The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part 3 Options

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Yestere had been extremely profitable for me, as I had pretty much spent the day practising various spells, summoning, and combat techniques, not to mention a little alchemy. While there was no chance I was ever going to be partaking of the three greasy and foul-smelling concoctions I’d produced as a result of my experiments ~ the other training had been extremely beneficial albeit tiring. So, it was with more than a little impatience that I responded to the hammering on the front door that awoke me this morning. I was just about to address the young individual with the appropriate venom when he thrust a parchment into my hand, saying, “Muthsera Hleran sends her compliments.”

The note was brief and to the point:

CODE

“The first stage of your stronghold is complete. Please contact me at your convenience to discuss further development.”

Even though I knew that, at this stage, my stronghold wouldn’t be inhabitable, it was excellent news indeed. Dressing quickly, I spoke the words of the translocation spell and found myself in Sadrith Mora. Making my way into the oddly lit cavern, I listened to what Llunela had to say to me.

“I’m glad you came Muthsera Vahl,” she said. “The initial phase of growth is now complete. However, your tower still needs to grow more and it will need to be shaped. Traditionally, a skilled Tekton does this but, regrettably, the current expansion on the mainland means that they are all very busy there. We could leave the tower to grow wild ~ which rarely results in anything useable.

“But, when traditional means are unavailable, we have to make do with something else. It is said that the Dwemer had an artefact that could shape materials using sound. The book I read, by an Imperial named Hevou Thath, said that he’d seen designs for one such artefact in the Dwemer ruins of Mzanchend. I need you to travel there and locate these drawings, if they’re still there.”

Conveniently enough, the ruins I need are quite close to Uvirith’s Grave: so travelling there was my first priority. I followed pretty much the same route as before and soon came to the twisted knot of roots and branches that would form the basis of my tower. They had grown considerably since the last time, now being something like twice the height of a Mer. The environs, unfortunately, hadn’t improved any: the dust still lay thick on the ground and blew up in choking clouds at the slightest breeze. There was one change, however: and not a pleasant one. At the edge of the raised area of land upon which stood the hillock my tower was growing on was a campfire. Advancing cautiously, I made my way towards it.

“Greetings,” the armoured woman standing by the fire said, “what brings you to this gods forsaken plot of land?”

“This land is mine,” I replied somewhat sharply, “as is yonder tower. What brings you to my property?”

“Ahh well,” she said, raising the visor of her steel helm and looking at me. “Firstly, my apologies for any offence Telvanni. I have a tendency to speak jocularly when, maybe, I shouldn’t. As to what I am doing here, it’s complicated.”

“So, uncomplicated it,” I demanded. She grinned wryly.

“At your command. My being here serves a two-fold purpose. The first is that I am a researcher: and what I am researching is the life and times of the Mage Uvirith. Where you aware that this is the very spot his body was discovered in?” I shook my head, although given that the area was named Uvirith’s Grave, I wasn’t overly surprised. “Yes,” she continued, “and a very odd death he seems to have died too. He vanished from the Guild over in Balmora and, eventually, they became concerned enough to mount an expedition to locate him.

“After searching for many days, they found his corpse somewhere around here. It seems that he fell from a great height ~ with the inevitable consequences. Which is strange, because he was an accomplished mage and knew spells of levitation and slow-fall. Even odder was the length of frayed rope tied around his waist ~ what it was tied to at the other end, nobody knows.”

“All very interesting,” I interrupted, “but not really telling me why you are here.”

“Well,” she said, flushing slightly, “his staff was never found, although they scoured the area. It was, and probably still is, a very powerful piece of magical equipment. I had hoped to find some trace of it. The other thing is, recently I came into possession of a book of his that suggests he was looking for something very special ~ and may even have found it.”

“And what would that be?” I asked. She mumbled something quickly and quietly that I didn’t catch.

“A flying Dwemer fortress,” she snapped when I asked her to repeat what she’d said. I laughed until the tears ran down my cheeks while she stood there glowering at me.

“I’m sorry,” I finally managed to splutter. “Are you telling me that you actually believe those children’s’ stories about a big flying castle that swoops down and rewards good children come New Life Eve?”

“Not in the slightest…” she started to say, then stopped and looked at me. “Perhaps,” she amended, “I’ve found that there’s often a grain of truth in even the most fanciful tales. But I’ve spent many years chasing those grains of truth and rarely found anything. Which means that I’ve spent a lot of money and have little to show for it…”

“Which brings you to the second reason you’re here?” I suggested warily.

“I have heard,” she said carefully, “that Telvanni Mage-Lords hire mercenaries and was wondering…”

“Well, I’m no Mage-Lord,” I replied “and have no need of mercenaries at the moment.”

“I’m willing to wait,” she replied. I nodded thoughtfully. I hadn’t really given any thought to the protection of my tower and, given my ambitious plans for my self, I really should. If I rose much higher than my current rank of Spellwright, I could expect the unwelcome attentions of the lower ranking Telvanni who wanted my position. A few mercenaries wouldn’t go amiss.

“I’d be willing to consider you for the position,” I said. “But I need to know that you’re trustworthy. No offence, but you could be here to gain a position with me and use that position to a rival’s advantage. Here’s a couple of hundred Septims as a retainer. Keep your eyes peeled,” I said as I handed over the money, “and when I come back I shall expect a report from you.”

Leaving Kallin Basalius to her assigned task, I followed Llunela’s directions until I found myself at the ruins of Mzanchend. The ruins were only small, much of what had existed was lost behind a massive cave-in, but they did boast a small array of those spider-type animalcules. Having filled a collection pouch with a small number of rubies and diamonds, I finally found what I hoped I was looking for ~ a small sheet of the strange material the Dwemer used for writing and drawing on, covered in bizarre symbols and lines.

There was one other interesting feature in Mzanchend. Opposite the main entrance there was a flight of stairs leading down to a small corridor. At the end was a massive Dwemer door ~ the ornate engraved kind rather than the simple iron doors that you usually find in a ruin. What made this door particularly interesting was the lock that sealed it. It was not a Dwemeric lock; rather it bore the ornate style of local manufacture. Whoever had placed the lock had seriously intended to keep people from whatever was behind the door: no amount of examination or magic seemed to make the slightest difference; it simply would not be opened.

With a resigned shrug, I left the intriguing lock (I admit, its presence there had piqued my interest) and made my way back to Sadrith Mora. There Llunela Hleran had something of a shock for me. She’d been studying the drawing I’d brought back for a while before she spoke to me.

“This device can be made: I have enough knowledge to make it myself. However it can only be used once and it’s going to cost five thousand Septims to produce.”

“Five Thousand!” I exclaimed.

“I’m afraid so,” she replied. “Some of the materials are going to be very difficult to obtain, and there’s a lot of work that needs to be done. It will take me a day, or two, to create this object but once it is done, your tower should be ready fairly quickly.”

It was with a heavy heart that I handed over the money, five thousand Septims represented almost every Drake I had accumulated since arriving here, save the money safely tucked away in the Bank of Vvardenfell. It was with a much lighter purse that I returned to Balmora ~ on the morrow I would have to see what could be done about replenishing my funds.

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Having spent yestere most profitably collecting several alchemical ingredients, both for my own use and to sell to bolster my dwindling cash-reserve, as well as my surprise discovery of the long abandoned ebony mine just south of Balmora, I was nonplussed to receive a letter from Llunela Hleran this morning.

“Esteemed Mouth, Sudhendra Vahl,” it began, “Construction of the Dwemeri device proved much easier and quicker than I feared and its effects on your stronghold were little less than astounding. I am pleased to report that your stronghold has now completed the second stage of its growth and is ready for you to take up residence. Should future promotion elevate you in rank, I will be delighted to oversee the improvement and expansion of your Tel.”

As you can imagine, I was greatly excited by this news: I’d never had a real place of my own before. Even this place in Balmora had been acquired by force of arms and, although I lived here, it wasn’t really my ‘home’. So it was that I wasted very little time in getting myself over to Uvirith's Grave to examine my stronghold.

The approach to the tower was along the back of the hillock where I’d met the Orcish overseer: although the dust had been fused together to form a solid surface and dark, monolithic stones had thrust themselves up on either side of the path. From the brow of the low hill, a ‘bridge’ formed from a flattened and shaped root spanned the distance to the heavy circular door set in the bole of the tower. The traditional Telvanni arch arced above the bridge, from the top hung a deep red banner inscribed with black characters. Reaching up, I held the banner steady as I read the words written there: TEL VAHL.

I expect it was a speck of grit that caused my eyes to water as I stared at the banner. Licking my lips, I let go of the heavy cloth and walked the short distance to the base of my tower. There was a woman standing there, hands clasped, watching me approach. “Muthsera Vahl,” she said, bowing deeply. “I am Raissu Asserbas, appointed by Llunela Hleran to be the manager of your tower. My job is to oversee the settlement of any villagers who wish to make your stronghold their home. I also have a list of local resources and can provide the manpower to utilise them to generate revenue for your estate.

“I also act as door warden while you are away, protecting your tower with the help of any mercenaries you might employ and controlling access to your tower while you are in residence. In the name of the Tribunal, and by my ancestors, I swear now fealty to you and will serve you honourably and loyally until the end of my days.”

With a lump in my throat, I thanked Asserbas and took from her the heavy key to my stronghold. The massively complex lock thudded reassuringly as I turned it, the carved semicircular doors swinging open to reveal the lower hall. Broad and spacious, the intertwined wooden walls glistened in the light from the twin crystals that thrust up through the floor. Directly opposite me, a corridor led down to a lower level while another led up to the upper reaches of the Tel.

Downstairs, misnomer thought that is, was a long corridor with storage niches cut into the living wood of the tower. A large circular area at the end of the corridor was bare except for the massive crystalline growth that formed the heart and soul of my stronghold. Upstairs there was a chamber with a comfortable bed, several shelves, a large storage chest, and a heavy desk with a profusion of drawers. Sitting on the shelves were books and storage jars ~ along with a collection of Soul-Stones of varying size and quality. On the top of the bed, which had been strewn with the petals of some aromatic flower, lay a pair of silken sleeping garments. Finally, glistening in the light that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the chamber, I discovered a silver and onyx ring resting on the top of the desk.

“That?” Raissu said when I showed her the ring. “That’s your stronghold ring. It is ensorcelled with a powerful translocation spell that will return you to the tower from wherever you may be.”

I took a slight detour and spoke to Kallin Basalius before I cast Recall and went to Tel Vos. I directed the Bretonian woman to speak to Raissu Asserbas and introduce herself as the head of my mercenary guard.

“Well, well,” Master Aryon said as I walked into his chambers. “I hear that your stronghold is ready and that you’ve made a good start on securing the area under your control. Excellent.” He drew himself up and spoke mock sternly, “no self-respecting Spellwright should have a tower, it is most unseemly that one of such a low rank should be charged with control of an area of vital importance. Don’t you agree, Wizard Vahl?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, overriding my profuse thanks. “The promotion is well deserved Serjo Vahl; your dedication to the House is a credit to us all. Now, there are some matters I must discuss with you.

“You are, as I said, a credit and object lesson to all of us, your rise through the ranks little less than meteoric. I have no doubt that you already qualify for the rank of Master. And that is what we must discuss now. To rise to the utmost rank of the House, you will need to find a Mouth to represent you on the council. While I appreciate that you are less isolationist than those of us born to the House, the other councillors would see it as an insult of the highest order if you were to personally attend a council meeting.

“Which brings us to my second point,” he said ruefully. “There are rumblings, my dear. Not all of the councillors are happy that you are where you are. While you can easily become a representative of the House, it is imperative that you have some support amongst the other Masters. Otherwise, you and I will never be able to effect any change in Telvanni policy towards the Empire since the others will rally together to vote against any proposal you put forward. I have mentioned this to you before, but currying favour with the other Masters of the House is absolutely necessary for your continued effectiveness.”

“Can you make any recommendations about a Mouth?” I asked, tactfully avoiding making any comment about my willingness to assist in his plans for a rapprochement with the Empire.

“Unfortunately, no,” he replied. “I suggest that you speak to the other Mouths in Sadrith Mora. They may know of someone suitable. Also, you will need to remember the traditional symbol of rank…”

Thanking him for his advice, I took my leave and translocated to Sadrith Mora. I did have, of course, the ‘traditional symbol of rank’ that Master Aryon had alluded to: but I was loath to relinquish my own Silver Staff of Peace. It bore a good deal of value for me, over and above its intrinsic worth: it was a symbol of my own growing power and puissance and, as such, was worth more than any amount of gold coin to me. That made acquiring a staff one of my priorities.

“A silver Staff of Peace?” Dalyne Arvel asked. “Hmmm, if I remember correctly, I think Galar Rothan might have one.” She really is a font of useful information that woman and, on a whim, I suggested that she might like to contact me at Tel Vahl should she ever require a patron. She seemed completely overwhelmed by this offer and stammered her thanks accompanied by several deep bows.

Clutching the silver staff I had purchased, I made my way into the council chambers proper and spoke to Master Demnevanni’s Mouth: Enar Roleth.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you Serjo Vahl,” he replied. “I do, however, have a message for you from my Master. He desires to speak to you on a matter of some importance. No, I don’t know what it’s concerning,” he said when I questioned him further. “Master Demnevanni would only say that it would be to your advantage to speak with him before making any decisions about your future.”

I fared better when I spoke to Raven Omayn. “There is a renegade Telvanni living in Balmora,” she said. “Edward Theman is his name, although he prefers to be known as ‘Fast Eddie’ for some reason. He is an Outlander like you, but with less patience to play the game of Telvanni politics. He will, no doubt, be willing to serve as your Mouth.” This comment caused a ripple of amusement but no explanation was forthcoming.

Returning to Balmora, I figured that one of the local inns would be a good place to start my search for this ‘Fast Eddie’. It was either that, or knock on every door in town and hope that I find him.

“Gah,” the Dunmer ensconced on the stool next to me said to his companion as I waited to catch the proprietor’s attention, “I don’t care how many oaths that champion fellow Larrius Varro swears. That magistrate has got the whole area sewn up tighter than a Guar’s british boat. Short of wading in with a sword, he’s never gonna root out the corruption in this town. Riddled with it, riddled from top to bottom.”

“You hear about that Ralen Hlaalo?” somebody else along the bar proffered. “Stabbed I hear, stabbed in the vitals. He was banging on about that Atrius fellow and how corrupt he was.”

“Nah,” the first speaker said slowly, “’S got nothing to do with it. I hear that it was some lizard got uppity about being sold into slavery what done him in. Can’t trust them Argonians, nasty lot they are.”

“Do you know a Edward Theman?” I asked the barkeeper as I sipped my Sujamma ~ which I’d paid way over the odds for as a way of bribing the fellow to answer my questions.

“’Fast Eddie’? Sure, I know Fast Eddie,” he replied. “Has some dingy upstairs hole on the riverfront up by the Temple.”

“If I should happen to hear about some lost mine,” I said in a whisper, “who should I speak to?”

“Well, I reckon that information might be worth a bit more than a few Drakes on the price of a drink,” the Dunmer said. “Alright, alright, no need to get hasty,” he gabbled as I let a small ball of fire appear in the palm of my hand. “No sense o’ humour you Mages, that’s your trouble. You got information, real information; speak to Nileno Dorvayn at the Council House. You better not be wasting their time though.”

I was not amused at being compared to those stuck-up do-nothings of the Mages’ Guild but this was neither the time nor the place to teach the Mer the error of his ways. Pushing the unfinished drink aside, I walked out of the Inn.

“Edward Theman?” I asked the thin-faced Man who’d ushered me inside his house when I’d knocked.

“Yeah, ‘Fast Eddie’, that’s me,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for someone to act as my Mouth when the time comes,” I said to him. His response was immediate.

“I’m that someone, believe me, I’m exactly that someone.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why are you that someone, why so eager to be a Mouth, and why are you called ‘Fast Eddie’. And, much more importantly, why ‘renegade’ Telvanni?”

“Well boss… Serjo,” he amended when I gave him a severe look. “I’m called ‘Fast Eddie’ and referred to as a ‘renegade’ for the same reason. I got into House Telvanni at an early age, one of the first Outlanders to do so. I rose quickly in the ranks to my present position of Lawman, mainly ‘cause I was a quick study… ‘Fast Eddie’, right?” I nodded, and he continued. “And that’s where my progress stalled. I’m only human, right, and I can’t compete with you Mer, begging your pardon Serjo, when it comes to longevity. Ten score and ten years, you’ve heard that expression? Well, I wasn’t getting any younger and none of the Mouths showed any sign of stepping down, or up and there were no new Masters coming along ~ leastways, none that’d have an Outlander for a Mouth.

“And that’s when Unela Arendus, the first Mouth of Master Neloth, got himself assassinated by the Morag Tong. Naturally, they thought I was guilty but, since they couldn’t prove anything, they ostracised me. So I come here, out of the way like ~ in case anyone got any bright ideas.”

“And were you?” I queried.

“Was I what?”

“Responsible for the assassination of Unela Arendus?”

“Give me a break boss… erm, Serjo,” he scoffed. “Arrange a Black Writ, on a Mouth, with the money I had? Ha, even now after five years of scrimping and saving, I doubt I could afford a Writ, Black or Grey, on a rat ~ never mind a Mouth.”

“Very well,” I said after giving the matter a few moment’s thought. “When the time comes I shall appoint you as my Mouth. On one condition.”

“Name it,” he said eagerly.

“That you never, ever refer to me as ‘Boss’ again.” I admonished.

“Agreed Serjo…”

“Vahl,” I supplied, extending my hand in the western fashion.

“Serjo Vahl,” he said, shaking my hand. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”