canis - It’s been a while for me too! Thanks for swinging by to comment, I hope you’ll come back for more.
‘Rosa - Thanks for the vote of confidence. Sometimes we thick-headed types need to be hit over the head more than once to get the point.
- Alain and Valdemar’s relationship remains purely platonic (I think). I love that their closeness resonates with you, and it has caused me to really look at their relationship to see if perhaps there is more to that closeness than merely friendship. It is an interesting idea. BTW that entire conversation was written with you in mind. It took a lot of juggling with the lore and the story, but now you know the name of the Breton who betrayed them at Sancre Tor. That name is important, and not just because it came to be shared by a fort.
-
Dura-hi is the Yokudan word for so-called ‘Eastern magic’ represented by the schools of Conjuration, Illusion, Necromancy and, to a certain degree, Mysticism. Casnar may have left Hammerfell, but it seems that Hammerfell has not left Casnar.
- The term Shrine Sergeant comes directly from the ranks given to members of the Imperial Cult in Morrowind. It doesn’t make sense to me that the same ranks wouldn’t be available in Cyrodiil, given that it’s the same religion. Plus I like the idea of the Temple having its own security force, so I simply borrowed it. I like the seperation between Sergeant and Chevalier because one is a rank of the Temple in Cyrodiil, while the other is an honorific taken on by a subject of Akavir. You will find no other Chevaliers in the Empire (well, not in this story anyway).
Acadian - Thank you for having faith in me, even as I tested that faith. Chorrol has always been brighter for your presence, and I stand proud to call you my first reader... and my friend.
- I kept you in mind alot while writing because I didn’t want to weigh you down trying to remember who was who and what was what. I hope i’ve succeeded.
- And, as ever, your keen editorial eye misses nothing! All nits accounted for (I hope).
Grits - I just can’t seem to resist playing with weather for effect can I? I’m so grateful you think enough of this story to continue reading, and the fact that you want to go back and tackle this beast once more from the beginning just has me beaming!
Must’d - Good Gods man! Where have you been? Though I guess that’s a question I should answer first, eh? Thanks for popping back in here... and wonder no longer. Cuhlecain’s motives are
finally revealed in this chapter.
* * *
26th First Seed, 2E 854
The Imperial Place, The Imperial City
Midday
This is no better than I deserve, he thought to himself.
My pride brought us to this. Was I so blinded by the sanctity of dragon blood that I willingly placed all of our lives into its service? Or was I simply deaf to all save the words of defeated warriors pledging themselves to a man over a thousand years dead? How was our honor in such disrepair that I jumped at the words of a crazed witch simply for the chance that it might be mended? This is what the belief in the sanctity of dragon blood is worth? I was supposed to see them home! I was not supposed to lead them into a fools quest that made them the object of derision on Arena sands! The Chevalier Renald stood motionless before the Emperor. His golden scales had been scrubbed to the point of glistening, and his sight had finally accustomed itself to the light of Magnus. Though his wrists were bound with heavy shackles, his malevolence filled the chamber... and caused the guards to grip their spears with purpose.
Around him the audience chamber had been cleared of all but the aforementioned guards and Lord Counselor Farenenre whose scent permeated the room even though he positioned himself some distance removed. Above them the galleries were silent. Only the stray breeze that caught and ruffled the dragon banners bore mute witness to the proceedings.
“My apologies,” said the self-styled Emperor whose feet dangled from his perch upon the Ruby Throne. “With the repairs occurring throughout the city you must understand that the cells beneath the Palace receive the least attention from my builders.”
Renald remained silent.
“Given your crimes against the Temple and the Empire,” Cuhlecain continued, “I imagine better accommodations were not to be expected.”
The Tsaesci’s glare did not waver.
“I am sympathetic to the reason governing your actions,” said the Emperor. “That sympathy is the reason you stand before me instead of my headsman. And it is the reason that I would grant a boon...”
“You would
grant?” The Tsaesci’s voice dripped with contempt. “I entered my syffim into your service only to see you use them as fodder for bloodsport to appease your subjects. The only boon you could grant me now is execution.”
“Not true, my friend. While your own execution is an inevitability, I would remind you that two of your syffim yet live. One final service from you would insure their freedom and grant the means to return to Akavir.”
Akavir. Could I still see them home? “Why should I trust the word of one who lacks honor?”
“Watch your tongue, Tsaesci, you address the Emperor of Tamriel!” said Farenenre.
The Tsaesci’s head turned and Farenenre’s next comment was doused like a candle in the maelstrom.
“No,” said Renald, “I address the small man who aspires to such a height, not the underlings who would lift him towards it.”
Cuhlecain leaned forward and punctuated his words with a squat finger. “Silence! Have a care, snake-man. My generosity is not without limit.”
“My syffim has seen the limit of your generosity.”
“And yet you still trust my word because the alternative condemns you all. You trust that keeping it suits my interest in the same way that placing your syffim in the Arena suited my interest. Those games will be spoken of for years to come, staged by the
Emperor Cuhlecain. Had you not intervened you would have been granted leave to join your syffim on that ship to Akavir. But those subjects you speak of must see someone pay for murdering a member of the Temple. Once that is done I will have no use for the rest of your countrymen, nor will I feel comfortable with them near the throne. I must either execute them or let them go. Your actions may yet influence that decision.”
Do I dare hope? What does it profit to enter into agreement with such a man? My last acquiescence cost Chirasch his life. But if even the whisper of a chance exists... Renald’s head sagged in defeat.
For Eesham and Xarsien. His head lifted. “What service would you have of me?”
The Emperor leaned back on his throne and smiled. “You will be given rest and the opportunity to feed. Tonight your weapons will be restored to you and you will leave the Palace to seek out and assassinate General Talos Stormcrown.”
_____
26th First Seed, 2E 854
Reman Plaza District, Imperial City
Midday
Three men and a cat came to attention at the General’s table. Arctus could see the shock registering in their eyes, even if they were loathe to break the rules of propriety or the chain of command to give it voice. What they had signed up for was finally coming to pass. Was that shock mirrored in his own eyes? True, he had known an attempt was coming, but...
“Why would he choose tonight?” he asked.
“The Amulet,” said General Talos. “It is the key to the next twenty-four hours and beyond. Cuhlecain is no fool. He knows that we have sympathetic eyes and ears in the Palace. The longer he waits to eliminate me the greater the chance that we put those sympathies to use.”
“The Tsaesci?” asked Captain Alorius.
Talos nodded. “The events in the arena have thrust them outside the protection of law. Even now a crowd gathers around the Palace clamoring for the justice of the headsman’s axe. Cuhlecain won’t risk moving them to the Bastion for fear of what the mob may do to them before they’ve served his purpose. For now they remain beneath the Palace, and he will use the threat of execution to coerce one or more into my assassination...”
“Which would give him all the more justification for executing them after the fact. He eliminates you as a rival while also gaining the leave of the entire city to execute those who swore oaths to protect you, all while remaining above suspicion.” Arctus shook his head. “One can almost admire the devious turn of mind that created this opportunity.”
“Cuhlecain may be more comfortable with the axe,” said Talos, “but that does not mean he is a stranger to the dagger.”
“That seems to leave us in an untenable position,” said Rielus, speaking for the first time. “Perhaps we should be looking to spirit you from the city, General?”
Talos looked over at him.
“I agree,” said Alorius.
“This one knows that the sewers are not a dignified way to travel,” offered Dar’Zhan, “but it would be a simple matter to gain the Rumare. A boat could conduct you north from there.”
“Perhaps you should listen to them, General,” said Arctus.
“Why north?” asked Casnar.
“The General’s power base is strongest in Skyrim,” said Alorius.
“And we will need that power base soon enough,” Talos was still looking at Rielus. He smiled. “When this is over, assuming we all survive, we’re going to have to make your promotion to knighthood official, Sir Rielus. However, as much as I grow tired of seeing you in that spearman’s uniform day after day, you will need it for what is to come.”
“Perhaps it is the smell that gives offense, General,” said Casnar, smiling.
“I concur,” said Alorius.
“General,” said Arctus. “The Emperor.”
Talos’ smile faded. He looked across the table and his eyes sought out each member of his small council until they came to rest upon Dar’Zhan. “We were out maneuvered, but your knowledge of the sewers has given us one opportunity to salvage victory in our retreat... as long as we have the courage to chance it.”
“How?” asked Rielus.
Arctus looked at General Talos. “The Amulet.”
Talos nodded.
“It’s too risky,” said Arctus.
“The Tsaesci are worth it.”
“Are they? Even if you could somehow steal the Amulet of Kings which, in itself, is no small feat, there is no guarantee that possession of it will stay the Tsaesci’s hand against you should it come to that. Not when the alternative means certain death for their companions.”
“You underestimate Tsaesci honor, my friend.”
“Or perhaps you overestimate the power of dragon blood, General.”
“Perhaps,” said Talos. “The fact remains that we must make up in skill what we lack in numbers, and Tsaesci skill is unrivaled. We need them.”
“Begging your pardon, General,” said Alorius, “but we
need you. Master Arctus is right, it’s too risky.”
“The Old Way into the Palace,” said Rielus. “That’s why you had us searching for it.”
“Indeed.” Talos looked over to Arctus. “Stealing the Amulet will be the easiest part. It is already arranged. Captain...”
Alorius snapped to attention. “Sir.”
“... Farenenre will be waiting for you at the twelfth bell. He will give you access to the vault during the shift change. Your contact will be there as well. Once you secure the Amulet you will follow his instructions to make your escape. Timing is paramount, Captain. You must return the Amulet with all possible haste.”
“Yes sir.”
“And Farenere?” asked Arctus. They are not going to look kindly upon him giving you access to the royal vault. He’s far too calculating not to realize that...”
The sound of gauntlets pounding against the heavy oak front door caught their attention. Both knights at the table reached for their swords. Talos waved his leave for Alorius to attend to it. Alorius left the table and exited the room.
“Farenenre is accounted for,” said Talos. “Sir Rielus, Sir Casnar, you will accompany Dar’Zhan through the sewers into the palace. Arctus, we will need another uniform for Sir Casnar.”
“Of course,” said Arctus.
“Once inside the Palace your uniforms should allow you to move with relative impunity. According to our source, the Emperor is holding two of the captive Tsaesci in cells located in the western block of the old dungeons...”
Alorius re-entered the room and crossed over to Zurin Arctus. He whispered into the battlemage’s ear and Arctus accompanied him back to the front door.
“...When the diversion occurs,” Talos continued, “it should draw enough of the guards for you to liberate the Tsaesci with minimal resistance. You are to escort them back out through the sewers to Lake Rumare where a boat shall be waiting.”
“What is this diversion?” asked Casnar.
“It will be apparent when it occurs,” said Talos.
“Begging pardon, General,” said Rielus, “but this sounds like a task more suited to the Thieves Guild.”
“Why do you think Dar’Zhan is here?”
“Getting to the Palace will not be a problem,” said Dar’Zhan. “This one and the Captain thinned the number of creatures finding the old path. But from the Palace to the Rumare runs deep into the sewers, and there are covens and much worse that call those tunnels home. This one is more than a match for a rat or a goblin, but a vampire, or worse, is beyond this one’s skill.”
“You said earlier that it would be a simple matter to reach the lake,” said Rielus.
“It is,” said Dar’zhan, “from Reman Plaza. This one could avoid the deep tunnels. From the Palace this one must go through them unless he decides to backtrack to Reman Plaza, then make his way from there.”
“You cannot backtrack,” said Talos. “No matter how events play out, Reman Plaza will no longer be safe.”
“Through the sewers then,” said Casnar.
Rielus nodded.
“This one will do his best to show you the way,” said Dar’Zhan. “It is his fervent hope that the Tsaesci’s escape makes them eager to fight. Still, you will only be four swords.”
“Six,” said Arctus.
They turned from the table. Arctus and Alorius stood in the doorway. Behind them stood a Breton in battered armor, and the largest Nord that any of them had ever seen.
Casnar could not contain his smile.
“General,” said Alorius, “allow me to present Sir Alain of Wayrest and Sir Valdemar of Skyrim. Two knights who have travelled far to enter into your service.”
“Travelled from...”
“From the Reach of late, General,” said Arctus.
“I see,” said Talos. He exchanged a look with the battlemage, who nodded. Then he regarded the two knights with an appraising eye.
“We would be of use, General,” said Alain, “if you would have us.”
Talos smiled. “You are most welcome.”
Alain looked across the table. “Casnar?”
Valdemar pushed into the room, smiling. “Good to see that settled. Found the sense to leave that swill-producing sandbox, eh Redguard?”
“I thought I might find and join a better class of people,” said Casnar, clasping the Nord’s offered hand. “Then you show up.”
“Does this mean we need more uniforms?” asked Rielus
“Alain shouldn’t be a problem, but I doubt legion uniforms are made ogrim-sized,” said Casnar.
Valdemar eyes settled on Rielus. “Who’s the whelp?”
Rielus stood. “The whelp’s name is Sir Rielus.”
Alain walked over to Rielus and extended his hand. “Alain.”
“Don’t mind the Nord, Rielus,” said Casnar. “He eventually starts to grow on you.”
“Like brain rot?” asked Rielus.
Valdemar laughed. “I like him.”
_____
This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Jan 29 2015, 11:32 PM