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]

Having delayed as long as I could, I raised the trap door to the sewers. The stench that assailed me was familiar by now, but was underlain this time by something far worse. It was as if I had opened a mass grave. And in fact, I had, although the occupants had not had the courtesy to rest quietly. All that propelled me down into that noisome darkness was fury- at myself, at the Temple, at the king. If I had possessed any sense at all, I would have left Mournhold and never returned. But two things stopped me from following the sensible course. First, I had announced my presence to Helseth, and I hoped that the knowledge that I was nearby worried him. But if it did, he was likely to redouble his efforts to have me killed- especially if I disappeared. I could not leave until that situation was resolved- one way or another. The second reason that I had to go down into the sewers was more complex. It had to do with who I was, or who I wanted to be. You see, I had given my word. Whether Gavas Drin or the Temple were worthy of my loyalty was beside the point. This was not about them or even about loyalty. It was about me. And I was a thief, but not a liar.

I was sure that my nobility of purpose would be a great comfort to me when I confronted the undead wizards. Of even more comfort was the magical longbow I conjured as soon as my feet touched the slimy stones at the foot of the ladder. The subterranean chambers echoed with the shrieks and howls of the tormented spirits that had been attracted by the Shrine of the Dead. Of all the annoying things about priests (and wizards, for that matter), the one that irritated me the most was the way they left their toys lying around when they grew tired of them. Unfortunately, powerful magical artifacts had a tendency to become more and more dangerous over time. Before I had time to build up to a really satisfying fulmination on the failings of priests, one of the immediate consequences of their neglect, in the form of a bonelord, attacked me. A couple of arrows disintegrated the floating assemblage of bones and I commenced my exploration. The tunnels contained more bonelords, as well as ancestor ghosts, and rats. I never quite understood why rats seemed to congregate in the presence of the undead, yet I had observed that such was the case. Perhaps they were attracted by the random bits that fell off of their patrons- or perhaps by the victims of the undead creatures. Most of the ghosts rushed toward me with hair-curling screams, only to fall to my bow. In one dead end corridor, I came across an undead spirit that did not attack, but simply hovered a few feet off the ground. I nocked an arrow and drew back the bow-string, but something in this ghost’s attitude caused me to stay my hand. Cautiously, I approached the ethereal figure, which regarded me silently. At last, I could stand the silence no longer and rasped,

“Who are you? And why do you not attack me as all of your brethren do?”

The ghost continued to stare sightlessly at me and then a voice seemed to sound inside my mind.

“My name is Variner. I was killed by the Black Dart Gang. I beg you -- avenge my death. Their hideout is in Old Mournhold, Temple Sewers West. Many have died fighting them. But there is a mechanism that can flood the room, drowning the gang. Find a lever that looks like a torch holder, near the east end of the chamber. But whatever you do, don't get too close or you will join me in the afterlife.”
I realized that this ghost was all that remained of the dead husband of Narisa Adus, the woman I had met on my first sojourn into the sewers of Mournhold. She, as well as
a number of other people, had warned me of the danger the Black Dart Gang posed. Apparently, they used very powerful poisoned or enchanted missiles, some of which could cause massive damage. I listened to Variner’s words in silence, and just as silently turned away. Although I was sorry for him and his widow, I would not give my word lightly again, especially to a restless spirit. And, to my shame, I was just as pleased that my task would take me in the opposite direction from Black Dart territory. According to Gavas Drin, the shrine lay beyond the former Temple Gardens, which were in the eastern section of the Temple sewers. Of course, even though I had a fairly well-developed sense of direction, it mostly depended on the sun or the stars, which were notable for their absence in this underground maze.

As it turned out, my self-congratulations over avoiding the deadly gang proved premature when I stepped through the door into the East Sewers. I had barely cleared the doorway when I felt a sudden sharp bite in my lower back. If my attacker had been either smarter or less confident, I would have surely bled my life away in those stinking tunnels below Mournhold. But he could not resist the opportunity to gloat. A snarl of “Die, n’wah,” gave away his position in the shadows of the doorway. Ignoring the painful wound in my back, I turned to see a raggedly-dressed Dunmer, who swiftly raised his right hand over his shoulder and brought it downward. A bit of metal flashed briefly in the uncertain light and I felt another painful bite, this time in my left leg. I returned the favor with a bow-shot to his midsection, which he ignored as he threw another flurry of darts at me. And so we stood, some eight feet apart, exchanging arrows and darts. The pain of my injuries, as well as my attempts to dodge spoiled my aim, but I finally made a fair hit upon his right arm. Instead of giving up, the dark elf downed a potion which healed his injuries. Then with a look of hatred, he reached inside his ragged tunic and withdrew a wickedly barbed dart, which he promptly hurled into the knee joint of my already damaged leg. Surprisingly, that dart did not cause the intense pain that had accompanied the others. However, it was far more deadly, for it was hollow. In effect, it was like a tap draining my life-blood in great spurts even as I watched. Knowing that I must act quickly, I wrenched the terrible weapon from my knee, taking a great deal of flesh with it. Then I imbibed a healing potion of my own and turned back to my foe. Apparently, he had expected the bleeder dart to finish me, for he was not prepared for my renewed attack. His hesitation was only for an instant- he rushed toward me, throwing one last dart, one that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the light. The missile struck me in the abdomen and seemed to literally burrow into my body. The most virulent poison I had ever encountered bloomed within me and only my alchemy skills saved me.

When I had first heard of the Black Dart Gang, I had made sure to prepare antidotes against poisons and to carry them with me at all times. As soon as I felt the tendrils of the vile toxin racing through my blood, I dispelled the magical bow and convulsively swallowed one of my antidotes. Even so, it was a very near thing. I learned firsthand why the Black Dart Gang was so feared. Most people would have succumbed to the poison in a few seconds- it was fortunate that the gang member who assailed me had only carried one such dart and was alone. His weapons spent at last, the Dunmer began to flail at me with his fists, a look of disbelief warring with the hatred on his face. No doubt I was the first of his victims to ever survive. He soon discovered that bare fists were no match for a longsword and I took some pleasure in providing that lesson. But even as he breathed his last, I wondered whether his fellows lurked somewhere in the darkness with still more of their deadly projectiles.