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 sat most of the night, staring into the crackling flames of the fire as I tried to come to grips with the mantle of saviour that had been thrust onto my shoulders. The heart-pounding terror of yestere had vanished but I was still scared of what was to come. Dare I accept the role of Nerevarine? Or do I deny prophesy and remain who I am? And, quite honestly, do I have any choice in the matter? I now understood that I had been manipulated from the moment I set foot on this island ~ not in all things to be sure, but in small ways I had been tweaked and moulded, shaped to fit the destiny that now loomed large in my future. Set foot on the island ~ that was a laugh, the manipulation had begun long before that: perhaps even unto the death of my real parents.

If I accept what I am being told, that I am this Nerevar Indoril reborn, then I am placing myself in the gravest of danger. The Sharmat, Dagoth Ur, is already aware of me and will bend his will towards my destruction. The Temple will certainly array itself against me, as will House Indoril, the Buoyant Armigers, and House Redoran would certainly join them. The Imperial factions were an unknown quantity, as was House Hlaalu. Of them all, the only support I could expect would be from the tribes of the Ashlanders and my own House.

Of course, eschewing the destiny that I had been shown was as dangerous. I doubted that it would take long for word of my status as Nerevarine to reach the ears of some snoop from the Temple and I would get a visit from someone asking questions I dare not answer. Plus, of course, the Sharmat was hardly likely to shrug his shoulders and say ‘Ho-hum, I needn’t worry about Sudhendra Vahl any more’. No, more likely I would awaken one morning to find Tel Vahl surrounded by minions of the Sharmat intent on my destruction.

Besides, something told me that there was a crisis coming. From what Gilvas Barelo had said, the gods of the Tribunal were weakening just at the time Dagoth Ur was growing in power. There would come a time, probably none too distant, when the GhostFence would no longer restrain the Sharmat and his creatures. And my life expectancy then could be measured in heartbeats instead of years.

I looked over at the Moon-And-Star, sitting innocuously on a small cushion on a desk. I could, I realised, put an end to some of my doubts in a single moment. Both Sul-Matuul and Nibani had been perfectly clear on this point ~ only the true Incarnate can bear the Moon-And-Star, even though they had been uncertain what, exactly, the Moon-And-Star actually was. For anyone else, the Moon-And-Star meant instant death. With trembling fingers, I picked up the ring and looked at it. Then, closing my eyes, I slipped the cool metal band onto my finger.

There was a swirl of disconnected images: strange swirling shapes and odd angles, decayed buildings standing in thin air, a council of four powerfully dressed Dunmer, the screams of the wounded and dying… With a gasp, I opened my eyes as I felt the power of the Moon-And-Star thunder into me. That was followed by the very important realisation that I was very much alive. Which settled some doubts at the very least: the ring was obviously a very ancient and powerful artefact. What it didn’t settle were my doubts about who, or what, I was. The papers and details I’d brought back from Holamayan and the oral traditions of the Urshilaku Ashlanders all suggested that the Moon-And-Star was fatal to anyone who wasn’t the Nerevarine.

Lost in thought, I decided to get some fresher air and left Velas Manor to wander around the citadel of Mournhold. I wasn’t particularly paying much attention to where I was going, but it didn’t surprise me when I looked up to discover the bulk of the Temple looming ahead. I remembered that Tienius Delitian had sought information on how the Temple would respond to Helseth’s assumption of the Morrowind Throne. Perhaps if I lost myself in the webs of political intrigue for a while I could come to some form of peace with the thoughts that rolled and echoed in my head.

Having made sure that I no longer wore the Moon-And-Star (surely entering the Temple wearing that would have been the quickest way to fail and spend the rest of eternity awaiting the next Nerevarine) I wandered the halls and corridors in search of someone to whom I could speak. Not that there was any shortage of people, but most were Ordinators or Priests and I didn’t think I’d get much help from them.

I finally found a garrulous Healer in the infirmary, one Galsa Andrano. She seemed willing to talk of almost anything and, as we chatted, I carefully guided the conversation around to Helseth. “Oh I’ve heard the most terrible things about him,” she exclaimed. “They do say he is a poisoner.”

“If Helseth sought the throne,” I asked, “how would the Temple respond?”

“Badly,” she replied immediately. “If he sought the throne in earnest, it’s likely that Ayem and the Temple would seek to destroy him and…. Oh! I really shouldn’t have said that.”

“Said what?” I said with a friendly smile. “I heard nothing that I would repeat.” She looked very relieved about that and I felt really guilty about reporting back to the Royal Palace and repeating her information to Delitian. To his disgust, I wouldn’t give him the name of my informant.

When it became obvious that I wasn’t going to give him the name of my contact, Delitian grimaced and said, “Since you seem to be able to keep your mouth shut, perhaps I can trust you with a slightly more difficult task. I have my doubts about some of the guards’ loyalty. Since you are relatively unknown to most of them, I want you to pose as a candidate for a position in the Guards. That should give you sufficient excuse to talk to the guards and sound them out. Anything you find that feels even the slightest bit off, you bring it to me immediately.”

I shrugged; the loyalty of a few Royal Guards didn’t bother me in the slightest. However, the make-work I was putting myself through allowed me to relax and think calmly about what I was going to do. Leaving the royal chambers, I went amongst the guards, speaking to them.

“I’ve been offered a position in the Royal Guards,” I remarked to one of the guards patrolling the corridor near the Lady Barenziah’s quarters.

“Makes no nevermind to me,” the maroon-clad guard responded. “If Delitian thinks you’re good enough, that’s good enough for me.”

“Oh,” I said, smiling politely, “why’s that?”

“I’m an old hand here,” the guard responded, “but the new commander has always done right by me.”

“What about my connections with House Hlaalu?” I asked, knowing that the Great House couldn’t be too happy about Helseth replacing Llethan: whatever the circumstances behind that particular transfer of power might be.

“Hmm, nothing wrong with House Hlaalu. Not sure they're very happy about King Helseth succeeding their King Llethan,” the guard replied. “But no point in hiding it from Tienius Delitian. He's bound to find out sooner or later, so you might as well tell him straight off.”

And that was pretty much the pattern of response I got from all of the guards I spoke to. All of them, that is, except the one. A particularly tall and broad guard was on duty in the Throne Room and, singling him out because of his sheer size, I told him I’d been offered a position in the Royal Guards. His response was immediate and interesting.

“D’you have any, you know, Hlaalu connections?” the tall guard asked. Thinking on my feet, I nodded ~ it was true; I had once spoken to a Hlaalu councillor regarding the Vassir-Didanat Mine. That counted as a ‘connection’, albeit a tenuous one. “Well, you should speak to Aleri Aren,” he said excitedly, “and you really shouldn’t mention it to Delitian, like.”

Which was far more information than I got from Aleri Aren when I tracked her down to the guards’ quarters. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

“But Irano said I should talk to you about this,” I protested.

“He did, did he?” she said, eyes narrowing. “Well, I still have no idea what it’s all about so, if you’ll excuse me?” As she turned and stalked off, I noticed a scrap of parchment near her locker. With a quick glance around, I stooped and, with a speed that would have made any pickpocket jealous, I scooped up the sheet of vellum and headed out of the guards’ quarters. As I headed back to the royal chambers, I read and re-read the scribbled note ~ the tiny, crabbed handwriting made deciphering it difficult. But, amidst the misspelled names were three that were always spelled correctly, those of Milvela Dralen, Ivulen Irano, and Aleri Aren.

“Very interesting…” Tienius Delitian said when I showed him the rota, pointing out that there were certain watches where only the three of them were in the Throne Room, and these watches had been underlined. “…but stupid,” he finished. “Amateurs. Still, you have accomplished what I asked; this is prima facie evidence of conspiracy. We have people who will take it from here.”

I shuddered, I could well imagine what sort of people Delitian was referring to and, for a fleeting moment, I felt a flash of pity for the three guards. Delitian, however, had no such qualms and, in fact, had another task he wished me to perform. “Since you’ve shown an aptitude for… let’s say ‘gathering incriminating’ materials… I’d like you to exercise those talents again. It has come to our attention that there may be a conspiracy amongst the Hlaalu nobles here in the Citadel, a conspiracy led by Ravani Llethan. We’d like you to pay a visit to Llethan Manor and pay your respects. And, while you’re there, you might like to pick up any incriminating letters, diaries, and things of that sort.”

I wandered back towards Godsreach; not at all sure I was doing the right thing. I had an idea that I was being used again ~ this time to stifle dissent to the plans Helseth had for himself and the Morrowind Throne. As I walked through Godsreach towards Llethan Manor, a Dunmeri woman suddenly jostled me.

“You can’t have it,” she snapped.