The Plaza Brindisi Dorom had changed. Originally the heart of Mournhold, it was famous for its painstakingly carved statues that commemorated the fight between Almalexia and Mehrunes Dagon in the First Era. Yet those celebrated statues were gone now, torn down by Imperial hands. But the Imperials did not just destroy the statues here; they also had created something themselves.
Standing now in the center of the plaza was a massive scaffold, made hastily out of hundreds of wooden planks, resembling somewhat the skeleton of a whale. It was built so that the top platform was clearly visible to anyone in the plaza, giving it a commanding presence over the area. Standing atop it was General Sigrdríf, with her arms crossed and a dark, satisfied smile on her lips. Near her were gallows with two nooses ready, swaying slightly as though the rope itself was trembling with anticipation.
The plaza was extremely crowded with Dunmer. They came from all walks of life. There were temple councilors standing alongside merchants, House lawmen alongside threadbare beggars, grizzled elders alongside young radicals. The only thing they had in common was their gaze, all looking at the Battle-Singer with silent eyes. Standing alongside the perimeter wall was a row of legionaries, all carrying spears that were subtly pointed towards the crowd, making it seem as though the Dunmer were within a ring of blades. The only exception to this arrangement was a cleared path leading from the Great Gates that opened into Almalexia proper to the gallows that stood in the center of the plaza.
The sky was gray, as though it was in mourning, and the temperature hovered just above freezing. The crowd remained silent for some time, but there was definitely a great tension in plaza. Some of the soldiers shifted uncomfortably and gripped their spears tighter. Sigrdríf remained calm as she used her remaining eye to glance at the gates, tapping her foot slowly and licking her lips once. The crowd's gaze fell on her with an almost physical force, but the general did not falter.
At last, the gates were slowly, laboriously drawn open. Every eye in the plaza turned to look. Entering the area was a small, broken down cart, pulled by a couple of sorry mules, creaking its way down the cleared path towards the scaffold. In the back of the cart were clearly visible two beaten, weary Dunmer, one young, one old, looking at the bottom of the cart somberly. It moved so slowly that it seemed as though an hour had passed as the rickety cart groaned its way to the gallows, seeming like it could break at any second. As soon as the mules reached the scaffold, a couple of Imperial guards sauntered over and threw the Dunmer out of the cart and onto the ground. The crowd stirred, but the sound of the soldiers surrounding them forced them to back down.
The two mer managed to bring themselves to their feet. They were emaciated and battered, and looked as though they might collapse at any second. But their eyes still shone with intensity, not with defeat. Indeed, perhaps it was sheer pride that allowed them to keep walking. They climbed the staircase with an undefeated yet weary dignity, and passed Sigrdríf without so much as a glance, taking their places under the two nooses. The general's smirk grew slightly, before she took out a large scroll. She unrolled it and spoke, the words blaring over the silent plaza. "By order of Imperator Hieronymus Lex," she began, "These two individuals, Fedris Hler and Berel Sala have been both accused and found guilty of high treason against the Cyrodiilic Empire. The appropriate punishment is death."
She rolled the scroll back up. Two guards helped to fit the necks of the Dunmer into the nooses, and there was no physical resistance. Sigrdríf strode over to inspect the knots. She approached Hler first, and gave the rope a sharp tug. The noose cut into Hler's neck, but the mer didn't flinch. She made eye contact with him. She noted that they both only had one eye—it was as though they had something in common. She smirked, but Hler simply scowled. There was unbroken defiance in him, the sort of stuff Ordinators are made of. "It's not too late to bend the knee," Sigrdríf said in a near whisper, "You don't need to die."
"Witch," spat Hler.
Sigrdríf shrugged, turned and walked to Sala. While Hler was grizzled and old, Sala was younger, although it was harder now to say that he was still 'young'. She had always assumed that Sala, so full of his youthful zeal, would have a fresh, vibrant face, fueled by the occultist temple-magics. And yet she could notice lines and wrinkles starting to make their mark on the man's face, as though the weight of command had finally started to leave its' mark. She looked Sala up and down once. Even in prisoner's rags, he still had authority. "And you, Sala?" she asked, almost taunting, "Do you intend to repeat the mistakes that killed your house four centuries ago? Just submit, and you can be spared."
Sala said nothing. Sigrdríf shook her head once and then walked away from them. Near one corner of the platform, there was a wooden switch sticking up from the ground. She reached out and grabbed it. She looked over the crowd, noting that once again every eye in Mournhold was on her. She tossed a glance behind her and noted that the Dunmer kept resolute. Sala, in fact, began silently moving his lips in prayer. Sigrdríf felt a slight tingle in her chest, an unexpected feeling, not one of excitement, but almost as though she were anxious. She quickly brushed such thoughts aside, focused her mind and pulled back the switch.
The dead silence of the plaza was violently severed. There was the sound of collapsing wood as the ground under the Dunmer's feet gave way, and then a loud snapping sound as the rope holding held them aloft. Sigrdríf watched the two dangled above the ground, but that feeling of anxiousness didn't leave her. There was something uncomfortable about an execution that she hadn't expected. It wasn't even like killing someone on the battlefield. The two nobles, though trying to remain as passionless as possible, still were desperately trying to grasp of air. It went on for too long. They were already supposed to be dead from their necks breaking. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Sigrdríf felt her breath become shaky as she kept watching, although she dared not show any weakness. Eventually, Sala made a weak groaning noise and went limp. Not much later, Hler gave a single kick out into the air and went still, although his body still swung back and forth. Sigrdríf looked back over the crowd; they were still silent, still staring at her. She took a shuddering breath in, glanced towards the guards and gave them a nod before climbing off the platform. She soon reached the ground and looked towards the palace, where she was to meet Lex. She had forgotten to clear a path, perhaps assuming that it wound have formed naturally afterwards. But to her surprise, there was no clear route to the palace, with the closest entrance being behind hundreds of Dunmer, all looking at her in total, absolute silence. She stared at them for several moments. When it was clear they wouldn't move, she scowled. "Make way," she ordered.
The crowd made no response. The glares continued to bore into her like drills, each individual one slowly yet steadily breaking the icy shield that surrounded her soul. She waited for a response, but all she could hear was the creaking of the gallow's rope above her. She clenched her fist as she attempted to stare down the mass. "I repeat, make way," she demanded once more.
The Dunmer were as unmoving as the corpses hanging above her. She saw them all looking at her with such force—she didn't know what emotion the thousands of red eyes contained, but she did know that it was affecting her now, now far more than it ever had in the past. She had never noticed how many there were before, but it was starting to wear her, and she moved her hand slowly towards her axe. "Make way," she said one more time, this time her voice betraying the slightest amount of uncertainty.
The soldiers surrounding the Dunmer took a step forward, and lowered their spears slightly. For about a minute they stood in that tension, but then the Dunmer started to move, very, very slowly. It was as though a great sea was parting, the unstoppable force of nature deigning to be controlled by mortal hands, but could still crash back down at any moment. Sigrdríf allowed herself a second to regain her composure before starting down the newly formed path. She could still feel the eyes beating into her from all sides, and she could still feel the silence of the crowd, as though it were a physical barrier standing in her way, pushing against her with every step. It was intolerable, but she didn't falter. She couldn't falter. Not to them.
She reached the gates that led to the palace, opened them, and left the plaza. As soon as she was out of the sight of the great mass, she let out a great gasp, as though she had just ran a league. She braced herself on her knees for a few moments before straightening herself out. Sigrdríf rubbed the bridge of her nose as she settled down, trying to straighten out her hair with her free hand. "Kyne…" she muttered, "What is wrong with me?"
She took in a deep breath and reassured herself. Forcing confidence into her step, and deterring disturbing feeling to the back of her mind, she walked towards the doors to the palace, where the Imperator was waiting.
Habasi carefully crept over to the door of her room, trying to be as quiet as possible. This was exponentially harder than it normally was, given that her wounded leg still felt as though it was willing to split in two under her own weight. She flinched under the pain, but wasn't going to stop on the account of it. Steeling herself, she opened the door and looked down the hall. Carwen had left a few minutes ago, meaning Habasi had a little while to sneak out of the guildhall before she was noticed. She wasn't sure if she was actually going to succeed, but there was not harm in trying.
She slipped out of her room and prowled down the hall. At this time of night most members were out working, leaving little resistance to her escape. All she needed to do was slip outside and there would be no problem in finding some ship to stow away in. She managed to get past the hallways without incident—after all, there was nobody on watch to keep an eye out for members of the Guild trying to leave their own compound.
Habasi was now once again under the stars, and felt the cold breeze cause her fur to stand on end. Creeping as carefully as she could with her leg, she started to leave the guild hall, and glanced at a gate that led to the Waterfront proper, along with the great trade ships destined for every corner of the empire. Right as she was leaving the guild behind her, an all too familiar voice called out to her from the shadows. "Going somewhere?"
The Khajiit froze in place, feeling for a moment as though she had been plunged into icy water. After that, she slowly turned her head towards the voice. "What do you want?" she asked, not at all pleased.
"Take a look," said the voice. She saw a dark-skinned hand throw out a sheet to her. She snatched it from the air and started to read.
SPECIAL EDITION!
HEROIC IMPERATOR LEX ERADICATES DARK ELF REBELS!
"Dunmer"! The very word once struck disgust into the hearts of good, honest Imperial Citizens, curious as to how an entire race could be so thoroughly duplicitous. With the current civil crisis, some pessimistic scholars once believed that the Dark Elves could actually wrench Morrowind from its rightful place as an Imperial province and send it slipping backwards into pagan barbarism.
However, the combined legions of the empire, led by the Imperial City's own Hieronymus Lex scored a crushing victory over the armies of Morrowind. This momentum gave the legions more speed than previously planned, and the enemy's ancestral capital of Mournhold once again belongs in Imperial hands.
"I am extremely proud of all my soldiers" stated General Sigrdríf Battle-Singer, who participated in the sure-to-be-celebrated Battle of Cormaris Lake, "The redeyes had a massive army, and I'll admit that it actually was bleak for a moment. But the Imperial Legion is the best damn army on Nirn, and no dark elf can stop it."
Meanwhile, General Erasmus Servius and the XIIth Legion seized the city of Vivec, the second largest city in Morrowind and an important strategic location, all but sealing the rebellion's fate. Yet all battles have sacrifices. General Darius of the Deathshead Legion valiantly fell in the line of duty at the Battle of Cormaris Lake, and his nation grieves for him. Readers should keep an eye out for the incoming special edition "Portraits in Courage: The Valor of Darius", coming next Morndas.
With these accomplishments, it seems as though Morrowind is steadily coming under control. With the recent death of King Lohtun in Sentinel, along with Admrial Ellah's defeat off the coast of Betony, it seems as though total control of the empire is inevitable. Let us hope that Imperator Lex's example shows every citizen, from farmer to noble, to strive to preserve the loyalty to the common ideals that bind us.
Corrections: The Black Horse Courier previously published article "'Imperator Lex' Merely Breathtaking Arrogance, or Concealed Sinister Intentions?" no longer reflects the opinions or viewpoints of the publication.
Habasi finished reading and gave a sneer. "This means nothing to her," she said, tossing the Courier aside.
Christophe walked out of the shadows. His often mockingly lighthearted expression was gone, looking very concerned, and none too happy. "Don't lie,' he said tersely, "This is a worst case scenario, Habasi. Don't you know what this means?"
The Khajiit turned her head away from the Redguard. "It means that Morrowind will be stable again? Does it matter? Politics do not interest this one."
"Hieronymus Lex is an obstacle I suppose you don't know about," he began, "Last year, he spent every second he had hunting down the Guild. He knew about us, but we managed to spin him as a fool and forced him to Anvil. But he's returned, and his candidacy, which we thought died with Civello, has come back when we least expected it. Simply put, Lex has a chance to get the crown. Imagine, Habasi, what would happen if he were to seize the thrown. Think of every resource the empire has, all focused on finding us and tearing the Guild out by the roots. This can happen, and if Lex succeeds, this will happen. I hope you realize that this is unacceptable."
"For you," Habasi replied with a hint of victory to her voice, "But the huntress destroyed the source of felshine. She is free."
Christophe's face darkened, "Not quite," he said, his voice thoroughly firm.
Habasi narrowed her eyes. "Christophe cannot…" she started.
Armand Christophe closed his eyes. "Under any other circumstances, Habasi, I'd be good to my word. But these are exceptional times—"
"No!" Habasi hissed, "No! She did what you wanted her to do! She did it better than you had imagined. She is retired now, Christophe! She is leaving!"
"To where?" said Christophe, his voice actually regretful, "Listen, even if you do leave, what will you do? You need your sugar. I control the supply in any decently civilized province. Elswyer? After what you did as a girl, I'd be surprised if you lasted five minutes before your old 'friends' come to visit you. Face it; if you leave now, I'll make sure that not a single grain falls your way for weeks. You can't handle that, Habasi. I know you can't."
The Khajiit clenched her paws and eyes, shaking silently with rage. She then yowled in anger, grabbing Christophe by the collar and looking him in the eyes. She was more furious than he had seen her in a long, long time… Not since that fateful night, so many years ago. "You are a liar!" she screeched, "Christophe has always been like that, always! Why does he continue to do so! There was a deal, and she is too tired to continue!"
"Think," Christophe said, his breath stifled by Habasi's grasp, "I don't have many truly skilled agents at the moment. We're a young guild for the most part, and I need someone to do a task that is extremely delicate. I can't trust anyone other than you, not even S'Krivva—"
"You try to flatter this one using her example!" cried Habasi, "S'Krivva!? Your precious S'Krivva was good enough to become doyen with you, why can't she be good enough for this job! Confess!"
"Because you've always been the better theif, Habasi!" Christophe said, losing his cool, "Why do you think I helped her get her position in the first place!? Because I knew she couldn't hold a candle to you!"
Habasi yelled out again, and for a moment seemed as though she had been struck by a blade. She threw Christophe aside, and grabbed at her head. The Redguard fell to the ground and watched his companion. She was shaking again, and he couldn't tell if it was due to a sugar withdrawl or some flood of emotion. He picked himself back up and watched her as she pulled herself together. "Does Christophe have any idea what it was like," she managed, withholding a sob, "To be shamed in front of everyone? To have to go all the way to the ends of civilization, to a country that sees Khajiit as slaves? And to have the person who did that… The person who ruined an entire life… Be the one that she…"
Christophe gave a long sigh. "Please, don't."
"Why not?" Habasi said, shooting a burning gaze towards him.
The Redguard shook his head, his eyes sympathetic, but at the same time unmoving. "Because we were children back then, Habasi. I was a child, and you were a child. And I did something unforgivable to you, and I regret it. But damn it, Kitten, I've suffered, too. Do you think I wanted to do what I did? We might've been children, but…" he trailed off, not able to speak for a moment, "… I loved you."
Habasi lost composure again. Tears were freely welling in her eyes. "B-But how could it be…?"
"Because I was extremely ambitious," continued Christophe, the words weighing heavily on him, "And I saw you as a threat. I knew that you had a good chance at getting a doyen seat, and that if I could get you out of the picture, it would make my promotion all but assured. That's why I framed you. But we both knew that. But Habasi, that was a long time ago. Decades. I tormented myself with the knowledge of what I did, every day. I punished myself every time I remembered what I sacrificed to get to where I am. And, like you, I lost the ability to love, can you believe that? I've never cared for someone like I cared for you, not for all these years," he said with haunted eyes.
Habasi shook her head madly. "Impossible! People in love never do that! People in love—"
"The power of love is overrated," interjected Christophe, "And if you made any mistake, it was that you overestimated its strength. Looking back on it, I'll admit I made the wrong decision. And if I could change it, believe me, I would. But we can't. And now we can no longer reflect on the past like this, because we are adults, not children. This matter between us is dead now, do you understand? Whatever love we shared, it's burned out forever. We're old now, Habasi, and we need to think about our legacy. The only thing I ever accomplished with this miserable life I had was to keep this guild strong, I cannot let some self-righteous Lex ruin everything I—we—built. Do you understand, Habasi? This isn't for me, this is for the guild. You're not going to live much longer. In the time you have, I'd at least help to make this organization prosper."
Habasi stared at the ground. Her eyes, which just moments ago had so much energy, seemed dead. And for the first time in a long while, Christophe noted, they matched her body—weary and defeated. She had suffered much, by his own hand, and was about to suffer more still. He looked at the face of the woman he once loved, and saw that she was as unhappy as he was, a deep sorrow that struck the core of her soul. During those long decades of running the guild, and especially when the appeal of power dulled, he used to harbor little fantasies where Habasi had found some sort of happiness in a new lover in Balmora, and moved on with her life. But she was still a young girl on the inside, with a knife plunged so deep into her heart that it never had the chance to grow. It was almost enough to make him weep.
Habasi slowly tilted her head towards Christophe, making eye contact. "What does Christophe wish?" she asked, her voice bereft of energy.
"I need you to offer any and all assistance you have to Erasmus Servius," Christophe said without any delay, "It is vital that he or Helseth defeat Lex in becoming emperor. He has an affinity for beastfolk, so I think you'll be the best woman for the job. Do this, and you'll be free. No strings this time."
Habasi nodded and walked away. Christophe watched as she shuffled down the path, her leg still injured, and her gait still so spiritless. He felt a momentary tingling in his heart, and the urge to run over towards her and to… But for what? It would be of no gain, and silly to even consider. He leaned against the nearby wall and gave a long, pained sigh, the one of a man aged well beyond his years, and Christophe wasn't young to begin with. Moments later, he heard running from the guildhall. A young Bosmer was heading his way, he recognized her as Carwen, an up-and-coming young thief who joined about the same time as Methredhel did. She was looking around in exasperation and, when she noticed Christophe, ran over to him. "Doyen!" she cried out, "Ack, what a mess! Habasi, I don't even know how she could walk, I—"
"Don't worry about it," Christophe said, his voice neutral, glossing over any emotion he had inside him, "I sent her on a new job."
"Job?" asked Carewn.
Christophe nodded and stood up straight. He looked at the girl for a moment, considering something. "Listen," he added, "I'm done for tonight. Why don't you take over my responsibilities this evening?"
Carwen's eyes lit up. "Really!? You mean it?"
"Yes," said the doyen, moving away from the wall, "It'll be good leadership experience."
The Bosmer nodded enthusiastically, quickly taking Christophe's place. Before the latter had gone too far, though, she couldn't restrain from asking a question that she obviously had been meaning to ask for some time, "Please, sir, can I ask you something?"
Christophe jerked his head back, "Hmm…?"
"Is…" she began, slightly nervous to be asking this in the first place, "Is it true that you and S'Krivva are starting to think about retirement? If it isn't to bold of me to ask?"
Christophe narrowed his eyes, thought for a moment, and gave an affirmative nod. "I think you could say that, yes."
Carwen nodded energetically. "Thank you, sir!"
He soon vanished from sight. Carwen couldn't help but to break into a smile. "If Christophe and S'Krivva are gone…" she giddily whispered to herself, "Odds are that I might… Oooh…!"
She almost went into a fit of giggles, but noticed someone approaching her. She straightened her back and put on an air of authority, but almost lost it when she realized the newcomer was just Amusei. Amusei the Argonian was one of the most determined people she had ever met, a person so talentless he had repeatedly failed the entrance exam and generally bumbled his way into the guild. But he was indefatigable in work, getting jobs done through sheer willpower, and even had the honor of carrying messages for the Gray Fox, back when the guildmaster still seemed to be taking an active role in the guild. Carwen counted Amusei among her friends. The Argonian gave a surprised look as he approached. "Carwen?" he asked, "Why are you here?"
"I'm on duty tonight," Carwen said, beaming, "Christophe personally assigned me."
"I suppose you're moving up in the world," the Argonian mused.
"I sure am," Carwen replied with a wink. "And you'll never guess the news I just learned!" she added, becoming visibly more animated.
Amusei looked less than amused. "You're going to gossip now?"
Carwen shook her head, "No, you'll like this—Christophe and S'Krivva are thinking about retirement now. Can you believe it?"
Amusei actually seemed to take note, and widened his eyes. "Really, now?" he said, "That means…"
"Two empty seats of leadership..." Carwen said with apprehension, "Oh, I wonder who'll get them. Do you think we have a shot? They usually give them to younger members, right?"
"… One of us might have a shot." Amusei mused, "But I think that friend of yours, Methredhel, she'll be a shoe in. I hear that Lex has accepted her as though she were a real friend of his. She'll certainly make doyen for being key in his second downfall."
The brightness to Carwen's face diminished slightly. "I hadn't thought of that," she said, "With Methredhel being gone for so long… Well, I'm happy for her! She's like a sister to me, after all, and it's good to see friends excel," she finished, her voice almost convinced of what she was saying.
Amusei nodded, "Well, you're awfully mature about this. I half-expected you to be jealous."
"Nah," Carwen said with a wave of her hand, "But you should get back to work, you know. Jobs don't do themselves."
Amusei shrugged and walked off. "Whatever you say…" he muttered, unhappy about being so curtly dismissed.
As soon as he was gone, Carwen's face grew very serious. He was right, of course. Methredhel was destined to be one of the doyens, and that left the second open seat a contested one indeed… She had no idea how good her odds were… If not, she could always settle for shadowfoot, which had respectable prestige, but it only Methredhel were out of the picture, not such a good candidate—
Carwen stopped that train of thought. They had been friends since childhood, they had came to the city together, they were, as Carwen had said, nearly sisters. She needed to be happy, not envious. She told herself that more than once, but after every repetition, she couldn't help but wonder 'what if'… 'What if' she didn't have to worry about her… 'dear friend'…
Dive Rock was desolate. Dark clouds flew across the sky like gray horsemen, while the wind howled like a vengeful ghost. The normally pristine vista was spoiled by this horrid weather, with both the view towards the Imperial City and the great valleys of Skyrim obscured by rain and snow. The rock itself, though, had no sort of weather besides the great gales, which seemed to cut into the flesh like icy daggers. This land seemed empty, but that conclusion is a deceitful one. A voice spoke out over the wind, in a language far from Tamerilic, "Did we have to chose somewhere so cold to meet?"
A man in a black cloak walked out of a shadow, almost as though he was an extension of it. He heard a woman laugh in response, "Be a man," she said, walking out from a different shadow, "I actually find this quite pleasurable."
The man looked the woman up and down. She too was clad in a cloak, her features obscured. "Homesick?" he asked.
"Hardly," she scoffed, "But I do wish that I could take off this damned robe. It's like wearing a cliché."
The man shook his head, "Now, now," he said with a wag of his finger, "You remember what the old man said. The cloaks stay on until we return home. No exceptions."
The woman shrugged. "But the old man is dead. Surely, without him holding our leashes we can be allowed to have a little more fun, don't you think?"
The man gave a laugh. "You make this sound like we're here for pleasure. A lot is riding on us, you know. Unless, of course, you wish to tell the Glorious One yourself how we failed our sacred task because we got bored."
She crossed her arms. "I didn't actually mean it. I forgot how insufferable you can be."
"The feeling is mutual. Now," he said, a little more professionally, "With our fearless leader reduced to ashes, I suppose we're going to have to improvise, won't we?"
The woman responded with a vexed sigh. "Part of me wishes he hadn't gotten himself blown up, to tell you the truth. We're going to have to take over his share of work—how bothersome."
The man put a hand to his chin in thought. "So… You want Lex or Servius?" he asked.
The woman pondered the question for a moment. "I'll take… Mmm… Lex," she said at last.
"Which means Erasmus is mine."
"Understood," said the woman, "Is there anything else we need to go over, my dear friend?" she said, half-sarcastically.
The man nodded. "Did you really kill the king?" he said, clearly not joking, "I mean, I know that he was expendable, but you've got to keep your profile a bit lower. I hear that they even expected you in Summerset."
The woman sighed in frustration. "Get off my back. Just because the old man is dead doesn't mean you need to pick up where he left off in pushing me around."
"Just watch yourself," the man said, the playfulness in his voice gone, "We know Ocato is suspicious. If he figures out that we're here, there'll be hell to pay."
"Yes, mother," the woman said, walking back towards the shadows, "I'll be sure not to go wasting my money on dice, too."
The man brightened up and gave a laugh. "I promise you, if you cause the mission any problems, I won't feel bad about murdering you."
The woman, however, was already gone. The man chuckled again. "Women!" he sighed, "Such an irrational beast. It's really a pity that she had to be born female—had I had a man at my side here, I wouldn't be so worried. But that's life for you."
The man turned and walked away, vanishing away when he reached the darkness behind a great rock. Once again, the only presence at Dive Rock was the sound of the wind.
Maro Rufus sat at his desk, lazily twirling a quill between his fingers. Business was quiet. He was pretty sure that Varnado was giving him some dirty look for not looking business-like, but what was the point on such a boring day. Besides, everything had gone so wrong lately. He was so rude to Lady Flyte that he just knew she would never come back. Varnado was sympathetic at first, but eventually started talking about 'losing the self-pity'. Maro sighed.
"Do you think the Empire is going to survive?" he asked out of the blue, leaning back in his chair.
"Do you really want to know?" asked Varnado in turn, too busy fixing a pauldron to look up, "Or are you just saying this because you'll talk about anything to skimp out on work? Honestly, do you even think you're going to finish that ledger?"
Maro shook his head. "I'm curious. They say that we're going to win the wars, you know."
Varnado snorted. "For now," he replied, still focused on his work, "But how much longer until the thanes up in Skyrim start fighting amonst themselves again? And you know the Elsweyr could start up at any second as well. And hell, the Altmer still have most of their strength left. We're not out of blue yet."
The Imperial frowned. "The Courier didn't say that."
"The Courier is a pack of lies."
Maro nodded slowly in comprehension. Varnado was in one of his eternal foul moods, so it was best to back off him for now. The young man was seriously considering taking a nap when the door to the store cracked open. Sensing a customer, he looked up energetically. "The Best Defense!" he called out, "That's me, Maro Rufus! Light armor, the…" his call losing energy as he saw who entered the room.
Crossing the threshold was the Lady Flyte. Her dress was now a darker shade of blue, probably to match the season, but she still was striking. Varnado looked up and dropped the pauldron in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up. Maro stood from his chair and looked at the lady, unable to properly make a sentence for a moment. Lady Flyte looked about the store hesitantly before looking at Maro, putting a smile on to her face. "Ah, Mr. Rufus," she said, walking forward, "I… I was unable to forgive you for your hospitality the other day."
Maro opened his mouth, then shook his head vigorously. "Oh no," he insisted, "There's no reason to thank me. I was just doing what anyone would do, honestly!"
Varnado gave a cautious glance towards Lady Flyte. He couldn't read her expression. It seemed slightly nervous, which wasn't characteristic of the young lady. She gave a soft laugh. "I don't believe most people would single handedly save me from assassins. It was… Very courageous of you, Mr. Rufus."
The Imperial's face went red. "I… Ah, I just wanted to help, you know," he said, unsure of what to do, "It was nothing, really."
The lady smiled. Varnado leaned in forward. What was that in her smile? Hesitation? Could it be… Sadness? She nodded to Maro. "Be that as it may, I still believe some thanks are in order. I am quite busy, Mr. Rufus, but perhaps we could speak more at a later date…?"
Maro looked even more embarrassed. "S-Sure!" he said, hardly believing what was happening, "I'd love that! I mean, I wouldn't love that, but…"
Lady Flyte's smile grew slightly. "I am glad to hear that," she said, starting to turn, "And I do hope to see you in the future. If you will excuse me, gentlemen…"
The lady wasted no time in leaving The Best Defense. Maro collapsed into his chair, his heart beating rapidly. "Did you see that, Varnado!" he called out, "Did you see!?"
Varnado glanced out the window, watching her as long as he could. "I saw, all right…" he muttered cautiously.
"I knew those prayers would work!" Maro said, not noting Varnado's tone, "I just knew it!"
Varnado frowned. What was Flyte still doing around the two of them? She hadn't anything to gain, so why go to such effort? What was she plotting? He looked at Maro, who didn't seem to be wondering what the heiress of Anticlere was doing hanging around in his armor store. "Rufus," he said, "I want you to be careful around her, you hear?"
Maro nodded, but wasn't paying attention. Varnado wasn't thrilled with this turn of events. Flyte was opposed to Servius. She was a high-profile figure in the Imperial City. The Redguard didn't want to have someone so important around him, but it seemed as though whatever connected Maro to Flyte hadn't gone away yet. Things were starting to become very complicated for the two of them, and little did he know it was soon going to become much worse.
Kirania was lounging on her throne contently. She was in the middle of the palace in Mournhold, which not too long ago held distinguished dignitaries and royal courtiers. Today, though, it held some of Lex's officers, who had turned it into an impromptu command center. She glanced at the imperator. He was at one side of the room, his face stormy as he was brooding over something. "I never thought I'd be queen of Mournhold, you know," she called out to him, trying to be as friendly as possible.
Lex glanced her way, gave her a pained half-smile, and went back to thinking. She smiled softly at the back of his head. The past two weeks had done a great toll on him; his eyes seemed constantly bloodshot since Cormaris, and she didn't think he was getting any sleep. It was only getting worse from there. Just when he seemed to be turning around a few days ago, he signed the execution papers. She didn't envy having to make that decision. Thus, Kirania had brought it upon herself to try to be optimistic around him. Someone had to help him through this time, she reflected, and Sigrdríf definitely had ulterior motives. She hopped off the throne with rouge-like grace and landed gracefully, causing the noise of her impact to echo throughout the drafty room. Some men on the other side of the chambers gave her unamused looks, but she didn't care. She approached Lex. "Imperator?" she asked.
Lex gave a slight jump and turned his head. When he realized who it was, he ran a hand through his hair. It was normally short and orderly, but he had let it grow out as of late. In fact, Kirania could've sworn she actually saw some stubble. "Guardswoman," Lex said, composing himself, "What seems to be the problem."
"No problem," Kirania said, looking up at Lex, "I just want to make sure you're feeling all right."
The Imperial gave an unconvincing smile. "I feel fine," he said in a quiet voice, "Truly."
Kirania frowned, obviously not buying it. "Well, if you say so…" she began, but before she could finish there was a great clanging sound at the other end of the room. The two both looked to see what it was.
Near the main entrance of the room entered General Sigrdríf, her face eternally at ease, and looking as though she had just been relaxing. "Ah, imperator," her vibrant voice rang out, filling the halls, "I've finished my orders."
Lex looked over towards her. "So it is done?" he asked. His voice showed that he knew he didn't want to really hear the answer.
Sigrdríf gave a single, fresh laugh. "Yes. Sala and Hler are mere memories. The citizens of the city didn't riot at all, as I expected, so I wager we'll have full control of the capital within a week or so. It'll take longer to secure the countryside, but with the head cut, the Morrowind independence movement will surely die. We have succeeded, Imperator Lex. Well done."
The imperator gave a long, thoughtful nod, and said nothing for a few moments. "… That's good to hear," he said at last, the sentence coming together half-formed and rather awkwardly.
Sigrdríf too noticed Lex's haggardness. His gaze was tired and wavering, and his voice sounded irritated. For Kirania, it was hard to make out Sigrdríf's features from so far away, but she could've sworn that the Nord grinned slightly. "Scouts confirm that Servius was occupied Vaardenfel, and is going to drive the last of the Redoran back to their capital there. Vivec fell without problems as well. This… Complicates matters, of course," she said, still with smile on her face.
Lex nodded, looking even more tired. "Servius will use this to his advantage, no doubt."
"We'll need to arrive in the City before him now, I fear," Sigrdríf agreed, "Or else he will take the credit for this accomplishment. Anyway, I've already handed the reins of the legion to my second, so we can depart tomorrow, I wager."
Kirania scowled. "What do you mean 'we'?"
Sigrdríf replied with a refreshing laugh. "You'll need all the help you can get in the City, you know. I'm a war hero, and I'm pretty good at making people see things my way. I think I'll make a valuable addition to the imperator's retinue. If, of course, that is alright with you, sir," she finished, glancing at Lex.
"Ah…?" Lex said, having not paid close attention, "I, ah, yes, that will be fine," he said, shaking his head in fatigue.
Kirania spun around, her eyes wide open, "Sir!" she called out in protest, glancing at Lex.
"Excellent!" the general responded with a clap of her hands, "I'm so glad that you agree! I'll prepare the arrangements immediately."
Sigrdríf saluted, then left. There was a certain step to her stride that made Kirania feel ill. Then again, she always hated being around the harpy. She looked over to Lex, who was once more staring off into space. Kirania's anger towards the general dissipated as she walked over to where Lex stood. "Excuse me, sir," she said, looking up to him again.
Lex turned around and glanced at her. He seemed to have aged a year or two in the past week or so. The two hadn't spoken much since the battle, as Lex had since preferred to dine alone and spend hours when he wasn't at duty in his quarters. It seemed unhealthy to be away from human contact for so long, but as an imperator, not many people could actually say that to him. Kirania gave him an understanding smile. "Sir, would you care to eat with me tonight? We haven't done so since…"
She trailed off, biting her lip. She didn't need to finish the sentence. Guilliam.
Lex stared into her eyes for a few seconds. It was intense moment. She had seen this sort of scrutiny before, as though he were making some sort of moral judgment on someone, usually before he brought in a criminal. She suddenly remembered that she was here on a mission, and it was accompanied by a warm wave of caution. She thought for a moment that she had made a mistake in asking, but Lex's gaze softened. "… I think you're right," he said at last, "Very well. Let's go to my quarters. We might as well eat while we still have a roof above our heads as opposed to some canvas."
Kirania's smile widened. "Let's," she agreed.
The two left the royal chambers, not noticing at the other side of the room, a door was half open. Sigrdríf watched them leave with a calculating look on her face. 'That girl…' she thought to herself, 'What exactly is she after…?'
She didn't waste any time thinking about it longer. She turned and started walking down the other hall. Sigrdríf shook her hair about her as she tried to push aside the day's thoughts; it would be a pleasant night, she told herself. For the first time in ages she could have a proper bath, and she even had some free hours in which to write home. She opened a massive door to continue her path, but as she walked through, she collided into a man who was wearing legionary armor. She took a jerk back and scowled. "Why are you…" she managed to say before she trailed off. She looked up and was face to face with none other than Erasmus Servius.
A deadly smile crossed Servius' face. "General Sigrdríf," he said, "This is a pleasure."
Sigrdríf looked far less amused. "General Servius," she responded curtly, "I had no idea that we were to receive the your company tonight. I believed you to be in Vaardenfel."
"I was," replied the Imperial, "But as luck would have it, they can teleport you between the capitals."
"Fascinating," she said, starting to move, "Now general, as much as I would enjoy speaking with you further, I really have work that must be done. Keeping the capital under control, you see…"
Servius moved to interpose his body between hers. She looked at him warily. It had been years since they had last met, and she had forgotten what it was like to be around him. His face, despite the scars, had a sort of poisoned nobility to it, as though he were a fallen champion. "Actually," he said, his voice still dangerous even when calm, "I came to speak to you. Fortune truly must be on my side today."
Sigrdríf stood up straight. She certainly wasn't going to allow herself to be intimidated by Servius. The latter, who normally could make most anyone tremble if need be, smirked slightly. "Well look at you," he began, "The last time I met you, you were a little girl. Now you're a grown woman… And even have the scars of battle on you. I heard all about Cormaris. Quite heroic."
"Do you need anything, general?" Sigrdríf insisted, "Because if not, I really have some work to do."
"I'm just here for pleasure," replied Servius, an ominous smile still on his lips, "And intend on leaving soon anyway."
"Good," said Sigrdríf, walking past him forcefully, "Then I wish you a good evening."
Before she could get two paces away, Servius looked over to her. "How's your voice?" he asked idly.
Sigrdríf stopped. She took a deep breath in before turning around and looking back to Servius. "It's fine," she said slowly, "Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Servius replied with a shrug, walking towards her, "I'm just a little curious… I have so little to do lately, I've decided to start reading more. It's good for the mind, or so they say. And you know what really fascinates me? The Voice. What a fascinating ability. It's so rare these days, I never thought I'd really meet a true Tongue. I regret not being at Cormaris; they say you took down a silt strider."
They were now face to face again. Servius' smile gained a little more venom. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but it would normally take at least a half-dozen Tongues of your age to knock down that silt strider, am I right?"
"You know nothing of the thu'um," Sigrdríf said bluntly, "Perhaps I'm just a prodigy. I am the Battle-Singer, after all."
"Oh, you are a prodigy, general, I'll give you that. I have a feeling that you'll go down as one of the greatest Tongues in history. Of course, seeing as how quickly you're developing your powers…"
Sigrdríf was now openly scowling. "What do you want, Erasmus?"
The Imperial's smirk grew. "You don't have much time left," he said, painfully serious despite his face, "You know that. Your voice is amazing, too amazing. You taught yourself, never receiving proper training. And that's what will end you. In a few years time, you'll lose the ability to raise your voice without harming anyone. By the time you're thirty five, you won't be able to do anything that will make you breathe heavily without breaking someone's bones. And by forty, you'll be confined to a mountain, totally unable to speak. And you know that this is the best case scenario."
Sigrdríf flared a nostril. "What's your point? This might surprise you, general, but I've known that longer than you have."
"What if I could offer you a way out?" Servius asked, the words coming slowly, as if from the Prince of Plots himself.
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Lines are being drawn in the sand, general," said Servius, "Anyone can see that. And I get this little impression that you favor Lex. Let us be perfectly frank; I will succeed. You know this. I just received news from the capital; Civello has been murdered."
Sigrdríf spasmed as though she had been struck by lightning. "Civello, murdered!?" she said, almost shrieking the last part.
"Indeed. Civello is gone, and so are Lex's chances. Listen," Servius said, his voice now serious and businesslike as he delivered his proposition, "Let's not be foolish and animate Lex's political corpse any longer. I need to focus on Helseth. I want you, Battle-Singer, to make sure that nothing in this little state of affairs changes. But I'm not asking this as charity. You see, in the Black Marsh, I have encountered many, many undocumented plants. One of them, a personal favorite of mine, I've realized can be refined into a local muscle relaxant. Do you know what that means?"
The Nord shook her head. "I thought not," said Servius, "Simply put, this is a medicine for all your vocal woes. Simply drink it, and your lungs will be put in a state where the Voice will no longer function. Imagine this, Sigrdríf—you could continue fighting, continue speaking; you could even get married without the fear of, ah, 'nuptial damages'. Wouldn't you like to live without the specter of an early, inevitable isolation hovering over you? All you need to do is make sure that when I give the signal, you help end Lex's already finished campaign. Trust me, you'll even be doing him a favor."
Sigrdríf, for once, was somewhat shaken. "You're bluffing," she said, "There's no reason that you would have something like that without me even knowing of its existence."
Servius reached into a pouch. "Somehow, I figured that you might say that. So I brought a sample, free of charge. Try it out, and see how it works," he finished, handing Sigrdríf a small bottle.
She looked at it warily. There was a guard stationed at the far side of the wall; there was no way he would be foolish enough to try and poison her. She slowly, reluctantly took the sip—the liquid was bitter, and she coughed as her entire throat went numb. A moment passed as she got used to the feeling. She centered herself and took in a deep breath, and… Her lungs filled. Her eye widened in shock. It was like she was a little girl again, without any knowledge of the Voice. She couldn't perform it anymore.
The Imperial took the vial from Sigrdríf without resistance. "Of course, this small dose will wear off soon… Just a sample. But I can make enough to last a lifetime… Maybe more, if your children need it… All you need to do is help me finish the inevitable," he said, looking down at her with his steel-gray eye. "What say you?"
Sigrdríf's eye was wide open, and her lips were trembling. She swallowed once and began to talk. "I… I need a little while to think it over."
"Of course," said Servius, "Please, don't let me keep you. Just remember, I'll contact you and give you information when needed. If you do so… Well, I'll be the first to welcome you to life."
He turned and left. Sigrdríf hadn't moved from the spot, struck still by the offer. As Servius walked back to the mage who would send him back to Vaardenfel, his jagged face had a black smile over it. The guard captain would have every lifeline cut out from under him. Helseth was next. Soon, he reflected, there would be no one who could stop him. Soon, the revenge on the Flyte family could begin. Soon, he would be emperor.
