Eye of the Wind – Ch. 3 – 2: Playing the Ruse

• Posted by Kyrielle Atrinati September 15, 2012 - 341 views

  Even in recognizing those truths, even though they were all that mattered at the moment, that still did not change that Derkeethus had lied to me.  Had gone into this knowing I would be working, albeit very indirectly, for the faction of men responsible for my father's death and my personal torment.  Had used the ruse of terminally ill workers to appeal to my inclination to aid the downtrodden so he could guarantee my aid.

  I did not know what to do with this information aside from feel sick with disappointment and anger, both of which fed and fueled the strange shifting and splitting of my mind.  Derk's only saving grace was Hrefna's sickness, which was only backed by the reactions of her mother Tormir and her consistent absence in the darkness whenever I visited the village.

  Creeping up the stairs of The White Phial, I thought of how I never had actually made note of anyone truly sick in Darkwater Crossing.  Sondas had mentioned some people feeling a little ill, but nothing on the measure of what Derkeethus consistently seemed to imply--that it was something incurable.  Suddenly, I was certain we could have procured a shipment of medicines to aid the village without going on this ridiculous journey.

  Tip-toeing, we passed the small dining room Nurelion kept well furnished, as if in his old age he were constantly expecting guests that never arrived.  Through the gaping floorboards, I heard Quintus snort and shift in his sleep.

  We found Nurelion lying on the bed, frail and looking more aged than ever.  I shook him gently.

  "Nurelion, we've brought the Phial," I whispered, extracting the Phial the Legate had returned to me.  Slowly, the Altmer opened his eyes and gazed at the Phial in a bleary daze.  As his focus returned, he sat up slowly, and I saw he was weeping.

  "You've found it.  At last you've found it," he choked, coughing for a time before taking the bottle from me.  He turned the delicate, opalescent vessel over in his hands, caressing it as one might a lover.  Then he found the crack, and the radiant joy which had begun to spread across his face blew away, tattered and frayed and limp.  His breath whistled heavily, until he clutched at his chest with eyes wide and white.

  "Master!" cried Quintus, rushing in after hearing the commotion.  Quickly, the young man began to push the master alchemist back into bed, tipping a potion down the old man's throat.  "You should lie down.  You know you can't handle any--   The White Phial...you've found it!"

  "It's over Quintus...  It's over.  We can't use a broken thing like this," he sighed and stared dismally at the wall.

  "You mean there's no way to fix it?" I asked

  "Fix it?  Fix it!  There's no fixing something you do not know how to make!" Nurelion spat.

  "Please, we can't let him get too roused.  It'll only make things worse for him," Quintus murmured, taking the Phial from Nurelion's limp and dismayed hands.  "Leave him to rest."  We were led downstairs, Derkeethus remaining downcast as we descended.

  In the main room, I told the story of our capture and current predicament.

  "I have no wish to let the Imperials have this Phial," stated Quintus.  "Such a glorious tool should be used for understanding alchemy.  Or healing."  He gazed a me shrewdly before turning to assess Derkeethus.  "You're not leaving with the White Phial, broken or not, if you intend to surrender it to the Imperials."

  "We have no intention of doing that," spoke Derkeethus at last.  His eyes blazed with an inner fire.

  "What do you mean?  If we don't find a way to repair this thing, everyone we know will die!  I can't let that happen!" I cried, feeling the frenetic thrum of panic rising to mingle with fury.

  "They'll kill the people of Darkwater no matter what we do.  The mine is little more than a waste of resources, now.  The Imperials cannot support this project, so they will destroy it," he continued, sounding more resolute with each word.  "There's an Argonian I met while we were here who might help us.  We could sneak out of the city using the docks."

  "Oh, and I suppose this contact is any more trustworthy than your last one?" I snapped, knowing it was a low blow.

  Derk's scales shifted darkly, and he gazed at the floor for a moment.  "If we're going to get out of this, you have to trust me," he said.  "As I have trusted you."

  With a sigh, I looked to Quintus and the Phial, "Can you find out how to fix it?  We have someone we need to cure with this, should it work.  Maybe, if it works more than once, we can use it to heal Nurelion."  Quintus looked at us, thoughtful, for several minutes.  Never had I suddenly become so aware of time.  I felt it was flying by us, hemorrhaging out of a wound in its surface. 

  "Yes.  My master had a section in his notes about the origin of the Phial.  I might be able to find something there.  But I'll need several days to sort out the labyrinth Nurelion kept."

  "We can buy ourselves enough time, I think," Derkeethus replied.

  Quietly, we left the shop.  The blast of cold, night air eased some of my anxiety.  The Argonian glanced at me uneasily before leading the way across the city towards the docks.  

  We carefully wove our way through the streets, meandering around ice patches and down steep stairs. The Gray Quarter stood between us and the docks, and here we found the tiny, slotted windows shining with yellow light.  Up another set of stairs, I heard the distant chorus sung in loud, off-key Dunmeri followed by a bout of laughter.

  Around a corner towered the gates to the Windhelm docks.  Flanked by torches, the iron doors stretched beyond the height of many men, and I wondered why anyone would need to build a gate so tall.  Were mammoths trafficked into the city once?  Did giants stand in for Argonians in hauling goods from boats to the city?  

  Enormous though they were, the great doors opened with only a soft squeal, and Derkeethus led the way through.

  The doors opened into a narrow canyon of walls and offices.  Ahead of us, a long stair rolled down the bluff to  water level.  Here, torches lined the stairway, creating gobbets of light at regular intervals.  Echoes rebounded against the smooth stone, and our presence multiplied into a veritable army of creeping spies.

  Periodically, Derkeethus halted, motioning for us to press up against the wall, flat as lizards in a stone's shadow.  Then I would hear the sound of the city guard passing by above or below, often humming, tone-deaf, an irritating racket.  

  After some minutes of this halting sneaking, we came to the bottom of the steps.  The water stretched before us, disappearing away into the gloom of the opposite bank.  One lone guard patrolled the docks.  Dodging the Nord, Derkeethus tapped a rhythm on one of the warehouse doors with his claw.  

  A moment passed, then the door cracked open and a yellow eye glared out at us suspiciously.  A conversation passed in a series of hisses, clicks, and croaks.  It reminded me of a warm summer evening in Valenwood, when the frogs and all manner of small beasts would commence their nightly songs.  I watched the docks carefully while the two discussed something heatedly, and I was relieved to note no sign of any of the Imperials nearby.

  Finally, the eye nodded and a lugubrious Argonian sporting black scales and bright feathers on his cranium stepped out.  Silently, he motioned us to follow him, and we were led through a maze of crates and barrels toward a lone jetty accompanied by a small boat.  Up and down the boat bobbed in the current of the river.  "Get in," the mournful stranger whispered.

  We clambered into the boat, barely managing to not fall overboard into the frigid water.  The stranger spoke once more to Derkeethus in their language, and then, looking at me, said, "You owe me for this one, tree-dweller."  Bending, the Argonian unhitched the boat, throwing Derkeethus the line.  Then, with one strong, well-calculated shove, we were thrust away from the dock into the current.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing, boots-for-brains!" shouted a passing guard.

  "Lay flat," whispered Derk pressing me down into the bottom of the hull.

  "Nothing!  I merely came out to sample the air.  I sense a storm is coming, don't you?" spoke the stranger.

  "How'd that boat get loose?"

  "Why, I have no idea.  Perhaps it wasn't tied properly."

  " 'Wasn't tied properly' my foot.  You lot are the laziest bunch of ingrates I've ever seen."

  The voices drifted away as we were shunted downstream.  Carefully, Derkeethus directed the boat along using his tail.  The opposite bank gradually loomed before us as we approached.