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 stood before the locked door in the Craftsmen’s Hall, I did not feel any closer to an answer than I had before. One thing I knew, I would do everything in my power to avoid killing Trels Varis, even if it meant abandoning my quest for vengeance. I believed that Trels was being used by the Temple, just as I had been used by a number of powerful factions. In my estimation, that made us natural allies. There was nothing for it but to hope he saw things the same way. Leaning against the wall beside the door, I practiced being inconspicuous. At last, when both the smith and his apprentice were hammering with great energy (and even greater noise), I spoke the words that released the power of the Lock-Splitter scroll. The parchment vanished from my hands and a lurid purple glow momentarily emanated from the door. There was a muffled crunch of metal stressed beyond its limits, and the door swung open. To my initial disappointment, there seemed to be nothing on the other side but a tiny closet, lined with shelves. The shelves contained raw glass, ebony, and adamantium- the materials required for expensive armor and weapons. Perhaps Bols Indalen’s apparent deceptiveness had just been a case of indigestion… but then I saw the trapdoor in the floor.

I despise trapdoors, whether they are in the floor or the ceiling. There is no way to navigate one carefully and maintain any sort of defense. It is practically impossible to climb a ladder and hold a weapon. The other method- jumping through without using the ladder- has the advantage of surprise, but you don’t know what you might land on. And it is not always a good thing to surprise some people or creatures. They might have unfortunately fast reflexes and a strong aversion to being startled. Meanwhile, none of my inner complaining about architecture was doing anything about seeing what the trapdoor concealed. Muttering a curse, I levered the door up and descended the ladder in the conventional manner. When I turned to survey my surroundings, I beheld a rectangular room that appeared to have once been a tailor’s workplace. In addition to the spools of thread and the treated animal hides, it contained four Dunmer, none of whom looked thrilled to see me. The first fellow I approached waved me off, saying,

“I just work here, if you want to talk, talk to the boss.”

There was little doubt as to which of the others he was referring - Trels Varis was a tall, powerful elf, with smoldering eyes. I had envisioned an idealistic Dunmer in my earlier musings- in that much, at least, I had been proved correct. Before I had a chance to present myself to him, the leader looked me over and asked,

“What are you doing here? And may I suggest you make your answer very clear, because this office and what we do here is a well-kept secret. And we wish to keep it a secret, even if it means that you do not leave here alive.”

That was plain enough. And now my resolve to avoid conflict would be tested. There are times to bluff and times to speak plainly. Wisdom lies in being able to reliably discern which is which. I could possibly pass myself off as a working thief who had simply stumbled on this operation by accident or perhaps make a jest that would disarm the Dunmer sufficiently that he would allow me to leave. But if I left, I would lose the grudging respect I had finally begun to win from Tienius Delitian. He would view it as my second failure in a row, and would probably dismiss me as a hopeless bungler. His respect held no value for me, but with it would come access to the king. And I would risk much for that opportunity. I must take the chance. And if I miscalculated and Trels Varis attacked, I could activate my Divine Intervention amulet and end the fight without having to strike a blow. As I debated with myself, I seemed to hear sand running through a glass and to see resolve shaping in Varis’ eyes. Therefore I said,

“I have no wish for a fight. No doubt, the four of you could seriously injure and possibly kill me. And I make no idle boast when I vow that I could take most if not all of you with me. And that would be a tragedy. For I believe that we want the same thing- an end to Helseth’s murderous reign in Mournhold. You may find my reason for being here peculiar, and I can give you no further assurance than my word that it will be to your benefit. What I have come here to ask is that you stop printing stories about Helseth.”

The tension was momentarily broken by Varis’ incredulous laugh. Recovering his composure, he said,

“I’ve only printed the truth. And I intend to keep on printing the truth in ‘The Common Tongue’—unless you think you can stop me.”

With his last words, the tension was back in full force, and the other Dunmer began to edge closer to me. Time seemed to slow as my mind moved in lightning calculations. But this time, I was not looking for angles of attack or considering which opponent might be the most dangerous. Instead, I sought a way to stop Trels Varis without bloodshed. Outright bribery would not work- this was a man who prided himself on his ideals. Gold held no power over him. But…what about the things that gold could allow one to accomplish- particularly if one were an idealist? Making no move toward my weapons, I smiled and told him,

“I believe a donation of 3000 gold to the Widows and Orphans Fund will stop you.”

The progression of emotions across Trels Varis’ face was a joy to watch. He had been preparing himself for a fight or for an attempt at bribery or bluster. And so he opened his mouth to reject what I was saying, but then my actual words finally registered. He simply stood, open-mouthed, for as long as it might take for a man to draw three breaths, and then he responded with a slow, answering smile of his own.

“You are a shrewd judge of character. I am a man of principle and I would not hold my common tongue for a payment of gold. But I know the benefits it can provide if it is used in a good cause. Very well. You have my word. I will not discuss King Helseth in ‘The Common Tongue.’ And I will contribute your gold to the Widows and Orphans Fund.”

Then, exchanging his smile for a frown, he added,

“Now, if you will excuse me, we will have to relocate our operation.”

I made no reply to the implication that I was not trustworthy, but simply passed over the promised gold. I had no fear that Trels Varis would do other than what he had promised- I knew that he prized his integrity as much as he did the ragged workman’s clothing he wore.

Of all the tasks I had performed for Captain Delitian, I was most satisfied with this one. Although I was sorry that “The Common Tongue” would no longer publish the truth about Helseth, I took comfort in the fact that the stories already published could not be recalled. People would remember and they would draw their own conclusions. The gold was well-spent, too- I could not conceive of a better use for it. When I reported my success to the captain, using suitably vague terms so as not to reveal the identity of the writer, he stood silent for a time and then queried me in a completely neutral voice:

“So. You found the anonymous writer of 'The Common Tongue'. And he gave you his word that he would not discuss King Helseth in 'The Common Tongue'. And you gave him 3000 gold to contribute to the Widows and Orphans Fund.”

Because I felt so good about the results I had achieved, I let slip a facetious reply, which I nevertheless managed to express in a sincere tone,

“Well, yes. I felt that it was a small sacrifice in the service of the king.”

How I was able to utter that load of manure with a straight face, I still do not know. Perhaps it had something to do with my recent musings on the inability of basically honest people to lie successfully. In any event, the result was beyond anything I could have imagined. For the first time in my memory, Delitian’s stony face broke into a genuine smile and he actually reached out to clap my shoulder in a comradely fashion. Motioning to one of the other guards, who stepped forward with a sheathed sword, the captain spoke in a booming voice, saying,

“We place great trust in your judgment, and we are very satisfied with your service and sentiments. You shall have 3000 gold to cover your expenses, and a rich reward and great honor besides. I give you a 'King's Oath' blade -- exactly like those used by the Royal Guard. Only those sworn to the king's service and tested by great trials may use them. They bear deadly curses that kill thieves and traitors.”

With a brief bow, he presented the sword to me and then said more quietly,

“And there's one last official matter. Go to Lady Barenziah. She's asked to speak with you.”

That bit of news froze the smile upon my face. While it was true that I had been anxious for a meeting with a certain royal person, it was the king and not his lady mother. From all I had heard of her, I feared that her eyes might well pierce all of my subterfuge and see straight through to my heart’s desire. And what might happen then I feared to contemplate.

Here Ends Chapter 5