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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3rd Era ~ Year 428

The festivities had gone well, and Baladas had been delighted with his new toy ~ although he understood the conditions attached to it all too well. In fact, the first thing he asked, after examining it closely, was “How many and how soon?”

There were other matters to occupy my mind this morning however. Galas Drenim, the House representative at the Grand Council in Ebonheart arrived shortly after dawn with a report of the council meeting just concluded.

“House Hlaalu is seeking damages against Great House Telvanni,” she said, sitting opposite me and unrolling a scroll. “They claim that ‘Telvanni’ forces, authorised by the Arch-Magister, intercepted their expedition to the empty building known as Odirniran. They are claiming that they lost two hundred thousand Septims on the cost of the mission, pensions to the spouses, and another similar sum in treasure that they claim was there for the taking.”

“House Hlaalu can just go on claiming,” I responded. “Odirniran is clearly in our territory, we have prior claim to the site, and have had for several decades. Put in a counter-claim of, let’s say, seven hundred thousand Septims for the cost of repulsing Hlaalu incursions into Great House Telvanni territory. Tell the House Father of Hlaalu that, once our claim is settled to our satisfaction, we will settle their claim.”

Galas made a quick note, and then said, “The Mages of the Imperial Guild are not living up to the agreement you brokered that allows us to teach magic unimpeded. Twice in the last month, they closed down Telvanni spell-makers in Sadrith Mora, near Wolverine Hall, and they’ve laid a claim that we are teaching magic without their approval.”

“Gods Falling,” I swore, unconsciously repeating an Ashlander phrase. “Effective immediately, all trade into the Imperial Mages Guildhouse in Sadrith Mora is suspended. No trader is to supply them anything of a magical nature. Additionally, have Master Neloth withdraw their Hospitality Papers and ensure the guards are under strict instruction to detain and fine anyone without a valid set of papers. As to the other problems with them, I will have to give some thought as to how to deal with them. Meanwhile, have a quiet word with what’s-his-name? The Redoran Councillor and mention that the Mages aren’t complying with the wishes of the Vvardenfell Council. We might manage to swing a censure vote against them. Anything else?”

“Two other matters, Sed Telvanni Vahl,” she replied. “There is an Inquisitor by the name of Gandor Amsirva who has been asking for an interview with you. The other matter isn’t, strictly speaking, a House matter but I thought you might be interested. There have been several reports, reliable ones, of a spectral Orc around Seyda Neen.”

“You were right to bring that to my attention,” I said, “Orcs rarely turn up as Ancestral Spirits. As soon as I get a moment, I’ll investigate. As to the Inquisitor, find out what he wants and let me know ~ I’ll decide then whether or not to grant his request.”

We travelled together to Ebonheart and, once we reached the Grand Council Chamber, she immediately broke off and headed towards the Redoran councillor. I made my way over to Asciene Rane and had her return me to the citadel of Mournhold.

“Bedal Alen known to Effie-Tai,” the Argonian courtier hissed in reply to my question. “Many book, much learning, maybe where many book found? This I hope, helps?” I assured the Argonian that it did and left the Royal Palace, heading towards the Great Bazaar. There were several booksellers among the stalls but, if one wanted quality books, Sarothran’s Ancient Tomes was the shop to visit. Ignoring the querulous comments coming from the elderly proprietor, I raced upstairs and came face-to-face with a Dunmer in an exquisite russet and gold robe. “Are you Bedal Alen?” I asked. He nodded.

“I have here a Royal Writ for your execution,” I said.

“Oh sweet merciful Almalexia,” he gasped, his face going pale, “I just knew this was going to happen. I should never have got involved with…”

“Be quiet,” I snapped, cutting him off. “If you value your hide, you will leave Mournhold running and not stop until you reach the border. Then I’d recommend a brisk jog to the nearest town and the next transport of any kind heading west. Don’t stop until you reach the coast.”

“I am amazed,” he said. “Few executioners employed by Helseth would proffer that advice. And it seems like extremely good advice to me. You have shown yourself capable of great honour Muthsera, and I thank you for that. And, whatever happens, I will never breath a word about your generosity. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel a sudden urge to go and buy a Divine Intervention scroll from Weerhat.”

I grinned as I made my way through the crowded market towards the Temple Gate. If Delitian thought, for one moment, that I was going to bloody my hands killing these people for him, he had seriously misjudged the situation, and the person he was dealing with. A quick tour of the courtyard brought me to a small secluded glade amidst the trees. There, kneeling before a small shrine was a Mer, deep in prayer. “Are you Forven Berano?” I asked.

“Yes, I am he” he said in a deep voice, rising to his feet and fastidiously dusting the knees of his silken trousers. “What can I do for you Muthsera?”

“Run,” I said. He raised an eyebrow, so I added, “Unless you’d like me to actually execute this Royal Writ?”

To his credit, he didn’t break down or start whimpering. Instead, he clasped my shoulders and said, “Blessings of the Nine, and ALMSIVI, and whatever gods you worship, upon you Muthsera. It so happens I have an aunt living in Glenpoint I haven’t seen in a while. Perhaps I should pay her a visit? I promise, Muthsera, I will never tell another living soul that you’ve done this. I know how risky that would be for you.”

That just left the Nord, Hloggar the Bloody. And I had seen a Nord down in the sewers, in fact only the one Nord down in the sewers. After wading through the rats and slime, I came to the small chamber hacked into the rock and face to face with the grizzled warrior.

“Let me get this straight lassie,” he said, after I’d explained the situation to him a second time. “Ye’ve a chance tae fight wi’ me… but ye’re warning me off instead?” He shook his head as though the concept pained him, and then smiled warmly. “I get it. Ye’re one o’ the good guys, no one o’ them villains that hang around Helseth. ‘Tis a shame tae be leaving such luxurious accommodation but, for the sake o’ my health, I should be getting out o’ here. Fast. I hear the mountains up near Skaven are quite the sight at this time o’ year.”

“All three of them you say,” Tienius Delitian said when I told him that the three traitors had all left town in the last couple of days. He gave me an odd look, and then perked up when I suggested, “there must be another conspirator, one we didn’t know about, right here in the palace.”

“You know,” he said, “I think you’re right. We must track down this traitor immediately. Meanwhile… well, as you can imagine, His Majesty wasn’t best pleased when he read that dreadful little rag “The Common Tongue”. He has tasked me with finding the author of those scurrilous lies and dealing with him. However, I think that finding this fourth traitor is somewhat more important than that. So, you will find the author of The Common Tongue and deal with him.”

“Where do I find the author?” I asked.

“How should I know?” he snapped back. “The man, or Mer, prefers to keep anonymous. It’s not Dwemer technomancy Vahl, just find him and deal with him.”

As I stepped into the courtyard I wondered where to begin. If Tienius Delitian and Helseth, with their network of spies didn’t know where to look for this author, I wasn’t going to have much luck. Perhaps if I tried around the Great Bazaar? There are a few unsavoury types around there who might, for a little coin, tell me something. It was with thought in mind that I headed across the Plaza Brindisi Dorum and to the Market Gate.

While I was wandering around the Bazaar, looking for some information on this anonymous author, I met a young Dunmeri female by the name of Marena Gilnith. She was sitting on one of the stone benches, watching the hustle and bustle of the market with wide and startled eyes. It was a look and an attitude I recognised: I’d been very much the same when I first arrived in a big city.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” I said, gesturing to the crowd working its way through the market.

“It’s certainly… busy,” she replied with a hesitant smile. “Much busier than anything I ever saw in Andrathis.”

“So what brought you from Andrathis to Mournhold?” I asked, sitting on the bench beside her.

“Well, you’ll probably think I’m very foolish,” she said with a sheepish grin, “but I grew up in Andrathis, and my parents took very good care of me. It’s just that, when they arranged my marriage to some greasy Nobleman, I couldn’t take it,” she paused for a little while, and then shuddered. “He was gross Muthsera, overweight and greasy, and, and much older than I was. So I ran away and eventually ended up here in Mournhold.

“I suppose I had some romantic notion that I might find my one true love here,” she sighed. “Only it doesn’t seem to have worked out that way. I brought what money I’d saved. Back in Andrathis it was a large sum ~ here it seems to run away like water.” I braced myself for the inevitable can you loan me some money request. Instead, Marena continued to speak, almost as though I wasn’t there. “I’m determined though. I will not go crawling back to Andrathis and beg forgiveness from my parents… or that loathsome man. So I started to work here in Mournhold: simple stuff, cleaning and the like. Now it’s all I ever do, and I never seem to get a chance to meet any men.”

My thoughts ran back to the recently widowed shop-keeper I’d met when I first explored the Great Bazaar. He’d been moaning about how he’d never meet another woman like his late wife. Perhaps I could persuade him to see Marena, certainly his shop could do with a woman’s touch and ~ located here in the Bazaar ~ earning a living shouldn’t be any harder for two than it is for one. “I might have a solution to both your problems,” I said to Marena. “Wait here and I’ll be back soon.”

Sunel Hlas wasn’t any more cheerful that he had been when I first met him. In fact, if anything, he seemed gloomier than ever. I broached the subject of Marena Gilnith with him and persuaded him to agree to meet her. With his agreement, I went back to Marena and told her I’d someone in mind who might meet both of her requirements ~ a pleasant man who could give her a good standard of living. It took some persuading, but she finally agreed to meet Sunel Hlas.

Back to the shop-keeper I went and gave him the information on where and when to meet Marena. As I left the ship, I couldn’t resist giving him one last piece of advice, “Don't act so depressed. Try and be optimistic. You might surprise yourself.” With an unaccustomed spring in my step, I returned to the Velas Manor.