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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A cheerful-looking Ederen Albrege was waiting outside Velas Manor this morning as I set out to speak to Fedris Hler. He urged me to return to the Craftsman’s Hall with him as he had now completed my commission. I followed along willingly. “There,” he said, pointing to a tall wooden object, “isn’t she a beauty?”

‘She’ was indeed: the long-case clock was magnificent. The rich dark wood of the casing was polished to a lustrous shine while the pendulum was etched with the device of Great House Telvanni. The face was white; possibly porcelain, and the numerals were picked out in delicately inlaid Ebony. Even the fingers were a work of art ~ depicting, as they did, tiny representations of the sword Umbra. Ederen Albrege smiled and said, “Ordinarily, such a clock would sell for six thousand Septims. But, because of the favours I owe you, I am willing to let it go for just forty-five hundred Septims. And that, let me assure you, represents only a tiny profit margin.”

I couldn’t argue with that price ~ well, I could have done but that would have been… impolite. Having paid him, I asked Albrege if he would arrange to have the timepiece delivered to the Velas Manor later that evening. That done, I made my way through to the Temple complex via the Plaza Brindisi Dorum.

“Ahh, Ser Vahl,” Hler said, beaming happily. “We are informed that the threat to the city has been eliminated thanks to you. The Goddess is very pleased, and has instructed me to give you this…” here he handed me a bulging leather purse, “…by way of a reward. I think you’ll find it most generous.”

As I thanked him and turned to leave, he added, “I am given to understand that the High Priest, Gavas Drin, wishes to speak with you.”

“I have a few other errands to run first, Ser Hler,” I replied. “As soon as I have completed those, I shall return and speak to the High Priest.” At that point, I meant every word. Of course, I wished to speak to Tienius Delitian ~ I believed that the broadsheet I’d found in the Godsreach sewers is where the rumours concerning King Helseth are coming from. Leaving the Temple, I took the opportunity to check the contents of the heavy purse. Inside were 150 of the massive 100-Septim pieces. I blinked; here was wealth on a scale that I’d never dreamt of.

Smiling happily, I descended the steps and, ignoring the strutting popinjay in Ebony armour that was parading up and down in the Temple grounds, I headed towards the Royal Palace.

“Look who it is,” a sneering voice said behind me as a hand grasped my forearm.

“Unhand me sirrah,” I snapped, spinning to address the short individual that had accosted me, “or, by Sotha Sil’s beard you’ll regret it.”

Letting go of my arm, the armoured figure raised the visor on the Ebony helm and I found myself staring down into the grinning face of the grifter Gaenor. “Didn’t recognise me, did you? Told you I was lucky. Now, let’s have at it, right here and right now…” And, with that, he drew a ridiculously oversized Ebony blade from his scabbard.

“What are you babbling about?” I asked, taking a step back. “Have you totally lost your mind?”

“Oh no, Vahl,” he sneered, “I told you you’d regret not giving me money…” With that, he swung the sword at me, clearly intending to disembowel me where I stood.

“Bloody Oblivion,” I yelped, taking a rapid flurry of backward steps to avoid the blow. “Do you have any idea of who you’re dealing with? Let me give you an illustration,” I said. Drawing myself upright, I extended a hand and concentrated on the ring I’d slipped around my finger. Now fully recharged, Spark lived up to its name ~ unleashing a barrage of thunderous bolts.

“Whoo-hoo-hoo,” the Bosmeri chortled as I found myself the centre of a howling storm of discharging magic. The force of my own spell hammered me repeatedly; and I finally ended up some twenty paces from where I’d been. Laying there on the floor where the force of the spell had thrown me, I squinted up at the slowly advancing Bosmer. Angrily, I concentrated and yelled, “Exuro meus Hostilis.”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha,” Gaenor howled with laughter as the fireball made a totally improbable 180-degree turn and hurled back towards me. With a curse I rolled away from the impact point, scrambling to avoid the hungrily licking flames that splashed across the granite path. “Told you I was one lucky son of a Guar, didn’t I?” he spluttered.

“That’s more than lucky,” I murmured, squinting at the Wood Elf. By concentrating, I could discern a faint magical aura shimmering around him. He wore some sort of charm, or an amulet, that was having an effect on him. What was it he’d said? ‘Lucky’ ~ that was it; somehow the little sneak had managed to get hold of something that massively enhanced his luck. Enhanced it to the point where even spells would not obey the caster. I groaned because that rendered virtually every spell I knew totally useless.

What I was not expecting was the powerful effect of the field to also affect my ability to hit the little sod with my axe. Twice I swung the Wish in deadly blows only to have my grip on the handle slip (in the first instance) or to have somehow misjudged the distance (in the second instance). Gaenor made no attempt to defend himself nor, judging by my continued feeble attempts to land a blow, did he have to. “Obscurum successio,” I shouted, barely dodging a lazy swing that ~ had I been but a fraction of a second slower ~ would have been a major inconvenience.

The thick greenish mist of the spell rose between us and I turned and ran, swinging my pack off my shoulder and grabbing inside for the pouch wherein I kept my rings and things. I’d been smart enough not to cast the spell directly at Gaenor; instead I’d cast it at the ground directly in front of him. Dropping the pack, I put as much distance between the Wood Elf and me as possible.

“COWARD!” he roared, bursting out of the misty residue of the spell and waving his sword fiercely. “There’s no escape Dunmer,” he taunted.

Escape was the last thing on my mind. Accelerating, I put the bulk of the Temple between the Bosmer and me so that I could search the contents of the pouch for the ring I wanted. Slipping it on my finger, I concentrated ~ feeling the strange sensation that accompanies entering the shadow-world of a chameleon spell. My plan was simple: wrapped in the cloak of a Shadow-Weave spell, I would sneak back to my pack and get the crossbows. Then, levitating into a nearby tree I would load them up and then, still cloaked, sneak up behind Gaenor and let him have both bolts in the back of the neck at extremely close range. “Let’s see you dodge that,” I muttered with some satisfaction.