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Chapter 8 - Champions: Molag Bal

Honmund had left the Silver-Blood Inn and was walking to the general store when he noticed someone standing in front of the old abandoned house, studying the door. Curious why anyone would bother with a place that had been abandoned as long as anyone in Markarth could remember, he approached the stranger and introduced himself.

"Tyranus, with the Vigil of Stendarr," the stranger replied. "Do you know anything about this house? Seen anyone enter or leave?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Damn. It's like everyone in this city has amnesia." The Vigilant sighed. "We believe this house might have been used for Daedra worship. Evil rites and so forth."

Honmund shrugged. "In Markarth? That wouldn't be too surprising. Any idea which one?"

Tyranus shook his head. "Not yet. I was actually just about to head on inside. Be good to have someone watch my back. Follow me, and keep your eyes open. Daedra are powerful creatures and tricksters. Never know what you'll find."

Honmund hadn't intended to volunteer for anything, but he'd never encountered a Daedra, and he was curious, so he followed the other inside.

Inside, Tyranus looked around, commenting on his observations "Fresh food. No wood rot on the furniture. Someone's been here. Recently. But the people I asked say no one enters or leaves ... "

A sudden sound made him frown. "Did you hear that?" Without waiting for a reply, he headed deeper into the house. "I think it came this way."

Then Honmund heard a muttered, "Something's going on here."

When they got into the next room, Tyranus was more decisive. "That's it. Something's inside the house. Come on, we're getting to the bottom of this." He ran down a set of stairs and approached a door that turned out to be locked, shouting, "Come out! We know you're here!"

Tyranus turned to Honmund. "See if you can get this door open."

Honmund wasn't a Thieves Guild member, but he did have some experience with lockpicks and always carried a couple, but he didn't get a chance to try. The moment he touched the door, furniture and loose objects started floating, and moving around. Honmund wasn't sure what to think, but then Tyranus panicked and ran back upstairs, yelling, "Stendarr's Mercy! This isn't an ordinary Daedra. We have to get help."

Then a deep, menacing voice came from mid-air, seeming to address both of them. "It's you or me!"

The next words seemed addressed only to Honmund. "Weak. He's weak. You're strong. Crush him."

Tyranus was at the front door, clearly frightened. He encouraged Honmund to leave. "You first. Come on. Let's go."

"What in Oblivion is going on here? What's that voice?"

Tyranus ignored the questions "We're getting out of here. Now."

Honmund shrugged. The voice didn't seem all that bad, and strange as the floating furniture and other things were, they hadn't actually done anything besides, well, float and move around a bit. Still, he tried the door. "It's locked."

The voice came again. "No. Kill him. Crush his bones. Tear at his flesh. You will kill. You will kill, or you will die!"

That sounded definite enough; Honmund drew his sword, and Tyranus his mace. It was a hard-fought battle, since Honmund had to keep his foe busy enough he couldn't cast spells, and he was exhausted by the time he managed to get his blade through the Vigilant's throat.

He'd barely caught his breath when the voice spoke again, sounding amused this time. "Yes. Your reward is waiting for you, mortal. Further down."

Before he did anything else, Honmund stripped the Vigilant's body. There wasn't much, his Daedric mace being the only thing of real value. Then he went to the inside door, and found it was now unlocked. Nothing bothered him as he followed the voice through a food storage area, then a tunnel leading to a chamber with an altar and a rusty mace.

A rusty mace didn't seem like much of a reward for what he'd been through during the fight, but he might be able to get a few gold for it. As soon as he started to reach for it, though, a set of spikes erupted from the ground, surrounding him, and the voice spoke again. "Fool! Did you think Molag Bal, the Lord of Domination, would so easily reward you? What do you see from that little cage? Speak."

Molag Bal, Honmund thought. He might not be the worst one, but he was no Meridia or Azura, either. Best to be extremely polite. "I see an altar, Lord."

"Yes. It's an altar. Men would come and sacrifice the wretched in my name. The weak would be punished by the strong. But a Daedric Lord has his enemies, and my rival Boethiah had her priest Logrolf the Wilful desecrate my altar. Until you came."

"And so you want me to take your revenge for you?" Frack. He was going to have to serve this Prince to get out of here, that was pretty obvious.

"Revenge? No. I want submission. I want the priest who did this to bend his knee and give me his soul. He comes by to perform Boethiah's insulting rites at my altar, but he's been missing. Captured and bound. Left to rot. Save him. Let him perform his rite one more time. And when he does, we will be waiting for him."

"Um. Where will I find this priest I'm supposed to rescue, Lord?" Honmund asked.

"Red Eagle Redoubt. The Forsworn camp."

"I know what it is, Lord, and I also know I can't fight a camp full of Forsworn by myself. Oblivion, I barely won that fight with the Vigilant! Bastard used magic, and the Forsworn have their Briarhearts."

"That is your problem, not mine. Deal with it. What use would you be to me if you can't think and fight in unfavorable conditions? And leave the Daedric mace here."

"Yes, Lord." Honmund did his best to conceal a shudder. That sounded entirely too much like this wasn't going to be a one-time thing if he succeeded, and that frightened him more than the prospect of going into a Foresworn camp alone. He might be better off if he failed ... but failure meant death, and if Bal was this interested in him, that would probably mean Coldharbour at death rather than Sovngarde. About all he could probably do was put that fate off as long as possible.

The spikes withdrew, and he was free. Or, he thought bitterly, as free as he'd ever be again.

"Go, mortal. You have a task to do."

"Yes, Lord." Honmund left the chamber, going back upstairs. There was food in the house, but he was far more interested in the ale and mead. He had a couple of bottles to settle his nerves, not noticing until then that the Vigilant's body had disappeared. Well, that was good, at least.

He sighed, plans beginning to form. He'd been accurate when he'd told Bal that he couldn't possibly face a camp full of Forsworn, and his sneaking ability wasn't all that great, which meant supplementing it with invisibility potions. Lots of them, not the one or two he could afford to actually buy.

He'd have to steal them, rather than buy them, then. Too bad he'd had to leave the Daedric mace behind; he could've sold it for the money to buy the potions he'd need. Plus it was a better weapon than his steel sword, so that was another reason for hating to leave it behind. Well, the Hag's Cure would have some invisibility and healing potions, and the ingredients for more. Okay, that would be his job for the night.

He wasn't actually an alchemist, but he had learned enough to be able to make both types of the potions he needed. When he left the Hag's Cure a couple of hours before dawn, he had an ample supply of both types, none honestly obtained, but Divines ... uh, Molag Bal ... willing, enough to find and free the Boethia priest.

He'd checked his map earlier, and it looked like Red Eagle's Redoubt was three or four hours' walk from Markarth, so he went to the inn, rented a room, and asked for a two PM wake-up. After a meal, that should get him to the redoubt about dusk. Since he was no Dragonborn, to go against bad odds in broad daylight, or even a mage, able to wield mighty spells, he needed to reduce the odds against him as much as possible.

No, he thought with some bitterness. He was nothing but a moderately-successful sellsword who made a reasonable living hunting bounties and doing occasional bodyguard jobs. He'd go in at an hour when any reasonable person would be sound asleep, using his invisibility potions and hoping there'd be enough light that he'd be able to avoid tripping over anything.

The trip was uneventful, for which he thanked the Divines. He found a good spot to observe from, and spent a couple of hours watching sentry routes and times, then waited. The Forsworn seemed pretty well settled down by midnight, but he gave it another hour or so before he made his move.

He moved as cautiously as he could, sword in his right hand, an invisibility potion in his left, ready to drink if he found himself in danger of discovery. It was nerve-wracking, but he'd only had to use five of his invisibility potions before he found his bound and gagged target. He chuckled inwardly at the gag. Forsworn weren't known for that particular restraint, so Logrolf must be pretty obnoxious.

He gestured the priest to silence, and got a nod, then said softly, "I'm a sellsword, Honmund by name. Molag Bal sent me to rescue you. Can you keep your voice down? I'd really rather not get both of us killed by waking all these Forsworn."

Logrolf sneered, but nodded, so Honmund removed the gag. "A sellsword? A servant of the King of Corruption? Have the beast's standards fallen so far?" Then he shrugged. "All right. Release me - I have work to do."

"Just a moment. I'm going to give you some invisibility potions as soon as you're free. I'd suggest using them if you want to get out of here alive."

Logrolf nodded impatiently, so Honmund cut him free and handed him half a dozen potions. "Be careful, and be quiet."

Logrolf scowled, but nodded again, and left. Honmund sighed, and began retracing his steps, making it out of the redoubt maybe an hour before dawn. He made his way back to his observation point, and waited for more light.

Back in Markarth, he took an inn room for a few hours, then when he woke and ate, headed back for the subterranean altar to Molag Bal. When he got there, he found Logrolf standing before the altar and speaking. "Molag Bal. You think you can best Boethiah's faithful? I have won this contest before!"

"Ah. But I have my own champion this time, Logrolf."

Logrolf turned to Honmund and growled.: "What? You!"

Honmund shrugged. "I told you he sent me."

Molag Bal spoke. "Mortal. I give you my mace, in all its rusted spitefulness. Crush the spirit from Logrolf's bones. Make him bend to me."

The rusty one, not the Daedric he'd been told to leave? That seemed ... inefficient, at best. And Honmund wasn't at all fond of torture, but something told him that if he didn't do as he was told, he'd follow Logrolf.

The priest knelt, and the spike fence came up again. Honmund hefted the rusty mace, and began using it, reluctantly. Not surprisingly, Logrolf resisted. As Honmund used the mace, Logrolf was defiant, which earned the selllsword's respect. "I won't bend. Never!"

The yells subsided to groans.

"Do your worst, monster!"

By that time, Logrolf could barely speak at all.

"I'll never submit!" When the priest gasped out his last words, Molag Bal laughed and jeered at him.

"You mortals and your frail, limp, pathetic bodies. Try it again."

He revived Logrolf, and Honmund was forced to keep beating him. Logrolf did his best to continue resistance, but eventually, even his iron will broke, and he subsided. "No more... No more... I submit, Molag Bal. I submit!"

"You bend to me?" Molag Bal demanded.

Logrolf bent his head. "Yes ..."

"You pledge your soul to me?"

There was a brief moment of hesitation. "Yes."

Molag Bal: "You forsake the weak and pitiful Boethiah?"

"Yes!"

"You're mine now, Logrolf." He turned his attention to Honmund. "Kill him, my champion."

Honmund obeyed, reluctantly even though it would end Logrolf's suffering ... well, in this world, at least.

After that was over, the Daedric mace floated toward him, and he took it. When he'd put it on the altar, it hadn't been enchanted; now he sensed several spells had been cast on it. Soul Trap and fire for two, but he wasn't sure of the rest.

"The New Mace of Molag Bal! I give you its true power, mortal. When your enemies lie broken and bloody before you, know that I will be watching. Now, I have a soul in Oblivion that needs claiming. Take care of the house while I'm gone. I'll have more tasks for you later." Then there was demonic laughter, and Honmund sensed Bal's presence fading.

Author's Note: Cyclone Sword and I are working on a side story (which will be in a new volume) involving Sorcalin being interviewed by an Imperial scholar about being a werewolf. If you have any questions about werewolves, feel free to PM one of us, and if we haven't already dealt with that question ourselves, we'll be happy to add it.