CHAPTER 18: rumors and assumptions

"A Lie Can Travel Halfway Around the World While the Truth Is Putting On Its Shoes" – Mark Twain

The Blade's Grandmaster stared at the blood-red jewel in his hand with a lost expression on his face. He checked for the millionth time the singular style of the craftsmanship and the scrimptions on the back that only high-ranking Blades should know about. He even tapped the central ruby to guarantee its authenticity. He sighed deeply upon hearing the acute chime that resounded over the chamber. It was the real deal. The Blades had assumed the Amulet was lost. Stolen from the Emperor's body by his assassins. Suddenly recovered in the most extraordinary fashion and in the most unexpected time.

Jauffre looked back at his office's table where a large stack of recently written notes lay. Notes that, if true to their content, held one of greatest, if not the greatest, secret kept by Uriel. Kept from the Blades, from the Elder Council, from the High-Chancellor… even from Jauffre himself.

"But why, Sire, why?" he said to no one in particular while staring at the window, "If you feared something like this could happen, why did you not tell me?"

His musings were interrupted by a firm series of knocking.

"Come in," Jauffre answered still looking at the horizon behind the glass.

In came a young redguard in full Blade uniform and carrying a custom katana.

"You required my presence, Grandmaster?"

"Yes, Baurus. Please, take a sit."

The redguard closed the door behind him and the warriors sat at opposing ends of the single table.

"Brother Baurus. I have a special mission for you. A simple one, but vital nonetheless."

"I will carry it out to the best of my abilities, Sir!"

The Grandmaster allowed himself a rare smile.

"As said by a true Blade. I believe you are aware of our unexpected guest."

"The Trebiel child, yes, Sir."

"I am sending her back to her home tomorrow morning. You are to escort her and act as her bodyguard once you arrive."

"For how long, Sir?"

"Until you receive the order to leave. While in that position, you are to observe young Lady Trebiel and those she surrounds herself with. I expect a report every three days or less if the need arises."

"Pardon the question, Sir, but what exactly should I be looking for?"

"At present, we cannot be sure of Lady Trebiel's intentions. You are to observe and report back any suspicious activity. Moreover, I should be informed immediately if any non-locals try to make contact with her. I am afraid that is all I can share for now."

"I understand, Sir! I will perform my duty as you see fit, Sir."

"Excellent! Be sure to pack some provisions and rest well tonight. I do not expect any real danger in this mission but it always pays off to be prepared. You are dismissed."

"Sir, yes, Sir!" saluted the Blade upon rising from his seat.

After his younger brother in arms left, the Grandmaster began preparing for his own trip back to the Imperial City. A journey he expected to go through still in that afternoon due to the urgency of the situation. He packed some bread and apples, a water flask, bandages, and other utilities. He then picked a lockbox where he put the Amulet of Kings and his notes. He took a deep breath before closing the padlock, already dreading the long and exhausting conversation he was about to have with Chancellor Ocato and Lady Adrana.


Every time nobles and other dignitaries visited the Imperial City, they either stayed at the White-Gold Tower or the Tiber Septim Hotel. Their servants, maids, and aides, however, had to find less stellar accommodations for themselves. Among the houses that offered such services, the All-Saints Inn had a good enough reputation and the benefit of not being a hotspot for the locals. It was precisely because of those reasons that Elislern Pinegrove, one of King Braldulain Camoran's personal advisors, decided to rent a room there.

Mr. Pinegrove was a short and rather chubby bosmer, but also extremely perceptive. Back at the court in Vallenwood, newcomers and foreign diplomats were always advised not to say any sensitive information, even if whispered, near him. It was that very ability to overhear everything in a ten-foot distance that got him his well-paid job.

At that specific time, however, the bosmer could not be less interested in his surroundings. He was having lunch at his inn of choice, alone, at a corner table. That was because he hated to be disturbed during his meals, another well-known fact in Vallenwood. So, there he sat in blissful solitude while savoring some bore meat and reading the afternoon edition of the Black Horse Courier.

Signs of the End Days or Fisherman Tales

As of late, a series of obscure events have plagued the province of Cyrodiil. So much so that some individuals have taken to proclaim them as bad omens and warnings of an impending Oblivion invasion. In fact, just this morning the Black Horse's editorial team received multiple accounts of doomstones suddenly being active and mysterious craters appearing around Lake Rumare.

The most concerning event so far, however, happened in County Chorrol just yesterday. It has been reported by several sources that a cultist group based south of the county's capital attempted to kidnap and sacrifice the daughter of a local merchant. It is believed that the girl's mother allowed her to travel to the cultists' village by herself while under the influence of an illusion spell. Thankfully, the child was saved by a pair of adventures and returned to Chorrol unharmed. The Imperial Legion is investigating the case but no official report has been released yet.

Mr. Pinegrove yawned after reading the news. The rate of weird events seemed to be on the rise. He should be careful when it was time to take the road back to Vallenwood.

"The Camorans? Are you sure?"

The bosmer's ever-vigilant ears stood at attention at the mention of the family he served. The comment had come from a table not three meters away from his own. Around it, sat a redguard man and a bosmer woman engrossed in conversation. Luckily for Mr. Pinegrove, they did not seem to notice his eavesdropping.

"Well, that is what everybody is saying. Quite a shock, is it not?"

"Who would have thought?! But I guess it makes sense in a way."

"Yeah. I mean, what kind of people would have a better motive to murder the Emperor than another royal line?"

"After the crown themselves, I bet."

The pair's conversation soon deviated to more mundane matters. Mr. Pinegrove did his best to pretend that there was nothing wrong in the world while he continued his meal. He had to give his meat some good extra chews before the two left their table. Once they walked out of the door, the bosmer jumped from his chair, threw the owners a coin purse full enough to pay for three times his meal, and bolted in the direction of the White-Gold Tower. In the way, he noticed several small gatherings of all kinds of people, from merchants to beggars, discussing enthusiastically. He discreetly passed near one of those groups to get a sense of what had woke so much interest in the general public.

"… ordered the murders. My third cousin told me the Legion is already on them."

"Bunch of traitors! I hope the Camorans get what they deserve."

The bosmer advisor sped up upon hearing such news and arrived at the gates of the White-Gold Tower completely out of breath and as red as a tomato. Nonetheless, he ran up the stairs as fast as his chubby legs allowed, breaking a couple of porcelain vases and knocking down three or four servants in his wake.

He ignored the herald and entered King Braudulain's chamber unannounced. The room had been properly prepared for the Vallenwood entourage beforehand. The walls were covered with ivy and the furnishings were all carved from living tree roots planted in the corners. Water channels were built alongside the walls to feed the plants.

The bosmer king was surrounded by other members of the court, some of which played a soothing melody with their harps. The monarch cast an outraged look in Mr. Pinegrove's direction. The advisor bowed so low that his forehead almost touched the foliaged ground.

"I deeply apologize for this intrusion, Sir, but a matter that requires urgency has arisen."

The king studied the prostrated bosmer before him for a moment. He then dismissed the other attendants with a wave of his hand. Once the room was emptied but by the two wood elves in question, the monarch finally addressed his advisor.

"This better be good, Pinegrove, or there will be hell to pay."

"It is, Sire, I promise," the bosmer took a minute to catch his breath, "I was in town just now, Your Majesty sees, attending my duties and all when I heard a… indiscretion… being said against You Majesty."

"What indiscretion?"

"You see, Sire, there are people on the streets spreading the most absurd rumors around. They are saying that… they are saying…"

"Saying what, Pinegrove?" asked the king already out of patience.

"They are saying that Your Majesty and your family are responsible for the murder of Emperor Uriel and his sons!"

"What? How dare someone spread such lies against the Camorans? This shall not be tolerated. Give me the names, I will make sure these people will be apprehended."

"But, Sir, it seems that everybody is already talking about it. Identifying the culprits could take days and still achieve nothing."

The king's face went livid. He began to review the situation in his head, looking for a solution. Before he could come up with one, though, the herald knocked and entered to announce another visitor.

"Your Majesty, Sir Falchalas Elmshield is just outside and requests an audience at Your Majesty's earlier convenience."

The monarch's eyes bulged.

"Send him in."

"Yes, my Lord."

The herald left and in came the spymaster. He bowed to the king and allowed himself a glance in Mr. Pinegrove's direction.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Your Lordship."

"It is so rare for the great imperial spymaster to ask for an audience… or to enter a room through the front door… that I could only assume the matter was urgent. How can I be of service, Sir Elmshield?"

The bosmer king took a seat at his table. He kept his expression neutral and never lost sight of the hero while doing so.

"Your Lordship, I am afraid I come here due to a rather 'sensitive' matter," Falch approached the table, "You see, Your Lordship, a considerable assortment of people began spreading rumors regarding the possible involvement of the Camaron family in the Septim's murders."

"Oh, please. Do not tell me that you of all people are taking such pretentious stories seriously."

"I normally would not bother with these tall tales, no. However, the rumors became so widespread that I found myself forced to check. I am sure Your Lordship understands," the bosmer interlaced his fingers behind his back, "As the saying goes, usually where there is smoke, there is also a flame atronach."

"Sir Elmshield, Your Lordship has my personal guarantee that the Camarons are as loyal to the crown as they have always been."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I will make sure that these rumors will disappear."

"Excellent!"

Falch bowed and turned around to leave the room. He was about to march forward but stopped suddenly and turned just his head in the king's direction. A penetrating gaze emanated from his eyes.

"I must add, though, that my efforts will not mean much if there is any truth to these stories. This could be a dangerous situation for the Vallenwood crown."

The bosmer king recoiled a little when faced with the spymaster's look.

"I… as I said the Camorans are loyal allies of the Empire… but I can conduct an inside investigation… just to be sure."

Falchalas nodded and walked forward.

"Your cooperation is much appreciated, Your Majesty. I will be back later."

The spymaster left the room whose doors closed after him, giving the discussion a sense of finality. From the outside, he could hear an enraged monarch shouting out orders to poor Mr. Pinegrove and calling for the rest of his court to come back inside immediately. Falch allowed himself a satisfied smile beneath his mask before moving forward along the corridor. When an appropriate opportunity arose, he snuck behind a curtain into a secret passage and continued down the tower, into the sewers, and finally out in the slams also known as the Waterfront.

The bosmer then made a series of overcomplicated turns in the labyrinth of shacks and rundown houses. He emerged in a shadowy square where some kids played hide-and-seek while being watched by two women doing their laundry in an old well. At a corner, a small group played dice, led by a female wood elf. The spymaster walked behind said woman and dropped a small pouch full of coins. The pouch never made it to the ground, however, as it was agilely caught by the woman's hand and disappeared somewhere in her leather armor.

"There is some extra to be made if you are interested, Methredhel."

"What is the job?"

"A simple one. I just need another rumor spread around. No need to go beyond the Imperial City, either."

"What is the rumor?"

"That the Eternal Champion is distraught by his only brother's mysterious disappearance."

"I thought Sir Tallin was an only child."

"He is."

The female wood elf surveyed the other's eyes for a moment in search of any indication that the request was just a jest.

"All right. Consider it done."

Falch passed her another coin pouch.

"May the shadows hide you."

Falchalas left the little group and proceeded through another route to an abandoned shack near the water. Once there, he went down the basement's entrance to find himself in a small room with almost no light. The place was cold, humid, and permeated by a thin mist. If not for the bosmer's keen senses, he would never see the wood table and chairs at the center. At the table, laid an envelope neatly sealed with the royal crest and whose paper seemed way too expensive to belong in that place. Falch picked it up and examined its exterior.

"Perfect as always and done before the deadline too. I am impressed."

"Was it a compliment that I heard? You are getting soft, my friend."

"Soft, me? No, I do appreciate great craftsmanship when I see it. It just so happens that those are very rare occasions."

The other thief answered with a round of good-humored laughter. Falchalas followed the voice to one of the chairs where a brown-haired imperial man appeared. He rested his elbow over the table and supported his head with his hand. He held a dark cowl full of stitches in his other hand.

"If you say so, my friend, if you say so… Tell me, then, does Mr. high and mighty Chancellor truly thinks he will get away with this?"

"He seems to believe so."

"What about you?"

Falch let go of a rare sigh.

"My experience tells me even the best laid-out plans never go the way we intended them to. It is not like I have a better one myself, though…"

"I see," the imperial man's semblance became more serious as if he was pondering over whether or not to ask a question.

"I will do my best to ensure her safety through all this. But I cannot make any promises."

The imperial raised his head to meet the bosmer's eyes. He nodded in silent understanding.

"Your Lordship, however, might be the weight that tips the scale."

The imperial man cast his eyes downwards in the general direction of the floor.

"I am afraid I am too far gone, my old friend."

The bosmer chuckled, which made the other thief raise his head again.

"What?"

"Funny, someone just recently told me that there is no such a thing."

"What an optimistic fellow."

"You have no idea… I would sit and talk but the day runs late and I still have other errands to go through."

"Good tidings, Falchalas. May you always be in the graces of Nocturnal."

With that, the two thieves left or rather disappeared from the basement with no mortal soul to stand as witness to their talk.