Averren hit the mat with a dull thud, with Caius once again clucking his disapproval.
"That reverse has been catching you by surprise each and every time, lad. I'd think after the third or fourth throw, you'd be ready for it."
"Guess I'm not as good with my fists as I am with a blade," Averren chuckled as he got up off the floor, the smile on his face disappearing as he met Caius' cold stare.
"And what makes you think you're going to be using a blade at all?" This gave Averren pause. While he was thinking, Caius gestured for him to sit down. "Listen well, apprentice, because this is an important lesson. Probably the most important lesson you will learn under my tutelage, or from any of the other operatives here in Vvardenfell." When Averren was seated, Caius continued. "Now, you may have it in your head that as servants of the Emperor's will, being his eyes and ears also suggests that we are his hands and teeth. I will not deny that, from time to time, a Blade has had to perform the duties of an Imperial assassin. But that is not something that we do very often, and it is not something that we undertake lightly. Our primary task is to gather information, analyze it if necessary, and make it clear to the Emperor in a few words whether this is something that affects him or if it is something that can be safely ignored for the time being. You understand that?"
"Of course," Averren nodded.
"Good. Now, tell me, how much information can you get out of a dead man?"
Now, Averren frowned in thought, and not just a little embarrassment. Despite a month of intensive training with Caius and the other Blades situated in Balmora, he had apparently still harbored a few foolish notions. This particular lesson had gone a long way to dispel them. "Caius, how long have you been at this? Being a spy, I mean."
"A long time. Tell me, do you remember Jagar Tharn, the Emperor's battlemage?"
"Vaguely," admitted Averren. "I seem to recall hearing something about him taking up the position, but I don't remember much else. Why? What did he do?"
Caius' jaw dropped slightly in surprise. "You were away for a long time, weren't you?" When Averren's brow furrowed in displeasure, the old man continued. "After his betrayal of the Battlespire to Mehrunes Dagon and his Daedra forces, Jagar Tharn secretly kidnapped the Emperor and imprisoned him in an alternate dimension using an artifact called the Staff of Chaos. The incident at the Battlespire happened about thirty years or so back, and then the coup happened a few years after that."
"But surely there would have been resistance if Tharn appeared sitting on the throne one morning."
"If anybody had seen Jagar Tharn as himself sitting in that throne, then you are correct, my boy. Unfortunately, Tharn had managed to concoct a means of impersonating the Emperor. I'm sure a master illusionist could tell you how he did it, but the end result is that for a few years, that madman was running the Empire. And he was running it right into the ground. Whatever his magical abilities, the man had no concept of how to rule an empire efficiently, to say nothing of wisely."
Averren looked closely at Caius. "Did you know? Did you figure out it wasn't the Emperor sitting on the throne?"
"I suspected," Caius sighed softly. "A lot of us in the Blades suspected. But suspicions, no matter how strong, do not equate to proof. And proof was hard to find. Tharn had covered his tracks well. When comrades of mine looked like they were close to finding one of his loose ends, incidents would begin to happen. I won't say accidents, because they were not accidents. They were planned and well executed assassinations of Blades operatives, and those of us that were associated with the victims often perished shortly thereafter. Our ranks were gutted in a horrifyingly short amount of time, and those of us who stopped looking often found themselves shipped out to hardship postings at the fringes of the Empire. Interestingly enough, somebody did finally beat that bastard Tharn at his own game. Not one of the Blades, though I suspect that they were given a comparatively simple task by a Blade just before being re-assigned. From what I've read and been told, Tharn's defeat and subsequent execution were . . .spectacular."
"Incredible," said Averren almost breathlessly.
"To say the least. In any event, when the Emperor was restored to the throne, he liked what I was developing here in Vvardenfell and decided to make it a permanent posting, with me as the local spymaster. Which was fine with me. Probably the only good that came out of that awful time was my coming here. Strange as it is, I fell in love with this place. And though my duty has always been to the Emperor and the Empire, I have always tried to make sure that Morrowind was protected, in everything I did. I've seen just about every corner of the Empire at one point or another. Only Morrowind has had a hold over me, a desire to set myself down and stay here. Don't ask me why. It just does." Caius slapped Averren's shoulder. "Enough resting, apprentice. Let's see if you can avoid that reverse this time."
A few days later, Averren shambled into Caius' home, his face streaked with dirt and bits of feathers stuck in his hair. The Dunmer's visage set the old spymaster in stitches.
"Are you going to tell me or do I get to injure myself guessing?" Caius laughed uncontrollably.
"When you told me to join the Fighter's Guild as a way to build up my cover identity, you never told me that I'd be doing the scut work." Averren set his saber into a corner and began stripping his armor off, groaning in disgust as he discovered various exotic stains splashed over the chitin. "For the last month, I've been cleaning up, sweeping out, and doing every menial chore that Fire-eye can think up. And when she finally deigns to give me an assignment that actually pays worth a damn, she sends me off to act as pest control." Flopping down in a chair, Averren began to rub his feet.
"I never said it would be glorious, Averren. Least not to start. And don't act so surprised. On many occasions, the Fighter's Guild has been used for unglamorous jobs like guar herding and delivery of monthly booze rations to miners." Caius stood up to open a small box sitting on a shelf near the foot of the bed. "Believe me, killing vermin is considered to be a very casual assignment by some members of the Fighter's Guild. The worst that could happen is you have to stop by the Temple to obtain medicines and some light bandaging. There are things out around here that will make you look back fondly on today."
"Don't bet on it," snapped Averren. "Have you ever tried killing rats with feathers flying everywhere?"
"Can't say that I have. But then again, I've never slept with a royal concubine either. So either way, I don't know what I'm missing."
Averren sighed as he leaned back in the chair. "Caius, what am I doing here? I know I'm supposed to be your apprentice, and you've been teaching me more in the last month than I thought I could ever learn. And the other Blades have been a real help, Nine-Toes and Rithleen especially. But I feel . . .trapped. Like I should be out there doing something."
"You feel that you're ready to do something?"
"Something better than sweeping up and being a houseboy to Eydis Fire- eye, to be sure."
Caius turned and gave Averren a hard stare. "If you're looking for glory, then you can leave and make your own way in the world. See how long you can last on charity. But if you're looking to make a fresh start, Averren, then sit down and shut up."
The clipped tone in the old man's voice kept Averren rooted to his seat. Taking a deep breath, Averren tried again. "Why was I the one to get a fresh start? Why me? Why not some other person?"
"I wish I could tell you, Averren, but such knowledge is not afforded to the likes of us. You think I wanted to take in a Dunmer who got himself dumped here without any explanation? By the Divines, I most certainly did not plan on it. But here you are, and the instructions from the Emperor were explicit. You don't see me bitching about it. I'm doing my duty as handed to me by my Emperor and I will damned well discharge that duty. And I have given you your duty, and you will discharge it, or I will know the reason why!" Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Caius' flinty gaze softened. "And your duty right now seems to be coinciding with those happy feet of yours. I received word this morning after you left that there are vague rumblings of discontent from the Legion garrison stationed in the town of Gnisis. Nothing solid that we can pin down to individuals, yet. But this is not something that we can reasonably ignore, according to my agent up north. I can't send anybody else here from Balmora, and our other agents in place can't leave without extensive preparations and good cover stories."
"Which just leaves me," stated Averren, his tongue suddenly going dry. His foster mother had always warned him to be careful what he wished for, and it suddenly came back to him with a vengeance.
"Correct. Believe me, the timing on this is positively vicious. But right now, you're the most mobile of our agents. You've got no ties to anywhere except this house, and I can be out of here in less than a day if need be. I won't lie to you, Averren. If this is legitimate, then you are going to have to maintain your cover identity at all times. To keep things simple, Elone has arranged for a set of papers identifying you as Averren Lirondi, which will be arriving in Ald'Ruhn in the next day or so. There's a Bosmer named Gildan there. She'll give you the papers while you're waiting for the silt strider to Gnisis. Once you are in Gnisis, you will join up with the Deathshead Legion, as a common recruit. You will behave as if you were any other soldier in the Legion. Unless you receive orders from me, you will do precisely as you are told by your superiors. If they say jump, you ask how high. They say 'kill that man,' you ask them fast or slow. Hopefully, this will turn out to be nothing. In a few weeks, you'll come back on reserve status with the Legion and resume your training around here."
"I'm otherwise on my own, then?" asked Averren softly, almost nervously.
"Yes. Since I can't be there to direct your every movement, I'm trusting you to exercise good judgment and caution. Remember what you've been taught, and consider your actions. If an opponent looks like they might be a useful source of information, try to keep him alive, but not at the cost of your own life."
"Look twice, step once. Just like Nine-Toes said."
Caius clapped a hand on Averren's shoulder and smiled. "For an Argonian, he has a way with words."
Kharag sat waiting in Eno Hlaalu's chambers, idly turning a ring over in his hand, inspecting the delicate Daedric inscription on the inside of the band. Taros Dral had met Kharag at the door to the enclave as soon as the orc had returned, and Kharag had performed the small ceremony at the altar dedicated to Mephala. He heard Black Hands whisper in his ear as a ring appeared on his finger, promising that she would keep an eye on him. Part of him thought that such a promise would be a decidedly mixed blessing. The ring was enchanted, that much he knew, and it seemed to generate some sort of illusion that obscured him from direct sight. It wasn't much, but in shadowy halls, it would work perfectly.
Eno Hlaalu stepped into the chambers and smiled wolfishly at Kharag. "My informants have given me our first lead on the Threads. I was actually quite surprised that the Dark Brotherhood was able to conceal the information so well. My original expectation was a lead within a week of your initiation, but a month is both good and bad. Good, because it means our lines of information are still functioning. Bad, because the information has taken so long to uncover.
"You first objective is very distant, in the fishing village of Khuul. All I have is a name, Shotherra, a Khajiit from what I have been informed. And I must remind you, my son, that you must exercise extreme discretion in this endeavor."
"Of course, father."
Sitting down, Hlaalu poured two small glass of mazte and handed one to Kharag. "Have you given consideration as to how you might get up there and back?"
"Actually, by a stroke of luck, I received notice just yesterday that I am to report to a Legion outpost and perform my compulsory service as a reserve member of the Legion. I had thought to simply go over to Ebonheart and spend my days guarding a gate. But with this information, I can perform my term of service in Gnisis, and attempt to gain the artifact almost at leisure." Kharag sipped carefully. "Almost. I understand that there are other artifacts to be had, and time is of the essence. But this one has come up at a truly opportune time."
"You have your belongings packed for the journey?" Hlaalu asked gently.
"Yes. They have been since yesterday. Strange, but something told me that I needed to wait a day before I left for my service. Not to be presumptive, but I'd almost think it was Mephala's will."
Hlaalu chuckled. "Just remember that when things work against you, that may also be Mephala's will, and you must take the bad breaks along with the good."
"Always, father." Kharag smiled broadly, slipping the ring on his finger. "And do take care of yourself. I wouldn't want to come back and find out you've been pacing the floor without eating or sleeping."
Hlaalu started ever so slightly. Could Kharag really see the fear that gripped his heart? Could he know what kept the old elf awake at night since deciding to recover the Threads? Perhaps, in a blind sort of way. He didn't think Kharag would ever know how much he'd come to love his adopted son. Eno Hlaalu held a position of great responsibility, and he had no qualms about sending people to their deaths. Dozens of members of the Morag Tong had died attempting to execute their writs, many more had died fighting the Dark Brotherhood, and Hlaalu would sooner put his head in a kagouti's maw than stop performing those duties.
The two assassins stood up, smiling at each other. Then Hlaalu unexpectedly threw his arms around Kharag, hugging him tightly. "Be careful, son," he murmured.
