Chapter 43
The Gifted
"Nothing?" Golbrom asked yet again, for the fifth time in less than an hour. Telepe scowled lightly as he looked up from the scroll he was reading and glanced over at the Nord, who was leaning against the longhouse door with his arms folded over his chest, an impatient look on his face.
"Not yet. And I can't read any faster, so please be patient," Telepe replied, trying to keep from sounding short. "I know that you're anxious to learn your family's whereabouts, but there are still dozens of scrolls that I haven't looked at." He finished the line he was reading, then sighed and set down the scroll for a moment to rub his eyes. "It's a pity that you can't read Ayleidoon, or this task would be completed much more swiftly. In truth, I'm a bit surprised you can't, actually, since you speak the language fairly well."
"Captain Thornir insisted that we all learn at least a few phrases," Golbrom shrugged. "I, however, chose to learn more, so that I could properly ask questions about where my wife and sons were sold. I did not have time to learn the script, however."
"It's not that dissimilar from Nordic runes," Telepe pointed out. "I've heard that the founder of Skyrim even copied the elven alphabet to create his own script."
"Yes, but I only learned to read a bit of Nordic as well, so that hardly helps me," Golbrom shrugged again.
"I see. I could teach you when you return, if you wish," Telepe offered as he opened another scroll case. "I already have a score of students. One more won't trouble me."
"Perhaps," Golbrom grunted. After a moment's thought, he added, "Are you not surprised that I know Ayleidoon?"
"Not especially," Telepe replied with a shrug. "You're not the first to learn the language of your enemies. In truth, I was more surprised by how much Nordic the Nedes in our army speak."
"That is strange, come to think of it," Golbrom admitted. "Do you know why?"
"Tari mentioned that Nords are not particularly uncommon in any of the kingdoms in Cyrod," Telepe replied. "The Ayleids covet Nords and men-of-'kreath for their size and strength, after all. Naturally, they brought their language with them, and it was not uncommon for Nords to encounter each other in captivity, so they would often speak with each other in their native tongue. They would also teach their language to the other slaves, and since the slavemasters didn't bother to learn Nordic – they consider it a coarse, barbaric tongue that's beneath them – it became a convenient language for slaves to speak to each other in when they didn't wish to be understood by their masters. These days, most slaves know at least a bit of Nordic."
"I see," Golbrom nodded absently as Telepe returned his attention to the scroll. There was a long pause between them as Telepe resumed reading, and then he asked, "Do you need my wife's name again?"
"Gisla," Telepe said, glancing up from the scroll and resisting the urge to scowl at Golbrom's constant prodding.
"Yes. Is there perhaps any mention of her? Perhaps they recorded her name?" Golbrom asked.
A faint, sardonic chuckle escaped Telepe's lips before he could stop himself. "Forgive me," he said quickly as Golbrom glared at him. "That was the first thing I looked for. What makes this difficult is the fact that the Ayleids don't usually record the names of their slaves. After all, what use do cattle have for names? If one is required, their master shall assign them a new name."
Golbrom's expression darkened, looking away as he asked in a despairing tone, "Is there no way to find them then?"
Telepe glared over the edge of the scroll, annoyed, but when he noticed the desperate look on Golbrom's face, pity welled up inside of him, and his sharp retort died in his throat. "You mentioned that her hair is copper-colored, yes? And that she is stout?" he asked softly.
"Yes," Golbrom confirmed, glancing up again. "She has wide birthing hips, good for bearing children, and she's as strong as a man."
Telepe smiled faintly as he glanced over the document again, before setting it aside. He then picked up another one and briefly looked it over, then paused. "You also said she has brown eyes?" he asked slowly, glancing up. "And you have two sons, yes?"
"I do," Golbrom said, turning back towards him, his eyes flashing with hope at Telepe's probing questions.
"How old are they?" Telepe asked, running his finger over the description he had found.
"One is ten, the other six," Golbrom said, sweeping over to the other side of the table. "They also share her hair color. Why? Have you found something?"
"I believe so," Telepe replied, setting down the scroll and pointing to a line of text. "This entry tells of a woman who matches your wife's description. She was sold with two boys that she refused to be parted from. It says that the king they sold her to permitted it, as he considered the children a good investment, especially since they are remarkably large for their age."
"That sounds like them," Golbrom nodded, gazing down at Telepe with a fierce expression. "Where are they?"
"According to this, they were sold to the city of Miscarcand," Telepe replied, rolling up the scroll.
Golbrom let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "That's… so far from here," he murmured.
"Yes, and there is still no guarantee that they're still in that city," Telepe cautioned him. "I'm also uncertain if that is them, or if this is simply another family that is remarkably similar to yours."
"Of course," Golbrom said hoarsely. A smile twitched under his beard. "However… it's something, at least."
"It is," Telepe smiled as he placed the scroll back into its case. "And in the meantime, I'll continue reading. Perhaps there's something more definite about their whereabouts in another scroll."
"I would appreciate that," Golbrom replied gratefully, placing a rough hand on Telepe's slender shoulder and squeezing. "Thank you."
"Not at all," Telepe nodded, leaning his chair back and looking out the window. "I've little else to do at the moment anyways. We're still awaiting a reply from King Vrage, and in the meantime, Edanu has insisted upon overseeing the army personally." A rueful grin spread across his face as he turned back to Golbrom. "In truth, this is the least I've had to do in months."
"Do you regret it?" Golbrom asked. "The demands placed upon you must be wearying."
"At times," Telepe admitted, setting his chair legs back down. "However, I would rather be busy than idle, and I like to keep my mind active. Even if I had time to spare, I would likely be spending it composing poems or ballads."
Golbrom stared at him incredulously, as though he'd just said that he enjoyed sacrificing innocents in his free time. "You… consider that a leisure activity?" he exclaimed.
"I do. What would you rather be doing?" Telepe retorted, though his playful smile took the sting out of his words.
"Perhaps hunting, or fishing?" Golbrom offered.
"If I was hungry, certainly," Telepe agreed. "For sport, however? No, I'd rather spend my time creating rather than destroying."
Golbrom shrugged and shook his head. "I suppose. To each his own," he said in a helpless tone. "Regardless, though, thank you once again for your aid. I'm truly grateful."
Telepe nodded, then glanced to his right as he heard a commotion outside. He stood up from the chair and wandered over to the window, then pushed open the shutters and leaned out to see what was going on.
Some of the Nedes were hurrying to climb onto the palisade surrounding the city, murmuring and pointing at something in the distance. At first, Telepe wondered if Nahfahlaar had returned – he hadn't seen the dragon since the battle for Falkreath had ended, though he suspected that he was still lurking on the mountain above the town. That thought vanished immediately, however, when a brazen hunting horn resounded off the mountains, quite unlike a dragon's cry. Telepe and Golbrom glanced at each other, then both turned and hurried out of the longhouse.
Telepe was a little faster climbing up the stairs of the palisade, and he managed to slip far enough through the crowd to peer over the heads of some of the shorter Nedes. A long train of men was approaching the town from the northern road. Many carried bronze-tipped spears and heavy wooden shields, and most were bedecked in leather or fur armor, though a few wore bronze. At the head of the procession was a huge woolen beast unlike anything Telepe had ever seen. At first, he thought that it walked on five legs, though as it drew nearer, he saw that the fifth limb didn't quite touch the ground, and that it extended limply out from its huge face, swaying to and fro as it walked. Four enormous, curved tusks curled outwards from its jaw, and its massive, leathery ears occasionally flapped like wings against the side of its head. Each step of its thick, trunk-like legs seemed to echo in the distance, and as it drew nearer, the ground vibrated slightly under its sheer weight.
Sitting atop the beast in a wooden platform was a man wearing grey, scaled armor under a fur-trimmed blue cloak, with intricate, flowing designs inlaid on it in golden thread. His face was obscured by a thick, dark grey helm, similar in shape to the hoplites' helmets, though lacking the large horsehair plumes that the centurions' bore. As he approached the walls, he brought a bronze war horn to his lips and blew it. Once again, the brassy notes echoed through the forest, brazenly announcing the stranger's arrival.
"Finally!" Thornir exclaimed next to Telepe, who glanced at the mercenary captain to see him grinning with delight.
"That is King Vrage, I presume?" Telepe asked with a faint smile.
"Indeed," Thornir grinned. "He makes quite the entrance, doesn't he?"
"It's impressive, no doubt," Telepe agreed. "He also arrived more swiftly than I had expected. We sent our message announcing the liberation of Falkreath only a week ago. Did he not require more time to marshal his forces?"
Thornir shrugged in reply. "Are you complaining about his prompt arrival?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I suppose not," Telepe conceded, watching as the gate guards began pulling open the heavy wooden gates to Falkreath. The figure atop the strange, wool-covered beast brought his mount to a halt, and Telepe watched as it sank to its knees while the rider lowered a rope over the side of its platform. He slid down the rope and landed lightly on his feet, then turned to face the rest of his retinue and held up his hand.
Five figures sitting astride large, heavy horses rode forward, while the rest of his men came to a halt several hundred feet from the entrance to the city. The men and women at the head of the column began shouting at the warriors behind them, and they immediately began dispersing into the hills. The king, meanwhile, strode into the city confidently as the gates were flung open for him, followed by the men and women on horseback.
Edanu emerged from the small house he had been using as his personal quarters for the last few days, replete in full bronze armor, which gleamed a deep gold in the late morning sun. Telepe, seeing this, slipped back through the crowd and climbed down from the palisade. He had just managed to reach the ground again when the king stopped short in front of Edanu, and the two men took a moment to size each other up.
"Your Majesty," Edanu began, bowing his head to the High King. "I am Edanu, and I have the honor of serving as the Legate of the Paravant's Gold Legion. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Falkreath."
Telepe watched intently as king removed his helmet, allowing him an unobstructed look at the man's face. The first thing Telepe noticed was that the king's curly hair was golden blond and fell to his shoulders, which he let hang unbound around his face. His short beard was also bright gold, and he kept it trimmed close to his cheeks and chin, quite unlike the heavy, shaggy beards that most of his fellow Nords wore. His face was lined and slightly weathered, though whether from battle, stress, or simply the harsh climate of Skyrim, Telepe was unsure. Regardless, he still seemed relatively youthful, and Telepe could have put his age anywhere from his late twenties to his mid-forties. What struck Telepe the most, however, were his deep grey eyes, full of an unusually acute cunning and wisdom. The raw intelligence in the king's gaze worried him far more than his sturdy build or his confident posture.
The king raised his hand and replied, "Well met, Legate Edanu. I am Vrage, High King of Skyrim." A warm grin spread across his face as he held out his hand. "It is good to meet our new allies at last."
Edanu smiled back and clasped the king's forearm, and a cheer erupted from the throats of both the Nedic army and the Nordic retinue that had followed the king. The two men held the gesture for a moment, then simultaneously broke away. "Allow us to see to your men-" Edanu began.
"That won't be necessary," Vrage interrupted, though his tone was not unkind. "We have not had a particularly long journey, and we still have plenty of supplies. My men shall make camp in the forest around the city tonight." When Edanu hesitated, he smiled and added, "I have brought ten thousand warriors with me. Falkreath is a small town, and it has suffered enough. I would not want to unduly tax her resources any more than necessary."
"I… well, surely we can at least see to your commanders," Edanu stammered, caught off-guard by Vrage's magnanimous gesture.
"If you insist," Vrage replied, motioning for the men and women on horseback to come forward. As they approached, Telepe could see that all were dressed in richly decorated cloaks, brightly colored and laced with gold and silver thread. Only one, however, wore a grey breastplate like the king. Another wore a bronze cuirass similar to those worn by the rebellion's hoplites, two were garbed in a combination of fur and leather, and the fifth wore a set of heavy cloth robes. "I present to you the Jarls of Whiterun, the Rift, the Pale, Hjaalmarch, and Winterhold."
"You are most welcome as well," Edanu replied, inclining his head toward the jarls, who responded with polite nods and murmurs of their own. The legate then looked over his shoulder and called out, "Come, men, take the jarls' horses and see that they're given the finest lodgings in the city." As some of his men hurried forward to carry out his command, he turned back to the king and added, "May we offer you something to drink in the meantime?"
"There is no need to fret over us, my friend," Vrage chuckled, holding up his hand. "In truth, I would simply like some time to explore the city a bit while I recover from the journey."
"Of course," Edanu said, almost seeming taken aback by the king's confidence. "Then please, enjoy yourself while we pepare your accommodations for the evening."
"It is much appreciated," Vrage replied graciously, inclining his head, before motioning for his jarls to walk with him. Edanu watched him depart with a blank expression, and then out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Telepe lingering near the front of the crowd. He motioned Telepe forward as the Nedes continued to watch the Nordic king wander through the city, chatting easily with his entourage.
"I could have used your aid there," Edanu grumbled as Telepe approached.
"It was not my place to interfere," Telepe replied. "You are the legate that commands this army, not I. If I were to interrupt, it would undermine your authority and diminish your standing. In this instance, it was more important for the army's leader to project an image of strength than for the Paravant's emissary to flatter and charm our guests." He warily glanced over his shoulder at Vrage, who had climbed on top of the palisade and was gazing down at the city from above, as the crowd of Nedes continued to watch him with expressions of wonder. "Given the circumstances, I thought you handled him quite well," he added.
"Yes, well, I didn't expect him to have such a… forceful personality," Edanu admitted, watching the king warily out of the corner of his eye as he strolled along the palisade. Turning back to Telepe, he asked, "What do you make of him?"
Telepe bit the inside of his cheek, considering his response carefully. "Like the Paravant, he's naturally charismatic," he said slowly. "However, whereas she composes herself with grace, serenity, and wisdom, he exudes strength, will, and an understated but unmistakable shrewdness." Telepe glanced up at the king, then turned back to Edanu. "He is the very picture of an ideal warrior-king. If his skill in warfare matches the persona that he projects, then I can certainly understand how he's sculpted Skyrim into arguably the most powerful empire in Tamriel."
"And what does that mean for us?" Edanu asked quietly.
"For now? It means that we have secured a powerful alliance, one that we would do well to maintain at almost any cost," Telepe replied in a low voice. "However, if he is as intelligent as he seems, then we must be very cautious. Cunning men are not to be trusted."
"Including you?" Edanu asked drily.
Telepe grinned. "Well, you can trust me," he replied.
"Hm. Somehow, that's not particularly reassuring," Edanu said, chuckling good-naturedly as he clapped Telepe on the shoulder and began leading him back to the longhouse.
That evening, as the moons rose into the clear night sky, Telepe approached the longhouse with Tari on his arm. Edanu had briefly consulted him about a feast for the Nordic nobles and asked his opinion on a few matters, then dismissed him to set it up himself, giving Telepe the afternoon to himself. He had decided to spend his time with Tari, simply wandering through the woods with her and enjoying the opportunity to just converse with her and savor her company. Once they returned, he changed into his formal grey tunic and cloak, while Tari had donned her goldenrod chiton.
The two hoplites standing guard outside the longhouse straightened up as they approached, then pushed open the doors to let them inside. Telepe had been intentionally late to the feast to allow Edanu time to speak with King Vrage and his nobles alone. As such, the feast was already lively. The wooden walls were awash with a golden glow from the roaring fire in the central pit, and the air was smoky and thick with the succulent smell of the two pigs roasting over the fire on enormous spits. Three long tables had been set up in front of the fire, with the smallest and most prestigious towards the back of the hall. Edanu sat beside King Vrage in the center of the table, the pair speaking in low voices to each other, while Pelinal occupied another seat towards the end, gulping down wine and gorging himself on thick slices of roasted pork. The remaining tables on either side of the fire were occupied by the jarls and Edanu's centurions, who were intermingling freely, sharing drinks and laughing together as though they had been friends for years.
Edanu looked away from the king as he saw Telepe and Tari entering the hall, and a broad grin spread across his face as he motioned for them to come forward. When they were within earshot, he raised his voice and called out, "Telepe, Tari! Welcome! Please, join us," he added, motioning to a pair of empty chairs to his left. Before they could move to take their seats, he added, "Allow me to introduce you both to Vrage, High King of Skyrim."
Telepe and Tari both sank into bows before the king, who chuckled and inclined his head in return. As he raised his head, Telepe gave Edanu a sly wink of approval, which Edanu answered with a grin hidden behind his hand. As Telepe and Tari sank into their seats, Vrage leaned forward to speak with them directly.
"So, you are the emissary I have been conversing with over the past few months?" King Vrage asked in perfect, if accented, Altmeri.
Telepe was careful not to let his surprise show on his face, as he replied in Nordic, "I am. It's an honor to meet you at last."
"I should say the same," Vrage replied, smiling warmly as he switched back to Nordic as well. "I've long desired to meet the man that the Paravant chose as her voice." The king tilted his head slightly, eyeing Telepe for a long moment, then concluded, "I must say, I'm not disappointed."
"We were actually discussing a matter of great importance, Telepe," Edanu added. "One which you and I have been grappling with as well. We were considering who should receive the jarldom of Falkreath."
"In fact, I was considering conferring it upon you," Vrage added. A jolt of surprise ran through Telepe, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tari's head whip around to stare at him. "You were, after all, the one who persuaded the dragon that was threatening the city to stand down. While that is not quite as dramatic as slaying it, it was nevertheless instrumental in securing your victory with minimal bloodshed. What's more, you have a great deal of experience with diplomacy, and even some with legislating, Edanu tells me. I believe you would make an excellent jarl."
Telepe stared at the king silently for a few moments, then smiled and shook his head. "You flatter me, Your Majesty, but I could not accept. I am a servant of my king, and I would not dream of forsaking my oath to him. What's more, I daresay the people of Falkreath have had quite enough of foreign elves ruling over them," he added wryly, pulling his hair back slightly to show off his pointed ears.
Vrage's eyes momentarily widened with surprise, and then he chuckled. "Your humility does you credit," he remarked, though there was a note of disappointment in his voice. "I suppose that I could assign one of my own warriors…."
"If I may make a suggestion?" Telepe interjected. Vrage blinked at him, then motioned for him to continue. "Why not allow the people of Falkreath to decide their ruler from amongst their own? This is their city, after all, and be it man or mer, they should not be forced to endure any more foreign interference."
Vrage stared at Telepe silently for a few moments, the air thick with tension. Edanu glanced between them, clearly considering whether he should intervene on Telepe's behalf, but Telepe continued to hold the Nordic king's gaze without blinking. Then, slowly, a smile spread across Vrage's face.
"That is a wise suggestion," Vrage said softly. "Yes, let us leave their destiny in their own hands."
Telepe exhaled slowly through his nose as he answered Vrage with a smile of his own. He had been worried the king would not agree… particularly since he recognized that Vrage had ulterior motives in nominating a jarl. Had Telepe accepted his offer, or had he insisted on selecting a new leader from among his own men, he would have effectively secured Falkreath for himself. Whomever was placed on the throne would be beholden to Vrage for endorsing their position, establishing them as a pro-Skyrim puppet at best, and a future vassal at worst. Of course, Telepe thought bitterly, he should have expected no less from such an aggressively expansionist king. He was also fully aware that his suggestion to allow Falkreath to choose their ruler without interference was hypocritical, considering how often he had interfered in the selection of rulers for cities in Cyrod. Even so, he would gladly be labeled a hypocrite if it meant denying Skyrim the opportunity to expand its borders even further.
"I must also commend you on your courage," Vrage added as he brought a horn of mead to his lips. "Few dare speak so candidly to me." He let out a soft chuckle. "It's rather refreshing, actually.
"You honor me, Your Majesty," Telepe replied in a modest tone as Edanu sighed and settled back into his seat to let them talk around him, taking a deep drink from his wine as he did. "In truth, though, you make it difficult to muster that courage – and I do not mean that as an insult," he added quickly as Vrage raised an eyebrow. "I have spoken with kings before, but none came close to wielding power comparable to yours. Nor did they personally command respect as you do. You are… quite intimidating."
Vrage chuckled lightly into his horn. "Flattery is it?" he asked in a slightly sardonic tone.
"Not at all," Telepe insisted, not wholly untruthfully. "The strength of your kingdom is clearly reflected by your own personality. From the moment you arrived outside the gates of Falkreath, it was clear that you are a king that is worthy of ruling a land as mighty as Skyrim." He tilted his head slightly, then asked, "If I might ask, what was that beast you were riding? I've never seen anything like it."
Vrage chuckled as he lowered his drinking horn. "Ilsa? She is a mammoth, a powerful but peaceful beast that the giants of Skyrim herd like sheep across the tundra. She was given to me as a gift by a tribe of giants that were making their home outside of Windhelm for a short time. Sadly, I doubt that I will be able to take her with me over the mountains, as the pass is likely too narrow for her."
"Most likely," Telepe agreed. "That's unfortunate, as I imagine she would be a terror in battle." He paused for a moment to take a sip of wine, then added, "I've also never seen armor like yours. Was that a gift from the giants as well? It certainly isn't bronze, is it?"
"Ah, this?" Vrage asked, rapping it with his knuckles. "Skyforge Iron." When Telepe gave him a puzzled look, he explained, "In the city of Whiterun, there is a furnace called the Skyforge. It's one of the few places in Tamriel that possesses flames which burn hot enough and steadily enough to allow a smith to melt and work iron, which is far stronger and more durable than bronze." The king flashed a grin as he added, "It's a pity that there's only the one, as it renders me unable to equip my entire army with iron weaponry. The Jarl of Whiterun gifted me this armor and my blade, and both he and fifty of the Companions – elite warriors who reside in Whiterun – are similarly equipped. The rest, I'm afraid, must make do with bronze."
"Well… that's fortunate for the rest of Tamriel, then, isn't it?" Telepe asked softly. He thought that he had spoken quietly enough that he hadn't been heard, but when he saw Vrage staring at him intently, the color drained from his face, and his heart began to race.
"What of yourself?" Vrage asked, setting down his mead horn. "You aren't from Cyrod, are you?"
Telepe exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down. Even if Vrage had heard him, it seemed that he wasn't going to question him about his remark. "I am not," Telepe confirmed. "I'm from Malabal – the Highlands, west of Skyrim."
"Ah… then you are one of the Manmer, yes?" Vrage asked. "You have elven ears, true, but you also have the pale skin of the Nedes."
Telepe inclined his head. "I am," he said.
"I see. You are fortunate to hail from there. The Highlands are a beautiful region," Vrage said wistfully. There was a moment's pause, and then he added, "May I ask your perspective on something?"
Telepe stiffened slightly at the king's tone, anticipating a question that he wasn't going to like. "I shall answer as best I can," he replied cautiously.
"Thank you," Vrage smiled. "Some years ago, I traveled to your homeland with the intention of liberating the humans living in the Highlands from the oppressive rule of the Altmer – not unlike what we intend to do in Cyrod, in fact. At first, we enjoyed some success, but I was surprised by the fierce resistance we faced… particularly from the very human subjects that we sought to aid. Eventually, we agreed to a truce with the Altmer when it became apparent that we were being perceived as conquerors rather than liberators." He tilted his head slightly. "To this day, I wonder… why did your people oppose us so staunchly?"
Telepe felt a searing anger flare in his chest at Vrage's account of his attempted conquest of his homeland. He dared refer to himself as a liberator, rather than a conqueror?! Only his training allowed him to keep his expression blank, and even then, it was several seconds before he could compose himself enough to speak without his voice trembling with fury. "Does Your Majesty truly wish to hear our perspective?" Telepe asked slowly. "It shall likely differ from what your advisors have told you."
Vrage's eyes widened briefly with interest. "And what do you believe my advisors have said?" he asked, amused.
Telepe leaned back slightly, lacing his fingers in front of him. "I suppose that they told you that we are little more than the helpless victims of our Altmer overlords," he replied, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "That are held hostage by the cruel elves, and that we were threatened with punishment, or even death, if we dared disobey. That if we only knew your true intentions, we would turn against our masters in an instant and happily join you in a glorious uprising that would ensure human supremacy in the Highlands for centuries to come." Telepe leaned forward again, adding drily, "Am I correct?"
To his surprise, Vrage tilted his head back and burst out laughing, covering his eyes with one hand. Some of the nearest lords and centurions turned to stare at the king, who continued chuckling for a few moments longer before he could compose himself. "Ah… perhaps not quite in those words, but the sentiment is very much the same, yes," Vrage admitted, still grinning. "However, while I would certainly like to believe that, I suspect that conclusion is far from the truth." His smile faded completely as he leaned closer. "So, I would like to hear your thoughts, if you would indulge me."
Telepe was caught off-guard by the king's response. He had expected Vrage to be furious, or at least dismissive of Telepe's mockery of his advisors. He bit the inside of his cheek, considering his answer. Not only was Vrage more intelligent than he had first expected, he was also far more rational and reasonable… which made him that much more dangerous. For a few moments he weighed whether he should answer honestly, but finally, he decided to acquiesce.
"The simple answer is, why should we side with you and your men?" Telepe replied. When Vrage regarded him with a look of surprise, he added, "Do you consider us kin?"
"I do, certainly," Vrage replied immediately. "We are both men, after all.
"Are we?" Telepe retorted. He pulled back his long hair again, touching one of his pointed ears. "Is this the mark of a man?"
Vrage hesitated for a half a moment, barely enough for most to notice it, but Telepe saw the way his gaze wavered for an instant as he rapidly composed his response. "Ears alone do not make one man or mer," Vrage stated.
"Your ancestors certainly felt otherwise," Telepe countered. "It is a tale told time and again in Malabal, how when the Nords first encountered a band of Manmer, they slaughtered them almost to a man before one of the Manmer was able to explain that they were half man, half elf. Only then did they desist."
"Yes, I know the tale of our unfortunate first meeting," Vrage nodded solemnly. "It was nothing less than a tragedy. However, times have changed, and I certainly see you as more of a man than a mer."
"I am certain you do," Telepe replied gently. Privately, he felt that was a half-truth – he was certain that Vrage believed he saw Manmer as more man than mer. "Can you say the same for all Nords, though? Can you truly tell me that they would look upon us and see our human blood rather than our elven heritage?"
"I cannot speak for all of my men, no," Vrage admitted. "Fortunately, I am their liege, and regardless of how they feel, it is my command that they obey."
"And what of us? Would you declare yourself our liege as well? Would we also be forced to obey your commands?" Telepe riposted. "Were you to successfully liberate us, would you permit us to forge a new nation as we see fit? Or would you demand that we submit to you as our new High King?" Before Vrage could respond, he quickly added, "I would note that the parts of Malabal that you have claimed remain part of the Nordic Empire. Bangkorai certainly has not been granted its independence, even though the Ayleid rulers there have been deposed."
"Well… one must allow time for the local populace to adjust to such a drastic upheaval," Vrage insisted, though Telepe could tell from his tone that even the king didn't quite believe his own words. "Until then…."
"Then you intend to grant those living in the region independence?" Telepe asked coolly. "When, exactly?"
Vrage regarded Telepe silently for a few moments, then abruptly stated, "You cannot argue that you would enjoy greater freedoms if the elves in your homeland were overthrown."
Telepe bit the corner of his lip to keep from smirking, since the king had completely ignored his question. Rather than press that point, however, he decided to counter Vrage directly. "Personally? I enjoy a great deal of freedom, even under elven rule."
"Yet you cannot become a king yourself," Vrage countered. "You cannot set your own laws, dictate your own future-"
"And your subjects can?" Telepe retorted. "If a peasant living in the middle of Skyrim demanded that you allow him to live by his own laws, would you permit that? Would you consider that to be exercising his freedoms, or open rebellion?"
"Every man – and woman – in Skyrim has the opportunity to become High King," Vrage retorted. "It is the moot, not our blood, that chooses our ruler. The king is chosen based upon his merits." A slight smile crossed his lips. "In fact, that's part of why I seek to expand Skyrim's territory. I want others to enjoy the benefits of our kingdom, which includes allowing them to elect their ruler."
"Indeed? Then you would permit an Altmer to become High King?" Telepe asked.
"It… would be unusual, but not impossible," Vrage said slowly. Telepe raised an eyebrow doubtfully, but the king continued, "Your homeland, however, maintains a strict hierarchy based solely upon the amount of elven blood in one's veins."
"Yes, and while that hierarchy is unbalanced, overthrowing it to replace it with one dominated by your people is not a solution most in my country would favor as an alternative," Telepe said. "Rather than serving our elven kings, we would instead be subjected to your whims. Some would see little or no improvement, while others would be diminished, if not outright removed from their stations. I enjoy a fairly prestigious position in my king's court – in fact, if I didn't, we would not be having this conversation, after all," he pointed out with a smile. "I suspect that if you were to defeat my king, however, I would lose that position, as would most of my half-blooded kin. Even those that turned on my king to fight for you would likely be rewarded by retaining their positions under Nordic rulers rather than elven ones. Why, then, would we support your 'liberation?'"
"Then what of the Nedes in your country?" Vrage asked, shifting the focus of his argument. "Your people claim that they are not slaves, and by all accounts, they certainly do not suffer the cruelties that are inflicted upon the Nedes in Cyrod. However, I suspect that their 'freedom' is a farce. Your castes keep them oppressed all the same, reduced to the status of concubines for the fortunate, and simple laborers for the majority. Are they not slaves in all but name?"
Telepe could feel Tari's gaze boring into the back of his head, and he took a moment to choose his words carefully before responding. "The Nedes in Malabal are indeed seen as inferior to both Altmer and Manmer. None can dispute that the castes are unbalanced," he conceded. "As you said, even I am restricted by my caste – though I am a king's son, I am not a prince, and shall never inherit his throne, even were all of my full-blooded siblings to perish. And yes, that is a petty grievance compared to the Nedes' eternal status as the lowest members of our society, but it nevertheless shows that even we Manmer suffer from inequality."
Telepe exhaled slowly, then added, "However, though it is an imbalance that should be rectified, an invasion and occupation by a foreign kingdom is not a solution that any in my homeland would be satisfied with. After all, if you were locked in a game with two others, and a fourth person walked by, kicked over the table, and declared themselves the winners before appointing the other players as second, third, and fourth runners-up based upon their own arbitrary whims… would you be satisfied with that outcome?"
Vrage chuckled lightly at that metaphor, inclining his head. "I suppose not," he admitted. "But the Nedes might be more amenable to it, if the caste system were reversed. If they are losing the game so badly that have no hope of winning…."
"They still would not welcome a foreign occupation," Telepe stated firmly. "Even if they were elevated, they would be trading one oppressor for another." He smiled slightly, then added, "And there is one other, simple reason why they would resist an invasion from Skyrim just as fiercely as any other inhabitant of Malabal."
"And that is?" Vrage asked, leaning a little closer, his eyes flashing with interest.
"Because regardless of if one is Altmer, Manmer, or Nede, we are all kin," Telepe said. Vrage blinked in confusion, and Telepe continued, "When the Altmer lords and kings began taking Nedic concubines, they made them part of their families. Certainly, neither they nor we, their half-blood offspring, are permitted to hold titles, and that is an imbalance. Nevertheless, the blood that binds us together is stronger than any resentment that we might feel over the elves ruling and the men serving. Few Nedes in Malabal do not have some blood relation to the Altmer, and the Altmer in turn genuinely consider many Nedes to be part of their own families. If you were to attempt to foment a rebellion against the elves in Malabal based upon shared blood, you would find that the Nedes would not stand with you, because they consider their personal blood ties to the elves far stronger than some vague resemblance to men from a distant land that are attempting to slay their children, their mates, and their cousins."
Vrage's eyes widened, and then he began chuckling softly as he glanced away. "I… had not considered that," he admitted thoughtfully.
Telepe felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach at the king's pensive expression. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if he had inadvertently given the king an idea on how else he might try to subvert the kingdoms in Malabal… or if he would simply decide to drop the pretense and simply invade the realm in force, now that he knew that the people of Malabal would not flock to his side if he appealed to their shared humanity.
"May I ask you a question, Your Majesty?" Telepe asked.
Vrage glanced at him, startled out of his reverie. "Of course," he smiled.
"You said earlier that part of the reason you've been expanding Skyrim's borders is to allow other kingdoms to enjoy the benefits of electing their king," Telepe said. "Is that the sole reason?"
Vrage considered him for a moment, then smiled and looked away wistfully. "No," he admitted. "In truth, I do not believe Tamriel is meant to be divided. We live in an age of chaos, where petty kings have free reign to torment their subjects according to their whims. You've witnessed this in Cyrod, of course, but Cyrod is not unique in that regard. Kings all over Tamriel sacrifice their people by the thousands for the sake of claiming a few more scraps of land, or another farmhold, simply so that they can enjoy a bit more food on their tables." The king sighed, then smiled gently. "By contrast, Skyrim is a relatively peaceful and prosperous land. My jarls work for the benefit of their people, rather than warring with each other for a few more miles of territory. I want to bring that harmony to the rest of Tamriel. I truly believe that if a single king were to rule the continent, the people could finally flourish and live their lives in peace."
"A noble goal," Telepe said slowly, though in the back of his mind, he sincerely doubted that any man could ever accomplish it. "However, you too are sacrificing your men's lives in constant warfare to achieve that dream."
"One cannot unite Tamriel without waging war," Vrage said bluntly. "I hold no illusions about that, and I feel no remorse about what must be done to achieve my dream. Blood must be spilled now so that future generations can live in peace. I fight because I truly believe that Skyrim's kingship is the greatest in Tamriel, and that the people of Tamriel deserve no less than what my people enjoy."
Telepe considered the king silently as he took a slow drink of his wine. He was unsure if Vrage was being sincere about the motivations behind his conquest, or if it was simply a convenient bit of propaganda to justify his relentless expansion. If the king did truly believe it, however, that made him all the more frightening to Telepe. A man who firmly believed that his ideals were just could not be reasoned with or dissuaded nearly as easily as one who used them as a pretense.
Vrage noticed Telepe staring, and he let out a soft chuckle. "Also, I'm amused that you are chastising me for intervening in other realms when you are foreign to Cyrod, yet you are aiding the rebellion."
Telepe smiled faintly. "I was asked to," he replied calmly. "Originally, I was sent to Cyrod simply to offer tin to the kings of the realm, and in truth, I had intended to return to Malabal as soon as I had spoken with the Council of the Elders in the White-Gold City. However, a series of strange events have ensured that I have remained in Cyrod far longer than I should have. I don't particularly regret it, mind you," he added, glancing over his shoulder and smiling warmly at Tari, who winked back at him. "And if one is asked to aid another, then I have no qualms with foreign intervention. That's why I'm pleased that you and your army have come to Cyrod's aid as well." He reached for his drinking horn and raised it to the king. "To that end, Your Majesty, here's to a strong and long-lasting alliance between Skyrim and the Paravant's rebellion."
Vrage let out another merry laugh as he seized his own horn. "To our alliance," he agreed, and then he took a slow sip of his mead, while Telepe did the same. As the king lowered his horn, he grinned and added, "Well-spoken, emissary. I see why the Paravant relies upon you."
"And I can certainly see why your people chose you as their king," Telepe replied cordially. "Having spoken with you, it is clear to me why Skyrim is enjoying a golden age."
"You flatter me," Vrage answered humbly. "But it is not my hands alone that have shaped Skyrim into the glorious kingdom that it is today. Some say that I am blessed by the god of luck, but I believe that luck has little to do with it. Rather, it is the strength and skill of my advisors and subjects that have led to Skyrim's ascendance. Her people are the key to her success… just as the Paravant's people shall be the key to hers. People like you-" he added, smiling warmly at Telepe, before his grey eyes slid past him to Tari. "-and you." He shifted slightly to better face her, and Telepe leaned back a bit to allow the king to speak to her. "I have heard many tales of you as well, my dear. They say that you have remarkable talent in the magical arts, and that you have mastered the Ayleids' heathen sorcery at an astonishingly swift pace."
"I… am no master, Your Majesty," Telepe said modestly, flushing slightly at the unexpected praise.
"Perhaps not, yet you have learned Ayleid magic. No other Nede can say the same, correct?" Vrage pressed. As Tari's face turned crimson, the king smiled. "That is astounding. My people deeply respect students of the Clever Craft. In fact, if you would like to learn Nordic magic as well, I would be happy to ask one of my mages to teach you."
"I may consider it in the future, Your Majesty" Tari smiled, inclining her head politely. "I am grateful for the offer, and it would be fascinating to learn. However, between my duties in the war and my current study of Ayleid magic, I have more than enough to occupy my attention at present. Perhaps once the war is over, I shall have more time to devote to the study of another field of magic."
"That is understandable," Vrage nodded, smiling.
"However, if you could tell me what I might learn, I would be grateful for the lesson," Tari added, her bright green eyes shining with interest.
Vrage chuckled lightly, nodding again. "I would be glad to. I have dabbled in magic myself, actually. Now, to begin with, unlike the elves, the Nordic tradition of magic stems back to our ancestors in Atmora, when we were slaves to the dragons…."
Telepe smiled to himself at Tari's rapt expression before he turned his attention to the slice of boar meat on his plate, which over the course of their conversation, had cooled almost to room temperature. He cut a piece and bit into it anyways, trying to enjoy the flavor of the apples and meat washing over his tongue while ignoring the worry gnawing at the pit of his stomach over whether he had just aided the future conqueror of his homeland.
The next morning, Telepe stepped out of the small cabin he had been sharing with Tari to see that Falkreath had become like an overturned anthill. Edanu and his centurions were shouting orders to shepherd their hoplites into formation, while beyond the city walls, the Nords were similarly being grouped according to their jarldoms. Telepe shivered as he exhaled, his breath misting in the morning air. It was particularly cold that morning, and he was grateful that he had chosen to wear both his cloak and leather armor over his heavy wool tunic, as they provided additional warmth. He didn't expect them to face combat while they were crossing the pass, of course, but he had learned over the past several months that it was better to ride armored without needing it than to need it and not be wearing it.
Telepe and Tari slipped through the crowd to the stables, where he retrieved Emero from the stablehand that was tending to his palfrey. As there was a rush to retrieve horses, he led Emero back onto the street to bridle him. While he slipped the harness over the horse's head, Tari hovered beside him, frowning to herself as she peered into one of her clay jars. "I'm running low on numbing salve," she muttered to herself.
"Little wonder," Telepe remarked absently as he brushed Emero's flank. "Considering how often you've been forced to play healer, I'm surprised you didn't run out sooner."
"I've been stretching my ingredients as best as I can," Tari replied as she placed a cork in the bottle and stuffed it into a slot on her belt. "Unfortunately, it seems that I'll need to go foraging once we return to Cyrod."
"Could you not look for ingredients here in Skyrim?" Telepe asked as he threw a blanket over Emero's back.
"There might be a few that I recognize, certainly," Tari agreed. "However, I'm unfamiliar with the properties of most of the plants found here, and I have no desire to accidentally mix a poison in with a healing salve, for instance."
"Fair point," Telepe murmured. "Nor did you take Sparicus with you, I see."
"Of course not," Tari frowned. "I didn't intend to read the Elder Scroll, after all, and while I could use him to find ingredients, it won't help if I don't know what the ingredients do. It's not as though he could tell me whether an unfamiliar flower is poisonous or not."
Telepe was about to reply, when suddenly a voice cried from his left, "Sunnagea!" Before he could turn towards the speaker, or wonder why the voice was so familiar, a small figure rushed into him and pulled him into a fierce embrace.
Telepe stumbled a couple of steps and looked down at the person clinging to him with a bewildered expression. Only when she turned her beaming face up did his eyes widen, and a bright grin spread across his lips. "Varlalye!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her as well.
He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye just before Tari's small hand grabbed him by the shoulder and dug into the muscle with surprising strength. He hissed through his teeth as pain lanced through his arm, and he looked over his shoulder at Tari as she smiled dangerously sweetly at him. "Telepe? Who is this woman?" she asked venomously.
Telepe released the girl in his arms and put his hand on Tari's, prying her fingers from his shoulder with some difficulty. "My apologies. Introductions are in order," he said quickly as the other girl thankfully removed her arms from around him and stepped back. "Varlalye, this is Tari, my closest companion and lover. Tari, this is Varlalye. My sister," he added pointedly.
Tari's anger evaporated instantly, replaced with a look of horrified embarrassment. "Oh… you… have a sister?" she stammered, her face turning bright red.
"Half-sister, actually," Telepe amended. "We share the same father, but have different mothers. In fact, I have seven half-siblings from two other women as well, and two younger full siblings. Like me, Varlalye here is the eldest of her mother – her full name is Atkynd av Aluciel Varlalye." He grinned back at his sister, then added, "However, since it would be awkward for us to refer to each other by the same name, we call each other by our mother's names. Thus, I'm Sunnagea to her, and I call her Varlalye."
"And you may call me the same as well," Varlalye added, grinning at Tari. Before Tari could respond, Varlalye swept her into a warm embrace as well, before stepping back and smirking up at Telepe. "Your lover, you say?"
"Much has happened since I left," Telepe said evasively, before giving Tari a tender smile that made her turn an even deeper shade of red.
"I… forgive me," Tari murmured, unable to meet Varlalye's eyes. "I made a hasty assumption. Though, admittedly, you two do not look like siblings."
Telepe and Varlalye traded amused smiles. In terms of appearance, Varlalye certainly took after their father. Her skin had a pronounced golden tint to it, her ears were sharper and more tapered than most Manmer, and her almond-shaped eyes were bright gold. It was not uncommon for even people in their own homeland to assume that Varlalye was a full Altmer, though there were subtle hints about her human heritage. She had inherited both her deep brown hair and her short stature from her mother, though neither were particularly unusual among elves either. She made a point to correct those that asked about her heritage, so as to ensure that their king and his full-blooded children did not assume she was attempting to use her elven appearance to rise above her station.
"There is no need to apologize," Varlalye assured Tari gently, taking her hands and smiling warmly. "In fact, I'm pleased that my brother is attached to such a strong woman. The gods know he needs someone who can ensure he doesn't become too arrogant."
Tari's eyes widened, and then a slow, wicked grin spread across her face. "I believe we shall get along quite well," she chuckled.
"Yes, that's what I'm afraid of," Telepe interjected drily. The two women laughed as Telepe wrapped an arm around Tari's shoulders and squeezed her gently, whereupon she pressed into his side. "Now, Varlalye, while it's wonderful to see you again, I must ask… what are you doing here?"
Varlalye stepped back slightly and held her arms out. "Why do you think?"
Telepe looked down at her. Under her plaid clan cloak – the same that Telepe wore – she was wearing a lamellar cuirass made of leather, along with matching bracers and greaves. At her belt, she carried a bronze handaxe and a short dagger, and a round wooden shield with their kingdom's symbol – a wavy river running diagonally between two green fields – was strapped to her back.
"It looks as though you intend to ride off to war," Telepe remarked drily.
"And so I do," Varlalye agreed, grinning as she folded her arms over her chest again. "In fact, I am the commander of a warband comprised of warriors from our kingdom."
"Are you?" Telepe asked, raising an eyebrow. "And our king permitted this?"
"He did not object," Varlalye replied smugly. "I have brought a hundred warriors from our homeland with me. Most are Nedes who wished to aid their southern brethren, though there are also a few sympathetic Manmer as well. It is the latter that I expect shall be the most effective, though, since they-"
"Are battlemages?" Telepe finished with a grin.
"Quite," Varlalye nodded. "We aren't the only warband from Malabal, either. One from Bangkorai numbers a hundred and fifty Nedes and Manmer, and another from a kingdom on the Iliac Bay likewise has a hundred warriors."
"Well, I'm pleased that you'll be fighting with the rebellion," Telepe grinned. "Though I'm surprised that you're here. Malabal is rather distant from Cyrod, after all."
"It wasn't that long of a journey," Varlalye shrugged. "We simply sailed up the Bjoulsae as far as we could once the river thawed, and then made our way across Skyrim. It only took a month or so."
"No, I mean I'm surprised that news of the rebellion has reached you at all," Telepe corrected himself.
"Ah. Well, you had something to do with that, actually," Varlalye replied. When Telepe blinked at her, she explained, "Our king has been reading your letters to the court to keep his nobles apprised of the war in Cyrod. After all, he still hopes to establish trade with the Ayleid kingdoms, and this war has made that exceedingly difficult. What's more, you've painted quite the picture of the dire situation of the Nedes in Cyrod. In truth, it was your words that stirred pity and anger in many of us, especially our own Nedic population, though even a few of the Altmer have been disgusted by the conditions you've described. Some wondered if you were embellishing to stir pity, but others who have been to Cyrod confirmed that your accounts are not an exaggeration." A slight smile crossed her lips. "In truth, you've achieved some fame, not just in our kingdom, but in Malabal as a whole. You are seen as a native son who has survived the horrors of a savage land, and it is in fact your accounts that inspired many of us to take up arms to fight the cruelty of the Ayleids."
"Indeed…?" Telepe murmured softly, looking away uneasily.
"Quite! Which reminds me," Varlalye added, twisting to reach into a pouch on her belt. She withdrew a wooden scroll case, which she extended out to him. "Our king wished for me to deliver this message to you, if I were to find you. He seemed to expect our paths to cross eventually, so he asked me to give this to you personally."
A sense of foreboding settled over Telepe as he gazed at the scroll case, and when he took it from Varlalye, his stomach roiled with dread. He turned the case over in his hands as Varlalye stared at him expectantly, but then he turned to Emero and slid the case into his horse's saddlebags. "I… shall read it once we return to Sancre Tor," he said with a weak smile. "It seems as though we're about to depart, after all."
"Ah… of course," Varlalye said, clearly slightly disappointed, as she glanced towards the front gates of the city, where Edanu was making his way to the head of the column. She smiled as she turned back to her brother and briefly pulled him into another quick embrace. "I should return to my men, then. It is good to see you again, Sunnagea. Please, come seek out my warband once we arrive at Sancre Tor. I'm not the only face you'll recognize, and there are many others who wish to greet you as well."
"I shall make a point of it," Telepe assured her with a smile, squeezing her shoulders as she pulled away. Varlalye grinned at him, then spun on her heel and jogged towards the back of the column. Telepe's smile faded as he watched her run away, and once she was out of sight, he sighed and turned to heave himself onto Emero's back. Before he could, however, Tari grabbed his hand and turned him towards her, frowning as she peered into his face.
"What is it?" she asked softly. "You've gone quite pale."
"I'm… simply concerned," Telepe murmured. When Tari leaned in a little, silently encouraging him to explain, he shook his head. "Though perhaps I'm simply worrying over nothing. Come," he added, pulling himself onto Emero's back before holding his hand out to her. Tari stared at him, clearly unconvinced, but she took his hand without pressing him further, allowing herself to be pulled onto the horse behind him.
Once Tari was settled, Telepe nudged Emero forward, walking him along the columns of warriors as their centurions and captains got them into line. He made his way to the front of the formation, where Edanu was speaking in a low voice with King Vrage and Thornir. The legate turned as he heard Telepe approaching and greeted him with a warm smile. Vrage likewise grinned at him, and Thornir nodded, which Telepe answered in kind.
"Welcome. We shall be departing momentarily," Edanu said as he pulled his bronze helmet over his head, the black horsehair plume wavering in the winter breeze.
"Is Whitestrake not with us?" Telepe asked, peering around with a frown. "I thought he would be with you all. I haven't seen him since the feast."
"He elected to ride ahead of us with the scouts," Edanu replied. When Telepe gave him a confused look, he explained, "He does not believe our enemies would be foolish enough to attack an army of this size, so if there is any glory to be had, it shall be with the scouts, who are more likely to encounter wild beasts and stray patrols long before any of us see them." The legate shrugged. "I saw no reason to deny his request. We have thousands of warriors in this army. Short of another dragon, I fail to see how anything could threaten us."
Telepe warily looked over his shoulder at the mountains behind him. He wondered if Nahfahlaar was going to linger in Falkreath, or if he would travel south with them once they departed. No one had seen the dragon since the storming of Falkreath, though considering Nahfahlaar's hatred of the Nords, that was hardly a surprise. Belatedly, Telepe realized that he hadn't seen Ra'karra either, though the Khajiit had a talent for not being seen when she didn't want to, so he wasn't particularly worried.
"In any case, we should depart shortly," Vrage said as Telepe turned back around. "There is little point in lingering here. We've imposed upon the good citizens of Falkreath long enough. They deserve their city back."
"I concur," Edanu smiled. "Once our scouts return, we shall depart."
"…Is that not them?" Vrage asked, frowning as he nodded at something in the distance.
Telepe and Edanu turned to gaze through the open gates of Falkreath. Three figures were hurrying towards the city, carrying a fourth over their shoulders. Though it was difficult to tell from where he was standing, Telepe thought he saw dark splotches of blood on the tan-skinned woman that was being supported by the other three, and as they drew closer, he noticed an arrow shaft sticking out of her shoulder. Nausea filled him as the three figures – Pasare and two of her scouts, he realized – set the fourth woman on her back, laying her gently in a pile of grass, where she gasped and wheezed for air.
"Healer!" Edanu shouted, but before he had opened his mouth, Tari had already leapt off of Emero's back and was pulling out a jar of salve. As she knelt beside the woman and began pulling off her leather armor, Edanu turned to Pasare and demanded, "What happened?"
"She is not one of ours!" Pasare answered quickly. "Or, rather, he is not one of the scouts who joined us into Skyrim. Belona here remained in Sancre Tor!"
"Then why-?" Edanu murmured.
"I… came… to find you," Belona wheezed, opening her eyes and staring up at the legate. "I have… a message…."
Edanu glanced at Telepe, then looked back down at the scout and nodded. "Speak, then," he said softly.
Belona closed her eyes and took a slow, shuddering breath, then stared up at Edanu fiercely. "Sancre Tor… is under attack."