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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There was a nasty sound, the sort of sound that can only be described as three weapons being drawn simultaneously. “Damn’” I cursed as they rushed towards me. Using the barkeeper’s considerable bulk as a fulcrum, I swung myself up and onto the counter, running lightly along it as my three opponents milled around in confusion. One of them was quicker than the others, and a well-thrown dagger slashed my cheek in passing. Diving off the bar, I tucked and rolled, coming to my feet facing the trio.

“Exuro meus Hostilis” I snapped, extending my right hand.

“Holy sh…” the barkeep squawked, diving for cover behind the bar as the fireball exploded in the middle of the room. “…it. No spells, no spells. For the love of Azura, no spells,” he yelled.

There was an entertaining moment while the three of them performed an amusing little dance, slapping at themselves to put out the flames the backwash of my spell had ignited. Then it all got deadly serious in a hurry. The richly dressed Dunmer, ignoring the still smouldering patches on his tunic, rushed in at me with his sword extended. With a twist, I hurried him on his way, hearing him emit a gasp as the pointy business end of his blade buried itself in the soft plaster ~ driving the rounded holdy bit into his ample stomach. Sparing a second, I spat “Obscurum successio” in his direction before spinning to meet the other two.

I had another trick that the Tinkers had taught me, one I’d not used in a while. Grabbing the arm of the nearest Dunmer, I bent and twisted: dropping his weight onto my hip, before straightening and heaving up and away.

“Bugger!” the barkeeper said, diving for cover once more as the lightly built Dunmer crashed into the shelves behind the bar, showering the hapless proprietor with splinters of wood and a large quantity of wasted booze. Another thrown dagger bounced off my Bonemold cuirass and I turned my undivided attention to the only one of the trio not moaning he was blind or laying slumped in a pool of cheap liquor.

I had no time for finesse, the Dunmer behind the bar was already making groggy waking up sounds and the spell wouldn’t hold the third of them for long. Feinting in with the axe, I grabbed a handful of silken fabric and slammed my head forward. There was a satisfying ‘CRACK’, closely followed by a scream of “By dose! You broke by dose.”

As the business edge of my axe cracked and separated his ribcage, his nose became the least of his worries. Wrenching it free, I spun and hurled it at the mobster who was just clambering over the bar. He threw himself flat to avoid being scalped, giving me enough time to drag my sword from its scabbard and move towards him. Faintly, from behind the bar, I heard a moan of “Oblivion’s Bells, me booze!” as the axe smashed rather satisfyingly into another shelf of flasks and bottles.

We locked blades and struggled for an advantage, neither of us able to gain it. Advantage Vahl: the blinded mobster chose that moment to blunder into his compatriot. I grabbed the Dunmer as the muscular thug righted himself and drove his steel sword forward. The blinded Dunmer made rather an effective shield. Shoving the mortally wounded Mer into his friend, I took a step back and a quick breath. Now to finish this. As Mister Muscle snarled and shoved aside the dead body hampering his movements, I reached in and laid a hand on his chest. “Vomica cruor”.

The deadly spell’s effect was almost instantaneous. The mobster staggered and looked puzzled for a moment, then roared in agony as the arcane fire did exactly what I’d told it to do. Jerking and twitching as his blood fizzled and boiled, the last standing thug managed a step towards me before his heart exploded in his chest with an audible popping sound.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, and I spun around furiously ~ hand extended and a cantrip on my lips. I bit back the spell as I saw the heavily armoured form of one of the local guards. “Hello, hello,” he said, “what’s all this here then?”

“Just a poor Dunmer defending her honour,” I said. “Just ask the barkeeper, he’ll tell you they started it.”

The barkeeper’s head popped up above the scorched counter like some small creature startled from its hole. As the two guards turned to look at him, I let the spell I’d almost unleashed on them flicker hungry fire across my fingers while I glared at him.

“Ummm, yeah,” he said hurriedly. “It was them, they started it. Bad, bad they were. She done nothing wrong.”

“Humph,” the talkative guard said, turning back to me. “Well then, nothing to see here ~ move along.” With a sardonic nod of the head to the bar’s proprietor, I stalked off up the stairs and out of the Council Club. Where I promptly had an attack of the hysterics.

Finally mastering my mirth, I cleared my throat and put on a serious mien. I couldn’t believe it. Me, Sudhendra Vahl, flinging spells about like some Battlemage or Spellsword, crossing blades with no less than three well-armed thugs. I tensed as the two Hlaalu guards came out of the club but they simply nodded to me and continued on their way down towards the river. One thing I was sure of, I wouldn’t be welcome in the Council Club for a very, very long time.

“You’re bleeding,” Uryne Nirith said, raising her hand to my cheek. “Here, let me.” Despite my protestations that the wound was nothing more than a scratch, she insisted on cleaning it with a damp cloth and then treating it with a thick yellowish salve from a plain octagonal box. Personally, I was damn’ proud of that scratch ~ the only visible sign that I’d had a run in with five armed criminals. When she’d ministered to the wound, I insisted she accompany me to the Hlaalu Council house.

Nileno Dorvayn was still somewhat sceptical but, after hearing Nirith’s description of the Dunmer who’d killed her master and my description of Thanelen Velas, she grudgingly admitted that she’d been wrong. With some ill grace, she counted out a thousand Septims and gave me the stack of coins.

“You know Nirith,” I said as we stood outside, “if you ever feel a need to get away from these Hlaalu scum, there is an opening for a good cook at my stronghold.”

“I… I might consider that,” she whispered before scurrying away.

With a jaunty step, I walked out through the main gate of Balmora and cut along the banks of the Odai. The directions to Rethan Manor were simple enough; follow the Odai south until you come to the Odai Plateau. As I walked past the Shulk egg-mine, a sobering thought came to me. Balmora was no longer safe for me: the guards might have brought that little song and dance about me defending my honour but I’d wager ten Septims to one that the barkeeper had run straight to the Camonna Tong with my description. And they didn’t strike me as the sort of people who just forgive and forget. Heaping still more curses on the head of Larrius Varro, I finally arrived at Rethan Manor ~ my mood as black as the gathering storm clouds.

“If you value your lives,” I snapped at the two bewildered servants that tried to bar my way, “be elsewhere.” Even in the filthy mood I was currently in, I had no desire to re-enact the Redoran slaughter of innocents at Shishi. Not that that would slow me down in the slightest, if push came to shove. I’d had more enough of these turncoats, these traitorous Hlaalu scum: the stench of their corruption filled my nostrils like the smell of Guar dung.

“Rethan!” I snarled, stepping to the top of the stairs as the downstairs door slammed shut behind the departing servants. “For building an illegal stronghold, prepare to pay the price.”

“Oh crap,” he moaned, dropping the goblet of Matze he was holding. “Telvanni. Look, look, surely we can come to some arrangement? I have money, lots of it. Or an ebony sword ~ you can have that if you like.”

“You’d better pick up that sword,” I said in a cold tone of voice. “You’re going to need it. Especially if you think you can bribe me as if I were a money-grubbing Hlaalu swine like you.”

With a snake-quick movement, he threw the concealed dagger at me. “Don’t need a sword you wussy little mage,” he said gleefully as the dagger slapped into my shoulder, puncturing the Bonemold armour and pricking me slightly.

Yanking it out, I grinned wickedly. “You need to throw a bit harder than that,” I informed him.

“No, no…” he started to say. Whatever other plea he was about to make was cut off by the sudden impact of my axe against his temple. Bone cracked and there was a spurt of blood and other less identifiable matter before he’d finished. Ignoring the fallen corpse, I searched Rethan’s chamber: the ebony sword was very nice; as were the ebony darts and throwing stars I picked up off the shelf. From his finger I took a ring similar to the one I’d found at Tel Vahl and, presumably, serving the same purpose and five hundred Septims from his purse.

I found it oddly difficult to concentrate as I made my way across the bridge outside Balmora and walked up to the fort. By the time I arrived, I was drenched in sweat and shivering despite the heat. The double-doors seemed strangely heavy as I pushed them open and stepped inside. What was wrong with…

“That’s better, sip it,” a gentle voice said. I felt cool liquid against my lips and was suddenly parched. “No, sip don’t gulp,” the voice admonished. I opened my eyes and stared into the grey eyes of a severe faced Man whose face was framed by a rough woollen hood. “You had a very narrow escape there Dark Elf,” he said, moving the goblet of liquid from my mouth.

“What?” I croaked. Licking my lips, I tried again. “What happened?”

“You were poisoned,” the Man said, “that’s what happened. Fortunately, you managed to get here before you collapsed. You’ll be thirsty for a while but keep your liquid intake down at least until the morrow.”

“Thank you,” I said, already feeling well enough to swing my feet around and sit on the edge of the rough cot. The cloaked and hooded monk inclined his head and stepped away, going about his business. When I felt well enough to do so, I stood up and went in search of Larrius Varro ~ making a not-so-small donation to the chapel funds as I left.

“Well,” Varro said expansively, “it seems my little story had a happy ending after all. I must congratulate you on a job well done, and done very discretely too. As it happens, I remembered where I’d put that little present for you; here it is with the compliments of the Emperor. And, as a personal thank you for your discretion, I’d like you to have this book from my own library.”

I thanked him through gritted teeth, with a fake smile and polite words. Someday Varro, I thought to myself as we exchanged pleasant goodbyes, I am going to make you part of a story. And it’s not going to have a very happy ending for you either.

I figured I was safe for at least one more night in Balmora: I simply didn’t feel up to travelling back to Tel Vahl. That didn’t stop me from scouring Dura gra-Bol’s house from top to bottom for hidden assailants and securely locking and warding every window. As I sat, sipping from a mug of water to slake the incessant thirst that had dogged me all evening, I glanced at the small velvet covered box that Varro had given me.

Inside the box was a garish looking ring, made of a white metal and set with yellow stones. On the face of the ring was etched “Vir Quod Amplexus Procul Unus”: ‘Man and Surroundings as One’. Carefully probing the ring, I discovered that it bore a charged enchantment of concealment ~ quite a powerful one too.