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]

Although my heart leaped with savage joy to see the surprise on Helseth’s face when I entered the Throne Room, I schooled my own features to stillness. Before, I had been content to let the devious monarch underestimate me. Now, I wanted him to wonder- about how I could have defeated three senior assassins and yet appear not to have a hair out of place; about whether I knew the true target of the attempt. For that same reason, I had taken no trophies, just let the bodies lie where they fell, as if they were of no consequence. For the first time, I made a minimal bow to Helseth and quietly said,

“I am pleased to report that the assassination plot failed. Unfortunately, all the attackers are dead, so it will not be possible to question them and discover their employer.”

The king recovered from his surprise and studied me closely before responding,

“You were able to hold off the assassins. Interesting. Perhaps the threat was not as great as it seemed. We commend you. Take this as a show of our appreciation.”

With that, he handed me an amulet that glowed with magicka. As I studied the trinket, he continued,

“We are impressed with your efforts so far. When you are ready, speak to me about further service to your king.”

What I was ready to do was leave- quickly. Despite my resolve to remain calm, I could only take so much of Helseth’s presence. In fact, it was only with great effort that I did not throw his amulet back at him while expressing my thought- that I would rather put my neck in a noose than wear his bauble.

While it is true that anger and adrenaline saved my life a number of times, it is equally true that my uncertain temper put me into life-threatening situations even more frequently. However, the episode that followed my departure from the Throne Room is one that haunts me to this day, not because of the risks to my own life but rather due to the consequences to others. Perhaps the strain of dealing on a regular basis with the king who had plotted to have me killed unhinged me somewhat, or possibly some of Almalexia’s madness had infected me…. Or perhaps madness is merely an excuse, a vain attempt to avoid responsibility. But I am running ahead of my story, so let me place things in their proper order and leave any judgment to you.

When the goddess had first proposed that I create an ash storm in Mournhold, I had planned to ignore that request. It was becoming increasingly clear that Almalexia was losing her power, as well as her sanity. And I had grown tired of assisting in her ever more delusional schemes to “prove” her power. In fact, had she not dismissed me so abruptly, I might have thrown her blasted Dwemer tea-kettle at her head and told her to make her own storm if she wanted one so badly. Was she not a goddess, after all? But Helseth’s latest treachery had brought my burning anger back to him and I vowed to make him suffer as I had suffered. The people of Mournhold, particularly the more traditional Dunmer, were uncertain of their new king. He seemed to be spurning many ancient customs as he sought to make the monarchy functional rather than merely ceremonial. The sudden onset of an ash storm might be interpreted as a sign that the ancestors and the gods were not happy with the new king and his changes. And I believed that anything that weakened Helseth was a good thing. So it was that I went directly from the Palace to the broken statue in the Plaza Brindisi Dorom and down the ladder into ruined Bamz-Amschend.

As I reached the opening that looked out over the great hall in the Dwemer ruin, the skittering sound of metal on metal alerted me to the fact that not all of the mechanical guardians had fallen in the battle with the fabricants. It was the work of seconds to conjure a magical bow, and I foolishly anticipated that I would have no problems dealing with the remaining metal monsters left behind by the ancient elves. That was true as far as the small spider-like device and its larger, warrior-like companion were concerned. Overconfident, I clambered down the fallen column and reached the floor, where I sighted a metal sphere which I recognized as another type of guardian. What I failed to realize was that these Dwemer had developed a variation on the spherical fighting machines that I had encountered previously. Instead of a sword, this construct made use of a hollow arm loaded with powerful darts. Before I had time to react, one of the deadly missiles had pierced me and actually pinned me to the wall, like a moth on a card. All that saved me was that the machine was rather slow- either due to its extreme age or from damage suffered in the earlier battle. Even today, I do not know where I found the strength, but I had only one choice; I could not pull the dart out of the wall, all that was left was to pull myself off of it. A spasmodic lurch freed me, and I dropped to the floor behind some broken stone. Darts clattered around me as the mindless watcher tried to finish the job, and I scrabbled for a healing draught. Eventually, my lack of movement must have convinced the machine that I was no longer a threat, for I heard it rumble off to another part of the room. When I felt sufficiently recovered, I risked a glance over the top of my sanctuary. My tormentor was a few dozen feet away, back in its dormant state, appearing to be nothing but a large ball of Dwemer metal. Bitter experience had taught me better, so I held three arrows between the fingers of my right hand as I once more summoned a magical bow. The first arrow punched through the hard metal and awakened the mechanism to its peril- it rose upright only to fly to pieces as the second and third bolts destroyed it. In a way, I was sorry that all that remained of the Dwemer machines were piles of metal; I would have liked to study the new types more closely. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to study something that seems single-mindedly intent on killing you. I was able to recover some of the final machine’s deadly darts, which I added to my own dwindling arsenal. With the immediate danger neutralized, I set off to explore more of the ruin.