Trey in Mournhold, Chapter 8 Options

[treydog]

It was a measure of my desperation that I would even consider going to Helseth for help. I had come to Mournhold seeking blood and vengeance, and I had found them in full measure. I had damaged the Dark Brotherhood so severely that it would take them years to recover. Of course, even I was not so naïve as to believe that I had finished them- evil has a way of showing up around power and wealth, rather like a noxious weed in a fertile patch of soil. But I still hoped to exact my vengeance on their employer, the man whose help I must now seek, King Hlaalu Helseth. My actions had fueled the madness and plotting of the goddess Almalexia- as a direct result, at least seven people were dead. I could no longer pretend that my need for revenge was the most important thing- I somehow had to save the people of Mournhold from their deity. As I look at those words, they seem pompous, especially coming from a stable boy turned thief, turned adventurer. Who did I think I was, to even contemplate such a thing? The answer was simple- I was the only one who could or would do anything. When nobles speak of “the people,” they rarely have any real idea of what that means. To them, the term means a great, undifferentiated mass of faces that look up at them in admiration- or down at the ground in fear. But each face hides a cipher, an unknown, someone whose hopes and dreams are meaningless to the aristocracy. For me, it was different. When I thought of the people of Mournhold, I envisioned Sunel Hlas and Marena Gilnith and their new-found love; I saw Ra’Tesh, endlessly polishing the bar at the Winged Guar. In other words, I saw individuals, not a crowd of people who were somehow less important than me. And I had forgotten those individuals when I entangled myself in Almalexia’s schemes. That much I could see clearly, that it was my responsibility to repair the damage. But how I was to achieve the task was a great mystery. As far as I was aware, there were no books that detailed the approved method for killing a god- or even for curing one of insanity, for that matter. Regardless, I must do one or the other. In my obsession with vengeance, I had given Almalexia the Mazed Band, had brought the ash storm to the city, had fanned the flames of the goddess’ feverish imaginings to terrible heights. Vengeance must wait on justice. I could not do otherwise.

Lest anyone think that I was driven purely by noble purpose, let me quickly state my other reason for seeking any assistance I could secure- I was frightened and revolted by Almalexia’s apparent plans for me. With Salas Valor safely dead, she was already casting about for a replacement- and she had fixed upon me. The words that I had thought, but dared not say, escaped in a muttered hiss as I left the Temple:

“Your last inconvenient lover is dead, and you think that I am anxious to take his place- with his blood still warm on my hands? You may not be god, but you are no longer human, either.”

As for the idea that she believed me to be the reincarnation of Nerevar- I considered the source. She was insane, manipulative, and power-hungry. She would do anything to maintain her place as a deity. A little thing like defying Temple doctrine regarding the Nerevarine would not bother her in the least. As for somehow “recognizing” me as her long-dead husband: nonsense. She had obviously heard about the machinations that had gotten me sent to Vvardenfell in the first place. With Fedris Hler running her spy network, I was not surprised that the “goddess” had discovered the Empire’s plans to set me up as the prophesied hero of the Ashlanders. But I would not go the way of Salas Valor- I had never believed in Almalexia’s divinity in the first place. So it was that I found myself turning to my despised enemy for help- turning to someone who had tried repeatedly to have me killed.

When I entered the Throne Room, Helseth seemed to be in a rare good humor, with a ghost of a smile stretching his normally closed countenance. I wondered briefly how he could be happy with an ash storm raging outside, but dismissed the thought as of no consequence in the current circumstances. When he acknowledged my presence, I gathered my wits and said,

“Sire, I have some rather serious information to report regarding Almalexia…”

Although it pained me to refer to him as “sire,” my background in the stable was useful. After all, “sire” was an equine term, as well as a form of address to a monarch- and I certainly considered Helseth to be a particular portion of a horse’s anatomy. And before I could even begin to explain, the king managed to live up to- or rather, down to- my expectations. Interrupting, he waved an airy hand and said,

“Oh yes, the goddess. I have plans for you regarding the goddess, but first you must prove yourself. You see, Trey, I require all those close to me to be powerful, able to defend me from any adversary. Perhaps you have met my personal bodyguard, Karrod? He is a perfect example: the finest fighter I have met in all my travels, and loyal to me to the death. I met him many years ago, a deaf and dumb child wandering the streets of Wayrest. The boy actually had the audacity to try and rob my stepsister, Elysana. I marveled at his courage, and took him into my employ. When a dog has been beaten, it will lick the hand of one who feeds it even the most meager of scraps. Now he is my most loyal of servants, and one of my most deadly. I wish for you to fight my champion.”

What was it with the leaders of Mournhold? First Almalexia and now Helseth- “Fight my champion to prove yourself.” I felt bad enough about the death of Salas Valor, even though I did not like him or his Temple. But Karrod had never done anything to me and I had no desire to fight him. It was perhaps a measure of the strain I was under that I actually spoke the words that first came to my mind:

“Why should I fight this man?”

Helseth’s brows drew together in a fierce scowl and he rasped,

“Because I am the king and I wish it.”

In a slightly milder tone, he added,

“I have come to know you a bit, Trey. I believe you can be of some use to me. But the plans I have will require someone of great strength or wit. Perhaps both. The time has come for you to prove this to me. You will return here tomorrow, and you will duel Karrod. If you are able to defeat him, we will discuss my plans for you.”

As far as I could see, this was just another way of trying to have me killed, albeit publicly, instead of through assassination. I had no chance of defeating Karrod in anything approaching a fair fight- and there would be no convenient roofs from which to snipe at him in the Throne Room. I would have to think of something else- soon. Every day that the ash storm raged was another day that Mournhold suffered for Almalexia’s pride- and my foolishness.

[treydog]

As I calmed myself from the after-effects of the duel with Karrod, what I thought of as the rational part of my mind took over. Even though I now possibly possessed two pieces of the sword of Nerevar, it was not really proof of anything. I knew, as Karrod did not, that I had beaten him through trickery. Perhaps his father had spoken some appropriate-sounding words when he passed the Dwemer sword along. But what would be more natural than to add a suitable story to an ancient weapon? Half the swords in Tamriel probably had impressive stories to go with them- and more than half of those stories were romantic nonsense. Just because I now held two fragments of a sword that might have once belonged to Nerevar did not mean that I was his reincarnation. I also had the Dagger of Symmachus- that did not make me Helseth’s father. What I needed to do was put the sword aside and concentrate on stopping Almalexia. Unfortunately, that meant I was going to have to see her again in order to ask about Sotha Sil, the missing member of the Tribunal.

I have mentioned before that I was not fond of the gods. Almalexia in particular irked me with her manipulations and rationalizations and self-serving lies. But what really annoyed me was her single-mindedness. She knew what she wanted and she did not want to hear about anything else. Such was my experience when I went to ask her about Sotha Sil and the fabricants. As before, she floated in the center of the dome of her Temple, her face frozen in statue-like stillness. When she saw me she spoke immediately, her eyes seeming to burn with some fevered imagining,

“You were to forge the blade of Nerevar. Have you succeeded? How I long to see Trueflame burning once again alongside Hopesfire. Return to me when you hold the blade in your hands.”

With that, her eyes turned inward and she would say no more. With great effort, I restrained my desire to punch the bland masks of the Ordinators and left the Temple.

Crazy though she undoubtedly was, Almalexia had said that all the parts of the sword were in Mournhold, and she had been correct so far. From what I could see, only one more piece was still missing. And that was wonderful, except for the fact that it could be anywhere in or under the city. And even though I had covered a fair amount of the buried ruins, a broken sword blade was easy to overlook. On the plus side, the metal was exotic, the sort of thing someone would collect, even if they were unsure of its function or origin. I cast about in my mind, trying to determine who I knew that might be versed in the sort of historic arcana that could provide a clue as to the whereabouts of the missing piece. As I considered the problem, my hand idly brushed the hilt of the Dagger of Symmachus. Thinking of the old Dunmer general inevitably caused me to think of Barenziah, and those thoughts led me to her biographer and friend- Plitinius Mero. Biographer, friend, and…historian. If anyone might know something of the blade of Nerevar, it would be the old Imperial writer. I returned to the Palace courtyard, where he had set up a portable writing desk and was chewing thoughtfully on the end of a quill pen. Upon my approach, his eyes brightened and he threw down the quill and bounded to his feet.

“You are to be congratulated, I hear! To have defeated Karrod is quite a feat of arms, my boy! I imagine the bards are composing songs about it even now. They’ll get it wrong, of course; they always do- sacrificing historical accuracy for a good story and to make a better rhyme….”

When he paused for breath, I jumped in and said,

“Actually, it was history about which I wished to speak with you- rather ancient history, to be honest.”

When he signaled his interest, I drew out the pieces of the sword that might once have been Trueflame and explained that I sought the last one. As I finished, Plitinius’ eyes took on a faraway look and he spoke softly, almost to himself:

“An attempt to reforge the blade of Nerevar. Interesting....”

He paused for a long moment and then came back to himself and added,

“I wish I knew where to tell you to look, but my knowledge of the blade is somewhat limited. Perhaps you'd do better speaking with Torasa Aram, the curator at the Museum of Artifacts. Her knowledge is extensive when it comes to unique items. Let me know what you discover. This could be quite a story.”

I had seen the Museum- had, in fact, watched Salas Valor fall upon his sword just outside the front door of the building not so long ago. But for some reason, I had never ventured inside- which was decidedly odd for someone who considered himself a thief. Of course, Plitinius himself had identified one of the main problems- unique items are not the best choice for a thief who wants to live a long and prosperous life. The risk of obtaining such is usually extremely high, and the reward is only a fraction of the true value. And you are going to always be at the mercy of anyone who knows that you are the one who stole the great and valuable treasure of the Cult of the Three-legged Lizard people or whatever. So, I had not visited the Museum, but now I could remedy that oversight.

The first thing I noticed upon entering the Museum was that they seemed to be long on display space and short on items to display. There was a massive hammer and a worn book, and- well, that was about it. Maybe some more desperate or less introspective thief had already paid them a visit, in which case I really did not want to return to the scene of the crime, even if it hadn’t been my crime. The second thing I saw was a sharp-featured Dunmeri who bore down upon me with all the grace and fierceness of an Imperial warship. She appraised me with a quick eye and apparently decided I was not the sort of patron she wanted on the premises- at least that was how I interpreted her dismissive sniff. Putting on my blandest expression, I introduced myself and explained that I was searching for the remains of Nerevar’s sword. I also mentioned that Plitinius Mero had sent me to the Museum, which revelation seemed to improve the elf’s attitude considerably.

She acknowledged my words and stated that she was Torasa Aram, the curator of the Museum. My story about Trueflame had clearly excited her interest, as she replied,

“The pieces of the Blade of Nerevar here in Mournhold? Now there's something I'd like to get my hands on for the Museum. I can't say that I have seen any that I know of, but I do have one piece from roughly the same time, and it seems to be of Dwemer construction.”

She frowned and continued,

“I don't even have it on display, because I haven't been able to positively identify it yet. It's a shield of Dwemer make, but not traditional in any sense of the word. The pieces of it just don't seem to match, and I've wondered if it isn't some sort of a fake. I suppose I might be able to part with it, but I'll need some compensation.”

The hope that I had felt when she first mentioned a piece of the right vintage was crushed by her description of the artifact. I was seeking a sword, not a shield. Still, it probably would not hurt to look at the blasted thing and it would probably make her feel better. Therefore, I asked if I might examine the piece in question- carefully, of course, and under supervision. She escorted me to a locked storage area and opened the door to reveal the sort of amalgam of odds and ends one might expect in such a place. One table held a heavy Dwemer shield, just as she had described, complete with an odd spike or protrusion of some other metal which seemed to be jammed into the center. And I recognized that peculiar metal- it was the same as the two pieces I had gotten from Almalexia and Karrod.