Trey in Mournhold, Chapter 5 Options

[treydog]

Chapter 5

Dedicated to the memory of Jonajosa. Be at peace, my friend.

Rather than walk back to the Palace, I used an amulet to cast Divine Intervention. Mainly, I chose that means of transport because I was terribly weary. But I admit that it was also a calculated insult to the Tribunal Temple. After all, the spell carried me to the entrance of the Imperial Cult, their religious rival. Once I had been deposited in the Palace courtyard, I mentally prepared myself for my meeting with Tienius Delitian. If possible, I hoped to keep Galsa Andrano’s name to myself- betrayal did not come easily to me. Though she was a member of Almalexia’s Temple, she was not responsible for its misguided choices. Before heading for the throne room, I nipped down the stairs to the basement and exchanged my armor for a robe. While the Dark Brotherhood armor might have served as a pointed reminder of Helseth’s murderous intent toward me, I did not think it wise to appear before his guards dressed as an assassin. While the King’s paranoia might be the product of a guilty conscience, theirs was a professional reflex- one that I preferred not to test. A measure of their caution was the fact that I had yet to lay eyes on Helseth, even in his own throne room. Confronting him with my…righteous indignation was going to be difficult if all he ever did was cower in his private chambers. Of course, he would also have a hard time governing from that position, a prospect that did not make me particularly unhappy. On the other hand, my disagreement with Helseth was personal rather than political, so I rather hoped he would show his sorry face sometime soon.

If Captain Delitian was happy to see me, he disguised it quite well. Stony-faced, he stared at me and queried,

“Have you anything to report? Or have you just been wandering around Mournhold gawking at the sights?”

I was becoming used to his irritating manner, having realized that his baiting was as much an attempt to surprise me into blurting something revealing as because he genuinely disliked me. Besides that, I didn’t really care- I didn’t much like him, either. So I simply smiled blandly at his sneer and described what I had discovered regarding the Temple’s view of his precious monarch. At the end of my recital, he grunted and said,

“Of course, I had someone follow you, so I know that you spent some time with the healer, Galsa Andrano. She certainly speaks her mind, and, from what you say, sounds sincere. You handled her well. The Temple seems to recognize that King Helseth will not be content to be a puppet like King Llethan, and plans to act against us. Very good work, Trey. The king will hear of your loyal service.”

So much for keeping Galsa out of it. Well, I had tried. And perhaps there would not be a confrontation between Temple and king. Better still, maybe someday I would get over the feeling that I was a particularly low form of life that betrayed confidences.

Meanwhile, Delitian had other things on his mind. Motioning for me to follow him out into the hallway, he dropped his voice and said,

“Now you can help us with another matter. King Helseth is concerned about possible disloyalty among the Guards. I've replaced many of the former king's guards with more reliable men. But I had to keep some experienced guards, and I can't be certain of their loyalties. I will pretend you wish to join the Royal Guards. That's your excuse for talking to the guards, sounding them out, and looking for evidence of disloyalty. If you find any hint of treason or evidence of disloyalty, report it to me. Take no action. Report to me, and I will judge what action is appropriate.”

The cover story struck me as being awfully thin, although it would have the advantage of explaining my repeated visits to the captain. Hoping for a bit of guidance, I inquired as to which guards I should investigate. Delitian’s familiar scowl reappeared and he replied,

“It's your judgment I'm testing, not mine. Talk to them yourself. Form your own conclusions.”

The assignment revealed still more of Helseth’s problems- and his errors. I was practically certain now that he was responsible for King Llethan’s death. And it seemed that a number of others had reached the same conclusion- including some of the palace guards. Regardless of whether they had personally liked the old king or not, his safety had been their responsibility…and they had failed to protect him. I had no way of knowing whether Helseth was any good as a ruler, but he had a positive genius for making enemies. So far, he had alienated the Temple, the conservative Dunmer (probably including House Redoran), and some of his own guards. And, oh yes, one insignificant but highly motivated Breton. He was beginning to discover that a major problem with ascending to the throne through assassination was the ideas it put into other people’s heads. Ideas like- if one king can be killed, why not two? Actual justice is often fickle or uncertain, but watching a guilty man squirm in fear of justice can sometimes be an acceptable substitute.

None of these ruminations were getting me any closer to finding out which guards, if any, were contemplating a change in management. The only thing for it was to visit the guard quarters and spread some charm and cash. I briefly entertained the notion of trying to implicate some of the loyal guards, thus weakening Helseth, but realized that Delitian wanted evidence- not just my accusations. I again had to play it straight if I was to have any hope of gaining the king’s confidence.

The guard quarters were functional and little else- each guard had a bed and a locked chest for personal items. The room itself was open and offered no possibility of concealment. A quick glance at the chests showed that the locks were of reasonable quality. I could get past them with sufficient time or with a spell, but the idea of getting caught rummaging through a Royal Guard’s possessions did not appeal to me. My fears were given additional emphasis when a guard wandered through the room, and turned his helmeted head to stare at me. Sighing with disgust, I sat down on a storage chest to consider my options. As I idly traced the badly carved name on the chest, Ivulen Irano, my eyes fell upon a scrap of parchment that had fallen between the chest and the foot of the bed. Thinking it was probably a note inviting the guard out for drinks after work, I picked it up. After some effort to decipher the tiny and nearly illegible handwriting, I understood that it was a copy of guard duty rosters for the past several weeks. Three names were always correctly spelled -- Milvela Dralen, Ivulen Irano, and Aleri Aren -- and those watches when all three were the only guards in the Throne Room were underlined twice. My finely-honed investigative senses told me that this might be what was known in the trade as a “clue.” More to the point, I thought it might be a good idea to talk to Guardsman Ivulen Irano.

[treydog]

As I had expected, Ten-Tongues was more than happy to sell me a couple of the scrolls I needed. While I was there, I decided to see if he could help me remember where I had heard the name “Varis” before. The Argonian rubbed his scaly forehead with a clawed hand and said,

“Well, let’s see. There’s a couple of older parties that work around the Temple- Gee-Pop Varis and Granny Varis. He’s a gardener and she’s a caretaker. Nice Dunmer couple, real loyal to the Temple.”

That explained it- I had encountered Granny Varis when she berated me for tracking mud into the Reception Area of the Temple. Although I did not really want to go back around the Temple, I also was hesitant to rush right back to the Craftsmen’s Hall. A little side-trip to discover if the elder Varis’ were related to Trels might provide some time for the folks in the smithy to calm down after my previous visit. And there was more to my decision than simple delaying tactics- I still did not know my way around the snake-pit that was politics as practiced in Mournhold. The more information I could get, the safer I would be. The delay might also give me time to come up with something to say if I actually found the writer of “The Common Tongue.” It was clear that someone who was bold enough to publicly call Helseth a murderer would not be overawed by the sight of a single spindly Breton.

A leisurely stroll around the Temple grounds soon revealed an aged Dunmer with a shock of white hair, dressed in sewn hides. He was leaning meditatively on a rake, staring out over the carefully-tended plantings. As I approached, he said,

“This park, these plants- are hymns of praise, sera. And I’m right proud of it.”

Coming from another person, it might have sounded ridiculous, but the sincerity with which he spoke resonated inside of me. Here was a simple, faithful elf, taking joy and pride in working with the soil. I spent some time discussing plants and their care with him, then asked,

“So, are you any relation to Trels Varis? He hasn’t been around lately….”

The old elf blurted out,

“My son, Trels Varis?”

Then stopped before slowly adding,

“He's in Kragenmoor, out west near Cyrodiil. He's a scholar in a private Temple school.”

Again I had occasion to note that essentially truthful folk are not good liars. But I kept that observation to myself as I thanked the gardener for his time and departed. My next stop was the Temple Reception Area, and I made sure that my boots were clean before I entered. Granny Varis was at her post, sweeping the floor and polishing the already gleaming fixtures. When I asked her about her son, she said,

“Which one? Trels? Well. Yes. That's the name of one of my sons. Trels Varis. But I have no idea where he is right now. Haven't seen him recently.”

Putting on a frown of incomprehension, I said,

“That’s odd. Gee-Pop said he had gone to Kragenmoor.”

The caretaker snorted and replied tartly,

“My husband says he's in Kragenmoor? Old fool. What does he know? He'd forget his head if it weren't jammed tight on his neck.”

With a smile, I made some excuse about how I had perhaps misunderstood. And then I got out of there before Fedris Hler or some other Temple official spotted me and asked for something that would probably involve me risking death and dismemberment.

On the way back to the Craftsmen’s Hall, I contemplated some seemingly unrelated facts. Fact: Someone was printing a broadsheet aimed at blackening Helseth’s reputation. Fact: The Temple of Almalexia was in a power-struggle with Helseth. Fact: The supposed writer of the broadsheet was a member of a family that was highly supportive of the Temple. These facts could fit any of a number of situations, but a picture was taking shape in my head. The picture featured a young, idealistic Dunmer, loyal to the Temple and trained in rhetoric at a Temple school. In the background was a shadowy figure, someone with a history of working behind the scenes. And that mysterious someone whispered a few suggestions to the young Dunmer and provided him with some gold- just for supplies and to hire some assistants, of course. And, most important of all, the shadowy figure provided the sort of detailed information that would give a campaign of rumors plausibility. So, if I assumed my picture was accurate, what would happen if the plot were exposed? The young Dunmer, being idealistic, would never reveal the source of his information or his funding. And the Temple? No doubt, the Temple would be,

“Shocked, shocked I tell you, to find this sort of thing going on in the Craftsmen’s Hall.”

All of that contemplation provided an explanation that fit the facts, but it did not seem to provide me with any clue about what I should do. Perhaps if Trels Varis was where I suspected he was, on the other side of that locked door in the Craftsmen’s Hall, my surmises could save both our lives. And that struck me as a worthy goal. After all, it is rather more difficult to kill someone right after you have chatted with his parents.