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]

From what I could decipher in the Dwemer book, the idea was to place the fire-pack in a crevice in the obstruction and activate it by pulling a handle attached to a thick cord. This apparently would release the fire contained within the pack. There were also indications that a child had gotten hold of the book at some point- at least that was how I interpreted the lurid drawings that defaced some of the pages. They were done in red ink and showed dismembered bodies and other graphic illustrations of violence. The pages that bore the drawings also contained Dwemer words printed in large red letters- possibly the name of the vandal who had scribbled in the book. Operating the fire-pack seemed simple enough, so I followed the indicated procedure and stood back to watch with great interest. I was deeply curious as to how the device would work, and also had a fleeting moment to wonder how one stopped such a fire from burning away everything. And then there was no more time for thinking. A flash of orange and red seared my eyes and a great rumbling roar filled the broad corridor. Rocks of all sizes flew at me too fast to evade. At the same time, I was sent flying as well. It was as if a massive hand had grasped me and pulled me backwards. That sensation was followed by a sudden stop as I was slammed into a wall and then things began to hit me with great force. Mercifully, one of the objects struck my head and knocked me out.

When I at last woke up, it was difficult to decide what hurt worse- my head, my ribs, my limbs, or my back. Then there were the rocks that lay on top of and underneath me. The dust in my mouth was just an added bonus. For several minutes I contemplated the benefits of simply allowing this to be my grave- I certainly felt like death was an attractive alternative to all the aches and pains I was suffering. But waiting for death to claim me would mean enduring all that pain for some indeterminate time. So it seemed that staying alive was the best choice, particularly if I had the opportunity to kill whoever or whatever was responsible for the infernal buzzing noise that seemed to originate somewhere between my ears. The only good thing about how many parts of me hurt was that it demonstrated that all of those parts were still present and clamoring for attention. After some consideration, I moved each arm and then each leg. That caused a cascade of stones from atop me, and I squinted at the dim light of the corridor. If I could have found a way to move the rest of myself while leaving my head where it was, I would gladly have done so. That was especially true as I seemed to not be using my head for anything more significant than to prevent my ears from slamming into each other. If any of my deeds was ever worthy of a medal for bravery, it was sitting up. As I did so, the last of the debris fell away from my abused body, and I turned the air blue with my cursing. I cursed the Dwemer, their devices, and their ancestors; I cursed Almalexia and her ancestors. And finally, I cursed my own unquenchable curiosity, which caused me to fool with things that I did not understand. That improved my mental state considerably, and a couple of healing potions did the same for my bruises and the ringing in my ears.

Having decided to live for a bit longer, I examined the opening from which all of those rocks had been removed. Although still somewhat cramped, it was clearly large enough now to accommodate me. Therefore, I gathered my scattered wits and equally scattered gear and pushed through to the other side. I have little to say regarding the remaining section of the Dwemer ruin- it was much the same as I had already seen- a maze of desolate passages patrolled by deadly mechanical sentries. The corridors tended downward and finally reached an area that was knee-deep in water. A final door gave onto a vast, domed chamber, which was dominated by the largest Dwemer machine I had ever encountered. The machine was located in the center of the room and consisted of five tall spires which reached to the ceiling and perhaps beyond. A number of walkways radiated out to a perimeter gallery. Below the gallery and walkways was a pool of water, which was probably used by the machine. A close examination revealed a socket which seemed designed to accommodate the device Almalexia had given me. On the wall opposite that side of the device was a great metal shutter that moved on rails. Finally, a set of three levers stood at the end of a platform facing the shutter.

With some trepidation, recalling what had happened the last time I activated a Dwemer device, I plugged the artifact into the socket. Although arcane lights seemed to flicker within the object, there was no other sign. Pleased that nothing seemed to be intent on killing me, I turned to the levers. Pulling the left-hand one caused the metal panel on the wall to slide to the right. As it did so, it was revealed as a great, curved piece of metal, inscribed with pictures of various weather conditions, assuming one considered astronomical and geological as well as meteorological phenomena to fall under the heading of “weather.” There were representations of nightfall, lightning storms, and others that I could not interpret. The icon of an erupting volcano seemed to be what I needed, and a fair amount of fiddling with the levers finally brought it to a stop in the opening on the wall. All that remained was to return to the city and see what I had wrought.

Above ground, the sky and sun were obscured by blowing ash- it was as bad as any storm I had ever seen on Vvardenfell. The people covered their faces with their arms or with makeshift cloth filters to combat the choking particles. In short, it was just the sort of thing to please a maniacal deity determined to prove that her powers were not slipping. Anxious to complete this distasteful task, I hurried to the Temple, where I was immediately ushered in to see Almalexia. The goddess’ face maintained its usual cool composure, but her eyes seemed to glow with an unhealthy light even as she praised my actions.

“Well, done Trey! This is the effect I was looking for! Ash storms in Mournhold. My magic will prevent anyone from tampering with the machine.”

The brief congratulations were quickly followed by a not-so-veiled threat:

“You will, of course, keep silent about this. My powers are a bit drained, mortal… but they are not gone. My Ordinators will take care of the End of Times cult and their leader. You may leave me now.”

So the goddess had her ash storm, although it did not appear that she was completely pleased. It seemed to have made her madness worse rather than calmed it. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the long-vanished Dwemer still had abilities that she could neither duplicate nor understand that burned in her heart. Or possibly she was simply so far gone into insanity that there was no coming back, only a final, inevitable breakdown. In any event, I decided that she could have her fun for a day or two and then I would see about powering down the weather machine. As I headed toward the Winged Guar, I listened avidly to the conversations around me, hoping to hear resentment building against Helseth. What I heard instead chilled me to the bone. Seven people had been found dead in their homes, apparent suicides. They appeared to have taken poison- and each of them was dressed in the white robes of the End of Times cult. With a feeling of dread, I realized that they must have decided that they had received a sign of impending doom- an ash storm- an ash storm that I had brought about.