"Father, I can't breathe." Despite his aggrieved words, Varvur made no motion to free himself from Athyn's embrace.
"Have some pity for a worried parent, Varvur," Athyn responded. "Your mother and I have spent weeks wondering if we'd ever see you again."
He gave his son one last squeeze, then reluctantly began to disentangle himself. Finally he stood in front of Varvur, hands on his shoulders - and when had Athyn started to need to reach up to do that, anyway?
"Speaking of Mother, where is she?" Varvur's tone was a credible imitation of a true teenager who found his parents deeply embarrassing and was certainly far too old to need their reassurance, but Athyn, who'd noticed his son's anxious glances, wasn't fooled. Not so grown-up as all that, then.
As for Domesea...
"I'm afraid I rather made a point of not knowing," Athyn confessed. "When we heard about your arrest by the Archmaster's guards, she went straight to the armory - I decided it would be best to have plausible deniability. I'm sure she'll hear about your release soon enough. At the latest, when she has Bolvyn Venim at swordpoint." He shrugged with all the equanimity of long years of marriage.
"Mother," Varvur groaned.
"That said," Athyn continued, "there is someone else who'd like to greet you. Although I think she's not too happy with you right now." He finally let go of his son entirely and turned around. "Meryni?"
The figure who'd been sulking in the background came forward upon being addressed.
"Varvur, you missed my birthday!"
That foot-stomp would no doubt be a fierce, ground-shaking thing one day, Athyn mused. She was a little too small to have much effect with it right now, though.
Varvur crouched to get on a level with the girl. "I'm sorry, Meryni," he said sincerely. "I wanted to come, I promise, but an evil warlord kidnapped me to keep me from being with you on the day. I tried to fight my way out to you, but I didn't quite manage to free myself in time. Will you forgive me?"
"Well..."
Meryni clearly had to consider this very thoroughly. Athyn bit back a smile.
"All right," she finally said, in the tones of one bestowing a great favour. "If it was an evil warlord, I suppose."
Then she threw herself at him.
Varvur visibly relaxed as his arms closed around his sister. In that unguarded moment, Athyn could see all the exhaustion, stress and pain of his captivity written on his face.
Athyn Sarethi liked to think he was not a violent man, but that instant he found himself wishing fiercely for ten minutes alone with Bolvyn Venim and his mace.
After a few moments, Varvur straightened, his little sister held against his hip. Declarations of anger aside, Meryni looked perfectly content snuggled into his hold. On seeing his children like that, something within Athyn relaxed for the first time in weeks. Meryni was too young to truly understand why her brother had been gone, and her distress at Varvur's absence had torn at Athyn's heart.
"So," Athyn asked his son after a moment. "What happened?"
"What happened... you mean with- with Bralen and-"
"No, no." Athyn interrupted. "I mean your daring escape from the evil warlord's clutches, of course." He shot his son a smile, and was glad to see it returned after a moment - even if Varvur's was still far fainter than he'd like.
Later, Athyn thought, there would be time to talk about the rest of it. About poor Bralen's death, about the team from the Temple that was right now turning his home upside-down in the name of 'cleansing' and whatever it was they'd removed from Varvur's quarters... about the shadows that lingered in his son's eyes and the disturbing tale borne to him by that young Armiger who'd come to inform him of the law finally recognising Varvur's innocence. But not now, not in the midst of what should be a happy reunion, and absolutely not with Meryni listening.
Judging by the glance Varvur shot his sister, he felt the same.
"My escape. Well. It started when two thieves showed up at the door to my cell..."
After a while, Meryni wriggled free and ran ahead; apparently the story didn't contain enough adventure and heroic derring-do for her. Well, Athyn thought while keeping an absent eye on the small figure, even if his daughter wasn't satisfied, it certainly contained more than Athyn himself had expected. Fair maidens, a battle with a fierce barbarian, a conspiracy uncovered - Varvur had been busy.
"...and then the Ordinator told me I'd been cleared of all charges and was free to go," his son finished.
Up ahead, Meryni was balancing on the rail at the edge of the canton. Watching her while he gathered his thoughts, Athyn had to fight down the urge to run and fetch her down. They were on the lowest level, after all - if she should slip, a dunking would do her no harm. Athyn knew he would do his daughter no favours by seeking to wrap her in wool.
"Are you- what do you think?"
The naked uncertainty in Varvur's voice made Athyn turn, surprised. He wasn't sure he could ever remember his son sounding so unsure of himself.
"What do you mean?" What's wrong?
Varvur didn't meet his gaze. "Are you... ashamed?"
Athyn found himself momentarily speechless.
His son seemed to take his silence as agreement. "I didn't manage to escape on my own," he whispered. "I had to be rescued. And then I didn't even participate in the investigation-"
"Varvur-"
"-no, I hid in Ajira's house like some cowardly Hlaalu-"
"Varvur-"
"-sat playing games with a kid while other people risked their lives for me-"
"Varvur!"
Finally, Varvur stopped. The look of sheer misery on his face remained, however. It was clear that he'd managed to think himself in such a tangle a simple reassurance that no, Athyn was not ashamed of him (what an idea!) wouldn't suffice.
Athyn decided to try logic instead.
"Do you think Buoyant Armigers are weak, when they do not patrol Red Mountain alone?"
Varvur's brow furrowed. "No, but-"
"Or myself, if I call on our honoured ancestor Sarethi-Tavano to aid me against my foes?"
"Well, no-"
Athyn could still hear the doubt in his son's voice and readied the killing blow.
"How about Saint Nerevar? He sought out the Dwemer as allies against the Nords. Should I call him a coward for that?"
"Of course not!" Varvur bristled at the aspersion cast on his hero. "He did what was necessary at the time to free Morrowind!"
"Exactly!" Feeling victory at hand, Athyn pressed his point home. "Varvur, the stories Redoran tells of lone heroes against overwhelming odds are all well and good, but all too often the lone hero falls where a group triumphs. You think your story shows you in a bad light because others did much of the work. Do you know what I heard in it?"
Varvur shook his head.
"I heard that you waited without despairing, grasped the opportunity to escape when it came, made allies among people strange to you, and pulled all this together to get out of a situation I'm not sure I'd have managed to escape. A disappointment? Varvur, I don't think I've ever been so proud of you in my life."
The desperate hope in Varvur's face was painful to see. "Really?"
"Really." Athyn considered for a moment, then gave into temptation, reached up, and ruffled his son's hair. Over the yelped protest, he said, "Also, as far as doing nothing is concerned, I seem to remember something about you doing your best to save two defenseless women from a rampaging barbarian."
Varvur flushed. "Well, one of them wasn't quite so helpless-"
"Which you didn't know at the time, and when it sounds as though she couldn't have done anything without you to draw the threat away. My argument stands."
"I suppose." Although Varvur's words were doubtful, he looked lighter, as if some great weight had fallen from him.
Ahead, Meryni had reached an Ordinator. Athyn watched the interaction carefully - true and honourable they might be, but Ordinators had always been notoriously rigid and unbending, and Athyn did not like some of the stories he had been hearing out of Vivec of late. Here, thankfully, there seemed to be no cause for concern, as the masked figure bent down to Meryni with grave patience. The level of indulgence on display made Athyn suspect the mer might be a fellow parent - a reassuring idea indeed.
"So," Athyn said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Tell me about your new allies."
"Well..." Varvur visibly gathered his thoughts. "Jamie is an honourable sort, I think."
"Jamie being the one in the Fighter's Guild?"
"Yes. She mentioned she'd joined the Imperial Legion before, up in Gnisis, but left because they ordered her to do something dishonourable."
Athyn frowned. The Imperial Legion demanding something dishonourable? In Redoran lands, no less? That was worrying indeed. He'd have to look into it... but later.
For now, he said, "I'm surprised she joined the Fighter's Guild, then. Mercius may be reasonable, but one healthy limb is no use when the heart is poisoned."
"I get the impression she didn't know," Varvur said. "From what Adryn said, she was certainly quick to side with the victim when they sent her to collect... 'debts'." Varvur spat the word.
A move that spoke volumes. Yes, it sounded as if Varvur had the measure of this Jamie... and Athyn had a good idea of how to reward someone like that for her part in his son's escape from Venim's trap.
Now, for the others.
"This Adryn is the girl who freed you from the Archmaster's Manor, correct? What about her?" Athyn prompted.
He watched in surprise as his son went puce.
"Her? She's a dishonourable, cowardly thief! Interrupting a fair fight - by attacking my opponent with magic from behind! - prepared to simply walk away from a man in need, mocking the very idea of honour, of responsibility-"
Varvur took a deep breath, then another. His voice was notably quieter when he continued, "...and I owe her my freedom, my sanity, quite possibly my life, she risked her own in the process, and I still have no idea why she chose to get involved."
Well.
Athyn doubted his son would have had the presence of mind to recognise that second part before his ordeal. Varvur had certainly grown in both spirit and maturity during his absence.
Athyn suspected he owed this Adryn significant gratitude for that in itself, without even taking into account the rest of it.
"So, what do you think-"
A squeal from up ahead interrupted Athyn. Meryni. His head snapped up.
"Um..." The chitin-clad figure his daughter was barrelling towards - a rather familiar figure, come to think of it - seemed rather taken aback. "Hel- oof! - hello there, it's nice to see you too, I need to speak to your father... ah... if you could maybe let go..."
The Armiger - Romandas, that was her name - plucked ineffectually at Meryni, who responded by hugging her legs even tighter. As Athyn neared, he recognised the helpless expression of an adult who spent almost no time around children and thought of them as half extremely breakable porcelain figure, half unknown species of Daedra.
"Meryni, let go of Armiger Romandas at once. Do you want her to think House Sarethi consists of Nord barbarians?" Athyn scolded.
The heartbreak on Meryni's face as she disentangled herself was only matched by the relief on the Buoyant Armiger's. "But Father! I want her to tell me stories about battling evil on Red Mountain!"
"I'm sure she'll be happy to do so later." Athyn cheerfully ignored Romandas' expression saying she would be no such thing. "For now, I believe she said she had business with me?"
"Yes, and urgent at that." Now that Meryni had let go of her, the Armiger's tone was grave, and Athyn felt his heart sink. She brought ill news, he could tell, and he'd had his fill of that and more in the last few weeks.
Could he not have this one day to reunite with his son, unmarred by disturbance and disaster?
Athyn strangled the selfish thought almost before it had formed. He was Redoran. Duty was engraved in his blood and bone.
"Go on, Armiger Romandas," Athyn said.
"It's about Adryn..."
"Here."
Gelduin accepted the purse and scroll of parchment Shazgob thrust her way with a dip of the head. By its weight, she guessed the purse held the promised wages. She'd have to make sure to find a quiet place to count it later. Shazgob was an honest sort, but there was no point in being too trusting about these things.
In any case, in her line of work, the parchment was more valuable.
She unrolled it, glanced over the seal at the bottom, then skimmed the words. Detected a bandit ambush north of Ald'ruhn... caravan avoided all encounters with hostile wildlife when she was scouting... found a campsite in the Ashlands... did good work.
High praise indeed coming from Shazgob gro-Luzgan, and anyone worth travelling with in western Vvardenfell would know the Orc's reputation well enough to be aware of that. As a scout without a guild affiliation, a letter of recommendation like this was priceless.
"You deserve all of it," Shazgob said gruffly. "Best scout I ever hired. You sure you don't want to come aboard permanently?"
Gelduin shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, but I'd get bored of always travelling the same route." She grinned at the caravan master. "No idea how you stand it, honestly."
That startled a rare smile out of him, she was pleased to see. "Too old for that sort of excitement, that's me. Malacath knows I'd have said the same in my younger years. But..."
For a long moment Shazgob was silent, penetrating stare resting on her as though he were trying to peer right through her to any secrets she was hiding. Gelduin forced herself to keep meeting his gaze evenly. Finally, he sighed.
"You didn't hear this from me, all right?"
Now this was interesting. "Of course not," Gelduin agreed smoothly.
"Could be we'll be travelling a different route soon enough." Shazgob was keeping his voice low. "One on the mainland. I told Albuttian about the blighted creatures you encountered. Three, wasn't it, and one outside the Ashlands?"
"A guar, in the West Gash near Caldera. That's right."
"He's worried," Shazgob said grimly. "Said the Ghostfence doesn't seem to be capable of containing the spread, and none of the healers have come up with anything decent either. He's worried, his superiors are worried. Reading between the lines, they might be thinking of doing something drastic. Way I see it, if you've been thinking of leaving Vvardenfell, this is the time. If you haven't been thinking of leaving, time to think again. You read me?"
It was an open secret that Shazgob was one of the eyes and ears of the Empire in Vvardenfell, someone people like Knight-of-the-Garland Cavortius Albuttian consulted in order to get the lay of the land. Sometimes, like now, he let a little information slip the other way.
That habit was one of the reasons Gelduin had made a point of cultivating the relationship.
"Thank you for the warning," she said now. "I do appreciate it. However, I'm not leaving Vvardenfell. It's my home, and I won't be chased away easily. I've already booked passage to Vos, anyway. Rumour has it one of M- one of Aryon's people is putting together a trade caravan to the Zainab. They'll need a good scout."
Silently Gelduin berated herself for the near-slip. Thankfully Shazgob didn't seem to have noticed anything amiss.
Shazgob shook his head. "No idea how you stand living near all those Telvanni, honestly. Or why you don't use the Mages' Guild to teleport back to Sadrith Mora like everyone else."
"Teleportation makes me queasy," Gelduin lied.
"Well then. On your fool head be it. If you change your mind, we'll be in Ebonheart for a few more days."
Several hours later found the last wagons of the caravan being unloaded under Shazgob's watch and Gelduin seated in the prow of the Frost-Ghost, her unstrung bow and pack at her side, the sea breeze tangling her hair. In the distance Vivec loomed on the horizon, but the wind was coming in from the Sea of Ghosts today, heavy with salt and bearing none of the stink of the city.
The scout smiled, letting her eyes close. She did like sailing. In another life, she might have become a sailor. In this one, it was a handy preference to have, considering the reception she got if she tried to make use of the guild guide system these days. After the third time that chit at the Vivec guild had refused her transport, she'd given up on the teleportation network entirely.
Thankfully for her, none of that had spread far - certainly not all the way to Shazgob's ears. Gelduin doubted the man would have been been quite so loose with his tongue if he'd heard that the Mages' Guild was refusing her service...
Certainly not if he'd heard the reason why.
When the ship docked beside Saint Delyn canton, Gelduin thanked the shipmaster in broken Dunmeris, gave him a generous tip from Shazgob's payment and sauntered off. Ano Andaram watched her make her way towards the Arena canton.
Fresh off the boat from Ebonheart, he thought. Some outlander come to see the wilderness of Morrowind, make a handful of drakes adventuring and spend it all betting on fights at the Arena. His cousin Birama would be indignant with rage at this point, proclaiming the outlander yet another invader from the Empire, most likely a cursed tomb-robber. Ano was more pragmatic. Her coin was good, and she'd gone to the effort of at least trying to learn Dunmeris. Surely that counted for something.
"Excuse me, do you sail to Hla Oad?"
Turning towards his prospective customer, Ano put the Bosmer out of his mind.
In the Arena canton, Gelduin entered a small tavern in the waistworks. As usual, the crowd was mostly outlanders, almost all conversation Tamrielic. The Arena, once used only for duels of honour or rank, now ran fights between hired fighters twice a week. For most natives, it was yet another hateful imposition from the unwanted Empire, and there were never many Dunmer in the audience. For many from Cyrodiil, it was a familiar taste of home in a strange land, and it sometimes seemed half the Imperial population of Vvardenfell flocked to the stands when a match was on.
"Hey, Vinnus!" Gelduin hailed the barkeep. "Any rooms free tonight?"
Half an hour later found Gelduin back in the tavern, pack and bow stowed in her rented room. Her netch leather had been exchanged for an embroidered dress, fresh and unwrinkled despite having been rolled up at the bottom of her pack for weeks (and the enchantment for that had been worth every single drake), and she'd teased her hair into the many-braided style that had been all the rage in Cyrodiil two years ago and finally made its way to Morrowind. To all eyes, she looked like a young woman from Imperial City, ready for a night on the town.
Gelduin ordered a tankard of mazte and settled in to wait.
Gossip spread quickly around the Vvardenfell Mages' Guild. Ranis Athrys' recruitment efforts notwithstanding, the core of the guild remained much the same as time went by, small and close-knit. Any occasion where even a few guild mages found themselves in the same room was quickly used as an opportunity to catch up on news. When that occasion was a guest lecture by Wizard Borissean - come all the way from Imperial City to study Dunmer levitation spells, was the word - when that lecture was followed by a meal in the private dining room at the Flowers of Gold... when the words free drinks (which had a magic all of their own) were spoken...
On such nights enough gossip was exchanged to fuel any spy network for weeks.
With so much opportunity to swap tales, it was hardly a wonder that some of them concerned the guild's newest Apprentice. Said member would no doubt have been distinctly unhappy about this if she'd known, a fact that might have given some of the wagging tongues pause had she been there. As she was however mysteriously absent (a fact no one seemed to know the reason for, although some speculated she was too embarrassed to show her face), the gossip flowed unhindered.
"A learning disability?" Uleni Heleran leaned forward, eyes sparkling with interest. "First I've ever heard of such a thing."
"Wish I could say the same," Procyon Nigilius muttered and took a long drink from his shein, wondering whether he shouldn't order something stronger. He'd taught a guest class on advanced uses of the water-walking spell at the Arcane University on a research trip last year. No one knew quite what had happened, but rumour had it a certain Khajiit had been among the audience, and that the Arcane University's pond had needed to be replaced in its entirety.
"I don't see why we should let someone so unsuited to be a mage stay in the guild- ow!" Tusamircil rubbed his side. "Uleni!"
"If we're going to be kicking people out, there's someone else who ranks far above her on my list." Uleni glared at the Altmer. "Have some empathy for once in your life, will you? Poor girl - it must have come as a real shock. She deserves some moral support, not the boot."
"Admit it, Uleni, you're just wondering if you can use her in a prank," Medila Indaren threw in from where she was sitting with Tanar Llervi.
"Well..."
Nearby, Galbedir had engaged Folms Mirel from Caldera. "...of course, no way she can continue as my assistant. Unable to cast a Soultrap spell, I ask you! And enchanting and Mysticism are related, there's no saying she might not encounter the same trouble. Whatever Estirdalin says," she gave the Altmer, deep in conversation with Tiram Gadar and Senilias Cadiusus two tables away, a glance, "I'd rather not be blown up."
"Quite right, my dear," said Folms, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the smirk on Galbedir's face. "Enchanting is a difficult and delicate art, and there is no telling what havoc someone facing such challenges might wreak. Better she stick to throwing fireballs, or... or healing people, or..." Clearly struggling to come up with any schools of magic beyond his own, Folms resorted to a dismissive wave.
"...or alchemy," Galbedir muttered.
"Precisely. But," Folms' eyes lit up. "It's interesting you mention the connection between Mysticism and enchanting. I've recently come across an object which I would swear exemplifies Lor's Fourth Principle - there is no magickal residue on the second-layer simplices at all, and initially Galerion's Analysis only shows trace amounts barely greater than the standard background emanation from Magnus, but if you focus solely on the Atronach-Apprentice range and then tune it to take Lorkhan's Disjunction into account-"
Just as her smirk earlier, Folms paid no attention to Galbedir's increasingly horrified expression and attempts to edge away.
"-did tell her she was to work on the Dwemer," Trebonius expounded to Skink-in-Trees-Shade, who was giving every impression of listening intently. "Obviously, I'd spotted this inability of hers at the time. Simple matter for a skilled mage, really. No idea how it took Ranis and her people so long to suss out."
"Of course," Skink murmured. "It is an excellent thing, to find a way to let an apprentice grow and thrive who many would have abandoned. A good leader nurtures all in their charge, not just the ones who are easy to teach, so I have always believed." As Trebonius puffed up, the Argonian continued. "My gravest apologies for changing the subject, but I found myself... curious... about your newest assistant, Tiram Gadar. You said he was recommended by Ocato himself?"
"Indeed! Insisted we hire him on the spot. Been invaluable, let me tell you! But you'll have to ask Malven about the details. I never let myself be bothered with such things. My time's too important."
"I understand fully." Skink's voice was still calm and even, but his crest was straight and his eyes were glittering strangely. "Of course from your perspective these must all seem mere trivialities, and I do appreciate your patience..."
And so the conversation moved on.
Eventually, every evening must come to an end. As Masser rose higher and higher in the sky, people began making their apologies. So sorry, the enchantment desk won't man itself in the morning... Edwinna's got us heading out to Nchuleftingth at the crack of dawn... need to look in on those potions I set to simmer... want to sort out some business at the High Fane tomorrow and you know how early those priests get up...
In the bustle of people departing, numerous flashes from Recall spells and a queue forming in front of the rather put-upon Cassia, one more person leaving drew no attention. Anyone following them might have felt rather puzzled when their quarry started towards to the eastern end of the waistworks - quite the wrong direction for the Foreign Quarter and with it the guildhall, the Vivec members' residences, and all the inns that might be favoured by a visitor. And they'd certainly have been shocked when the figure ducked into a doorway and emerged a few moments later looking rather different.
But who would follow such a well-known, respected member of the guild?
In the Arena canton, Gelduin had switched from mazte to wick water two mugs ago in hopes of keeping her head clear. The tavern had filled up and she'd found herself needing to use all the cunning and skill at her disposal, supplemented by her trusty charm ring, in order to stay alone at her table. She was wondering whether to call it a night when a tall, broad-shouldered Imperial slipped into the seat beside her.
It wasn't the first, or for that matter the tenth, time that night that such a thing had happened, and Gelduin was fingering her ring trying to gauge the number of charges it had left when the Imperial spoke.
"And a good night to you, my dear." His accent, straight from the Nibenay Basin, would have raised eyebrows almost anywhere else in Vivec. Here, he was just another Imperial in the crowd. "See many cliff-racers on the way?"
"Mendaxto!" Smiling widely, Gelduin shifted forward to kiss the man. It was a rather long and thorough kiss by any standards, and when she finally broke away she still stayed close, half-on the Imperial's lap, her head on his shoulder.
"You're late," she hissed.
He bent his head to hers so that his mouth almost brushed the tip of her ear. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I couldn't get away." Then, a little louder: "Shall we move to a more... suitable location?"
The departure of a couple who were barely able to keep their hands off each other long enough to make it out the door raised no eyebrows at all. Such sights were common in the tavern come evening, especially on a day where Blue Team's newest Pit Dog had won such an astonishing victory over Red Team's experienced Myrmidon and Saprius Entius had bought a round for the whole tavern to celebrate. At most, they attracted some jealous glances from a few men who'd been eyeing the empty seat beside Gelduin themselves and hadn't noticed how all previous attempts to conquer it had ended with the interloper stumbling away looking rather dazed.
When they reached the small room Gelduin had rented above the tavern, the Imperial broke away and raised his hand. Green light flashed and raced out to settle in the corners of the room, keeping all sound within. Any would-be eavesdroppers would have very little luck indeed.
Gelduin turned to her companion.
"I hope you're not expecting me to sleep with you while you're looking like that," she informed the Imperial tartly. Ano Andaram, if he'd been there, would have been surprised at the fluent, Vos-accented Dunmeris she spoke now – barely a trace of foreign accent, a far cry from the broken nigh-incomprehensible thanks she'd strung together earlier that day.
In the meantime, her partner had made a beeline to the pack beside her bed and was fumbling with a flask.
"Or," Gelduin continued, "that you're going to guzzle all my magicka-restoring potions. Some of us can't just go to sleep and wake up with a full magicka pool, thank you very much."
"Sorry," the Imperial said in equally fluent Dunmeris, putting the empty bottle to the side. "I don't think I can risk letting the illusion lapse – I'm not sure I'll be able to recreate it perfectly after, and I'd rather not draw attention by looking different when I leave. Too many people stayed in Vivec, anyway. I'd rather not raise any questions by being spotted somewhere I shouldn't be."
Gelduin shrugged. "Sounds paranoid to me, but you have to know what's best. I'm not cut out for all this spy stuff, you know. Code phrases and disguises and illusion spells – it's like a bad Blades novel. I had trouble keeping my face straight in there."
"Well, I'm afraid you have to get used to it," her companion said apologetically. "I can't risk being seen with you, not after-"
"-after Iniel, Namira curse her nosy ways, spotted me wandering into the Council Hall and decided to inform the whole guild," Gelduin finished. "Like I said, I'm not cut out for this spy stuff. But I am sorry about that. I miss being able to drop in on you without this... rigmarole."
"Well, it can't be helped now. And, getting to business... anything newsworthy happen on your trip?"
Gelduin let herself sink down on the narrow bed. "The main thing? We ran into three Blighted creatures, one of them near Caldera – miles away from the Ghostfence, well inside the West Gash. It worried Shazgob. It worries me, for that matter, but I don't have the direct ear of the second-in-command of the Imperial Legion for the entirety of Vvardenfell. Speaking of which, Shazgob let something interesting slip."
"Oh?"
Gelduin explained.
Sitting down beside Gelduin and frowning in thought, her companion traced winding circles on the sheet - an oddly delicate gesture that seemed misplaced on the man's bulky frame. "Something drastic... a good time to leave Vvardenfell... I wish he'd been more specific. That could be anything from invading Red Mountain to withdrawing from Vvardenfell completely. Well. The last is no doubt too much to hope for." A sigh. "I suppose other... friends of ours... will just have to keep an eye on Albuttian."
Gelduin, who neither knew nor particularly cared whether they had other agents in Ebonheart, nodded.
"So, anything happen on your end which you'd like me to tell the boss?" she asked.
"It's funny you should say that. Tell me, did you happen to meet an Adryn while with the caravan?"
"Adryn?" Gelduin blinked in surprise. "Clanless girl, late teens or so, from Skyrim? Yes, she travelled with us for a day or so earlier this week. Helped me out with the scouting – seemed like a good kid, even if she and her friend were clearly hiding something. Had a detection spell I'd really have liked to learn," she added with a touch of envy. "Although I guess you'd know her better than me – I remember she mentioned she was a guild member. Apparently nobody'd clued her in on my status as an agent of the enemy."
"You wanted to learn her detection spell?"
"She had this trick of using a Detect Life spell to tell whether an animal was Blighted. You know how much easier being able to do that would make my life? And I'm pretty sure Yakin Bael would give his right arm for it!" Gelduin frowned. "What's this about?"
"It turns out that that is only the tail of the snake when it comes to her skills. Apparently she can manage a teleport to a variable destination."
Gelduin's eyes widened. "You're serious? The things you could do with that-"
"Congratulations. By seeing the potential here, you have just proven yourself wiser than, at last count, the entirety of the Vvardenfell Mages' Guild." The Imperial began to pace angrily.
"This sounds like a story." Gelduin stretched, then let herself settle back on the bed with a groan. In her professional opinion as a scout, a good mattress needed to be properly indulged in when it crossed one's path.
"Sheep. Mindless sheep," her friend spat. "Teleportation is one of the big research areas of the guild. We've- they've been trying to increase the range and flexibility of the spells for centuries, to no avail. The guild guide network is the biggest advance made during that entire time, and that requires a dedicated mage at every single end point. Along comes a girl whose spell-casting doesn't obey any of the restrictions we assumed must hold, who could open a thousand new avenues of investigation, and what do they do? The instant the words 'learning disability' fall they declare her hopeless, write off all that potential as misfires!"
"You feel very strongly about this," Gelduin said from where she was watching the rant.
"It's just such a waste! Now they're going to convince the girl she should stay away from the entire school, fill her head with exaggerated tales of danger, all because she doesn't learn or cast the spells the way they think they should, because she can't cast a Soultrap spell. Who even cares about Soultrap? It's not as if we have a shortage of fools who can cast it. She, on the other hand, managed a teleport to a place completely devoid of any Mystic beacon. Any proper organisation supportive of mages would immediately recognise the worth of such a unique talent. Great-"
At that, Gelduin's companion broke off and shot a glance into the corner. After a moment, the light of Illusion magic bloomed once more.
"Great House Telvanni," the Imperial continued, voice softer despite the renewed green gleam in the corners, "would leap on the opportunity to nurture it."
"Is leaping, I think you mean," Gelduin said, spreading her hands to indicate their current situation. "Unless this is all some bizarre prelude to telling me you've rethought your allegiances, are going over to the Mages' Guild for real and want me to join you. If so, I have to inform that your rhetorical skills need some work."
Her companion snorted. "Hardly. But..."
The anger fled from the large body like water seeping from a pierced skin. The weary sigh, loud in the small room, did not belong to the young face that made it.
"Like it or not, she's still a member of the Mages' Guild. One who is making waves despite how recently she joined. And I can't risk falling under suspicion... I'll have to tread very, very carefully."
"I have full confidence that you'll come up with something," Gelduin said firmly. "Or the boss will. Seeing as I take it you'd like me to make a full report on the matter."
"I was rather hoping you would, yes. I know that..." her companion glanced up at the corners of the room as if considering something, then shrugged and continued, "the boss is going to be very interested in this. It ties into some long-standing research interests, you see." The last words were spoken with all the authority of a close confidant.
So her nickname for their patron was a code name now? Her life had become a bad Blades novel indeed, Gelduin thought, hard-pressed to keep from rolling her eyes.
For the hundredth time, she wondered whether she shouldn't give up this spy business, go back to the boss and say she'd rather just be a perfectly ordinary scout with none of the cloak-and-dagger nonsense. Akatosh knew there was enough business in the Grazelands to keep her happily occupied.
Her friend was looking far more cheerful, Gelduin noted, the look on that false face saying that the other was already thinking up plans for gaining control over this Adryn's unique abilities. She felt a brief spark of pity for the girl, who'd struck Gelduin as rather naive – or, in other words, as woefully unequipped to be at the centre of this sort of conspiracy – but forced it down. House Telvanni had been good to Gelduin herself, after all, and it certainly sounded like the girl wasn't being properly appreciated for her abilities where she was.
More to the point, although Gelduin did not consider her companion's current appearance in any way attractive, the gleam in those eyes made her remember what lay beneath it. And exactly how she'd been... seduced... into House Telvanni in the first place.
"Are you really certain you can't stay for a while, without the illusion?" she asked. "Your guildmates are hardly going to come in bursting here, and I doubt anyone will notice if you look a little different if you leave. I've been on the road for such a long time, you know." Gelduin let her voice drop to the purr that had brought Madam Meretria to her doorstep with an offer the day she turned sixteen. "No privacy at all. I was really looking forward to catching up with you... properly."
Her companion's eyes darkened, but that was the only reaction.
Gelduin considered, and decided she could up her gambit a little. "Otherwise, well, I've got a long journey ahead of me tomorrow, and it sounds like we're about caught up on news. Unless you give me a good reason to stay awake, I'll be going to bed now."
She stood, turning her back to her partner. Her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out all other sound, as she began to unbutton her dress. Goosebumps grew on her skin as the bare skin of her shoulder met cool air, her back-
Fingers wrapped around hers, far longer and thinner than the Imperial's.
"You make a convincing argument," a very familiar voice murmured in her ear.
A quarter hour later, the muffling spell on the room wore off. Neither of the two occupants noticed. That was perfectly all right, though, as none of the sounds that escaped could be considered incriminating.
Something that regularly came as a surprise to newcomers to Vivec – outlander tourists, visitors, new residents and pilgrims alike – was the Palace.
Rising towards the sky at the southernmost point of the city, an earthly thing of stone and iron topped by a golden dome, at first glance a not particularly religious newcomer might think it was much like the homes of the rich and powerful the world over. Such blasphemy was quickly proven mistaken on any sort of closer inspection, however. Only the topmost floor of the palace was occupied by the god himself, a windowless space no larger than the tiny stilted shacks that rose from the water between the cantons. The rest of the palace was given over to the Puzzle Canals, the mysterious, some claimed ever-changing maze of corridors and flowing water that was a favoured destination of pilgrims from across Morrowind. Of all the things that could be said of the Puzzle Canals, them being a suitable dwelling place was not one.
Vivec's palace was the home of a god, not a man.
As Archcanon of the Vvardenfell Temple beneath Vivec, Tholer Saryoni had access to the private writings of many of his predecessors. Some had kept more detailed journals than others – Noveni Omayn in particular had left behind a considerable collection of volumes, one thankfully accompanied by a quick and biting sense for irony and witty turn of phrase – but keeping such records was one of the unspoken duties of the job and one would be hard-pressed to find an Archcanon who had left behind nothing at all. Poring over their writings late into the night, commonalities became apparent.
My lord has changed His chamber again, wrote Tandris Nelenim. Entered this morning and found myself in an actual jungle. Narrowly escaped being attacked by a beast I did not recognise... very afraid He has gone on a jaunt to Akavir (or possibly Hircine's Hunting Grounds?) and, shall we say, left the door open behind Him...
And, of course, Noveni. His Worship is showing dangerous signs of getting bored again. After a very relaxing few months where his chamber obeyed the laws of Mundus it has been getting steadily larger by the day, and I have a terrible suspicion the carpet is currently carnivorous. I have made clear in the strongest possible terms that I would be most displeased if I entered one day and found myself on the ceiling, in an Outer Realm, or eaten by the floor, but fear I failed to make much, if any, impression. For the sake of everyone's safety and keeping the dragon of time in one piece, I do believe I may need to arrange for a distraction...
Reading it, Tholer – who, if pressed, would admit to a love for adventure better suited to a far younger man – had felt rather wistful. Such variety, he thought, sounded rather exciting. Sadly for him, in his tenure as Archcanon, Vivec's chamber had remained constant. As he entered now, it was clear today would bring no change.
Inside as outside, the room at the top of the Palace of Vivec was small and perfectly round. Elaborate murals ran along the walls, some depicting scenes Tholer recognised from history or legend, some ones entirely unfamiliar – different ones each time he entered, the only remnant of the distortions of physical reality described by so many of his predecessors. The floor was a stark contrast to such decoration, bare white stone save for a large triangle worked into it in gold, a plain dais at its centre.
Over it floated a god.
Vivec's back was to the door, and he had given no sign of welcome or even acknowledgement. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the only other item in the chamber.
An image of Vvardenfell floated before Vivec, green islands and gray ash-wastes alike rising from a sea of white fog, all leading upwards to the great sweep of Red Mountain – its peak obscured even here. Looking at it too long gave one the disturbing feeling that it was slowly growing larger, or perhaps one was growing smaller, slowly being drawn in.
(When Tholer was younger and less wise, he had asked whether it was a model or real. Instead of punishing him for a fool's desire for certainty, Vivec had told him every model is real and reality is but a model. Tholer had bowed his gratitude for the gift of the paradox and, ever since, had taken care not to come too near to it.)
Every detail was perfect, from the pebble that was Baar Dau floating in the south to the tiny spires of Dwemer ruins rising from Dagon Fel in the north, the thin wisps of cloud hanging above that island contrast to the thick grey mass that blotted out most of Azura's Coast (and hadn't Brother Eris, travelling back from Sadrith Mora by guild guide just today, returned with sodden robes?)...
And, of course, above all else, the Ghostfence.
Ringing Red Mountain, glowing with a fierce white light, it was absolutely unmistakeable. If Tholer listened closely, he could hear the whispered voices of all the thousands and thousands of ancestors who had given themselves over to it. It was awe-inspiring, a work of staggering scope, testament to the strength of the Dunmer people in both life and death... testament to the power of their gods.
It was – so someone who had come to this chamber over decades, someone such as the Archcanon of the Vvardenfell Temple, might notice – very, very slowly growing weaker.
"Enter."
Vivec spoke without turning around. His voice passed straight through Tholer to wrap around something behind him.
Tholer looked over his shoulder. Sister Dileno had stopped in the entranceway, eyes wide. Now, she took a trembling step forward, as if worried she would be struck down for daring to cross the threshold.
Had she ever met Vivec face-to-face like this before – not watching in a crowd as he greeted his people, not at a ceremony with all the upper ranks attending, but in a small group with no script or ritual to follow? Taking in her stunned expression, thinking back, Tholer decided she had not. Vivec left this chamber so rarely these days, anyhow.
I have spent the last several days attempting to explain to his Worship the nature of becoming predictable. To choose an example at random – should one be a god with a taste for wandering their flock in disguise, it is perhaps wise to only engage in such activities on a rare basis, or to choose a variety of guises, or in some way to prevent the situation where the clergy generally assume that at least one member of the new intake of novices will be no novice. Should one be such a god, one may want to keep in mind that the more senior members of one's followers may also wish to speak to one on occasion, and that the current situation, where the upper echelons of the Temple are in fact far less likely to see their god than the novices, can only be called 'absurd'...
Tholer pushed Noveni's words back in his mind.
"Enter, Dileno, daughter of Mundrila, of clan Lloran," Vivec repeated. His voice vibrated through Tholer's bones like the ringing of bell, pure and emotionless. "And tell me why you have come."
Out of the corner of his eye, Tholer saw Dileno throw him a desperate look as she edged into the chamber. He kept his gaze straight ahead and focused on Vivec. Knowing that in a few more decades he would need to seriously look into training a successor, Tholer kept an eye on the more promising of the mid-ranks, and the Disciple had struck him as having real potential. Time to see if that held up.
And should she prove weak, should she fall apart before their god... well.
One way or the other, she would never rise higher than her current rank.
After a moment, Dileno rallied. "My lord, this- this concerns news I received from one of your Buoyant Armigers, one Ervesa Romandas."
"Ervesa. Yes." Vivec's head dipped, as though he were deep in thought. Still he had not turned around; as was becoming more and more common, almost all his attention was fixed on the Ghostfence. "I am aware of her discovery of the Sharmat's plot in Ald'ruhn."
Should that be why you disturb me. He did not say it, but Tholer could hear the words ring in the silence.
Dileno licked her lips. "My lord, it- it is true this was the most urgent news she brought. However, there was... something else. She did not see its importance. In truth-" Dileno paused for a moment, then plunged in. "In truth, I do not either."
Good. Very good. Admit your ignorance, for to Almsivi we are all ignorant. Pride has no place before the gods.
Vivec did not visibly react.
"But- my Lord, I had been given to understand that you wished to be informed immediately and in person should any of your servants meet or hear of anyone suffering from the affliction known as 'Ledd's Syndrome', or showing any of its signs."
Dileno pronounced the alien term carefully, unable to keep a faint trace of bewilderment from her voice. Tholer knew she must think such a minor oddity a very strange thing indeed for Lord Vivec to concern himself with. He remembered puzzling over it himself when he had learned of the directive, an unexplained mystery...
Unexplained, until he became Patriarch and was made privy to the last, most terrible secrets of the Tribunal.
Vivec's motion upon the dais stopped.
For a terrifying moment, the Ghostfence dimmed to near-darkness. Then it snapped back to full strength. Tholer, who felt as though his heart had skipped a beat with it, had to suppress a sigh of relief. Dileno was discreet enough – no one prone to gossip would make it to her current position – but some things shouldn't be risked all the same.
Better for all if no doubt was cast on the idea that Almsivi were all-powerful and the Ghostfence impenetrable.
"You are certain?" Something new had entered Vivec's voice. Dileno would almost certainly not recognise it, but after working with his god closely for decades Tholer could name it urgency.
"I- yes, my lord. I, I spoke to the girl affected myself, to confirm the report. A clanless outlander, newly arrived in Vvardenfell. By the name of Adryn."
Vivec turned to face them, power blazing from his eyes. His gaze passed over Tholer to rest on Dileno, frozen in what looked to be mingled terror and ecstasy by their god's full attention.
(Perhaps not suitable after all.)
"Tell me everything."
Not far from the palace of Vivec, in a cell attached to the Hall of Justice in the High Fane, a Dunmer girl slept. Her cot was not much softer than the stone of the floor, but that had not kept her awake. Perhaps Adryn was not so long out of prison to have forgotten how to catch a nap at any available opportunity, perhaps exhaustion had overwhelmed all discomfort, or indeed perhaps some strange power was at play... in any case, she lay curled up on the cot, straw poking out from the thin pillow to tangle in her red hair, eyes closed, mouthing words in her dreams.
If her guard had listened closely, he might have found something to puzzle over. The words she whispered were not Tamrielic, but how was it that an outlander girl newly come to Vvardenfell should speak Chimeris, the ancient forebear of Dunmeris long consigned to dusty tomes? How was it that her mouth should form the words Dumac and Alandro Sul and Almalexia, form so many names from worship and history and legend, with such familiarity?
But the guard was leaning against the wall in the opposite end of the corridor, having glanced into the girl's cell only briefly earlier in the night. He'd been friends with Selman, close friends, and was afraid of what he might do if forced to stay near his rumoured killer. For the sake of duty and honour over vengeance, he had to keep his distance.
And so he did not listen, did not see, and the mystery remained for another day.