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 followed the guard, who took me through a door behind the throne and into the private area of the palace, up the stairs and along a short corridor to a plain door. Snapping to attention, he pushed open the door and said, “In here ma’am.”

Inside the well-appointed chamber, the second oldest Dunmeri female I’ve ever seen met me. However, unlike Therana, the Lady Barenziah was in full command of her faculties. Unsure of the protocol, I bowed my head respectfully before taking a step towards the regal female. The guard, presumably her personal bodyguard, took a menacing step forward. “Oh do go away Alusannah,” she said in a very bored tone of voice. “I’m sure I’m in no danger from this fascinating young lady. Am I?” she added, brightly, speaking directly to me.

“Oh no Your Majesty,” I managed to stammer, “You’re in no danger from me whatsoever.”

“See Alusannah, I told you I would be fine,” she said, “now do be a good girl and go away. A drink?” she said, addressing me as the guard stamped off with obvious bad grace. I nodded, and she poured two glasses of a red liquid and, bringing them over, motioned for me to sit at the table.

“It might surprise you to know that I’ve heard quite a bit about you Sudhendra Vahl,” she said after taking a sip of the wine. “Youngest Arch-Magister of Great House Telvanni, Grand Poobah of the Imperial Legion, killer of a Daedric Prince ~ if stories I hear out of Solstheim are to be believed. Quite the impressive resume, even discounting the rumours I hear out of Vvardenfell.”

I must have looked stunned because she gave a tinkling laugh and laid her hand on my arm in a friendly manner. “Oh my son has his sources but he’s barely ninety years old. I have had many, many years to cultivate… let’s call them ‘sources of information’ shall we? I still have the odd contact at the Imperial Court in Cyrodiil and I was fascinated to learn that a… and please, don’t take this the wrong way… common-born Dunmeri female was being sent to Vvardenfell at the express command of the Emperor. It took some doing, but I have managed to follow some of your exploits.

“Now, tell me what really happened on Solstheim,” she said. Sipping the excellent Valenwood Red, I related the tale of my adventures there ~ omitting certain details that I felt were best left unspoken. “Well, it seems my son underestimated you quite badly,” she said when I’d finished. “A mistake I would never have made. Still, you seem none the worse for wear, a little darker and thinner perhaps, but fitter and wiser, than you were. If you’re looking to make your way here in Mournhold, you might wish to cultivate Fedris Hler, a dreadful little man to be sure, but one of the major movers and shakers here in the Citadel. He and my son are, regrettably, locked in a battle of wit and intrigue. In such an atmosphere it’s sometimes difficult to know who to trust…”

“Who can I trust here?” I asked. “Delitian wants me to spy on the Temple, Hler wants me to spy on the Court, and your son….” I trailed off, suddenly reminding myself just whom I was talking to.

“…May have been behind the Dark Brotherhood’s attempts on your life?” she finished. “Oh yes,” she continued, waving me to silence, “just one of the misguided moves my son has made in his drive to secure the throne. But, back to your question: you can always trust me and I can always trust Plitinius Maro…

“Well, it has been a rare delight to meet you Sudhendra Vahl,” she said, rising from her seat, the interview, or whatever it was, clearly over. “We must try to do this again sometime. Now, remember what I said about Hler and dear old Plitinius…”

As I made my way, unescorted, back into the Throne Room and out of the main buildings into the courtyard, I couldn’t help but surmise that the Lady Barenziah’s sole purpose for the little chat had been to aim me at Plitinius Maro and Fedris Hler. There was also the nagging feeling that I had missed something in the conversation, something very important.

I spoke to Plitinius while I was in the courtyard, and he told me a little about himself and his relationship with the Lady Barenziah. It turns out that the Imperial is an author, the writer of a well-known and quite scandalous work ~ The Real Barenziah. Despite this, he and the Lady Barenziah have become firm friends, and he told me quite a lot about her background. He also repeated the advice that the lady had given me: that I should cultivate Fedris Hler.

Fedris Hler seemed quite pleased to see me, and we spoke at length in quite friendly terms. I still couldn’t bring myself to like the officious Temple official but we were at least on good terms. I could see Barenziah’s point: Hler was perhaps the fourth or fifth most powerful person in Mournhold and by extension the fourth or fifth most powerful in Morrowind Province. Cultivating a friendship with him didn’t cost me much but it could be quite advantageous.

After we’d spoken for a while, Fedris asked why I was at the Temple and I explained that I was looking to perform some charitable acts. He grinned and said that he had nothing but, if I were feeling brave, he would introduce me to the Arch-Canon of the Temple, Gavas Drin.

“Well,” this rotund worthy said, “Fedris tells me that you have been of some assistance, dealing with those Goblins. I may have a small task for you. The Lady…” and I understood that he wasn’t speaking about the Lady Barenziah here “…has advised me that there is an ancient shrine beneath the Temple, a shrine that hasn’t been used for centuries. Now, while we officially frown on ancestral worship, The Lady knows that there is immense power in the shrine and that it can be used for the good of Morrowind.

“To that end,” Drin continued, “the shrine will need to be cleansed and rededicated. We have here a priest… blast it where has the fellow got to now? Fedris, would you go and find young Dulni and bring him back here?” Scant moments later, Fedris Hler returned with a tall, gangling and awkward-looking youth who grinned and bobbed his head to everyone in the room.

“Where was I?” Gavas Drin said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ahh yes, we have here a priest, Urvel Dulni, who is skilled in the art of shriving. But there is a small problem. The area around the shrine is infested with Profane.” I shivered, the idea of facing these creatures most unsettling. The Profane are skeletal mages of great power who haven’t quite made the transition to being a Lich. And I thanked whatever power there is that I wouldn’t have to face one of those elder nightmares, only the lesser form.

I turned, fully intending to tell Urvel Dulni to accompany me ~ then I thought better of it. The priest looked like a length of twine, with knots for his elbows, Adam’s-apple, and knees. Honestly, I’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s quill. Add to this his profuse sweating, the twitching right eye, and the facial tick and you had a picture of someone you wouldn’t want following you into combat. Oblivion, I wouldn’t want this Mer following me into the Wing’d Guar. “You wait here Urvel,” I said, “I’ll return when I’ve cleared out the tunnels and it’s safe for you.”

“Th-th-thank yuh-yuh-you,” he stammered, “I’m vuh-vuh-very g-g-g-grateful.” I struggled to suppress a grin, this was the fellow that the Temple was pinning its hopes of cleansing the shrine on? With a barely perceptible shrug, I did a quick check to make sure I had everything and then set off to the Temple cellars. There, a trapdoor led down into the upper sewers.

The dark tunnel was deserted, not even the rats that I would normally expect to have encountered scurried through the darkness. Ahead of me I could see one of those collection areas, where several sewers come together and drain into the lower sewer-system. In the centre of this large chamber stood a wavering, semi-transparent figure. Gripping my sword, I approached the spectral Mer.