Averren and Kharag marched resolutely along the path towards the small encampment at the top of a hill near Ald'Velothi. Their low pitched conversation wasn't nearly so resolute.
"I have a very bad feeling about this," Averren murmured. "I'm not a diplomat. I can barely negotiate a decent price for clothes."
Kharag's voice rumbled softly. "Nothing to worry about, Averren. We just mind our manners and complete our assignment. We can do this."
"How is it I ended up the one doing all the talking?"
"Because, as things go, they'll have only slightly less trouble with you doing the talking than they would if I was the one doing the talking. You're a Dunmer at the very least, which is a basis for common ground. I'm just one of those stupid, smelly Orcs, and a member of the invading Legion, to boot."
Averren glanced over at Kharag briefly. "I'm part of the same damn Legion!" he hissed softly.
"Yes, but there's always the hope you could turn against the Legion. They will make no such assumption with me."
Gritting his teeth, Averren walked on, his shoulders tightening back just a little further. Kharag noticed this and chuckled very gently. "Just be very polite. Ask permission to do things, like entering tents or sitting down. Once we get down to the actual negotiating, be polite, but be honest. We don't want to upset our hosts."
Averren said nothing, keeping in step with Kharag until they reached the top of the hill. A well crafted yurt stood in front of them, the top slightly conical, the eaves curling over as the roof met the walls. To one side, a male Dunmer stood, a chitin dirk stuffed into a sash around his waist, a chitin bow in his hands with an arrow nocked. On the other side stood a female Dunmer, a leather vest embellished with intricate and visually stunning beadwork covering a simple homespun blouse, a knife and beaded scabbard sitting on one hip. Both of them looked hard at the two Legionnaires.
"Never seen Ashlanders before, have you?" Kharag muttered, his lips almost perfectly still.
Averren made a soft grunt in the negative. They were Dunmer, like him, yet they were nothing like him. For a fleeting instant, he wondered what it might have been like when the Dunmer were one nation and one people, how much simpler it might have been. Shaking the thought off, Averren approached the Dunmer with the bow.
"We wish to speak to your headman."
"About what, n'wah?" the archer asked, his voice quiet but his tone vaguely insulting.
"About the woman you've captured. The Temple wants her back. The hetman of the village just down the road wants her back. I'm the one who must bring her back, and I'm here to make that happen."
The archer gave Averren a vicious grin. "So what's stopping you from just taking her back?"
Averren kept a neutral tone. "I was told to bring her back. I thought I'd give you the chance to ransom her off instead of just coming in and killing everybody. After all," he said with a frosty edge in his voice, "we're not savages."
The woman behind him chuckled. "He's got a sharp wit to go with his tongue, Ansipal. Best give him some courtesy before he cuts your throat with it."
Anispal flicked his eyes over to his comrade for a moment before returning his gaze to Averren, the smile on his face becoming a bit more respectful. "Allow me to announce you first, and gain our leader's permission." He went over and tapped twice on the poles that served as the doorframe, then entered briefly. Coming out, he held the flap open and ushered them inside.
Averren and Kharag stepped in, both of their eyes briefly scanning the interior of the yurt. A small fire sat in the center, illuminating the Ashlander headman and a Dunmer woman wearing the clothes of a Temple pilgrim. They locked on the Ashlander and bowed slightly.
"Greetings to you," began Averren politely. "May we sit down?"
"Greetings to you as well, outlander," the Ashlander replied. He gestured to a pair of thick cushions behind them. "Please, sit and make yourselves comfortable. I imagine you've been marching a long way just to see me."
"Thank you." The two Legionnaires sat down. Averren cleared his throat and looked directly at the Ashlander. "You are correct, serjo. We have marched a long way to see you. And it is our hope that this march will not be in vain."
"That will depend very heavily on what you came here for." The tone of voice was disturbingly neutral.
"We have come for the woman you captured. My leader has told me that she must be returned unharmed. The hetman of Ald'Velothi has told me she must be returned unharmed. Just before I left Gnisis, the Master of the Temple physically barred my path to tell me that she must be returned unharmed. As you can no doubt guess, I am working under considerable expectations, almost unreasonable ones."
The Ashlander raised an eyebrow, a faintly menacing note in his voice. "Are you suggesting that I will be unreasonable?"
"No, serjo. I believe you to be quite reasonable. But I believe my superiors have the unreasonable expectation that you will either just quietly hand her over or you will do something . . .unreasonable. Surely, you can't hold me accountable for the assumptions of others."
"I could, but it would only prove your superiors' assumptions. And I'm not really in the mood to make the Temple, the Redoran, or your n'wah Legion smile." The Ashlander's face lit up in a faintly predatory grin. "You are clever, outlander, but this is not unexpected. Many outlanders are clever, in their way. What I want to know is if you will be honest."
Now it was Averren's turn to smile, hopefully projecting reassurance. "If I lie to you, then I'm only proving your assumptions. And I'm only in the mood to make sure both of us smile when I return to my leader."
"So, if I told you that this woman is mine by tribal right as a slave, and I intend to put her to work at my people's encampment when I return to them in the spring, this would not make you smile?"
"You know that it would not. You are no fool. While she may mean nothing to me personally, I have my orders, and to fail in that task would cause me great misery."
"I see." The Ashlander reached over and offered them a plate with strips of scrib jerky. Averren and Kharag each took a piece, then the Ashlander took one for himself. All three chewed silently, the Ashlander looking very thoughtful. "Since your superiors seem to value this woman so highly that they have exhorted you to recover her, I will ransom her to you. The price is five thousand drakes."
Both Averren and Kharag restrained themselves from making any overt signs of surprise. Five thousand septims was outrageous by anybody's reckoning. For a nobleman, maybe, but a Temple pilgrim, absolutely not. Averren's mind began to race. With the prize money that he and Kharag had earned from cleaning out a cave full of smugglers the week before, they had more than enough, but if they used the prize money, the Legion would only reimburse each of them up to five hundred septims. They didn't want to let the Ashlander know how much they actually had on hand. They also didn't want to give up all of the money. Kharag's term of service for reserve duty would be up in a few days, and Averren didn't relish the thought of trying to clean out another smuggler's base without the orc. A very small part of him said that it was only money. Another part of him said it was more money than he'd ever be able to earn in the Legion.
"Serjo, either you take me for a fool, or you take your hostage for a woman of means. Look at her," Averren said while pointing a finger at the woman, "and tell me that she is worth such an extraordinary amount."
The Ashlander glanced over at the pilgrim, then back to Averren. "I see a woman with a good strong back and firm hands. She could be put to great use. Mucking out the guar corral, cleaning hides, washing clothes, mending tents. There's plenty of work for her."
"But not so much as to be worth five thousand drakes. Two hundred, maybe."
The Ashlander feigned shock. "Two hundred? I couldn't even get a guar for that kind of money. Two thousand."
"Two thousand would be enough for three or four slaves in Tel Mora," protested Averren, knowing full well he didn't have the slightest idea what the average cost of slaves in Tel Mora really was, and had no inclination to find out either. "You may see a strong back on her, but I don't. I see a Temple zealot who'd spend so much time praying to the Tribunal for deliverance that you'd pay me to take her from you. Five hundred. That surely should be enough for a Nord or Redguard, or even an Argonian, if you're really that desperate for another pair of hands."
"One thousand," snapped the Ashlander, though the look in his eyes told Kharag at least that this negotiation was almost wrapped up. Averren had apparently touched a nerve with that bit about needing another pair of hands. Either the Ashlander wasn't going to be using her for such menial labor, or he'd been planning on squeezing as much gold as he could out of the Temple. Kharag smiled mentally. Having Averren doing the talking had been the right way to go in this situation.
Averren shook his head almost mournfully. "I must stand firm at five hundred. It's more than she's actually worth and better than having any sort of personal misery befalling you." Kharag's mental grin widened at that. Let the Ashlander mull on what "personal misery" might actually entail. "Five hundred. Take it and call it a day, serjo."
The Ashlander's smile showed no bitterness. He'd been beaten, and he knew it. "Five hundred. Give me the gold and take her with my compliments."
Averren fished out coins and made a large multi-layered stack, then frowned and looked at Kharag. "I seem to be a bit short. Spot me?"
"Of course," Kharag rumbled, laying out the remainder of the ransom. The Ashlander and the Legionnaires stood up, then Averren helped the pilgrim to her feet.
"Until we meet again, serjo," Averren said, bowing gracefully. He ushered the pilgrim out of the yurt, Kharag following close behind.
A few hours later, Averren and Kharag walked down the road to Gnisis. The pilgrim, Madura Seran, had been thankful for being rescued and the hetman in Ald'Velothi had been quite friendly with the two Legionnaires. As far as they were concerned, Theldyn Virith owed them a debt of gratitude, and the rest of the Legion could go hang themselves. Or so Virith had said. The friendliest gesture thus far made to either Averren or Kharag, and that was counting the small amount of fame they'd earned for healing the kwama queen and for bringing Mansilamat Vabdas' killer to justice. Both of them took their praise and smiled, neither one of them actually enjoying it like they should have. Each knew that fame was not something they wanted to be collecting.
As they walked down the road, Averren spied a woman standing by the road, a Breton from what he could tell. She paced nervously by the edge of a small pool, the sides steep and rocky, a tall tree shading one side. Once she caught sight of them, she began to wave, beckoning them. There wasn't any great urgency in it, which suggested to Averren and Kharag that the problem at hand wasn't one of life or death. Giving each other a look, the two Legionnaires approached with pleasant smiles on their faces.
"Oh, how wonderful!" the woman sighed. "Here I am, standing by the side the road with my ring lost, and along comes the Legion to save me."
"We do our best, madam," Averren smiled. "You say you lost your ring?"
The Breton woman nodded. "Yes. I was twirling around as I walked. Very silly of me, I know, a habit my mother tried to break me of many times. But I couldn't help it! It just looked so shiny in the sun, the way the stone caught the light, it was so pretty."
The two Legionnaires chuckled, sharing a glance, then returned their gaze to her.
"I don't suppose you fine men would like to fetch my ring? I think I saw where it went into the water over there." The woman batted her eyes at them. Averren smiled back, then gave Kharag a playful smack on the shoulder.
"What?" Kharag asked, looking vaguely surprised.
"It's your turn, my friend. I did my brave act for the day. Yours will be significantly easier."
Grumbling, but smiling good naturedly, Kharag removed his boots and slowly made his way down to the pool. "Somewhere over here?"
The Breton woman nodded, then turned her attention to Averren. "Tell me, Dunmer, what brings you to this part of Vvardenfell?"
"Official business. My companion and I just rescued a Temple pilgrim from some Ashlanders." Averren smiled at the statement, knowing that only a few hours earlier, he'd been quite certain that they never would have succeeded.
"Must've been difficult, dealing with those savages," the Breton cooed.
"Actually, they were very polite. We negotiated, and I was able to ransom her. It took all the gold in our purses combined, but we got her back."
"How brave."
Averren shrugged and gave a small dismissive wave. "Nothing that the Legion doesn't do regularly." He was about to make another deprecating comment when something caught his eye, some sort of . . .movement, just off to his right.
"The Legion does it's job well. And maybe the next time you're in Khuul, you'll see Synette do her job well."
"And what would Synette's job be?" Averren asked playfully.
"I'm a dancer in the tradehouse there in Khuul."
Kharag had been listening to the conversation as he waded slowly through the pool, hearing how the Breton had been flirting with Averren. He had found the ring and had just closed his hand around it when he heard Synette state her occupation. Frowning in thought, Kharag flashed back to the time he'd spent in that tradehouse. Small, dingy, a bit cramped.
No dancing girls. No stage, no area roped off for performance space. The tradehouse in Khuul never had dancing girls. Kharag came to an awful and immediate realization as he looked up to where Averren and Synette were talking.
"AVERREN!" he bellowed. "AMBUSH!"
Averren's eyes widened as he heard the word, then he grunted in pain as a well placed kick caught him across the midsection, sending him stumbling back. The look in Synette's eyes and the sound of her voice were chilling.
"No good deed goes unpunished," she hissed as she pulled a shuriken from inside her blouse. Spinning on her heel, she snapped her wrist out and sent the weapon flying down towards Kharag. Averren fought to regain his breath and his balance when an arrow drove into his shoulder. Turning and dropping into a crouch, Averren saw another arrow whizzing past him, coming from behind the tree that stood over the pool. He snapped the chitin shaft of the arrow off, then drew his sword and charged the position.
Kharag knew how perfectly they'd been suckered, and part of his mind chastised him for falling into such an obvious trap. How many times had he been told that the best trap is the one that is hidden in plain sight? He didn't have time to think about it. Later, if there was a "later," he'd examing his performance. Right now, he was having to improvise. He'd taken the helmet from his head and was using it to deflect the shuriken being rained down on him by Synette. She'd apparently been well prepared, or had run this scheme more than a few times in this spot. Kharag didn't swing the helmet around wildly. He shifted it from point to point, deflecting, occasionally stopping one of the throwing stars, as he marched slowly back up to the high ground. Sooner or later, she'd either run out or she'd loose more than one per throw, and then who knew what would happen.
Averren made it to the tree, bleeding from the shoulder, sword drawn in his left hand. He'd always been fairly ambidextrous, and now that talent was coming into play. He saw an indistinct shimmering, almost like a heat wave, standing behind the tree. His sword arm snapped out . . .and hit nothing. A faint whistling sound burned into Averren's ears. Without thinking, he brought his sword back up into a guard position, feeling the blade strike metal, but not seeing anything but the shimmering, intermittent in front of his vision. Another stroke rang against Averren's sword. He couldn't keep doing this for very long. Fighting blind would have been easier. All he could do right then was hold his guard up and pray.
As Averren fought his phantom opponent, Kharag had made it up the hill and engaged Synette in a knife fight. Knives were some of the last weapons that a Morag Tong assassin learned to use, for they required fast reflexes and steely nerve to get in close. His father had told him quite plainly during those days, "Kharag, my son, the first rule of a knife fight is that you must accept the fact you will get cut. It does not matter if the knife is the finest Daedric blade or a cheap bottle with the bottom broken off. When knives come together, you must accept that you will get cut. To expect otherwise is to take the first step towards your own death." Kharag had already taken a few shallow cuts from Synette's chitin dagger, but he ignored them, keeping his attention on his guard and on her attacks. She wasn't bad, as knife fighters went, but something about her stance and moves told him that either she'd never been taught that critical first rule, or she'd chosen to ignore it. Kharag's tanto seemed to flicker as he matched the Breton swipe for swipe, move for move, presenting as solid a defense as he could, watching her closely, waiting for that critical mistake.
Averren was beginning to tire out. He'd been slashed a few times along the arms, and the nearly-invisible point of his opponent's sword had caught on his chainmail more than a few times. The only reason the point hadn't gone further was due to Averren's training with Caius, the unarmed moves that taught him to roll with a hit and minimize its damage now seemed to serve him well here. Sooner or later, though, he wouldn't be able to roll fast enough or far enough to keep the point from wholly piercing his armor. And that would be the end of Averren's tour of duty with the Legion. If he could just see his opponent for one second. If only he could find them . . .
A small greenish orb seemed to flare into existence just in front of Averren. It moved like it was attached to somebody. This had to be it. He didn't know how or why, but he was seeing something that gave away his enemy's position with perfect clarity. He had to make his attack now.
Making a wild guess as to his oppnent's next move, Averren turned his wounded right side to his attacker, then stepped forward with his back foot, feeling the enemy's sword skating over the back of his armor as he turned and thrust his sword in just below the glowing green orb. He heard a choked cry of pain and saw blood running down over the back of his hand. Averren twisted the sword savagely, producing a more heartening shriek that died with its originator.
Synette heard the shriek and paused for only a moment, but it was the only moment Kharag needed. The orc swept Synette's legs out from under her, then drove the tanto straight into her heart just as she hit the ground. The surprise and the impact forced the chitin dagger from her hand. She looked up just in time to see Kharag pulling the tanto from her chest, then watched in dying horror as he clamped a massive hand over her mouth and cut her throat.
The two Legionnaires collapsed to the ground, sitting down, panting as they struggled to regain their breath.
"Kharag," gasped Averren, "are we dead yet?"
"Not yet," Kharag replied breathlessly. "I hurt too much to be dead."
Averren could only watch as the body of his attacker slowly faded into existence, the glowing orb remaining present only for a moment before it faded out. His attacker had been wearing a chitin breastplate and helm, but not much else in the way of armor. The chitin could probably be repaired and sold for a few drakes. But he wanted to know what it was that had given off that glow. Leaning over, he removed the helmet, revealing a Dunmer woman's anguished face. He then unlaced the breastplate and slid it off the corpse. An ornate amulet sat just above the spot where Averren's sword had gone in. That had to be what was giving off the glow before. Though for the life of him, he couldn't understand what had made it glow, or if he'd been the only one to see it. Averren pulled it from the corpse and inspected it closely, hoping to glean something about its nature.
Kharag stood up slowly and ambled over to Averren, looking at the amulet in his hand. "Was that what kept her hidden?" he asked politely.
"I think so. I've never seen it's make before. And the power of the enchantment is incredible. I've never seen somebody so well hidden short of an invisibility spell."
"You should keep it, Averren. A trophy, if you will. Something like that could be very useful sometime."
"Perhaps." Averren knew a hundred different ways it could be put use, for good or ill. He certainly didn't want to give it up, though he knew it had to be incredibly valuable to the right people. For now, it was his, and that's how it would stay. "What do we do with the bodies?"
"Haul them back to Gnisis, I suppose. Condemn their personal belongings, get the value for it, let the locals deal with burial detail." Kharag shrugged slightly. "We're not going to bury them here, are we?"
Averren should his head and slipped the amulet into a pocket, making a note to have a new thong put in so it would fit better over his own neck. "Guess we better start making a litter to carry them back."
Kharag nodded and began testing some of the low branches of the tree.
