"Bishop!"
The urgent call penetrated his sleep. Disoriented, he opened his eyes, blinking into the darkness, wondering where he was. Then it came back to him. The fire. The fight. Duncan. Sarah and Vincent. The ruins.
"Bishop! Where the hells are you?", he heard Vincent yell, not far away.
Has he lost his mind, making such a racket? I'm supposed to hide here!
"Bishop!", Vincent shouted again.
Bishop got up, an uneasy feeling creeping up in him. Something must be very wrong.
"I'm here!", he called. No need to keep his voice down after Vincent screamed bloody murder.
He saw Vincent running round the bend, and an icy hand gripped his heart. Vincent looked like hell, ghostly pale, his eyes wide and panicked, sweat glistening on his forehead.
He ran up to Bishop, gripping his shoulders with both hands, shaking him slightly. "Thank the gods! We must hurry. They have her! They will hurt her! We must do something! We must help her. You must go to them, or they will…" His voice broke.
"What happened?", Bishop interrupted, the icy grip tightening around his heart.
"Sarah! I was out, raising the money, and when I came back, the door was kicked in, and I ran inside, and Sarah was gone, and I found… that." He fumbled in his pocket, thrusting a piece of paper into Bishop's face.
Bishop took it and read. It was short, but clear.
Tell your friend to turn himself in, or the girl will pay for it.
"Somebody must have seen you at our house."
Bishop just stared at the note.
"What will you do?" Vincent searched his face, imploringly.
The note slipped from Bishop's numb hands. "I'll go", he said dully. "I can't let her be hurt."
"I'm sorry", Vincent whispered.
Bishop shook his head, still feeling numb. "Don't be", he said. "I deserve to pay. She does not. I'll go immediately."
Vincent nodded, sorrow in his face. "I'll go with you. I'll bring her home. I will keep her safe. Thank you for this."
Bishop tried to smile, while panic was eating at his insides. He turned and hurried through the ruined buildings in the direction of the city gaol. He had seen enough of it to want Sarah out of there as soon as possible.
If he turned himself in, he was dead. If he did not, so was Sarah.
There really was no choice in that.
As he neared the gaol, he could see the hulking figure of Marvin, one of his trainers, at the entrance. The man smiled cruelly and took a step towards Bishop.
"I knew you would come", he said smugly. "It's always just the question of finding the right leverage."
"Where is she?", Bishop asked, trying not to let his panic show.
"Inside", Marvin answered. "Go on." He opened the door and stepped aside to let Bishop and Vincent pass.
Bishop hurried through the door, standing in a long corridor with doors on both sides. He stopped and turned. Marvin indicated ahead, and Bishop walked along the gloomy corridor, dread making his stomach turn. He knew Marvin. Even for Luskan standards, he was bad.
"Third door to the right", the man called out from behind. "You can go in and see her, if you want."
Bishop pushed the door open with shaking hands, and entered the room. He walked some steps, then stopped while his brain tried to process the sight.
It was less a room than a torture chamber. All sorts of nasty looking instruments were on the tables and hung on the walls. In the middle of the room was a large table, and it was that his eyes were drawn to, even if his brain refused to acknowledge what it saw.
It was Sarah, no question about it. She was bound to the table, spread-eagled, her dress in tatters. He could see gashes, bruises and burn marks everywhere. And there was blood. Most of it smeared the insides of her thighs. Her face was a mask of pain, her eyes staring at the ceiling, dull, sightless, dead.
Bishop slowly turned to face the door, feeling frozen, detached, surreal. Surely this was some kind of nightmare, and he was going to wake any minute now. It could not be real. It must not be real. He refused to believe any of this was happening.
He saw Marvin leaning at the door, smirking. "You really thought we'd let the little whore go, or her brother? After they helped you? You're really losing it, boy. You came here, knowing what was waiting for you, because of her? I have to admit, I was not sure you were stupid enough."
Bishop heard movement in the corridor, the sound of footsteps and of weapons being drawn. He heard Vincent yell a warning. He still stood frozen to the spot, not able to move, because if he moved, it would all become real.
"You let her make you weak, boy", Marvin said. "Your own fault. But at least we had a lot of fun with her, even after she stopped breathing."
Something snapped in Bishop. He felt a scream building up, deep down in his guts, like a tidal wave. It rose, up, up, further up, gaining momentum, until it reached his throat, and he opened his mouth, letting it out, a fierce, desperate howl. His hands grabbed something long and sharp from the table next to him, and he threw himself at Marvin, wanting to shut him up, wanting to beat him down, wanting to see that ugly face twist in pain, wanting to make him bleed.
He saw Marvin's eyes widen in surprise at the sudden, furious attack, and he brought his sword up, just as the pokers Bishop had grabbed from the table connected with his face. Bishop heard a sharp cry from outside, heard the sickening crack as the poker broke Marvin's nose, felt the pain as Marvin's sword bit into his flesh… and then a red mist descended in front of his eyes, and he just kept hitting, hitting until nothing moved anymore.
When his brain started working again, he stood in the corridor, bleeding from several wounds, the pokers still in his hands, and around him lay bodies, bloody, beaten, faces unrecognisable under the blood and the swellings and the broken bones. He was panting heavily, and in front of him, Vincent sat against the wall, staring up at him. It was the first time Bishop saw fear in Vincent's eyes. He was bleeding, too. The worst wound seemed to be a deep gash, running from his mouth up to his ear where a sword caught him.
"Bishop?", he said, tentatively.
Bishop just stared down at him, unable to speak. Vincent slowly got up, looked down at the bloody pulp that had been several prison guards, and then back at Bishop, as if he saw him for the first time. Bishop knew that in that moment, Vincent realised that he really was a beast. But it did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore. They had taken the light from his life.
Vincent strode past Bishop, moving to the door.
"No", Bishop croaked, his throat feeling raw. He probably had been screaming a lot. "Don't look!"
But it was too late. Vincent was standing in the door, frozen for a moment, then he dropped to his knees, a sob escaping him. Bishop just stood, watching him, not daring to touch him with his bloody hands.
After a moment, Vincent lifted his head, and got up, a look of cold determination on his face. His eyes met Bishop's, then fell down at the dead bodies on the floor.
"I'm glad you did that", he said, coldly. "Let's get out of here."
"Sarah…", Bishop said.
"We can't take her with us. It's just a shell, anyway. Sarah is gone. But we live. And I will stay alive. And I will make them pay." With these words, he shoved Bishop down the corridor.
Feeling numb and empty after his outburst, dead inside, Bishop just yielded. Without meeting any more guards, they made it to the end of the corridor. Obviously, Marvin had prepared the stage for his little scene, sending away those he did not want involved.
"We'll have to get you out of the city", Vincent said, still in that cold, emotionless voice. "I will stay here. And get back at them for what they did to Sarah. In my own way."
Hearing Vincent speak her name made a sharp pain pierce the numbness around Bishop's heart. Tears stung his eyes and he stopped, choking back a sob.
Vincent turned around, grabbed his shoulders and shook him, a fierce light burning in his eyes. "Don't you dare give up now! You hear me? Pull yourself together! You are going to make it out of this city, and you are going to live! Sarah..." his voice broke a bit. "She would want it that way. She loved you more than anything. You owe it to her to go on!"
Bishop just let himself be shaken like a rag doll. There was no fight left in him.
"What would I want to go on living for?", he said, dully.
"Revenge", Vincent said, the fierce light still burning in his eyes. "As long as you are alive, you can kill more of these bastards. I saw what you did back there. I knew you were a killer, but I never knew what that meant. Now I know. And I want you to use those skills to pay them back, understand?"
Revenge? The word had a sweet sound to it. Bishop felt some of the apathy that overwhelmed him fade.
With that came the pain. But this time he welcomed it. He let it in, let it burn him, and the fire fueled the rising hate. Vincent was right. He was going to live. For now. And he was going to get as many of them as possible before they got him.
He straightened his shoulders. "You're right.", he said, hoarsely. "I owe it to her. I will show them how well they taught me my trade. But you can't stay. They will punish you for what happened here."
Vincent smiled coldly. "Don't worry about me. I will have a dozen men swearing I was with them while it happened. No one who saw us is still alive. And they will recognise your handiwork." He indicated down the corridor. "I don't think they will be able to do anything to me. They will be busy looking for you. But first, we'll have to get you out. Let's get going."
He turned and passed the last yards of the corridor, opening the door, peering outside. Then he stepped out, indicating to Bishop to follow him.
"You can't go through the gate", he said. "The guards surely are looking out for you."
"I found some sort of secret passage in the ruins", Bishop said. "I'll try that. Maybe I'll find a way out. If not, I will be back and we can think of something."
Vincent had just nodded, and that was that. He knocked on a door on the way, entered the building and came out with a bundle he thrust into Bishops arms. It contained some provisions, blankets, torches. He also left Bishop his sword.
When they reached the ruins, he grabbed Bishop's hand and squeezed it hard. "Take care. Don't let them get you." His voice got soft, shaking slightly. "We both lost the most important person in our lives today. I know how you feel. But we will not let them win, you hear? I want to see them bleed for what they did." He let go of Bishop's hand and stepped back. "You saved my life back there. I won't forget that. Go now. And successful hunting."
With that, he turned and disappeared into the night.
Bishop entered the ruins and found the secret door again. For the first time, he explored the tunnels underneath Luskan. He survived. He made his way out.
Since he did not know where to go, he went to Neverwinter. To Duncan. He hated the man, but it was as good a place as any to stay. Better, because Luskan would not get hold of him there. Duncan asked no questions, but let him stay. For some days, Bishop kept inside, lying on the bed in his room, staring at the ceiling, wishing he could just die and follow Sarah.
But he would not. He still had a purpose. He would avenge her death on as many Luskans as he could. And he would never, ever let himself get soft again. No mercy, no compassion, no feelings at all. As Marvin had said, it gave your enemies leverage. And Sarah had paid the price.
Never again. He swore that to himself. Because if you allowed yourself a weakness, someone would find a way to exploit it.
He got back to his feet. He perfected the skills they had taught him, getting so good at surviving in the wilderness that they would never be able to catch him. Perfecting his stealth, so he was able to sneak up on them in the woods and kill them before they knew what hit them. And he used the secret entrance a lot, to strike at them from the inside, slipping out again before they even knew he was there.
And he never, ever let himself feel again. If someone hurt, it was others.
And now, here he was, imprisoned, about to be tried and executed sure as hell, because he had failed to heed his own sacred rule.
Made you laugh, really.
