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Shadowed Destinies - Chapter Three: New Day's Dawn

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Shadowed Destinies
Chapter Three: New Day's Dawn
/

In the dusty stillness of the rented room, a tiny dagger whistled through the air, drawing a trail of dust behind it. The sharp blade disappeared into a wooden beam with a thunk, the black hilt sticking out like an odd coat hook. Growling, Sylves the Shade marched over to the skewered beam, yanked the dagger free, and stalked back to the chair beside the shabby bed. Clouds of settled dust billowed at his feet, stirred by his dark cloak. In a flash, he turned sharply and flung the dagger at the beam once more.

Thunk. Once more, the blade vanished into the wood. Two inches away from the original wound. His first miss in hours.

"Dammit," Sylves muttered, pulling a long leather strap from his bag. Steeling himself, he brought it down hard against his leg. The crack bounced off the walls in a chorus of pain. He did his best not to cry out, but could not hold in a slight whimper. As punishment for his noise, he gave himself another. This time, he remained silent.

Damn that little elf! Where in Oblivion had she come from anyway? Days it had been since he began trailing Jillik and his little brats. When at last he had gotten word of the man's location, he thought his time had come. Surely, the greasy outlaw would have been bleeding out in a gutter and Sylves would be spending his coin by now if not for that elf. That damned, wispy, bleeding heart of an elf!

Gripping the strap tightly, he brought it up and thrashed himself across the face, sending him spinning onto the bed. Blood trickled from his split lip as he lay cursing into the moth-eaten pillow. What happened to him? Never once had he been so careless on a contract. Every one of his marks went down according to his Speaker's instructions.  He never failed. Until now.

With a snarl, he pushed himself up and swiped his sleeve against his still bleeding mouth. In two strides, he reached the embedded dagger and ripped it free. Another two strides brought him back to the opposite end of the room where he promptly whipped the blade back to the beam. It shrieked in the cold, dirt-filled air before blasting into the wood. The hilt made a dent as it too sank in. With a satisfied smile, Sylves focused on the moonlight glinting off his dagger, the blade in the first wound once more.

Not a failure, merely a delay: a little twist to make things interesting. And in the end, he would succeed. How beautiful that blade would look painted with Jillik's blood. Maybe he would forgo cleaning it until mingled with the little elf's as well.

He had not failed. Not yet.

/

Like a shadow clinging to the stone wall in the Imperial Prison, Ilshalys crept along in silence. She hadn't run into a guard yet, but as experience had taught her it didn't mean they were out of earshot. Nearing the door to the lower cells, she watched the low torchlight glow on the meager lock. The clink of a lockpick would not do if she wished to move in complete stealth. The wax key she made last week would do the trick.

A foul stench crawled up her nose as the door creaked open. Her jaw clamped tightly to avoid the compulsive gag that threatened to blow her cover. The mixture of rotting food, body odor, waste, and vermin assaulted her senses, filling her head and pushing against the inner walls of her skull. Her gag reflex pounded upon her will, pleading for release. Rifling through her pack, she searched for something, anything that would stop the stench or settle her stomach. At last, her fingers closed around a fuzzy sprig of lavender that she crushed in her hands and smeared under her nose. The strong herbal paste burned her nose a little, but anything was better. At least she could breathe without retching.

Her personal crisis over, she resumed her search for Jillik's cell. She would make sure that he never harmed another child again. She would-

"...look all I'm telling you is you've been reassigned."

"Damn it all to the Pits of Peryite," she hissed through clenched teeth. Thinking quickly, she picked open a random cell and swept inside, pressing herself against the wall. Would she ever have an easy night?

"Reassigned? What are you talking about?"

The second voice was that of the young guard who had taken custody of Jillik. Their footsteps got closer. Ilshalys held her breath, fearing to make the slightest noise.

"Well, I just received a sealed order from Captain Quintilius. He got word that you neglected to bring in the vigilante as well. He's reassigned you to Bruma."

"But that's insane! She was protecting the child! Did he get word of that, too? He can't do this, he can't!"

"I know, I know, it doesn't seem right. Just relax, maybe we can appeal this." As the armored footsteps receded, she heard the clap of a hand landing on a shoulder. "Just so you know, I would have done the same in your shoes."

Ilshalys' cheeks burned with rage. A reassignment as soon as a nearly untouchable piece of scum is taken in? If Hieronymus Lex were still in charge, an order like that would have been plausible, but such an order from the much less experienced Servatius Quintilius was unlikely. She smelled the coincidental hand of the Breton from the alley. It seemed she had more to deal with than she thought.

"So, you break into a cell for kicks, or did we have business?"

She gasped and spun about to meet the sunken eyes of a previously unnoticed prisoner. He was an Imperial of about fifty, with a strange hairstyle one usually saw on a monk. He stared at her, arms folded, waiting for some response. "I, uh...no. And no."

With a scowl, he turned away from her, fixing his tired eyes on a patch of hay that remained less filthy than the rest. "Pity. I had hoped you had news for me."

Still flabbergasted that she hadn't seen him, the bard glanced at the corridor to watch for a guard. "N-news?"

"You are not of the Brotherhood then?"

Now there was a surprise. Her jaw dropped, earning a scowl from him. "The Dark Brotherhood? You contacted..."

"Yes!" Spinning back to face her, his face contorted in a grimace of fury. "I contacted the Dark Brotherhood! So I wanted somebody murdered! So I prayed to the Night Mother! What, is that a crime now?" Agitated, he began pacing, snatching a pewter cup from a broken table. Foam curdled at the corners of his lips as he stalked along and back. "They even took my house, those bastards! Agghhh!" his voice rising on a shrill howl of rage, he hurled the cup at the bars. The clang echoed through the prison, stirring mumbles, curses, and jeering from the other inmates.

"Claudius is riled again!"

"Poor fool wants his mommy! His 'Night Mommy', har har!"

"All of you shut up!" From the commanding tone, she knew that wasn't the voice of a prisoner. Panicking, Ilshalys threw a blush-pink potion down her throat. Her entire form vanished just as a burly, simple-looking guard loomed outside the bars. He was not one of the commiserating guards she overheard earlier. "Shut your mouth, Arcadia! You spout off your pagan nonsense again and I'll throw you back in the rat pit!"

"There is nothing else you can do to me, you rutting fetcher! Besides, justice belongs to me, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it." Claudius ran to the cell door and thrust his face through the bars, a wild-eyed smile on his drawn face. Startled, the guard pulled away, making the smile broaden into a grimace. "They're real, Crulius. The Dark Brotherhood...the Night Mother...the Dread Lord Sithis. They all exist." His voice dropped down to a low, threatening whisper, "One day, they may even come for you."

His momentary apprehension gone, the guard drew his plated fist back and slammed Claudius between the eyes. He groaned and collapsed, the smile still playing on his face as blood trickled down his face. "Lunatic..." muttered Crulius as he stomped off, but Ilshalys' saw him glance about nervously before continuing his patrol.

Softly padding to the bars, she pushed them open, becoming visible again but still enough in shadow to remain unseen. She shadowed the guard at a healthy distance, peering into the other cells as she searched for Jillik.

"Hey, Plias! Where's that new meat, Jillik? I wanted to get my first licks in!" Crulius called down the corridor, polishing his fist in anticipation.

"Well, you'd better head out to the yard! He's getting the lash tonight, but they're letting him go in the morning! Hurry!" the unseen Plias called back.

A grim smile spread the bruiser's bulging mouth as he bounded toward the door, his leg almost catching the sneaking bard. For a moment, he paused as if sensing something, but Ilshalys could not discern if he suspected her presence or if Claudius Arcadia's threat still spooked him. Either way it mattered not, for the hulking thing soon disappeared to join in the fun outdoors.

Too relieved to care if any more guards were coming, Ilshalys sighed and slumped against the wall. This was by far the most stressful job she had in a while, and it wasn't even a job anymore. And now, to add insult to injury, they were letting the bastard go! Why? It probably had to do with that slime of an accomplice who had gotten the guard reassigned. The whole world seemed to be laughing at her. Yes, it seemed she was the butt of the cosmic joke this time.

Then, a memory of the laughter brightening Tomas' face, the gratitude in the smile of that tiny girl touched her weary mind. She could hear the awe and wonder in the voices of the other urchins as she led them out into the grass and glory beyond the walls of the city. She had to press on. If she gave in, it all meant nothing. He would get another group of innocents and ruin their lives.

The light pitifully trickling in from the slit of a window grew stronger. Dawn broke on a new day for the world and those in it and more specifically for her. Somehow, some way, those little ones would be the winners, and she their champion.

/

The sun shone bright in a cerulean sky as Jillik strolled out of the heavy gates of the Imperial Prison flanked by a pair of guards. One grabbed his shoulder and shoved him the rest of the way out, muttering something about his lucky break and a threat of what would happen if he ever found his way inside the prison again, but Jillik was too engrossed in his own good fortune. Only in this city could you get caught in the act and get out the next day.

"You mark my words, you slime. If you so much as pick a pocket in my city-"

"Yes, yes, my lad, I heard you. Don't keep my room warm, I shan't be needing it." He laughed deep in his hoarse throat, wincing as one of the "souvenirs" imparted to him last night sent a deep ache through his back. His left eye swelled a dusky purple-black, at least three teeth were loose, and he could not walk without limping, but being free was all that mattered to him. Well, that and getting those little brats back in line. No doubt the mewling little thing he caught in the alley had sung her song to the authorities and led them to the hideout. He'd be a very stupid man if he expected to find anyone in the house but guards awaiting his return, especially if they bothered to search his cellar.

Jillik did not consider himself a stupid man. The shack outside Weye would do until he could round up enough employees to replenish his business and sate his Lord's appetite. It might take weeks, but he'd find himself back on top. He-

The glistening glass tip of the arrow hissed as it streaked into his left shoulder. With a cry of surprise and pain, he staggered back against the wall of the prison. The two startled guards hesitated for a moment--neither of them too heartsick over the attack--but at last they sprang into action, searching for the hidden assailant, calling for surrender. Upon hearing Jillik muttering and struggling with the arrow, one abandoned his search and knelt by his side. Scum or not, the law said he was innocent and he was duty-bound to help.

"Be still, you'll only make the wound worse," he said, trying to get Jillik's hands away from the embedded arrow. It seemed he was going into a panic, scrabbling and clawing not just at the arrow but the area around his heart. His chest heaved in great gulps of desperate air.

"It burns! It-"

He never finished his words. With a hard spasm, Jillik collapsed to the ground. He was dead before his face hit the earth. The guard leapt to his feet, his face ashen. Never in all his years had he ever seen such a fast acting poison. A wail descended from atop the roofs and sent a wave of horror through his veins. Grabbing his partner, he darted back into the safety of the prison, not wishing either of them to be the next to fall to the malign poison.

Forgotten for the moment, dead Jillik lay in the grass, thin greenish lines radiating outward from the arrow wound, a morbid tattoo of his swift yet painful death.

/

As the rays of the morning sun rose over the roofs of the Imperial City, Sylves the Shade bided his time. He'd been sitting for hours on the slope of the highest roof in the district overlooking the prison. From there, he saw past the wall into the yard milling with guards, some conversing, some putting their skills to the test against the fearsome target range. With a chuckle, he gazed at the blood-soaked flogging pit as a ragged Argonian did his best to mop up the fruits of the night's labor. Sometimes he wished he could have his hand in that, but that profession didn't smile upon killing as did his own.

After what seemed an eternity, his legs and feet aching from crouching so long, the sun peeked over the rooftops. His quarry stepped out of the doors, freed by the quite convincing missive he had forged the night before. Right into his sights. Right into the Void.

The arrow swished through the air from an adjacent roof, thudding into Jillik. Whipping his head to the side, he saw a darkly cloaked figure perched in nearly the same position he was holding a bow of viridian glass. It glimmered in the sunlight, reflecting in her amber eyes. Hearing the commotion below, he looked back at his wounded target. Sighing with relief, he saw the arrow wound. Truly painful, but if he could get off a good shot, he'd have the kill. Before he readied his arrow, he saw Jillik jerking and shaking. Then, he fell and lay still.

Sylves gaped in disbelief at the scene below. Impossible! He cast a life detection spell, gazing intently at the quickly cooling body of his mark. Surely, a shot like that couldn't be fatal so quickly. He was paralyzed, or unconscious...he had to be.

Nothing. No discernible trace of life remained. Dead. Jillik was dead. He had been denied his kill once more: this time for good.

Slowly, he turned to face the killer, his entire body trembling in fury. Casually, she slung the bow over her shoulder as if this were her everyday routine and began her descent down a pipe. Suddenly, she felt his stare and flashed her amber gold eyes his way. Eyes he had seen before.

"You!" He let free a long, loud scream of rage and defeat, strung another arrow, and let it fly at her. Deftly, she swirled her dark cape upward, catching the arrow in its folds. Shimmying down the pipe like a serpent, her tiny feet hit the ground running, darting here and there to avoid the rain of his arrows.

Then, she was gone, invisible and out of range of his spell.

"Damn you, elf! I'll find you!" He screamed, shaking his fist at the sky. An arrow skipped along one of the roof tiles, flying wide. Another whistled by his ear, accompanied by a call to others of his position. Obviously, someone spotted him, saw the body, and put two and two together. Forgetting the elf, he sprinted over the peak of the roof and jumped to a balcony. He would have to find shelter soon.

Shelter. Now that was a laugh. No place in Cyrodill, in Tamriel, hid his failure from the Night Mother. Soon, word would reach the Listener, and then...his Speaker. Blood drained from his face as he imagined those dark, unforgiving eyes boring into him...eyes that seemed to reflect the Void itself.

/

Wedged between a pair of large crates, Ilshalys waited for her heart to slow down. She stared up at the roof where her assailant fled the arrows of the Imperial Legion. Soon he vanished over the peaked tiles, no trace of him but the thick Orcish arrow stuck in her cloak.

An assassin! That was why he appeared in that alley last night; Jillik was his mark, not his ally. Even more, she believed that he had sent out the missives for his release and the reassignment of that poor guard. But it had all been for nothing. She had done it! That bastard Jillik was dead at last! Shouldering her bow, she bounced down the street, her steps light and happy. For the first time in weeks, she felt she could breathe freely.

As she passed throngs of shoppers enjoying their day out, a shadow passed overhead. A bird most likely, but she suddenly found herself unnerved. An echo of Claudius Arcadia's words whispered through her mind.

"They're real, Crulius. The Dark Brotherhood...the Night Mother...the Dread Lord Sithis. They all exist."

Could it be? Had she just thwarted an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood? How had he known where to go? Was Arcadia's prayer for Jillik? The coincidence was fast becoming uncanny. But more troubling was the fact that she had stolen a kill from the finest assassins in Cyrodill.

Would they come for her now? Was her life in danger, too?

All these worries and questions lessened for a moment when she remembered the corpse of Jillik waiting for the vermin to find it. She recalled the frustration in the eyes of the assassin as he fired at her, missing her wildly for all of his rage.

A smile came to her lips as she left the city, her eyes on the bright, beautiful fields ripe with the new day. Let them come then. If he was the best the mysterious guild had to offer, he would soon join his lost prey in the gutter.
/
Chappie Three! Disclaimer's still the same. RECENT EDIT: Revamped a few things.
EVEN MORE RECENT UPDATE: Still refinishing things. I'm falling in love with this story again.
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Lesliewifeofbath's avatar
Like it. I can picture your words.