Day 44: Concluding business
Ahnassi is very much amused with my comings and goings, but she is looking forward to leaving the house in Pelagiad. I've received word that the manor section is complete at Bal Isra, but I'd like to get a barracks built and staffed with guards before I move her there. In the meantime she is happy that my current adventures have allowed for me to be home nights, at least the last couple. Today I traveled openly again to Telvanni territory, so I'll be staying here overnight in Tel Vos. The guest quarters Aryon has provided are unique, to say the least. It is interesting being on the inside of Telvanni intrigues.
I arrived in Sadrith Mora and filed my papers for my trip to Vos. As I was carrying the priceless books that the guild is donating to Aryon's museum it made perfect sense that I should have an escort, but I think the guard captain was somewhat surprised when I accepted readily. I was pleased to see the burly Gilvath again, and used the time hiking through the grazelands to befriend the rest of the contingent. Having Gilvath's account of the hunt for Calvario got me off on the right foot, despite the inherent distrust they have for the guild.
Neloth made sure I would be well guarded for more than one reason, and when all the ceremonies were complete I was shown to this room and the guards settled their schedule for watching my door. Between Aryon's regular garrison and the escorts from Sadrith Mora there will be no doubt that the visiting Archmage slept securely through the night.
Once the great tower had settled down somewhat the bookcase swung silently inward. Aryon floated into the room and settled to the floor. "Take careful note of the outer latch Archmage. This wall faces away from any watchtowers, but you will still not want to be hanging there searching for it."
"No problem Aryon," I replied. "I have more than enough chameleon magic. Even if someone looks up they won't notice me."
He swung the secret access shut. "Just make sure no one is looking when the portal in the side of the tower pops open." He pressed on a series of decorations carved into the edge of the bottom shelf, and the panel opened a small slit along the bottom. "You can look through here to make sure no one is observing, then press here to open the door."
"Perfect. I won't be seen. Not here at least."
He glanced at the blackened chain mesh of the Dark Brotherhood armor laid out on the bed. "Scum, all of them."
"Yes," I said. "They lack the honor of the Morag Tong, but the rules of the Tong would prevent Baladas from hiring them for the task."
"They have not been active in Vvardenfell for some time."
"No," I replied. "Their base in Mournhold encountered...problems, from what I understand. But no one believes that the Night Mother has gone out of business completely."
"A Telvanni councilor would present a most challenging target for the Dark Brotherhood, or the Morag Tong for that matter."
"They would certainly send their best," I agreed. "Let us hope they are good enough."
Day 45: Fly on the wall
I have now seen the operation of the Telvanni council from a closer perspective than any outsider could have ever expected. It is amazing how efficiently they responded once the stakes were high enough, since it seemed they were organized specifically to get nothing done. I spent the day tagging along, and keeping out of the way. I'm sure the majority of Telvanni would wonder that the Archmage should be allowed so close to the process, but I clearly have allies now.
The day started when I was awakened by the tremendous commotion in the hall outside my room. I opened the door to find guards, who had been on watch keeping an eye on my door, in animated conversation with another breathless guard who had obviously raced to be first to tell them the news. Probably raced to be first to tell anyone the news. I'm sure the scene outside my door was being played all over Tel Vos.
"Dead; her and a bunch of her retainers. The main tower was a bloodbath." That was the first thing I heard.
"Unbelievable!" another guard answered. "A magelord! A member of the council! Killed in her own tower? Can't be. Who would do such a thing?" The questioner turned eyes to me, standing in the doorway in a sleeping robe. "The Archmage of the guild seems to be trying to get on the good side of the council, and the great houses have been at peace. More at peace than usual anyway."
The breathless bearer of the bad news had regained their wind, and wanted to regain the attention. "One of the Tel Mora guards saw a Dark Brotherhood assassin fly from the high tower balcony."
The rest pounced avidly on this new detail. "Dark Brotherhood!"
"Terrible business!"
"They have no honor! Must be House Hlaalu behind it!"
I risked intruding a question. "What happened?" Our source gleefully restarted his report as the crowd fell to listening a second time, no doubt hoping to seize on some fresh tidbit.
"Mistress Dratha, in Tel Mora, has been killed! Paralyzed and hacked to pieces, along with many of her favorites."
"Paralyzed?" came a voice from the crowd. Apparently that had not been included in the first accounting.
"Yes, paralyzed. The guards who found her could tell by the way she fell. The Dark Brotherhood do use jinkblades, you know, with paralysis spells enchanted into them," the source confided, as if he had some secret knowledge of the assassin's guild.
I listened for a bit, but could see there were no real details coming. The guard who had raced up the tower had very little information, and was holding forth on the same points in order to stay at the focus of attention. I retreated quickly to my room and got dressed for the day.
In Aryon's chamber a somewhat more disheveled guard was giving a similar report, though hers was more of a first hand account. She had been dispatched from nearby Tel Mora with the news, and had no doubt touched off the wildfire of rumors as soon as her feet touched the dock. The only significant detail that she had to add to the story was that the speculation about paralysis did not come from some obscure analysis of the position of the fallen bodies, but from an enchanted shortsword left buried to the hilt in the chest of one of Dratha's retainers.
Her description of a flexible but unbreakably hardened, thin and springy blade was unmistakable, but unrecognized by many of those present. "Adamantium," I suggested quietly.
"Quite possible," said Turedus Talanian, the Cyrodiilian captain of Aryon's guard. "It's rare, but not really that hard to find on the mainland. Hardly ever see any on Vvardenfell though. Any other weapons left behind?" he asked.
"A dart. Ebony," came the answer.
"Practically a trademark of the Dark Brotherhood," said the captain. "I'd say there's little doubt Master Aryon. Someone hired the Dark Brotherhood to kill at least one council member. I put out an immediate order to tighten security, and I'm going to tighten it even further. The brothers of darkness are not to be trifled with."
"Tighten security as you wish," said Aryon, "but tighten it at the docks as well, and ready my ship. We must sail for Sadrith Mora."
I might have showed surprise if anyone had been paying attention to me. There are offices for all of the council members in the capital, but for them to actually be found there is unheard of. It was the first sign of the hectic day ahead. I accepted Aryon's offer and rode with him to Sadrith Mora, which was buzzing with activity by the time we arrived. The discussions were all carried out by the mouths, and I'm sure that the council members did very little actual meeting, but with them close by the mouths could get their responses much more quickly than usual.
By the time the madwoman Therana had arrived from her more distant stronghold the mouths had concluded discussion, and shortly after she swept into the council building Baladas was approved to fill the vacant seat. Rumors ran rampant that he had hired outlander assassins to create that vacancy, but among the Telvanni such suspicions were mostly well regarded.
Certainly no one seemed inclined to condemn him for it if it was indeed true. In fact the alacrity with which the remaining council members approved him was taken as an indication that it was true, and that none of them wanted to be seen as impeding his progress. Personally, I suspect that explains why Dratha's mouth made a hasty exit rather than pressing a possible claim to her seat.
Late in the evening, as I was having a final conference with Skink at the guild hall, checking preparations to respond to any turmoil the situation might cause, a visitor arrived. "Begging your pardon, Archmage," Turedus Talanian said as he entered. " I know the hour is late, but I was hoping to catch you before you left the city."
"And you have," I replied. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, being from the Imperial province the council has tasked me with investigating the Dark Brotherhood's involvement in Telvanni affairs. And much to my surprise they resolved to ask your guild for help as well."
"Is that so?" I asked, surprised myself. "And you said 'Telvanni affairs'?"
"A slip of the tongue. There is an...assumption...that Baladas hired them, which is unspoken and which I don't really believe anyone wants to see proven. Baladas will be a much better council member than the man hater was."
Clearly Aryon's man would not be putting much effort into finding the truth, and obviously I wouldn't either, but we would both use our contacts on the mainland to produce as many plausible but incorrect explanations as possible. No one will ever prove that Baladas hired the Dark Brotherhood, since he didn't, and Aryon had seen to it that the two main arms of investigation were safe from accidentally stumbling onto the truth, since we both knew it.
"This is a gift from Aryon," Turedus said, handing me a tightly wrapped bundle, "for your help in this matter as well as your support of his museum. It is good to see peaceful relationships blossom between our house and your guild."
I waited until I got home to open the package. It was my own armor, which Turedas had carried aboard the ship in case someone with a stray suspicion had searched my belongings. I hung the black chainmail carefully, back in the secret portion of my closet where it can hopefully remain.
Day 46: For hire
Yesterday was a long day, and the sleepless night before may have taken a toll. I woke up in a foul humor, and it did not get any better. Ahnassi was no help. I guess I have kept her waiting too long. She is far more anxious to move than I am. Rather than fight about it I set off for Ald-ruhn to check on progress at Bal Isra.
Galsa Gindu, the Redoran architect, greeted me warmly and we set off across the ashlands to my new manor. The ashlands stretching to the horizon normally give me a sense of unfettered freedom. The nomadic existence of the Ashlanders seems ideal. The construction of the manor is a perfect fit, aesthetically, but in the vastness it seems far too fragile. I think Galsa could see my discomfort, perhaps because she has already been working on a solution. She and Athyn Sarethi, head of the council, have been assembling a staff to manage the estate. She also has designed appropriate fortifications, but there is a problem. With all the trouble in Mar Gaan the Redoran Guard is short handed, and fortification without guards to man the walls is a waste.
We discussed options on the return to Ald-ruhn, and by the time we reached the thick city walls I was decided. Galsa would get construction started on the walls, and I would approach the fighter's guild to supplement the guards. I thought that my position as the local head of an Imperial guild would help me in negotiating with them. Unfortunately I forgot that the empire runs almost exclusively on exchanged favors. Percius Mercius, the Cyrodiil steward of the Ald-ruhn guild hall did not forget, and was measuring my potential uses as soon as he laid eyes on me.
"Certainly I would be happy to help a fellow outlander," he said with that ingratiating tone that Cyrodiils are so adept with. "In fact I have a couple very good prospects for you. They are looking to settle. As I'm sure you know the life of a guild member can be a bit transient."
I considered my travels during my journeyman days and could certainly sympathize. "That sounds perfect," I said, setting myself up for the kill.
"I thought so," he said, "but there is a complication." I should have guessed. "I had them in mind for an assignment that may require them to leave Vvardenfell." Natives of Cyrodiil have been at the center of Imperial intrigue for so many generations that even Cyrodiil peasants can lie with no outward sign. Looking back I would guess this was a perfect example.
"A mission to the mainland?" I asked.
"No. Just that it would likely cause such...repercussions...that they would have to leave. I only considered them for the task since they are ready to leave the guild, since it is imperative that the fighter's guild not be associated with this task."
I could feel the jaws of the trap closing, but somehow he had stirred my curiosity. The fighter's guild are mercenaries for hire. Almost any action they might take would be the responsibility of whoever hired them. "What do you have them doing?"
"I haven't assigned them yet. It isn't actually a guild job, and it could offend one of our best local clients. If they do it I will pay them myself and they will be transferring back to Cyrodiil." I could have reminded him of the embargo, which might have unspun the web of half truth he was spinning, but I missed the opportunity. "It is a simple task though, and, come to think of it as a Breton perhaps you could do it."
"I thought I made clear that I want to hire Dunmer," I said.
"Yes, you did. The men I have in mind are Dunmer. That's why they would be hard pressed to do the job without problems. Frelene Acques is a Breton; you are a Breton; it could all work out."
"Who is Frelene Acques?"
"She is a friend, and she is in trouble with house Hlaalu." House Hlaalu; so that was the client that Percius was concerned about offending. "As a fellow Breton you could visit her without raising questions."
"Visit her?"
"They have her imprisoned in Vivec City."
"Visiting her does not seem to be much of a task."
"That's just to get the layout. I need her broken out. Quickly."
How I ended up agreeing to this mad scheme still puzzles me. There is no way that the fighters guild steward in Ald-ruhn was considering sending a band of Dunmer mercenaries to assault the Hlaalu treasury, which is where they hold prisoners. Mercenaries; I should have been able to simply pay them. Cyrodiils!
Day 47: Most delicate business
Conditions are vastly improved in the headquarters of the guild. Malven has kept her word, and the staff in Vivec is on par with any hall in the land. They have new apprentices, and the diverse skills of the journeymen are up to almost any challenge. It may not have been necessary to enlist the aid of Malven herself today, but it was a comfort. Diplomacy and duplicity; how they go hand in hand!
I thought long and hard about Frelene Acques last night. Getting her free from the clutches of House Hlaalu seems simple enough. As the Archmage I have enough political pull to be allowed to visit my fellow Breton, and could simply toss her an intervention scroll so she could teleport to freedom...which would of course make me instantly notorious. Even if I could slip it to her somehow, it isn't like a visit from the Archmage shortly before an escape would not raise a question. Killing everyone in the Hlaalu treasury, though perhaps possible, would certainly be extreme, but in the dark hour before dawn it seemed as good an idea as any. When the sun rose it was clear that I would need help.
As steward of the Vivec hall Malven doesn't have as much political capital to spend as I have, but being Dunmer herself does help. It was not too hard for her to get a visit scheduled. She also had the advantage of reporting to supervision; any questions she didn't want to answer she could defer until she could speak to me, and she could portray her errand as a minor inconvenience she had been assigned rather than a task of any import or interest. She appeared to be bored, the guard seemed bored, the prisoner was certainly bored; not likely that this exchange would leap to mind when Frelene turns up missing.
"The Archmage is curious about your family, prisoner," Malven said blandly once she had gotten through the clutter of formalities and assorted doors that isolated the cells from the rest of the world.
"Why is that?" was the surly response.
"He is a Breton also. Apparently your surname is shared with a distant branch of his own family."
"Well, big deal. Why isn't he here then?"
I was, actually. After slipping invisibly through the doors on Malven's heels I had taken a shadowed position against a pillar and was listening closely to every word.
"The Archmage is away on business, as is frequently the case. He has given me a list of the better known members of that branch of his family. If you would give me the names of your own relatives I can check to see if there are any in common. If so I will let him know. There doesn't seem to be any rush; you don't appear to be going anywhere."
They had certainly not made friends, and the encounter at the bars passed quickly and fruitlessly. Malven returned to the guild, and the prisoner sat disconsolate on her bunk. It was clear to her, and more importantly to the guard, that no help could be expected from the mage's guild. I let the routine grind on to dull their expectations even further, and waited.
In the afternoon the guard changed. The oncoming guard peered briefly into the two occupied cells, then settled into a chair. The tired guard, with a sigh of relief, pushed the keys across the table and stood to leave. I watched the keys. The distant click of a closing door signaled the completion of the change. The new guard stared at his boots stretched out before him. Again I waited.
I don't think he went to sleep. Ordinators are a little too dedicated for that. But the quiet, stuffy room still took a toll on his alertness. With a whispered command I activated the enchantment in my glove. A trick learned from my adopted father, who called it his 'glove of five fingered discounts', the telekenetic spell allowed me to gently lift the keys, pass them behind the somnolent guard, and drop them into my other hand; all from the safe shadow of the pillar. I quietly opened the furthest cell, slipped inside, and locked the door.
It wasn't too long before the afternoon meal arrived, and the missing keys were suddenly noted. A search of the floor, incredulous pawing at the table; the boredom disappeared like a mist at mid day. The two prisoners even roused themselves to stare through their respective barred doors. In short order a duplicate key was brought in, and they and their meager belongings had been hauled out and meticulously examined. Before anyone could think that the empty cells should be opened as well, the lost keys were found on the floor, lodged against a chair leg.
After some agitated complaints about false alarms things settled somewhat. The prisoners returned to the idle lounging that is their lot, and the guard returned to the endless battle for alertness that is his. He did, however, have the keys firmly attached to a belt on his armor. Likely no one will ever understand the mystery of the wandering keys, but hopefully they will remember that Frelene Acques and her cell were searched sometime between Malven's visit and the escape.
Frelene will use the scroll that mysteriously floated into her cell tonight, once all is quiet in the courtyard of the High Fane, the temple here in Vivec. At that point she is on her own. I did my part.
Day 48: The ordinary day
My arrival in Vivec this morning was quiet, but obvious. I enjoyed the brisk walk from Pelagiad, pausing briefly to laugh with a passing netch herder. It was good to know that for some there is still a normalcy to their days. As I left her, and the herd of great gas filled beasts who floated gently on the morning breezes, my smile faded. I live constantly in the shadow of the pending war; the war that must be won in order for her normal life, and untold others, to continue. So I crossed the bridge to the Canton with a renewed sense of commitment, but no particular direction.
It was important to be noticed, so I paused on the seemingly endless climb up the ramps of the foreign quarter to swap gossip with an Ordinator. It was not much of a trade. I gave him a vague 'outsider's view' of the turmoil in Telvanni territory, filled with 'as I heard it' and 'from what I saw' disclaimers. In return he gave me a description of the escaped prisoner. I was appropriately shocked.
"Escaped?" I exclaimed. "I had heard her name, and was thinking she could be a distant relation. I wonder if my steward had a chance to check on that for me."
"She did," I was told. My source paused, recognizing that he was slipping beyond common gossip and divulging information about an investigation. My former services to the Ordinators no doubt stood me in good stead. "Just between us Archmage, Malven was the last person to visit the prisoner, and initially there were some questions about that raised."
"Really?"
"Yes. But the guard who was on duty at the time is sure that nothing was passed to the prisoner, and didn't think the conversation went particularly well for the prisoner either."
"Malven had some simple tests. Not likely that we are related, and if not it would have been a short interview."
"That would be it then. Apparently she was only there for a few minutes."
"You said there were questions. Is Malven a suspect?"
"No. Like I said, the guard on duty was very sure."
"But, he would never want to admit that she might have slipped the prisoner a lockpick or something, so I don't know if that really means anything..."
"True enough. But there was a thorough search on the next shift as well. There were questions at first, but Malven has been cleared. No lockpick, by the way, she teleported out of the cell."
"Teleported? I thought that all prison cells were enchanted to drain magicka?"
"They are. Most likely someone slipped a magicka restorative into her food."
"Ah." I paused. "I'll have our records checked. See if any of our alchemists has sold such a potion in the last few days. Maybe they would remember something unusual about the buyer. You might suggest to whoever is in charge of the investigation that they could check with me about that."
"Good idea, Archmage."
I grinned. "I'm sure they're good investigators who would think of that themselves, but it never hurts to have a suggestion." It's hard to guess a facial expression behind the stiff Ordinator mask, but his eyes were smiling. I continued on to my office.
Just a typical day in the office. I gave Craetia a notice that the Ordinators may be inquiring, and she set about auditing the alchemy records. I reviewed the summaries of financial and training records from the guild halls, and sent off brief comments to the stewards. Mostly just encouragement, though profits are slipping again in Ald-ruhn. Edwinna sometimes gets too wrapped up in her research and needs to be prodded, gently.
Word went out quickly through the guild guides that I was in the headquarters, and by noon a stream of reports marked 'personal attention' was flowing onto my desk. I do not spend many full days in the office, but when I have the chance I encourage as much direct correspondence from the membership as possible. It is a very 'informal' system, which works for everyone. I might make a couple of margin notes, and usually write 'thanks' at the bottom of the messages, then they are resealed and returned. Knowing their note will not be filed somewhere seems to make people more comfortable about sharing their opinions. From the multitude of brief notes I can get a sense of the halls that I might not get passing through. As in any organization, hardly anyone is completely satisfied, but I get to hear things before anyone is seriously upset.
In the afternoon I met with Skink. Not surprisingly, the notes from those assigned to Telvanni territory conveyed a lot of concern. What I had not realized though, and passed on to Skink, is that in the lower ranks of the guild the upheaval in the Telvanni council is heightening the usual anxieties. Fore-warned is fore-armed, and he will be letting his people know that there is every reason to believe the changes will improve the guild's relationship with the Telvanni. Obviously he won't be going into great detail, but it will reduce the strain. For his part, Skink brought me up to date on progress in the council. Aryon and Neloth united form a strong voice, and they have started easing the Telvanni into preparation for war. They have suggested that a visit to Therana will be in order soon, but it is not called for yet.
Late in the day the message I was waiting for came from Ald-ruhn:
Initial payment on your mercenary contract has been received. Prospects will be available for interview in the Ald-ruhn hall during normal business hours. Thank you for choosing the fighter's guild.
Yours,
Percius Mercius
Sometimes things work out.
Day 49: Wheels within wheels
Thieves in the Empire, like thieves anywhere, have always been organized, though calling them a guild is perhaps an overstatement. The Imperial Legions, and other enforcers of the law, will usually scoff at the suggestion, and rightly so. There is not the structure that one finds in a regular guild. The Mage's Guild and the Fighter's Guild are patterned on the traditional crafts guilds, with their system of ranks, while thieves form more of a free flowing brotherhood. In any event, it is very difficult for a thief to operate completely on their own, so some sort of conclave is almost inevitable.
I grew up in just such a conclave. My 'father', who was not really my father, was well respected in the community at large, and even better respected among those who plied their trades in the dark alleys and byways. He owned a small warehouse and appeared to make a small but honest income storing goods for various traders, who came to our city to supply the local merchants with trade goods and take the local products away to stronger markets. What the community at large did not know was that under the warehouse floor a hidden storage area served much the same function, except that the goods stored there were only being shipped away because they were too recognizable to be sold locally...their rightful owners would no doubt object. Some of those goods my father and a small group of friends would acquire themselves, but most came from a larger group of friends who much preferred a little coin in their pockets to a house full of stolen goods.
This circle of friends expanded slowly, for obvious reasons, and in many cases a new friend would be added to the circle without the convenience of a formal introduction. When someone new arrived in town, having fled the authorities in their former home, they couldn't just ask around to find a business like my father's, and if they knew of him from his reputation in criminal circles they still could not just walk in off the street loaded with stolen goods and expect a friendly reception. A unique language of signals has developed over the ages to manage such obstacles. More like a multitude of local dialects than a language I suppose.
I've not seen fit to pursue the local 'dialect', though I'm sure Ahnassi would be happy to share it with me. Today, I was totally surprised to see the familiar signs of my own native dialect. The surprise came, really, from the confidence with which the signs were given, as well as the specific details. Frelene Acques turned out to be a 'relative' after all, and she knew it. The signals she gave were straight from my childhood. I acknowledged her signs without alerting Percius Mercius. Throughout the interviews and negotiations with my new guards I puzzled about what I had gotten myself mixed up in.
Three things were obvious. The attractive Breton was no warrior, or member of the Fighter's Guild. She had ingratiated herself with the guild steward for some reason that was most likely not what the pompous Cyrodiil believed. Somehow I was now a vital part of her plan, whatever that might be. In an effort to figure out more I invited Mercius to dinner, timing the invitation so that he could neither refuse nor go without the girl. She helped by letting out a delighted squeal at the mention of a dinner out. I sent word with one of my newly hired guards to let my household staff know that Bal Isra would be hosting its first guests.
The dinner was excellent, though I was too distracted to really appreciate it. I listened to everything the girl said, sorting it into broad categories.
There were obvious lies about her past, told for the benefit of her patron. She had apparently presented herself as a legitimate trader from the mainland, caught by the embargo and then infamously stripped of her goods by bandits. It was a good story, and played well with Mercius. A warrior, he sees himself cast as the hero in the damsel's tale. Like most good fabrications it is likely embellished from some kernel of truth. Most likely she was running black market goods through the embargo and either abandoned her goods evading capture of has the proceeds hidden somewhere.
Another series of half truths had lead Mercius into a very awkward position. The Camonna Tong presents themselves as a society of Dunmer businessmen; a sort of merchants guild that promotes local business. As such they can, and do, contract services from the fighter's guild. The fighters guild charter prevents them from contracting any illegal services, but in doing the legal tasks the mercenaries free the tong's own thugs for their less savory tasks. Very lucrative for the guild, and as long as the they don't find out too much about their client's activities a fine relationship. Frelene's story led to investigating some of these activities. In the course of investigating Frelene's losses Mercius has learned too much about the Tong, and nothing much about her.
Frelene's arrest by the Hlaalu was the final touch. Mercius was left with no way to avoid the truth of the connections between the 'innocent' Dunmer businessmen, the thugs of the Camonna Tong, and the leadership of House Hlaalu. There was no way he could avoid recognizing the truth, but also no way for him to prove it. The clever Breton thief was treading a very fine line. A search for solid evidence could reveal sordid truths about her that would sidetrack her intentions.
Laced through this background of the deception of Mercius were a number of points made for my benefit. These were harder to assess, as far as truthfulness, but their intent was clear. As Redoran Hortator and Archmage I have significant influence. Frelene is maneuvering to have that influence brought to bear against the tong. She is willing to draw heavily on our connected past to accomplish her aims. Her methods have fallen short of outright blackmail, so far, but I have to wonder how far she will go.
Day 50: Secret agents of a secret brotherhood
I spent the day today with Ahnassi, moving things from Pelagiad to our new manor at Bal Isra. It was an opportunity to explore a nagging question that had risen in the back of my mind yesterday. Ahnassi is tightly connected to the master thieves of Vvardenfell, most notably Habasi in Balmora. Her perspective on Frelene Acques would be invaluable, but tread frighteningly close to a personal fear.
"I met someone who knew my father's fence signs," I said to start the conversation.
She was non-committal, but her tail gave a sudden twitch. "Oh? Someone from the sands of your home?"
"Yes. She was with the guild steward of the fighters guild."
She hissed. "Fighters guild; they are dogs of the Camonna Tong. Their precious charter is supposed to keep them from illegal activities, but it doesn't keep them from working for thugs. Then they contract to 'enforce the law' against us."
"That seemed to be the point she was making to him. I don't think he knows she is a thief."
We were loading things into crates as we talked, and I think she might have been distracted. "She isn't a thief," she said absently.
"You know her?"
Her tail swished furiously. "Arvil Bren, this one does not ask you about mage guild business."
I stopped packing. "No, you don't, but you do hear quite a bit in your own quiet way. I don't worry about it."
"And you don't bring home security plans from your guild halls," she said.
"True. I was a thief. I grew up with thieves. I wouldn't tempt you like that." I grinned.
"Smart," was all she said, but she smiled back.
"I don't ask about your fellows," I said. "Things get stolen from the guild halls. I still don't ask. But this Breton girl is pulling me into her web. I need to know what she is up to."
Another hiss, angry this time, but not at me. "You? You are not part of her assignment!"
The question burst from the back of my mind and was out of my mouth before I could stop it. "Am I your 'assignment'?"
She dropped the ceramic pot she was putting into the crate, and it cracked in half. "No. Khajiit cannot mate that way. That is why we had to get a Breton." She looked at me with a look that filled me with remorse. "We are not just an 'assignment', are we, my Breton?"
It was a very difficult conversation, but we got through it. I'm not absolutely sure what to think, but truth is never a really absolute thing.
Even though it wasn't an intentional plot, Ahnassi being so close to the Archmage certainly benefits her shadowy friends. As the fighters guild became further embroiled with their enemies in the Camonna Tong it isn't surprising that the idea of attaching an agent to an influential member would occur to them.
"But I knew about you from the start," I said.
"Yes. You are open minded. Mercius is not. And you have your own past." So Frelene Acques had to deceive him, at least in part. She may not be an active thief, but the past she is feeding him is at least partly fabrication. Ahnassi got back to packing, but she was clearly still angry about something, and it wasn't me.
"How is our Breton spy 'pulling you into her web'?" she finally asked.
"If she has her way I'll be leading the Redoran's against House Hlaalu," I said.
"House Hlaalu might as well be 'House Camonna Tong', you know that."
"Yes, but we can't afford a house war right now. House Dagoth is enough of a problem. I also really can't afford some voice from my past announcing that the Archmage and the Hortator was raised a thief. That's the direction she's headed."
Her ears laid flat and her eyes narrowed. "We will take care of that," she said. "She is grasping at straws, but you are not a straw she can use."
I could see the problem. The target of her plan had come around, reaching the conclusion that his guild was operating outside the intent of their charter. Unfortunately, all that a guild steward reaching such a conclusion could accomplish is the destruction of his own career. In distant Cyrodiil the highest ranks of the guild welcome squabbles between what they consider 'minor provincial factions', and they are not known for making judgments based on ethics. They side with wealth.
"Actually sweetheart, I think I can be of some use to her. Just not necessarily the way she expects."
Day 51: Turn of the tables
Ahnassi and I awoke in our new manor this morning. After a hard day of moving it was a joy, until I looked around at the mountains of crates to be unpacked. I pulled the covers over my head.
"You do not know how to enjoy life Arvil Bren," Ahnassi purred as she deliberately shredded the blankets with her claws. "You have vast wealth and authority, well earned, and the household staff are all wondering why you do not tell them what to do. Their Redoran honor was impugned every time you hauled a crate off of your teleport mark yesterday. If you start opening crates today they will all have to kill themselves in shame."
I peered out through the widening rents in the bedding. "Okay," seemed like all there was to say.
"This one will supervise them, and make sure your things are pleasantly arranged. Do you want all your armors and weapons scattered haphazardly about the hallway as you had them at home?" She continued to slowly slice the blankets into long strips, and I opted not to call her on her sarcasm. There are lessons one learns when their mate has three inch retractable claws.
Her mind is as sharp as her claws, and she was happy to help me work out my plans. It distracted her somewhat from the seemingly random rearrangements of our furniture that were keeping the staff and newly hired guards busy. I started out cringing at the seemingly wasted efforts, but by the end of the day I was awed. As she had suggested, their strenuous efforts made the staff feel useful, and in the end her generous nature and a liberal supply of food, drink and gold had developed a clannish loyalty in them that will serve us well.
The sitting room area was her first priority, and it was ready well before our guest arrived. Frelene Acques looked around with an appraising eye as she was led in by a red jacketed servant. "Do not grow too interested, operative," Ahnassi hissed. "You are not here to case the house." I laughed to myself. Ahnassi had bristled at me saying that the Breton was a thief yesterday, but today she herself was addressing her by a guild rank and guarding our possessions against her. Kajiiti, in general, have a hard time acknowledging that anyone else is even capable of truly being a thief, at least in title.
"I wouldn't think of it," the Breton said smoothly, "and I apologize for any other... infringements... I have made in pursuit of my assignment." She turned a demure look my way, and I feared for her life, or at least her eyesight. Ahnassi's claws were peeking through the fur on her fingertips.
I decided to get right to business before things got out of hand. While she may or may not be a skilled thief, it was obvious why the Breton agent had been chosen for the task of infiltrating the fighter's guild. Her bubbling flirtatious nature would turn any man's head, and most would never notice the flickering calculation in the depths of her eyes. I'm sure Mercius never had a chance.
"Your assignment is why you are here today," I said. "You seem to think that a House war between the Redorans and the Hlaalu would serve your purpose."
"Yes," she said. "The Redorans have superior warriors, well respected. Many guild members who are employed by Hlaalu nobles would refuse to side against the Redorans. Not out of fear, but out of respect. They may turn a blind eye to the wrongs of the Hlaalu, but a direct confrontation with the Redorans would illuminate the right and wrong of things too brightly to ignore."
"Good theory, but I doubt it. The fighter's guild operates on loyalty and order. There might be a few who would take the high road, but every time one did it would add greater opportunity for advancement for any other who took the low road. That's how Mercius lost control of the guild in the first place, isn't it?"
"Yes," she agreed with obvious reluctance. "The Nord, Hard-Hart, appealed to the guild masters on the mainland. He said that Mercius was too selective about assignments and was costing them money. The first thing Hard-Hart did when they stripped Percius of his rank and promoted the Nord to his place was to dispatch Percius to Ald-ruhn, the worst possible posting. Now, since the Ald-ruhn chapter brings in so little income, Percius is effectively silenced."
"So your war wouldn't work," I said.
"Yes it would. Even if you are right, and most of the guild sticks with their Hlaalu masters, the Redorans would win, so the guild would be broken."
I sighed. "So that would be an acceptable result?"
"My job is to break the fighter's guild away from the Camonna Tong. If they are completely broken in the process, that is not my problem."
"But it is mine. Those mercenaries will be needed, as will house Redoran's warriors, and even the Hlaalu."
"So you are not going to cooperate?" she said, and turned an appealing look to Ahnassi. Clearly she expected that the needs of the thieves guild would provide her an ally who could influence me as effectively as she herself influenced Mercius.
"I'll get your job done," I said, "but the cooperation needs to come from you." Ahnassi's slitted eyes indicated to the Breton agent that she really had no choice.
I don't know if Ahnassi doubted the operative's word, or her skills, but she accompanied her back to Ald-ruhn. Most likely, she herself acquired whatever materials were needed, and the Breton did the forging. In any event, she returned with the documents I need. Tomorrow I will report to Dren plantation. Not as Arvil Bren, Archmage, but as Demeter Boyle, fighter's guild protector and warrior for hire.
Day 52: Arrival
Orvas Dren's plantation in the Ascadian Isles region is the largest and most beautiful land grant in all of Vvardenfell. Being the brother of the Duke certainly has its advantages. I approached along the pleasant riverbank, rehearsing in my mind the role I was about to play. The sun rose over the outer wall ahead of me, casting long shadows of Dren's prize netch out to greet me. The giant beasts floated lazily in the morning mists, contained in an area within the compound that they had been trained to stay in by innumerable hours of constant herding. Hours put in by slave herdsmen, whose own living conditions stood far below the level of care that the netch enjoyed.
I left the bank of the river and followed the wall, enjoying its cool shade. My armor, crafted from the metallic shells of Dwemer centurions, brought to mind a custom fitted oven. The huge sword hung on my back took the place of my usual pack, and I shifted the rucksack loaded with a minimum of provisions from hand to hand. I can act the part of a warrior, and I have the papers to show it, but I certainly can't claim to be comfortable at it.
The huge Nord who met me at the west gate seemed comfortable enough. He also seemed more than willing to hack me to pieces with his great axe. My story held together in one piece though, so he opted to leave me intact also, at least long enough for his superior officers to check me out. He sent a passing slave scurrying with a cuff to the ear. "Fetch Manes Othreleth," he growled, "and be quick about it."
Manes Othreleth turned out to be a Dunmer clad in Dwemer armor similar to my own. He looked me up and down with distainful red eyes. He wore no helm. I had my own pushed up onto my head so my face was visible. His roving gaze came to rest there. "What do you want Breton?"
I held my papers out for the second time. "Hard-Hart seems to think this is the best place for my talents to be useful."
"Hard-Hart? This says you come from the Ald-ruhn chapter." He rattled the documents.
"That's where I've been working since I came to Vvardenfell. Mostly guarding mages on expeditions to Dwemer sites. Didn't pay very well, but the salvage was good." I banged the bracer on my forearm against the heavy breastplate of my armor. "Only so much Dwemer plate can be carried around, though, and only so much time can be spent with a bunch of whiny mages. If I wanted to be surrounded by mages I could have stayed home."
"Yes. Bretons are certainly known more as mages than warriors. We aren't really in need of any more guards right now. I don't know why Hard-Hart would have sent you."
"I didn't ask what the job was. Really I was ready to call it quits on the guild. Be a little more...independent. Didn't seem like I was really welcome in Redoran territory though. Hard-Hart suggested that I would do better in Hlaalu territory, and that an assignment with Orvas Dren would be a good way to get familiar."
"Well, a lot of the mercenaries who've come here have ended up joining house Hlaalu, true enough. That doesn't mean that every man in the guild should be dispatched to Dren Plantation though. The guard house isn't all that big. The boss might have a use for you. Tell you what. You can bunk in the slave quarters until we get this sorted out. Food and a roof." He hollered to some nearby slaves. "Clear out that shack!" He pointed. "Everything! Just haul it all out." He turned back to me. "You'll want to let it air out a bit. We'll get you a clean bedroll from the guardhouse."
Despite Othrelath's claims, the guardhouse seemed huge, and very lavishly appointed. Dren may not put much into providing for his slaves, but he takes good care of his mercenaries. I suppose though that it is easy to play it down, since it sits a short throw away from Dren's own villa, which could serve as the country home of the Duke himself. Othrelath left me in the care of a Breton, also clad in armor of Dwemer metal, though hers was formed to fit a much more shapely figure. He hustled over to the villa, conversing with a Dunmer who had been strolling through the gardens using a great ebony spear as a walking stick.
"Is that the guard commander?" I asked the woman, who had been introduced as Virene Mene.
"The highest commander," she replied. "That's Orvas Dren."
Of course, Orvas Dren had also heard nothing about my 'assignment' to the plantation. I have a very short time before confirmation, actually lack of confirmation, is received from the guild headquarters in Vivec. By morning the career of Demeter Boyle must come to an end. I am past the guards posted at each gate, but the captain roving the compound and the archer on the roof of the guardhouse may present a problem... and there is no telling how many Camonna Tong thugs Dren has in the villa with him.
Day 53: Casting out the outlanders
I was up well before dawn this morning. The two moons of Tamriel bathed the plantation in a soft glow. I stood in the deeply shadowed doorway of the ragged hut I had been assigned. The nagging pull of Moon and Star was quiet. More than quiet. The ring suffused me with satisfaction. The spirit of Nerevar was home in the Ascadian Isles.
The mighty bull netch, prize of Dren's herd, floated in the moonlight. Its great tentacles hung limp, trailing lightly across the ground. The huge beast was famed throughout Vvardenfell; sire to a line of netch known not only for great size, but also for the suppleness of the leather their hides produced. It drifted in its sleep on the gentle breezes, occasional sighs of its vents pushing it away from the walls of its pen. It is unfortunate that such a magnificent creature ended up in the hands of such a foul specimen as Orvas Dren.
A betty netch, brought in to breed with the great bull, was more restless. In the wild, or a free roaming herd, a breeding female would have a number of bulls flocking around her. Being penned with only one suitor was not to her liking. Her owner had paid a hefty fee for her to have the right mate, and the herders who had brought her in were nearly exhausted by the effort of fending off wild bulls during the trek.
I slipped deeper into the darkness of the hut, where the glow of magica would be out of sight. The Daedric longbow solidified in my hands. I stepped again to the doorway. The bowstring sung its quiet song and the arrow sped on its deadly course. The brain case of the betty netch, located on the bottom of the gas bag, burst silently. The tentacles gave a single jerking spasm. The lifeless gasbag continued to float, drifting with the breeze. Only when it bumped against the high wall did the herders become alarmed.
They cautiously approached the netch. Certainly no healthy netch would allow itself to be blown against an obstacle, but they had no way to grasp that the beast was dead. Only when a bold herder had grabbed a trailing tentacle and pulled the corpse away from the wall to protect the leather hide did the magnitude of the situation set in. Then the great bull woke up, and instantly sensed the presence of death in its pen. It started jetting frantically about.
The overnight shift was not awarded as a prize. The herders were sleepy, but roused to horrified wakefulness. In short order the panic set in. Shouts for their own supervisor and the leader of the visiting herders began to echo off the compound walls. As could be expected the watch captain was drawn to the commotion. I slunk through the shadows to Dren's villa.
Dren's bodyguard sacrificed himself for time. Caught up from sleep by the growing chaos outside he had not donned armor. When the chaos entered the villa, personified in my gleaming armored form, he courageously threw himself in my path. He fell to my shortsword, but not in vain. As his red eyes closed for the last time he could see his leader appear at the top of the stair, encased in full Orcish mail, armed and ready.
"You bear the Moon and Star," he said.
"Yes. It is time to unite the houses." The voice was mine, the words were not, although I was in complete agreement.
"Yes, and it shall fall to me to unite them! Seeing Moon and Star on your pale hand disgusts me outlander, but suddenly my destiny is clear. You bring the ring to me! It is I who shall lead my people! I who shall throw off the yoke of the outlanders!"
"Your touch would defile the ring, and the ring would end your life. It is not this body, born of Breton parents, that is the abomination that must be cast out. There is corruption in the outlander empire, and it oozes into Morrowind. You, Orvas Dren, you are the focal point of that corruption. You have twisted Dunmer society, twisted great House Hlaalu, twisted your own brother, all to promote your own interests above those of your people."
Again, the voice was mine, the words were not. I was still in complete agreement, but I wouldn't have put things quite that way. I was pretty sure there was a way that Dren could have been bought off. The spirit of Nerevar would not have it. It was today, at Dren Plantation, that the legend was realized. I am a Breton, but I am a Redoran. Dren is a Dunmer, but he has abandoned the spirit and principles of Vvardenfell. Today Nerevar stood for the Velothi, in the body of a Breton, and cast out the outlander corruption personified by Orvas Dren.
Of course, Dren did not go quietly. I was momentarily dismayed when he seized up an ebony spear and charged. I know well the benefits of the long reaching weapon he held against me. But the significance of the moment would be served well. The legend of Nerevar was not founded on subtlety, but on theatrics. The eyes and ears of the household staff would record the event, and the story would spread.
Deep in Dunmer history lies a mighty sword, the Foeburner. Long before the Dwemer split from their Dunmer cousins the united Velothi stood against invasion from the savage precursors of the Nords. The leader of House Dwemer, the dwarf king, forged the Foeburner in the fires of Red Mountain. The Nords, who swept fearlessly over all opposition, were turned back. Their greatest warriors fell before the blazing blade, and eventually just the presence of the dwarf king and his sword could turn the barbarian hordes into fleeing rabble.
As I swept the great Dwarven claymore from the scabbard on my back Dren laughed. "A replica of Foeburner outlander? Am I supposed to quake with fear? The Foeburner struck terror in the Nords, but it did not serve the Dwemer against the Dunmer. The Nords may be of hardy stock, but fire is an ally of the Dunmer, we do not burn like the outlanders."
"I know. I also know that the real power of Foeburner was the dessicating spell that was woven into the flaming blade that made each stroke more devastating than the last. This sword is not a replica of Foeburner. The threat to the Velothi is now armored in the flesh and dark skin of the Dunmer, like a parasite. Foeburner protected the people, this sword shall cleanse them. This is the Foeshocker." The huge blade smote his ebony spear with a strike of lightning, and thunder boomed.
Again Dren laughed. "Very dramatic outlander, but hardly impressive. A minor jolt, nothing more. But after I spit your pinkskinned husk on my spear I may even use your sword. Against the steel clad legions it might prove useful."
He jabbed with the spear as he spoke, disdaining the sword. Even the great blade could not begin to match his reach. The jagged lightning again struck against the ebony shaft with a boom of thunder. Another jolt that Dren brushed aside with a mocking sneer.
The words had not been mine for a while, but this time it was the very voice of Nerevar that roared from my throat. "Your last chance to repent Dren! Cast off your wealth, shave your head, live among the people as a beggar and shout that Nerevar has returned!"
Of course, Dren had seen nothing that made him even consider taking such a course. Neither had the onlookers. The Foeshocker struck once more. This time the mesh of magical metallic tendrils that it had been depositing through the ebony of the spear at every strike had reached its mark in Dren's gauntlets, making them perfect conductors. His flesh exploded in a flash of light and steam, bursting the brittle shell of Orcish plate.
Day 54: Independent traders
I decided this morning that there was one more thing to be done as Demeter Boyle. I slid reluctantly into the heavy Dwemer armor, and pulled the visor down over my face. The walk to Balmora has never seemed so long.
The armor served its purpose well. Hlaalu retainers are well known for their ability to appraise value at a glance, and walking into their council hall clad from head to toe in rare artifacts garnered immediate attention. Nileno Dorvayn, the house steward, approached immediately. "Greetings! Are you interested in doing business with House Hlaalu?" Her friendly smile did not extend to her red eyes, and for some reason I thought of slaughterfish.
"I have business with the house. With the council, not their underlings. Call them to meet."
She took a step back, which was probably good. I was already uncomfortably warm from the walk, and I suspect the anger boiling off of her was noticably raising the temperature in her immediate vicinity.
"I don't know who you think you are, outlander," she snarled. "The council has authorized me to handle the business of the house. They are independent traders, and take care of their own business themselves. They don't meet. Whatever business you thought you had is within my purview. I choose to do no business with you. The only business you have left is to get out of here."
The guards were tensed, hands on weapons. I did nothing to relax them. Moon and Star pulsed on my finger with a blinding glow as I raised my fist to their leader. "This current council may shirk their duties, but it was not always so. My business with the Hlaalu began long before their corrupt tenure, but it is to be concluded now."
Her eyes were wide as she stared into the depths of the ring. "Nerevar," she gasped. She shifted smoothly to an appeasing tone. "The council really does not meet," she said. "Especially now. Orvas Dren, a high ranking member of the house, was killed at his plantation yesterday. The councillors are...concerned...and they..."
"They are in hiding," I interrupted. "Cowering in their kennels like dogs abandoned by their master. Yes, Dren was a high ranking member of the house. The puppeteer who ran your council through fear and corruption. It sickens me that the noble Hlaalu have fallen so low. It is time for your council to rise up on their hind legs and speak as mer." There was no point in glaring, but I turned the golden visage of my Dwemer helm on each of the guards in turn to let them know they would not be well served to interfere, then drew the Foeshocker. "This is the blade that struck down Orvas Dren. This is the blade that will cut free the outlander corruption from the body of the Velothi." Lightning crackled along the golden metal. "No doubt I can go to them faster than they can rise from their stupors and come to me."
"There are... some of the... the council members... some of them are outlanders..." she stammered.
"I know that," I snapped. "I have met one. A disgusting individual, but he has accepted that being a house councillor is a duty. A duty that he will put before his outlander business. One can only hope the Dunmer born will do the same. Duty and honor shall be served! Those who pillage the heritage of the Velothi are the 'outlanders'..." I cleaved a table with a stroke of lightning, and swept half of it away in a hail of splinters. "They shall not stand."
I turned slowly. "You are guardians of the council chambers of a great house. A duty, and you stand there like outlander statues. Better that you had drawn swords and gone to your ancestors now with honor than later on your knees. I am leaving. You will decide your futures. Either commit to your duties or resign your posts. If you ever allow this chamber to be violated like this again I will slay you myself." I deliberately turned my back and stalked from the room. In the modern house Hlaalu a turned back is a common target, but I counted on my point about honor having been made. It apparently was.
A quick series of teleports and a brief flight put me on Elmas Island, just east of Vivec. The Hlaalu guards at the Omani plantation were no better versed in the honor of their duties than they had been at the council hall. I struck the door from its hinges with a clap of thunder. "Velanda Omani! You are the head of the Hlaalu council! Put aside your own business, your duty has come to you."
To her credit Omani did step forward. My conversation with the nominal head of the council was short. She is accustommed to being told what to do by Orvas Dren, but I believe she may grow into the leader her position requires. She set a date for the first meeting of the Hlaalu council in over a decade. I will be notifying the council members for her myself.
Day 55: Unable to attend
Arranging a meeting of the Hlaalu council is proving more difficult than I expected. Orvas Dren's corruption completely disrupted the function of the council. One member, Dram Bero, who at some point apparently crossed Dren, has dropped completely out of sight. Hopefully Hunter Nine-toes will be able to develop some leads on his whereabouts.
After meeting Nine-toes at his house in Balmora I set out for Suran. Nevena Oles manor is not far out of town. She agreed immediately. Like Velanda Omani she is accustommed to doing what she is told. It is hard to have any confidence in this council. Perhaps if Dram Bero emerges from hiding he could turn out to be a leader.
I ended the day in Vivec City, with another discouraging view of the Hlaalu.
Yngling Half-Troll is a Nord. Crassius Curio, the perverse Imperial, does not provide a great recommendation for awarding council seats to other than Dunmer, but with the realities of the political situation it at least makes sense. A savage Nord, ancient enemy of the Dunmer, makes no sense at all.
Word travels fast. I was met at the door. Yngling manor is on the plaza level of Saint Olms canton and I was glad to be spared the scene, although smashing doors with the Foeshocker is certainly amusing. I was ushered directly into a lavish office. It was hard not to notice that the Nord councilman has no Dunmer on his staff. If I had not noticed the Moon and Star on my finger would have pointed it out. Nerevar was not far removed from the bitter bloody wars with the Nords. The voice of the ring immediately began whispering "Just kill him."
"So, I understand you are arranging a meeting of the House Council," he began.
"Yes. It is time for the council to take responsibility. There are pressing matters that have to be dealt with. War with the forces of Red Mountain is imminent."
"So what? My time is valuable. To attend this meeting my fee is two thousand drakes."
The ring got louder, but I tried to ignore it. "Just who do you think should pay a council member for attending a council meeting?" I asked.
"You, Velanda Omani, tax the people; I don't care. Since I don't really want to attend, I certainly don't care where you get the money...or if you do. I'll profit as well from this war on my own as I would with those spineless creatures. Now, as I said, my time is valuable. If you have anything more to say, set an appointment."
He turned his attention to some documents on his desk. Clearly I had been dismissed. The ring was roaring in my ears. As I rose I reached for the sword on my back. A field of sparkling blue magicka flooded the room, pouring off the hands of a Nord clad in bonemold armor. "No lightning today, Breton," he grated. The Foeshocker slid from the scabbard, but the spellsword's damping field negated the enchantment. He drew his own claymore of Dwemer metal. "Let us see how you are as a swordsman, without your blade's enchantment."
The idea of a 'fair fight' between two hacking brutes armed with huge swords did not really appeal to me, especially since the Nord was as huge as the sword. It also wasn't likely to happen. Half-Troll rose from behind his desk with a dagger gleaming in his hand, and the rest of his staff showed no inclination to stay out of the fight either.
I backed towards a corner of the room. "Councillor, if you are going to hire a spellsword," I began, "you really should see the mage's guild." I waved my hand casually, and the haze of magicka that had taken a solid count of ten to pour out of the Nord disappeared in an instant. "You could have done so much better than this half-witted Nord." Foeshocker erupted in a flash, and I immediately crossed it with the steel longsword of an Orc bearing in from my left. There was a boom of thunder and a sickening stench.
The spellsword and a leather clad Bosmer stopped their advance, looking doubtfully at Half-Troll. "This is ridiculous. Dunmer politics! Great houses! This council is meaningless and I have business to tend. Get someone else!"
"I suppose Dren sold you your council seat," I said.
"Of course! I was negotiating a contract with the temple, and it helped. Well worth the price. The deal is made now, I don't need to be involved in this. Tell this council that I will be unable to attend and they can get someone else."
"That would be satisfactory," I said. I let the tip of the great sword drift slowly down from the ready. "It would be, but for one thing that Dren neglected to tell you. Appointment to a House Council is for life. It is a posting of honor, not convenience." The outraged voice of the ring was in full cry now, and not much I could do to stop it, even if I had been inclined. I drove the desk back with a huge kick of my heavy Dwemer boot, sending the Nord sprawling, then turned on his remaining minions. "Spellsword, in the time it takes you to cast a spell there will be nothing left in this room but me and the stench of burning flesh. Disgusting as you both are I have no quarrel with you. Get out."
"Wait!" wailed the Nord behind the desk, but his cry fell on deaf ears. The guards fled.
"A council seat is an appointment of honor, Nord, and so is their personal guard. You bought your post, and your guards. As you can see, in this, Imperial coin is no substitute for honor."
He hefted to his feet and crouched with the dagger weaving in front of him. "Honor? And you claim to have honor Breton, with your armor and your mighty blade against my dagger?"
I lifted the visor of my helm so he could see my face. "You dare stand on honor with that in your hand? You think I don't recognize the enchantment of a jink-blade?"
"The Archmage?" he stammered.
"Yes. Archmage. Redoran. Hortator. Nerevarine. I am a man of many commitments. I'll pass on your regrets that you will not be keeping yours." The boom of thunder shook the canton as I split him in half.
Day 56: A glimmer of hope
When I woke up this morning I really didn't know what I was going to do. The leadership of House Redoran is preparing for war with Red Mountain. Redoran honor can be counted on to hold them on course. The individual mage-lords of House Telvanni cannot be described as honorable, but the ambitions of Aryon and Demnevanni can be counted on just as firmly. Either Gothren will lead the Telvanni to war, or they will. But I had seen no sign of leadership in House Hlaalu. I could tell that I was dragging slowly as I dressed and walked into Ald-ruhn. The gathering winds that signaled the coming of yet another ash storm did nothing to lift my spirits, though it did speed my steps somewhat. I should have been more optimistic.
"This one greets you, spymaster," hissed the Argonian as he passed. His voice mixed with the wind, ensuring that no one but me would hear. I continued onward, but did not enter the guild hall. Instead I found an out of the way street and activated my amulet of shadows, then slipped into Gildan's house near the temple. Not surprisingly, the Argonian was waiting for me. Gildan, the local operative of the Blades, bid me welcome and discreetly left the room.
"We bring a message from the hunter," the Argonian said once we were alone. We exchanged a brief flurry of codes, designed to provide authenticity. Agents of the Blades operate very independently, and even though I had taken over the senior position in Vvardenfell from Caius I had certainly never met most of the agents...including this one. Once that was settled he continued. "The hunter would meet you in the plaza of Saint Olms Canton. If he is not there, another will be; one of the people of the root, with red skin, bright green around the eyes." I continued on my way with a lighter step.
As it turns out, Nine-Toes had begun his search for Dram Bero by following me. It amazes me how the Argonian has translated the hunting methods of the marsh into the world of espionage. As he puts it, the best time to find prey is when another predator is striking. While I was inside Yngling manor he was out in the plaza watching; watching to see who else might be watching.
"A well dressed woman, Archmage; Dunmer, look of a noble, but slippery."
"Slippery?"
"Slippery. Like you. Or like this one. She was hard to track. But she went in there."
"You're sure she was watching me?" I asked.
"No. She was watching your prey. She was not upset by his demise, but she gathered the details in your wake very delicately, and then slipped away before the Ordinators arrived."
"So who lives there?"
"No one. The mansion is reputed to be haunted. That was the decisive clue."
At that point there was an interruption. Nine-Toes hissed an apology and slipped away. He returned moments later. "The woman has appeared at the High Fane," he said. "She is being followed."
I considered. The woman obviously was reporting to someone, and Dram Bero would certainly be someone who would have an interest in the demise of the Nord. A haunted mansion in the heart of Vivec City could be a good place for the renegade councilman to hide. I left Nine-Toes at the center of his survaillence web and went to the guild headquarters to wait. I spent the day distractedly reviewing reports.
Late in the day there was a disturbance in the guild hall. Nothing serious, but enough that I came out of my office to see what the noise was about. A red Argonian with bright green scales around his eyes was arguing with Malven. She was clearly exasperated, but continued to calmly explain that the guild guides could not transport him to Black Marsh. When I emerged from my office the Argonian gave a subtle nod, then seemed to accept the limitations of the service and left with a profuse apology. I returned to Saint Olms Canton.
"The woman has a network to rival my own," Nine-Toes reported. "There are agents watching all of the Hlaalu council. She checked in with all of them."
"Where is she now?" I asked.
"Back in there," he said, indicating the haunted manor.
"We don't know that she reports to Dram Bero though. She could be a Telvanni agent. Or Redoran, or some other faction." I turned over possibilities.
"The key information comes from what she is not doing," Nine-Toes said. I must give credit, he had left me behind and it no doubt showed on my face. "She has agents watching Velanda Omani, Crassius Curio, and Nevana Oles. She was watching Yngling Half-Troll. She would have Dram Bero under observation also, or she would have a team searching for him."
I got the point. "But she doesn't. She doesn't watch him because she works for him."
"Yes. He may not be in there. That may be just her headquarters, but she should know where he is."
We worked out a plan. Nine-Toes will contact the woman, who we believe is Dram Bero's agent. Orvas Dren was his enemy. It should be possible to convince him that Demeter Boyle would be a friend.
Day 57: Big business
House Hlaalu is the house of opportunists. When the Imperial treaty was agreed to by the Tribunal it saved House Redoran, which would have fought to a devastating conclusion, and it doomed House Dres; but the Hlaalu seized the day and became the brokers of Imperial commerce. Today dawns a new day.
Before I arrived at the guild hall in Ald-ruhn on my way to Vivec this morning I was cut off by an Argonian agent. "This one brings word from the hunter. Things move quickly. The hunter is at home in Balmora." I stepped into the hall just long enough to let my stewards know my plans for the day, then went home to gather the armor of Demeter Boyle.
When I slipped invisibly into Hunter Nine-Toes house in Balmora he was pacing. Containing the energies of the lizard folk of Black Marsh within the walls of a house always seems such an effort. He wasted no breath on greetings. "The Hlaalu council meets today. Dram Bero is challenging Velanda Omani for leadership of the council."
My experiences with the Redorans and Telvanni fed a misunderstanding, and I snapped. "Oblivion take these Hlaalu! We can't afford for them to be killing each other now! Dagoth Ur will do a fine job of killing us all as it is!"
Hunter cut me off with a hiss. "There will be no killing Arvil Bren. In House Hlaalu such a challenge is resolved with nothing more than a few blustery threats...and a large exchange of coins."
I should have guessed. "Well, if there is to be a new direction I suppose a new leader is a good thing. And a meeting now is certainly better than a meeting later."
"We assumed you would want to inform them of their new direction yourself, but Dram Bero has been told to expect you."
Timing is everything. I waited; watching Nine-Toes wear out his carpets. His agents brought a stream of reports through the day. I didn't see any reason to delve into his sources. I also saw no reason to involve myself in the inner workings of their council. Leadership of the council passed to Dram Bero without major opposition. I waited. The seat vacated by the demise of Yngling Half-Troll passed on to Nileno Dorvayn. I waited.
Crassius Curio defended himself against a vaguely considered resolution to 'purify' the council by replacing him with another Dunmer. I listened to the report on this discussion with interest. The wily Cyrodiil had no doubt made the connection between the well known Arvil Bren and the mysterious Demeter Boyle, and did not hesitate to use hints of 'secrets' to his advantage. The time for waiting was over.
I walked into the council hall tensed for battle. After my last visit it would have been foolish to do anything less. Foolish, and an insult to the honor of the council guard. I wasn't sure that my attempt to restore that honor was successful, but I certainly didn't want to assume I had failed. Apparently I had not. A burly Dunmer in the distinctive bonemold armor of a Hlaalu guardsman stepped in front of me.
"The council is in session," he said. There was pride in his voice, almost enough to cover the hint of nervous tension.
"As they should be," I said. I turned the golden visage of my Dwemer metal helm on each of the guards, then turned back to what was apparently their self appointed leader. "Well guarded; also as they should be." I undid a clasp on my chest, and gathered the scabbard of the Foeshocker off of my back. "The new head of the council is expecting me, but it wouldn't be appropriate to appear armed with this." I offered the huge claymore, and Moon and Star pulsed obviously on my hand. "It would not be wise to attempt to draw it from the scabbard," I suggested.
The guard stared at the legendary ring, well known to cause instant death to anyone who wore it other than Nerevar. "I understand, sir. Your weapon, for your hand only. It shall be an honor to hold it for you." I was impressed. There was only the slightest hint of relief in his voice.
I sat in a comfortable chair. "If you would let the council know that I await their pleasure," I said. The guards did not relax. My acceptance of normal protocol did not completely erase their memory of my previous visit. The glossy finish of the new table stood as a stark reminder. To their relief the council page returned immediately to usher me into the chambers.
As I entered the chamber Nileno Dorvayn rose to her feet respectfully, and after a moment's hesitation the rest of the council followed suit. Dram Bero was the last to rise, and looked irritated.
"Congratulations on your promotion," I said to the newest council member. "Your fellows think you are overly respectful towards guests." I raised my fist and Moon and Star pulsed brilliantly. Dram Bero's mouth dropped open momentarily; the voice of the ring was smugly satisfied.
"Not just any guest," he said. "Nerevar." Amazement etched his face as well as his voice.
"One of many names, eh Crassius?" I said. The Imperial was speechless. His 'secret', that Arvil Bren lurked beneath the Dwemer mask, had clearly been trumped. "There is business to conclude honored council of the Hlaalu. Shall we sit down?" I removed my helm. Dram Bero was perhaps even more shocked when he saw my face. Initially I pushed down the voice of the ring with my own smug satisfaction, but then I began to wonder if it was really my own. The line between what I consider myself and what I think of as 'the voice' is getting less distinct.
The newly formed council of House Hlaalu has accepted the Redoran's choice and confirmed me as Hortator. They will be preparing for war with Red Mountain. I am counting on them to be as successful making decisions that forward the interests of all Dunmer as they have been at forwarding the interests of their house.
Day 58: Redirection
Assuming the title of Hortator among the Hlaalu is much different than it was with the Redorans. I rose through the ranks of the Redorans, and the council knew me and I knew them. Athyn Sarethi and I worked together to change the direction of the house, with him taking leadership of the council at the same time I became the Hortator. This is a much greater challenge. I spent a very long day with the new council of the Hlaalu.
Initially, they seemed to think that their highest priority was the division of spoils from the estates of Orvas Dren and Yngling Half-Troll. I listened, which made them uncomfortable, but in short order their conversation became so heated that they apparently forgot I was there. I let them shout themselves out, and formed solutions of my own that none of them liked.
The foundation of Orvas Dren's wealth was the drug and slave trade. It was a lucrative business before, but under the Imperial embargo the profits exploded. I tried not to think about Ahnassi, and my numerous Khajiit friends.
At Dren's plantation the naturally narcotic moon sugar is refined into the irresistably addictive skooma. For centuries Dren has used the skooma to develop 'trading partners' among the Khajiit in Elsweyr. These hopelessly addicted Khajiit are turned against their own people, capturing victims from rival tribes and selling them into slavery. By keeping Elsweyr in a constant turmoil of rival warlords Dren maintained a steady supply of captives. Rather than stopping his business, which was already illegal, the Imperial embargo justified enormously inflated prices at both ends.
Of course, the council saw two major issues that needed to be immediately addressed. First, how were they going to divide the profits from this trade among themselves, hiding it in their own various ventures. Second, how were they going to take over management of the Camonna Tong, the muscle that kept the smuggling operation working. They were not happy with my solutions.
"Moon sugar can be refined into restoratives that boost the strength and speed of a warrior that are not addictive," I suggested from my corner. They all stopped talking and looked at me like I had invited a kagouti into the room...and it was probably smarter than me.
"Well, yes, we all know that Hortator," said Dram Bero eventually.
"Those restoratives would be far more beneficial to the war effort than any number of skooma addicted warlords in Elsweyr," I said, "warlords that are armed by Hlaalu smiths." They all looked uncomfortable. Though Orvas Dren had kept an iron grip on the skooma and slave trade they had all profited from the weapons trade that followed along like a poor cousin. Not only was I snatching away the spoils they were dividing, I was cutting into their existing business.
"I have only supplied weapons to the legitimate governments of Elsweyr," Velanda Omani sniffed piously.
"Weapons they need to hold off the warlords the rest of you are supplying, no doubt. Weapons they pay for with gold drakes. Where do you think they get gold drakes?" No one wanted to answer. They all knew the gold drakes came from the sale of prisoners taken in clashes with the warlords. Velanda Omani stared at the table. "The weapons that you want to ship to Elsweyr could be well used holding back the blighted beasts that are swarming off Red Mountain into the Ashlands."
"But there's no profit in supplying the Ashlanders, or the Redorans!" Nileno Dorvayn exclaimed.
"Yes, there is," said Crassius Curio, of all people. "The profit is that those blighted creatures don't wind up in the streets of Balmora. Vivec City is a long way from Red Mountain so I feel safe enough, but I think you of all of us should consider that." I was so surprised that I nearly fell over.
"The legion soldiers at Moonmoth Fort would never allow things to get that far," said Dram Bero.
"The legions in Morrowind already cost the empire far more than the returns, and with the blight cutting off goods from Vvardenfell it's gone totally backwards," the Cyrodiil continued smoothly. "Don't fool yourself into thinking the legion is an endless resource here to protect your interests. They could be withdrawn in a week. The Empire could write off Vvardenfell without a blink."
Of the five members of the council I would never have expected Curio to be my strongest ally in fighting for the Dunmer, but clearly he was. The sobering thought of the legions being withdrawn hung heavily over the room. "It is all the Redoran smiths can do to keep up maintenance on the weapons that are being used every day in the Redoran guard," I said. "Meanwhile your smiths produce armor and weapons that your drug wars have inflated past the local market's ability to pay, so they get smuggled out to Elsweyr. If the legion is withdrawn the Redoran guard is your defense, and your own business practices are stretching them thinner by the day. Orvas Dren was cutting a personal deal with Dagoth Ur. No doubt when you were all reduced to ash slaves he would still have been in charge. Do any of you want to make a deal with Dagoth Ur?" It was not an invitation, and they knew it.
A pall fell over them. They were facing the grim reality of economics. The currency that facilitates trade is not itself the trade. They could trade arms and sugar for the luxury of slaves, or they could trade it for the neccesity of defense. The fact that more gold flowed back and forth in the luxury trade didn't actually make that trade more valuable.
"So how are we going to get the sugar processed into restoratives?" asked Nevena Oles. "The slaves make the skooma, but they're no alchemists. If we stop trading with Elsweyr we'll be buried in worthless moon sugar."
"Not worthless," I said. "It just needs to be priced so that an alchemist can produce restoratives at a price that the guards can afford. The Mage's Guild can provide all the alchemists required."
"At a fat profit for the Mage's Guild, no doubt," said Dram Bero.
"At a minimal profit, if any. The guild is already sharing the front lines with the Redorans at Maar Gan. We're thinking in terms of survival, not profit. We have been for some time."
"That's true," said my unlikely ally Curio. "They are calling for our Breton friend's head back at the Arcane University in Cyrodiil. Since he killed Trebonius the guild here has done nothing for the mainland. Doing too much 'local charity work', as they put it."
Eventually the new direction took hold. Restoratives and armaments will be flowing into Maar Gan. With Hlaalu archers to back up the Redoran warriors the tide may begin to turn.
Day 59: The slowest house
With the backing of the Hlaalu confirmed I woke up this morning and again turned my eye to the east. Getting the Telvanni to agree on a direction and move in concert is like herding netch in a cyclone. I walked to Gnissis to see Baladas. In some ways I felt like I was starting from scratch, but at least I didn't have to fight a daedroth to get in to see him.
"I have been very busy Arvil Bren," he said. "I am really surprised at how much this council business has cut into my time. I hardly get any research done."
"There won't be any research done at all if Dagoth Ur's ash vampires take over your tower." Moon and Star tugged in its pouch, and I was sure that if I slipped it on my finger the glow would be blinding...and angry. "Baladas, the Hlaalu have confirmed me as Hortator. I need to get out in the Ashlands and get the support of the tribes. I don't really have much more time for games with your house."
"I understand," he said, "and so does Aryon, and Neloth. Working with Gothren is hopeless though. I know you want his power aligned against Dagoth Ur, but I don't think there is any solution to his obstruction but the Telvanni solution."
"Meaning kill him," I said to clarify.
"Yes."
"What about Therana?"
"That's another problem," he said.
"You said that she would listen to Neloth."
"She will, and she does...mostly. But she also listens to Gothren. She also listens to spiders."
"Spiders?"
"Yes. Spiders that only she can see. Spiders that she remembers would be more accurate I suppose."
The conversation was drifting. The ring was getting even more impatient, and I must admit that it was drawing me along. "Will I get her support or not?"
"You will if you ask for it."
"So if the rest of the council is united how can Gothren disagree?"
"He says that Therana is not competent to decide such an issue. True enough, really. Therana no longer really recognizes what the Hortator is. Her vote makes no difference, but she has powerful retainers that will be very useful against Dagoth Ur, otherwise I would have supported Trerayne Dalen's claim to Tel Branora."
"Trerayne Dalen? Who is that?" I asked.
"She is an Oathman of the house," he said. "She has gotten embroiled in a feud with Therana; a feud which Therana is completely ignoring, or perhaps is not even aware of. Dalen would certainly support you if she were elevated to Therana's seat on the council, and Aryon and I gave it some consideration. She just does not have enough to offer."
"Enough to offer? Now you sound like the Hlaalu, selling council seats at auction."
"I'm not talking about gold, Arvil Bren, I'm talking about power. She and her retainers do not have the power to take Tel Branora without help. If they can't do that for themselves what use would they be against Dagoth Ur."
"Better something than nothing," I mused.
"True, and Therana herself is of no use at all; but her retainers are loyal not just to her, they are loyal to the house, and they are very strong. If Therana would allow it they would crush Dalen and her rag tag band. They will be very good to have on our side, but with the uproar in Tel Branora we aren't getting anywhere."
So I am once again at sea, rounding Vvardenfell on the Grytewake. This time I have no need for the guise of a trader. As claimant to the title of Hortator it is my responsibility to make peace between the conflicting factions in Tel Branora...one way or another.
Day 60: Tower of madness
The Grytewake arrived at the docks of Tel Branora on the morning tide. I approached the tower peacefully and suggested to the first guard I encountered that he should summon his captain. Apparently my supporters on the Telvanni council are having some effect, as the guard remained courteous even though he recognized me. In fairly short order an Altmer clad in heavy Dwemer plate floated down to the long leafy platform where I stood.
"I am Mollimo of Cloudrest, Guard Commander of Tel Branora and Lawman of House Telvanni," he said as his boots thumped down. "You are Arvil Bren, Archmage of the Imperial Mage's Guild and claimant to the title of Telvanni Hortator. Is there anything else I should know?"
"That depends," I replied, "on your position regarding my guild and my claim."
"The majority of the council supports your claim, so I do as well. However, I am pledged to defend Mistress Therana, so you will have to get her support peacefully. She is...not well, and I will not stand idly should you try to maneuver her into a duel."
"I would rather gain her support than cause her death. And the guild?"
"Your guild is no concern of mine. We welcome independent practitioners here in Tel Branora. Their...commercialism...keeps the peasantry from pestering those of us who pursue magica for its own sake. Master Nelos has suggested that your guild may be useful in the management of these independents."
"I see. It seems that Master Nelos has made my mission here easier than I had anticipated."
"Well, you haven't yet met the Mistress," he said. That was ominous, and no understatement.
Mollimo led me to Therana's chamber, and waited discreetly with the rest of her retainers. They stood in the corridor where they could listen. Once Therana agreed to support me as Hortator I beat a hasty retreat and met with all of them. As we descended to their confrence room the conversation was almost as surreal as talking to their leader had been.
"What was all that about a steel box?"
"She thought he wanted to be a humidor."
"Now THAT would be a unique ambition!"
"At least she didn't think he was a spider."
"Maybe she did. An ambitious spider that wanted to be a humidor."
As we settled around a large table I managed to overcome the impatience of Moon and Star and accepted the situation, but did steer the conversation to more serious matters. "How is Tel Branora actually managed?" I asked. "Clearly Therana isn't really in charge." As it turns out, the mouth in Sadrith Mora, Felisa Ulessen, is more or less independent. As long as she doesn't demand too much of them the rest of Therana's retainers support her decisions. On major issues they reach some sort of concensus with her. Since all the other mouths have to get direction from their masters anyway she has ample opportunity to consult with them.
This 'management by concensus' struck me as very unlike the usual Telvanni way. I eventually understood it though. None of Therana's potential successors is highly motivated to take her place, and all of them are highly motivated that none of the others take her place. So they get along as best they can, which seems to have a positive effect. They take better care of the citizens of Tel Branora than the Telvanni norm.
Unfortunately their concensus on the threat from Red Mountain was already established. They don't really care. Tel Branora is, admittedly, about as far from Red Mountain as you can get without leaving Vvardenfell. I should say without leaving Vvardenfell district. It is a long way to the actual island of Vvardenfell from here. They understood that Dagoth Ur would not be satisfied with ignoring their stronghold if he was allowed to overrun everybody else, but it took all of my patience and most of Nerevar's guile to get them to accept an obligation to help stop him rather than just assuming it would get done.
Even with their eventual agreement there is an obstacle. They won't reduce defenses here without neutralizing the threat from Trerayne Dalen and her band of mercenaries. Mollimo is confident that he and his guards could just kill them, but I'd rather avoid the wasted casualties. I'll find her in the morning.
Day 61: Peacemaker
On my left forearm I wear a tube of Dwemer metal. It was rolled from the shell of a spider centurion and fitted with leather cuffs that hold it in place. It absorbs some of the shock when I block blows with my shield and protects my arm when I am not using a shield. It also provides extra protection through enchantment.
Through my command of alteration magic I can shield myself with elemental energies, but when entering battle it is always a question as to what will be most effective. Obviously Nords have resistance to frost and Dunmer have resistance to flame, but their preference in destruction magic is still unpredictable. I solved the dilemma by enchanting my bracer with fire, frost, and electrical shielding spells. None of them are very strong, but taken altogether they are effective, and I have some benefit of the correct choice no matter what it is. When a battle lasts long enough for the spell to run out I can make an informed choice and raise a stronger shield of the appropriate type.
Since Trerayne Dalen is a skilled enchanter by trade my bracer served another purpose today.
Under cover of the amulet of shadows I was able to approach her camp undetected and assess her forces. Mercenaries, predominantly Bosmer, most likely more skilled in marksmanship than magery; I was not overly impressed. They were also grumbling about payment. Money had run out, and the promised payment from the treasury of Tel Branora was not looming in the near future.
Against a barrage of arrows the most important aspect of a shield is its size. I opted to use the mercenaries' employer. I released a silencing spell into her back with my right hand as my left arm snaked across the enchantress' throat. The Bosmeri grabbed up bows and crossbows, but had no shot at me without skewering their employer. "You should be able to sense the enchantment in the metal," I said into her ear. "One word of command to release it in direct contact with your throat and you will be very uncomfortable...for a very short time. When the silence wears off the only thing I want you to say is 'lower your weapons'." Without any practical alternative she complied, as did they.
"Now, I have a proposition for you. I am about to be named Hortator of House Telvanni, at which point you will be technically subject to my command anyway, but I much prefer willing retainers. There are positions within House Telvanni that would suit you better than being mistress of Tel Branora...a position you would vacate by your abrupt death before you even got your seat warm, by the way. Therana has a number of possible successors, none of whom are overly scared of you. I would like to see you installed in a position that would allow you to gain experience and skill...and provide enough income to pay your debts. All you have to do is drop your feud with Therana."
The faces of her mercenary crew left no doubt about their opinion. The prospect of certain payment tends to weigh heavily on such professionals. "Why should I trust you?" she squeaked out through her constricted throat.
I slid Foeshocker free of its scabbard and brought it around in front of her. It fairly sizzled with enchantment, and Moon and Star blazed on my finger. "I sincerely have a use for you. If I didn't, when I snuck up behind you I would have annihilated you rather than stopping to chat."
I escorted the reformed rebel to the tower, where she paid due respects to Therana's retainers, who presumably would relay them to their secluded mistress. Then I took her, her troops, and Mollimo aboard the Grytewake. I provided Trerayne with enough septims from my trading fund to pay the back wages the Bosmeri were due, and she released them from further service. While they were happy to receive payment they were not happy to find themselves unemployed. Fortunately that was a circumstance that was easily resolved.
With the feud ended and the ranks of Tel Branora's guard swollen with Bosmer marksmen Mollimo will be patrolling the islands off Azura's coast and erasing any incursions by the Sixth House. Those among the Bosmer who had taken a particular liking to Trerayne accompanied her on Grytewake, bound for Sadrith Mora. I'm not yet sure what her next posting will be, but I will see that it will provide for their wages. A few I dispatched to Percius Mercius. They will join the fighters guild and be assigned to Bal Isra.
A good day's work and no blood shed. I will sleep well.
Day 62: Bloody work
Yesterday I gained so much, with no loss. I suppose I should have expected fate to deal me the exact opposite hand today.
My only previous experience with the Erabenimsun clan was a brief encounter with one of their scouts, who recommended that I steer clear of their camp. At the time I was glad to follow her advice. I set out this morning, island hopping to the mainland then letting the boots of blinding speed carry me northward into the wastes. I pondered that advise. Unfortunately there was no way to continue to follow it.
I slowed my pace when I was near their camp, then stopped on a nearby hilltop. By slowing I became an object of interest for cliff racers, who don't bother pursuing me when I pass at full speed. When I stopped on the hillside the stream of them that had gathered in my wake caught up in a rush. The midday sun was blotted out by the mass of leathery wings.
It does not take great intelligence to soar about on huge wings, diving on anything that moves and striking with a sharp beak. Cliff racers demonstrate that creatures often fail to develop any more intelligence than they actually need. After the first half dozen one would think the rest would recognize that diving onto an upraised spear would not carry the day, but they didn't. By the time I was done the hilltop was carpeted with dead racers, and I was surrounded by Erabenimsun clan members.
"I offer the gift of valuable racer plumes in great quantity," I said, "and as a clanfriend of the Urshilaku I request your hospitality." The wing feathers of the cliff racer are prized by alchemists, who refine them into levitation potions, and the skin stretched across the wingbones is tanned to make leather that is used for clothing, though not as hardy as the netch leather generally used for armor. The clan set about gathering these goods. As I expected, I was able to identify the clan's leaders as they organized the effort. What I didn't expect was the obvious schism among those leaders.
After a brief but heated debate four men, well armed, stormed down the hill to the camp. The rest of the clan leadership watched them go, then a woman left the rest and approached me. "I am Manirai, wise-woman of the Erabenimsun. I offer you the hospitality of my hearth, but it would be better for you to move on."
"If your invitation is insinscere why make it, honored one?" I asked.
"If I were not sinscere I would not offer clanfriend, but our Ashkahn does not feel the same way and he is a dangerous man."
"Let me guess, he's the one with the big axe that stomped back to the camp."
"Yes. He told me to tell you to leave, but I will not offend our ancestors by refusing you hospitality."
"So you appease both the ancestors and the Ashkahn, offering hospitality while suggesting that I don't accept it."
"Yes. I do not wish to offend the ancestors, but I also cannot defy Ulath-Pal. As I said, he is a dangerous man."
"Is your concern for my safety, or your own?"
"Yours. I can appease him. Though he rules the clan through fear he will not strike me. You he will kill."
"Hmmm. Well, he wouldn't be the first to try. How did someone who ignores your wisdom become the Ashkahn?"
"By rights Han-Ammu should have succeeded his father, but he is no warrior. Ulath-Pal appealed to the pride of the gulakhans with his promises to lead them to glory and victory...and he has. He has also led us to these barrens, since it is the only place our camp can escape the wrath of the house Dunmer he has offended with his raiding."
"What happened to Han-Ammu?"
"He is a gulakhan, in name only. Ahaz, Ranabi, and Ashu-Ahhe are the only council Ulath-Pal acknowledges."
"And the clan?"
"They fear Ulath-Pal, but they fear what would become of us without him. Han-Ammu has not the strength, heart, or cunning of an Ashkahn."
Not a good situation, but I activated the amulet of shadows and followed Manirai to her tent. She went back out, and returned with Han-Ammu. He does lack the attributes of an Ashkahn, and even worse he lacks the desire to be the Ashkahn.
As the clan gathered for the evening meal I concluded that I would have to find a way to work with the leaders they have. If I killed Ulath-Pal and his gulakhans I would be called Nerevarine of the Erabenimsun, but the title would have no value as the tribe would have lost all leadership and power. Confronting Ulath-Pal changed my mind.
He saw me immediately as I stepped out of Manirai's tent, and promptly exploded. "What are you doing in my camp outlander?" he bellowed, drawing his axe.
"Manirai said you would refuse my gift and deny me hospitality. I had to see this discourtesy for myself. Now I have, but I have not yet taken offense." I raised my hand, revealing Moon-and-Star. "I expect you will choose a different response for me."
He took a step back, but his face did not change. He was still hostile, just more cautious. A strange Breton he would have cleaved with his axe. Nerevar reborn he would take in a rush, with his gulakhans in close support. Moon-and-Star flared and I wondered if it would burn my hand. For my part I still didn't want to kill them, not seeing a suitable successor, but the ring was howling for blood. Then, as problems often do, the problem solved itself.
With a muttered word Ulath-Pul activated the enchantment in his axe and magica coursed into his arm. Muscles bulged, straining the straps of his bonemold armor. I immediately saw that Han-Ammu's lack of strength could be solved by the enchanted axe. It followed that his other failings could be solved by enchantment as well. I have the skills, and a good supply of soul gems. These reasonable thoughts disappeared in the blood rage of Nerevar that roared through my mind.
When I regained my wits the clan stood in a silent ring around me. Blood dripped along the length of Foeshocker, or ran off the tip where it rested on the sand. The hacked corpses of their leaders lay strewn around me.
It was critical that I get things moving in the right direction, and I called out, "Han-Ammu, step forward!" He could have ruined everything if he had fled, but despite his failings he is a man of the ashlander tribes. He stepped into the circle.
"Nereverine," he said, quietly.
I was casting a detection spell to assess the exact qualities of the waraxe. It lay with its keen edge of volcanic glass glittering, still clutched in the amputated hand of Ulath-Pul. As I bent to pick it up I recognized that the other enchanted items I would need were also ready at hand. Apparently, Airan-Ammu, the previous Ashkahn, had recognized his sons failings and gathered items that he would need to lead the clan. How these items ended up in the posession of Ulath-Pul and his cohorts is a mystery that I have no time to solve.
"Han-Ammu, the strength of an Ashkahn lies in this axe." I handed it to him. "The heart of an Ashkahn hangs here, in this amulet." I lifted the red stone from the chest of a fallen gulakhan and slipped the chain over Han-Ammu's lowered head. "Ages old wisdom is bound in this robe." As I rolled the corpse out of the heavily embroidered robe I was shocked to see the ghost of Erur-Dan hovering next to me. It had spoken to me in the cavern of the Incarnates; a failed Nerevarine.
The eyes of all the Erabenimsun grew very wide. As I draped the robe over Han-Ammu's shoulders the ghostly voice of the legendary Erur-Dan sounded eerily over the camp. "My wisdom shall guide you, Ashkahn Han-Ammu of the Erabenimsun." Then the ghost disappeared. After that there was not much for anyone else to say. In Manirai's tent she handed me the belt known as Siezing, token of the Erabenimsun clan that identifies me as their Nerevarine.
I am sleeping in the yurt of the Ashkahn. Tomorrow Han-Ammu will be moving in, and selecting new gulakhans. I am sure he will choose wisely.
Day 63: Organic towers and stone walls
I rose with the dawn this morning and enjoyed breakfast with the Erabenimsun. Then I used an intervention spell to be on my way. I appeared at the Imperial shrine in Wolverine Hall at Sadrith Mora. I walked to the harbor, keeping a wary eye on the local guards. As planned, the Grytewake had used the morning light to navigate the channels. The crew was tying her up when I arrived. Trerayne Dalen stepped down to the dock to meet me.
"Well, that inspired confidence," she said.
"What?"
"I asked that Khajiiti captain why he would serve you so slavishly when he had such a fine ship at his command, and he told me you gave him the ship, brought him his mate, eliminated his rivals, and tripled his wealth...and still pay him top rates for transport."
"Hmmm...maybe I should ask for a discount."
"Probably. Will your plans for me treat me half as well?"
"I don't know. I haven't quite figured out what to do with you," I replied honestly. "That's not unusual though. I didn't know what to do with Grytewake when I captured her, and that turned out all right." I smiled. "Come along, I have people to see." I felt a bit safer walking the streets with her and her quick-eyed Bosmer marksmen for escort.
We arrived at the council chambers. I sent Trerayne in first. "You need to make sure they know you have been reinstated with your house. The paperwork might get mislaid if the council flunkies associate you with me."
"You are not a Telvanni?" she said with surprise on her face. "The way they treated you in Tel Branora I assumed you were a spellwright at the very least."
"Actually, they treated me like the Hortator, and by the end of the day I will be...if you don't slow me down too much gawking in the street." She scurried through the round door.
When she came out I went in. There was no reason to be as confrontational as I had been on my previous visit. Even though I was still not on the agenda Delayn Arvel allowed me directly into the council chambers. The mouths of the council members greeted me courteously. I breifly hoped things would proceed smoothly. Mallam Ryon, speaking for Gothren, fueled that hope, then dashed it.
"The Archmagister has received recommendations from all the council members supporting your claim as Hortator of the house," he said. I turned to each of the other mouths and expressed my thanks. Then he continued. "The Archmagister will be reviewing these recommendations. He moves that this council schedule a date for discussion on the matter; a date that will allow him sufficient time for such review to be completed. It is important to clearly establish this date, so that Arvil bren does not need to wait here for the council to rule. Archmagister Gothren reminds us that Arvil Bren has much to do, and it is important that this council respects his time." I could feel Moon and Star flaring in its pouch, and my own patience was spent also. Enar Releth, newly appointed mouth of Beladas Demnevanni, started to speak. Mallam Ryon cut him off. "I remind the mouth of Beladas that our purpose is representation. It would be appropriate for all of us to now consult with our council members and return prepared to discuss this matter. We stand adjourned."
I did my best to calm the ring. "Before you go to your masters, there's one thing to add to your reports. I will be here first thing tomorrow with my schedule, which they will need in order to schedule a date for this further discussion."
"Very well," said the Archmagister's mouth. "we will schedule this report from Arvil Bren for tomorrow, before we bear reports on this matter. Arvil Bren, we appreciate your co-operation." He waited pointedly for me to leave. As I passed out of the chamber I heard him saying, "Next order of business..." The door closed behind me and I left the council building.
I went next to the tower of Master Neloth, Tel Naga. I was ushered into his chambers without delay.
"So, you have Therana's support," he said. "that's everyone but Gothren."
"His vote won't matter. The one that is in question is yours."
"I've given you my support." He looked puzzled. For a second I thought that I was getting ahead of a Telvanni in the intrigue department. Then he laughed. "Of course you are referring to my vote for Archmagister. No problem, I will support Aryon. I assumed that you would have known that already."
Day 64: Underestimated
After a busy night I appeared as agreed, first thing this morning at the council hall. "You have brought your schedule?" asked Mallam Ryon.
"Yes. At noon I plan to be here for the installation of the new Archmagister." I almost laughed as the mouth of the mouth fell open. "You have not yet heard that Gothren is dead?"
He began to stammer. "We...we...we will have to...to adjourn, yes, to adjourn, to...to check with..."
Arara Uvulas, mouth of Master Neloth, interrupted. "Actually Mallam, with Gothren dead you no longer chair this meeting. I received instructions from Master Neloth for the eventuality of Gothren's death, and I am prepared to proceed. Anyone else?" A chorus of 'aye's came from the mouths of the remaining council members.
"Well, I am not ready to proceed!" shouted Mallam.
"That doesn't matter," said Aryon's mouth. "You no longer have anyone to represent. I suggest you return immediately to Tel Aruhn and consult with the rest of Gothren's retainers. This afternoon the council will be selecting among those who propose to be Gothren's successor."
"That can't be decided in a day!" Mallam was outraged, and confused.
"Yes," I said, "it can be, and it will be. If the council chooses to continue to be represented by mouths, then the mouths will serve as relays for orders. If the council chooses to direct the affairs of the house they will come here and direct it responsibly. The time for endless dithering has come and gone. The day of the Hortator is at hand.
When Mallam arrived at Tel Aruhn I'm sure he was brought up to date on events very quickly. I left Endase Avel in charge there after I killed Gothren. He was not pleased that I had slain his master, but as is often the case with the Telvanni he was pragmatic. Endase is a powerful mage who was more than able to take command of Tel Aruhn.
By noon the council was in the council chamber. Not their mouths, the actual council, with the exception of Therana. Her mouth, Felisa Ulessen, reported that Therana's retainers were at the disposal of the council and Hortator. She also carried Therana's votes on the two issues that required unanimous agreement of the council. Aryon was confirmed as Archmagister, and I was confirmed as Hortator. Aryon presented me with the Robe of the Hortator, a Telvanni artifact.
Baladas was directed to get control of Tel Mora, which became his responsibility when he took over Dratha's council seat, a responsibility he has completely ignored. I submitted Trerayna Dalen as a potential governess for the man haters of Tel Mora and he happily accepted. He has no intention of moving out of his tower in Gnissis. She will work for him until his new subjects can be brought around to being represented by a 'manling', and probably beyond.
A treaty with the Mage's Guild of Vvardenfell was negotiated. As Aryon had already arranged, the guild has been empowered to handle 'commercial magery' in Telvanni territory. Telvanni retainers operating outside Telvanni territory will be instructed that if they participate in commercial magery they shall be required to maintain membership in the guild. In return, the Archmagister of the Telvanni will be given the rank of a hall steward, which will give him significant influence in the council of the Archmage.
All resources of House Telvanni, including personal action by the magelords themselves, was committed to resisting Dagoth Ur and eradicating the Sixth House cult. This included Endase Avel, who arrived to be confirmed as master of Tel Aruhn and confirmed as a member of the council.
In one afternoon session the Telvanni council completed more legislation than they had in all the centuries of Gothren's reign. I boarded the Grytewake in time to negotiate the outward channel before dark.
This is the end of Politics of the Redoran. Arvil Bren's adventures will be completed in the fourth and final (I promise) volume; Vvardenfell United.
