A/N: To my dear readers: Thank you for sitting down to read my story. It means the world to me. However, I must note that this is a rough version of my first and much beloved story Thief and Shadow. This story is currently being rewritten, extended and heavily edited. I've left it for a little too long and the desire to "fix" things has finally won. I do hope that you will enjoy what I have written, but there will be no more than ten chapters to this version. The newer version will be submitted under a similar title in the future, so if you are interested, keep this story in the back of your mind. You'll find it eventually. Thank you, and happy reading.
The door hardly makes a sound as I press my palm to its chilly surface. I slip through like a shadow and peer through the railing into the prisoner pens below. The glimmering gold of armour glints as she passes under the beams in the ceiling. A notched arrow flies and she collapses to the floor, her hand only halfway to her crimson-dabbled throat.
I'm digging through the wooden chest, shuffling papers and flipping through journals one handed when I hear a grunt. The lid of the wooden chest slams down and I am whirling in a crouch, my bow and brows raised in alarm. There's nothing, only the emptiness of the dank walls and the smooth iron bars. I relax my arm slightly when I hear the grunt again. My eyes drop to the Altmer lying on the floor, and I creep towards her; I prod her with my bow, and then feel for her pulse, which is still, as I'd thought. Another grunt, this time behind me, sounds pained.
He's on his knees, his wrists clamped to the wall with cruel-looking shackles. His head hangs low and a bloody mixture of sweat streaks his too pale chest. I'm opening the gate to his cell and I'm crouching in front of him, my bow discarded beside me. The man is young, mid-twenties at least, and his eyes are closed. His cheeks are sunken, and there's purplish bruises covering all the skin that is visible. His ragged pants appear damp, and I feel my stomach clench in disgust and horror. How could anyone do such a thing to a person? I growl inwardly—the Thalmor would.
"Please…" he whispers, attempting to lean away from me. "I've told you everything." His breath is rancid and vaguely smells of iron, and it's enough to make me taste the wine from the party. I ignore my lurching gut and I reach out, smoothing back his tangled hair and he opens his eyes, although very slowly, in surprise.
"Who're you?" he rasps, guessing that I am not Thalmor. He can see the concern in my gaze, I can tell, and I suppose my poorly-fitted iron armor and braided hair suggests that I'm less than a mercenary. I hesitate on the thought, wondering exactly what I really am. To this prisoner—this young Breton—I just look like a girl with a hidden identity. I glance at the blood on his body and my mind clears. I know who I am.
"I'm here to help you," I reply gently, lifting onto one knee to study the shackles. It requires a key. I squeeze the Breton's shoulder gingerly and return to the dead Altmer, hesitantly feeling under her armor. My finger touches a key and I pull it free; I'm beside the Breton and unlocking the shackles with trembling fingers.
"Tell me your name. Where are you from?" I request as he slumps into me, wincing as his other arm is jerked as his weight pulls him forward. I use my shoulder to support him as I reach for the next lock.
"Etienne. Etienne Rarnis. I'm from…from Riften," he replies. I turn the key and he drops into my arms, limper than a doll. My hands press against his skin; I am taken by surprise for the muscles stretching under his skin and the litheness of his movements as he shifts onto his knees in front of me. I smile kindly and he curls his lip in something like a returning grin.
"Why are you here? They were talking about you upstairs about getting information out of you. Can you tell me anything? Anything…" I pause as a confused fear shines in Etienne's eyes—as he rethinks his trust in me. "Anything about a man named Esbern?"
"No, err…yes," Etienne grimaces as he attempts to stand. I wonder for just about how long he was down here, suffering. I remember the horse cart and the headsman's block...the heavy axe shining with blood…Alduin's red, beastly glare, and I shudder. Etienne looks at me oddly. "I…the Thalmor wanted to know about that man. I told them that I'd seen him in Riften. I've seen him in the Ratway…"
I help Etienne stand and I support him as we shuffle to the entrance of the pen. I hear the door slam above and we both drop at the sound of footsteps. Etienne's lips are firmly pressed together and I am picking up my bow as quietly as I can, my back pressed to the wood. Voices ring out behind me.
"Alright, spy. Come out, or we'll kill your little assistant!" a female shouts.
"No, wait!" My hand is closing around my mouth at the sound of Malborn's high-pitched plea. Etienne crouches in front of me, looking somewhere between frustrated and very afraid.
"I said 'Come out', now!" the Altmer repeats. "Turn yourself over or the Wood Elf dies."
"How many?" I whisper to Etienne. He shifts slightly to look. "There's two, one near the door, the other holding the Elf."
"Is Malborn on the left or right of her?" I specify.
"Right."
In a flash I rise onto one knee, whirl quickly and fire a notched arrow at the Thalmor soldier holding Malborn. He shrieks and scrambles away as the open-mouthed Altmer drops out of view with an arrow in her forehead. The other Thalmor is quick to move, but not quickly enough. My arrow finds the back of his neck as he makes for the stairs after a shrieking Malborn. His body strikes wood with a satisfying thump and I glance at Etienne with a raised eyebrow. His face breaks into a smile and I help him stand. Malborn rushes to our sides.
"Now the Thalmor will be after me for the rest of my life!" he complains, and I shove my dagger into his hand. His lip curls and I hand Etienne over to him to help stand. "C'mon, Malborn. Did you think I would let you die?"
"Yes!" he exclaims as I approach the newly fallen Thalmor. I find a silver key on him and return to the two boys who are waiting near a trapdoor, holding it up cheerfully.
"Let's get out of here," Etienne grimaces as Malborn staggers under his weight. I turn the key in the trapdoor's lock and lift the heavy metal to release a horrible waft of stinking rot and waste. All three of us gag and turn away.
"What on Nirn is that?" I cough.
"The Reeking Cave. The Thalmor use it for bodies," Etienne spits out a mouthful of bile onto the floorboards away from us and Malborn just about keels over. "I've seen them use it. It could be a way out though."
"But where are the bodies?" Malborn pipes up, looking pleasantly green. I look down, holding my breath, and see nothing but smeared blood and a series of rusty daggers. I glimpse a tuft of greasy white fur. "Troll," I breathe.
"And we're going down there?" Malborn sounds hysterical as Etienne and I look at him with equally irritated glares.
"Sorry. It's just…there's a troll down there!"
"Frost troll, by the looks of its fur colouring," I speculate. I plant my hands on my hips and turn to the Breton and the Bosmer. "I need the two of you to stay out of the way if we're going down there. A frost troll means business and I'm not about to let either of you die after all this." I hand Etienne the first Altmer's mace, which he takes with a frown. "If it gets to you, fight like you've never fought before. And watch its claws."
I drop down into the Reeking Cave, realizing how suitable the name of the place is. It stinks of sewage in the pit, and uncomfortably like rotting meat and troll's dung. Covering my mouth with one hand and conjuring a fireball spell in the other, I creep down the dripping passage with Malborn and Etienne close behind. Our footfalls are as quiet as feathers, and we are able to hear the busybody grunts of the troll further ahead.
Peering over the ledge grants me a spectacular view of a desiccated Nord's corpse clutched in the deformed hands of the creature. Its fur is almost brown with the amount of blood and dirt in it, and, frankly, it stinks. I let my fireball heat my hand before I let it fly right into the back of the creature's head. The troll roars in pain and looks around wildly. I shoo Malborn and Etienne back just as its half a dozen eyes fall on me.
I know fear. It is a cold grip of suffocating pain that's only an imagined ghost. While not physical, it's enough to scar someone permanently, and it does. Alduin induced that fear, my first dragon fight and soul absorption induced fear, the laugh of the Draugr brought upon that fear too. But I had never felt a fear like this one before.
Not until the shining eyes of the flaming frost troll found me.
"Get back!" My command is a scream that sends Malborn and Etienne stumbling away. I fling another fireball at the frost troll and draw my steel sword from its sheath. The troll guffaws and gurgles in annoyance, making its way towards us with bloodthirsty eyes. I throw another fireball, this time forcing the beast to pause and cover its face with a mumbling howl. A spark of courage leaps through me and I move, spinning in a circle and slicing my sword across the troll's chest. The troll shrieks and before it can even fling out its arms and bellow, my blade is sliding through its skull.
Hot breath smelling vaguely of a wet dog rushes into my face and its claws reach out, screeching loudly down the back of my iron armor. I close my eyes, unable to look into the troll's face as its eyes roll white and it dies, inches from my pursed lips and trembling eyelids. My hand opens and the troll drops to the ground with a thump, my sword still embedded in its forehead. I can't bring myself to touch it.
Etienne's reassuring hand on my shoulder makes me jump and I nearly wet my pants. I look at him, my troll blood-splattered face blank with nausea, and Malborn breaks the silence with an awkward cough. The spell of fear broken, we climb down the ledge together and peer under the lip of the troll's cave. I spot something pink and shiny, and I am drawn towards it.
It's a beautiful pink stone, cut into a jewel's shape, hovering in an opened box. Malborn joins my side, his crimson gaze brightening as it falls on the stone. "What is that?" he asks.
"I'm not sure. But isn't it pretty?" I smile. I close the box reluctantly and tuck it into my pocket amongst my lockpicks and fairly small coin collection. I gather a discarded health potion and a coin purse holding a slight weight to it. An unfortunate necromancer lies in a gruesome pose on the floor of the cave, her pale eyes staring. I wonder if the stone was hers.
"Let's go," I murmur, turning away from the scene. The two of us make for the end of the cave and breathe in the smell of cold air. Around the corner, moonlight seeps in with a gust of bitterly cold wind but I have no air feels good on my filthy face.
We step out into what is early morning light. The moons are falling into the hills and a pink glow is in the distance. The trees are laden with snow and the air outside the tunnel is somehow open and endless. Etienne, Malborn and I stare out at where the sun is only a pink curve in the distance and I sigh.
"We made it."