Trey in Mournhold, Chapter 7 Options

[treydog]

As I felt the cool kiss of the marble floor against my forehead, my first thought was,

“That didn’t go very well.”

That was immediately followed by curiosity that I was still able to have any thoughts at all, considering that my head was separated from my body. As an experiment, I decided I would try to open my eyes. There was a certain savage glee in the thought of how much horror the sight would inflict on Helseth and his guards. Maybe I would even cross my eyes and stick out my tongue…. To my disappointment, Tienius Delitian looked somewhat concerned, but hardly horrified. Still more puzzling, he spoke to me, saying,

“Trey? Are you all right?”

I wondered if I had stumbled onto a secret cult of necromancers, people to whom speaking with the dead was an everyday occurrence. Finally, as I felt firm hands gripping my shoulders and raising me to a sitting position, I realized that I wasn’t dead after all. At least, not yet. The captain’s next words were reassuring,

“Probably got into some bad air beneath the Plaza. Give him some room and he’ll come around.”

Slowly, I pieced together what must have happened. The sight of Helseth had pushed my already strained nerves past the breaking point and I had fainted.

Of all the possible outcomes I had imagined for my first meeting with the king, collapsing in a heap had not been one of them. But at least that embarrassing lapse had saved me from the monumental stupidity of attacking him while he was surrounded by his guards. I had no doubt that my—vision? –dream? –hallucination? had been accurate. Whether it was a warning from my own wiser self or from some outside power I could not say. But I did know that a suicidal berserker charge against impossible odds was not the way I did things. If I was going to exact my vengeance, I would do so by using my strengths. As my head cleared, I was able to pay more attention to Tienius Delitian, who was saying,

“…sorry to hear that you reported to the Temple, but that isn’t important now. The king wishes to speak to you.”

So it was that I finally stood face-to-face with King Helseth, with no weapon in my hands and the fires of my fury banked- for the moment. When I did not bend my knee to him, the king arched an eyebrow, but made no comment. Growing tired of the silent staring contest, I prompted him:

“You wished to see me?”

I had reined in my anger, but that did not mean that I liked him, and I had no interest in pretending otherwise. He responded in the sort of cool, languid drawl that some of the upper class affected,

“Ah...so you're the one Tienius has been telling us about. You should have brought the information about these ‘fabricants’ to us directly. Still, you may be of use. We understand you had a slight inconvenience earlier. It appears we were given a bit of misinformation. The Queen Mother has spoken highly of you as well.”

Apparently, Tienius Delitian was not the only one in the court who enjoyed baiting people. It was hard to decide which I found more annoying- Helseth’s use of the plural pronoun to refer to himself or his dismissal of the attempt to have me killed as a “slight inconvenience.” I entertained myself by imagining that his royal “we” was actually a reflection of the fact that he was afflicted with a tapeworm, as well as considering all the “slight inconveniences” I would like to visit upon him. Ultimately, what allowed me to ignore his taunts was the realization that he was underestimating me. My fainting spell had combined with his natural arrogance so that he felt that I was no threat- or at least not a serious threat. Therefore, it was easy for me to give him a toothy, insincere smile in return for his haughty smirk, even as I murmured,

“…slight inconvenience?”

After all, why not give him sufficient rope with which to hang himself? He answered in a disinterested tone, as if remarking on the weather,

“We understand you were visited by some Dark Brotherhood assassins. A regrettable occurrence. They are a difficult lot, but they do have their usefulness. I'm certain that will no longer be a problem for you.”

My first impulse was to point out that all of the assassins who had come against me were dead and I was still standing- that, in fact, the attacks had been no more than an annoyance. But wisdom again prevailed as I reminded myself that I wanted Helseth to miscalculate. Let him believe that only luck had kept me alive so far; he would find out differently when I was ready. Hard experience had taught me that keeping my mouth shut rarely caused problems, whereas the opposite had landed me in hot water on innumerable occasions. Therefore, I simply maintained my bland smile and waited for Helseth to continue. He struck me as the sort of person who did not like silence; more, he seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. Sure enough, just as the lull in the conversation was about to become uncomfortable, he added,

“Yes, the Dark Brotherhood are usually a very effective group. Not always, though, I have recently learned. As to your particular situation, ...we have various sources throughout Vvardenfell that are paid well to provide us with information. Unfortunately, sometimes it proves to be incorrect. One of our informants had suggested that you could pose a threat to our monarchy. That cannot be allowed, as I'm sure you understand.”

When I heard that nonsensical justification, I very nearly betrayed my resolution to pretend ignorant disinterest. How could anyone seriously believe that a stable boy imprisoned for picking flowers could be a threat to a king? It appeared that everyone in Mournhold was insane, not just Almalexia. Struggling to keep a serious expression, I piously intoned,

“I find it hard to imagine why anyone would want to attack the rightful monarch.”

The irony, of course, went right past Helseth, and he pensively remarked,

“It is never easy for one to assume the throne, especially after the unfortunate set of circumstances that led to our beloved King Llethan's death. There are those who would seek to profit from such events, to take the opportunity to create unrest among the people. There are those, even, who would wish to see us dead.”

Widening my eyes as if such an idea had never occurred to me, I responded with a breathless,

“Really? How awful!”

Again, the king completely missed the sarcasm and responded seriously,

“Does this surprise you? Even now, there are those that would see our head on a pike. What better way to achieve one's goals than to have others remove those that would oppose you? Surely you have some understanding of this? In fact, we have recently been told of a plot against the throne. Some of my informants have learned of a possible assassination plot against our royal person. I would like more information on this. However, I do not want to compromise the safety of my guards or of my informant. I believe, however, you would be suitable for this matter.”

Finally, we were getting somewhere. Besides being a murderous little scut, Helseth had to be the most long-winded son-of-a-guar I had ever had to endure. Hoping to move him along, I asked,

“How may I serve?”

Reluctantly, the king at last made his request:

“I wish for you to meet an informant of mine at a local cornerclub, The Winged Guar. You'll find it in Godsreach. He's an orc, and shouldn't be hard to pick out. Find him, and ask him about his ‘uncle's farm.’ He'll know what it means. Then report back to me with your information.”

I nodded my understanding and agreement and left the Throne Room. All that secrecy and “protect my informant” babble made sense- if you were six years old and had the brains of a mudcrab. After all, someone plotting against the king would never think of posting lookouts to see who came and went from the Palace. And those lookouts would never think to follow a person who had just left the royal presence and see who said person met with. I knew that this was some kind of trick- what I could not decide was whether Helseth really believed I was stupid enough to fall for it.

My apologies for the sneaky cliff-hanger at the end of the last chapter- just couldn't resist. I have had that 'fantasy fight scene' floating around in my notebook for a month or two and finally got to the place where I could use it....

[treydog]

Plitinius had reinforced my grave doubts about the existence of a plot against the Queen Mother, but that did not really change anything. I was still going to have to report my “findings” to Helseth- even if I did believe it was a load of livestock byproduct. “Uncle’s farm” indeed. I entered the Throne Room and maintained a blank expression as I passed the information on to the king. He was equally expressionless, save for a strange glint I thought to see in his eyes. If I had not been paying close attention, I would have missed it. In serious tones, he replied,

“Yes...I expected you would find out as much. Other sources of mine indicate the same thing, and that the attempt will be made tomorrow night. Our mother must be protected at all costs, but I do not wish to tip my hand to these assassins. Here is how we will protect Barenziah.”

He paused and motioned me to a corner out of hearing of the guards. Lowering his voice still further, he continued,

“It would be unwise to station more guards outside her doors, as that would alert the killers to our knowledge. Better to catch them in the act. One of our royal guards could be involved in this attempt, so they will be kept occupied elsewhere. You will stay in the antechamber outside our mother's chambers tomorrow evening, and deal with these assassins when they arrive. Close the door behind you and hide behind the screens, so as not to alert them to your presence. Meantime, find out whatever else you can.”

With a short nod, I left him and walked carefully out into the Reception Area. It was only with great effort that I did not howl in frustration. Something was definitely afoot, something that was not designed with my best interests in mind, but I could not unravel the tangled plot. I did not trust Helseth as far as I could see him and knew in my bones that he was up to something. How interesting that he had “other sources” that not only knew of the assassination plot, but even the exact date. Still, if I could not compete with the king in the realm of palace intrigue, I might still thwart him by relying on my own strengths. He clearly had it in mind to incriminate or kill me in some clever fashion that would apparently leave him in the clear. Even if I could not see the trap in detail, I could discern its outlines and that would be enough. Sometimes, the worst thing that can happen to a man hunting a tiger is to find one…. And that was a lesson I hoped to teach the wretched king.

Thoughts of potentially deadly prey reminded me that there was at least one more person who might shed some light on this mystery- Barenziah herself. When I presented myself to the Queen Mother and explained my purpose, her reaction was as I had expected. With a laugh of disbelief, she said,

“Someone try to kill me? Ridiculous! Certainly I've made my share of enemies in my life, but those times are long forgotten. I suppose someone might think to use me to get to my son, but with the way this palace is guarded, if someone could reach me, they could just as easily reach Helseth. The whole idea seems ludicrous to me. But, if someone wishes to try...I've forgotten more about defending myself than most will ever learn....”

Even one as untutored in the arts of intrigue as I could deduce the real meaning behind her words- all of her enemies were forgotten because they were dead. Still, I had to press on as though I took all of this seriously, so I added that Helseth wished for me to stand guard during the critical interval. That pompous announcement earned the laugh it deserved, more scornful than the first. Regaining her composure, Barenziah replied,

“My son has sent you to protect me? Ha! Please, friend...I mean no disrespect. I'm not laughing at you, or at the seemingly noble sentiments my son exhibits. It just seems odd to me that any would want to have me killed. And my son knows as well as any that I can protect myself. Still, do as he has commanded you. He is the king, and it is best to concede to his wishes. Take care, my friend.”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one, so I took my leave and exited with as good a show of manners as my wounded pride would allow.

And now I found myself at loose ends, with no clear idea of what to do to fill the time. Normally, I would have retreated into potion-making, but I lacked the necessary ingredients and had no desire to seek more- my mind was too disordered in any event. Although patience was a virtue cultivated by the wise thief, mine had abandoned me. While I could have easily hidden in the shadows of a dark alley or waited amongst the chimneys of a mossy roof with no complaint, this interminable period before the trap would spring was unbearable. The only thing for it was to walk around the city with no particular destination in mind, wandering in a melancholy mood that threatened to become black depression. Physical activity is usually a wonderful thing for a troubled mind- a brisk walk can give one the feeling of doing something when there is nothing to be done. And all would have been well if I had not been in Mournhold, set square between two powerful and ruthless adversaries, both of whom had taken an interest in one particular distracted wanderer. In my absent-minded way, my traitorous feet took me to the last place I wished to be- the steps before the Temple of Almalexia.