Chapter Three

Noren woke to the gentle shaking of his shoulder. Inigo stood over him, his midnight blue fur blending in with the night sky almost perfectly. “It is time for us to go, my friend. I think most of them are fast asleep. The ones who are awake are far too drunk to cause us very much trouble at all.”

The elf stood with regret for his choice in sleeping location. The grass had not been quite as soft as it had seemed when they first arrived here. “Have you decided which direction we should attack from?” He slung his bag back over his shoulder. One of the flowers he had collected earlier made an attempt to escape, its blue petals graced with a brief exposure to moonlight as the clouds rolled overhead.

Inigo nodded. “I think we should take the ruins from two directions. You should take the closer stairs and draw their attention with your fancy pyrotechnics. While you have them occupied, I will slip around and come up behind them from the South West. Between your fire spells, and my arrows, I think we can finish them off very quickly.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me. How many did you say were awake?”

The khajiit twitched a whisker as he thought. “I believe there were three awake, with two more sleeping on the south side of the statue. None of them are well armed. Just basic weapons and fur armor.”

Noren grinned. “Good. Should burn nicely. Are you ready?”

“Always, for a good fight.” Inigo wore a toothy smile, slinking off into the night while Noren began his trip to the crumbling stones. His friend had not been overstating the state of their foes. The altmer could hear their carousing by the time he reached the stone arch at the base of the stairs. One of them was singing some song about a drunken orc, and an elf who seemed to have his death on his mind. The cruel irony of the tune brought a sinister grin to the high elf’s face as he sidestepped the bone chimes that hung ahead of him. His slim body made no threat of alerting the thieves to their intruder. He silently drew the dagger from the sheath on his hip. He waited until the group rose in a new round of laughter before stepping silently into the ring of light their fire cast.

“Hey! Look at this, fellas! They walk right into camp for us now!” The man who spoke stood. He was tall for a Nord, but still about four inches short of Noren’s height. “Tell me, you gold skinned whelp, whatcha got for me?” He staggered a bit, his iron war axe waving about with nearly no precision. Noren chuckled.

“Lady Laila sends her regards.” He raised his left hand, a small flame springing to life between his fingers. With a flourish, he set the palm of his hand to face the hulking man. The flames roared into a column of heat that swallowed the man whole. His screams rang through the night, waking the others and making the two at the fire leap into action. Noren aimed the spell at the nearest. setting her ablaze with her comrade. The third jumped over the chair he had been sitting in, bringing his sword down to strive. Noren barely managed to deflect the strike, the iron dagger he held losing about an inch and a half of its blade in the process. Having thrown the enemy off balance, he brought his spell hand back around to light the warrior up. He looked to the newcomers, sending flames to a much more competent looking female Nord. The fire was quick, closing the distance in seconds.

Before they could consume her, she brought up a hand. “Karan!” A white blue dome of light spread before her, routing the flames before they could touch her. Noren felt anxiety build in his chest. He held his hand out again, sending flames even hotter. The bandit magician smirked, again using her ward to dissipate the spell. “Why are you holding back, Altmer ? Don’t worry. I am an accomplished spellcaster myself. You don’t have to get caught up on whether our duel is honorable. I promise that you won’t harm me if that is all you can do.”

Before she could ready another spell, her throat was impaled by an ebony arrow from her rear left. The man beside her leapt in shock as she fell, turning to be met by the scarred blue face of Inigo. The khajiit produced a midnight black sword, his teeth glinting in the firelight. “So, you want to dance?” The bandit turned, trying to flee the scene of the massacre. Noren brought his palm to bear, sending a gout of flames to engulf their cowardly opponent. His screams rose to fill the night, before fading just as suddenly into the soft breath of the wind.

Noren dropped his dagger, the flames in his left hand going out as he slumped down to his knees. Inigo rushed over to him, a look of concern on his features. “Noren, are you okay?” The altmer nodded, his breath coming in a shaky rasp.

“I’ll be okay. I’m just tired. I’ve never used magic like this before. At least, not so many times.” He looked at the spellcaster’s corpse. “She wasn’t even threatened by me.”

“Do not worry. You kept her attention long enough for me to get a good shot. I’m sure Anuriel doesn’t mind which one of us actually killed her. She will be pleased to know that the bandits have been dealt with.”

Noren shook his head. “I’m not worried about that. I know we did the job well. But, I think we can both agree that I should probably learn more about magic. As I am now, I can’t even heal you if you get injured. I’m not even good at supporting you if you were to take the lead on a mission.”

Inigo understood. He allowed his expression to take the form of pity. “If it is something you want, I will help you as much as I can. Just remember, you only recently discovered your magic. Do not allow yourself to get upset that it takes time and practice to improve.”

Noren felt his face grow warm, knowing that was likely letting his friend see exactly how embarrassed he was with a golden pink flush in his cheeks. Searching in his bag, he pulled out a small, crystal flask. There was a cork plug stoppering it, the contents swirled with a mystic blue shine. Removing the cork, he tipped back the mixture. Choking past the large bits of flowers and some other particulate, he coughed as the potion began its work. The drained sensation he had felt began to subside, his thoughts clearing as he stood.

“Do you think we should set up for the night here? Or would it be okay if we made our way back to Riften? I think it would be best if I spoke with Wylandriah, the court wizard. I can’t ignore the fact that my magic is little more than a glorified fire starter.”

Inigo pondered the question. “It would be more enjoyable to discuss our next move over a drink at the Bee and Barb. I am okay with a little extra legwork if it means a hot meal and dry bed for the night. I should warn you though, I doubt very much that either the wizard or the steward are going to be awake to receive us until tomorrow.”

“Then let’s head to the inn. I think I have enough gold that we can do well enough until tomorrow.” Turning to the East, he set off for the city. Their trip back was uneventful, the road empty and quiet as they crossed a bridge that evaded a small slough that formed in the creek that babbled toward lake Honrich. Torchbugs hovered at chest level all around them. The elf considered trying to catch a few. He might not be a great mage, but he was no stranger to the art of alchemy. Torchbugs were famous for their ability to recover the stamina of the drinker of the potion. However, to the enlightened brewer, they also had rather potent anti magical properties. He could make a simple poison to coat his dagger in for his next encounter with a spellcaster. Maybe level the playing field a bit in his favor. He eventually decided against capturing the insects. The day had taken a lot out of him. In anycase, if they were going to be in town already, he could look into purchasing some ingredients later.

It seemed like only an hour later when the walls of Riften came into view. Inigo hummed a tune to himself as they nodded to the guards that stood watch. One stopped them, looking to Noren with a grin. “Hey, sorry about your trouble yesterday with Trygve. Brynjolf gave him what for when he heard about it. Can’t believe the fool decided to try and catch one of you in Njal’s scheme! You’ll get no trouble from us from now on.”

Noren didn’t respond right away. What did that even mean? ‘One of you.’ And how did Brynjolf have so much influence over the guardsmen? What mess had he gotten himself into? “It was a simple misunderstanding. I’m not one to dwell on that. I hope the watch goes by without incident.” The guard nodded, letting them proceed into the city.

The market stood desolate in the wee hours of the morning. The moons shone bright above them and filled the space with enough light to frame the city and its waning glory. Anyone could see that Riften had once been so much more than met the eyes of travellers now. The stonework was run down, the wood of some houses only just disguised the rot that was setting in. And the canal below now reeked of refuse and poison. From the orphanage beside them broke the shattering scream of a child. Not a moment later, a harsh voice scolded and the sound of a belt striking hard followed. The quiet that followed nearly made the pair sick. Inigo let his head fall. “I suppose not everything in Riften pleases me.”

Noren looked back at the orphanage. “Should we do something about it? I wonder why the guards aren’t looking into it.”

“Maybe, but perhaps now isn’t the best time. I don’t like it, and think something should be done. However, if we just blindly rush in, we could cause more problems then we would solve. For now, we should focus on the task at hand.”

Noren had to admit the reason his friend presented. “Actually, I was going to talk to you about that. I have someone I need to thank for helping me find you. He says he can also get me work. I’m sure there could be some room for you in the plans. How do you feel about coming with me to find his haunt in the Ratway?”

Inigo practically grinned. “Explore the storied Ratway to find a mysterious stranger? An excellent adventure, my friend! Lead the way.”

In his head, Noren sighed in relief. He had been concerned about traversing the sewers on his own. From what everyone in town had told him, the ratway was a den of ner-do-wells and murder. Knowing that Inigo would have his back made the apprehension a lot less prominent. He set off for the stairs, descending down toward the putrid waterway. A mist hung over the water. Half of the canal nearly glowed due to how the moonlight played in the vapors. Once in shadow, Noren once again lowered into a poor excuse for sneaking. Though he did not lose his balance this time, Inigo could not help but smirk at the attempt. His eyes shone with their cat night bişi on, able to see just as well as he had before. He watched as his friend approached the iron gate that blocked their progress.

“If it is locked, I can be of some help, Noren.” Inigo whispered.

“Thank you, but I think I can handle this part.” Noren fished the lockpick Brynjolf had given him out of his bag. He closed his eyes, willing the sight he had used in the market to return. He smiled as the lock showed its mysterious interior. He made quick work of it, sending Inigo a proud gleam as the iron swung open with a squeal. The Khajiit shook his head.

“Nice. But I think we should keep moving, in case someone heard the gate.” He drew his sword, reminding his friend that this was a dangerous venture. Noren tucked the lockpick away and entered the sewer door.

The damp, stone walls of the sewer held the disgusting warmth of the tunnel close to them as they made their way down the steps. Inigo followed in near silence. His boots barely sounded against the floor as he walked. Noren tried his best, making a little progress in the form of not wobbling around as he moved. He took slow steps through the darkness toward the end of the hall. The hairs on the back of his neck came to attention, making him raise his hands in preparation to use his magic. His worries were confirmed when the sound of a conversation met his ears.

“I dunno, Drahff. They’d skin us alive if they know we were doin’ this.” There was a scoff of obvious disgust in reply.

“Why are you always acting like such a big baby? I’ve gotten us this far.” 

“This far? We’re livin’ in a sewer. You said we’d have a house as big as the Black-Briars by now. You went to so much damned trouble to get those clothes from the cistern, and low and behold, they haven’t brought the wind fall of Septims you keep saying they will. The Guild won’t let us get away with it, even if they are worthless! Frey isn’t a man to lay down and take disrespect.”

Drahff growled. “You worry about bashing people’s heads in, I’ll worry about the guild, Okay? I promise you, I know some contacts in Winterhold who will get us a fortune for these. Sure, they aren’t anything too special, but they are enchanted. By the time the College figures that out, we will have made it out of here and gotten ourselves to Cheydinhal.”

His friend seemed to calm down a little at the reassurance. “Okay, okay. Sorry for getting fired up about it. “

“You worry too much, Hewnon.” The man paused. There was the sound of wood scraping on stone. “I’m going to check the entrance to the ratway. Be right back.”

Noren began to panic, looking to see if there was a good place for them to hide. It was no use. They were out of time. Just as Drahff rounded the corner ahead, the altmer sent flames pouring down the passage. Drahff screamed, the darkness of the tunnel vanishing at the fire’s will. Hewnon rushed forward, an axe in his hands. Inigo sent an arrow flying past Noren’s head, barely missing the large man to strike the wall behind him. In the second that his friend had bought him, Noren reached back and withdrew his dagger. He brought the blade across Hewnon’s face, burying it in his chin. The man fell to the floor, the wound leaking blood around the steel buried inside it. Inigo nodded approvingly at the takedown.

“Not too bad. But, it was a little risky letting him get so close to you. If I hadn’t been able to startle him with that shot, I’m sure he would have split you in two.”

“I’m hardly in a position to disagree.” Noren looked through the contents of their foe’s bags. He quickly located what the pair had been talking about. Pulling the bundle free, he let the fabric unroll into his lap.

It was a set of pale blue robes, the fabric worn in places at the lower hem. They were an asymmetrical design, the left side hanging down to what would equate to half his leg length. The blue was bordered all around by a light tan linen. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the stitching actually spelled out something in magical runes. ‘Jora Makderi Ta.’ He strained his brain, hoping to recall what the runes meant. He knew this. It had been one of the enchanting lessons that his parents made him retake for fifteen years… “Jora… It enhances potency, I think. Makderi… What the hell was Makderi?”

Inigo looked at him with some concern. “Do you have to do that here? Now?”

Noren smirked, knowing that his friend had the right priorities. He gave one last look at the repeating pattern of runes, accepting that their translation would have to wait until another time. “I’m going to change into these. They will help my spells. I don’t know which, or how… But at this point I need all the help I can get. Can you keep watch over there while I change?”

The blue khajiit grumbled, but complied. “Inigo go here. Inigo, go there. Inigo, wait here! You’re lucky I am so cooperative.”

Noren let out a soft chuckle, pulling his old, tattered robes over his head. He dropped them to the floor with no remorse, slipping the newer cloth over his skin. He immediately knew that the decision to change was the right one. He felt his magic swell, his connection to the power closer than he had ever felt it before. Despite the wear at the extremes, the robes were still very soft. Noren buckled on his belt, slipping into his boots with a sense of pride at the new garb. The hood, he stashed into his tag for now. He doubted he would need it in these sewers.

Inigo had given him the courtesy to wait in the next chamber, giving a smile when his friend. “That look suits you! That is the snappy dresser I know from our previous adventures. Still not to your usual tastes, but at least you don’t look like a crazy hermit any longer.”

Noren’s face was caught between an expression of amusement and offense. “Of the two of us, I am forced to contest that I am the crazy one.”

Inigo laughed. “Maybe so. Anyway, which way next? There is a drawbridge ahead, but I can’t find a way to lower it.”

To Noren’s dismay, Inigo was correct. They had the option of either turning back and giving up on their task, or jump down to the floor below and try to find another means of getting across the divide. However, if they did the latter, they would be trapped. “I can’t ask you to trap yourself in a sewer for me. If you want to go back, I understand.”

“And let you have all the fun? Never, I will follow you, even if it means we have to swim out of this place.” He slung his bow onto his back and waited for Noren to make the first move.

Noren landed with far less grace than he would have liked. His eyes watered as his left knee hit the stonework with just a bit too much force. Inigo dropped next to him, light as a feather and no worse for the descent. Noren rubbed his injury, holding a hand over the sore bone. Gold light made the pain ease, but it did nothing to aguage his envy. It was even darker down here. He stumbled toward the light that shone from the left. As they closed on the source, they found themselves stopped by another iron gate. Noren fished around in his bag, regretting picking up more items. Once he finally found the pick, he set to work on the lock.

This one was a bit more tricky. The third tumbler back was resisting his efforts. The strain on the pick was starting to make him nervous. He held his breath, begging the gods to help prevent the iron from snapping. He let out his breath once he pressed the stubborn tumbler into place. Slowly, with great care, he began to rotate the lock.

A resounding metallic tink rang off of the walls, the portion of the pick that had been clear of the keyhole flying off into the dark to clatter on the floor. Noren could feel his face growing hot as his temper flared. Inigo tried to offer some help. “I have a few lockpicks myself, if you need them.”

Noron did not reply, instead readying his flames. With his face contorted in fury, he aimed his palms at the lock. The metal began to glow. A dark red at first, soon turning white. Before long, the iron began to deform, melting and sagging until the latch was non-existent.

The hinges groaned as the gate swung slowly open in total defeat. Noren lowered his hands as he allowed his breathing to slow to normal. Inigo waited until the man had caught his breath. “Um… Did that help?”

“Yes.” Noren inspected his work, giving a nod of approval. “Come on, we can’t be far at this point.” He led the way up a short flight of stairs, quickly dispatching a lowlife that rushed him at the top. She fell easily to his dagger, though her weakened, emaciated body really hadn’t a chance against two healthy adventurers. Beyond a small table, down a set of stairs, stood another door.

This one seemed different. Better kept, with a well polished handle from many uses. Testing it, they found that this one was not locked. Noren put his dagger away, knowing somehow that this was their destination before he could even see the sign that swung near the far right of the pool of water. As they approached the lights, and people watching from a distance, they read the name, ‘Ragged Flagon.’

“Give it up, Brynjolf… Those days are over.” The speaker was a man, standing behind a well lit bar. He cleaned a mug, shaking his head at Brynjolf as he did so.

“I’m telling you,” Brynjolf never faltered in his slight grin, “this one is different.”

A large man, his voice gruff, and shoulders broad gave a booming laugh. “We’ve all heard that one before, Bryn! Quit kidding yourself.”

The bartender nodded. “It’s time to face the truth, old friend. You, Vex, Mercer… You’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing.”

Brynjolf was going to respond when Noren stepped into the light, A massive smile spread across his face. He half looked back at the barkeep with a chuckle. “Dying breed, eh? Well what do you call that then?”