Chapter 4
Defender cut a gleaming arc through the air, parrying the flaming arm of the atronarch. Rinin backed up and came at the creature again, breath coming in labored gasps as he swung his blade in a sweeping series of attacks that ended with his blade embedded in the torso of the elemental creature. The creature dissipated in a flash of golden light-
And appeared back in front of Arrow. For the eighth time.
"You're getting better," the Bosmer remarked. "But you need to work on your endurance- you just aren't quite athletic enough to fight in a full-scale pitched battle."
"And you aren't?" Rinin panted, grabbing a towel from the rack set into the side of the wall. They were in a training room, one often frequented by the Rethan Guards. A circle of them had now gathered, led by Devalen, and were a silent audience to Rinin's training. Wiping himself off, Rinin sheathed his sword with a quick jerk into the sheath across his back. "How do you do that, anyway?" he asked. "With the summoning. You don't actually..well..summon the thing."
Arrow slipped off a ring and the atronarch disspipated, cluing Rinin in to the source of the magic.
"The Ring of the Familiar," the Nevarine said proudly. "It constantly binds a Flame Atronarch to the will of its wearer. It cost a bit, too. But it's so darn fun to sit around, slipping it on and off!"
Rinin could only offer a slight chuckle, unsure of how to respond.
Suddenly Arrow was serious. He locked his tawny-gold eyes with Rinin's own red orbs. "We have a problem with the training, though," he explained. "I mean, sure. You're getting good practice out of this, and eventually I'll even deign to train with you. Maybe."
At that Arrow slipped the ring into a pocket and winked before continuing. "The problem is, I don't have a clue as to how to train a spellsword. I'm a ranger," he declared, "Speed is my weapon, I fight close in and go so fast that any traditional foe can't keep up. Sure, I know magic. But," he paused, letting the full weight of his words sink in. "Spells are not my passion. Your strength is weaving spells with steel to the greatest effect and versatility. You need someone who know how to fight like that, versus my speed and enchantments."
"And who would that be?" Rinin asked. He brushed his dark hair back from his face, then gestured around him. "I didn't exactly see any other spellswords around. Comes from being an Imperial style of fighting, I guess."
"No. But," Arrow said, "we have a sorcerer. We have Devalen."
At that Devalen stepped back a bit, almost bumping into one of the guards with him. "Me?," he asked. "You could have bothered to tell me, you know. I do have a schedule..."
"Oh?" Arrow retorted. "And what is that? All you do is drill the guards and get drunk at the slightest provocation. Which," he said, "I overlook because you are a friend and your services are invaluable. The guards have already been trained up to a point where Rethan practically has its own private army, and my cellars would probably run dry. Face it..,you have nothing better to do than this."
"Umm...hello? Do I get any say in this?" Rinin asked.
Arrow turned around and winked. "Nope," he said cheerily.
Devalen sighed, then looked at Arrow. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Oh, not much," the ranger answered. "Just give him some training in combat. You know, swordsmanship, spells, etcetera."
A muscle in Devalen's face twitched, and he looked at Arrow as he growled, "The intricacies of the sword are not to be taught in a day, Arrow. They are far more refined and complex than the warrior's axe, or the barbarian's hammer. Especially when one weaves in battle spells with them. Poor training can be disastrous."
At that point, Rinin piped in, "You know, I do understand the basics."
"Basics?" Devalen retorted. "I've been fighting since before you were born, kid, and I still know that I have more to learn. How long do I have, Arrow?"
"A week," Arrow replied. "I have buisness to take care of in Vivec and Ebonheart, some of which relates to Rinin. After that, I have to go to Tel Fryr...I've been putting off a visit to Divayth for a few months now."
"What do you mean?" Rinin asked, curiosity evident on his face. "What do you mean, buisness regarding me?"
When Arrow spoke, it was only one word, and lacking all of the joviality of his previous tone.
"Vastion," he said.
"How?"
"I have my sources," the cagey ranger replied, and in a single gesture he was gone, teleported by some spell of Recall or Intervention.
"I hate it when he does that," Devalen grumbled.
Rinin started to agree, but stopped as the Nevarine's words caught up to him. "Divayth?" he mouthed.
Devalen began to explain, his voice holding a bit of sadness beneath a grim facade. "Never listen to the legends, boy," he said softly. "Immortality is more a curse than a blessing. Arrow is doomed to watch all those he cares about wither and die. His only constant companions are Vivec and those Telavanni masters that practice the necromantic arts. And Azura, of course."
"It can't be that bad."
"Ever heard of Percius Mercius?" the sorcerer asked quietly. "Caius Casades? Falx Carius? Of couse not. They were before your time. Each of them stood with Arrow in times of adversity, though thick and thin. Humans all, and he had to watch them grow old and die while he remained the same as the day he met them. I'll have to tell you their stories someday."
* * *
Vivec was the capitol of traditional Morrowind, the home of Vivec, its namesake, and easily one of the biggest cities in the province. With Dagoth Ur gone, and the blight as well, the city now flourished, its population many times larger than the time Arrow had first laid eyes on it. In fact, several new cantons had been built, purely for housing purposes. The city was constantly bustling, a busy hive of activity and closely guarded by the ever watchful Ordinators. But it was not the city folk that had brought Arrow here.
Making his way to the Arena, by way of a gondola, Arrow walked down to the sandy pit, feeling a bit of nostalgia at all he had accomplished here in that very pit. It was here that he had ascended to the rank of Archmage of the mages guild, here that he had secured some of his needed votes to become Hortator. It was here that he had had quite a bit of fun, and changed history in his own small way.
Good times, those.
But still, it wasn't the pit that had brought him here either.
He made his way down into the pit, and down farther into the tunnels underneath it. Walking the same path he had for years, he opened a door into the storage room.
A faint musk wafted up towards him, an animal scent, and he looked down to see a pair of dead rats, stuffed neatly into a crate near the door. Despite the darkness, Arrow could see clearly into the room as if it was outside during the afternoon. One of the effects of the Ring of Raven Eye that he wore, a powerful item that let him see in the darkness and enhanced his already impossibly keen eye with a bow. He easily navigated his way through the cluttered room, and came upon a heavily locked door.
Smiling slightly, Arrow prepared a spell to open it. However, he changed his mind and reached into his pouch and withdrew an expertly made lockpick and a set of probes.
Grinning widely now, he worked for a minute or two, humming a tune and picking apart the mechanisms of the lock and dismantling several formidable traps on the door. Pushing it open, the door made no noise on its well oiled hinges. He swung it shut again, and with eye-blurring speed he went through the process of relocking the door and resetting the traps, moving with a quickness born of long practice in illicit activities. Once the door was fixed to his satisfaction, he went to an even more heavily locked trapdoor and repeated the process. Just as his humming reached an apex at the end of the tune, the trapdoor clicked open and he slid silently down a ladder within.
Dropping down to the floor silently, he offered a nod and a grin to the two grim Dunmer standing guard at the base of the ladder. They were clad in dark, leather armor similar to Arrow's but obviously of lower quality and probably from an entirely different animal. One of them clutched a throwing dagger in each hand, while the other held a shortsword. At Arrow's nod, however, those weapons disappeared in the blink of an eye and they moved aside, allowing the Nevarine to pass.
Arrow walked down a low hallway, faint light from the torches in the wall illuminating dust motes drifting aimlessly in his wake. Casually walking out, he was in a wide room. A third assassin- and indeed it was an assassin- came up to him and bowed deeply.
"It has been long since your last visit, Grandmaster," he said quietly.
"Too long," Arrow agreed. But I am here only for buisness. Is Eno here?"
"Yes, Grandmaster," the words were spoken quietly and crisply, like a dagger being unsheathed. "He is at the altar."
* * *
Eno Hlallu was another Dunmer, dressed in robes of deep red and apparently unarmed, though Arrow knew that the Dark Elf's fists were as deadly as a warrior's blade and that innumerable weapons were probably concealed within the rich folds of the robe.
"Greetings,"the one-time-Grandmaster of the Morag Tong said. "I thought I heard your voice."
"Your hospitality is, as always, heartwarming," came Arrow's sarcastic reply. "No hello for a friend?"
"We are friends only when we leave these walls. Here, you are the master and I am the lieutenant."
Arrow stared at Eno for a moment. He truly did view him as a friend, although he was grim, somber, and rather boring, like most Dunmer. He would trust him with his life, however, assassin though he was.
"I need information," the Bosmer said. "I need to know about a Wood Elf by the name of Vastion."
A flash of recognition came into Eno's eyes.
* * *
Rinin came at Devalen, clenching the wooden practice blade in both hands and swinging down with a powerful vertical stroke that was met and parried easily by the older and more experienced Dunmer.
The two circled, a whirling mass of wood and flesh as they exchanged cuts and parries, Devalen always seeming to be a move ahead. Finally, with a twist and flourish, Devalen disarmed Rinin and knocked him down to the ground. Grounding the point of his practice blade, one considerably shorter than Rinin's and more suited to fighting with a shield than with two hands, he leaned on the pommel and assumed a relaxed posture.
"You understand the basics of swordplay, but you have only begun to grasp what it means to be a swordsman," he said as Rinin got back up. Walking over to a weapons rack at the far end of the room, he carefully replaced his practice sword in its place before continuing. "You are like a dancer who knows but the rudimentary dances. You have talent, but not the knowledge. You are still a formidable opponent, but you could be so much more."
Rinin came to his feet, panting heavily, and with clothes soaked in sweat and clinging to his muscular frame. Devalen was shirtless, and the muscles of his powerful form seemed to ripple as he turned back to face him. "Give me a year," the sorcerer said, "and you would be my equal. Give me two, and you'd surpass me." With that he offered a wink and walked out of the room. Rinin followed.
"Surpass you?" the spellsword said with a rueful chuckle. "Doubtful. You have too much experience, too much training. Don't feed me any lies." Any sting in his words was taken out immediately by his friendly tone and a slight smile.
"Perhaps," Devalen admitted. "But if so, more because my magical knowledge far surpasses yours, as does the quality of my equipment. What you lack in experience you will make up for in raw talent, my boy. For now, though, take a break."
Devalen gestured expansively about him, taking in the blue sky, the fine weather, and the cool breeze that gently wafted the scent of the nearby river to them. "It's a beautiful day outside, one of many on this island." With that final gesture he began to walk off, but turned around and tossed a pouch in Rinin's direction. "Take it," he said. Then, he took his leave and went off to his quarters in the Rethan barracks, leaving Rinin staring at the dark pouch.
Slowly, he opened it, half fearing it to be empty and rather curious as to what could be within. Inside it was a simple-looking ring, a band of silver set with a clear, silvery stone. Wondering as to its enchantments- if it was enchanted at all- he slipped it on his finger.
Immediately he felt all of his weariness leave him, and even as he marveled at that he felt the bruises he had gained through hours of training with the tough Devalen begin to heal, the pain retreating as if they were dashed in cold water. Rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, he checked on a rather nasty bruise he had received to the thwack of the sorcerer's practice blade. Whereas moments before it had been a kind of purplish, it had already faded to a sullen pink. As he stared at it, it faded away to nothing. Taking it off, he looked in the inside of the ring's band to see fine writing, wrote in the language of magic.
"The Ring of Youthful Vigor?" he mouthed quietly. Turning it over in his hands, he saw a symbol engraved into the stone set onto its face of a stylized arrow, with wings instead of feathers where the fletchings would be. "An arrow......for Arrow?" he wondered.
The question nonwithstanding, he wondered off to his rooms to change into a fresh set of clothes.
* * *
This is the author...I hope you people have a good Thanksgiving! Thank you for reading this so far, and feel free to read&review. I look forward to continuing this story, and am accepting any suggestions you all may have.