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]

So deep was my distraction that I did not even realize where I was until a hard hand grasped my arm and a gruff Dunmer voice spoke:

“Breton. The steward wishes to see you. Now.”

The first Ordinator was joined by a second, who took my other arm. The pair propelled me up the steps and through the doors without bothering to let my feet touch the ground. Fedris Hler stood just inside and he gave me a brief glance before dismissing the Ordinators.

“So Trey,” he rasped in his dusty voice, “Nice of you to stop by. The blessed lady will speak with you immediately.”

Much as I disliked being manhandled and ordered about, I knew that I was in no position to protest or cause a disturbance. The most I could do was incline my head slightly to the steward and walk resolutely to the doors of the Inner Chapel, almost as if I had intended to do so all along. The thought of visiting Almalexia made me feel quite queasy, but I hoped that she might satisfy my curiosity regarding the fabricants. Perhaps she would reveal some knowledge of those strange creatures and confirm my suspicions about her involvement in their appearance.

As it turned out, the goddess said nothing about the attack on the Plaza, not even to the extent of asking any questions. Instead, she immediately pressed me for any knowledge I had gained regarding the End of Times cult and their beliefs. There was a shrill, hectic avidity in her questioning that worried me. It was almost as if she was obsessed with the misguided cult. However, those observations only came to me upon later reflection. At the time, I was so surprised by the inquiry that I answered rather more fully than I might have wished. I repeated the words of Eno Romari, describing the beliefs of the former priest and his followers. Almalexia’s already glowing eyes took on an even more fiery appearance and she muttered,

“They would dare...? So, the Tribunal has lost its power, has it? These fools would dare question Almalexia's power, here in her city! I will give them a lesson in power, Trey, and you will be my agent.”

This was going from bad to worse. Although I held no great affection for Eno Romari, I had even less for Almalexia. And the idea of being her “agent”…. As I frantically searched for a way out of this trap, the unhinged goddess continued,

“These fools must be reminded of the true power of a god. Since the attack on the city, much of my own power has been spent caring for my people. The number of wounded has been astronomical, and caring for them all has been taxing to even me. Still, I must demonstrate to these people what it is to mock the will of a god. You will travel to the ruins of Bamz-Amschend and activate the Karstangz-Bcharn.”

Here at last was a definite lie. I had been in the Plaza during the attack and knew that it had been beaten back before the fabricants reached the populated areas. Whatever expenditure of power had made the dark circles under Almalexia’s eyes, it had not been healing the wounded. Her last words were odd, bearing the harsh sound of the Dwemer language. Half to myself, I repeated them, misliking their taste on my lips, “Karstangz-Bcharn.” The goddess took my mumbling as a question and explained:

“Loosely translated: the Weather Witch. At its height, the Dwemer civilization was masterful in the use of machinery. In a time of drought, Dwemer scholars were commissioned to create a machine that would bring rain to their lands. They created the Karstangz-Bcharn. Its existence was little more than a myth until recently, when the ruins opened beneath my city. I wish for you to activate the machine, make it to create ashstorms in Mournhold. Then, these heretics will know the power of Almalexia!”

That pronouncement was followed by the hysterical laughter of a mad-woman, which stopped only when I incredulously exclaimed,

“Ashstorms- in Mournhold?”

Calming herself, Almalexia responded in a quiet, deadly serious voice:

“That's correct. While these storms may be common on the island of Vvardenfell, they do not occur here, so far removed from the Red Mountain. Now, though, they will, and these heretics will understand the power of the Tribunal. The power of Almalexia! Take this, and use it to activate the machine. You will have to divine its workings on your own, Trey, but I believe you are up to the task.”

With that, she produced a peculiar artifact of the Dwemer craft, seemingly out of thin air, and thrust it into my hands. Her eyes turned inward and I found myself out in the Reception Area, still clutching the Dwemer device. Long walks may be good for your health, but only if you pay attention to where your feet are taking you.