Chapter 23
Sancre Tor
The next morning, Britmonah led the rebels west along the highway, guiding them past a small, crystal blue lake at the foot of a lonely mountain. A faint, almost indiscernible path branched off from the main road, winding its way through the autumn trees. At first, Telepe feared that Britmonah had been mistaken about her shortcut, as it seemed the path was too narrow for the wagons to safely travel on. However, the canopy was just high enough to allow the wagon's covers to pass beneath the branches, and the tracks were barely wide enough for the wagons to slip between the trees without damaging their wheels.
Though the brilliant autumn scenery was pleasant, the journey was rather difficult. The fallen leaves littering the ground half-hid the trail, and at times even Britmonah had trouble finding the path. The leaves were also slick, and both the horses and the wagons had a tendency to slip. Fortunately, they suffered no major accidents, and they were blessed with dry weather, so although their travel was slow, they managed to proceed without injury.
Telepe was also initially concerned about the wildlife in the forest, but he soon found that he needn't have worried. With winter fast approaching, most animals were generally more preoccupied with preparing for the approaching cold than concerning themselves with the interlopers. Around midafternoon on the first day, he spotted a trio of goblins lurking behind a tree, clutching crude stone weapons, but they didn't dare attack the caravan, and on the second day he noticed a shaggy brown bear lumbering around outside its den, which shot them a warning look before ignoring them entirely.
After traveling under the trees for two days, they emerged on the other side of the forest to find themselves on a stony road winding through the foothills of the Jerall Mountains. Here, Telepe truly began to fear for their safety. While the forest path had been rough and narrow, the mountain road was outright treacherous. Jagged rocks lined the steep pass, and sharp shards of stone littered the road, jutting out from deep in the ground and impeding their progress.
To prevent the wagons from being damaged again, Edanu assigned eight warriors to scout the path ahead and clear the road of obstacles. Their progress was slowed even further as a result, though Britmonah encouraged them to move as swiftly as possible. She warned that while winter was still about a month away, the autumn chill was more than sufficient to leave a layer of ice and frost on the roads, especially in the mornings before the sun had the chance to rise over the peaks and melt it. The longer their journey took, the more treacherous the road was liable to become.
As they wound their way through the desolate foothills, morale began to plummet. One afternoon, Telepe noticed Tari hobbling along the road, and though she stubbornly insisted on continuing on foot, he finally forced her to stop and put on the heavy wool leggings and fur boots that had been included in their supplies.
"…I despise these," she murmured an hour later after stumbling over a rock and nearly falling flat on her face. "My feet feel half-numb. I can't feel the ground properly and I keep losing my footing."
"Well, if you wish for your legs to be completely numb, feel free to remove them," Telepe retorted drily. "They may not be comfortable, but you'll come to appreciate them. Especially once you experience your first snowfall."
"In truth, I don't mind the cold itself," Tari admitted. "It's not as though I've never experienced it. There were cool days in Ceya-Tar, and the caves beneath the city were quite frigid. I just dislike feeling so… weighted down by all this clothing. I don't feel as though I can move properly."
"Well… it's only going to grow colder," Telepe pointed out, his breath misting as he exhaled while gazing up at the peaks looming over them. "Is the weather going to be a problem for you?" he added, tilting his head at her.
Tari glanced up at him, then shook her head. "You needn't trouble yourself with me," she assured him. "I shall adapt."
As she shuffled past him, Telepe frowned to himself. Tari had become noticeably quieter and more withdrawn since they had left the villa. When he had mentioned it to her, she had admitted that she wasn't sleeping well, but insisted that he not dwell on it. He had stayed up the night after, and after listening for a couple hours, he had heard her muttering in her sleep, "not the children!"
It was obvious to him that she was still troubled by the consequences of her actions at the villa. While he was privately glad that she had since become more cautious, he did hope that she didn't overcorrect her behavior and become paralyzed with indecision instead. Aside from the fact that the Paravant wanted Tari to take initiative – especially when it came to learning magic – he found her bold nature to be one of her most endearing traits. He decided not to press her for now, however. Hopefully, in due time, she would find an equilibrium between overcaution and recklessness.
The rest of the caravan, meanwhile, continued to drill in lines of ten whenever they found time to stop during their journey. The men in charge of the lines – decani, as Edanu called them – slowly became more confident in their roles as leaders, and as time passed, started to take the initiative by personally overseeing the warriors under their command. In camp, it was they who delegated tasks to their men – collecting water and firewood, digging latrines, and so forth – rather than Edanu. They also began coordinating with each other before and during drill, and they gradually started making fewer mistakes when Edanu ordered them to perform complicated movements, as each decanus began to understand what the others were doing at any given time. Telepe noticed that the pleased nods Edanu silently gave his men during their drill sessions came more frequently.
The slaves that they had rescued also quickly proved quite useful. While Edanu still had his warriors see to basic chores, the newly-liberated humans were eager to help with tasks around the camp. It was they who oversaw the feeding of the horses, the cooking, and the pitching of tents, leaving the warriors more time to focus on training and guarding the caravan. While there were also fewer threats this far north, due to the sparser Ayleid patrols and the fact that most of the beasts were settling in for the winter, the additional help with camp chores was a welcome relief for the rest of the century.
Unfortunately, more men also meant that there were more mouths to feed, and to Telepe's dismay, their supplies began dwindling faster than he had expected. He had calculated how much rationing they would have to do to conserve their supplies, but they then experienced another setback when they found that three of the sacks of vegetables had somehow become covered in a stringy white fungus that Tari declared toxic, rendering them inedible.
Edanu had immediately ordered stricter rationing, and the men were forced to continue marching on half-empty stomachs. While no one complained, as nearly everyone was used to going without food for a while, Telepe began to worry about what would happen if their mission to Sancre Tor failed. While they had initially brought enough supplies for a return journey, their repeated setbacks meant that they had barely half of what they had started with, even with the additional supplies that Dynar had traded for in Sercen. If they could not take Sancre Tor, they might starve on the return trip to the Blackwood. Capturing the city was no longer a matter of strategic importance, but of survival.
Early on the morning of the fifth day, as the wagons skirted around the edge of a particularly steep mountain, those at the front of the caravan caught their first glimpse of a shining city in the distance. The unmistakably Ayleid-style marble walls gleamed with a slightly orange hue in the golden light of the sunrise, while deep shadows stretched from the mountains behind it. Dynar smiled faintly as he looked over at Telepe and announced, "Behold, my friend – Sancre Tor."
Telepe let out a long, slow sigh of relief as he leaned forward in the wagon to better examine the distant city. He quickly realized that it was unlike any city he had yet seen, as its architecture differed wildly from Ayleid orthodox. Though the general style of the walls was familiar, with smooth crenellations and elegantly arched gates, the walls seemed almost twice as thick as those of a typical Ayleid city-state. There were also tall, round turrets built at irregular intervals along the walls, quite unlike the standard practice of only positioning watchtowers at the corners of the walls. In fact, the city did not adhere at all to typical Ayleid symmetry. Most cities were carefully constructed in precise square or circular designs, but Sancre Tor could barely be called a loose oval. Telepe supposed that its unusual design was at least partially due to the irregular mountain terrain, but he quickly realized that there was another reason.
"This city was specifically designed to serve as a fortress," he remarked to Dynar. When the prince frowned at him, he explained, "Of course, every Ayleid kingdom has walls and guards, but this… this city was designed by someone expecting to be regularly attacked. I've noticed that other kingdoms, particularly in central Cyrod, have a preoccupation with presentation and ostentation, and even those in the Blackwood seem concerned with providing their citizens with the illusion of stability and security, regardless of the threat posed by other city-states. There are no such pretentions with that city."
Dynar regarded him with a raised eyebrow, shifting his grip on the reins in his hands. "You gleaned all of that from a brief glimpse of the city?" he remarked skeptically. "I was unaware that you are such an expert on architecture."
"I'm not," Telepe admitted, shaking his head. "Rather, I'm inferring that from what I already know of their king – Haromir of Copper and Tea."
"You know of him?" Dynar asked, surprised.
"I thought I had mentioned that?" Telepe frowned.
"Perhaps? I may have forgotten," Dynar admitted sheepishly.
"Hm. In any case, yes. I had the good fortune to meet him during the Sanguinalia celebration," Telepe continued. "He was quite talkative, actually. He was quite eager to forge an alliance with my kingdom, since he seemed to be having a difficult time garnering support from the other Ayleid city-states. According to him, most other kings see him as little more than an upstart merchant who had the audacity to purchase a title and declare himself their peer. Thus, they have little interest in treating with someone who, in their eyes, is still a commoner with more wealth than he deserves. He seems to believe that he has few friends and many enemies, and considering his wealth, I wouldn't be surprised if he's paranoid that the other kings covet his fortune and would gladly seize it, given the chance."
"Which is not unlikely," Dynar admitted drily.
"Indeed," Telepe agreed grimly. "So, that would explain why Sancre Tor seems more like a fortress than a proper city."
Tari, who had been inspecting herbs in the back of the wagon, took that moment to poke her head out into the cold and interject in the conversation. "Will we have much difficulty taking it, then?" she asked, her breath misting in the air.
Telepe and Dynar both nodded grimly. "Frankly, I don't see how we can take it with a mere century," Dynar admitted. "Were this a scouting expedition, I would return to the Paravant and inform her that if she wishes to claim this city, she must bring her entire army to besiege it. Though… even then, I doubt she would emerge victorious."
"Indeed. The logistics would be a nightmare," Telepe agreed. "Considering how remote this city is, any army that wished to storm Sancre Tor would require a truly massive supply train. To say nothing of attempting to besiege it in winter – our entire army would freeze before a month had passed."
"Perhaps it's lightly defended?" Tari suggested. "Thick walls mean little if there are too few men to defend them."
"Perhaps," Telepe conceded. "King Haromir did mention that he had few allies, and considering the climate and location, it's possible that he's had a difficult time convincing settlers to join his city."
"Let's move a bit closer, before we draw any conclusions," Dynar cautioned them. Telepe and Tari both nodded in agreement, with Tari disappearing back into the wagon shortly afterwards to resume her work.
The sounds of the horses' hooves clattering across the stony road echoed off the sheer faces of the cliffs as they rounded the mountain. Another city slowly crept into view off to their right, one that appeared much smaller, until Telepe realized that most of the city must have been built directly into the mountain. The only sections of the city that he could see were the front gates and a statue consisting of the upper half of an Ayleid warrior, holding a greatsword high above its head. Telepe climbed back into the wagon and rifled through their belongings for a moment, searching for the papyrus map of Cyrod.
"…That's Ninendava?" Telepe asked when he had finally located it, looking up at Dynar.
"Is it?" the prince asked, shuddering faintly. "I'd suggest we stay well away, then. I've heard horrific stories about its king. Even among the Ayleids, he's notorious for the experiments that he conducts."
"Perhaps this is a poor time to mention that I received an invitation from King Gorihaus as well?" Telepe grimaced sheepishly as he climbed back onto the bench beside the Ayleid prince.
Dynar gave him a nonplussed glance out of the corner of his eye, then shook his head. "I would recommend you decline it, then. Thankfully, he's also said to be quite reclusive, save for when he must attend Council meetings. Even then, he only attends to demand more support for his… 'research,' as he puts it. We have no business with him, and thus, no cause to disturb him."
"Agreed," Telepe said shortly. As he returned his gaze to the road, he felt a shiver course through his body, partially from the cold and partially from the memory of the Ayleid's eerie blue eyes leering at him. Avoiding Ninendava was the best course of action, he decided firmly.
It was around mid-morning when the wagons drew close enough for them to make out figures milling about on the distant walls of Sancre Tor. Telepe frowned deeply as he saw what looked like dozens of warriors patrolling the battlements, their fur cloaks billowing behind them in the chilling wind. He sighed as he settled back on the bench, folding his arms over his chest in thought.
"So much for the city being lightly defended," he muttered.
"I also would not be surprised if this is only a fraction of the warriors King Haromir possesses," Dynar added beside him, his icy blue eyes running along the walls of the city. "It would seem that a frontal assault is impossible."
"Then how do we approach this?" Telepe asked, just as Centurion Edanu quickened his pace to walk beside them upon overhearing their conversation. "Do we simply allow Whitestrake to assault the walls alone? I'm certain that he would relish the challenge, if nothing else," he added drily.
"I don't believe he would cooperate," Dynar murmured, leaning forward and squinting against the glare of the pale sun.
"Well… no, though I doubt he would cooperate with any suggestion I put forth," Telepe muttered.
"That's not what I mean," Dynar replied, waving him off before pointing. "Look closer at the warriors manning the walls."
Telepe blinked, then squinted as he edged forward on the bench to peer more intently at the walls. He could only faintly make them out from this distance, but as he stared at them, he realized that they had fair, pale skin, rather than the dusky bronze tone of the Ayleids. Their hair generally tended towards lighter shades of blond, red, and light brown, and they wore heavier fur armor, unlike anything that Telepe had yet seen the Ayleids wear.
"Are those… humans?" Telepe asked slowly, almost in disbelief.
"Nords, I believe," Dynar replied as he sat back in his seat. "Considering how far north we are, it would not be difficult for our friend to hire Nordic mercenaries to defend his holdings."
"They would agree to work for an Ayleid?" Telepe asked skeptically.
"So long as they receive regular payment, yes. I have heard that a few of the northern Ayleid kingdoms occasionally employ them, though typically only for short spans, or even a single battle," Dynar explained. "I have never heard of a mercenary force acting as a garrison. Either they are paid quite generously, or they are unusually loyal to this king."
Telepe settled back in his seat again as well, folding his arms across his chest. "I suppose that if he has poor relations with the other Ayleids, it stands to reason that he would be willing to negotiate with humans instead. That would explain why he was also eager to open trade routes with foreign powers." Then his eyes slowly lit up. "Which means…!" He turned to Edanu, a cunning smile starting to spread across his face. "Before we consider assaulting this fortress, would you permit me to treat with King Haromir first?"
Edanu considered him with a slight frown, lowering his head slightly. "To what end?" he asked slowly.
"I would like your permission to attempt to convince King Haromir to ally with the rebellion," Telepe explained.
Edanu stared at Telepe silently, though not in disapproval – rather, he was silently mulling over the request. "What do you intend to ask him?" he asked finally. By this point, Pelinal – who had evidently overheard his name mentioned earlier – had sidled up next to the wagon as well to listen in on the conversation.
"The Paravant wishes for us to secure Sancre Tor for the rebellion, yes? Perhaps there's no need for a regime change if King Haromir is amenable to working with us," Telepe explained, lacing his gloved fingers in front of him and leaning forward. "In truth, he would make a valuable ally. Obviously, he is an extremely skilled merchant. Economics is an area that has thus far been delegated to former advisors, none of whom have worked on the scale that King Haromir is familiar with. We could certainly use his economic expertise. Furthermore, if we are able to persuade him to join us, regardless of his popularity among his peers, it would once again show that the rebellion is open to diplomacy and negotiation, which may sway other city-states to our cause."
Pelinal let out a disgusted scoff, while Edanu rested the edge of his index finger on his chin. "The Paravant seemed to indicate that she would prefer Sancre Tor to be under our control," he pointed out slowly.
"Her vision indicated that salvation would be found at Sancre Tor. She did not explicitly state that she expects a human to sit on its throne," Telepe countered. "What's more… do you believe that we could take that fortress with a mere hundred men? Consider the forces he has on the walls alone," he added, pointing towards the distant figures patrolling the battlements. "On guard right now, he must have fifty men alone, to say nothing of those that are likely within the city. Then if you consider the defenses, the effort it would take to besiege the city, our dwindling supplies…."
"And suppose that you fail to convince him?" Pelinal barked, folding his arms over his chest. "Nevermind that I consider merely allying with this king to be tantamount to failure in the first place. If you cannot persuade him to join our rebellion, what then? Do you expect us to retreat, to return to the Paravant with nothing to show for our failure save for empty words and apologies?"
Telepe narrowed his eyes at Pelinal, but when he noticed Edanu gazing at him quietly, also clearly expecting a response, he let out a soft sigh. "Should I fail to convince him, then we must still take the city," he conceded. "Therefore, I shall defer to the warriors in that case. However you feel we should assault the city is your decision, centurion. Nevertheless, I would ask that you allow me to at least attempt diplomacy before we engage them in battle. If nothing else, should I be allowed within Sancre Tor to negotiate, I can at least provide you with valuable information about the city, and perhaps you may find a weakness in its defenses that you might exploit."
Edanu and Pelinal traded looks, both remaining silent for a moment. Finally, Pelinal spat on the ground and stalked off, which Telepe struggled not to smile at. "Very well," Edanu agreed, turning back to Telepe. "In the meantime, we shall make camp here and await your return. Do be careful," he added, lowering his head, a warning look in his eyes. "Do not allow the fact that you have a prior relationship with this king to cloud your judgment. Remember whom you are speaking for, and what she shall desire."
"Rest assured, I shall," Telepe replied with a nod of his head as he climbed out of the wagon. Nevertheless, he felt his stomach clench as he walked over to Emero and began unhitching him from the wagon. He wanted Haromir as an ally, not only to avoid bloodshed, but because he felt the Ayleid's skills would be invaluable. And, he admitted privately, he personally liked the mer. There was no reason their meeting had to end in violence… was there?
Telepe rode in silence down the winding trail for a half an hour, shivering occasionally as the harsh wind blew flakes of snow over his lean body. He clutched his cloak tightly around him, wondering bitterly if the others back at the caravan had started a fire and were enjoying some relative warmth while he was forced to endure the biting cold. Though it had warmed slightly as dawn gave way to morning, he was still trembling violently on Emero, who seemed blithely unaware of the low temperature. At least the horse was able to stay warm by moving, Telepe thought acidly, scowling down at his mount, who seemed unaware of the poisonous looks his rider was throwing at him.
The guards on the walls were aware of Telepe's approach long before he reached the gates, and by the time he was in the city's shadow, many had gathered on the ramparts to watch him. Considering the remote location, Telepe presumed that his arrival was the most excitement they'd had in days.
He slowly raised his head, shielding his eyes from the sunlight overhead, and as he squinted, he could see rugged, windburned faces peering down at him. Men and women alike wore their hair in tightly woven braids, with some of the men also tying their beards. Their hair color tended towards lighter shades, with blond, red, and light brown seeming the most common, though a few did sport raven-black hair. Nearly all of the men were at least as tall as he, though their bodies were far heavier, with arms that seemed thicker around than his neck. Most wore heavy furs, though he spotted bronze scale under some of their thick cloaks. Some rested bronze-tipped spears on their shoulders, while others wore curved axes and round maces on their hips, and most carried wooden shields with bronze rims, painted with intricate, coiled designs unlike anything seen in the south.
When he came within about fifty yards of the gates, one of the men on the walls held his hand up, ordering him to stop where he was. Telepe complied without complaint, bringing Emero to a halt well before the gates. The man appraised him, then called out in a harsh, grating strain of High Elvish, "Who goes there?"
Telepe was briefly startled by the man's use of the common elven tongue. He had kept his hood over his head – partially to ward off the cold, but also to hide his pointed ears, as he feared the Nords might attack him on sight if they realized he had elven blood. Thus, he feared that perhaps the man was aware of his lineage regardless of the precaution he had taken. However, he quickly surmised that since they were in a mostly elven land, the man had likely been told to expect emissaries to only speak Elven, and to address them in kind.
Despite this, Telepe met the man's gaze and responded in Nordic, "I am a messenger, sent to speak with King Haromir of Sancre Tor. I humbly request entrance into the city to seek an audience."
The Nords paused, some trading mildly impressed looks, though Telepe noticed a few sneering and scoffing to each other, much to his chagrin. Though he spoke fluent Nordic, he had learned the language from elven tutors, and as a result, he spoke it with a flowing, melodious accent that sounded odd to native speakers used to more gravelly, guttural tones. Nevertheless, the man he was addressing at least seemed pleased that he had chosen to speak with them in their native tongue.
"Regretfully, I cannot permit you into the city," the man called back down, also switching to Nordic. "If you wish to deliver your message, do so from there."
"Would you be so kind as to inform King Haromir that Atkynd of the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae requests an audience, then? I received a personal invitation from him some months ago, and I wish to answer his summons," Telepe replied.
The Nords traded skeptical looks, and he thought he overheard one of the women mutter, "Just shoot him." However, the apparent captain of the guard sighed and nodded down to Telepe.
"I shall send one of my men to inform him. Wait there," the captain shouted.
Telepe inclined his head and shifted his hips on Emero's back, trying to find a more comfortable position. However, with nothing to do in the meantime, the seconds dragged by, and he grew increasingly miserable as the wind washed over him again and again, much to the amusement of the Nords, who chortled each time they saw him shudder against the cold. Eventually, the captain turned to speak with someone behind him, and then he nodded.
"It seems you are expected," the captain announced, sounding surprised. "We're opening the gates. You shall be escorted directly to the palace, and we must ask you to surrender any weapons you're carrying."
"As though I could fight an entire army alone," Telepe muttered under his breath. A few moments later, the heavy bronze gates slowly swung open, and he immediately nudged Emero forward through the open portal into the city.
While he had noticed from a distance that Sancre Tor was unlike any other Ayleid kingdom, he only realized how different it was when he was finally inside the city walls. The buildings had a distinctive Ayleid flavor to them, particularly at the base, where they were primarily built of white limestone. However, the upper half of the buildings were made of heavy, dark wood, with heavy shingles and slanted roofs, quite unlike the rectangular, marble buildings he had grown accustomed to. Marble alone would be unbearably cold in the northern climate, Telepe reasoned, especially in the winter, so he assumed that the designers of the city had borrowed from Nordic designs to cope with the cold, much as his own homeland had. Still, despite the northern influences, there were distinctly Ayleid flairs to even the wooden sections of the buildings – the roofs were held up by thick, cylindrical pillars, though made of wood rather than marble, and every door and window was a graceful archway. There were also Ayleid symbols and artwork adorning the faces of many of the buildings, which resulted in an unusual – but not unpleasant – hybridization of human and elven designs.
The Nordic captain met Telepe at the bottom of the ramparts, flanked by a half dozen warriors, all of whom eyed him curiously, though thankfully without hostility. Telepe handed over his sword, and then the captain motioned for Telepe to follow him. He led the way down a wide cobblestone street, which wound through frost-covered grass and barren patches of brown earth, where vegetation refused to grow.
Emero's hooves echoed off the stones as they walked in silence, as Telepe endured the curious glances from the inhabitants of the city. Sancre Tor seemed rather sparsely populated, despite the numerous buildings that had been erected within the city walls. To his dismay, he noticed that many of the Ayleids milling about in heavy furs were accompanied by humans dressed in tattered wool clothing, wearing bronze and brass chains around their wrists, ankles, and necks. Most of the human slaves seemed to be Nedic, he noticed, while the Nords in the city appeared to walk free, though the Ayleids pointedly ignored the mercenaries, and vice versa. Telepe took note of the racial tension, musing about whether he could use it as a point of negotiation later.
The journey through the city was rather short, underlining how small Sancre Tor was, especially compared to some of the cities Telepe had toured in central Cyrod. It took the Nordic captain less than ten minutes to lead Telepe directly to the central palace, which loomed above the rest of the city on a raised plateau. Like the other buildings, the palace was an atypical blend of wood and stone, with heavy stone pillars supporting a slanted, wooden roof with dark shingles. The main, rectangular building was constructed of stone, with a wooden façade reinforcing and insulating what would have likely been an otherwise cold and drafty building.
A tall figure stood at the top of the stairs leading up to the palace, accompanied by a pair of Ayleid guards in bronze armor and fur capes, each carrying heavy bronze spears. When the figure's blue, almond-shaped eyes fell on Telepe, a broad smile spread across his lips, and he began descending the limestone stairs quickly as Telepe dismounted Emero.
Haromir beamed at Telepe as he stepped off the final stair and swept towards him. The first thing Telepe noticed as he drew near was the king's choice of clothing. Almost like a reflection of his city, he sported a combination of Ayleid and Nordic styles. While he wore the chiton typical of Cyrod, it was made of heavy wool, rather than breezier linen. He was also clad in thick white leggings and ankle-length, fur-trimmed boots, as well as a long robe trimmed with white ermine fur.
Haromir put his hands on Telepe's shoulders as he approached, letting out a fond chuckle. "Welcome, my young friend! I had not expected to see you again so soon!" he exclaimed. "I had thought you would be well on your way back to Malabal by now! I did not expect us to meet again until the spring, at least!"
"I had intended to return by now, Your Majesty," Telepe admitted as Haromir released him and stuffed his hands inside the wide sleeves of his robes. "However, much has happened since we last met, which has significantly delayed my journey."
"Indeed?" Haromir asked. "It sounds as though you have quite the tale to share. But this is not the place for it. Come! Let's find a warmer room where we can speak properly."
"You have my gratitude, Your Majesty," Telepe bowed. Haromir chuckled, waving him off.
"Please, there's no need for formalities with me, Atkynd," Haromir replied. "I would rather we speak as friends. Address me as Haromir."
"As… you say," Telepe acknowledged hesitantly.
Haromir grinned as he led Telepe up the steps and into the throne room. The interior of his palace was, much like Sancre Tor itself, a strange blend of Ayleid architecture and Nordic modifications, likely to reduce the bite of the mountain cold. As with most palaces that he had seen, the ceiling was held aloft by thick, white marble columns, spaced evenly in parallel lines running the length of the room. While the walls were also constructed of marble, large wooden panels had been affixed to them, leaving six-inch strips of white above and below the deep brown sections of wood. He also noticed a series of thin copper pipes running across the edge of the ceiling, though he wasn't sure if they were for decoration, or some other purpose. Rich, colorful tapestries decorated the walls between sconces containing the glowing Welkynd stones that illuminated the room. The floor, likewise, was covered in heavy brown wood, with a thick woolen carpet extending across much of the room. Above them, three chandeliers forged of heavy black metal held an assortment of brilliant white stones, which provided even more light.
Haromir chuckled at Telepe's awestruck expression. "I assume you approve of my design choices?" he asked idly.
"This is truly remarkable," Telepe admitted. "In truth, I far prefer it to the cities of the south. It's more… welcoming than the other kingdoms I've visited." He smiled honestly and added, "This is comfortably warm as well. I had feared that we would be forced to endure the cold."
"You may give your praise to my chief architect for certain innovations unavailable anywhere else in Cyrod," Haromir explained as a slave boy approached Telepe to take his cloak. Telepe smiled faintly at the child, though the boy didn't meet his eyes as he shuffled off. "For instance, do you see those pipes near the ceiling? There is a natural hot spring running beneath this mountain. Not only did he tap into that source to construct some very comfortable baths, he also worked with my smith to divert the hot water to flow through those pipes and provide additional heat throughout the palace."
Telepe's eyes widened. "How… can he control water like that?" he asked slowly. "Is he a mage, perhaps?"
"That's the most ingenious part. It is not magic. It's smithing," Haromir explained, his grin broadening. "He claims that he learned from the Dwemer in Skyrim, and he gleaned a few of their secrets. I could introduce you to him later if you're interested."
"I would be delighted," Telepe agreed, finding himself grinning back.
"Very good! But let's see to business first," Haromir said, motioning for Telepe to follow him.
Haromir led the way past the throne room into what seemed to be a private study, which immediately fascinated Telepe. A thick desk with a low-backed chair was set up against the wall next to the door, while the left and right walls were dominated by shelves laden with scrolls. A low fire sizzled and popped in a hearth against the opposite wall from the door, while a circular rug with an ornate, vine-like pattern was laid out in the center of the room, well away from the flames.
As they entered the room, Haromir motioned for Telepe to take the chair, while he perched on the edge of the desk. Moments later, a young slave girl appeared in the doorway, carrying a silver tray laden with a small pitcher of wine and two silver goblets. Haromir took the tray from her with a nod, then laid it on the desk and poured them each a half goblet of wine. Telepe held the wine up in the light, noticing that it had an unusual bluish tint that made it appear almost violet, especially compared the darker reds he was used to. As he brought it to his lips, his eyes widened. The wine was sweet, but not cloying, and it had a richness and depth unlike any he had ever tasted. It seemed as decadent as honey, yet he couldn't taste any hint of flavoring or spices that might have augmented its taste. The only flavor he could discern was grapes, albeit the most delicious grapes he had ever sampled.
"What… is this?" Telepe half-gasped.
Haromir grinned again, evidently pleased with his stunned reaction. "That, my friend, is wine made from Jazbay grapes, a fruit which only grows in a small region in Skyrim. They're very difficult to grow, and it cost me a small fortune to get my hands on even one amphora, yet the flavor is certainly worth it. The cold of the tundra concentrates the sugars in the grapes, sealing and enhancing the flavor throughout the winter. Only a very small amount of juice is produced as a result, but the finished product is of unparalleled quality."
"You don't say!" Telepe agreed breathlessly. He suddenly felt almost embarrassed, and he set down his goblet. "You needn't have gone through this much trouble for me, Your Maj- King Haromir. I feel as though I'm taking advantage of your hospitality."
"Nonsense," Haromir waved him off. "I rarely get the chance to entertain guests, so I'm rather enjoying the opportunity. Now then," he added, his smile fading as a more calculating look dawned on his angular face. "I would like to discuss our trading contract between Sancre Tor and the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae. Have you received word back from your king yet?"
"Unfortunately, I've not yet had the opportunity to inform him of your assent," Telepe admitted. Haromir's eyes flashed with displeasure, and he quickly added, "Would you allow me to inform you of my activities since we last met?"
"That would be best," Haromir agreed, not bothering to conceal his disapproval.
Telepe winced, and for the next fifteen minutes, he recounted his travels since they had parted ways in Fanacasecul. He was careful to keep his account as unbiased as possible, refusing to express sympathy for either the rebellion or the Ayleid leadership, though he made no attempt to hide the fact that he had been traveling with the rebellion for a few months. Haromir, meanwhile, listened silently to Telepe's tale. When he finished, the mer's face was inscrutable.
"You have spent a great deal of time in the service of this… Paravant," Haromir said finally, after letting the silence between them linger for several long moments. "Do you speak on her behalf now?"
"I speak on behalf of the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae," Telepe answered firmly. "While I've agreed to teach them diplomacy, my loyalties lie with my homeland. My association with the rebellion has been an alliance of convenience, a means to avoid almost certain death while traveling through an overtly hostile realm."
"Well… I can't say I don't sympathize," Haromir admitted, taking a slow sip of his wine. "My kin have been… less than welcoming towards me as well. I can only imagine how poorly they have treated you, considering you're only half-elven."
Telepe ignored the twinge in his chest as he stared into his own goblet, listening to the crackling of the fire to his left. "It has been a trial, to be sure." He then looked up, trying to keep a sly look from dawning on his face. "Have you been able to improve your relationships with the other nearby kingdoms, especially in the wake of the rebellion?"
Haromir grimaced, but shook his head as he looked up once more. "I have not. Not for lack of trying, mind you," he admitted. "I had hoped that this rebellion might be a good opportunity for me to forge stronger alliances with my peers, yet they still see me as an upstart commoner. I have even heard whispers that some are accusing me of siding with the rebels."
"On what basis?" Telepe asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
"Partially the fact that I've chosen to rely upon Nordic mercenaries for protection, for one," Haromir explained. "Eight hundred trained warriors, paid in solid gold to guard Sancre Tor. And thus far, they've remained steadfastly loyal," he added with a faint, pleased smile. "The rest, however, is slander. Some even say that I facilitated the rebel leader's escape, as it was my plantation they fled from. A few even go so far as to say I provided her the arms she needed to begin her rebellion! Which is nonsense! I truly don't understand why they choose to isolate me, especially when Umaril Many-Feathers is calling for greater solidarity among the Ayleids. I would be happy to ally myself with them, were they willing to accept me."
A heavy silence lingered between them for a few moments, broken only by the sounds of them sipping their drinks. Telepe spent a few long moments choosing his words carefully, and then he broached, "What about the possibility of allying with the slave rebellion instead?"
Haromir gazed at him over the rim of his goblet, his blue eyes turning calculating, though an amused smile was dancing on his lips as he lowered his cup. "Are you advocating for them?" he asked, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.
"I am speaking of a hypothetical situation," Telepe replied coolly. "As I said, my loyalties lie with the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae, not with the rebellion. However, as a representative of my kingdom, I have considered the ramifications of concluding trade deals with both the Ayleid kingdoms and the human slaves. It's wise to have contingency plans should either side prevail, after all."
"Hm. Very well, then let's speak hypothetically," Haromir said, clasping his goblet with both hands. "Why would I wish to aid the rebellion? For one, Sancre Tor is situated on the opposite end of the realm from the Blackwood, so I would not enjoy any immediate benefit from allying with the rebellion."
"True," Telepe conceded. "And you could indeed bring the wrath of the other kingdoms down upon you… were it not for the fact that the attention of your foes is currently directed towards the Niben River."
"Ah, then I may enjoy a brief respite until they crush the rebellion and turn their armies upon me fully," Haromir chuckled drily.
Telepe inwardly winced. He had to admit, Haromir had a point – as they were on opposite sides of Cyrod, neither he nor the rebellion could offer each other much support. "Nevertheless, the rebellion is currently enjoying a great deal of momentum," he pointed out. "They've won a string of stunning victories against much larger forces. Who's to say that momentum won't soon push them northwards?"
"Perhaps, though they've not yet faced the full might of the Ayleid empire," Haromir countered easily. "Shall that momentum continue when they must stand against thousands of warriors?"
"You might be surprised," Telepe murmured, then shook his head. "Very well, what about tacit support, then? Rather than openly declaring for the rebellion, what about a trade deal between yourself and the rebels?"
"…Intriguing," Haromir admitted slowly. "And far less dangerous than being asked to provide military aid. What would I gain from this?"
"For one, you would be securing a contract with the side that currently controls the flow of traffic into and out of the Niben River," Telepe answered calmly. "Every good that is imported into Cyrod by sea must first flow through the waters controlled by the rebellion. As an ally to them, you would essentially have access to the open market of Tamriel."
"Which must then reach me by caravan," Haromir countered cautiously. "And if the Ayleids allied with the White-Gold City make a point of inspecting wagons…."
"Then they would see that caravans are headed north, and they may confiscate the goods, perhaps resulting in a net loss for you. But that's hardly any different than the possibility of bandits ambushing your wagons now, or one of your ships sinking at sea," Telepe replied. "There is always the risk of loss when transporting goods, and while it may be a bit higher in the short term, the rewards are unparalleled."
"Possibly," Haromir shrugged. "And what would I be asked to provide in return?"
"As a trading partner? Low-value items, mostly, I'd imagine," Telepe said. "The rebellion seems to be most in need of food, arms, and raw materials. And skilled labor, if you could spare it," he added as an afterthought. He then leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin. "Which means you could trade a comparative pittance for the most coveted luxuries in Tamriel. Think of it – you could make a fortune trading common items like food and metalwork for rarities such as spices, dyes, and artwork. I can hardly think of a more beneficial arrangement."
Haromir nodded slowly, tapping his index finger against the edge of his goblet as he considered the proposal. "This does sound like an excellent opportunity," he admitted slowly. "High risk, to be certain, but the prospect of having access to an open market that's been denied to me for so long is appealing… provided the rebellion can retain control of the Niben," he added.
"They've been able to thus far. And while I concede that the united army under Umaril may pose a threat, the rebellion has proven surprisingly resilient," Telepe pointed out.
"However, there is one aspect of this alliance that concerns me," Haromir continued, briefly raising his goblet to his lips again before continuing. "I hear tell that the aim of the rebellion is to abolish slavery, yes?"
Telepe felt a jolt run down his spine. He had braced himself for this question, but he still had yet to find a way to make the prospect appealing to the slaveowners. "It is…." he confirmed slowly.
"An idealistic goal, and a noble one," Haromir commented, turning the goblet around in his hands. "However, I must also point out that I would not be able to maintain my profits if I freed my slaves. Even if they continued to work for me, I presume that they would demand payment for their services. I highly doubt that freeing them would improve the quality of their work to the point where it would offset my losses. I fear that not being able to rely upon slave labor would ruin me."
"Well… abolishing slavery has more to do with ensuring equal protection of the freed slaves under the law…." Telepe hedged slowly.
"I hardly treat my slaves unfairly," Haromir retorted. "While I do discipline them when necessary, I'm not predisposed towards torturing them, the way some of my more sadistic kin are. Thus, why should I be forced to atone for their crimes?"
Telepe bit his tongue, trying to suppress a flare of irritation at Haromir's callous remark. He highly doubted that Haromir was as magnanimous as he claimed. While he conceded that Haromir did not seem the sort to commission a gut-garden, the Paravant had first begun her rebellion in Sancre Tor. If he was as gentle as he claimed, Perrif would not have felt the need to rebel in the first place. Telepe was also disinclined to provide special accommodation to Haromir for the basic decency of not treating his slaves like toys for his own amusement.
Of course, Telepe didn't voice any of his thoughts, and Haromir didn't seem to notice his annoyance as he continued. "I think we must also consider the broader ramifications of freeing slaves en masse. What would it do to the economy of Cyrod? For one, I imagine that inflation of basic goods would run rampant. And what of those that cannot support themselves? If every slave was required to feed themselves, especially those that do not have the skills necessary to ply a trade, would that not lead to widespread famine? Is that not a greater cruelty?"
"I doubt that would happen," Telepe countered, settling back against his desk. "Other societies have managed to thrive without the use of slavery. My own, for instance."
"A fair point," Haromir conceded. "Though from what I understand, many of the Nedes in your kingdom occupy a lower position than their elven – and even half-elven – counterparts, do they not? Are they not slaves in all but name themselves?" Telepe struggled not to glare. Haromir paused, then added, "What of us Ayleids? Will the social hierarchy of Cyrod also remain the same?"
"By and large, it has thus far," Telepe countered. "In the south, the Ayleid nobles that allied with the rebellion retained their thrones. In fact, one Ayleid king ascended the throne even after his closest relatives were deposed for their cruelty, which shows that the rebels are willing to overlook family history in favor of personal merit."
"Well… then it's good to know that the rebellion does attempt to safeguard the rights of those that aid them," Haromir remarked. "Then would they be willing to protect other rights for their allies? For instance, could those of us that are providing monetary aid be granted a reprieve from freeing their slaves? As I've stated, I believe I have a strong case – I don't mistreat my slaves, and the greater my profit margin remains, the more aid I can provide the rebellion."
Telepe looked away uncomfortably. "Ah… perhaps I might speak with the Paravant on your behalf-"
"Atkynd," Haromir interrupted, his tone soft, but firm. "Respond honestly, please. Would I be required to free my slaves?"
Telepe hesitated, withering under Haromir's steady gaze. Finally, he let out a slow sigh. "It… would be a point of contention," he finally admitted in a low voice. "I believe that in order to secure an alliance, you would be asked to free your slaves, yes. In return, however-!" he tried to add quickly, but Haromir raised a hand, cutting him off.
"No matter what consolations you might try to offer, I must rely upon slave labor to keep my trade routes operational," Haromir said, a note of honest regret in his voice. "I do not relish it. Were I a Dwemer, for instance, I would happily rely upon automatons instead. Sadly, I must make do with what I have, and this is a point that is, unfortunately, non-negotiable for me. I am afraid to say that unless concessions are made, I cannot fully cooperate with the rebellion. However, if they still wish to trade with me as a neutral party, I may be amenable to that."
"What about offering them sanctuary at Sancre Tor, should they require it?" Telepe suggested weakly.
"And invite the wrath of the other Ayleid kings for collaborating with traitors? I'm afraid I cannot consent to that," Haromir replied shortly.
Telepe's stomach sank as he stared into the dregs in his empty goblet. He had sincerely hoped that Haromir might at least be willing to cooperate with them enough to offer the rebellion free use of his city – perhaps that would have been enough to mollify Perrif, and to provide them with a foothold for the northern campaign. Now, it seemed, he would have to find some other way to secure the city, he mused bitterly.
Haromir must have noticed his downcast expression, as he reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "While I cannot support this rebellion, you are free to come and go as you please, my friend," he said, smiling warmly. "And… I do hope that this rejection of your proposal does not mean that I shall not be able to secure a trading contract with your king…."
"Not at all," Telepe replied, taking a deep breath before straightening his back once more. "As I said, I am here to negotiate on behalf of my kingdom, not the rebellion. What's more, I had already promised you that I would provide you with a contract with the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae, and I honor my word. If you have a falcon coop, I can write him a letter detailing the terms of the contract whenever you wish."
Haromir's face broke into a broad smile. "I appreciate your sense of honor," he said, squeezing Telepe's shoulder before pushing himself up. "But there's no hurry. And I think we've spoken enough of trade and the war. For now, would you like a proper tour of Sancre Tor?"
"I would, actually," Telepe replied, draining the last of his wine and pushing himself up. If nothing else, he supposed that he could begin inspecting the city for weaknesses that the rebels could exploit, if they chose to storm it. "Come to think of it, has your family joined you here?"
"Unfortunately, my family has little interest in my… endeavors," Haromir admitted sadly as the two made their way out of his study and began strolling down a long corridor, passing a pair of slave boys carrying heavy wool blankets. "They disapprove of my focus upon trade and commerce over battle, and like many of my peers, do not believe that I have truly earned my crown."
"That's a pity," Telepe commiserated. "This kingdom is a marvel, and one well worth their recognition." A thought suddenly struck him, and he added, "In that case, who will inherit this city?"
Haromir let out a short, mirthless laugh. "That's a problem I have yet to solve. I've been trying to secure a marriage with noblewomen from several cities, but as the other kings see only my common blood, they refuse to allow their daughters to 'taint' their bloodline by joining me in a union. If this continues for too much longer, I may have to consider taking a commoner as a wife, regardless of the lack of political gain. Thus, to answer your question, I am currently without an heir, and in truth, I don't know who would legally inherit my realm. I suppose whoever could lay claim to it."
Telepe chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, his mind racing, though he managed to keep his expression calm. "Well, perhaps you could bequeath it to me?" he suggested in a joking tone. "I certainly wouldn't mind ruling my own kingdom."
Haromir burst out laughing as Telepe grinned beside him. "Perhaps I may!" the Ayleid king crowed. "At least I'd know it's in the hands of a worthy successor!"
"You flatter me," Telepe chuckled, inclining his head modestly. "Rest assured, however, I have no designs on your throne. It seems as though it'd be far too much pressure."
"At times, yes. But when one considers a legacy to leave behind, I can think of none greater," Haromir replied. "And I decided at a young age that if I could not inherit or marry into a throne, the next thing to do would be to build a kingdom that would be the envy of the world."
"Well, what you've built is truly impressive," Telepe answered. "You mentioned that you had hired a master architect to aid you?"
"And a master smith as well," Haromir nodded. "Would you like to meet them?"
"I would," Telepe replied.
Haromir motioned with one hand for Telepe to follow him, then led the way down a side corridor and down a flight of steps leading deeper into the palace. "As you may have noticed, Sancre Tor is unique among Ayleid cities, as it blends Ayleid and Nordic influences," he explained as they descended. "While I wished to maintain the Ayleid aesthetic as much as possible, our architecture favors warmer climates. Marble is the preferred building material, and while it is abundant in this region, it does not retain heat well. If I insisted upon constructing my buildings entirely from marble, my citizens would surely freeze.
"To address this, I was left with two options. First, I could take inspiration from Ninendava and build the majority of my kingdom in a mountain, which reduces the amount of the city exposed to the open air, making heating through magical means far easier. The other option, which I decided upon, was to borrow Nordic construction techniques, though my pride did not allow me to fully deviate from Ayleid designs – I find them too aesthetically pleasing. Thus, I decided to hire experts familiar with both styles."
As they finished descending the stairs, they entered an underground smithy. A vast forge dominated much of the room, with a large chimney extending from the center up into the ceiling, which undoubtedly carried the smoke to the surface. Various bronze tools were scattered around the room, and plans drawn on clay tablets and papyrus sheets littered heavy wooden desks. Standing next to the forge were two figures engaged in a heated shouting match.
The first was a lithe Ayleid woman with shoulder-length blond hair and fierce eyes. She wore a heavy but tight leather dress, with sleeves firmly cinched around her wrists and the skirt tied almost skintight bout her waist. She was lithe, but her skin was weathered, and what little Telepe could see of her body indicated that there were corded, wiry muscles running under her dark bronze skin, suggesting an understated strength.
The other figure was a ruddy-faced Nordic man that seemed to be an inch or two taller than Telepe, which was uncommon, given how tall he was. Unlike the Ayleid woman, his strength was obvious – as he wore a sleeveless leather tunic, his thick arms were on full display, with heavy muscles rippling under a healthy layer of fat. His head was shaved, but he had a thick, dark brown beard covering the lower half of his face up to his hazel eyes. He was in the process of bellowing down at the elven woman so fiercely that he didn't seem to notice as the visitors approached them.
"I don't care what your schematics say! I studied the works of the Dwemer! Do you intend to claim that you know more of metal than they?!" he demanded.
"I know more than you!" the elf fired back. "And I know far more about enchanting as well! Your proposal will leave the piping too thin and too brittle! It shall not hold heat the way you expect it to!"
"If you thicken the pipes, the stone shall crack when they're run through!" the Nord snarled. "And if you try to draw the spring water-!"
Haromir lightly cleared his throat, interrupting the pair. The elf immediately turned her attention to him, while the Nord leveled a glare at the king. When Haromir met his gaze without flinching, however, he sighed and reluctantly swung towards them. "Your Majesty." He then shot a glance at Telepe. "Who is this?"
"This is Atkynd, an emissary from the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae, and an honored guest," Haromir replied. Telepe inclined his head politely, as Haromir added, "Atkynd, this is Inhaal, my chief architect." He motioned to the Nord, who grunted and jerked his head irritably. "He is a master of engineering, and he is responsible for much of the construction of Sancre Tor. As I told you before, he's even studied the techniques of the Dwemer."
"Indeed?" Telepe asked, half-impressed and half-skeptical. "The Dwemer are notoriously reclusive. It must have taken a great deal of persuasion to secure an audience with them."
"I didn't require their permission to study an empty cavern," Inhaal explained. "There happens to be a small cave not far from Windhelm, where I apprenticed. It contains examples of Dwemer construction, particularly their piping, which I simply examined and replicated. While I cannot recreate the metal they use, the basic functions of some of their simpler machines are not difficult to understand."
Telepe' mouth fell open as Haromir chuckled. "What most of us would find incomprehensible, he claims is simple. This is the mark of a genius, mm? And to think that he's merely twenty-six years old, too!"
Telepe stared at Inhaal, stunned. It was difficult to believe that the man was a year younger than he – his weathered skin, thick beard, and straight-backed posture made him seem as though he was in his late thirties, at least. What's more, he radiated an intelligence and self-confidence that belonged to someone far older than his age suggested. Inhaal noticed Telepe's amazed expression, and he couldn't seem to resist smirking smugly at the emissary's reaction.
"Don't praise him any further, or he may well claim credit for the creation of the Dwarven cities themselves," the Ayleid woman piped up, scowling at her colleague.
Haromir chuckled, motioning to the Ayleid, as he added, "And this is Sariel, an apprentice to one of the greatest Ayleid smiths, Lirulorne. While Inhaal works with stone and wood, Sariel has an unparalleled command of metal."
"And enchantment," Sariel interjected. "Which I must speak with you about, Your Majesty. I finally completed your armor."
"Did you? Excellent," Haromir smiled. "If I may?" Sariel nodded and motioned for the group to follow her. Telepe noticed Inhaal sizing him up, but when he turned to smile hesitantly at the burly Nord, the young man turned away with a disinterested huff.
Sariel stopped before a table, upon which lay a magnificent suit of bronze armor. The cuirass was edged with feathery designs, and accented with flared, wing-like pauldrons. Every piece was polished to a mirror finish that made it glow a dull golden color in the dancing firelight of the forge. Telepe also noticed the unmistakable shimmer of magicka flickering along the surface, to the point that the armor seemed almost to crackle with the spells placed on it.
"I've provided you with a number of defenses that should prove universally useful against any foe," Sariel explained, running her hand along the breastplate. "The torso piece has been enchanted with a powerful shielding spell, while the gauntlets shall enhance your strength. The greaves, meanwhile, possess a spell to reduce your weariness, and the boots shall quicken your stride. The helmet is also enchanted, allowing you to see more clearly in the darkness." She then motioned towards the weaponry lying on the table, adding, "This mace is enchanted with a simple but powerful lightning spell – you need only strike an opponent to shock them. The shield, however, is what I am particularly proud of. It shall reflect damage back upon its attacker, rendering you nigh invincible. The more fearsome the foe, the more damage they shall suffer for their efforts."
"Truly?" Haromir smiled, running his fingers almost reverently along the polished bronze. "This… this is far more than I could have ever hoped for, Sariel. You have my sincerest thanks."
"It is an impressive suit of armor," Telepe agreed, folding his hands behind his back as he inspected it. "You should be proud of the work you've done." He then glanced at Haromir and remarked, "I've noticed you place a great deal of faith in those you employ."
"I must," Haromir admitted. "I simply possess the wealth necessary to bring my schemes to fruition. It is the talents of others that make them a reality, and without their aid, I would merely possess a hoard of useless wealth. Were it not for them, I would have no kingdom, no city… nothing." He smiled wanly as he turned to Telepe, adding, "I must confess, I have felt… vulnerable for many years, surrounded by so many enemies. Now, however, I finally feel as though I've attained some measure of security. I would even dare to say that their expertise has given me the confidence to face almost any foe," he boasted with a laugh.
Telepe's ear twitched, a sly glimmer entering his eye. "Indeed? Would you deign to test that confidence?"
Haromir noticed the shift in Telepe's demeanor, and a deep, suspicious frown spread across his face. "What are you suggesting?"
"If you wish to impress the other Ayleid kings, and material wealth is not something they consider impressive, then perhaps you should consider performing a deed that they would deem worthy of praise," Telepe replied. "It appears to me that your peers only respect martial prowess. If you truly have confidence in your smith's armor, perhaps this is an excellent opportunity to attempt a deed they would find impressive."
Haromir tilted his head at him, frowning deeply. "As I've stated, I have no intention of aiding the rebellion."
Telepe laughed, shaking his head. "No… while the other kings might admit that it would take courage to openly declare war against them, all that would accomplish is earning their enmity. No, what I suggest instead is that you earn their favor by striking a blow against the rebellion."
Haromir stared at Telepe, bewildered. "You're… advocating that I fight against the very rebels that have aided you for weeks?" he asked skeptically.
"As I've said, my loyalty is to the Kingdom of the Bjoulsae," Telepe replied simply. "While I am grateful to the aid the rebellion has provided, I am impartial in this conflict. Besides, this is simply hypothetical," he added with a bright grin at the king.
Haromir folded his arms over his chest, remaining silent for several long seconds. "Even so… I have little desire to wage open war against the rebellion either," he confessed. "Though their leader did escape from my plantation, I bear her no ill will, and they have not directly wronged me. What's more, as they could not aid me on the other side of the continent, nor could I wage war against them from here. At least, not without draining my coffers for little gain. Warfare is a dangerous game, particularly since one stands to lose everything upon defeat… or even with a poor victory."
"I concur," Telepe nodded. "Nevertheless, what I am suggesting does not require you to risk your coffers or your army. It merely requires you to place your faith in your armor, and to have the courage to pursue a deed that would truly earn you the respect and admiration of every Ayleid who opposes the rebellion."
Haromir considered Telepe suspiciously, but his blue eyes were flickering. Telepe could tell he was morbidly intrigued by his scheme. "Very well," he said finally. "What are you suggesting?"
Telepe grinned slyly. "What would you say if we were to arrange a duel between you and the Champion of the Paravant, Pelinal Whitestrake?"
A/N: Since there's been a bit of confusion regarding the secret path Britmonah proposed to the rebels, allow me to clarify. This is a case where I'm taking a bit of liberty with the map of Cyrodiil. Telepe and Tari found Britmonah just north of the Orange Road, a little bit east of the Sidri-Ashak Runestone, and the villa was a little further north of there. The road she showed them, however, does not exist on the Oblivion map. It's a very narrow road that would run northwest and connect the Orange Road with the unnamed mountain road to the west of Bruma, which leads directly to Sancre Tor. After thousands of years, I'd imagine the map would have undergone some changes, and this minor change is for the sake of convenience and helping to move the story along. That said, in the future I'll try to clarify when I make other such changes, so it's easier to follow their journey. Sorry for any confusion.