Chapter 28: Coward Of The Canton
The next morning I went back to Vivec, yet again, and paid another visit to my bank manager. He just told me the same thing he'd said before: that I'd have to go to the mainland to find a buyer for my ring.
"But it's urgent," I said in exasperation. "Don't you know anyone on Vvardenfell who might buy it?"
His lips twitched. "Well, I've heard say there's a talking mudcrab somewhere on Azura's Coast who's pretty free with his gold."
"Haha," I said. "No, seriously. I really need the money."
"Very well," he said at last. "I'll make some enquiries. In the meantime, perhaps you'd like to take out a loan?"
It seemed that I didn't have any other choice. I agreed to borrow 5,000 septims at the bank's standard interest rate, with the first repayment of just over 500 drakes due in a week's time. If I wanted to eat over the next month, as well as build a stronghold, I'd have to get cracking with those Fighter's Guild missions – and find myself some caves to loot as well.
At least I'd cleared one hurdle, I thought. Now all I needed to do was persuade Duke Vedam Dren – a Hlaalu – that what Vvardenfell really needed right now was another Redoran stronghold.
My next point of call was Ebonheart. For once I travelled there by boat, not wanting to make use of Vivec's shrine at a time like this. I couldn't help thinking about how the Nerevarine was supposed to bring down the 'false gods' as part of the prophecy. Heaven knew how the Temple, let alone Almsivi themselves, would react to that bit.
Anyway, I didn't have time to worry about that right now. I went to the Grand Council chambers in Ebonheart, where I'd met Llerar Mandas a couple of weeks ago, and found myself in a long line of petitioners waiting to see the Duke. Luckily he seemed to operate an 'open-door' policy.
Vedam Dren was a thoughtful-looking man with smooth, pleasant manners. I'd been a little nervous about meeting him, remembering that his brother Orvas was rumoured to be head of the Camonna Tong, but the Duke himself seemed friendly enough towards outlanders – if only because he owed his title, wealth, and position to the Empire. After introducing myself I explained about my need for a stronghold, and asked if he'd be willing to grant me a construction contract.
Dren looked hard at me before answering. "I am not sure if I should issue you a contract," he said slowly. "But Vvardenfell faces many threats today. I will grant you a contract if you vow to do what you can for my people."
"Of course," I said, rather surprised by how easily he'd agreed. "Is there anything in particular you'd like me to – "
"That is good enough for me," he interrupted. "Take this contract. Use your stronghold for the defence of my people, and as an aid in your fight against our enemies."
And with that he waved me away and ushered in the next petitioner, leaving me staring open-mouthed at the paper in my hand. That was it? Seriously? Back in Cyrodiil, it would probably have taken a month just to fill out the forms.
I carefully filed away the contract and walked back to the docks, where I took the boat back to Vivec. It wasn't until half-way through the journey that I took it back out to actually read it, and when I did, I nearly fainted.
"His Grace, the Duke of Vvardenfell, hereby grants Ada Ventura the right to build a stronghold of no more than fifty persons –" Fifty persons?! "– and of no more than 400 feet in any direction." Four hundred feet? "Ada Ventura may hire no more than 10 Men-At-Arms and retainers to defend the stronghold…" This wasn't a stronghold, it was a bloody village!
Once again I got that feeling of being trapped in a bizarre dream. Not exactly an unpleasant dream – come on, who wouldn't want a mini-village built in their honour? – but something that was just far too good to be real and lasting. At one time I'd had ambitions of rising high in the Fighters' Guild, maybe even making Champion (and finally getting my revenge on that bastard Modryn Oreyn), and perhaps finding someone to settle down with once I finally got tired of the wandering life. Never once had I imagined that something like this might happen to me.
Shaking my head, I stuffed the contract back into my pack and settled back for the rest of the journey. Just as I was stepping off the docks at the Foreign Quarter, I spotted a young man walking in the other direction, and as he drew closer I realised that it was Varvur. I had a sudden panicky urge to avoid him, until I realised that this was completely stupid – what did it matter what people thought? Besides, he'd already spotted me.
"Hello, Ada," he said with one of those heart-melting smiles. "It's good to see you. What are you doing in Vivec?"
"I just got back from Ebonheart, actually. I went to ask Duke Dren for a construction contract to build a stronghold."
"A stronghold!" His eyes widened. "Then you are to be a House Father?"
"If everything goes well, yes."
Varvur shook his head incredulously. "You have been here only a few months, and already risen so far in our House… yet I've lived in Ald'ruhn all my life, and only reached the rank of Oathman. It shames me."
"Hey, it could be worse. I lived with a merchant family for eighteen years without learning the first thing about business." That won a reluctant smile from him. "So what are you here for, anyway?"
"I have come to perform some duties for Faral Retheran at the Redoran treasury." His expression darkened slightly. "It seems a Redoran in Vivec has shamed the House by refusing to fight a duel of honour. I must persuade him to change his mind."
"Well, good luck with that." From the look on his face I could see that he really wasn't looking forward to this. "Would you like me to come along and help, er, persuade him? Might be easier with two of us."
Varvur hesitated for a second, and then nodded. "Yes, perhaps you are right. It would be good to have a second person there for, er…"
"Moral support?"
"Yes."
We went to the Redoran canton to speak with Faral Retheran, the House agent who handled Redoran business in Vivec. She told us that the reluctant duellist – a man named Rothis Nethan – was hiding out in the Flowers of Gold tavern. Apparently he hadn't quite grasped the concept of 'hiding' properly, because it turned out the place was right below us in the Redoran waistworks.
"Okay, Varvur, we need a strategy," I announced, as we walked to the tavern. "You know the 'good guard, bad guard' routine, right?"
He shook his head, looking puzzled. I sighed. "It's what the Watch do when they're interrogating suspects. Basically one of us is the 'good guard', so they act all friendly – well, relatively friendly – while the other one tries to bully and intimidate the guy into doing what we want."
Varvur grimaced. "I will leave the bullying and intimidation to you, I think. Er, not that I meant…"
"I know what you meant. You need to toughen up a bit, Varvur," I said, winking to let him know that I was teasing him. "If you can scare the life out of your opponent before the battle begins, you've already won."
The Flowers of Gold was filled with Redoran retainers enjoying their lunch, but it was obvious which one was Rothis Nethan: he was the ridiculously over-dressed young man sitting in the corner, trying to look inconspicuous while sucking down ale like there was no tomorrow. As we approached his table, he looked up at us and his face fell. "You're here about that duel, aren't you?"
"Right you are," I said, with a grim smile. "So why didn't you turn up for it, you snivelling little coward?"
In a voice almost too low to hear, he mumbled, "I couldn't."
"And why not?"
This time I couldn't even hear what he said in reply. "You bring shame on our House, sera," Varvur said quietly.
Rothis said nothing, but he looked as if he were trying not to roll his eyes. "Don't you care for your own honour?" Varvur pressed him. "Do you wish to be seen as weak and cowardly?"
"Well, I'd rather be alive and a coward than dead!" Nethan took a long swig from his glass of ale. "There's no way I can beat Brethas Deras. He's too good a fighter."
"Don't be so sure, sera. You may surprise yourself."
"That's easy for you to say!" He flung up his hands. "Look at me – I'm a scholar, not a warrior. Why should I risk my life in this silly duel?"
I could kind of sympathise, actually. Coming from a place where duelling was regarded as a bit of a joke, I still found it rather hard to take the whole business seriously. It made keeping up the 'bad guard' act a bit difficult.
"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before shooting your mouth off, shouldn't you?" I countered. "Come on, Rothis, just man up a bit. Ten to one he'll only smack you around a little and leave it at that."
Rothis shook his head glumly. "No, it has to be a duel to the death. He'd kill me for sure."
"Oh, for crying out loud." I was already getting tired of this. "I'll fight the damn duel for you. At least that way they'll know some of us Redorans aren't cowards."
His eyes grew wide. "Would you? That's – "
Before he could get any further, Varvur's hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar. "Worthless s'wit! No, she cannot fight a duel for you – and if you had a trace of honour, you would not ask her to!" His eyes practically glowed with anger.
"Guys, calm down," I said, suddenly aware of a dozen pairs of eyes riveted on us. "This isn't helping. Rothis, what would convince you to fight this duel?"
I was expecting him to say "nothing," but instead, he hesitated. At last he said sulkily, "I'm not fighting any duels without some way of evening the odds."
"And how could we do that?"
"You'll have to help me out. If you bring me ten standard potions of healing, that should give me a better chance against Brethas Deras."
Varvur and I exchanged glances. Following a brief discussion, and a hunt through our packs, we managed to come up with ten potions between us.
"You do realise you won't actually have much time to drink them during the fight?" I said to Nethan. "Somehow I don't think this Brethas is going to politely hold back to let you swig down a few potions."
Rothis shrugged and nodded. He gulped down the remains of his drink, then breathed in deeply. "Okay. Come to the Arena this evening. I'll be there this time."
We watched him haul himself to his feet and walk rather unsteadily the door of the tavern. "I thought you were going to leave the bullying to me," I murmured to Varvur.
"Forgive me," he said stiffly. "I lost my temper."
We agreed to meet up in the Arena later that day, and then went our separate ways. I went back to Ald'ruhn for a late lunch before taking the money and construction contract to Galsa Gindu. "Yes, this is adequate," she said, after checking over the contract. "Construction will begin as soon as I give the orders. In a week or so, come speak with me again."
A week? Again, not that I'm an expert, but I wouldn't have thought they could even get the foundations laid in that time. Maybe Morrowind builders were just very efficient?
I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for provisions, and returned to Vivec in the early evening to watch the duel. I hadn't been to Vivec's Arena before, and I was quite impressed by its size – though of course, it was nothing to the one in the Imperial City. There weren't many people in the stalls, though; apparently no one much cared about the outcome of this duel.
Varvur was waiting for me near the entrance. "So what do you think?" I asked, as we took our seats. "Is he in with a chance?"
"I'm not sure. His opponent is a Hlaalu, I believe, but I haven't heard of him before now."
At that moment a voice announced the entrance of the duellists. Varvur and I leaned forward over the guardrail to see them more clearly, and my jaw dropped.
The Hlaalu, Brethas Deras, was dressed in full bonemold armour with an enchanted sword – nothing unusual about that. But Rothis' armour was – well, it wasn't. He wasn't wearing anything except the clothes we'd seen him in earlier that day. Had he lost his mind?
As I watched in utter disbelief, he drew a ridiculously tiny dagger from his belt. It looked like something you'd use to cut paper.
"The hell?" I gasped, turning to Varvur. His face had gone slightly pale. "The hell?"
"Almsivi," he whispered. "Why did he not tell us he had no sword or armour? We could have…" His voice trailed off.
"And they're going to fight a duel to the death? Varvur, somebody has to stop them!"
"We cannot." He looked utterly miserable. "Duellists may use whatever equipment they choose. There is no rule."
"But – " I broke off as the announcer gave the signal for the duel to begin, and the two opponents rushed at each other.
What followed was nothing less than a slaughter. Rothis actually put up a reasonable fight, for someone wielding what looked like a child's toy against a heavily-armed opponent. But honestly, he might as well just have run straight onto Deras' sword.
I watched, helpless, as the most insanely one-sided duel in the history of Morrowind (and possibly all Tamriel) unfolded in the ring beneath us. Shock and disbelief turned to rage as I realised that Brethas Deras had no intention of showing any mercy, just because his opponent lacked a few trivial things like a sword and armour. I was so angry that for a few moments I seriously considered jumping over the barrier to help Rothis – except that it was too far down and I wasn't equipped for a duel in any case.
By the end of the duel I was seething with fury. I'd seen some pretty disgusting things since arriving in Morrowind, but I honestly don't think anything else had sickened me quite as much as this. All the other killings, no matter how cruel and unjustified, had at least had some reason behind them. But this… this was just completely senseless.
"What in Stendaar's name was that?" I sputtered to Varvur.
He bowed his head. "It is sad. But at least the honour of the House has been defended."
"Honour? How was that in any way honourable? That wasn't a duel, that was just – a farce. A complete farce." I shook my head. "A guy just got killed over some stupid insult, in a fight he had absolutely no chance of winning, and you think it's all right just because he showed up?"
"You don't understand," he protested. "Yours is a mercantile culture. If someone slandered you in Cyrodiil, you would… make them pay you, perhaps? But ours is a warrior culture. If someone insults you and you fail to challenge them, it makes you look weak, and people will despise you for it."
"And if you turn up for life-or-death battle with no weapons or armour, what the hell does that make you?" I snarled. "Come to that, what does it make your opponent? There's no bloody 'honour' in beating someone who can't fight back!"
"Sore loser, Redoran?" said a taunting voice behind me. I spun round to see Brethas Deras, still in armour but without his helmet, surrounded by a group of his supporters. "At least Rothis Nethan showed up this time. You Redorans sure talk a lot about honour, but when it comes time to test it, you fail."
There was no way I was going to let this pass. "Are you joking?" I snapped. "Come back when you've fought a real duel and then we can discuss 'honour'. Who's your next opponent, a five-year-old girl armed with a lollipop stick?"
Deras' expression had turned distinctly ugly. "Watch your tongue, outlander, or it may just be you."
"Try me," I growled. We glowered at each other, and then I felt Varvur's hand on my arm.
"Ada, be careful," he said in a low voice. "What you just said was all but a challenge."
"Don't worry, Varvur. Somehow I have this strange feeling he's not likely to take me up on it." I turned my back on Brethas and his friends. "Come on, let's go."
"Apologise first."
Heaving a sigh, I turned back to Brethas. "Sorry," I said flatly. I could see him struggling with his pride, but he clearly had the sense to realise I would not be quite such a pushover as Rothis Nethan. After a second or two he jerked his head to the rest of his posse, motioning to them to leave.
"N'wah," I heard one of them mutter as they walked off. As insults go it was pretty feeble, but it might have been just enough to tip me over the edge – if Varvur hadn't taken hold of my arms, quietly but firmly, and literally held me back.
His hands grasped my wrists tightly. I stared down at them and slowly unclenched my fists, seeing livid red marks where my nails had dug into my palms.
"Shall we go for dinner?" he asked softly.
I drew a few long breaths, trying to calm myself down. "Okay. Let's do that."
We returned to the 'Flowers of Gold' and settled down to a dinner of nix-hound meat and ash yams, washed down with plenty of shein. With a good meal and a few drinks inside me, I felt the anger slowly bleed out, and shame creep in to replace it. Gods, I'd come close to challenging Brethas to a duel as pointless as the one he'd just fought. And it wouldn't even have been justified – sure, the guy hadn't exactly covered himself in glory, but it wasn't his fault that Rothis had turned up virtually unarmed.
"I am sorry you had to see that," Varvur said, guessing my thoughts. "I don't agree with everything you said, but in one way you are right. Neither of our Houses has won great honour by that duel."
"You've nothing to be sorry for. Though I think maybe I have." I sighed. "Thanks for holding me back, Varvur. I keep doing that, don't I?"
"Don't worry about it," he said with a shrug. "I was angry too, earlier in the day."
"Yes, what happened there? It doesn't seem like you to lose your temper like that."
"It was his selfishness, his lack of honour, that made me angry. I can understand being afraid, but I would never dream of asking someone else to fight a duel for me. Especially – "
He broke off. "Especially a woman?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"No… that was not what I was going to say. I – " For a moment it looked like he was steeling himself to say something more, but eventually he shook his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."
I said nothing. I had a feeling I could guess what he'd been going to say, and I really wasn't sure whether or not it was a good idea to take the conversation in that direction. From the look of it, neither was Varvur.
We chewed in silence. I tried to think about other things, but instead I found myself suddenly wondering what he'd be like in bed. Probably quite gentle, I thought – not like most of the lovers I'd had in the past. Mind you, none of those relationships had lasted more than a few months…
"What are you thinking about?" Varvur asked.
'What you'd be like in bed' probably wasn't the best answer. "Er… nothing much," I said vaguely. "Just… old boyfriends."
"Oh." He paused. "Have you had many… boyfriends?"
"A few," I said, shrugging. "Mainly Nords, actually. Guess I tend to go for the rugged barbarian type."
"I see." He looked thoughtful.
We both went quiet again. "Talking of boyfriends," I said at last, "what is up with you and the Wood Elf girl?"
"Wood Elf girl?
"The one I saw in your manor the other day."
"Oh… Aeronwen." He grimaced. "She is not my 'girlfriend', if that's what you mean."
"No?"
He shook his head. "For a short time, earlier this year, we were… I'm sorry, I don't know the right word. Courting?"
"Dating."
"Dating, then. But we… well, she didn't seem so interested in me as I was in her. In fact, I began to suspect that she was in love with someone else." Varvur sighed heavily. "I tried to speak to her about it, but she kept avoiding me… or so it seemed to me." His face grew rigid. "Well, I have pride. I was not going to pursue a woman who didn't care for me."
Ouch. Suddenly I wished I hadn't asked. "I'm sorry, Varvur," I said. "I assumed you two were… well. If I'd known, I wouldn't have asked… um, if you see what I mean."
"It was many months ago," he said, shrugging. "Things are still a little awkward between us, but I don't mind so much any more." He paused. "In any case, I think perhaps it was for the best. My parents like Aeronwen, but I don't think they would have approved of… us."
"They probably want you to marry some rich Hlaalu noble," I said, trying to lighten the mood a little. "You know, unite the two Houses. That sort of thing."
The expression of horror on Varvur's face was almost comical. "Marry a Hlaalu? I would rather die!"
"Really? I thought those sorts of political marriages happened all the time."
But he was shaking his head. "I do not think my parents would want me to marry a Hlaalu."
The conversation drifted onto other subjects, and we finished our meals. "What will you do now?" Varvur asked me, as we left the tavern.
"Go to bed, I think. Oh, um, you mean tomorrow?" Yep, I was a bit tipsy. "I have to go back to Sadrith Mora. More work for the Fighters' Guild."
"So you're leaving again?" he asked, looking rather wistful. "Well, I'm glad to have seen you while you were here."
"Come with me," I said on impulse.
He shook his head with genuine regret. "I can't. I have more tasks to do for Faral Retheran."
"Guess it's goodbye for now, then."
We hugged rather awkwardly. My skin prickled against the fabric of my shirt where his hands touched my back, and I felt a pleasant trickling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Damn it, why now? This was not a good time!
When we'd said our goodbyes I went back to Wolverine Hall, where I took the details of my next two Guild missions from Hrundi before going to bed. I didn't sleep much that night, though. Although I'd had quite a nice evening in the end, I felt frustrated and irritable. At least Dagoth Ur wasn't showing up in my dreams these days – maybe killing a few dozen of his supporters had finally driven home the message.
I was up before dawn the next morning to catch the first ship to Tel Mora, which was on a small island off the north-eastern coast. It was only about half as far by sea as Dagon Fel, and we arrived reasonably early on the morning after that. Tel Mora seemed like a typical Telvanni mushroom-village, though there was something about the place that was just a little off – I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
Anyway, the jobs were simple enough: a trader in the village had a corprus stalker trapped in her shop, while an outlaw named Rels Tenim had gone to ground somewhere nearby. I soon found the tradehouse, which was run by a Wood Elf named Berwen, and discovered that she'd imprisoned the corprus stalker behind some crates in her attic. A little too well, in fact, as they were too heavy to move even with my super-strength gauntlets. I couldn't get near the creature, and had to wait for it to spot me and wander over before I could hit it.
Afterwards, I asked around the village about Rels Tenim and was told to ask in Vos, another town just over the water. It was close enough to be easily seen from Tel Mora – in fact, I could probably have water-walked it, but I couldn't be bothered. Instead I took a boat.
I was just stepping on board when I realised what had been bugging me about Tel Mora. Ever since I stepped off the docks, I hadn't seen a single man around the place – only women. Even the few children I'd seen had all been female.
When I asked the shipmaster about this, she smiled. "Mistress Dratha is our Telvanni mage-lord, and she doesn't like men. She won't allow them to live here."
You didn't have to be a genius to spot the obvious problem with this. "How does she plan to, er, keep the population stable?"
"People come and go," she said, shrugging. "Besides, we Dunmer have long lives."
I wondered what had happened to Mistress Dratha to make her hate men so much. Presumably something terrible, though honestly, I wouldn't have been that surprised to find out that it was just a whim. Divayth Fyr was actually starting to look like one of the saner Telvanni by this time.
The town of Vos was controlled by another Telvanni councillor, Master Aryon. The people here were unusually friendly, and also the only Telvanni I'd met who seemed to feel any real affection for their wizard-lord. "You must go and see Master Aryon's wizard's tower," they all told me. "It's very strange. Master Aryon isn't afraid to try new things."
When I walked up the hill to Tel Vos and saw what they meant, I found it hard not to laugh. The tower was a weird hybrid of the traditional mushroom-tower and a Western-style castle, and the overall effect was… bizarre, to say the least. It looked like the castle was being slowly devoured by a giant tentacled monster.
People in the town had told me to ask the nearby Ashlanders about Rels Tenim, but before I left, I decided to place a Recall point here. I didn't really need to visit the Urshilaku again for the moment, but I had a feeling I'd need to come back here before long.
After a relatively peaceful walk through the Grazelands – read 'only a few mad diseased animals trying to kill me' – I came upon the Ahemmusa camp a few miles to the north. This was the point where I realised something that should have been obvious: the Ashlander tribes don't really communicate with each other. I'd got used to the Urshilaku treating me like a long-lost friend, but here all I got was dirty looks and suspicious glances at my Templar uniform. No one knew, or cared, that I was the Nerevarine.
I eventually learned that Rels Tenim was hiding out in Shallit, a cave on an island north-northwest of the camp. It wasn't until I reached the northern coast, and paused to check my map, that I realised there were at least three islands that fitted that description. I briefly considered going back to ask for clarification, but decided to just head for the most obvious choice and hope for the best.
Two hours, several saltwater-dunkings and much swearing later, I finally arrived at the entrance to Shallit. I was cold, dripping wet, shivering, and really didn't feel up to tackling a bunch of outlaws right now. I wish Varvur were here, I thought. At least I'd have someone to complain to.
I actually considered trying to use a minor fire spell to dry myself out, but rejected this on the grounds that I wasn't completely suicidal. Instead I used the spell to start a small fire, and waited for the dripping to stop before entering the cave.
It didn't take me long to realise that there was no one there. Literally no one. At first I thought the outlaws had abandoned the place and moved on, but then I came across a barrel with a lit candle and a note from 'Rels' to someone called 'Giden'. It had clearly been written within the last few days.
I crept on, expecting an ambush at any minute, but none came. Further into the cave I came to a grand-looking staircase leading up to an elaborately carved door. I could hear strange but familiar sounds from behind it, and quickly realised that this led to a Dunmer tomb. By now my Something's Very Wrong Here sense was tingling like mad.
I cast my Chameleon enchantment and crept through the door. There were a few armed skeleton warriors wandering around, but I ignored them. Two doors led out of the first room: one to the left and one to the right. I chose the left door at random and slipped through it without being noticed.
There wasn't all that much in the room beyond, either. Just a bunch of urns, and round that corner, an ordinary-looking human… woman… OHHOLYCRAPIT'SAVAMPIRE.
There was absolutely no doubt that the woman in front of me was a vampire. The veined, pasty face and glowing white eyes said it all, really. Swallowing hard, I slipped off my pack and hunted around in it for a suitable scroll.
Finally I found what I needed: a heavy-duty fireball spell of the type I'd used on the ghost in Llevule Andrano's tomb. I steadied my trembling hands with an effort and, standing as far away as possible from the vampire, cast the spell straight at her. Unfortunately it didn't kill her outright, and at that moment the Chameleon spell wore off.
The first thing you'll learn about fighting vampires is that they're insanely fast and strong. I barely had a chance to draw my sword before she lunged at me with a cry of fury. Before I had a chance to use the sword, she had picked me up bodily and thrown me against the wall with a force that jarred every bone in my body. As I slumped to the ground I saw her looming over me, fangs bared.
Gathering all my strength, I kicked her hard in the stomach. It staggered her for just a moment, and in that moment, I leaned forward and thrust my sword through her chest as close as possible to her heart. She lashed out wildly, and for a moment we grappled together as I frantically twisted the blade in her body. I was starting to think I'd lost when her gaze went suddenly blank and she stumbled backwards, clutching at her chest.
As the vampire's body crumbled into dust, something small and shiny fell to the ground and rolled towards my hand. Examining it, I saw that it was a ring with some pretty incredible enchantments: a strong resistance to most non-enchanted weapons and a chance to reflect spell damage. Talos, it was a good thing that hadn't happened when I cast the scroll at her. 'Killed by her own fireball spell' would make a pretty embarrassing epitaph.
I slipped the ring onto my own finger and wondered what to do next. I was bruised and sore, and really didn't feel like fighting again without resting first – besides, I wasn't even sure the outlaws were still here. Had I walked into a trap, or had they ended up as 'food' for the vampire?
Regardless, there was nowhere to rest except this cave, and right now this room seemed like the safest place in it. If anyone came into the room next door with the skeletons, I'd be alerted by the sounds of battle. So I stripped off my damp clothes, drank a potion or two, and settled down to sleep in a haunted tomb beside the remains of a dead vampire.
