Chapter IX
Relen Neleth was woken violently in a fit of searing pain and opened his mouth to scream out in agony. He was in an unknown room, strapped to a table by leather fastenings. Stood above him, an elderly, bearded man was casting some spell upon his, now quite burnt arm. Although the Dunmer possessed an innate ancestral power which allowed them to resist much of the effects of fire, the mage had been adept enough an opponent to cause serious damage.
"Stop! What are you doing?" Relen cried out to the stranger, struggling against his binds as he did so.
"Relax Elf, bare the pain now and your wounds will heal quicker," the old man replied gruffly, barely batting an eyelid as he carried on casting his spell, which was emitting a cooling blue energy from his hands, to Relen's burnt armed.
"Where is my companion?" Relen questioned, accepting that he wouldn't be escaping his position anytime soon.
"She is in the next room, unconscious," came the reply.
"If you've hurt her, I'll make you regret travelling to these shores outlander," Relen threatened. The old man laughed,
"You're in no place to make threats, and if you do it again I might just throw you out to the rest of that bandit crew you ran into."
Relen grunted in vague response and closed his eyes, the pain was strong and he was too tired to argue anymore.
He must have drifted back into unconsciousness at some point, because he awoke once again to a now empty room, with only a small candle on an end table providing a flicker of light, and life. He moved his arms and legs and felt with no surprise that he was still strapped to the table. He looked down at his arm and saw that there were no burn marks present, the wound caused by the mage's fireball had been healed, presumably by the strange old man. Relen's throat was dry, even for a Dunmer, and he couldn't help but cough. He now wondered how long it had been since he had drunk anything, or even how long he had been in this unfamiliar place. Before he time to contemplated how he was still alive after facing certain death, the door opened and the old man came walking in. Now rested, relatively speaking, Relen could catch a glimpse of the man in the flickering candlelight. He was old, with a grey beard and battered face. He wore plain robes and was, for all appearances, completely unremarkable.
"I see you have awoken once more," the man said, taking a seat beside where Relen was strapped.
"You'll be pleased to know that your friend is awake," he continued, before proceeding to pour himself a tankard of ale.
"She was a lot more cooperative than you were," he laughed, now dipping some stale old bread into his drink.
"What's that supposed to mean," Relen said, but before the old man could answer, the door opened again, and Miara entered. She looked slightly worse for wear than before they had set out, but otherwise very much alive.
"Relen! I thought I heard your voice. Rumaril, cut him loose!" she asked.
"I heard what you said before when I was healing your arm Elf, if you try anything I'll march you right over to the bandit's camp and let them do what they want with you. I expect they'll be keen to get their hands on the pair that left four of their own dead by the bridge," the man, apparently known as Rumaril, threatened once more, as he rose to set Relen free.
"Four?" Miara reminded, "We only got three of them."
"Ah yes, I suppose I can take credit for saving you from the mage. Tricky one he was, that Breton can certainly cast a spell, I'll give him that. Still, nothing I can't handle." Rumaril replied knowingly, undoing the straps that held Relen down.
Relen lifted his arms and stretched, he was tired, sore and extremely thirsty, he sat up was soon on his feet.
"Are you ok Miara?" he asked.
Miara brushed some dirt off of Relen's face,
"I'm fine, thanks to Rumaril anyway."
"So, Rumaril is your name stranger?" Relen asked.
"Aye it is. Please, take a seat you two," he grunted, gesturing to the spare seats around the table,
"And help yourself to the water and bread, afraid the ale's mine though."
The pair did so, and embraced the food and drink, but Relen's primary concern was receiving some answers from this mysterious old man. Rumaril looked as if he sensed the question coming, and pre-empted Relen.
"I suppose you're wondering who I am and how I saved you. Well, your friend here already knows the bare details, since she woke up before you and was a lot less... angry, so I suppose I'll fill you both in."
Relen, cracked a fake smile and replied,
"Please do."
Rumaril set about explaining how he had killed the mage by the bridge just as he was prepared to strike down Relen and Miara, apparently he had been watching the whole fight and decided to take pity on the two travellers, destined to meet their end at the hands of bandits. Rumaril had also used a spell to drain both Relen and Miara's stamina, essentially incapacitating them and bringing them here, to a desolate shack in the most forgotten part of Vvardenfell, which he had made his solitary home.
"So why the restraints?" Relen asked bluntly, being careful not to give thanks to this unexpected ally.
"All I saw was those bandits set about attacking you, as they do, I had no idea who you two were. For all I knew you could have been a dangerous pair yourself. And from the way you handled yourselves for most of that fight, I was right. So yes, I saved you, but don't think I'm about to let you two get the drop on me," Rumaril said angrily, dunking some more old bread in his ale. Relen glanced over at Miara, who was shifting uncomfortably in her chair. The old man had helped them out, but Relen could see from the look on her face that she thought the same as him: that it was time to make a hasty thank you and goodbye to this 'Rumaril'. Clearing his throat, Relen spoke,
"Thank you for your help Imperial, if there is anything we can do to repay you, then we shall try. As for us, we had best continue on our travels."
Rumaril placed down his tankard and stared an icy look at Relen,
"Well you can start by not calling me an Imperial, I'm a damned Nord. Skyrim born and bred thank you very much. Or let me guess, us humans all look the same to you elves!" he spat. Relen again glanced at Miara, who too seemed to think that angering this Nord was a bad idea.
"My apologies Rumaril. My offer of compensation still stands, if we could make a move soon," he said. Rumaril stood and paced to a shelf, where he retrieved a rather dusty book.
"Oh no, you cannot leave tonight. It is the middle of the night and you have barely rested, those bandits are after two killers now anyway, you wouldn't get far," the Nord said disinterestedly, turning the pages of his book.
"There are beds in the adjacent room, I suggest you go and get some sleep so you can leave when you're better. Your gear is in there as well, locked away safe," he continued.
Relen and Miara nodded to each other and took their leave to their beds. Relen was too weak to protest and he sensed that Rumaril was not a man to get on the wrong side of.
Once they were alone again, Relen sat on the bed and pondered their predicament.
"We can't stay here," Miara stated in a whisper.
"I agree. That Rumaril character is a bit crazy, living out this far from civilization, in this wooden shack," Relen replied, sighing.
"Maybe he's a hermit of some kind," Miara suggested.
"Eh, he certainly lives that way. But he managed to save us from that mage and get both of our unconscious bodies here, he's got to be more than a slightly deranged old Nord."
"And he hasn't been robbed or attacked by those bandits around these parts... didn't he say their camp was nearby." Miara said, worried, "He'll probably slit our throats in the night."
Relen looked over to a large chest where their gear was presumably locked away in,
"Do you have a lock pick on you?" Relen asked. Miara nodded and pulled out a small pick from her pocket,
"Where would I be without carrying one of those around with me," she said, cracking a smile.
"We'll wait a few hours, then set off into the night with our stuff. Leave quiet so we don't wake the old man up," Relen explained. Miara agreed and laid down in her bed, blowing out the candle.
"Just give the word," she said, resting her head on the pillow and taking in the darkness.
The night was cold, and the wooden shack they were laying in didn't do much to keep them warm. They could hear the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocky banks of all the islands. Relen wondered whether Rumaril's shack was far from where their original route was, or if it was on the same island. Either way, he was sure that they could find their way back and another wooden bridge to the next rock. Yes, he thought. They'd be ok.