The Tale Of Sudhendra Vahl: Mad Gods, Being the ninth chapter... Options

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The first things I wanted to do this morning were to put some of my recently acquired funds into the Bank of Vvardenfell; I also wanted to deliver the Amulet of Infectious Charm to Louis Beauchamp. To that end, I opened a portal after breaking my fast and stepped though into the dusty streets of Ald’ruhn.

“The amulet,” Louis gasped when I handed the twinkling charm over to him. He listened with a distracted air as I relayed the fate of the missing airship: somehow I think the loss of the craft and its crew was of secondary importance to him. He did, however, pay me two thousand Septims for recovering the amulet and finding out what had happened to his aircraft.

From there I returned to Tel Vahl where, reluctantly, I donned the uniform of the Legion before opening a portal to Ebonheart. Captain Carius had informed me that Varus Vatinius has issued an instruction that I am to report to him. The Imperial Dragon was easy enough to find, he was the ill-favoured Imperial that I’d seen at the side of the Duke Dren when I applied for my construction contract ~ the one with a low opinion of Telvanni honour.

“So, the Telvanni returns,” he sneered when I crashed to attention in front of him and snapped off a salute. “Finally decided to get on the winning side, eh?”

When I made no response to his barb, he snorted and said, “you’ve turned out to be a decent soldier Telvanni, and several commanders speak quite highly of you. Do right by me and I’ll make sure that you get what you’re due.

“Now then,” he continued, “I have a job for you. Until a day or two ago, the Lord’s Mail was displayed in the Cult Shrine here. Somehow somebody got in and stole it ~ none of the guards saw anything. Take the key to the Shrine and see what you can learn. Bring me the Lord’s Mail and I’ll give you a promotion.”

My first step was to visit the barracks, housed in the lower levels of Fort Hawkmoth. Most of the guards were unwilling to talk to me but one; a Redguard by the name of Sader was disposed to talk. He told me that Furius Acilius had recently been passed over for promotion and had gone AWOL. I hardly thought it coincidental that Furius Acilius had gone missing two days before the Lord’s Mail vanished. I took a look around Acilius’ quarters but, apart from a scribbled comment about Vatinius that make me smirk, there was nothing of any interest.

Both of the Troopers assigned to the Shrine snapped to attention, clenched fists crashing against their cuirasses as they saluted me. Despite my time with the Legion, that was one thing I still hadn’t gotten used to. The door to the Shrine clicked open and I stepped into a fairly typical Imperial Cult Shrine. Multi-denomination tapestries hung from the walls ~ except for behind the altar, where a rich green and gold tapestry depicted Julianos. There were the usual sacred objects on the altar, a small silver platter for collecting donations and a large silver chalice. The green and gold cloth that covered the cold stone block confirmed that this was a Shrine devoted to Julianos.

I understood why the Imperial Cult adopted this multi-denominational style in Morrowind but I missed the majesty of the individual Shrines that I remembered from my travels around the Illiac Bay. Not that I was particularly moved by the idea of the Divines any more ~ the things I had experienced in my time here had seriously undermined my faith in the religion of my childhood. Shaking off the melancholia that my childhood memories always seemed to induce, I returned to the task at hand.

There were no windows in the Shrine, nowhere that somebody could have clambered in and stolen the artefact. The heavily reinforced door couldn’t have been broken down without attracting the attention of people nearby. Nor had I missed the flare of magic when I’d inserted the key into the lock ~ such locks (requiring both mundane and magical means to open them) were extremely rare and notoriously difficult to pick. And, given that Furius Acilius was, by all accounts, a career soldier it was unlikely that he’d have the skill to pick such a lock.

Something had been tugging at my subconscious while I examined the door. Turning I surveyed the small, austere chamber. A close-fitting door and no windows… So, where was the breeze that was fluttering the edge of the tapestry nearest the door coming from? The wall behind the wall hanging looked solid enough but a quick chant of “Ostendo sum” soon revealed the truth.

The flare of reddish-purple light settled along the outlines of the hidden door, a loud click denoting the fact that the unlocking spell I’d just read from the scroll had done its work. The heavy stone door creaked open to reveal a small stone cell barely big enough for me to get into. The floor of the cell was covered with dried mud; the rough reed mat that covered it caked with the stuff. Since there was no obvious other exit, I placed my hand against the back wall of the cell and pushed. There was a click and a large section of stonework moved backwards to reveal a dark opening.

The muddy floor of the cave left me in no doubt that the thief had used this secret way into the Shrine and that it would take someone who knew Ebonheart extremely well to have known of this hidden access ~ someone like, let’s say, a career soldier who’s been stationed at Ebonheart for years and has, for the sake of argument, recently been passed over for promotion.

The dimly illuminated tunnel meandered through the rock coming, at last, to a meeting place where three other passageways met. With a shrug, I turned to my left and pressed on down the rocky passage. I had gone barely a hundred paces down the tunnel when I was confronted by a snarling legionnaire. He wasted no time on words, the Imperial broadsword already sliding from the scabbard at his waist as he rushed towards me.

The crash of steel on steel echoed through the cave as I blocked the scything blow Acilius aimed at my head, the impact making my arm quiver. I retaliated, pushing his sword up and away with the Blodskal and slashing the heavy blade inwards. He danced back a step, bringing in his broadsword to deflect the blow. Now it was my turn to back-pedal in order to avoid his upward cut.

We eyed each other warily for a moment, each taking measure of our opponent. Acilius was strong but lacked finesse ~ like so many in the Legion he relied on his training and had no… style. With a grunt, he proved my point, slashing in a powerhouse blow that would have done serious damage if I hadn’t blocked it. My return blow scored a mark across his cuirass. Gripping the sword tightly, he aimed a series of vicious overhead blows at me, forcing me backwards.

Sensing, rather than seeing, that he’d changed his grip on the hilt, I swung the Blodskal downward, the greater mass of the Nordic blade knocking the broadsword from Acilius’ hand. I had barely registered that I’d disarmed him when a thunderous punch to the face drove me backwards. I blinked, my vision blurred from the blow, and saw him stoop and pick up his sword again. I gave him no time to prepare.

“Never,” my sword crashed into his upraised blade with a force that made my arm shudder.

“Hit,” I blocked his blow, the blades singing as they crashed into each other.

“A,” his steel blade shattered as I smashed the Blodskal down on it as he raised it to block the blow.

“Lady!” I finished, driving the point of the Nordic blade into the Imperial’s throat and slamming him back against the wall.

Rolling Furius Acilius over, I undid the silver clasps that held the glittering cuirass in place. The armour came off after a few minutes struggle and I held the heavy, padded cuirass up to examine it. It was made of some dark metal and appeared to be overlapping scales. The edges of the armour were decorated with fine gold scrollwork. That was not, however, what kept me there holding the heavy armour. Visions of combat danced in my head, snatches of scenery that I almost recognised, the crash of steel on steel and the screams of the dying mingled with the triumphant cries of the victors.

Shaking myself all over, I looked at the armour and licked my lips. The overwhelming urge to put it on and just… well, take charge had faded. With a shaky sigh, I placed the cuirass on a rock and opened my pack. Handling the scaled Lord’s Mail as little as possible, I dropped it into my pack. A careful exploration of the caves revealed the rest of Furius Acilius’ belongings ~ a sack containing a couple of hundred Septims, a pair of pauldrons made of the same dark, scaled metal, and a glass-bladed sword. My exploration also revealed a water-filled passageway that led to a door. This egress opened out onto a small sandy beach at the foot of the cliffs: above me loomed the bulk of the castle and keep. It must have pleased Acilius to have stolen the Lord’s Mail and, quite literally, hidden it under the noses of those he felt had cheated him.

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I was up afore dawn and putting the finishing touches to my equipment: beating the last few dents out of the Nordic shield, sharpening my silver blades, polishing Blodskal ~ you know the sort of thing. I also took the opportunity to flex and exercise, moving through a series of twin blade exercises that the Skaal had taught me ~ much to the general approval of the House Guards who whistled and cheered as the silver blades flashed and sparkled in the rising sun.

Having bathed and, on the advice of Kallin Basalius, taken a light meal that consisted mainly of honeyed bread, I prepared to leave for Vivec City. As I summoned the portal that would take me to the Foreign Quarter Canton, I couldn’t help reflect on life’s little ironies.

The gondola deposited me at the dock of the Arena Canton and, even from down here, I could hear the hubbub of the crowds above me. There were an equal number of cheers and boos as I stepped off the ramp, the crowd parting before me so I could make my way to the walkways. As I started up, I heard a clear voice yelling, “two to one on the Imperial, ten to one on the challenger.”

I was escorted to the fighters’ chambers and the doors were closed behind me, two Ordinators standing guard outside. A soft knock sounded and, at my invitation, the door opened and Edward Theman stepped in. “Morning Sed Vahl,” he said, with obviously forced cheerfulness. A moment’s thought made me realise why ~ if I lost, he’d be out of a job. And, in the cut-throat world of Telvanni politics ‘Fast Eddie’ would get a chance to show how fast he really was ~ before he got his throat cut.

“Are they still offering good odds on Vatinius?” I asked.

“Two to one,” he said, the smile slipping slightly.

“And what are the odds on me winning?” I asked.

The smile slipped a little more as Eddie replied, “down to eleven to one against.”

“Go down and put this on me to win, will you?” I said, handing him a jingling purse with seven thousand Septims inside. His eyes went wide, and he grabbed the purse. “Should I put money on you too boss?” he asked.

Letting his slip go, just this once, I raised an eyebrow and said, “Surely you mean ‘put more money on you’ because, if you haven’t already bet on me, I’ll be somewhat offended.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, almost running towards the door, “that’s exactly what I meant.”

Alone in the chamber for the moment, I set down my pack and fetched out one of the tightly corked phials I had taken from Abanabi. With great care I smeared the colourless goo on the edges of the silver blades, slipping them into two leather scabbards at my waist: scabbards I’d brought along specifically for this reason. When Eddie came back and handed me the marker, he seemed slightly more cheerful. With a little help from me, he made sure my armour was in place and that I had everything I needed. As the door swung open and the two Ordinators gestured for me to accompany them, he whispered, “Good look Sed Telvanni Vahl.”

Resplendent in my Nordic chainmail, I accompanied the guards to a small door. Beside the door was a small dish, raised up on a stone pillar. The dish brimmed with powdered chalk and I took the opportunity to liberally coat my hands with powder. From behind the door came a noise I was trying hard to ignore: a dull surge of sound, the roar of a crowd.

I knew that power wasn’t going to win me this battle, and my skill with a blade was unlikely to match his ~ add to which, I was willing to bet that he was wearing the Lord’s Mail and carrying Chrysamere. So, not skill and not power ~ that left speed and guile. Hence the twin blades from Solstheim and the spider-toxin on their edges. I would have preferred to be wearing light armour but I needed the edge that the heavier chainmail would give me. With a deep breath I nodded to the Ordinators and they swung open the door.

There was an explosion of sound as a section of the crowd surged to their feet and roared their approval. I noticed many a brown robe or glittering House sigils on those currently chanting my name. With a nod to the Duke Dren, I retired to the sandy area by the door and waited, arms crossed. When the door opposite opened, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Varus Vatinius made a great show of saluting the Duke, slamming his clenched fist against his cuirass. I grinned, totally without mirth ~ I should have put money on the Lord’s Mail and Chrysamere being on the Imperial Dragon.

As tradition dictates, we stood in the centre of the Arena Pit and saluted each other. The wickedly curved Paladin Blade whispered from its scabbard as Vatinius gave me a totally blank stare. “Let’s dance old man,” I whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear as my twin blades hissed out of their scabbards and cleaved air.

He aimed a crosscut at me that I deflected easily. Before I could retaliate, he’d swung the Chrysamere around and slashed a second blow at me ~ one which I also easily deflected. Bored of being toyed with, I thought I’d remind Vatinius that this was no sparring match. Spinning away from the ponderous blow he’d aimed at me. I slashed out with both blades in a criss-cross pattern. The left blade missed its target, instead scoring a deep groove in the back of his bracer. The quickly moving point of the right hand blade opened up a shallow but bloody cut along his forearm.

He hissed and then retreated a step as I rained a fusillade of blows on him ~ most hammering into his shield, the rest striking sparks from the Paladin’s Blade as he parried. As our blades locked, Vatinius drove his head forward. I staggered backwards, momentarily blinded by my helm. Fortunately, the heavily protective Nordic design had blocked most of the force of the impact.

I danced to one side, avoiding the worst of Vatinius’ blow even though the glancing impact drove the rippling rings of armour into my side and made me gasp. Shaking off the effects of the blades enchantment, I sliced the air betwixt us with the silver blades, weaving a humming net that promised extreme pain. Spinning away from the probing point of Vatinius’ blade, I slashed a series of cuts at him ~ the rapidly whirling blades making the burly Cyrodiil flinch backwards as the fine edge of one blade opened a deep cut on his cheek. In retaliation, he hammered his shield into my side, slamming me back against the wall of the pit.

His blade struck sparks from the rough wall as I slipped away from him, driving my elbow into his helm as I went passed. He drove me back to the centre of the pit with a series of scything blows that fortunately didn’t connect. Locking blades one more, we glared at each other until his fist took me on the point of the chin. Staggering, I felt my feet slip from under me and I crashed down onto the sandy arena floor. Furious at falling for such an obvious ploy, I rolled to one side ~ grabbing a sword as I went passed ~ and gained my feet. Shield covering his side, Paladin Blade extended, Vatinius advanced towards me with a grin on his face.

“Exuro Meus Hostilis,” I snapped, extending my free hand towards him. I had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen as the incandescent sphere screamed towards him ~ the explosion of the spell against his blocking shield sufficiently powerful to drive him from his feet and several feet across the Arena Pit. I used the time I had thus gained to scuttle towards my lost sword and grab it. Vatinius had regained his feet, slinging aside the broken remnants of his shield with a snarl.

“Forgot who you were dealing with didn’t you… old man?” I taunted. With a roar, he rushed in, the Chrysamere aimed like a lance. Dancing to one side, I laid the edge of the poisoned blade to his bare forearm, cutting deep. Slashing back with the Paladin Blade, Vatinius struck me hard ~ the blow sending me several steps forwards. There was an uncomfortable wetness on my back ~ the nerves hadn’t yet had time to start screaming. With a low curse, I span and blocked a killing blow more by instinct than anything else. Our blades crashed together repeatedly as we strove for advantage.

“Feeling the strain old man?” I hissed him his ear as we locked blades again. “Or is it something else?”

He punched me, a blow I was prepared for. With a quick twist of the wrist, I drove the point of one of my blades into the joint between his cuirass and his pauldron ~ smirking as Vatinius yelled in pain as the blood began to flow. Driving the hilt of the Paladin’s Blade into my face, he broke free. As he retreated I flicked out a blade and nicked his other cheek.

“Poison, by the Divines,” he gasped. “You’ll never get away with this Telvanni scum.”

“Getting slow old man,” I sang out for the benefit of the crowd, closing to lock blades with Vatinius so I could hiss, “this stuff? I could pour it into your mouth in front of the crowd and they’d still not find a trace of it.”

Slashing his blade down into my shoulder, he cut me deeply before breaking off and stepping back. I saw his blade come up for a killing blow. Tumbling forward, I came up under his guard and drove both silver blades into the glistening scaled cuirass. One point skidded off but the other took him deep, catching just under the cuirass and slicing into his gut. Yanking the blade sideways, I enlarged the wound before ripping the blade free in a shower of bloody droplets. Dimly, from far away, I could hear the crowd roar its approval.

Mortally wounded, Vatinius staggered back a step, twisting to face the ducal box. I knew what he was about to claim and, even though the words I’d spoken were true, I couldn’t let him make the accusation. Summoning the last reserves of my strength, I leapt forwards and thrust out with both blades. There was a crunch as the right-hand blade punched into the back of his skull, the left-hand blade cutting deeply into the back of his neck. With a cough that sprayed the wall in front of us with blood, Vatinius pitched face down on the Arena floor.

There was a moment’s deathly silence and then the roar of the crowd broke over me like thunder. I couldn’t tell if it was roaring in approval or disapproval and, quite frankly, at that point I didn’t give a damn’.

Ordinators rushed in, two of them supporting me as I staggered out of the Pit and back to the preparation room, two lifting the dead body of Varus Vatinius. Meanwhile, two functionaries sprinkled fresh sand over the blood-soaked sand of the Arena.

“Thought you might want these Sed Telvanni Vahl,” an Ordinator said, dropping two wrapped bundles on the table as I sat there enduring the healing process from the potions I’d taken. “Bloody good fight,” he added as he turned to leave, “and one in the eye for those bleeding Dren.”