Chapter 56
Duel in the Tower
A warm wind slowly blew Pelinal and Telepe's ship across the still waters of Lake Rumare, pushing them north from Vindasel. At first, the pair had considered sailing directly to the City Isle, but they quickly realized that there were not only watchmen on the walls, but also guards patrolling the shore of the island as well. If they tried to land on the beach, their boat would almost certainly be sunk long before they reached the shore. As such, Pelinal had instead suggested that they disembark north of Fanacasecul, then cross the long bridge that connected the city to the mainland.
"After all," Pelinal smirked. "If this is meant to be a proper duel, we should announce our intentions plainly, rather than sneaking onto the island like rats."
Telepe, naturally, was in no position to disagree.
Their voyage took them only a few hours, and Telepe found it almost pleasant. Though summer was almost upon them, the air was still comfortable, and the sky was clear, allowing both the stars and the almost-full Masser and Secuda to light their way. Since the Ayleids also did not have any warships on the lake to contest them, they were able to sail freely and without fear of retribution, so long as they didn't drift too close to the White-Gold City.
It was well past midnight when they docked their small ship on the mainland side of the bridge. Pelinal waited impatiently for Telepe to tie the boat to a small, abandoned fishing dock, and then the two climbed the steep slope and headed towards the long bridge that led to the White-Gold City.
As they had expected, the bridge was heavily guarded, and as soon as they approached the edge, they were confronted by a dozen elite Ayleid guards and two of Meridia's golden-armored servants. Their captain stared at the pair of them as they approached, then raised his hand. His warriors pointed their at them spears, and Telepe and Pelinal stopped short, with the latter snarling and resting his hand on the hilt of his blade.
"Oh, come now," the captain sneered, glancing Telepe up and down. "We've all heard the tales of the ferocity of the Slave-Queen's pet, but you cannot truly expect me to believe that you two intend to take this city alone."
"We have no intention of attacking the city at all," Telepe replied simply. He motioned to his outfit – his fine grey tunic, black pants, soft leather boots, and white cloak. "Do I look dressed for battle? No. We've come to treat with Umaril. Will you allow us to pass?" The captain stared at him, and Telepe added, "If you're still wary of our intentions, we would welcome an escort."
The captain's men chuckled behind him, the disbelief clear in their voices, while the captain narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And you expect us to allow that thing in the presence of our king?" he demanded, motioning to Pelinal.
Telepe raised an eyebrow. "Umaril is the mightiest warrior in Cyrod, is he not?" he asked coolly. "Do you have so little faith in his might that you won't even allow Pelinal here to approach him?"
"Do you think me a fool?!" the captain demanded with a snarl. "I will not allow assassins into our city!"
"If we sought to assassinate Umaril, we would not plainly announce our intentions," Telepe pointed out with a scowl. "I assure you, we've come only to negotiate with him. Will you honor our request, or not?"
The captain hesitated, but before he could respond, Pelinal snarled and pushed Telepe aside. "Enough! My patience is wearing thin!" Pelinal snapped, yanking his sword from its scabbard and pointing it at the throat of the Ayleid captain. "Either lead us to Umaril, or I'll cleave your head from your shoulders! Choose now!"
The Ayleid's eyes widened with fury, and as his fellow warriors lowered their spears, he snapped indignantly, "You dare-?!"
Pelinal drew his sword back and swung it in a short arc, decapitating the Ayleid officer in one smooth stroke. His comrades let out shocked and indignant cries, but before they could draw their own blades, Pelinal darted forward. He lashed out in a wide arc, and Telepe winced as the Ayleids' cries of pain filled the air. Two fell in Pelinal's first stroke, and as another stepped in to attack him, Pelinal stepped closer and ran him through. As his compatriots tried to flank him, Pelinal yanked his mace from his belt and swung it with his left hand, sending their broken bodies sprawling across the ground.
The remaining Ayleids broke and ran. Ahead on the bridge, Telepe could see more Ayleids and Aurorans rushing to meet them. He grimaced as he let his hand fall to his own sword, but before he could draw it, Pelinal pushed him back, then hooked his mace to his belt and held up his left hand.
"Close your eyes," Pelinal ordered him as his palm began to glow blindingly bright. Telepe grit his teeth and turned his head, shutting his eyes tightly. The insides of his eyelids briefly flared red, and a moment later the terrified screams of the Ayleids on the bridge filled his ears before abruptly falling silent. When he turned back around, he was greeted with the scent of ozone and burnt flesh, and he winced as he saw the fallen bodies of dozens of Ayleids and Daedra littering the ground.
"Come. Quickly," Pelinal said breathlessly, before taking off at a trot.
Telepe swallowed, then fell into step behind Pelinal, following him at a quick walk. As their footsteps echoed along the cobblestones, he asked, "Was that wise? I thought using that light taxes your strength."
"It does," Pelinal growled. "However, it would have taxed my strength even more if I was forced to fend off a small army of our foes… especially since I would have to protect you as well," he added, casting an accusatory eye at Telepe. "You cannot tell me honestly that you are in any shape to fight."
Telepe grimaced, glancing away, which Pelinal responded to with a knowing grunt. After a few moments, he asked, "If I may, though… why did you not use that light when we were attempting to take the bridge across the Niben River? That would have been the ideal time to use it, with our enemies arrayed in a straight path before us, Morihaus would not have been injured."
Pelinal let out an irritated growl, and Telepe quickly fell silent. After a moment, however, Pelinal replied brusquely, "Why did we even recruit an army if I must win every battle for this rebellion? I presumed our men could take the bridge with minimal assistance, so I chose to conserve my strength. Tonight, however, it is only us two, and I do not have the luxury of holding back." He then turned to glare at Telepe through the thin slits in his winged helmet. "Now, if you do not have any other pointless questions, be silent. I cannot focus upon both you and our enemy. Save your tongue for when it might be of use… such as securing us passage through those gates," he added, turning to nod at the entrance to the White-Gold City at the end of the bridge.
Telepe swallowed and nodded, before squaring his shoulders and approaching the high walls of the city. Immediately, archers leveled their bows at him, but Telepe quickly held his hands up in a placating gesture.
"Peace!" he called up to the guards. "I am an envoy from the rebellion, and I have merely come to treat with your king!"
"An envoy that has already slain dozens of our men!" one of the archers cried in reply, before loosing an arrow.
Telepe didn't have time to react, but fortunately, Pelinal was quick enough to dart forward and hold his shield up. The arrow slid off the face of the red, diamond-shaped shield, and Pelinal snarled up at the Ayleid, but Telepe quickly held his hands up.
"Enough!" he shouted, before looking back up at the archer. "No man or mer threatens an envoy when they come bearing a message. Your compatriots did… as you are doing the now! Whitestrake was within his rights to protect me, as my escort! Nevertheless, we wish to avoid more unnecessary bloodshed!" That was not technically untrue, he thought wryly. After all, they only wanted to take Umaril's life, if possible. "To that end, please simply allow me to speak with your king!"
The guards traded looks, but before one of them could respond, a booming voice suddenly echoed from the direction of the Temple of the Ancestors. "Stand down, valiant warriors of the White-Gold City," it commanded. Telepe grit his teeth and resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears as the voice made the air around him vibrate unpleasantly. "The emissary is correct – we do not attack those that come bearing messages… at least, not until we have received them." Telepe swallowed at the veiled threat, but the voice then continued, "We shall not have it be said that we are barbaric savages who refuse to treat with emissaries. Open the gates and escort him to me. We shall grant him an audience."
The Ayleids on the walls hesitated, glancing at each other, and then they gathered together and had a brief, heated discussion. Finally, however, one of them sighed and motioned to something below them. Moments later, the enormous wood and bronze doors were slowly pushed open, creaking mightily, until the entrance to the White-Gold City was fully open.
Telepe shot a glance at Pelinal, and they both stepped forward, but before they could pass through the threshold, the voice said, "Hold. I agreed to treat with the emissary of this rebellion. I did not say that I would permit the Slave-Queen's pet in my presence. If you intend to speak with me, it must wait until we conclude our negotiations."
Telepe glanced at Pelinal, who was trembling with unbridled rage at the insult. "Umaril, you craven mongrel!" Pelinal roared. "Cease hiding in your tower and come face me!"
"Whitestrake!" Telepe said sharply. Pelinal turned to glare at him, but Telepe held up his hands in a placating gesture "You agreed to allow me to accompany you so that I could arrange a duel between you and Umaril, and I intend to fulfill that oath. Simply allow me a few moments in his presence, and I swear that you shall soon be bathing in his blood."
Pelinal snarled and gripped his sword tightly, but Telepe continued to stare at him pointedly until his grip on his weapon relaxed. "You are walking into a trap," the knight warned.
"Yes. And if they spring it, I trust that you shall be able to thwart it," Telepe replied with a slight smile.
Pelinal narrowed his eyes, but finally removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and nodded. "Very well," he said shortly, folding his arms over his chest. "But make haste. I don't know how long I can restrain myself from slaughtering these insolent mer," he added, glowering furiously at the Ayleid guards, who glared at him in return.
Telepe smiled slightly to himself and nodded, then turned to his guide, who shook his head before motioning for Telepe to walk with him. He followed the Ayleid through the gateway, whereupon they were approached by four Ayleid warriors, accompanied by two golden-armored Daedra – Meridia's Aurorans. The mer glared at Telepe as he approached them, wearing expressions of utter loathing, but they then silently motioned for him to follow. Without sparing him another glance, they began marching towards the center of the city, threatening to leave him behind if he didn't match their swift pace.
Telepe broke into a light jog to keep up with them, but he did have enough time to spare a few glances around at the city as they walked. While the general layout and décor of the city had not changed since he had last visited – grand bronze and marble monuments, white cobblestone streets, and elegant ivory architecture – the city itself had a markedly different aura than what he remembered.
The first thing that caught his eye were the slaves. Eight of them, chained to the doors of the city, had been used to drag it open like mules, and he could see from their open wounds and emaciated bodies that they were being treated horrifically by their masters, even by Ayleid standards. As it was late at night, the streets were almost deserted, but some of the household slaves were sleeping in the streets near their masters' houses. They, likewise, looked more like beaten, starving dogs than people. Telepe suspected that their masters were savagely torturing their slaves out of their own fear and hatred of the rebellion; though they could not face the rebel armies themselves, they could at least torment and humiliate the helpless men and women that they owned. Their masters' cruelty was born of sheer cowardice, Telepe knew, but he also knew that such knowledge was hollow comfort to the men and women that were being forced to endure their masters' petty malice.
As they walked deeper into the city, however, Telepe quickly realized that the slaves that were being beaten by their masters were the lucky ones. Bile rose in his throat as he saw that several slaves had already been slain, and their corpses staked along the sides of the streets, either as a warning against further rebellion, or as the subjects of grotesque Ayleid art-torture.
Marble altars had also been hastily erected on the grassy knolls that grew beside the cobblestone streets, and in the brilliant white light of the Varla Stone sconces that illuminated the streets, Telepe saw that their smooth surfaces were caked with dried blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a slave, screaming and thrashing as he was dragged to an altar in the distance by a pair of armored Ayleid warriors. He stopped for a moment to watch as a white-robed mage stood over him and drew a dagger, and while the slave screamed for mercy, the mage pitilessly swung the dagger down. Telepe quickly looked away before the blade pierced the slave's flesh, but he still felt his stomach turn as the Nede's screams slowly died. When he turned back around, he saw that the slave's body was being consumed by white flames. As the corpse dissolved, a shimmering portal opened, and a golden-armored Auroran stepped through, it blank face slowly swiveling back and forth to take in its surroundings, while the mage smirked with satisfaction.
Telepe swallowed hard, suddenly grateful that Umaril had ordered Pelinal to remain outside the city, as he doubted the knight would have been able to restrain himself upon witnessing these horrors. Fortunately, they did not need to endure the ghastly spectacle for long, as his escort guided him swiftly through the city, leading him directly to the Temple of the Ancestors. They passed through another set of massive oak and bronze doors that led to the innermost part of the city, which were opened for them without incident, and then his escort guided him down a long street and up a flight of pristine marble stairs leading to the Temple itself. Telepe felt his heart starting to pound rapidly as they approached one of the tower's entrances, which was guarded by a pair of muscular Ayleid warriors wearing ornate, white-painted armor, and carrying shields bearing the sigil of the White-Gold City. They glared at Telepe as he approached, but when their escort approached them and spoke in a low voice, they reluctantly turned and pushed open the doors to the Temple, allowing Telepe to enter unmolested.
Though Telepe initially wondered if Umaril was waiting in the council chambers, his guide walked past the chamber entrance and instead led Telepe along the brightly lit, circular hallway, until they reached a set of stairs that led to a second level. The two Ayleids standing guard let them pass without contest, and Telepe's escort led him partway around another circular hallway before coming to a halt in front of a set of heavy bronze doors, which was guarded by a quartet of Ayleid warriors. They pushed open the doors for Telepe and his guide, then stepped aside as Telepe slowly walked into an unfamiliar room. He paused at the threshold and allowed himself a moment to gaze around, his eyes widening as he took in his surroundings.
The second level served as the throne room for the ruler of the White-Gold Tower. His boots barely made a sound as he trod across a plush green carpet that had been laid out along the white marble floor. Varla stones hung from pristine white pillars the held the ceiling above them aloft, illuminating the room with their brilliant white light, but also producing deep shadows that bathed large swaths of the room in inky darkness. Two sets of storied benches encircled the room, not unlike the forum-like council chambers below them, and seated on those benches were over forty Ayleids.
The men and women that occupied the cold marble seats were dressed in brightly polished, ornate bronze armor, etched with fine feathery designs and inlaid with glowing Welkynd Stones. At their hips and across their backs were finely crafted swords, axes, and bows, which shimmered with magical energy in the low light. Many had woven feathers and magical beads into their hair, and more than half wore the feathery crown-helms of Ayleid kings. Telepe realized with a start that these were the kings and nobles of the heartland kingdoms – those that were the most closely allied with Umaril, who had abandoned their own cities to seek refuge with him during this final siege of the White-Gold City.
The kings were accompanied by other Ayleids that Telepe assumed were their personal guards. Their heavy bronze armor was only slightly less fine than their lieges', and they likewise bore polished bronze spears, shortswords, axes, and maces. The kings were also guarded by yet more of Meridia's favored Aurorans, who stood silently and stared at Telepe as he slowly made his way to the center of the chamber. Telepe, meanwhile, stopped gazing around and turned his full attention to the figure looming in front of him.
Directly opposite the door leading into the throne room, situated on a dais ten feet above the benches, was a gleaming marble throne, upon which sat a massive figure. The lower half of their body was illuminated by the Varla Stones ringing the room, allowing Telepe to see a pair of heavy golden boots that ended in talon-like toes. His legs were completely encased in gold plate, and the only part of his lower body that was not protected by armor was a strip of rune-inscribed gold cloth, which settled over his loins. His hands were also illuminated by the bright light, with his left hand resting on his thigh, and his right gripping an enormous golden-bladed sword, as tall as Telepe. His upper body was cloaked in shadow, but the figure's eyes glowed from within the darkness with a sinister golden light, like tiny twin suns. Telepe felt a shiver run through his body as they stared down at him, and his body trembled as a low chuckle reverberated throughout the room.
"It has been some time since we last spoke, has it not, emissary?" Umaril asked. His words were cordial, but his tone was dripping with contempt. "Welcome to my palace."
Telepe could feel his heart pounding in his throat as Umaril stared at him, unblinking. He hadn't felt such fear since he had stood before Meridia herself. In fact, he noted, he almost felt as though the Daedric Prince herself was standing behind Umaril's shoulder, glaring down at him. As that thought drifted through his mind, panic began to well up inside of him, and his instincts once again urged him to flee, before he was cursed again.
Telepe forced himself to ruthlessly suppress that thought. It seemed that Umaril at least did not intend to harm him so long as he was serving as an emissary. He took a slow breath, then squared his shoulders and stared directly into Umaril's piercing golden eyes. "Well met, Your Majesty," Telepe replied diplomatically, bowing his head while still holding the mer's gaze. "Thank you for allowing me a moment of your time."
"Still as polite as ever," Umaril remarked, chuckling to himself. "I am pleased to see that your adventures in my realm and your association with the barbaric rebellion have not stripped you of your etiquette. However… you do seem to have changed much. As I recall, your name was… Atkynd, yes? Though that is not the name you bear any longer, is it?"
Telepe smiled faintly to himself. Umaril was clearly taunting him, but he refused to rise to the bait. "If it pleases your Majesty, call me Telepe," he replied smoothly. "As I am certain you can well imagine, I have come on behalf of the rebellion to treat with you."
"Quite," Umaril boomed. He shifted forward on his throne slightly, leaning more heavily on his sword as the point of it dug into the smooth marble floor beneath its tip. "Pray tell, what has the rebellion come to offer me?"
Telepe resisted the urge to step back as Umaril's intense gaze seemed to burn through him. Keeping his voice steady, he replied simply, "I have come to ask if you are willing to surrender."
Umaril immediately tilted his headd back, his booming laughter filling the room. The Ayleid kings sitting on the benches immediately joined in, their mocking jeers acting as a chorus to Umaril's own voice. As their laughter died down, however, some were caught by surprise when they saw that Telepe was laughing as well.
"I thought as much," Telepe stated with a grin.
"Did you?" Umaril asked in a biting tone, all hints of mirth gone. "Then why waste my time with the question?"
"I at least wished to present the opportunity," Telepe replied simply, clasping his hands behind his back. "After all, you are in a tenuous position, Your Majesty. Every city in the heartland of Cyrod, save for yours, has been captured or pacified by the rebellion. An enormous army, numbering in the tens of thousands, has surrounded this island, and soon they shall begin a siege that shall slowly choke the life out of your remaining forces. This will, admittedly, be a very long and arduous siege for our forces as well as yours. However, since you cannot prevail, we were hoping that we might simply avoid the unnecessary loss of life that is certain to follow and bring about this war's only possible conclusion – your surrender."
On the benches, some of the kings began whispering to each other, while others glared at Telepe furiously. Umaril, however, stared at him coldly, completely still on his throne. After several long, tense minutes, the enormous king sat back, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
"Astounding," he remarked in a low voice. "I had thought that your encounter with my mistress would have taught you how unwise it is to insult the gods, yet it seems that you are as insolent as ever." The Ayleid king leaned forward again, a low chuckle rumbling throughout the room "I must say, your arrogance is remarkable, considering that I know that you suffered greatly after you met with her. Tell me… do you believe she cursed you?" When Telepe remained silent, Umaril continued, "You are mistaken. She placed her mark upon you as a punishment, yes, but it was not a curse. It was righteous retribution for your arrogance. It was justice. What's more, in her mercy, she even allowed you the opportunity to atone for your sins. Had you done as she commanded, you would have been absolved."
Umaril sat back on his throne, both hands clasping the hilt of his sword. "Instead, you dared cheat your way out of the geas she imposed upon you. In that, at least, I suppose your wits are commendable. Know, however, that you have made a powerful enemy. I have never known my lady to harbor such unbridled hatred for any single mortal. I shall warn you, emissary – she has commanded me to deliver you to her. She has even told me of the fate that awaits you. My lady shall imprison you in her realm for eternity. You shall be bound in her throne room, permanently displayed as a trophy, as an example of what awaits those that cross her. Her light shall spread through every facet of your being. Inside and out, it shall endlessly cleanse you. You shall scream for mercy, but my lady shall grant you none. You spurned her mercy once. She shall not show you such quarter ever again."
Telepe felt his stomach turning and his heart pounding with terror as Umaril described what awaited him, but he managed to keep his composure. When the king finished, he asked softly, "Then you intend to bring me to her now?"
"No," Umaril replied simply, to Telepe's mild surprise. "At least, not yet. So long as you stand in my presence as an envoy, I shall respect the rules of diplomacy. None shall harm you, not even my mistress. Should we meet on the battlefield, however, know that you shall not be granted the mercy of death. I shall take great pains to ensure that you are captured alive and brought to Lady Meridia as the prize she desires."
Telepe exhaled slowly. He knew that Umaril was not making idle threats, but at the very least, something about his tone made him trust that Umaril would keep his word. To that end, he straightened up and replied, "Thank you for your magnanimity, Your Majesty. Now, if you and your forces shall not surrender, might we reach a different sort of arrangement?"
"To what end?" Umaril asked simply. "So far as I can see, neither of our armies intends to surrender, so battle is inevitable, is it not?"
"Perhaps," Telepe replied simply. "However, you are still Meridia's champion, and the champion of the Daedraphile Ayleids. As such, I trust that you wish to avoid shedding as much of your people's blood as possible. To that end, I wish to offer a proposal."
Umaril let out a soft sound that Telepe suspected might have been laughter. It was already clear to both of them, after all, that Umaril was more than happy to sacrifice others, so long as he achieved victory. However, the Ayleid champion tilted head back and said, "Speak."
"If surrender is non-negotiable, then I wish to propose a duel between you and Pelinal Whitestrake," Telepe stated. Off to the sides, he could hear the Ayleid kings muttering, but he ignored them and continued, "This will spare both of our armies a lengthy, bloody siege that will undoubtedly result in tens of thousands of needless deaths."
Umaril chuckled softly to himself, leaning forward on his sword. "Ah. He has come to answer my challenge, then?" he asked softly.
Telepe frowned, allowing some of his annoyance to show on his face. "Why did you think he came here tonight?" he asked coldly.
"Pelinal Whitestrake has been known to massacre entire kingdoms alone," Umaril replied. Telepe could hear the sneer in his voice. "I did not know he had come in an official capacity. After all, he could well have simply come to raid my kingdom. Why would I allow such a mindless savage in my presence?"
"Then as the envoy of the rebellion, allow me to make a formal declaration," Telepe replied, biting back his growing irritation. "As his herald, I wish to inform you that Pelinal Whitestrake has come to answer your challenge. He agrees to your request for a duel, and awaits you – rather impatiently, I might add – beyond the walls of your city. Will you withdraw your challenge, or will you permit him entry so that he may face you?"
Umaril's laughter stopped, and in the shadows, Telepe could see him incline his head slightly. "I see," he murmured. "Very well. Do you have any terms for this duel?"
Telepe smiled slightly to himself and tilted his head back slightly. "Let this duel decide who shall rule the White-Gold City," he said. "As I stated earlier, if our armies do battle, tens of thousands will die. Regardless of who wins, that would leave this realm severely weakened and open to invasion by outside powers, such as the Nordic Empire. I am certain that you wish to avoid that just as the Paravant does."
Umaril tilted his head slightly as he pulled his hand into the shadows and ran his fingers along his chin. "True," he admitted thoughtfully. "This war has severely depleted our armies, and I must confess that your Nordic allies have proven most troublesome. Very well," he said, inclining his head. "And if I emerge victorious, you and your armies must disband immediately, and you shall bring the Paravant to me directly."
"Then you shall allow Whitestrake to join us, so that we might arrange this duel properly?" Telepe asked, as patiently as he could manage.
Umaril sat back on his throne, then looked up at the ceiling above him. "Pelinal Whitestrake," Umaril announced, his voice reverberating off the walls. Telepe winced at the noise, though he did note that that it sounded no louder than someone yelling near his ear. "If you still wish to answer my challenge, then I shall permit you entry into my city. Come to my throne room and face me."
Telepe smiled slightly. "You have my tha-"
"However," Umaril continued. "Be forewarned that there are many in this city who seek vengeance upon you for the atrocities that you have committed. Know that they may seek retribution upon you… and that, unfortunately, I cannot deter them. I await your arrival."
Telepe's smile vanished instantly, and he turned to glare up at Umaril. "You would dare attack him while under the banner of truce?!" he demanded.
Umaril shrugged blithely. "I said that I would honor the rules of diplomacy. I did not say that those who inhabit my city would do the same. After all, there are many Ayleids currently taking refuge within these walls, and not all answer to me. Most are citizens of other kingdoms, and as such, I do not command them."
"Indeed, because you have so little sway over your allies," Telepe spat sarcastically, turning to glower at the kings seated on the benches around them.
Umaril chuckled lightly. "We both know well how rage can blind one to reason, don't we? How many kingdoms has Whitestrake razed while consumed by fury, in spite of his own mistress' command? If she cannot control her own champion, why do you believe I can control those who are not my followers? Besides, merely entering my throne room should surely be a simple task for one who can single-handedly slaughter entire settlements, yes?"
Telepe glared at the Ayleid king and folded his arms over his chest. "And surely you could have simply provided him an escort as you did with me," he retorted.
Umaril leaned down slightly, his golden eyes burning a bit brighter. "If you object, you are free to stop my warriors yourself," the king said softly.
Telepe narrowed his eyes, then looked away. It was obvious that Umaril was allowing his warriors to attack Pelinal at will simply to exhaust him and improve his own chances of victory. Unfortunately, Telepe also knew there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Umaril chuckled lightly, then motioned to a spot to his left.
"Come. Join me," Umaril invited him. Telepe hesitated, and the king added, "I am certain that Pelinal will be along shortly. You have nothing to fear from me, but if you remain where you are, you shall be standing where we will do battle, and I cannot guarantee your safety."
Telepe hesitated for a moment longer, then slowly approached Umaril until he was standing beside the throne. Even there, Telepe could not see Umaril's torso, but he noticed that his body seemed to be faintly wreathed in a shimmering, prismatic light that he hadn't noticed while he was further away.
Umaril nodded with satisfaction, then settled back into a more comfortable position on his throne. He, Telepe, and the kings then waited in tense silence for Pelinal to arrive. The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as Telepe's stomach roiled with anxiety. Pelinal was nearly invincible, he knew, but he had never seen an army as large as Umaril's. If Pelinal was forced to fight every warrior that Umaril had brought into the city….
Finally, after several long minutes, a furious scream echoed through the hallways outside, followed by a loud, metallic crashing. Telepe let out a slow sigh of relief as heavy footsteps thundered up the marble stairs outside the throne room, while Umaril shifted on his throne, leaning forward in anticipation.
Pelinal finally burst into the room, panting and snarling with rage. He was dragging a hulking Auroran behind him by the throat, and as he stepped into the room, he ruthlessly plunged his sword into the Auroran's neck. The Daedra twitched and struggled for a few moments before lying still, whereupon Pelinal raised his head and growled.
Before he could move, however, eight of the kings' Aurorans sprang at him from out of the shadows. Pelinal turned in time to catch the first blow on his shield, but another swung its axe and caught Pelinal in the chest. Pelinal grunted, then turned and slashed his assailant across the stomach, his sword slicing through its golden body. Another two charged at him at the same time, but Pelinal met them by bringing his shield up and lowering his shoulder to ram it hard into their left and right shoulders at the same time, staggering them. He cleaved through them, then leapt back as another two advanced on him. One managed to graze his shin with its axe, but though Pelinal staggered slightly, he remained on his feet. He quickly sheathed his sword and drew his mace, then drove into the Daedra and slammed it into one's chest and the other's head, sending them both to the ground. The remaining three Aurorans advanced on him at the same time, but Pelinal shifted to his left to isolate one, which he dispatched by crushing its leg and then bashing its head in when it fell to its knee. From this position, he rolled into the second Auroran and pierced its stomach with the point of his mace, then tossed it aside in time to catch the third's strike on his shield. With a grunt, he heaved the Auroran's axe upward, then stepped in and swung his mace in an upward strike that caught the Auroran under its chin and snapped its head back, whereupon it fell to the ground, lifeless, at Umaril's feet.
The hulking figure on the throne glanced down at the Daedra's corpse almost nonchalantly before looking up at Pelinal again. As the knight strode into the room, the kings on either side of him suddenly rose from their seats and drew their weapons. They lunged for him, but Pelinal barely spared them a glance before raising his mace above his head and slamming it down on the floor. An ear-splitting crack echoed through the room, and the marble flagstones shattered under the force of his blow. The Ayleids rushing towards him froze in their tracks, terrified, as Pelinal slowly swept his gaze around the room.
"Bring me Umaril, who dared call me out!" Pelinal bellowed, nearly frothing with rage. The kings and warriors on either side of him shot wary glances at each other, and then, as one, slowly turned towards the figure on the throne.
Umaril, however, remained seated, apparently unimpressed with Pelinal's display of strength and fury. "Welcome, Pelinal Whitestrake," the Ayleid king greeted him in what could have been mistaken for a cordial tone, were it not for the clearly mocking undertone. "I am pleased that you are able to join us. Your herald has informed me that you wish to duel me for the throne of my kingdom."
"Is that so?" he asked, glancing at Telepe, who nodded. "Very well! If the fate of this city is enough to compel you to fight me, then so be it!" Pelinal snapped, pointing at Umaril. "So long as I can take your head!"
"As you wish," Umaril replied calmly, but rather than rising, he seemed to settle back into his seat even more comfortably. "However, if you take this city, you will essentially claim all of Cyrod, and we are to fight for Cyrod itself, then know that I am not your only opponent." He swept his arm around the room, indicating the other kings. "After all, I would not presume to speak for every kingdom in Cyrod. Surely they too deserve the chance to fight for their own homelands."
The kings hesitated, glancing at each other, and then they flinched as Pelinal turned to glare furiously at each of them in turn. "Enough of this farce!" Pelinal roared. "Either draw your blade or offer me your throat, mongrel!"
"Mer of Cyrod," Umaril continued, blithely ignoring Pelinal. "I know that you fear this rabid beast before you, but I did not merely summon you here to grant you refuge. I have given you the tools that shall allow to reclaim your lands. You need only trust in their quality, and in the radiance of our Lady! If you doubt me, then know that I have already given similar weapons to my Aurorans, and they have already proven their worth! Look closely! This beast has already been wounded!"
Telepe frowned in confusion, then leaned forward to peer more intently at Pelinal's body. It was difficult to tell in the glaring light of the Varla stones, but as he looked closer, he realized, to his shock, that Pelinal's armor did indeed seem to have been split where the Aurorans' axes had struck him. He also noticed that Pelinal was slightly favoring the leg that had been slashed.
"See!" Umaril continued. "None can deny his strength, but he is not invincible! There it stands, the beast that has ravaged your lands and forced you to seek shelter here! Tell me, kings of Cyrod… will you allow your humiliation to go unanswered?! If so, surrender your crowns now, for you are unworthy of them! If not, then show me the resolve of the mighty kings of Cyrod!"
Despite Umaril's rousing speech, the kings still hesitated, glancing at one another to see who would make the first move. Pelinal, likewise, paused for a moment to look around at the kings, as though daring them to engage him. When none moved, he let out a sinister chuckle and began advancing towards Umaril, gripping his mace tightly. When his back was turned, however, one of the warriors slowly raised his bow and nocked an arrow in its drawstring. Telepe's eyes widened as he noticed that the bronze point was shimmering with a bright blue magical aura, with what seemed like tiny stars floating in the nimbus of magic. Every eye, save for Pelinal's, was on the warrior, as he exhaled and released the arrow.
The soft twang of the bow resounded through the room, and the arrow flew too swiftly for Telepe to follow it. Pelinal quickly swung around and raised his shield to deflect the attack, but he was just a touch too slow. The arrow slipped past his shield, pierced the chainmail protecting his upper arm, and buried itself into his arm. Pelinal let out a roar, partially of pain, but mostly of confusion, as he stared in disbelief at the arrow protruding from his bicep. The kings and Telepe, likewise, gaped at Pelinal's broken armor and the blood running down his arm. Then, all at once, the kings and their guards let out savage cries and sprang towards Pelinal.
Though he was still reeling from the surprise attack, Pelinal instinctively raised his shield and managed to deflect the first couple of strikes that were rained on him. The shimmering swords and axes slid off the face of his shield, but Telepe saw that they bit into its surface, even if the attacks only left shallow marks. Pelinal snarled and swung his mace in a short arc, catching one of the warriors across the face and sending him sprawling. However, this provided an opening for the King of Vindasel – if Telepe had read his shield's sigil correctly in the frenzied melee – to step in and viciously chop his axe downward. The glowing head of the axe bit through the armor protecting Pelinal's shoulderblade, and Pelinal let out another roar of pain before swing his mace around and catching the king in the chest. The Ayleid crumpled to the ground and lay still, unmoving, but still more warriors swarmed Pelinal, and within moments, another sword-strike had pierced through his armor and grazed his forearm, while another arrow embedded itself in his calf.
"How?!" Telepe murmured in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock. Pelinal had never so much as suffered a scratch throughout the war, yet these weapons were tearing through his enchanted armor as easily as iron bit through bronze.
Beside him, Umaril let out a soft chuckle. "Remarkable weapons, aren't they?" he asked, turning his glowing gaze on Telepe for a moment. "I personally forged those weapons myself. I have been hoarding them since I first issued my challenge to Whitestrake."
"But… they're simple bronze, yes?!" Telepe exclaimed, wincing as Pelinal staggered from a sword-strike to his chest, which thankfully didn't cut through his breast. "Even enchanted, the metal should not pierce Whitestrake's-!"
"When one uses powerful enough magic, the mere metal the weapons are smithed from becomes irrelevant," Umaril explained in an infuriatingly patient tone, as though he was a master instructing a pupil. "For many nights I labored, imbuing those weapons with varliance – star-magic, one of our most ancient and powerful forms of magic. It is said that Whitestrake's armor has been blessed by the gods, yes? So too have those weapons. After all, light is the most powerful of the four elements, and starlight is the purest form of light. It is the unfiltered essence of Magnus and his children – including our lady, Meridia. Thus, it should not surprise you that these weapons that I have constructed can rend your champion's armor." A soft chuckle escaped the Ayleid king's lips. "A divine weapon to combat divine armor. Fitting, is it not?"
Telepe swallowed as he turned back to watch Pelinal fending off a blow from his right, using his mace to parry the attack before slashing the king attacking him across the chest, his blade easily tearing through his bronze armor. The king – Vilverin's, Telepe guessed – stumbled backwards, gasping and holding his hand over the shallow wound on his chest. He gingerly eyed the blood on his hand, then looked up at Umaril, who met the king's gaze and lowered his head slightly. The King of Vilverin nodded, then turned and launched himself at Pelinal again. As Pelinal was facing off against a pair of warriors from Sercen, he was left unaware of the King of Vilverin's attack until the mer's axe sank into his unprotected hip. Pelinal let out a roar of pain and swung around, slashing him across the face in retaliation. The king screamed in pain and clutched his mangled nose, but while he staggered away to nurse his wound, his bright blue eyes remained fixed on Pelinal, shining with unmistakable, unshakable determination.
Telepe glanced up at Umaril again, who was lounging back on his throne and watching the melee like a spectator in an arena. He then gazed at the kings who were still throwing themselves at Pelinal, desperately attacking him despite the fact that they were clearly outmatched, even as fatigued and wounded as Pelinal was. It truly was a testament to Umaril's charisma, that he could not only draw these kings to him, but incite them into fighting a nearly invincible warrior on his behalf. And yet….
"How pitiful," Telepe said softly.
Umaril glanced down at him, then turned back to the fight in time to watch Pelinal narrowly duck beneath an arrow that had been loosed by one of the archers near the walls. "Whitestrake? Quite," Umaril agreed. "He truly does not live up to the tales that have been sung about him. This is the knight that destroyed entire kingdoms alone? I expected far more."
"Not Whitestrake," Telepe corrected him, glancing up at the massive figure seated beside him. "It is pitiful that Meridia's champion would challenge an enemy to a duel, only to order his vassals to fight in his stead."
Umaril slowly turned towards Telepe, and as his golden eyes bored into him, Telepe felt a shiver run down his spine. "I spoke of this during our last meeting, emissary," Umaril commented. His voice was calm, but there was a distinct undertone of malice. "You know well that I have no qualms about employing whatever means I must to achieve victory."
"Victory?" Telepe repeated with a deep frown. He paused for a moment to watch as Pelinal parried a slash from an Ayleid warrior and retaliated with a ruthless slash across his throat. "What victories have you won during this war? Over this past year, your armies have suffered defeat after defeat. Perhaps you personally have never been defeated by the Paravant or her followers, true, but nearly all of your allies have either turned on you and joined the rebellion, or have been conquered." Telepe glanced at the king and smirked wryly. "I must confess, I cannot fathom how losing every other kingdom in Cyrod to the rebels and allowing your final stronghold to fall under siege is somehow a cunning strategy to defeat the Paravant." When Umaril remained silent for a few moments, Telepe pressed, "Were I Meridia, I would be furious. How many boons has she granted you, only for you to squander-?"
"Silence!" Umaril barked. Despite himself, Telepe flinched, and he felt another shudder of fear run through him as Umaril's glowing eyes seemed to burn all the brighter. "You are a mere mortal! Who are you to dare presume to know the mind of my lady?!"
Telepe swallowed, then exhaled slowly to steady his nerves. He would be lying if he claimed that he wasn't intimidated by Umaril's massive form looming over him. However, he forced himself to smile calmly and meet Umaril's burning gaze. "Who am I, Your Majesty?" Telepe asked softly. "I am Telepe, Atkynd av Aluciel-Sunnagea. I am the emissary of the Paravant, Al-Esh, the leader of Cyrod's slave rebellion. I have journeyed across Tamriel, from the peaks of Malabal to the swamps of the Blackwood. I have liberated slaves and slain their captors. I have befriended princes and slaves, men and mer. With my words alone, I have revived allied kingdoms, and doomed those that declared themselves our enemies. I have swayed dragons… and even outwitted gods," he concluded, smirking slightly to himself when he saw Umaril bristling at his final comment. "I know well who I am, and though I am a mere mortal, I have accomplished a great deal throughout this war. What of you, Umaril Many-Feathers? What can you claim to have accomplished?"
Telepe paused for a long moment when he noticed that Umaril was quaking with rage. The hand gripping the hilt of his massive sword was visibly trembling, and when he spoke, his voice was quivering. "You dare speak to me in this manner only because you are protected by the courtesy that I have shown you as an emissary," Umaril whispered. "You know well that I could slay you where you stand."
"You could. But you shall not, and not simply because I am an emissary," Telepe retorted calmly. "You have already said that your mistress wishes for you to deliver me to her alive. You would not dare defy her by cutting me down." Umaril said nothing in reply, but continued to pin Telepe with a withering glare. "However, in truth, I do not believe that any member of the rebellion need fear you."
Umaril let out a soft, venomous laugh. "And what, pray tell, gives you the confidence to claim this?" he asked, his apparent amusement a poor mask for his growing fury.
"Your inaction throughout this war," Telepe replied simply. He turned to face Umaril directly, folding his hands behind his back. "Certainly, your very presence inspires awe and fear. Yet, for all your supposed strength, you have not once set foot on the battlefield. You have never moved to help your allies, nor to slay your enemies. Therefore, why should we fear or respect you?"
Telepe hesitated for a moment when he saw Umaril's hand twitch on his sword, but when he remained seated, Telepe continued, "In truth, I understand your position. You said yourself that you must maintain the image of an invincible, undefeated warrior. Certainly, if you do not fight a battle you are not certain you can win, then yes, it is unlikely you shall lose, and your reputation shall remain untarnished. However, what use is your purported strength if you do not demonstrate it? Furthermore, why should we fear your wrath? There is nothing to fear from a sea that is calm, a volcano that slumbers… or a warrior who does not draw his blade."
Telepe turned back to the center of the throne room, where Pelinal was panting heavily. Numerous gashes had been opened in his armor, and the skin beneath was marred by open, bleeding wounds. However, he had also managed to fell at least a score of warriors, and the other kings had withdrawn out of the reach of his weapons. Telepe turned back to Umaril and motioned towards Pelinal.
"Even now, you hesitate, because you are uncertain that you can best Whitestrake!" Telepe cried, raising his voice so that it echoed off of the walls. The Ayleid kings turned towards him and Umaril, and even Pelinal watched as Umaril and Telepe glared at each other. "Even now, when you have every possible advantage over him! He has been forced to fight through your city! He has battled your lady's minions! He has been wounded by your last, loyal kings, who have risked their lives to face him. Yet still you, Meridia's champion lingers, impotent, on his throne! Your enemy, the very being you challenged to a duel, now stands before you, answering your challenge, and still you refuse to face him!" Telepe folded his arms over his chest. "Tell me, Umaril Many-Feathers… what good is a champion who will not fight?"
Every eye was fixed on Umaril, who silently glared at Telepe. Telepe felt a cold sweat trickle down the back of his neck as the giant's golden gaze lingered on him, but he matched Umaril's stare with a defiant glare of his own. Then, at last, Umaril let out a low chuckle.
"Very well," he said softly, setting his free hand on the armrest of his throne. "I had intended to grant my allies the chance to take the vengeance they rightfully deserve. Nevertheless, if you so desperately wish for me to demonstrate my strength, then I shall oblige you."
Slowly, the massive Ayleid pushed himself from his throne. As he straightened to his full height and stepped out of the shadows, Telepe felt his mouth go dry and his breath catch in his throat. At over seven feet in height, Umaril towered over even Telepe, who barely came up to his chest. Bathed in the light of the Varla Stones, Telepe finally beheld his fully armored form. His upper body was encased in a full-plate, golden cuirass that covered every inch of his massive frame. From his shoulders jutted angular, skeletal wings devoid of feathers. His head was likewise protected by a heavy golden helm, complete with a mask that was sculpted to resemble a beatific, angelic face wreathed in a fiery aura. His eyes, however, burned with a sinister light through the helm's eyeholes. As he descended the dais, Telepe noticed that he was surrounded by a faint nimbus of golden-white light, not unlike the light that enveloped Tari when she was communing with the Ancestor Moths, though the edges of Umaril's light also shimmered with an aurora towards the edges. He seemed nothing less than an avatar of light itself, and despite his usually glib tongue, Telepe was rendered so awestruck that he was at a loss for words.
Before he fully descended the stairs, Umaril paused and cast one final look at Telepe. "In truth, I had intended to plead to Meridia for clemency on your behalf," he said softly. "As a fellow half-mer, I almost saw you as kin, and I know that you treated my followers kindly whenever possible, and always sought peace through your negotiations. For that, I intended to ask her for mercy. However, I cannot allow your insults to stand. As soon as I have slain your champion, I shall take great pleasure in delivering you to my lady personally." A sinister chuckle sent a chill down Telepe's spine. "Once she tires of punishing you, I shall exact my own vengeance upon you for your insolence. I can only pray that she has not fully broken you before I have a chance to do so. There is no sport in tormenting one who has already fallen into despair. I beg you, no matter how she tortures you, please retain your will… so that I may strip it from you."
Telepe's heart hammered in his chest, but as Umaril looked away and began descending the stairs, he saw that Pelinal was staring at him. When Telepe met his gaze, the knight gave him a slight nod of approval and gratitude. Surprisingly, that simple gesture immediately dispelled Telepe's fear. He had done all he could. He would never be able to fight Umaril – in truth, he would be hard-pressed to best even one other mer in this room. However, he was not expected to. He was not a warrior, but an emissary. His weapons were his words, and while he could not directly aid Pelinal in battle, he had, at least, finally goaded Umaril into ordering his men to stand down and dueling Pelinal directly. He did regret that he couldn't stop Umaril's vassals sooner, but while Pelinal was fatigued and wounded, his condition was not dire. That, he supposed, was the best he could hope for. Now, all he could do was trust in Pelinal… and for the first time, he felt that he could. With a slight smile, he nodded to Pelinal in return, then he turned his attention to Umaril as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Once again, well met, Pelinal Whitestrake," Umaril announced, his voice echoing around the room. He rested his enormous sword on his shoulder and slowly looked the knight up and down. "I trust your journey here was not too arduous," he sneered, his gaze lingering on Pelinal's rent armor and broken wounds.
"It has taken far too long for us to meet face-to-face, Umaril Many-Feathers," Pelinal growled as he planted the tip of his sword into a crack on the floor and leaned on it, using it as a crutch as he struggled to catch his breath. He glanced the elf up and down, then let out a tsking noise. "For one who claims to bear many feathers, I notice that you are not wearing any of your trophies," he sneered.
"Ah, yes. Your emissary misnamed me, you see," Umaril replied, holding out his arms to display his armor. "Such petty tokens no longer hold any meaning to one such as I. I have bathed in Meridia's light and been reborn. She reminded me of who I truly am. I am no mere elven warrior. I am the son of the God of the World-River, from a kalpa long ago. I am the son of great elven kings and heroes, dating back to the Dawn Age, when we were but primordial spirits, safe in the warm embrace of Anu, before the coming of the hated Padomiacs, like yourself. I am the champion of Meridia, the purest of the Magna-ge, who surpassed even her father and forged her own destiny in the waters of Oblivion. It is in her light that I was remade, my inherent divinity brought to the forefront, and my past deeds rendered meaningless. Why should a god take pride in mundane, mortal achievements?" Umaril slowly lowered his head. "And so, I willingly cast them aside and embraced my new identity. Since I have no need for such worthless trinkets, I no longer bear the title of 'Many-Feathers.' You may now call me Umaril the Unfeathered. And to you, Pelinal Whitestrake, I once again extend an offer of a duel."
"Are you certain?" Pelinal snarled sarcastically as he pushed himself upright. "Do you not wish to continue boasting, perhaps until this kalpa ends as well?"
Umaril chuckled as he eyed Pelinal's hunched, bleeding form. "Is insolence a universal trait amongst you rebels?" he asked smugly. "Here, I was extending you the courtesy of a rest. If you are so eager to meet your death, though, then I have no objection to beginning our duel immediately."
Pelinal scoffed. "If you wish to continue bandying words, I am certain that the emissary would be willing to indulge you. I, however, have come to slay you. Prepare yourself."
As Umaril tilted his head upwards, seemingly amused by Pelinal's assertion, Telepe wondered why Pelinal wasn't taking the opportunity to rest and recover. Then he noticed the blood still seeping out of the wounds marking Pelinal's body. Pelinal's strength was likely draining with his blood, so it was in his best interest to end their duel as swiftly as possible. Umaril chuckled softly to himself, apparently realizing the same thing.
"Very well," Umaril sighed in a mocking tone, before turning to Telepe. "You came as his herald. Announce the terms of this duel, emissary."
Telepe exhaled slowly to steady his nerves as he descended the stairs to stand between the two champions. As he glanced from Pelinal to Umaril, he felt as though he was caught between two brewing storms. It took every ounce of his will not to shrink away from them as he announced, "This duel shall determine the fate of the White-Gold City. Whoever emerges victorious will claim its throne. No others shall interfere. Do you so swear?" he called out, glaring at the kings near the walls.
"We swear," a chorus of voices answered. Telepe paused for a moment to see if there was any hint of deception on the kings' faces, but all seemed sincere. Many of them were still nursing grievous wounds that Pelinal had inflicted on them, while the rest seemed reluctant to come anywhere near Umaril. He doubted that anyone would be foolish enough to step between these two.
"You may use whatever weapons you have on your person," Telepe continued, once again looking between Umaril and Pelinal. "Do you agree?"
"Yes," the two champions replied in unison. Pelinal let out a low growl, practically shaking with impatience, while Umaril sneered down at him through his mask, drawing himself up so that his shadow completely enveloped Pelinal's smaller form.
Telepe nodded and slowly walked up the dais again, until he was well out of range of their weapons. "Very well," he said softly as he turned back around. He then held up his hand and cried, "Begin!"
Immediately, Umaril swung his massive, golden sword in a huge arc, twisting it around with one hand. Pelinal barely managed to raise his shield in time and deflect it upwards off of one of its slanted sides. Telepe's mouth fell open as Umaril used the momentum to bring his sword upward and slam it down on Pelinal, who again managed to deflect the blow with his shield. While he knew that Umaril was monstrously strong, he had never expected that the mer would be able to wield his massive blade as easily as a shortsword. He had presumed that Umaril relied solely on strength, but in those first two blows, it was clear that his speed and dexterity were also far beyond what any mortal could hope to match. Fortunately, he reminded himself, Pelinal was no mere mortal.
While the force of the blow did make Pelinal stagger back a few steps, he quickly recovered. As Umaril brought his sword over his head to slam it down once more, Pelinal raised his shield and once again caught the blow. When Umaril began to pull his sword back, however, Pelinal darted in and thrusted with his own sword. The tip of it caught Umaril in the chest, but the point slid along the mer's breastplate, scratching it but leaving him unharmed. Pelinal hissed and pushed into Umaril's chest before the mer could slash down on him again. He slammed his shield into Umaril's stomach, knocking him back a step, but a jab from Umaril's own sword forced him to step back and reset his position.
Umaril sneered down at Pelinal, resting his gargantuan sword on his shoulder. He didn't even seem to have had the breath knocked from him. "Is that all?" Umaril taunted. "This is the champion whose sword-strokes can split boulders and slay three warriors in one strike?"
Pelinal let out a low growl as Umaril again swung his sword around in a wide arc. It was a powerful blow, but one that Pelinal was easily able to duck under. As he dropped to one knee, he slashed at Umaril's thigh, but the blow was once again deflected by Umaril's shimmering armor. Pelinal growled, then looked up in time to see Umaril bringing his sword over his head with both hands. Pelinal raised his shield, and as Umaril brought his sword down, Pelinal caught the blow. A loud crack echoed through the halls of the temple, and Telepe actually felt the ground shake slightly from the force of the strike, and he couldn't help but flinch. When he looked up again, he was surprised to see that Pelinal had managed to catch the blade on the face of his shield, and remained unharmed. Telepe was stunned. If any other person had tried to guard against that strike, he was certain they would have been cleaved in half. It was also a testament to the strength of Pelinal's armor, as he doubted even iron wrought on the Skyforge could have withstood such a power.
Umaril sneered and brought his sword up again, slamming it down on Pelinal's shield before he could rise. "Your tenacity is praiseworthy, at least," Umaril sneered. "A pity that in the face of my might, you can only defend!"
Telepe winced as Pelinal again blocked a heavy overhead strike from Umaril, which made the knight's body shudder. As Umaril drew his blade back again, however, Pelinal suddenly rose to his feet and slashed upwards. The tip of his blade nearly grazed Umaril's throat, but Pelinal was just a bit too short, and Umaril was able to sway back in time. Pelinal immediately took advantage of this, however, furiously slashing at Umaril while his guard was open. While his sword lacked the range of Umaril's massive claymore, its shorter length allowed him to launch a series of flurries that Umaril only barely managed to parry. However, the point of his sword was unable to pierce Umaril's armor, and Telepe noted that the blade's flames died on the armor's surface.
Umaril finally managed to shove Pelinal back, and the two warriors paused for a moment. Umaril sneered as he saw Pelinal panting heavily. The strain of his assault had reopened his wounds, and thin rivers of blood were streaming freely down the surface of his silver armor. The Ayleid champion chuckled and idly touched one of the black scorch marks on his breastplate.
"A pity that weapons that rely upon flame cannot scorch my armor, isn't it?" he asked idly as he looked up again. "Does this surprise you? My armor was, after all, blessed by Meridia. As the patroness of light, she has imbued my armor with her element. As such, do you truly believe that flame, a weaker, corrupted version of light, could ever damage it?"
Pelinal snarled and raised his shield again, then rested the flat of his sword on one of its corners, settling into a defensive stance. Umaril smirked, however, and stepped back, leaving several feet between them. At first, Telepe wondered what he was doing, but then he again noticed the blood trickling freely down Pelinal's armor. He suddenly realized that Umaril was perfectly happy to allow Pelinal's strength to continue to wane as he lost blood. If he attacked, he would continue to aggravate his existing wounds, and if he remained on the defensive, he would still lose blood. Telepe hissed softly to himself, folding his arms over his chest. Privately, he had to admit that while Umaril's tactics were despicable, they were effective.
Pelinal seemed to realize this as well, so he sheathed his sword and instead drew his mace. Umaril tilted his head back slightly upon seeing this, then smirked and lowered his sword. He held it out in front of him, gripping it with both hands, as he commented softly, "Interesting…."
Telepe briefly wondered why Umaril sounded intrigued by Pelinal drawing his mace, until he realized what the knight was planning. He intended to plow past Umaril's greatsword and engage him at very close range, where the sheer size of Umaril's blade would be a disadvantage. Of course, that was assuming that Pelinal could even draw close enough to Umaril to strike him.
Pelinal raised his shield again, holding it high in front of him, and then he charged forward. Umaril scoffed and swung his sword with both hands, with enough force that Telepe could feel the wind even from where he was standing. The blade slammed into the side of Pelinal's shield, whereupon he lowered his head and raised it a bit higher, trying to deflect the sword over his head. However, the force of Umaril's blow instead knocked him off-balance, and while he didn't fall, he was sent skidding sideways for several feet. Umaril chuckled to himself once Pelinal was safely outside of his range, then readied his sword once more.
Pelinal, undeterred, charged again, plowing forward like a boar. Umaril brought his sword up over his head and cleaved downward, his golden blade arcing downwards. The attack slammed into Pelinal's shield from above, driving him briefly to his knees, but a moment later, Pelinal pushed himself up and resumed rushing forward. Umaril's growled, and he stepped back as Pelinal drove into his chest. He brought his mace back to swing it into Umaril's ribs, but at the last moment, the elf kicked at his legs. The attack did little damage, but it was enough to knock Pelinal off-balance. His mace struck Umaril's chest, but much of the blow's momentum was lost, and it clanged harmlessly off of Umaril's armor. Pelinal drew his arm back again, but Umaril had already managed to dance outside of his range.
Pelinal hissed and raised his shield again, but Telepe could see him wincing with pain. Blood was flowing freely down his armor, and as he started forward again, he stumbled. Telepe's breath caught in his chest as he fell to one knee, panting and holding his shield up to ward off a counterattack from Umaril. Thankfully, Umaril paused to chortle at Pelinal.
"Ah… so the purported invincibility of Pelinal Whitestrake is indeed nothing more than an illusion," the elf taunted. "You have spent so long protected by that armor that you cannot fight if you have sustained even such minor wounds! Your body is unaccustomed to pain, so you do not know how to fight through it!"
Pelinal exhaled slowly as he staggered to his feet, raising his shield once more. Umaril, however, smirked and swung his sword in a short, quick arc. Pelinal instinctively staggered backwards, but the blade still clipped his arm, cutting deep into an existing wound, and a flash of light erupted from the tip of Umaril's blade. The knight let out a roar of pain, and Umaril laughed triumphantly as Pelinal backed away.
"Behold, the champion of the rebellion!" Umaril crowed, gazing around at the kings in the room. "How weak he is when he cannot rely upon his vaunted armor! It is easy to have courage when you cannot be harmed, but see how he now shies away from our duel!" Umaril turned back to Pelinal, still chuckling cruelly. "And now you have nothing to rely upon. You have no true skill at arms, Pelinal Whitestrake, for you have never needed it. You have always relied solely upon your strength and your blessed armor, charging blindly forward and cutting through your foes like a mindless savage! Now your advantages have been rendered null! Your armor cannot protect you, and your strength fails you! Without them, you are nothing more than a novice standing before a master swordsman. Unlike you, I have fought on behalf of the White-Gold City for centuries, honing my skills in duels that could have cost me my life. I have lifetimes of experience with a blade. Now, with your vaunted armor reduced to scrap, you are among the weakest opponents I have ever faced. My former foes, at least, had the skills of true swordsmen… even if they too were as children playing with toys in the face of my might."
Pelinal continued to pant heavily as he glared at Umaril through the thin slits of his winged helmet. Then, softly, he began to chuckle. "You think that your skill surpasses mine?" Pelinal asked softly.
"I am certain that it does," Umaril replied calmly.
"Fool," Pelinal sighed, heaving himself upright. "You claim that fighting duels alone has molded you into a master swordsman? You know nothing." As Umaril lowered his head, clearly glaring through his helm, Pelinal explained, "The emissary was correct. You have not fought in this war. You have not shed a single drop of blood in battle. You have not seen your allies die around you while a horde of enemies eager for your death stand before you."
"As though that matters," Umaril scoffed. "This is a duel, not a battle. There are no other soldiers here to defend you when you can no longer fight. The victor will be decided by their own strength of arms."
Pelinal shook his head. "You fail to understand," the knight replied, straightening and glaring defiantly up at the golden figure towering over him. "You claim that I have never suffered a wound, and thus do not know how to fight through pain. You could not be more wrong. I have suffered more than you could possibly imagine. I have been forced to watch as allies, friends… even lovers have fallen. They now enjoy eternal peace in Aetherius as honored, blessed spirits. I, however, and all those that have fought in this war, carry a heavy burden – the knowledge that we must continue to live on without them. Yes, this armor I wear has protected my body, but it has not protected my comrades. Each time one of them has fallen, I have felt the agony of regret, as while I am shielded by the gods themselves, they enjoyed no such protection. Knowing that I cannot save them, in spite of all my strength and the blessings of the gods… perhaps I have suffered more than any other member of the Paravant's army.
"And you, Umaril the Unfeathered?" Pelinal continued, grunting as he straightened up. Telepe winced, noticing that his wounds still weren't closing. However, he suddenly realized that Pelinal's voice was growing stronger and steadier the more he spoke. "You have sat on this throne, apart from this war. You have refused to set foot on the battlefield, allowing others to die in your place. But your most grievous sin? You did not even think them comrades, but expendable minions to be thrown at our army to slow us while you gathered your own strength. You felt no remorse at their passing, for you did not know them, nor care about their fate." Pelinal let out a low chuckle. "And because you do not bear that weight of sorrow, your blows are weak. If one speaks of sheer skill with a blade, then yes, you are an excellent swordsman, but you are no warrior. You do not know what it is to fight. As such… you cannot best me, Umaril the Unfeathered."
Umaril chuckled coldly and lowered his head slightly. "Is that all?" he asked blithely. "You are no more mortal than I am, Pelinal Whitestrake. The lives of mortals mean nothing to we who walk amongst the gods. The blood of the noble, immortal elves, and the blood of the divine both flow through my veins. And I have the blessing of Meridia, the very Lady of Light herself. Why should I lower myself to the level of mere mortals?"
Pelinal scoffed as he raised his shield again. "I fight for those very mortals, Umaril," he growled. Then he chuckled. "And the blessing of one false god means nothing before a warrior who bears the blessings of all the Aedra."
Telepe could hear Umaril snarling behind his helmet. "Let's see," he spat.
Pelinal suddenly launched himself at Umaril, charging at him with such speed that Telepe wondered if he even felt his wounds anymore. Umaril cleaved downward with his massive sword, but Pelinal again caught it on his shield. He then lowered his shoulder and heaved upwards, knocking Umaril's sword back and throwing him off-balance. Before Umaril could recover, Pelinal was at his chest. He brought his mace around and slammed it hard into his ribs. Telepe winced as he heard a faint cracking sound beneath the metallic clang, and while Umaril's armor remained undamaged, the massive elf did inhale sharply, suggesting that he had at least had the wind knocked out of him.
However, Umaril quickly recovered and swung his sword around in a low, horizontal arc. Pelinal brought his shield down and blocked most of the blow with the bottom of his shield, but part of the blade cut into his calf. He shouted in pain as a flash of white light sparked across his armor, which Telepe suspected could have either been pure light, or lightning. Regardless. Pelinal took the opportunity to lift his boot and stomp down on the blade, pinning it in place. Before Umaril could yank it back, he brought his mace up again and slammed it down on top of Umaril's head. A loud peal, like a bell being rung, echoed through the chamber, and Umaril staggered back, visibly dazed by the blow to his head.
Pelinal raised his shield and smacked the face of it into Umaril's chest, knocking him back a few steps. Umaril tried to recover, gripping his sword in both hands and swinging it in a wild arc, but Pelinal ducked under the blow. Umaril's sword cleaved cleanly through one of the pillars holding up the room. All of the onlookers immediately glanced warily up at the ceiling, but the structure thankfully held.
Pelinal, however, was undeterred, and he chased Umaril around the room as the latter retreated and tried to find his footing. Umaril again swung wildly at him, which Pelinal dodged, before slinging his shield over his shoulder and drawing his longsword instead.
Telepe held his breath as Pelinal continued to pursue Umaril, slipping under another wild swing before ducking in and thrusting his blade at Umaril's throat. The blade slid between the gap in his armor, and Telepe could hear Umaril let out a cry, but while blood did began to seep from between the gaps in his armor, it was clear that the wound was shallow.
Even so, the sight of Umaril's blood seemed to reinvigorate Pelinal, and he pressed in to attack the golden figure again. Umaril, however, finally found his footing once more, and suffering that wound seemed to have enraged him. He planted his feet and slashed downwards towards Pelinal, who brought both of his weapons up in a crossed guard. Umaril's gargantuan blade was briefly caught in the center of both of Pelinal's weapons, and for a moment the two combatants glared at each other past their weapons. Umaril then put a bit more force behind his blow, and with strength alone, scored a strike on Pelinal's shoulder. It wasn't a decisive blow, but Pelinal did cry out again as another shock of light ran over his body.
The two opponents staggered away from each other and remained separate for a few moments, glaring at each other with unbridled hatred as they panted for breath. It was clear that both were gathering their strength, readying themselves for one final pass. Pelinal in particular looked as though he was at his limit, though Umaril clearly was also heavily wounded. Telepe suspected, from the way that they were glaring at each other, that they had simultaneously decided that they would devote every last bit of their strength to trying to slay each other in this final exchange.
The tension in the air grew thicker as the pair slowly straightened and readied their weapons, with Umaril holding his sword high above his head, while Pelinal gripped his mace in front of him with his left hand and drew his sword back with his right. It was Pelinal who moved first, feinting forward with a half-step to bait Umaril into swinging early. The half-elf didn't fall for the trick, however, instead watching Pelinal carefully while daring him to come closer. Pelinal hissed, then darted forward, whereupon Umaril swung his sword down in a powerful downward slice. Pelinal dodged the blow, but as he did, Umaril twisted his arms, turning the attack into a diagonal slice. Pelinal raised his weapons to ward off the blow, but was only partially successful, as Umaril's heavy sword cut deep into his shoulder.
Pelinal hissed in pain as his body was engulfed in light, but he then dropped his mace and grasped Umaril's sword. He pulled it out of his wound, then turned it so that the flat of the blade was resting on his shoulder. He then charged forward up the length of Umaril's sword, with the harmless flat of the blade dealing no further damage. Umaril tried to pull his sword back, but Pelinal gripped it tightly, not allowing him to pull free. When he was near enough, he reached around and slashed at the back of Umaril's leg. His sword found an opening in Umaril's armor and cut into his tendon, making the elf cry out in pain and drop to one knee. Pelinal took that opportunity to lift his sword up and grip the hilt in both hands, before plunging it straight through Umaril's golden boot up to its hilt, pinning his foot in place.
Umaril bellowed in pain, his cry echoing off the marble walls of the Temple. He instinctively tried to yank his foot back, but his finely wrought armor kept him in place. After a moment, he dropped his sword, then gripped Pelinal's blade and started to lift it up… only to look up as a shadow fell over him.
While Umaril had vainly tried to free himself, Pelinal had retrieved his mace. He now stood over his helpless opponent, gripping the shaft of his weapon so tightly that his hand was shaking. Umaril dove for his sword, but Pelinal kicked it across the floor, well out of his reach, leaving the elf utterly defenseless. The knight then inhaled slowly, apparently savoring the moment, before drawing his mace back and slamming it into Umaril's head.
Once again, a brassy ringing sound filled the chamber, and Telepe winced as Umaril's head rocked back. When his head fell back into place, Pelinal swung his mace into it once more, again and again. Umaril's grunts and cries of pain were drowned by the much louder ringing of his helmet, while Telepe and the other elven kings could only watch on in silent horror.
By the fourth blow, the angelic face of Umaril's helmet had been badly dented into a twisted, ugly mockery of its former serene beauty. Pelinal paused for a moment to bellow with laughter and cry, "That, Umaril, is a visage that truly suits one as vile as you!"
"You… cannot win-!" Umaril gasped. Pelinal rolled his neck, then slammed his mace across Umaril's cheek again, snapping his head back once more. Telepe winced as Umaril groaned, slumping forward. "My lady… will not… allow it-!" Umaril grunted out, only to be met with another blow under his chin. "I will not die!" Umaril shrieked, as Pelinal hammered his forehead. He fell forward, shaking his head, before looking up and staring straight into Pelinal's eyes. "I… cannot die!" he finished softly.
Something about the calm confidence in Umaril's final declaration sent a cold shiver of dread down the back of Telepe's neck, though he didn't know why. Pelinal likewise paused, as though considering Umaril's words. However, a moment later, he once again drew his mace back, hefting it over his shoulder and gripping it with two hands. With a shout of unbridled fury, he swung it with all of his might. The mace struck Umaril across the jaw, and a sickening crack could be heard, mingling with the metallic clanging that filled the room.
Umaril's massive body collapsed, sprawled across the ground. Pelinal stood over him, panting and holding his mace up in anticipation of the Ayleid rising again, but Umaril remained still. The knight hesitated, then knelt down slowly, clearly expecting a trick. He examined Umaril closely, while Telepe and the kings watched with bated breath. After a few tense moments, Pelinal slowly rose to his feet, then turned to Telepe and nodded as he began to chuckle. Telepe's mouth fell open, and then a slow grin spread across his lips. As the Ayleid kings' cries of despair filled the room, Telepe stared in joyous disbelief as Pelinal stood, victorious, over the lifeless form of Umaril the Unfeathered, Champion of Meridia.
A/N: One of the problems with the White-Gold Tower is the fact that its layout changed between Oblivion and TES. In the former game, there was no throne room, and in the latter, it was on the first floor, which in Oblivion was the floor with the Elder Council Chambers. The only conclusion I could draw was that the Tower has been redesigned over the years. Thus, I decided the throne room in Umaril's time was on the second floor, even though that isn't the case in either game where the White-Gold Tower appears.