The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: City of Light, City of Magic Options

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The tower was deeply subdued this morning, people moving around on tiptoe as Kallin spoke to me while I broke my fast. “The assassin came in from the southeast,” she briefed me, adding bitterly, “we found a dead guard. He’d been dragged over the hill out of sight. We also found this, outside.”

She handed me a small silver and glass phial. There were only a few dregs of the potion it had contained left in the bottom, but the thick smell rising from the flask was enough to tell us both what it had contained. “Having levitated to your balcony, he used a pick to unlock the door, greasing the hinges so they’d make no noise. How do you intend to respond, Arch-Magister?”

“By tearing a few strips off Master Neloth’s hide,” I replied. “I want to see how much of that ample paunch I can remove before he dies of blood loss or shock. Yes Raissu,” I said, turning my head to address the fidgeting estate manager, “you have something to add?”

“It may be prudent to stay your wrath until you’ve spoken with Neloth’s Mouth,” she suggested. I indicated that she should explain. “I have little knowledge of the Guild of Assassins,” she continued, “nobody does. And those that do have knowledge keep very, very quiet. However, if Neloth had targeted you for assassination, wouldn’t they have had to issue a Black Writ?”

“Which we would have known about,” an exasperated Kallin said, dropping her head so her forehead banged on the table. “Raissu is right, Arch-Magister. The Morag Tong may be a bunch of murderous cut-throats, but they do stick to their rules.”

Kallin then explained to me what she knew of the workings of the Dunmeri assassins. How a Black Writ has to be issued for the ‘execution’ of a target and how the target is made aware of the existence of the Writ. It seemed an odd system to me but it had been that way, apparently, for hundreds of years.

“Everyone out,” I commanded as I stalked into the Telvanni Council Hall in Sadrith Mora. “Not you Arara Uvulas,” I added as the Mouths started to leave. When she and I were the only ones left in the chamber, I spoke, “Last night there was an attempt on my life. Neloth has declared that he considers himself to be my enemy. Give me a good reason I shouldn’t end his life right now.”

Arara looked stricken, glancing about as though in search of aid. Finally, she swallowed and said, “My Master has not been in contact with me for days. In fact Sed, he hasn’t been out of Tel Naga since you became Arch-Magister. He… regrets certain comments he made to you and wishes he had not been so… hasty. I believe he fears that he may have made… an error of judgement.”

I snorted back laughter. Ignoring it, Arara continued, “As for arranging an assassination attempt? It is not something Neloth would do, for fear of precisely this situation.”

“In other words,” I said, “he’s a bully and a coward. Afraid that he’s made a mortal enemy of the Head of House.”

Arara hesitated, then gave a quick nod of the head ~ about as much confirmation that my words were true as I was likely to get from her. “Then if not Neloth,” I mused out loud, “who sent that assassin to my stronghold? Unlikely to be House Redoran, if they wanted me dead they’d do it themselves. House Hlaalu? They could certainly afford to equip an assassin in the armour…”

“Armour, Arch-Magister?” Arara interrupted my thoughts. “What sort of armour?”

“Black,” I replied. “Light-weight, high-quality black armour.”

“Then it was not the Morag Tong,” she said flatly. “Their assassins eschew armour, preferring simple robes. And if it was not the Morag Tong that tried to kill you, then it was not one of the Dunmeri factions that arranged it. Let me call one of the House Guards, they may be able to shed some light on the matter.”

The nervous looking guard listened to my tale and spoke quickly when I’d finished. “Sounds like the Dark Brotherhood, Sed Vahl. If you have been targeted for assassination by them…” he let his comment trail off. I wondered where I could find this Brotherhood. “I don’t know,” he replied in response to my question, “but there is a new arrival in Ebonheart who may be able to assist you. An Imperial by the name of Apelles Matius.”

Delas Mrania was only too happy to sell me a spell to get me to Ebonheart when I spoke to her and, after learning it; I took myself from Ald’ruhn to the Imperial blandness of Ebonheart’s Fort.

“You’ll forgive me if I am sceptical Dark Elf,” Apelles Matius said, giving me a condescending smile when I’d told him my tale. “If you were truly marked for death by the Dark Brotherhood, we would not be having this conversation.”

“I am not accustomed to being called a liar Matius,” I snapped. “You’d do well to remember your manners. Now, speak to me of the Dark Brotherhood.”

“Well,” he said, quite taken aback. “If you’re telling the truth… which I have no doubt you are,” he added hastily as I smiled blandly at him and dropped my hand to the hilt of my sword, “then you need to travel to Mournhold. That is the only bastion of the Dark Brotherhood in this Province that I am aware of.

“The problem is, Vvardenfell is under quarantine because of the Blight. However, if you speak to Asciene Rane in the Council Hall, I’m sure she would be able to transport you there.”

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This morning found me back in Ebonheart: a thought had occurred to me late last night. If anyone would know what happened to ‘The Muzariah’, it will be the shipmasters that ply their trade out of the docks. My guess had been right, although it took a bribe of three hundred Septims before the Master of the ‘Chun-Ook’ would give me any information.

“Aye Muthsera,” he said, spitting over the handrail, “I know of the Muzariah. She sailed about a ten-day ago, bound for the Mainland ~ heading for Darvon’s Watch. But you ain’t the first to be asking about the Muzariah Muthsera, no you ain’t.”

“Well,” he said, when I pressed him for details. “It were about an hour or so after she’d sailed that these two Imperials come around, asking after her. When they found out she’d already sailed, they put to sea in a hurry. Fancy I saw the lights of some bigger ship out there too, maybe what they was heading for. Bigger ship, if that’s what it was, set off at a hurry for the southwest point.” He spat again. “All I can tell you.” Then, in a voice raised little over a whisper, he added, “I’m afeared that they might have had somewhat to do with the Muzariah not arriving.”

Thanking him for the information, I left Ebonheart and headed towards the promontory of land he’d mentioned. After walking for a little while, I came to the spur of land. A little way out lay the wreck of a ship ~ could this be the Muzariah? As I water-walked closer, I noticed that several of the pieces of flotsam were charred, as though they’d been in a fire. Yet, as I drew close enough to make out the legend MUZARIAH painted on the back of the vessel, I could see no visible evidence of a shipboard fire.

There were no survivors aboard the badly listing vessel, and I made my way carefully along the sloping deck and into the captain’s cabin. Although there was no body, there was plenty of evidence of a fight ~ small areas of spattered blood had dried to a dull maroon colour on the weathered deck. From the scattered papers, it was obvious that the cabin had been searched and searched thoroughly. I gathered the various parchments and scanned through them quickly. They were the shipping log and bills of lading. Quickly turning to the last entry headed “Almalexia”, I scanned down the list until I found an entry: ‘3 crates, mechanical parts, Ederen Albrege, Craftsman’s Hall, Mournhold’.

Oddly, I couldn’t find the bill of lading for that particular consignment ~ the reason for that worried me since the document would have Albrege’s address on it. Even more disconcerting was the thing I saw on the hook beside the cabin door. Just a simple thing, a heavy iron key marked ‘Cargo Hold’. Up to that point I had been pretty sure that pirates were involved ~ there are always rumours of them plying their craft across the Circle Sea. But the key to the hold was there, unmoved and untaken. Grabbing the key, I went up on deck and down into the crews’ quarters.

My consternation grew as I saw that the heavily barred and padlocked hatch down into the cargo hold was still… heavily barred and padlocked. Whoever had grounded the ship ~ for there was now no question that it had not been accidental ~ had been interested in one thing and one thing only: the location of Ederen Albrege. The lock clicked heavily as I turned the key, greased bars sliding easily aside to allow me into the ship’s hold.

Despite the awkward angle of the vessel, and the fact that the hold was partially flooded, it didn’t take me long to locate the three crates. One had split open, and heavy brass cogs and gears littered the wooden decking. Finding an empty crate, I quickly gathered the items and put them inside before hauling the crates topside and then, one at a time, moving them to dry land. And that was pretty much all I could do by myself. The crates were too heavy for me to carry ~ one at a time or all together ~ back to Ebonheart. I needed some other method of getting them there.

“You want to hire my skiff to do what?” Blatta Hateria said incredulously. I repeated what I’d said, that I wanted her to come with me and collect three crates from the wreck of the Muzariah and ferry them back to Ebonheart. “Well,” she said pensively, looking at the pile of coins I’d dropped in her hand, “I usually only do fishing trips but… Okay, just this once.”

Blatta proved to be an excellent captain, for all that she claimed to only do fishing trips. She certainly knew her way around the coastal waters and, in less than an hour, we were beached near the wreck and she was watching me haul the crates aboard. The journey back was much quicker since, as she explained, we were now tacking with the wind rather than against it. Not that such nautical gibberish meant that much to me. Three burly stevedores proved amenable to moving the crates up to the Grand Council Hall for a couple of Septims apiece and, after muttering something about excess baggage that I didn’t quite understand, Asciene Rane agreed to transport both the crates and me to Mournhold.

“You are a gods send,” Albrege gushed when I told him his crates were currently sitting in the Royal Palace. He quickly arranged for three of the apprentices to go and collect the crates, thus relieving me of the problem of finding porters to get them delivered. “Now,” he said, putting a thick volume down on the counter in front of me, “I think a clock would be the ideal reward. Perhaps something in a long-case, like this?” He showed me several designs, each more ornate than the last and came, after several exquisite designs to one that caught my eye.

“This one,” I said, pointing to it.

“Capital choice,” he said. “One of my finest designs. It sells for six thousand Septims ~ but I will give you a very substantial discount since you have, quite literally, saved my business. I’ve finished my last commission so this should be ready in, oh, four days?”

Four days sounded excellent to me, and I told Albrege that that would be fine. Even though the cost of the clock, even with the discount, was likely to be outrageous, I couldn’t resist the thought of having one in Tel Vahl.

“Excuse me Muthsera,” the Dunmer said as I stepped out of the Craftsman’s Hall, “but are you the Telvanni known as Sudhendra Vahl?”