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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Master Aryon chortled with glee as I related the tale of my battle with Raynasa Rethan. “Oh very good,” he applauded when I’d finished. “Amusingly enough I have here a document from House Redoran which makes the usual complaints about us building a tower at Uvirith's Grave.

“What makes it particularly delicious is the message I received today from our esteemed Arch-Magister. It seems that the Redoran have done exactly what they accuse us of doing ~ building an illegal stronghold. Since you acquitted yourself so well, I’d like you to find the Indarys Manor at Bal Isra.”

My reception in Ald’ruhn was fairly unfriendly and it took me a moment to realise I was wearing the hooded robe I had been given by Master Aryon ~ the scintillating brown fabric clearly marking me as a Telvanni, even if you disregarded the House devices embroidered in gold on the collar. Well, I wasn’t about to do anything about that right now, even though it made getting directions to Bal Isra difficult. My persistence finally paid off, and I was told that Bal Isra is along the road to Maar Gan.

The walk wasn’t particularly onerous and I took the opportunity to collect a few samples of the wild plants that only seemed to grow in this area of the island. There’s a small, thorny bush called ‘Trama Root’ and a huge creeping plant called ‘Bitter-Green’ ~ the juice of which is amazingly caustic… as I quickly found out.

Indarys Manor, when I finally arrived at Bal Isra, wasn’t impressive at all. It seemed to consist of a low, squat building with a couple of those odd, oval Redoran huts clustered around it. A tall watchtower rose up at the back of the walled off area, and I made a mental note to ask Llunela Hleran about something similar for Uvirith's Grave.

“Go and get Banden,” a roughly-clad Dunmer called to a man lounging near the doorway of the squat building in the centre of the courtyard. “You can’t come in here Telvanni,” he called to me, rushing up with arms outstretched.

“And you’re going to stop me how, exactly?” I asked, flipping one edge of the robe over my shoulder. Underneath I was arrayed for war: the ebony blade I’d taken from Rethan Manor hung naked at my waist and I’d repaired and polished the Bonemold armour until it gleamed. The Dunmer gulped, and took a step back, his arms dropping to his side.

“I told Serjo Arobar this dishonourable act would end badly,” a bored voice said. “Now I’m going to have to compound that dishonour by slaying someone who’s simply following the rules. Not that you Telvanni are noted for that.”

The speaker was a young man with a shock of dark hair. An earring glinted in one lobe and a swirling tribalistic tattoo covered his left cheek. Like me he was clad in Bonemold armour and the unmistakable hilt of an ebony broadsword rose from the red and gilt scabbard hanging from his belt. I took an instant dislike to the fellow: probably because of the totally and utterly bored look on his face. Here was a young man ~ most likely only a few years older than me ~ for whom dealing death had already become tiresome.

“D’you want to set some ground rules Telvanni?” he asked with an utter lack of interest. “Or shall we just square off and have at each other until one of us is dead?”

“Here’s a rule for you Muthsera Indarys,” I snapped, unclasping my cape and dropping it into the dust. “Try to learn some manners in the short time you have left before I send your soul screaming to meet your ancestors.”

He smirked and made a small bow. “My pardon my lady, I have been a complete bore. I am Muthsera Banden Indarys, Redoran House Brother and Lord of Bal Isra. To whom do I have the honour of speaking?”

“I am the Wizard Serjo Vahl of Great House Telvanni,” I replied in the same insolent tone he’d addressed me with. “Mistress of Uvirith's Grave.”

“So, that’s the formalities out of the way,” he said. “D’you want to fight now, or shall we chat a little longer?”

I shrugged and drew the blade from my belt. He gave an insolent smirk and drew his own blade. “Any final words?” he asked as he took up a fighting stance.

“Yes, how about Obscurum successio?” I inquired sweetly as I let the sword fall into the dust and cast the spell. He cursed as the green mist enveloped him, then cursed much more impressively as he realised what I’d done. Sweeping up the ebon blade, I spun ~ a thin red line appearing at his throat. I stepped aside smartly as the severed artery gave way and a thick fountain of blood gushed out and splattered on the dusty ground.

(What? You think me fool enough to fight a Redoran House Brother on equal terms? I might have been improving as a fighter, but my increased muscles haven’t stopped me using my brains.)

There was a good deal of muttering from the housemen as I took the ebony broadsword from the late Banden Indarys’ hand and weighed it speculatively. Wisely they decided not to press the matter. The broadsword was shorter than the blade I’d taken from Rethan Manor and had a much better balance. I suspected that the Hlaalu sword was more of a status symbol than something actually intended for fighting. This blade, however, was clearly a fighter’s weapon. With a grunt of effort, I managed to undo his belt and took the scabbard from it.

With the mass of the sword now hanging from my own belt, I stepped inside Indarys Manor. After all, to the victor go the spoils. There was more to the manor than met the eye ~ much of the structure was buried beneath the ground. The place was pleasantly cool because of this and I admired the Redoran sense of adaptability ~ build a manor under ground in one of the hottest areas on the island: smart. In the bedchamber, I found the spoils I was looking for: some three hundred Septims and a nice set of armourer’s repair tools.

Master Aryon was delighted with my report and even had some more useful advice for me concerning the Hlaalu sword. “It’s likely to be too expensive for most merchants to buy from you,” he said. “This leaves you two options. Either you can sell it at a loss, or you can seek out a trader I’ve heard of. I have heard this trader is based in West Gash and has a great deal of money. Of course, your ebony blade may be worth more than the funds he has, but you’re likely to get much more for it from him than anyone else.

“Now,” he said, “if you wish to advance further in the House you really need to consider gaining support from some of the other Masters.”