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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Sleep, poor broken thing that it was, brought no clearer council on the problem that faced me. Needing more time to mull it over, I decided that I’d go and speak to Master Aryon. If I couched the problem in careful terms, he might be able to give me some useful advice.

“A pretty problem,” he said, looking at me carefully. “This friend of yours is, effectively, being blackmailed by a person in a position of importance?” I nodded. “Hmmm, let me consider this. Meanwhile, I have a conundrum of my own for you.

“As you know, I took great pains to ensure that there was no question about the legality of your stronghold. The other Houses often complain that we are quick to establish prominence in an area where we have no authority.” He smiled, “Often by establishing illegally built strongholds. I don’t dispute that we have been guilty of this, and Hlaalu and Redoran have often been quick to attempt to wrest control of those strongholds from us. Ineffectually for the most part. Twice they have been baulked by your intervention.”

He continued to speak as realisation came to me: that’s why I’d been sent to Odirniran and Shishi! “Now it seems that House Hlaalu is taking a page from our book. Rethan Manor, built on the Odai Plateau near Balmora, is being built without a construction contract from the Duke. Therefore, under the rules that govern our presence on this island, it falls to us or House Redoran to do something about it. I wish for you to be the instrument of Telvanni justice: travel to the Odai Plateau and kill Raynasa Rethan, sack the mansion and return here.”

I nodded, although this task had little attraction. Before I left, however, Master Aryon had the advice I’d wanted to hear. “If I were your friend,” he said, “I would perform whatever task the blackmailer requires done. The time for retribution is when he feels unthreatened and secure and doesn’t fear your friend. After all, an old Telvanni proverb teaches us: revenge is a dish best served cold, and the passage of enough time can cool the warmest meal.”

With a spell I returned to Balmora, determined to follow Master Aryon’s advice to my ‘friend’. Finding the Council Club was no great problem; it dominated the little alley that ran between the main square and the river. Checking that I had everything I needed, I pre-prepared a spell and stepped inside.

“What do you want Outlander?” the Dunmer at the top of the stairs sneered. “Your kind ain’t welcome in here.” Well, wasn’t this interesting? Here stood a Dunmer with red hair: at his waist was slung a small Dwemeri axe.

“Are you addressing me?” I said with icy politeness. “Who are you to tell me where I can, or cannot, go?”

“Yes, I am addressing you,” he said, crudely mimicking my tone of voice. “Name’s Thanelen Velas an’ don’t you forget it N’wah.”

“Velas?” I said, pretending to recall something. “Doesn’t your mother work down the docks in Ebonheart. They call her ‘Ten-For-A-Drake’ Velas don’t they? Yes, every sailor’s friend from what I hear.”

“You what?” he screamed, totally taken aback. Sometimes it pays to have friends in high places, sometimes friends in low places were better. I had heard many a cutting insult from the peddlers who’d travelled through the village when I was younger and had memorised more than a few.

“I only repeat what I’ve heard,” I said. “Wasn’t it your father that was done for smuggling Moon Sugar, or was he the Argonian your mother lived with for a while?” I peered closely at his face, “Yes, you have the look of a lizard-mongrel about you.”

His only reply was to jerk his axe from his belt and take a vicious swing at me. Which was perfectly fine with me: law of the land ~ if someone attacks you, you are fully entitled to defend yourself. The blade of my axe interrupted his second swing. Grinning, I whispered, “Shall we dance Velas?”

Avoiding his wild swipe, the blade of my axe hissed upwards ~ parting the black silk of his shirt from waist to collar and leaving a thin, bloody line along the way. He sucked in a breath and swung again for my head. Ducking, I neatly straightened as he spun partially around, grabbing that ridiculous mane of hair that hung down his back and giving him an impromptu haircut.

“Not so good when it’s not dark are you Velas?” I goaded, “Pretty poor when your victim’s not got his back turned or isn’t asleep in his bed.”

He lost it totally then, frothing at the mouth as the fine rain of red hair settled around his feet. I may not be the best fighter in the world but there’s one thing I do know: a furious opponent is a careless opponent. I twisted to avoid a blow that would have gutted me like a Slaughterfish, bringing my blade up hard. Over his falsetto scream, I leant in and whispered “This one’s for Ralen Hlaalo, you scum.”

Leaving him unmanned and bleeding to death, I wiped my blade on his shirt and slung it back across my pack.

“What the Oblivion was that scream?” one of the men downstairs asked as I stepped into the bar of the club. I shrugged, watching as the three of them headed up the stairs to discover my handiwork for themselves. The barman gave me a flat, menacing look ~ his hand sliding beneath the counter in a gesture that was well known to me. Giving him a little shake of the head, I silently warned him not to get involved. His eyes cut left, looking towards the arched doorway beside the bar.

Moving quickly now, I headed through the arch and down the stairs. Of the two doors at the bottom, one was locked. Stepping through the open door, I confronted a petit woman.

“Ahh, there you are,” I said cheerfully. Reaching into my pouch, I fetched out a 10-Septim piece and flipped it over to her.

“What the bloody Oblivion is this?” she said, looking at the coin that nestled in her palm.

“I would have thought that was obvious,” I replied, trying to appear genuinely puzzled. “Ten Drakes, anything goes, a good time had by all? At least, that’s what the Mer upstairs said.”

“You’re treading on thin ice Fetcher,” she hissed, spitting on the coin and letting it drop to the floor. “Do you know who I am?”

“I have a very good idea,” I said, slipping the dagger from my boot as I bent to pick up the coin. “A common little trollop with less sense than she was born with.” She coughed, eyes widening as the bloody foam stained her lips. “Message for you from Larrius Varro,” I whispered into her ear as her eyes started to glaze over, “you’ve been a very baaaa-d girl.”

Jerking the dagger-blade upwards and twisting as I yanked it out, I pushed her lifeless frame away from me, allowing it to collapse on the bed. So far I had been lucky, but I knew that the three remaining members of the Camorra Tong would have discovered the ruin of Thanelen Velas on the lobby floor and put two and two together. Even if one of them wasn’t a savant, I was pretty sure they’d arrive at the right answer. Getting this far had been easy, getting out again wouldn’t.

“Well, well, well,” the extravagantly dressed Dunmer said as I stepped back into the barroom. “Aren’t you the adventurous type? Come to right a few wrongs, have we? Coming in here like some cheap little assassin.”

“Well,” I said with great daring, “it just so happens that I have this piece of paper here.” With that, I reached into my satchel and fetched out a rolled up piece of parchment. They took a step back as I unrolled it. They actually did. Then the usual Vahl luck flared up again.

“’Ere,” the barkeeper said from just behind me, “that ain’t no Writ.”