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]

After leaving the Temple, I did what I should have done in the first place- went to my hideout in the Palace basement and stayed out of sight. My thought was that maybe if I didn’t talk to anyone, I would not get into any more trouble. As the long hours passed, I argued the merits of complying with Almalexia or ignoring her. I also contemplated the interesting irony that the “goddess” planned to demonstrate that she was not losing her power by means of an ancient Dwemer device- and that she justified that decision by falsely claiming that she was momentarily exhausted from her efforts at healing. I had the feeling that I was upon the threshold of some significant understanding, but I could not quite grasp it. All too soon, the time came for me to traverse the Palace halls to Barenziah’s antechamber. As I had been instructed, I closed the doors to the corridor and to the inner apartment. Then I studied the layout, keeping in mind that this was a trap set for me, rather than for assassins on some mythical quest to harm the Queen Mother. A pair of screens formed a small alcove in one corner, and someone had thoughtfully provided a couple of chairs. There was also a large candle, perfectly placed to silhouette anyone standing behind the screens. It was clear that a great deal of planning had gone into designing this ambush- the chairs, the candle, the screens. I imagined a chivalrous but naïve would-be hero, anxious to protect the Queen Mother. Such a fellow would arrive early, because he would be eager to start his vigil. But such duty is wearisome, particularly for a young man primed for the clash of blades. So our imaginary hero sits down in one of the comfortable chairs- only for a moment! The quiet and the flicker of the candle flame lull him- and perhaps there is something more? Some reason it is important for the doors to be closed? I snuffed the candle and cut it in half lengthwise. Sure enough, the wick and the wax contained a sleep-inducing powder. Someone had wanted to make very certain, indeed.

With the candle out, I had perhaps balanced the odds a bit, but there remained the question of who would come calling in the still watches of the night- and how many. I had a feeling that I knew the answers- at least to some extent. This little drama had been set in motion by Helseth, so that meant the Dark Brotherhood. The last few times I had been “visited” by those killers, they had come in pairs. And none of those assassins had ever returned. That meant I should expect at least three and possibly more. Without access to levitation, such a group of opponents would surely prevail against me- I had only to recall the outcome of my imagined attack on Helseth to know the result of taking on so many foes in a small space. And, despite the pretext that the Queen Mother was the target, I could not expect any help from the Royal Guards. To survive I would have to prevent my attackers from surrounding me; ideally, I would have to prevent them from getting within reach of me. After a quick rummage through my paraphernalia, I was ready- except for one more magical preparation that I thought it prudent to make. After hiding the remains of the powder-laced candle, I slipped behind the screens to wait. There was no other concealment in the room, so I would have to at least follow the script on that point.

The minutes crawled by agonizingly, but I was immune to impatience or worry or fear. I had done all that I could- everything else I simply expelled with my breathing. It was almost a disappointment when I saw shadows appear under the outer door and heard the rattle of the latch. Head bowed, I still waited; there was no need to rush; I had all the time in the world. At last, the door swung open and I heard hoarse whispers- a Dunmer muttering, “…supposed to be here somewhere,” answered by another’s plaintive, “He told us in the Queen Mother’s chambers.” A final voice, its tone clearly indicating an attempt to maintain control, suggested, “Look behind the screens.” That was my cue to act.

Smoothly, I stepped from behind the screen to see three black-clad figures in the center of the room. In my hands I held a special scroll, one I had purchased from Ten-Tongues. Normally, I don’t like to use scrolls in combat- it is hard to concentrate on reading when people are intent on sticking you with the pointy bits of their swords. But this scroll contained a spell called Illnea’s Breath. As I finished the words, a cloud of icy vapor enveloped the assassins and they were literally frozen in place. The scroll disappeared in a puff of magical smoke, revealing another that I had held beneath the first. Unfortunately, I did not have another Illnea’s Breath, but I did have a number of Elemental Burst: Frost scrolls. Fresh layers of ice formed on the three figures as I read the scrolls as fast as I safely could. Soon, the paralysis from Illnea’s Breath wore off and the Dark Brothers began to move. Letting them reach me was no part of my plan, so I clutched my Divine Intervention amulet and spoke the command word. When I appeared in the Palace courtyard, I paused only long enough to loosen my sword in its sheath and ready a final scroll. With a deep breath, I drank a Recall potion to take me back to the location I had Marked in the antechamber- the corner opposite the one from whence I had just disappeared. My hope was that I would appear behind my attackers, and it worked- mostly. They were still tightly bunched, fighting the effects of the frost spells, but they were closer to me than I would have liked. Worse yet, one of them was facing me when I reappeared. With a convulsive effort, I shouted the words from my final frost scroll and was gratified to see two of them crash to the floor with ice coating their bodies. The final assassin fell too, but turned his drop into a somersault which brought him to his feet directly before me. Quick as a viper, he struck with a short blade that glinted dully but cut through my armor as though it was paper. I drew my own sword and riposted with all the strength that panic could lend my arm- I knew that I could not take many more wounds from his blade. Fortunately, my adrenaline-fueled lunge was enough- the last assassin gasped and slid off my sword to join his comrades on the floor.

Throughout the struggle, no sound had come from the Queen Mother’s apartment, nor from the outer corridor. It was clear that anyone who might have heard the sounds of battle had decided to await the outcome before investigating. That hesitation give me time to search the bodies quickly and to confirm my suspicions. Their armor had identified them as belonging to the Dark Brotherhood; tattoos on their arms showed that they were senior members. Perhaps the most interesting point was what I did not find- none of them carried poisoned blades, usually a trademark of the death cult. Instead, their short-swords were forged of adamantium, an incredibly rare, incredibly dense substance used to make the finest arms and armor. It appeared that someone was concerned lest my death be attributed to poisoning- and I could immediately name one person who might have reason to be sensitive about that subject. Helseth had once again tried to have me murdered, this time using his own mother as bait. The fact that this latest attempt had so nearly succeeded tempered my raging fury; I must not allow myself to take foolish risks. The spells I had used to defeat the assassins gave me inspiration- I must be cold, cold and patient, like a glacier that grinds away mountains. Wrapping my robe around my rent and bloody armor, I ghosted away, down to the basement. Once I reached my hiding place, I took a healing potion, then cleaned and repaired my armor. I wanted to look my best when I called upon the king.