Trey in Mournhold, Chapter 4 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 4

At last, I had the answer to the question of who had set the Dark Brotherhood upon me. But that answer brought me no peace. In fact, I realized that some truths could be more dangerous than ignorance, a proposition I would never before have believed. When a king wants you dead, you generally die. The only questions are how soon and how painfully you do so. It was one thing for someone to tell me that Emperor had taken an interest in me; after all, the Emperor was far away. But Helseth was the king of the province of Morrowind, a place from which I could find no escape. And if the rumors were correct, he was working hard to consolidate his power and remove any rivals. Whether he was truly responsible for the deaths of some of those other nobles, I could not say. But then, I didn’t particularly care, either. The entire “aristocracy” of Tamriel could throttle, bludgeon, and poison one another to their hearts’ content and I would cheer them on while placing bets on the eventual winner. As far as I was concerned, they were all parasites. Unfortunately, when such folk started wars, it was people like me who did the bleeding and dying. The one answer I had- that Helseth was the “who” that wanted me dead spawned another, more important question- why?

Despite my seething anger, I knew that I could not simply march into the palace and confront Helseth with my knowledge. I had seen the royal guards with their armor the color of dried blood and knew that I could never get past them to the king. And even if I somehow managed to come before him and noise my accusations about, who would listen? He was the king. He could declare me a madman and have me locked up or executed “for the public good.” No one would rush to my aid; no one would defend me. Even if the whole world knew that my words were true, it would change nothing. The king’s word was law. And yet, I could not simply let him get away with the attempts to have me killed. Perhaps I could seek an alliance with Fedris Hler, Almalexia’s steward. I knew that the Temple and Helseth were involved in a power struggle- the priests might be willing to provide substantial assistance in weakening the king. The only trouble with that idea was that I would be putting myself more fully in the power of the Temple. And I did not like or trust them much more than I did the king. Yes, Fedris Hler might help me weaken or even depose Helseth- but I had a feeling my reward would be one last trip to the sewers and a blade in the back. The Temple would gladly use me and then cast me aside or else actively participate in my execution. They could then claim that their hands were clean.

Some may wonder why I did not simply get out of Mournhold and go to ground back on Vvardenfell. After all, I had dealt the Dark Brotherhood serious damage, which they would require some time to repair. And, with the wisdom of years I now possess, that would have been the wise course. It is likely that the internal struggle to replace Dandras Vules would have distracted the assassins sufficiently to buy me all the time I needed. But…I had left Vvardenfell ahead of the wrath of the Camonna Tong as well as to avoid the scrutiny and the schemes of the Blades. I was heartily tired of running away from my enemies. And Helseth was one man, albeit a king. That gave me a convenient target upon whom to focus my rage and my sense of being ill-used. Even if I had wanted to fight the Blades, I had no idea how to do so. As for seeking the destruction of the Camonna Tong, I had discovered that down that road lay the loss of my very soul. But to pit my skills and my desire for revenge against a king- that seemed highly worthwhile to me. Perhaps as much as anything else, I wanted to make Helseth pay for all the wrongs that had been done me, whether they could rightfully be laid at his door or not. It wasn’t wise, it wasn’t rational- but it felt right. It felt like justice, which was what I believed I wanted. Now I know that the worst that can happen to most of us is to get what we deserve.

Thus, I resolved to do something foolish- to seek justice against a king who had a short way with any who crossed him. But, if I was going to do something foolish, I would at least do it in an intelligent way. I needed information; I needed a way to get close to Helseth; I needed a safe haven if all else failed. Information and perhaps even access could be obtained with gold- of that I had a sufficiency. As for a safe haven- much as it roiled my stomach, I would have to depend upon the Temple. Fedris Hler and Almalexia were the only ones in Vvardenfell with the stature and the support to oppose Helseth and get away with it. He dared not confront them directly, knowing that the more traditional Dunmer would riot if he tried. And, now that I thought about it, my foray against the goblins had weakened the king significantly. They had probably been intended as a secret force that he could send against his enemies without appearing to be directly involved. But even a power-mad despot like Helseth knew that a fight between the Royal Guards and Almalexia’s Hands would bring the Imperial Legion into the mix. And the Emperor would most assuredly NOT be happy with a provincial governor who fomented a civil war. I still didn’t trust the Temple, but “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Or at least my co-conspirator….

So- information first; preferably information that I could trade to the Temple for protection. Not everyone who worked around the palace was a Helseth loyalist- with patience and a few coins, I might find someone who was willing to talk. Therefore, I placed a firm hold on my temper and made my way to the palace to seek information. Wanting to ensure that I made the right impression (and to avoid any “accidents”), I put away my sword and donned an ornate robe to cover my armor. All that remained was to devise a plausible reason for hanging around the palace, asking questions. I knew that I could not pretend to be there in any official capacity- besides the fact that I had no credentials, a formal inspection was the surest way to guarantee that no one said anything of interest. It would have to be something that encouraged people to talk- something that put them at ease. The truth was, most people would tell you almost anything if you just approached them in the right way. My love of books and words had already awakened in me the secret desire to be a writer- and that would be my cover. In such guise would I seek the lever that would allow me to topple a king.

[treydog]

With the knowledge of the strength of the Temple’s opposition to Helseth burning inside of me, I turned to the next phase of my plan. That next phase was to be the clever part, the part which allowed me to deceive Fedris Hler, thus protecting my delicate skin. At least, that was the idea. The reality was nearly the opposite, as I let my smart mouth talk me into yet another near-death experience. I made my way to the administrative offices, secure in the knowledge that I could handle whatever menial task the Archcanon had in mind. When I reached Gavas Drin’s sumptuous office, my eyes were first drawn to his remarkable collection of books, and my fingers twitched as I resisted the impulse to examine them more closely. With a quick shake of my head, I turned my attention to the office’s living occupants. Gavas Drin was relatively young for his high office, but he wore his authority with ease. His dignity and power were in marked contrast to the other elf in the room, a rather weedy Dunmer priest who introduced himself as Urvel Dulni. The young priest’s ink-stained robes and near-sighted gaze practically screamed “scholar” and “book-worm,” but there was an indefinable hint of some hidden power surrounding him, as well.

After the introductions were completed, I explained that the Steward had sent me to assist in some task. The Archcanon raised a questioning eyebrow and made some remark about the tardiness of my response. I had expected that reaction and quickly replied that the rigors of my struggle to rid Mournhold of the goblin menace had necessitated several days to overcome. Then I added,

“In any event, I am here now and ready to serve.”

Gavas Drin stopped just short of rolling his eyes at my rather pompous pronouncement and said,

“Yes, well. Beneath this Temple, there is a large sewer system, built around the ruins of Old Mournhold. You smell like you may have spent some time there.... Regardless, in these ruins, there lies a shrine. This shrine has been corrupted.”

This did not sound good, but I simply gritted my teeth in a parody of a smile and said,

“Oh, a corrupted shrine. How interesting. Please, tell me more.”

Drin either did not notice or did not care that my answer was lacking in proper religious fervor and continued,

“The Shrine of the Dead was once a place of great power. It served as a channel to the ancestors, allowing the faithful to learn from them...to harness their power. Over the years, it has been forgotten, and it has grown sour. The power that radiates from the shrine has drawn hordes of the undead to it. The Shrine of the Dead must be cleansed.”

I managed to avoid my first impulse, which was to say something like, “How unfortunate, I must have left my corrupted shrine cleaning kit in my spare robes.”

Instead, I politely pointed out that I had no idea of how to go about cleansing a shrine. Gavas Drin snorted and said,

“No... certainly not you. This task falls to one of Almalexia's chosen. You will escort this young priest, Urvel Dulni, to the shrine. Protect him well, Trey. His experience is limited, but he is necessary to complete the ritual. The Shrine is protected by the Profane, powerful liches who feed from the power of the shrine. You must destroy them for Dulni to perform his duties. I stress again...protect Dulni at all costs. It is he who must perform the ceremony. If he is not able, there are no others.”

I wondered what Dulni had done to annoy Almalexia, but I had no chance to ask him, for when I turned to leave, he was nowhere to be seen.

As it turned out, he had not gone far, just into the outer hallway, where he awaited me. Ignoring him, I berated myself for my attempt at cleverness while I enumerated the “blessings” that the Temple had just bestowed upon me. First, I got to go down into the sewers- again. Once there, I would find a bunch of the undead (have I ever told you how I feel about the undead?) But these would not be your common, garden-variety, shuffling-around-in-tombs, ripping-you-apart-and-eating-you undead. Oh no, it was better. There were liches. For anyone who does not know, a lich is the reanimated corpse of a powerful mage who believed that death should not stop a person from continuing to accumulate magical power. And not only must I go into the midst of those malevolent, fireball-throwing, inhumanly-strong refugees from a cemetery- I had to take along a stuttering, pasty-faced priest who said things like, “Oh my, oh, mercy me.” Oh, and just to put the finishing touch on it all, I stank.

I had gotten myself into this situation and I would just have to make the best of it. The first thing to do was scout things out. No, actually the first thing to do was buy arrows- lots of arrows. If there were undead down there, I preferred to deal with them from as far away as possible. In any event, I was going to do my scouting alone. There was no way I was going into a life-and-undeath struggle with a walking liability like Urvel Dulni tagging along. Still, it was not Urvel’s fault that he was so unsuited for the task he had been given, so I was as kind as possible when I asked him to wait until I had checked on a few things. He stammered his agreement and disappeared somewhere in the Temple corridors. I took a short detour to the Bazaar, where I left the fletcher much wealthier, and then made my way into the Temple basement, from which I would find access to the sewers. The basement itself was of interest to me, as it was crammed full of sacks, crates, and baskets. I re-arranged the containers to improve the esthetic appeal of the basement and a few random alchemical ingredients accidentally fell into my pockets. And who was I to turn down the gifts that providentially came my way? All right, I admit it- I robbed the Temple basement. The truth was, stealing gave me a thrill that combat and magic never did. My recent turn of fortune had depressed me. Some people go shopping when they are depressed, and so did I- only at a one hundred percent discount. Besides, even if the Temple caught me, what would they do? Maybe throw me into a stinking pit to fight a bunch of undead, brain-rotted wizards? The way I figured it, the rewards the Temple handed out tended to be of the hearty-slap-on-the-back, we’ll remember-you-in-our-prayers sort. Call me hopelessly cynical, but I preferred a more tangible form of payment.