman smiled at her ruefully. ‘Sorry about that. He’s a little ill-tempered in the morning.’

     

                    Diia nodded in thanks, then took a sip of water and grimaced. It tasted of dirt and grit, not at all like the water drawn from Tsukikage’s mountain springs. The watchmen went back to their conversation.

     

                    ‘So I was saying, this fire from two nights ago-’

     

                    ‘Aye, strange bit o’ business, that. I was part of the squad sent to fight the fire. Three warehouses burned down. We originally thought no one was hurt – why would we? Those warehouses were for run-down companies too poor to even hire guards, and it was the dead of night. But the next day, a total of four bodies turn up, and-’

     

                    ‘I heard from the coroner. Two of them were stabbed, weren’t they?’

     

                    ‘You’ve not heard the half of it yet. They were done in with some kind of dagger even Armourer Kamet’s never seen before. “The wound is diamond-shaped,” he says. “The blade is short but sharp and protrudes out in the middle.”’

     

                    Diia forced her face to remain neutral as she began to listen in with rapt attention.

     

                    ‘Never heard of daggers like that.’

     

                    ‘It gets stranger. The two other corpses were seriously burned. Well, all of them were burned since they were in a fire and all, but these other two were burned bad. One of them is missing his entire head. We found a few fragments of bone and teeth littered around the alley. All singed black. The other one had some kind of… ring-dart… stuck in his eye socket. All the skin on his upper body was burned off.’

     

                    ‘Ring-dart? What are you talking about?’

     

                    ‘I… can’t really describe it well, but it looks like some kind of flat ring with six sharp tips around it. Doesn’t look like the deadliest weapon out there, but it could do some real damage if you throw it at the right spots, I suppose.’

     

                    Diia was beginning to panic. That was almost certainly Ambarro’s six-pointed hira shuriken – Harrow carried the four-pointed juji variant. Ambarro-to, what happened? Are you all right? Are you hurt?

     

                    She was about to run out to search for the two boys when the door to the inn slid open and lo, there they both were. Her shoulders relaxed and she sat back down, motioning for them to join her at the table.

     

                    Something’s wrong, she thought, concerned. I smell blood, and Harrow-to’s brow is heavy with pain.

     

                    ‘What happened?’ Diia asked as they approached. Harrow was limping slightly and pressing an arm against his chest. Ambarro opened his mouth to explain, then stopped as she hurriedly added, ‘You can tell me later. Let’s get a room first so Harrow-to can lie down.’

     

                    ‘Come now,’ Harrow tried to smile, sweat already beading on his forehead. ‘I’m not that fragile, you know.’

     

                    ‘Excuse me,’ Diia called. ‘We’d like a room, please.’

     

                    ‘Thirty septims, not one gold piece less.’

     

                    Diia shovelled the coins into a pile on the bar. Lucien studied her distrustfully, then jerked a thumb at the staircase. ‘Third one from the right. Don’t make a mess and don’t steal anything.’


     

                    Harrow sagged immediately when they reached their room. His arm fell to his side and Diia saw the bloody spot on his tunic. Shocked, she reached out, only for him to take a shaky step back.

     

                    ‘I’m sorry, but it still hurts a great deal, so please try not to touch it.’

     

                    ‘It’s all my fault,’ Ambarro said miserably. ‘I got carried away and took down one of the Adder’s goons before I thought it through. We got surrounded by his other men. Harrow covered my escape and got captured. I only managed to find him yesterday morning. He… they tortured him, Diia. I tried a bunch of Regeneration spells, but I used up a lot of Magicka the night before, so I couldn’t do much. The cuts keep reopening.’

     

                    ‘Quick, Harrow-to,’ Diia urged, moving to the door and stuffing blankets around the gaps to block off their conversation. ‘Get on the bed and show me your wounds. I haven’t fought at all these past few days, so I have plenty of reserves.’

     

                    Harrow did as she asked, shrugging off his bloodstained tunic and lying on top of the mattress. Diia stared at his mangled right breast in horror. It was a grotesque sight. There were a few strips of re-grown skin crisscrossing the red circle of flesh, courtesy of Ambarro’s incomplete magic. Blood welled from between them in tune with Harrow’s breathing. The hole through his left shoulder had been tricky enough to heal the first time, but now the size of it seemed to have doubled, at least on one end. Ambarro had done just enough to stop the bleeding, but the muscles had been seriously damaged. The chest might look horrid, but it’s the shoulder that worries me the most.

     

                    ‘Ambarro-to, I have a bottle of Waxleaf potion here. Drink up, I need your help for this.’

     

                    Ambarro gulped down the potion. He was being unnaturally quiet for once.

     

                    ‘All right, Harrow-to,’ Diia continued, flexing her fingers. ‘This is going to take a while. We’re not the best at Regeneration magic and your wound is deep. Can you sit upright?’

     

                    Harrow forced himself up, leaving a few droplets of blood on the bedsheets. ‘Ambarro-to, get the back of his shoulder. I’ll handle the front. Focus on mending the deep tissue and muscles. The skin can heal on its own.’

     

                    Ambarro nodded, placing his palm lightly on Harrow’s wound. Diia spread her fingers over the other end.

     

                    ‘Ready? Begin!’

     

                    The cords on Harrow’s neck stood out as he tensed, trying not to cry out. His tendons and muscle fibres began to ripple and knit together as the magic reconstituted his body. Diia and Ambarro kept at it for almost half an hour. White light streamed steadily from their hands, and Harrow’s torn flesh became whole once more, starting from the middle of the hole where the two kits’ magic met.

     

                    Diia’s strength began to flag, and she stopped the flow of Regeneration as she sighed heavily and leant back. Ambarro also stopped and sat down. After resting for a while, they got up and inspected the results.

     

                    There was still a red spot of damaged skin the size of a coin on Harrow’s shoulder, but his pierced deltoid and pectoralis muscles were almost as good as new. That was the advantage of Regeneration magic over Restoration magic – Restoration focused on vital essences, while Regeneration dealt with the body directly. One boosts the body’s natural healing process, while the other bypasses the process completely. Injured limbs could be used in combat immediately after a good healing with Regeneration. The drawback was that it generally took a great deal more Magicka than Restoration.

     

                    ‘I think your arm is fully functional now, Harrow-to,’ Diia said, looking over the wound. ‘Nonetheless, I’d still advise you not to put it through too much strain. The reconnected tissues are still weaker than normal.’ She glanced at his other wound and winced in sympathy. ‘I don’t think we have enough Magicka to help with that right now, and I don’t know how we’re supposed to grow… it… back. I’m very sorry, Harrow-to, but you’ll have to make do with bandages.’

     

                    ‘I understand. At any rate, this won’t impair me overmuch.’

     

                    ‘Here,’ Ambarro said, still in a meek voice that was entirely unlike him. He handed Harrow a roll of bandages without meeting his eyes.

     

                    ‘You wipe that pathetic look off your face,’ Harrow snapped. ‘I won’t have you standing around beating yourself up just because you’re an imbecile with no foresight. I’m sure that’s not something you just realised. Now let’s get on with the mission.’

     

                    ‘But Harrow,’ Ambarro was still looking shamefaced. ‘I got you into this mess. Just look what they-’

     

                    ‘If you think losing a part of my anatomy that is of no practical use in males is enough to render me a broken wreck, you’ve another think coming, dunce.’

     

                    ‘He’s right, you know, Ambarro-to,’ Diia said, much more gently. ‘We’re all here now and mostly unharmed at the moment. Whatever you did to endanger Harrow-to doesn’t matter – after all, you’re the one who saved him, weren’t you? The Ambarro-to I know should be boasting of his incredible rescue instead of slouching around moping.’

     

                    ‘I… suppose I did at that.’

     

                    ‘Oh, brilliant, now he’s going to rub it in my face for the remainder of the week.’

     

                    Ambarro couldn’t help it. He let out a little snort. Diia began to laugh as well. And one could almost hear Harrow release a low chuckle.

     

                    ‘All right, all right. I guess we’re even now. Can you walk?’

     

                    ‘They didn’t do anything to my legs,’ Harrow replied, wrapping the bandages around his chest and tightening them. ‘I’m still weak from overexertion, but I can carry out the mission if need be.’

     

                    ‘Out of the question,’ Diia said immediately. ‘Harrow-to, you need to stay here and rest for at least a day. Ambarro-to and I can go out and gather more information ourselves.’

     

                    ‘But-’

     

                    ‘Harrow-to, please. You barely have any Magicka left, and potions can only do so much. One day of rest, that’s all. Just to get your bearings back.’

     

                    ‘Very well, Captain,’ Harrow said, his voice leaden.

     

                    ‘You can still help out by listening in on the guests. People’s tongues are quite loose around here. Maybe you’ll hear something useful.’

     

                    Diia was just giving him something to do so he didn’t feel like a complete invalid, and he knew it. He said yes all the same, feeling sour.

     

                    ‘Right, Harrow, you just sit around the dining halls and enjoy a hearty lunch while we go out and do some actual work.’

     

                    ‘I liked you better when you were grovelling,’ Harrow glowered, putting his tunic back on. ‘We should put our findings together before the two of you head out. That was the original plan, yes?’

     

                    ‘Right,’ Diia said. ‘I’ll begin. I went into the Temple of the One two days ago when we began our search. I didn’t expect the pilgrims to have much to do with skooma, but the beggars around the Temple were a different story. One conversation led to another, which led to little bits of names and locations scattered all across the city. Yesterday I managed to find one of the traffickers responsible for shipping Moon Sugar extract from Elsweyr on his way to the Plaza District from the Waterfront. He was complaining about why they were not allowed to just bring their goods right to the Palace District. That was, unfortunately, all I managed to scrounge up. The Adder was never referred to directly.’

     

                    ‘The Palace District…’ Harrow tapped his chin. ‘We don’t know if the Adder is there, but both Ambarro and I followed our leads to the same location, where they mentioned a meeting at a mansion. The Palace District would certainly have its fair share of luxurious manors and mansions, but would the Adder really be so audacious as to stay there, right under the nose of the Imperial Legion?’

     

                    ‘It’s the last place they would think to look, the way I see it,’ Ambarro chimed in. ‘Besides, the Palace District is pretty much a small city in of itself. Plenty of places for a skooma lord to hide.’

     

                    ‘Hmm. We don’t have any leads we need to tie up right now, but it’s going to take us half a day to get to the Palace District. We can’t do that with Harrow-to here. Security in the District is also very tight. We will almost certainly be searched if we enter through the front gates, and sneaking in will be difficult. It’s a gated community inside and the walls are well-guarded. Ambarro-to, we’ll have to poke around for a way in today if we want to infiltrate the District tomorrow. We should hurry, too – word of his dead men may have already reached the Adder.’

     

                    Ambarro and Diia turned to leave, the latter waving Harrow goodbye as she pulled the blankets out of the doorframe. ‘See you tonight, Harrow-to. Remember to flex your shoulder regularly, it helps your circulation.’

     

                    And with that, they vanished down the corridor, closing the door behind them.

     

                    ‘…it helps my circulation,’ he grumbled. ‘What am I, a doddering old man?’


     

                    Harrow walked around the room for a while, doing a series of stretching exercises. His shoulder tensed every time he put stress on it, but he persevered. Proper contraction and relaxation is necessary for full flexibility upon the complete reforming of the muscle fibres.

     

                    He bent his arm over his back, twisting it over to touch his opposite foot, then slowly rotated it counter-clockwise over his head, grunting in mild pain as he felt the joint let out a pop. He placed his palms on the floor in front of his toes, his legs perfectly level, and began to hold that position, his breathing carefully regulated.

     

                    Loud voices began a heated argument in the dining hall. One of them sounded very familiar. Curious, Harrow straightened. Ambarro had left his sword on the bedstand beside him, and he slung it back onto his hip as he headed down the stairs.

     

                    ‘But this is the Merchants Inn, isn’t it? There are merchants here?’

     

                    ‘Yes, of course, young master, but they’re here for food and bed, not to peddle their wares! You can’t exactly run about waking them from their sleep or pulling them from their plates just to buy… what did you want to buy again?’

     

                    ‘For the last time, an Akaviri katana. It’s not as if I’m here to clear out all their stock. I just want to make a deal – for that one item – with a smith or an armourer. I know that a couple of them are regulars here.’

     

                    ‘All merchants in the Imperial City are regulars in the Merchants Inn, young master, but you can’t expect me to go riling them up when they’re not at work just because you couldn’t find their forges. If you need directions, you can ask the city watch. Better yet, if you have a map with you right now-’

     

                    Aetius noticed Harrow as he stepped into the dining hall and his eyes lit up. ‘Valessar! Fancy seeing you here again. On your free period again? What are you doing in this run-down dump?’

     

                    Lucien scowled and turned away, muttering under his breath again. ‘Fat, obnoxious little rich boy…’

     

                    ‘Thought I’d just get a taste of how the locals live around here, that’s all,’ Harrow replied, looking around. It was around noon, and Cyrodiils usually lunched at this time. The Inn was almost packed full. ‘The food is interesting here.’

     

                    ‘Pfft,’ Aetius scoffed. ‘If you want good food, you should visit the Elven Gardens or even the Palace District, if you can get a pass inside. The Market District is for the common rabble.’

     

                    The Inn went quiet as numerous lively conversations ground to a screeching halt. A great number of rather unfriendly eyes glared at the two of them. Aetius rattled on, ‘I’m serious, though. Didn’t know what I was thinking looking to get high-class merchandise here, of all places. I’ve more chance of finding an authentic katana in the sewers, it seems. Not that I can tell the difference, what with this stink wafting around everywhere.’

     

                    Harrow cringed as he saw a pair of rather brutish Nords get up from their seats. The same Nords snoring on the table when they came in. Their eyes were red from mead and ale, in that peculiar state when one was simultaneously hungover and drunk.

     

                    ‘Anyway, you want to get out of this dingy bar? I don’t trust the natives’ – he had the gall to laugh at his little joke – ‘as far as I can spit. And I think the smell’s getting to me. At least my pocket hasn’t been picked yet.’

     

                    He’s… even more of a dunce than Ambarro.

     

                    The entire table of Nords stood up now, plus one Redguard, three Orcs, a Dunmer with a rather suspicious flask-like bulge in his sleeve, and (to Harrow’s complete and utter mortification) a geriatric Imperial woman clad in rags, with a face so weathered and wrinkled she could pass for a dried plum. The fact that Aetius was barely a teenager and obviously a simpleton seemed to be lost on them.

     

                    ‘Yes, let’s go,’ Harrow said, eyeing the Dunmer nervously. He tugged at Aetius’s sleeve and dragged him towards the door. ‘I’m sure there are stores somewhere that sell katana.’

     

                    ‘Right, right,’ Aetius nodded enthusiastically. ‘Leave the peasantry here to stew.’

     

                    That did it. Harrow grabbed the grinning idiot by the hand and pulled him into a run. A bottle of some foul-smelling substance broke over the door. He saw the wood begin to smoke and crack as the liquid ate into it. Gaping, he covered his nose and flung the door open, bursting out with Aetius in tow.

     

                    The Imperial woman drew herself to her full height and began squawking about nobles and ponces and how the commonfolk ought to start standing up for themselves, then the trio of Orcs barrelled into her in an effort to get to the door. Showing a surprising amount of ferocity for someone her age, the old woman let out a shrill battle cry and pounced at the one of the Orcs, scratching at his face with crooked, yellowed fingernails. On the other end of the Inn, the Nords upended their table, yelling incoherently. Unfortunately, the table landed squarely on another table, laden heavily with soup and stew. Glass shattered, pots were overturned, and hot liquid was sent flying everywhere, including the Redguard’s freshly cleaned and pressed shirt. He roared in fury and charged at the Nords. Fists flew, followed closely by teeth.

     

                    In a span of five seconds the Merchants Inn had erupted into absolute chaos. Dirks were drawn from cloaks, table-legs doubled as makeshift clubs, bottles of good wine and ale were snatched from shelves and smashed into heads. The Dunmer hurled another flask wildly into the crowd. It caught the innkeeper full in the face and he swore in a high-pitched voice as his skin began to steam.

     

                    Aetius never got to admire his handiwork. Harrow dragged him three whole streets away.

     

                    ‘Hey, whoa, whoa,’ Aetius wheezed, putting a hand on his heaving chest. ‘Slow down there. I’m not in that much of a hurry.’

     

                    Harrow looked behind them. No signs of pursuit. He breathed a sigh of relief, then turned towards his chubby companion, who was bending over and panting from their short run. ‘So,’ he said cheerfully. ‘What kind of katana are you looking for again?’

     

                    ‘What was that about?’ Aetius looked at him, confused and still breathless. ‘Ah well. I wanted to get a smaller one, actually. The dai-katana is… just a bit too big for me to handle. Something like a wakizashi would be fine, or a kodachi.’ He curled his hands around an imaginary hilt and mimed a few chops, then spun around and cleaved at an imaginary foe. The fat below his arms shook.

     

                    Harrow felt like laughing, but managed to rein himself in. Barely.

     

                    ‘Those are in a different class of weapon altogether, unless you’re taking the word “katana” in the broad meaning, in which it just means “blade”.’

     

                    ‘Eh, you know what I mean. I want real Akaviri steel hanging off my waist, but I want to be able to use it too.’

     

                    ‘Finally managed to convince your father, then?’

     

                    ‘That’s right,’ Aetius nodded proudly. ‘He gave me a thousand septims in cheque. I should be able to get a superb katana for that.’

     

                    Harrow glanced around to see if anyone heard him mention the one thousand septims. It didn’t seem like it.

     

                    ‘All right, Valessar,’ Aetius leant in close, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘What’s the plan?’

     

                    ‘Antiquities, of course. Most smiths in Cyrodiil – no, even in all of Tamriel – were never taught to forge blades in the Akaviri fashion, so your best bet for an authentic katana or wakizashi would be in a store that sells antiquities. I read that the Emperor’s bodyguards, the Blades, used to carry katana. I’m positive that at least some of their swords would turn up in oddity shops after their disbandment. Some Akaviri swords are even imbued with magic, and can weather whole millennia without being worn down.’

     

                    Aetius didn’t seem very excited. ‘Do they talk about the fall of the Blades a lot in the Dominion?’

     

                    ‘Well… it’s a part of the history curricula…’ Harrow replied, uncomfortable.

     

                    ‘I see.’ Aetius was silent for a while, just long enough for it to be awkward, then he had his usual airheaded aura around him again. ‘Well, if we’re looking for antiques, I know a place that sells things like that on the Waterfront.’

     

                    ‘The Waterfront,’ Harrow said incredulously. ‘That’s on the other side of the city.’

     

                    ‘No big deal,’ Aetius shrugged. ‘There’s an express carriage route that can take us there in three hours for only sixty septims.’

     

                    ‘Only sixty septims,’ Harrow repeated, feeling dizzy. He could buy a whole fortnight’s worth of food with sixty septims.

     

                    ‘The carriage stop is over there, down the main street. Come on!’ Aetius was the one who tugged Harrow’s sleeve this time, although he ran out of breath after running for a hundred feet.


     

                    ‘Ambarro-to,’ Diia said, as patient as ever. The two were strolling around the Palace District at a leisurely pace, noting the towers full of guardsmen and the height of the concrete walls surrounding it. Ambarro was crouched on the ground, fumbling at a patch of gravel. ‘What are you doing?’

     

                    ‘Trying to see if I can throw a pebble at that guard’s head.’

     

                    ‘But why would you-’

     

                    There was a ping from one of the guard towers on the wall as the pebble bounced off a gleaming helmet. Cursing, the guard stomped over to the railing and glared down, rubbing the top of his head.

     

                    Ambarro and Diia had retreated to a nearby bush, where they were giggling like mad. ‘All right now,’ Diia wiped a tear from her eye. ‘We need to be serious about this, Ambarro-to. There must be some way past the defences. I initially thought we could scale the walls at night, but… you see those torch sconces? We’ll be sticking out like sore thumbs.’

     

                    ‘I didn’t just throw that pebble for laughs, you know,’ Ambarro said. ‘Now we know that we can reach the tower guard posts with projectiles. It’s probably too high up for shuriken or senbon to do any damage, but if we use smoke pellets…’

     

                    ‘…it would make for an effective diversion, yes,’ Diia finished his sentence. ‘On the other hand, it would also alert the guards. There’s a post every fifty feet, so the smoke would be instantly visible. It’s still a good plan, though I’d prefer a stealthier approach. Let’s keep that in mind as a backup strategy.’

     

                    Ambarro nodded, and the two kits resumed scouting out the walls.

     

                    Harrow glared at the antique dealer, who was apologising profusely. ‘… the blade itself is indeed of high-quality steel. Steel that is no more than sixty years old. The bevelling of the tip is off by a quarter-inch. This was most certainly not Mishaxhi-ra’s sword. He wielded a four-foot dai-katana and this is only two and a half feet long. At least learn some Akaviri history if you intend to cheat your customers.’

     

                    Disappointed, Aetius made for the exit. ‘I didn’t even want a dai-katana in the first place. Come on.’

     

                    ‘Wait,’ the dealer called, a forced smile on his face. ‘I can see you have a discerning eye for these things. You mentioned that you wanted an Akaviri shortsword? Well, I’m loth to part with one of my finest pieces, but if you’ll just… give me a moment, young man.’ He disappeared behind his counter and started rummaging around his shelves.

     

                    ‘Might as well stay,’ Harrow put a hand on Aetius’s shoulder before he reached the door. ‘This is the only antique shop you know on the Waterfront, no?’

     

                    ‘I’ve only been here once, to be honest, and I didn’t really buy anything that time either. You’re right, though. Might as well.’

     

                    ‘A wise choice, a wise choice,’ the merchant reappeared, still all smiles, a sheathed wakizashi in his hand. ‘Here, then. One of the finest pieces I’ve ever laid my hands on, if I do say so myself. Excavated it from an Akaviri burial site in my swashbuckling years. Ah, those were the days…’

     

                    ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Aetius picked up the short blade. It was not very impressive, measuring just two feet long from tip to hilt, and no engravings or decorations on the simple wooden scabbard, only a pair of twisting glyphs. ‘Doesn’t look like much, does it?’

     

                    Harrow frowned at the sword. ‘Can I see?’

     

                    Aetius passed the wakizashi over to Harrow, who ran a finger over the glyphs. Distinctive swirls… these are Eastern characters. The Tsaesci dialect is written in squares. ‘Kaze-kiri…’ he murmured. This was a Po’ Tun’s blade.

     

                    He turned the sword over to inspect the hilt. And there it was, carved in the springy wood – the three diagonal lines that denoted a Shadeclaw. It was missing the twin moons of Tsukikage, though. With a shock, he realised that the wakizashi was well over two thousand years old, from even before Grandmaster Furiya’s time.

     

                    ‘May I?’ Harrow asked the merchant, who inclined his head.

     

                    The blade slid out with a rough hiss. Air itself seemed to part before the honed edge, as sharp as it had been two millennia ago. Kaze-kiri. Wind-cutter. And cut wind it does.

     

                    Harrow admired the play of light over the steel for a while. The smith must have also been a remarkable mage. There’s no trace of rust or even a single scratch. He flipped the sword over in his hand and sheathed it in one fluid motion.

     

                    ‘It’s a sword of true Akaviri descent,’ he said, his eyes shining with approval. ‘Well worth your money, Aetius.’

     

                    ‘Really? The blade itself does look very well-made. Fine then,’ Aetius turned to the antique dealer. ‘How much?’


     

                    Ambarro and Diia stared, open-mouthed, at the ruins that were left in place of the Merchants Inn dining hall. Every single window had been shattered, broken furniture and cutlery were left strewn about the ground, the door was gone entirely, and the Imperial Legion was inside clearing up the scene. The kits’ room was empty.

     

                    ‘Don’t worry,’ Ambarro said, though he sounded nervous himself. ‘I’m sure Harrow was smart enough to leave when… whatever happened here happened.’

     

                    ‘But it’s over now, evidently. So why hasn’t he come back? It’s long past sundown.’

     

                    ‘Well, how should I-’

     

                    A shuriken sailed through the open window and into the wall. There was a note attached to it. Diia unfurled it and began to read.

     

                    ‘“I may have found someone who can help get us into the Palace District. Meet us across the street; I doubt our presence will be welcomed at the Merchants Inn. Also, refer to me as ‘Valessar’. We are posing as students from the Summerset Isles. I suggest you adopt High Elven names yourselves.” Well, leave it to Harrow-to to find a way inside even when he's supposed to be bedridden. I never even thought about taking advantage of the local populace.’

     

                    They half expected to run into Lucien as they made a quiet exit, but they couldn’t see him anywhere. Perhaps it was for the best. Diia could guess that Harrow had something to do with the inn’s complete destruction, and wasn’t looking forward to having the innkeeper go nipping after their tails.

     

                    Harrow was waiting where he said he’d be. A pudgy Imperial boy was standing next to him, a comically ill-fitting wakizashi belted on under his paunch. He looked quite excitable.

     

                    ‘Hey! You must be Valessar’s friends,’ he waved. ‘Nice to meet you both!’

     

                    ‘Friends,’ Ambarro snorted. ‘If you say so.’

     

                    ‘It’s very nice to meet you too, uh…’

     

                    ‘…Aetius,’ Harrow said. ‘This here is Aetius. Apparently he can take us to the Palace District.’

     

                    ‘Really? That’s great! Thank you so much,’ Diia gushed, playing the part of innocent schoolgirl.

     

                    ‘Ah, it’s no trouble at all,’ Aetius said, puffing his chest out. ‘I have a pass that lets me in. I was going back anyway, it’s getting late. I won’t mind taking you with me. Your professor is a nice person, you know, giving you an entire week off. Oh! It’s almost eight o’ clock. The carriage comes at half past eight, we’d better get going.’

     

                    With that, he started off at a brisk walk.

     

                    ‘Quite the character, isn’t he?’ Ambarro raised an eyebrow at Harrow.

     

                    ‘Look who’s talking.’

     

                    The carriage ride was quite short. It took them barely an hour to get to the Palace District. Aetius was getting a little too inquisitive, however.

     

                    ‘Are there a lot of Khajiit students in the Summerset Isles?’

     

                    ‘Well, I wouldn’t say a lot, but it’s certainly not unheard of.’

     

                    ‘So what do you learn in your schools over there?’

     

                    ‘Oh, this and that. Arithmetic, rhetoric, and etiquette. I hear it’s different over here. Most people never attend school.’

     

                    ‘Right you are! The sots too lazy to pay for it don’t get to learn. Fair trade, I say…’

     

                    As the high walls surrounding the District loomed up before them, a sense of deadly purpose filled the three kits. Ambarro slipped a hand into his sleeve, fingering his kunai. Diia massaged the nubs of her claws, wishing they could grow back faster.

     

                    Seemingly oblivious to their killing intent, Aetius spread his arms proudly, gesturing at the mass of posh buildings and shops beyond the gates. ‘Here we are! The Palace District, centre of Imperial culture!’

     

                    ‘Yes,’ Harrow said, a hand on his katana. His silver eyes were almost glowing. ‘Here we are.’



     

     

     

        

     

     

     

     

     

Comments

8 Comments   |   The Wolf Of Atmora and 5 others like this.
  • Caladran
    Caladran   ·  September 25, 2018
    I liked how Harrow studied the katana. :) Nice chapter overall!
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  January 30, 2017
    Yay, steadily catching up. And evidently Albee did not get the Akaviri memo, one of his first weapons in Skyrim is an Akaviri katana in a silver alloy. He would've made a ton of money in your Imperial city. :D
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      Yay, steadily catching up. And evidently Albee did not get the Akaviri memo, one of his first weapons in Skyrim is an Akaviri katana in a silver alloy. He would've made a ton of money in your Imperial city. :D
        ·  January 30, 2017
      There's always cheap knockoffs... XD

      On a serious note, I'm sure katana would have slowly found their way back into the market and the hands of different fighters. After the Great War and the disbandment of the Blades, Akaviri weaponry would ...  more
      • The Long-Chapper
        The Long-Chapper
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        There's always cheap knockoffs... XD

        On a serious note, I'm sure katana would have slowly found their way back into the market and the hands of different fighters. After the Great War and the disbandment of the Blades, Akaviri weaponry would likely be mo...  more
          ·  January 30, 2017
        I wouldn't call anything Albee makes cheap knock-offs. There is craft to what he does. Other races take pride in what they do too, you know. 
        • The Sunflower Manual
          The Sunflower Manual
          The Long-Chapper
          The Long-Chapper
          The Long-Chapper
          I wouldn't call anything Albee makes cheap knock-offs. There is craft to what he does. Other races take pride in what they do too, you know. 
            ·  January 30, 2017
          I know, t'was just a tease.
  • Dean Morrison
    Dean Morrison   ·  November 8, 2016
    Bit too long for my liking. But you certainly know how to reel in the viewers with a knack for description. I was totally captivated by the opening story on this - almost like I was there in the Winking Skeever watching the Khajiit's plot unfold.
    • The Sunflower Manual
      The Sunflower Manual
      Dean Morrison
      Dean Morrison
      Dean Morrison
      Bit too long for my liking. But you certainly know how to reel in the viewers with a knack for description. I was totally captivated by the opening story on this - almost like I was there in the Winking Skeever watching the Khajiit's plot unfold.
        ·  November 8, 2016
      Thank you for taking an interest, Dean-jo, but you may wish to read R.T.H.L. from the beginning. It's incredibly easy to get lost otherwise, ha ha.
      • Dean Morrison
        Dean Morrison
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        The Sunflower Manual
        Thank you for taking an interest, Dean-jo, but you may wish to read R.T.H.L. from the beginning. It's incredibly easy to get lost otherwise, ha ha.
          ·  November 9, 2016
        Will do!