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:

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“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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I confirmed that that was my intention and he gave me a slow and careful look, the sort of look that comes when someone realises that their carefully laid plans are about to go up in smoke and that you have the burning taper in your hand. I was about to speak when Aryon sighed heavily. “I knew you were ambitious Serjo Vahl, sadly I underestimated just how ambitious you are. Well, since I cannot deny you the rank, I hereby name you Magister.

“You realise, of course, that I am honour-bound to advise Gothren that you’ve taken up this rank? His response is likely to be… heavy-handed,” he said.

“So, if it were to be done,” I said, “’tis best it were done quickly.” Taking my leave of a visibly shaken Aryon, I made my way down towards the docks at Vos. Hodrim the trader was at the docks and we shared a moment or two while I waited for the boat to finish unloading. True to his word, he let me take the pick of his stock as a reward for having cured his Guar: I boarded the ship with a set of Ashlander chimes tucked into my pack.

Tel Aruhn: and it was obvious that word of my coming, and the reason for it, had spread with the usual uncanny speed. People I’d exchanged friendly words with yestere now turned away quickly, seeking other business to attend to. The House guards were spectacularly conspicuous… by being nowhere in sight. Even the lower levels of Gothren’s tower were empty ~ obviously a lot of people had suddenly remembered pressing business elsewhere. That suited me perfectly: this was unlikely to be a battle of blade against blade and, when powerful magics are being exchanged, innocent bystanders tend to get hurt.

“So,” a cold voice said, drifting down from the upper chambers as I set foot on the stairs. “You think to come and end a thousand years of my rule? Imperial upstart, did you think it would be so easy?”

There was a flicker as the two House guards, each armed with crossbows, stepped from the magical concealment that had hidden them. As they levelled their weapons at me, I sneered. Both Baladas and Dratha had been adamant on this point. “Stand aside,” I ordered. “By the absolute authority of my rank as Magister, I order you to stand aside.”

They hesitated, and I spoke calmly and clearly so that they’d be in no doubt. “You know the rules of the House. I am declared Magister and none may stand in my way.” Then, in a kindlier tone, I added, “I’d leave if I were you lads, this will be no place for you in a short time.”

“Sorry Serjo,” one of them said as they put aside their weapons and started to descend the stairs. “The Arch-Magister never told us you had the rank of Magister. He simply said that you were coming here to kill him.”

“Traitors!” the Arch-Magister screamed furiously as they made their way downstairs. “I’ll deal with you later. After I’ve dealt with this Imperial scum.”

I made no move to continue my approach for a few minutes, waiting until I’d heard the soft click of the door downstairs closing behind the soldiers. I had not jested; this was going to get nasty. Sure that the three of us were now alone in the upper chambers of the Tel, I finished ascending the stairs and stood in the short corridor that led to Gothren’s chambers. I had one clear shot and, unshipping my bow I withdrew one of the Ebony arrows I’d found at Rethan Manor, drew back on the string and took careful aim.

“Scared to finish this?” Gothren’s voice sneered. I made no reply but simply let fly with the arrow. As the enraged roar of the Dremora Lord echoed around the chamber, I dropped the bow and drew Umbra. Heavy, metal-clad feet pounded along the corridor and, like a storm the Dremora was upon me. Yellowish magic flared, and the creature was suddenly armed with a pair of Ebony axes.

Umbra crashed into the grey Daedric armour of the Dremora Lord, a thick mist sparkling with arcane power quickly obscuring the impact site. The Dremora growled ferociously but, as I easily eluded its counter strike and struck another resounding blow, I saw uncertainty in its crimson eyes. Again and again we exchanged blows, the heavy ebon blade scoring and denting the Dremora’s armour while I, for the most part, avoided the whirling Ebony war-axes my opponent wielded. Those few blows that got through tore and ripped my travelling robe but the heavy Daedric armour beneath turned them harmlessly.

With a final bestial roar, the Dremora Lord sparkled and dissolved as I landed a blow that would have killed any mortal creature. Without a moment’s hesitation, I spun to face the chamber door and intoned “Exuro meus Hostilis”

Nor was that the only fireball I blindly fired into the chamber of the Arch-Magister, two more followed in quick succession. While I had no hopes of actually hitting anything, I knew from the aggrieved shouts that the backwash of the powerful spells was causing havoc in there. And the more havoc I could cause, the better. My plan worked, I heard the Arch-Magister snarl something to his remaining bodyguard and the sound of armoured feet coming down the hallway. Pressing myself against the side of the door, I waited as patiently as a spider.

“Vomica cruor” I yelled, grabbing the heavily armoured Dremora by the arm as it burst from the doorway. As the eldritch fire of the boiling blood spell bloomed and sparked around the creature, I drove the short steel dagger into its neck and danced out of its way. I knew that the dagger and spell combined would have little effect on the Dremora other than to enrage it. It threshed around wildly, stung by my spike and baffled by the roaring fire that spat and hissed, eagerly seeking some mortal flesh it could consume. “Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata” I snapped out as it turned feral, angry eyes on me and started to advance.

The Storm Atronach hammered its fists into the Dremora, halting its advance immediately. I hoped that my spells had weakened the Dremora Lord enough ~ it was of a higher order in the hierarchy of infernal servants than the Atronach and, theoretically, should be able to defeat my Summoned easily. Now I could only hope that I’d inflicted enough damage to render the contest a little more equal. Sidestepping the two battling creatures, I flung a final spell down the corridor and raced to face Gothren himself.

As I skidded into the chamber, there was a huge flare of light and I felt something very hot and very compact flash past me and impact on the wall behind. The heat from the spell was ferocious and I realised, there and then, that exchanging combat spells with Gothren could end only one way. He’d had a millennia to hone and perfect his skills, I had but twenty-five to set against that long tale of years. In arcane combat, there would only be one outcome.

The Wish sang as it whipped through the air, startling the Arch-Magister badly enough that whatever spell he was formulating fizzled and died. With a frustrated cry, he withdrew a short dagger and lunged at me. Remembering the advice that Dratha had given me, I circled to the left and launched another attack. The blow caught Gothren high on the shoulder, making the grey-haired Mer stumble. Quickly righting himself, he raised his hands and began to mumble something as his hands wove in strange patterns in the air.

I groaned in frustration: wreathed in residual lightning and looking very battered, the Dremora Lord stood in the doorway. Desperately, I swung the Last Wish and was rewarded with a choking scream. Blood poured down the front of Gothren’s robes as he vainly tried to staunch the gaping cut that stretched from one side of his throat to the other. The Dremora stood uncertainly, it progress across the chamber halted as its master focused all of his will on fighting the injury I’d inflicted. It was a battle he was destined to loose. As Gothren sank to his knees, the Dremora Lord flickered like a mirage and suddenly vanished in a sparkle of yellow light. Simultaneously, Gothren slumped forward onto the floor and breathed his last.

Wearily, I left the chamber – bone-deep aches and pains wracking my body where the spells and weapons had caught. I needed to rest and recuperate. As attractive as the idea of just collapsing on the spot was, I managed to fumble my stronghold ring onto my finger and returned to Tel Vahl.