Arnau sat in the hallway of the ship, listening to the waves slapping dully against the hull. His arm and shoulder felt like they were on fire. With his teeth, he uncorked a small bottle and downed the bitter contents with a grimace. Eventually, the pain ebbed enough that he could remove his right pauldron and a fold of the underlying padding without purple spots clouding his vision. Blood caked the underside of the metal and stained the thick leather red. When he dropped it to the floor, it almost disappeared in the dark, congealing puddle coming from the Argonian's sister. Carefully, he picked it up and scooted it away. Probably poisonous, knowing them.
Hissing at the contact, Arnau put his hand over his wound and pushed magicka into the opening. It throbbed and stung fiercely, but, after a moment, the wound closed. It wasn't fully healed, but it would stop bleeding, and now only felt like a dull ache. Slowly, the knight put the plate of his armor back on and hooked his spear onto his back.
The Argonian named Jaree-Ra groaned and moved. Arnau froze. Then, he went still, and the Breton sighed in relief. He decided to deal with the brother first. With a leather thong, he bound the thing's scaly hands and feet, pulling the knots tight enough that they cut into the skin. Gripping Jaree-Ra by the thigh, Arnau slowly dragged him onto the deck. After that was done, he returned for the sister, who he did not bother to bind. Outside, the cold air blasted through the air holes in his helmet, freezing the sweat on his face. Above, the moons had already set, and the sky was dark. For a moment, Arnau thought he was working in a tiny island of light in an endless sea of black.
As the knight gazed about, he counted the bodies of the unfortunate sailors murdered by Jaree-Ra's apparent friends. It was then he remembered the thrashing thing in the longboat, but when he leaned over the ship's railing, nothing was there. Only crates and sacks of goods, as well as the snakelike shape of a rope dangling over the gunwale. Knowing he was, for all intents and purposes, now alone, the knight removed his helmet, sitting it by the door to the cabin along with his weapon. This next part would be the hardest work.
Over the course of the next hour, Arnau dragged the bodies of the sailors to the edge of the deck. Below, the water churned and gurgled, seeping under the crates and sacks, bobbing them gently in the surf. The tide was coming in. Arnau debated what to do with the bodies. He could't bury them, nor would he burn them or just leave them lying out in the sun for the crows and gulls. In the end, he decided the sea should take them. Ignoring the sharp throbbing in his shoulder, he tipped the bodies one by one over the edge. They landed with a splash and slowly drifted out into the main current running along the shore. To the east, the sky turned a faint gray. Arnau bowed his head.
"Go now to the arms of Kynareth, who shall bear you to Arkay. Know that your attackers are no more. You are free men."
The remaining bodies belonged to the Blackbloods. A heavy sigh clouded the air, and Arnau downed another potion to bite back the pain. He piled these at the base of the ship's mast, stripping them of their clothing so their skin shone palely in the predawn light. Their clothing was stuffed under the corpses along with hay from the beds below. From the hold, Arnau took a lantern and placed it nearby, dousing his own. At last, came the Argonians. Two cages hung from the mainsail yard, while the sail itself drifted in a torn shroud over the lower half of the mast. Grunting, the knight hauled the bodies into the cages using a rope. Initially, they didn't quite fit, but a nearby hammer helped ease them inside. Once settled, Jaree-Ra turned, leaning his head against the bars, though he didn't wake.
It was done. Arnau had only one thing left to do. With trembling arms, he placed his spear facing south, toward the homelands of all these Nords and Nedes and Argonians. His helmet sat behind his feet as he knelt down on the deck. There, he stayed as still as the dead before him, collecting his wandering thoughts. They congealed in his head instead. With a jerk, Arnau shook himself awake--he'd fallen asleep. He couldn't sleep, yet. The vigil was not yet held, and he must remain awake until the sun rose to complete the ritual. In an effort to keep his mind occupied, Arnau began to pray in a low, lilting voice.
"Stendarr, with thine might and thine mercy, I have delivered the Argonians, Jaree-Ra and Deeja unto you. Bless them with thine Divine grace. Send them onward, and bring them back in forms more suitable for this world. Forgive them of their unclean bodies and shapes. Render them anew, O' Stendarr."
Gradually, the sky blushed at the handsome new day.
* * *
"What..." came a dull croak.
Why can't I feel my legs?
Pain blazed bright in his head as he tried to move them. It burned hotter when he opened his eyes, blinded by the newly risen sun that shone through the thick bars.
"Bars...?"
Jaree-Ra looked first at his legs and saw that they were hobbled--they stuck out at wrong angles as if broken to ensure he would fit inside the cage. His ankles bled from a strip of leather that sawed into his flesh. Dazedly, he lookled at the bars, out of them, and saw he was outside above the deck of the ship. I thought I was inside the hold with Deeja. The Argonian started, which hurt. Deeja!
"Deeja! Deeja! Where are you?"
Frantically, he twisted around, only to crane his neck and pull the muscles. He strained his ears, but only heard the crashing of waves and squawking of gulls. A lot of them. Straining harder, he managed to make out a harsh rasping voice chanting rhythmically.
"Deeja?" No, it was not his sister. He only wished it was. Carefully, he peered between his bare knees, only just noticing he was naked. He realized he was very cold, and that only made him feel small and frail hanging in that bright light.
"Let me out of here!" he managed to whisper to the figure kneeling on the deck. The figure did not look up, and Jaree-Ra thought its armor looked unsettlingly familiar. Maybe he had seen it in a nightmare. When a sudden gust blew away the cries of the gulls and amid the salty smells of the sea, the Argonian caught the heady scent of flowers. He couldn't remember what they were called, but he remembered the Jarl always smelled of them. Is that the Jarl? his tangled brain managed. It didn't matter. Looking down made him sick, so he rested his head against the icy metal, staring blandly into the bright sun as the pain in his eyes distracted him from the fire burning in his legs.
He's almost fallen asleep when smoke joined the flowery smell. Dull thumping echoed across the wooden deck, and the figure, the head now encased in a helmet, stumped across the ship. Something crackled loudly below him. Jaree-Ra's back and rear-end felt a pleasant warmth. Thank you, stranger. For the fire, Jaree-Ra meant to say. What came out was, "Than-oo, ro-sire."
The heat increased and the smoke turned cloying. The stranger paused at the ship's railing. Somewhere, a bottle exploded with a fine pop. Fire? Fire!
"Fire.."
"Help!"
"Get me down..."
"Ship on fire!"
The Argonian panicked, forgetting his various hurts. The cage rattled and swung as he thrashed. At last, the figure turned and that horrible, lifeless mask faced him. Jaree-Ra remembered that mask, and shook the bars wildly, fury blazing in his gut. The knight stared at the caged marauder, through him. Finally, Jaree-Ra turned and could see his sister. Her undergarments blossomed flames, her scales flaking away, white like snowflakes.
When Jaree-Ra turned back, the man was gone. And he was burning. The whole world was burning. Even the sun.
* * *
"Divines, you look like a ghost, Arnau!"
"A mead, Sorex."
"Of course, my lord."
"Don't call him that, boy. You sound like one of those beggars," Corpulus Vinius barked.
"Sorry, father." Arnau more slouched than sat at the bar of the Winking Skeever. A mug of warm mead was nudged into his flaccid hand, and the knight wasted no time in downing it. In spite of his night, it felt good to be back in Solitude.
"So, you look like you haven't had a wink of sleep in days."
"No, I don't suppose I have."
Only a couple of patrons milled about the inn, most of them clustered around the bar itself. To his left, a dark-haired Imperial drooled on the bar, his ale long forgotten. Against the wall leaned an Argonian, who tipped him a nod when their eyes made contact. Arnau thought of the sound of Jaree-Ra's harsh, croaking cries. He tried to tell himself that had been a crow. It didn't work. He felt sick and looked away.
It had to be done. He was a bandit. A liar. He deserved it. It was justice.
"Listen, I'll have White-Horn here go clean up your room. We'll have it all ready for you. Sound good? Sorex'll make sure no one bothers you."
The Argonian against the wall straightened and headed across the room toward the stairs leading up to the inn's rooms. Then, seeing Arnau's armor wadded in the hallway next to the washroom, he bent to pick it up.
"No!" With a jump, he stumbled after White-Horn.
"I-I'm sorry, sir. I meant only to carry your equipment upstairs for you. It looks very heavy for someone so tired," White-Horn stammered. Arnau stared at the Argonian for a moment, certain he'd heard something underhanded and snide in the servant's voice. Behind him, a man cleared his throat. The Breton became acutely aware of everyone staring at him. Quickly, he relaxed and smiled warmly, apologetically at White-Horn.
"No, my apologies. There is a part of my armor that is damaged. I simply do not want it damaged further. Worry not. I can carry this up to my room myself."
"As you wish."
The patrons resumed their early meals, many dressed in worn out tunics and breeches. In half an hour, they'd head out to the docks or the streets to join their spouses and coworkers, who had already begun their day. Sorex and Corpulus would remain virtually alone until noon, when the children and mothers would arrive for lunch.
Arnau took his armor in hand and, ignoring the burning pull in his right shoulder, trumped up the stairs. When he arrived in his room at last, he sighed and closed the door behind him with a satisfying click. He left his armor at the foot of the bed. The repairs could wait. As could the cleaning. He had half a mind to let one of Aquillius' servants take care of it when he'd report in. Dimly, Arnau wished he had a squire of his own. All the years he'd spent as one in High Rock only drove home their usefulness--another pair of hands would prove far more efficient. And I'm not getting any younger, he thought bitterly.
His legs took him to the bed, where he sat on the edge, staring at the weave of the blanket as it undulated in his exhausted eyes. Delicately, he caressed the fibers as if this was the first bed he's ever seen. Then, he crawled in, reveling in the soft warmth, and slept without dreaming.
