The morning after returning from Ald'Velothi, Averren and Kharag stood in front of General Darius' desk at full attention. They'd been like that for a full five minutes without a single word from Darius, and both of them were trying very hard not to glance at him. The look on his face when they'd first entered appeared pensive and brooding. They could only imagine that it hadn't improved, since he'd been pacing behind them since bringing them to attention.
"At ease," he sighed softly. "And my apologies for keeping you waiting. I should be thanking you for the wonderful job you did at Ald'Velothi. The Temple master wasn't vocally pleased with your work, but he did send a note of thanks to you both." Darius stepped in front of them, shifting his gaze between Averren and Kharag. "You two are quite a good pair to have working together. And it is only because of this example that you two have set that I am speaking to you right now. Be seated."
Averren and Kharag sat down in the simple chairs in front of Darius' desk. The general sat down behind his desk, then steepled his fingers, still glancing between them. "What you are about to hear does not leave this office. Are we clear on that?"
Averren nodded. "Perfectly, Sir." Kharag also nodded, but remained silent.
"It has been brought to my attention that there may be some sort of conspiracy beginning to form here in the garrison. So far, the only information that has been passed along is that the plotters appear to be affiliated with the Talos cult."
"You suspect that the cult itself has become corrupt?" Kharag asked pointedly.
"No, I don't believe so. Talos worshippers as a whole strive to follow the example set by Tiber Septim. That may be one reason that his worship is so strong among the Legion. But the information I have been given suggests that a small group of communicants has perverted the very virtues that Tiber Septim embodied into the basest vices. Greed, ambition, betrayal, oathbreaking, and treason, if what I hear is true." Darius sighed softly. "Again, I must reaffirm that what is said here goes no farther. This is perhaps the most difficult situation I have ever faced, and the fact that it comes from my own troops is what makes it so hard. Gentlemen, in two months time, Uriel Septim VIII is expected to make a tour of Morrowind, Vvardenfell in particular. Contingents from each garrison in Morrowind are to assemble at Ebonheart for his inspection. Naturally, you can imagine how tempting an opportunity this would be for an assassination attempt."
Kharag and Averren both nodded, but it was Kharag who had the greater appreciation for such a scenario. He'd been to Ebonheart more than a few times in his life, and if he'd been contracted to make such an attempt, impersonation of a Legionnaire would have been the best way he could think of to accomplish such a task. He took his duties to the Legion as seriously as the next man, but once that writ came into his hands, his loyalties stood only with the Morag Tong.
"You want us to find the conspirators?" asked Averren.
"If there are any to be found. We cannot simply accuse Legionnaires of plotting against the Emperor. I simply ask that you make some discreet inquiries, try to get a feel for this situation, then report back to me and we'll see where we need to go from there." Darius smiled at them wanly. "I wouldn't ask you two if I didn't think you could get to the heart of the matter and resolve it."
"We'll find them, Sir." Averren sounded as matter-of-fact as he would have announcing the sun rising.
"Very good. Again, gentlemen, I must stress that you exercise discretion and caution in this matter. You do not wish to alienate your fellow Legionnaires. And you do not wish to give the conspirators easy targets."
Averren and Kharag nodded. Darius gave them a small smile. "I wish you luck, then. Hopefully, none of this dreadful business will come to pass."
It was a day after their orders had been delivered, and neither of the duo had come up with a good opening into the Talos cult. Nearly every man in the garrison was a member, but the worship was generally private and not led by any one man that they could find. As they sat in the shade of the Temple wall, Averren and Kharag compared notes.
"So, what do we know for sure?" Averren asked conversationally.
"We know that everybody in the garrison knows where the shrine for Tiber Septim is located. We know almost everybody goes there at least once a month and meditates for no less than an hour. And we know that such meditation is performed alone. Those are the only hard facts we can gather."
Averren frowned in thought, idly chewing on a marshmerrow stalk. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way. Perhaps instead of outright asking who leads the community, we need to be more roundabout. Maybe trying to find out who's the most pious or the most devout among the worshipers."
"Or perhaps find the least devout, somebody who pays lip service to the cult while using as a cloak to hide his movements."
Nodding, Averren looked at Kharag. "Now that's a good thought. Who haven't we talked to yet?"
Kharag closed hs eyes, noticably thinking. "The camp prefect, Optio Bologra. If anybody would know, it would be him."
Together, they headed towards the barracks. Inside, they found Optio Bologra sharpening a short sword, focused intently on the job. When they mentioned the Talos cult, Bologra's eyes narrowed a little.
"I'm not one for telling a man which gods to worship or how best to be doing it. Unlike some people around here."
Averren's ears pricked up a little at this. "What do you mean, Prefect?"
"There's a man, Oritius Maro, seems nice enough as long as you're farther away than an arm's length from him. He's just a little too . . .vocal about his faith in Tiber Septim. And more than a little vocal of Uriel Septim these last few months. I've had my eye on him since he came here. His record's as good as can be, but the man is not the record."
"Where would we find him?" Kharag rumbled.
"He's usually in the old house just across from the tradehouse. We use it for supply stoarge and a secondary armory. Can't understand why he's there so often, but he keeps a small cadre of like minded fellows around with him."
"Thank you, Prefect. We'll see if we can catch up with him there." Together, the pair left the main barracks and headed to the house Bologra had mentioned.
It did not take them long to Oritius Maro. Like many Imperials, he was a bit short in stature and long on his sense of superiority. The slight disgusted looks that he gave to Averren and Kharag both spoke volumes of his initial opinion of them.
"Well, if it isn't the great heroes," Maro sighed softly. "Come to grace us lesser mortals with your presence?"
"I wouldn't say that we're quite that big," said Averren with a self-deprecating shrug. "After all, what have we really done? Saved a couple of lives, dispatched a few bandits? Nothing that any other Legionnaire hasn't already done at least twice in this area. The frontier is still wild and dangerous in spite of our very minuscule achievements." Averren hated the way he cheerfully belittled his own accomplishments. He was proud of what he'd done around Gnisis, proud of the victories and the scars he and Kharag had earned. It had taken only a few moments in Maro's presence for Averren to feel out exactly what kind of scum the Legionnaire really was under the uniform. Lugrub had been lazy and sloppy. Maro exuded the aura of unprincipled ambition.
"We serve the Legion, Oritius, and we serve the Empire," Kharag rumbled pleasantly, his porcine face hiding just as much bile at Averren's mendacity as Averren felt. He had also sized up Maro in a few moments, just as he would any other mark, and the assassin had come to the conclusion that he would have slain the Cyrodiil in the name of charity had somebody only asked.
Maro narrowed his eyes slightly. "The Empire is a great and wondrous thing, is it not?'
"But of course," agreed Averren. "The glory of the Imperial City is unequalled. The strength of the Empire cannot be denied by any who have a single wit rattling in their skulls. And in the entire history of Tamriel, no king or other ruler has been mightier or more glorious than Tiber Septim."
Kharag nodded sagely. "Yes, indeed. Though I must say, I think he would be deeply disappointed in his current descendant. Such a waste, really. An Emperor, a true Septim Emperor, should be stronger and more clever than his own battlemages."
"Yes, very embarrassing, that little episode. And the way he's treated his people is less than impeccable."
Maro smiled pleasantly at the pair. "I didn't think you were quite so perceptive. You two have been so dutiful to General Darius."
"The General is an honorable man, and it is our pleasure to serve him," beamed Averren, mixing a good measure of truth to go with his dissembling, "but he's no Tiber Septim."
"And Uriel Septim is no Tiber Septim, either," Kharag chimed in, nodding solemnly.
Without another word, Averren knew that they had Maro hooked. He resisted the urge to look over at Kharag, keeping his eyes locked firmly on the treacherous Legionnaire. Maro made a bit of a show, looking them over as if re-evaluating their positions and making thoughtful gestures. Finally, Maro reached into a small pouch at his belt and withdrew a small key.
"In the storeroom in back, we have a small shrine dedicated to Tiber Septim. It would honor me greatly to extend you its blessings. Shall we go down together?"
"Of course," Averren replied graciously. "After you."
Kharag brought up the rear as the three Legionnaires moved towards the storeroom. The opportunity and the desire to snap Oritius Maro's neck would have moved less disciplined men to commit what would undoubtedly be perceived as murder by an outside observer. He hated the thought that Maro polluted Vvardenfell's air by still breathing, but Kharag forced himself to remain patient. It was damnably difficult.
Maro leaned down and opened a trap door set into the floor of the storeroom and gestured for Kharag and Averren to descend. "I'll be up here when you're done," he smiled. Thanking him, Averren descended first. Another Legionnaire stood by the shrine, looking at him curiously.
"What're you doing down here?" the Legionnaire asked, his hand going to his sword hilt.
"Oritius Maro has extended the blessings of this shrine of Talos to us," answered Averren in a soothing voice. "We are here to pray and meditate on the works of Tiber Septim, that we may gain some small portion of his wisdom and his strength."
The Legionnaire seemed to accept this and shifted his hand from the hilt of his sword. Averren and Kharag both stood in front of the small altar for a few minutes, certainly appearing to be in meditation. For Averren, he did make a very silent prayer to Talos that they would be able to finish this business without any trouble. Once they had finished, Kharag began to engage the Legionnaire in some idle discussion, trying to get more information about what this particular group of communicants was trying to accomplish. With their keeper now suitably distracted, Averren moved to one corner of the altar, examining a small ornate box that sat there. The lid was locked and failed to lift when Averren touched it.
Averren had not thought to bring any lockpicks. And just taking the box was hardly a good move. Glancing up at Kharag, Averren made a gesture to indicate he needed to keep the guard busy. Kharag blinked twice in agreement and smoothly shifted gears in conversation, telling the joke about the Khajiit, the Argonian, and the daedroth. Booming laughter filled the small shrine chamber as Averren tapped the lock on the box, the faint click of its release lost in the cacaphony. He slipped his hand into the box and withdrew a piece of parchment. Averren quickly scanned the paper. It was damning evidence. The Emperor's itinerary, the lodgings he'd be housed in at Ebonheart, and the men who would be prepared to betray him. There was a final notation at the bottom that the note needed to be destroyed. Averren committed it all to memory quickly.
"What are you doing!" snarled the Legionnaire. Averren looked up. Somehow, the Legionnaire had noticed Averren with the parchment in hand. Before Averren could reply, the Legionnaire had whipped out his sword and took a step towards Averren. The traitor's advance was arrested as Kharag wrapped his arms around the man's neck and broke it with lethal efficiency.
A loud banging sound came from overhead. The trapdoor! Oritius Maro must have opened the door and seen Kharag killing the other Legionnaire. Without a word, Averren launched himself up the ladder, bursting through the trapdoor, the door to the storeroom ajar, Maro's shoulder just disappearing through it. Already, he could hear the beginnings of a commotion. Without thinking further, Averren closed the door and barred it. Kharag came up the ladder, looking at Averren.
"Maro?"
Averren shook his head. "He got out. Probably rounding up his conspirators to try and kill us."
"Why not raise a general alarm? The entire garrison would be on us that way."
"Yes, but if he gets the conspirators to help him kill us, they become 'heroes' and gain a better position to assassinate the Emperor."
"So they do plan to assassinate him."
Waving the parchment, Averren smiled humorlessly. "I have the evidence right here. For all the good it will do us." He sighed and slid down to sit on the floor. Both of them heard the unmistakable sound of an axe hitting the door. "How long do you think it will take them to break down the door?"
Kharag examined the door carefully for a moment. "Five or six minutes, perhaps. They're quite motivated from the sound of things."
Averren looked up at Kharag. "You know it's unlikely we'll survive this."
"Probably not. Even if Maro sent the Legionnaires who were not part of the plot out for reinforcements, we probably have more men on the other side of that door than we can easily fight."
A look crossed Averren's face. "I don't want to die like this. If I'm going to go, there should be no secrets between us."
Kharag studied his friend. Averren had a secret? Must've been a very large one if he hadn't breathed so much as a word of it to Kharag. Yet he understood Averren's wish. Since they were as good as dead, they could carry each other's secrets to the grave. It seemed proper to him somehow.
"You wish to know the big secret of my life, safe in the knowledge that we're already dead men?" Kharag smiled with grim humor.
"Yours for mine, Kharag," replied Averren with a similar smile.
"Fair enough." Kharag paused, gathering himself for what would normally be a hideous breach of protocol. "I am not a Legionnaire by trade, just with the reserves. I am actually an assassin with the Morag Tong. My current mission involves the recovery of various artifacts from members of the Dark Brotherhood, our mortal enemies. I've recovered several since we've been here in Gnisis."
Averren took a moment to digest this information. What little he knew of the Morag Tong suggested that they were more or less on the side of law and order, insofar as an order of assassins can be when given Imperial sanction to continue operating as they had for generations. Nodding, Averren took his own moment to center himself. "I'm not exactly a Legionnaire by trade either. I joined up as part of a cover. I am a very junior member of the Blades, sent here to investigate the very traitors that are on the other side of this door and come back with proof that they were engaged in a plot to assassinate the Emperor."
Kharag looked thunderstruck for a moment, then chuckled in surprise. "Well, my friend, I'd say you found your evidence and your traitors quite handily."
"That I did. Don't suppose there's any booze around here. I'd hate to die without a final drink to keep me warm."
Rummaging through the boxes in the storeroom, Kharag began pulling out various bottles and jugs. "Hmm, we have some shein that's about two years old, a bottle of sujamma. . . " Kharag paused to pull the stopper and sniff, grimacing noticably, "which has probably turned to acid. A few bottles of flin, a bottle of Cyrodiilic brandy, some mazte that's older than I am-"
"Waitaminute! Did you say flin? Real flin?"
Kharag proferred one of the short bottles to Averren. Looking over the bottle, Averren felt his heart racing and a smile bursting out on his face. "We may not be dead yet. How many bottles of this stuff are there!"
"Four," Kharag replied with a disconcerted look on his face. Averren began to bounce on the balls on his feet, his face becoming manic.
"This was bottled in 419, Third Era. Really well aged stuff! Gimme another bottle, then take the other two for yourself!"
"And what are we going to do with them?"
"Save ourselves. This is flin, the real stuff, not the cheap watered down swill you find in the tradehouses. The recipe and distilling process for flin are Imperial secrets, and distillers are sworn to secrecy on pain of death never to reveal those recipes or processes. Legionnaires out on campaign always carry a small flask, issued by the quartermaster right before they head out on patrol or just before battle. A swig of this stuff will keep a man going for a good while."
"And get him tipsy, no doubt," Kharag muttered.
"No, it won't! Real flin doesn't get you drunk! It fortifies the body in strength and stamina. And these two bottles are going to save our skins." Averren popped the cork out of one bottle and took a deep swig, shuddering as the whiskey suffused his body. "Oooooooohhhhhhhhh, yeah! That's the real stuff all right. Drink, Kharag! Drink both bottles down, and quickly!" He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank deeply, draining it in slow gulps. Kharag followed suit and felt the liquor flooding his belly, a fire growing in his gut as the flin spread out and began to take effect. He did feel stronger, more powerful than he'd ever felt before. Both of them finished their second bottles, a faint heat radiating off their bodies as their newly fortified muscles flexed and swelled with life.
"You ready for this?" Averren asked with a vicious smile.
"I'm ready. And for what it's worth, I hope you're wrong about this stuff, because I was quite ready to die today." Kharag returned the grin, friendly yet bloodthirsty all the same.
Averren planted a foot hard on the floor and delivered a brutal kick to the door. The crossbar splintered and fell away from the tremendous energy, the door itself seeming to explode outward right into the faces of the traitorous Legionnaires headed by Oritius Maro. Averren and Kharag rushed out, swords at the ready, bellowing war cries and looking for all the world like the very agents of fury and vengeance. Legionnaires shrieked as the flin-fueled muscles of the two warriors split the chain links of their enemies' armor like thread, flesh and bone not cut so much as torn through. When a sword grew too dull to serve, Averren or Kharag simply tore one out of a fallen man's hands and continued the assault. Within ten minutes, the building had been emptied, the broken bodies of the traitors scattered like hastily discarded clothing. Dropping their swords on the floor, Averren and Kharag stepped outside.
The entire garrison stood before them, swords and spears drawn, pointed directly at them, Darius right in front in full armor and looking ready to exact justice.
"What have you done?" he demanded, his voice full of fury.
Averren withdrew the note he had recovered from the shrine. "Served the Emperor, General"
It had been three days since the massacre in the secondary armory. Even now, both Averren and Kharag were stiff and sore. Flin granted tremendous strength for a short time, but the amount the two had drunk in one shot had taxed their bodies well beyond their normal limits, leaving both of them effectively paralyzed within a few hours, unable to move for a day and a half. Now, the pair stood in front of Darius once more, rigidly at attention in a way that would probably not be duplicated ever again.
"Gentlemen, I must commend you for diligence the last few weeks, and in the . . .efficiency with which you dispatched the Talos conspirators. The repairs to the door will not be taken out of your pay. You have served the Empire well, and you have saved the life of the Emperor. For this, you deserve more than I can reasonably give you."
"Thank you, Sir," the duo replied.
"However, I do intend to reward you. After considerable contemplation, I have decided to promote you both to the rank of Champion of The Legion. I would have gladly made you Knights Errant, but that would have been highly irregular. Some may question even this rank, but to my thinking, you've more than earned it. It is not every day that one Legionnaire, let alone two, have such a profound effect on the survival of the Empire."
"Thank you, Sir," the duo replied again.
"You will, of course, receive all the benefits commensurate with such a rank, and you will have all of the responsibilities of that rank. Do not disappoint me, gentlemen."
"No, Sir!"
"For now, however, I have also decided to place you on the inactive reserves for the next few months. You have more than earned the rest, and it would probably do you both a world of good to keep out of sight for a while, lest anybody get any ideas about picking a fight with the heroes of Gnisis.
"Dismissed, gentlemen."
Averren and Kharag turned and left Darius' office and stepped out into the midday sunshine. The two looked at each other uncomfortably, vaguely uncertain of what to say.
"Kharag," began Averren slowly, "what are we going to do?
"I can tell you one thing I'm not going to do. I'm not going to mention the existence of a Blade that's infiltrated the Legion. Your secret is safe with me, Averren."
"And yours is safe with me, Kharag," Averren nodded. "But . . .what happens if by some chance we find ourselves in opposition? I have no idea when our paths might cross again, and in what capacity."
"We'll deal with that certainty when it comes, Averren. Until then, we do as we have been doing since the day we met."
The two friends stood looking out over the river that ran along the southern edge of Gnisis for a long time, enjoying each other's company without saying a word until Kharag left to catch the silt strider to Ald'Ruhn. Once the silt strider was out of sight, Averren turned and walked to the Temple. For some reason, making the short trip to the Ruddy Man shrine had taken on a new significance, and Averren wished to be prepared for the challenge.
