Ku-vastei stared up at the massive flat-topped pyramid that was the ancient Dagoth stronghold Kogoruhn through her ash-dusted goggles. "Do you know this place?" she asked her companion, voice muffled through the scarf covering her mouth and nose.
"Yes," said Ashiri, fiddling with her own scarf. "All Ashlanders — especially the local Urshilaku — know to stay away. It is a cursed, taboo place, vacation home of the Sharmat himself."
"Has it always looked so…abandoned?"
Ashiri glared at Ku-vastei. Her red Dunmer eyes didn't seem bothered by the ash carried on the wind. "I'm not that old, s'wit. These are from the Resdayn period, built in the early First Era before the Battle of Red Mountain. I was born in the Second Era."
"I was just asking." Ku-vastei looked away from her lover and up towards the top of the fortress. A handful of smaller structures dotted its peak, made of the same old stone. It certainly seemed like there was no one there — but surely cultist and Corprus beasts lurked within, cloaked in darkness and dim red candlelight.
Corprus would normally be a concern, delving here — hence the tribal taboo. But Ashiri was a former vampire, infected and cured long ago, but still immune to all disease — and Ku-vastei was Nerevarine, and immune to disease by Divayth Fyr's magic cure.
(At least, Ku-vastei was a claimed incarnate of Indoril Nerevar. She had completed the trials thus far, at least. The ambiguity was frustrating.)
"Shall we climb, or fly?" asked Ku-vastei.
"What do you think?" Ashiri scoffed back. She raised her hands to cast a violet-sparked spell and leapt onto a hidden stair in the sky.
"…Very well." Ku-vastei wore a pair of well-worn trousers for just this purpose. She spoke the incantation stitched into the waistband of the pants and rose into the air after Ashiri. The two walked the airborne ash up the sloped fortifications of Kogoruhn.
They landed softly in a bed of ash that seemed undisturbed for centuries. The broad expanse of the pyramid's upper platform seemed completely devoid of any life. Ku-vastei's goggles had a detect life enchantment on their lenses — good for making out danger during heavy ashstorms — and they revealed nothing. If there was anyone — or any thing — inside, the walls of the stronghold were too thick for the spell to penetrate.
"There!" hissed Ashiri, grabbing Ku-vastei by the shoulder and pointing up at the top of one of the small buildings atop the larger fortress.
Ku-vastei followed Ashiri's gesture and thought she saw what Ashiri had. A shadowy figure, seeming to peek over the battlement before disappearing behind it.
"What was that?" Ashiri asked. "Did the goggles give you a reading?"
"…No," said Ku-vastei. "It was probably a far off cliff-racer, too far to detect." This rationale didn't comfort either of them very much. But they settled in to begin exploring the compound, seeking out the artifacts Sul-Matuul requested for his "warrior's test."
Ku-vastei began to wade through another ashdrift, but tripped over something hard and fell face-first onto the floor, earning a snout-full of ash and dust.
"Ku!" Ashiri called from across the compound. "Are you alright?" She caught herself and quickly changed her tone. "Be careful!"
Ku-vastei pushed herself up on her elbows and looked back. There, amidst the grey, was a single exposed hand, wrapped in the tell-tale gilded gleam of an Ordinator's Indoril-style plate armor. Still on her knees, Ku-vastei began to unearth the gauntlet and discovered it belonged to an entire set, still worn by some long-dead fetcher who came to the wrong stronghold.
(Not many right strongholds nowadays, mused Ku-vastei. But this gods-forsaken place was clearly the worst.)
"Who's that?" asked Ashiri, now standing over Ku-vastei.
"Dunno." Nerevar's face stared back at her, golden eyes vacant. She grabbed the helm with both claws and tried to wrench it off.
She nearly tumbled over backwards. She had tugged with too much force, expecting the resistance of decaying flesh. But it popped off cleanly, the only lingering evidence of life some blood-red dust that poured out of the helm.
"Dead for some time," she observed.
"Or met a very grisly fate," suggested Ashiri. Neither of them wanted to ponder that overmuch.
Ku-vastei flipped the helmet and examined the back, reverse of the mask. Engraved in ornate Daedric lettering was the tag: "F. Salmyn."
"Some fetcher named Salmyn," Ku-vastei said. "Wonder what an Ordinator was doing way out here."
"Some get sent on special quests by the Temple," answered Ashiri. "Seeking out lost artifacts, etcetera."
Ku-vastei looked up at Ashiri. "And why would you know that?"
"I worked for the Temple in…let's say a freelance capacity during the Second Era." She shook her head and waved away Ku-vastei's question. "Loot him. See if he's got anything nice."
"The armor looks nice."
"Don't risk it. You know how those lunatics are with their armor."
"Could sell it at least — to some unscrupulous n'wah." Ku-vastei was already unfastening the buckles on the pauldrons.
"S'wit," said Ashiri, shaking her head again. But a crooked smile crept along her lips nonetheless.
As Ku-vastei pried the breastplate of the cuirass from Salmyn's torso, she revealed a strange article of clothing hanging from his ribcage. She set aside the breastplate and reached out to touch it. Soft, but bristly. "Ash, is that…?"
"Hairshirt, yes."
Ku-vastei resisted the urge to recoil her hand. "Gross."
"They're common among Tribunal penitents," Ashiri explained. "Takes many years to grow one and weave it together. The most famous such shirt would be Saint Aralor's."
"How likely is it that this is his?"
"Not very. But maybe someone could be convinced, with the right spell, or some Bug Musk."
"Are you going to just stand there and watch, or are you gonna help out?"
Ashiri kicked Ku-vastei, nearly pushing her over on her side. "You're forgetting why we're here."
Ku-vastei hissed and swiped at Ashiri's offending leg, but she swept it back to protect it. "No, I haven't."
"Do you see the Shadow Shield, Corprus weepings, or Dagoth cup on this Ordinator's person?"
Ku-vastei made a show of closely examining the corpse, even dug around the ash a bit, before admitting, "No."
"Then come on. The looting can wait until we've secured Sul-Matuul's requirements."
"Weren't you the one who…" Ku-vastei rubbed her snout and sighed. "Whatever." She stood, glancing wistfully one last time at the golden Indoril plate as she rose. "Let's check that building first." She pointed at the largest of the three upper structures, the only one not domed like a Tribunal temple.
They approached the place to examine it. It took up nearly half of the upper platform of Kogoruhn. Some sort of plaque stood out above the round-topped door. Ku-vastei reached up to wipe ash and dust from the crevices of the etching. "I still can't read this," she said. "Old Dunmeris, I reckon."
"It says, 'Temple of Fey,'" Ashiri said. "I don't know who or what 'Fey' is. Some old Dagoth priest, maybe. I've never heard of any deity by that name."
"Hm." Ku-vastei wiped her ash-ridden hand on the legs of her robes. "Let's go inside."
The door squeaked with millennia of neglect. Surely these Dagoths have access to oil or wax of some kind, she thought. But perhaps they wanted to hear when someone was coming. "On your guard," whispered Ku-vastei as she stepped forward into the shadows of the interior.
She couldn't see a damned thing. Neither could Ashiri, evidently, who said, "Dark as Mephala's cunt in here."
"What?" said Ku-vastei, forgetting her volume. Then she lowered her voice to a sharp hiss. "Quiet, s'wit! And who says that, anyways?"
"I do."
Ku-vastei sighed — as quietly as she could — and said, "We shouldn't use a magelight here. We don't know if we're alone."
"Since when do you take such precautions? You sound like Llethym."
Ku-vastei mulled that over. The comparison horrified her. "…Fine. Give us a magelight."
A blue-white spark rippled up Ashiri's arm, through her fingertip and out into a small orb of brilliance, shining on their strange surroundings.
The room was cluttered with furniture. One precarious stack of chairs reached nearly to the ceiling. Red paint covered the walls, in foreign symbols and gibberish Daedric. At least, Ku-vastei hoped it was paint.
A dark shadow suddenly cast on the wall. Ku-vastei and Ashiri held their exhale.
"Coming, Lord Voryn!"
The wretched voice came from around the corner of a thick pillar. "I didn't expect you so soon, you know," it said, "or I would have cleaned up a little. Send more warning next time. Don't let things get to your head, young mer."
From behind that pillar shuffled in a monster, shrouded in purple smoke by Ku-vastei's goggles. It was vaguely humanoid, but its crooked stature was unnatural. Its head was a massive tangle of tentacles, eyeless. Four empty sockets fixed upon Ku-vastei and Ashiri with surprise. Ku-vastei fiddled with her ebon ring. "You're not Lord Voryn," it said. "Neither of you."
"No," said Ku-vastei, surprised at her instinctive response.
"Ah, well. This is awkward. I take it you're Nerevar?" The beast nodded at Ashiri. "But she looks nothing like his wife. Alma-something-or-other."
"No," said Ashiri, rolling her eyes. "I'm not Almalexia."
"Well, don't let me forget my manners," said the Ascended Sleeper with a shallow bow. "I am Dagoth Uvil. I take it you are here to kill me."
"Yes," said Ku-vastei.
"Well, don't let me get in the way of your attempt. Though I doubt you will succeed. Lord Voryn will have more waiting to do for your proper return."
"Why do you think I'm Nerevar?" asked Ku-vastei.
"Well, you must be, yes? To come this far? You're not the first. I doubt you'll be the last." Uvil stroked his fluted tentacles as if they were a beard. "Well, Nerevar. Be you star-blessed hero, or Daedra's pawn. I'll give you the first move out of courtesy."
"What do you mean, Daedra's pawn?" Ku-vastei insisted. Her fingers twitched at her side; she was going to keep him talking as long as possible so she could come up with a battle-plan.
"What? You think it coincidence that everything you're doing is purely in Azura's favor? Or are you just in the habit of trusting Daedra lords implicitly?" He laughed, the sound like the tolling of heavy bells from far away. "Have you forgotten what treacherous, scheming fiends the Daedra are? You're not that much of fool, are you? Or else Voryn wouldn't be so fond of you, surely." He gestured Ku-vastei towards him with his gnarled, skeletal hand. "Come. You're wasting time, trying to stall. I can tell. Or are you really not prepared?"
Ku-vastei caught Ashiri's anxious glance. She had finally noticed her empty hands, nothing on her back or hips. Ku-vastei had come to Kogoruhn unarmed.
At least, seemingly so.
Ku-vastei raised a rather rude finger towards Dagoth Uvil, and the red-marbled black band wrapped there dissolved. It seemed to vanish entirely — but then a blood-dark mist gathered and coagulated, heating up until it ignited into something new: a dark, spike-laden halberd as vicious and deadly as a Daedroth, flaming like an Atronach.
Uvil sighed, a shambling sound from deep in his supposed lungs. "Always cavorting with Daedra, Nerevar. Waste no more time. I offer you first blow."
So Ku-vastei wasted no more time. She rushed forward and slashed straight through Dagoth Uvil.
Like smoke.
She pushed up her goggles to dispel the enchantment. He had vanished into a red mist that filled the room corner-to-corner, rising in tendrils to the ceiling.
Laughter boomed in the hazy chamber, shaking the red flames of the candles covering the floor. "You take me for a fool, Nerevar?" The voice came from every angle. "Perhaps young Voryn would trust you so implicitly. I do not."
Ku-vastei slowly backed towards Ashiri, scanning the fog as she pulled her goggles back down.
"Anything?" Ashiri asked as Ku-vastei bumped into her.
"No. Useless." Ku-vastei ripped the goggles off to clear her vision, tossing them to the floor.
"One of the many boons of our divine disease," called Uvil. "But you have forsaken our gifts, for your 'cure.' Why cure perfection?"
Something dark and massive lunged at the edge of her sight. She reacted too late. It clawed at her — like a nix hound playing with a toy. She was flung across the room—slammed into a precarious stack of furniture. Dresser drawers and their shelves tumbled around her. Ash statues clattered across the floor.
"Ku!" Ashiri's voice was muffled. Ku-vastei looked up to see her holding her scarf tight to her face, careful not to inhale the mist. Ku-vastei followed suit, refastening her own scarf before anything else. Then she pushed a drawer off her head and stood, crushing an ash statue underfoot.
Struggling to blink away a concussion, she saw a spark coming from a red cloud, just a flash of a second before — "Duck!"
Ashiri dropped to the floor as a bolt of lightning streaked over her head and blackened the wall near Ku-vastei. Every hair on her scalp reached up in a twisted column towards the arc of energy as it passed. She crawled over to Ku-vastei before picking herself up.
"Invisibility?" whispered Ku-vastei.
"Something worse, I suspect," said Ashiri. She ran her fingers through her hair to lay it flat again. "But two can play this game."
Ashiri gestured vaguely and suddenly shone with a yellow glow before half-fading into the fog. Sanctuary, thought Ku-vastei. Coward's spell. She made sure not to share this opinion aloud.
Careful to avoid Ashiri's blur, Ku-vastei made wide, blind swipes near from where that spark had come. Inferno found no flesh, only cleaving through smoke, which filled in its scars too quickly, unnatural. Recklessly she clattered the halberd against the walls and stacked furniture, decapitating a tower of chairs and scattering a pile of sofas.
"Blind!" cried Dagoth Uvil, his laughter rattling Ku-vastei's skull. "More like 'Alandro Sul incarnate,' eh?"
The voice felt behind her, so she spun, striking at thick air. She watched as the hazy silhouette of Ashiri danced around the room, as if chasing ghosts. But there seemed more method to this than madness — Ashiri pursued strange, dark clouds, ebbing and flowing throughout the mist, formless but dense. Every and now and then a claw emerged from one, failed to find purchase on Ashiri's robes, and was nearly chopped by her chitin axe.
"Wretched…mortal…" gasped Uvil. "Cease this!" A dark light emanated from a cloud behind Ashiri before she could spin to face it, and it caught her through the Sanctuary. Ku-vastei couldn't tell what it did, but Ashiri dropped fast.
"N'wah!" screamed Ku-vastei, sprinting to Ashiri's side to guard her.
Another cloud grew across the room, darker than the others. "Foolish Nerevar," it bellowed, "always pretending to protect. Hortator! What a sham. How little you actually cared for them, the little people of Resdayn. A false guardian of a false religion. And you died trapped by that role. And so you will die again."
Another spark appeared in the middle of that cloud. Inferno ignited. Without thinking, Ku-vastei took a chance.
She launched Inferno dead-center.
And found her mark. The room seemed to exhale, and then all the mist filling it sucked into the cloud, and suddenly it was Dagoth Uvil again, impaled on a blazing halberd.
"Oh," wheezed Uvil. "Always full of surprises, you were." Then he crumbled to dust, his robes billowing down to the ground around the pile.
Ku-vastei didn't bother retrieving her weapon. She dropped to Ashiri's side. She was still flickering from the Sanctuary, but it was fading. Ku-vastei laid a hand on her lover, and felt for her heart.
Still beating. The hand stilled the shimmering, and she saw her face. Gaunt, nearly shriveled. He'd cast some kind of vampiric spell on her.
But nothing Ku-vastei couldn't fix. She laid both hands on Ashiri's chest and channeled blue-white energy into her fingers, and slowly Ashiri's cheeks filled out again, her eyes returning from their sunken pits.
They fluttered open and stared blankly at Ku-vastei for a few blinks. Then she smiled. "You got him?"
Ku-vastei smirked. "Naturally."
"Something tells me," groaned Ashiri, "that there's going to be a lot more of these n'wahs in this wretched hole."
How strange she must look, Ku-vastei thought, to these near-naked slaves. Had any of them ever seen an Argonian so spectacularly dressed?
Ku-vastei strolled into the Dren Plantation — in azure silk robes accented with gold trim, shoulders bearing spiked bonemold pauldrons, fingers jangling with enchanted rings, bold ruby amulet hanging from her neck — with all the swagger of a show-guar. Some stopped to gaze with wonder, sure — but most stole brief, dull-eyed glances before carrying on with their tasks — no doubt fearful of their masters' whips. Those Dunmer masters, for their part, either watched slack-jawed or scowled with poorly-disguised rage.
Behind Ku-vastei walked her partner, the mabrigash Ashiri, alongside the Redoran noble and comrade of the Nerevarine, Qismehti gra-Lubakt. Ashiri wore simple Ashlander dress, albeit with glass ornamentation befitting a former wise woman; Qismehti was suited in Gah-Julan bonemold from head-to-toe, her identity mostly concealed by the cowled helmet, her eyes buried behind the thin visor-slit. Ku-vastei had invited her other still-living "friend," Hlaalu noble Llethym Hlaarothan, but he respectfully declined. "Bad optics," he had said, "to confront the Duke's brother alongside a known dissident." So Ku-vastei had shrugged and asked Qismehti instead. She had thought it a fool's errand to ask her of all people, but to Ku-vastei's surprise, Qismehti agreed to come along. Whatever intentions she had for this visit to Orvas Dren, neither the mask of her helmet nor her stoic features beneath would betray.
It was a still-brisk spring morning in the Ascadian Isles. Some strong wind from the Inner Sea ruffled the blooming gold kanets and stoneflowers, and the loose hair of the Dunmer — along with the fur of the Khajiit and the feathers on the Argonians. Yet the cowl on Qismehti's helmet was preternaturally stiff, as if starched.
A gardener furiously whacked at flowers daring to grow within the walkways of the plantation. She was Dunmer; it struck Ku-vastei as odd that a free mer's hands were deemed necessary for such menial work, and not delegated to a slave instead. Orvas, despite his dirty dealings with the Camonna Tong, seemed to obsess over cleanliness — at least where his house and employees were concerned. The slaves were left slovenly and destitute: fur matted, scales dull and peeling, teeth decaying, clothes ragged, huts ramshackle. Only the few housecats had any semblance of decency, and they still paled in comparison to the extravagance of even the poorest Dunmer that they attended to and entertained.
"Where is Orvas?" asked Ashiri, seemingly growing bored of the gawking attention.
"Don't know," replied Ku-vastei. She called out to a nearby Khajiit slave. "Muthsera, where can we find Orvas Dren?"
The Khajiit, a small, frail woman, likely a housecat by her slightly better attire than the others, shrank into herself, tail between her legs. Suddenly, every Dunmer's crimson eyes were on her and the three visitors. The gardener stood and wielded her scissors like a dagger, her glare stabbing to match.
A nearby guard, decked out with ornate ebony armor and a wicked katana of unknown make (yet somehow familiar to Ku-vastei) stepped between Ku-vastei and the Khajiit. "No chatter between slaves. And get rid of those ridiculous clothes, n'wah."
"I am no slave," chided Ku-vastei with an even tone. "I am a free woman. You'll respect me as such."
The guard took a careless step closer to Ku-vastei. "I'll do no such thing, you fetching —!"
Qismehti stepped forward, standing alongside Ku-vastei, hand twitching by the axe hanging from her belt. The guard stopped his advance.
Ku-vastei smirked, revealing her sharp reptilian teeth. "If you think she's scary," she said, voice menacingly low so only the guard could hear, "trust me: I'm scarier. Pray to Azura tonight, if you can. See what she has to say about it."
The corner of the guard's lip curled up, revealing a jeweled incisor, but he said nothing. He locked eyes with Ku-vastei, unable to find Qismehti's behind her helm.
"Galos," called a woman from behind the guard. The gardener appeared over his shoulder. "That's quite enough. We shall treat them as guests, as we would anyone. Won't we?"
Galos did not release his gaze for a long moment, but finally shrugged. "As you wish, Serjo Lluthia." Lluthia, the gardener, gently pushed him aside with a gloved hand.
"Apologies," said Lluthia. She handed Galos her gardening scissors and removed her gloves. "An Argonian in such dress disturbs the peace here, you see. You wish to see my husband?"
"Yes, Mrs. Dren," said Ku-vastei. She refused to use the proper Dunmeris title, opting instead for a generic Cyrodiilic one. She couldn't tell if Lluthia noticed or cared. "We have important matters to discuss concerning his Great House."
"Concerning Hlaalu? May I ask your name?" Lluthia extended a pale-grey, daintily-angled hand.
"Ku-vastei."
Many of the nearby slaves, including the Khajiit woman Ku-vastei had addressed earlier, had averted their eyes when Lluthia approached. But now they looked up at Ku-vastei with curiosity. They knew the name, but most were too young to know why it was important.
Lluthia blinked away surprise. "…Oh. You're the one…You say you're Nerevarine."
"Azura says it. Not me."
"…Very well. You may meet with Orvas. Come with me."
"Serjo," snapped Galos, "you musn't…!"
"She is unarmed. What harm could she do?" Lluthia glanced at Qismehti and Ashiri. "But only you may see him, Ku-vastei. Your friends will stay outside with Galos."
Qismehti crossed her arms, the bonemold bracers scraping against the cuirass. Ashiri opened her mouth to speak, but Ku-vastei waved her off without taking her eyes off of Lluthia. "Very well. Let's go."
Lluthia nodded and whipped around, the white-frilled skirt of her ruffled burgundy dress casting a breeze at Ku-vastei's feet. She began to lead Ku-vastei across the plantation grounds, but stopped shortly after moving. She turned to the Khajiit slave Ku-vastei has addressed earlier. "Ja'krin. Come with us. I'll need you in the manor presently."
Ja'krin — a common name Ku-vastei recognized as meaning "youthful smile" in the Khajiiti tongue — nodded and smiled at Lluthia and Ku-vastei. It was one of the most horrifically forced smiles Ku-vastei had ever seen, the cat-woman's attempt at an elven grin. Whoever named her "Ja'krin" must have had a cruel sense of humor.
"Ja'krin," said Ku-vastei — enunciating as in Ta'agra, not Dunmeris — as she extended a beringed claw. "A pleasure to meet you, muthsera."
If Lluthia hadn't noticed the earlier slight, she caught it now. Her eyes widened wildly, but she stretched her lips into a smile to match.
Ja'krin hesitated, staring at Ku-vastei's hand without moving. She glanced at Lluthia.
"It's quite alright, dear," said Lluthia. "Quite alright." She gave Ku-vastei a brief scathing glare.
Slowly Ja'krin obliged, gently taking Ku-vastei's hand with hers. Her grip was feeble; Ku-vastei returned with a strong squeeze she hoped came off as reassuring.
Lluthia lead Ku-vastei and Ja'krin across the plantation grounds, over the polished cobblestones which were irritatingly cool under Ku-vastei's feet. She watched with rising fire in her chest as Ja'krin walked calmly and evenly, but the erratic jittering of her tail betraying her anxiety.
Lluthia brought them to the largest building in the compound. (Of course, thought Ku-vastei. Likely compensating.) The manor was in typical Hlaalu style, but almost as grand as the most extensive mansion in Balmora — if not grander. The stepped layers of round-cornered squares rose into the sky for three floors. Shaded balconies bore archers protecting their lord with bonemold bows. Two spearmen in ebony guarded the twin front door, which were a few steps off the ground on a short porch under a red cloth awning.
As Lluthia approached, the two helmless Dunmer guards stepped aside for her to pass, but they sneered at Ja'krin and Ku-vastei. How Ja'krin reacted to this (if at all), Ku-vastei didn't see; but for her part, Ku-vastei returned with a wide smile, nearly a snarl.
The heavy imported wood door opened smooth and silent on well-greased hinges as Lluthia turned the knob and pushed. The inside of the manor contrasted the mundane exterior in its extravagance. There was no gold lining the walls, but Daedra-spider-silk tapestries, the work of countless skilled artisans, adorned every surface, recounting tales from the homilies and sermons: stories of Almalexia's mercy, Sotha Sil's wisdom, and Vivec's heroism. Everything that wasn't draped was engraved with scripture in ornate Daedric text.
It took all of Ku-vastei's willpower not to scoff at how ridiculous it all was. Not only the sick religion itself, but also Orvas' claim to such devotion.
Lluthia led Ku-vastei and Ja'krin through the labyrinthian halls and up several steep flights of steps. Ascending one, at the top of the stair, Lluthia nearly collided with a well-dressed Dunmer man.
"Watch where you're going, s'wit," she chided. "Almost knocked me down the stairs."
"'Pologies, serjo," said the Dunmer with a weak, insincere bow. "Who's the lizard? New house slave?"
"None of your concern, Navil."
Navil, thought Ku-vastei. Navil Ienith? She knew there was a high-ranking writ out for his blood with the Morag Tong — for him and his brother, Ranes. Not her writ, so not her problem right now. Besides, they weren't who she was here to see.
"Yes, serjo, sorry, serjo." Navil shrank himself a bit and squeezed past Lluthia on the stairs. But he took up enough space past her to bump into Ku-vastei and Ja'krin behind. Ja'krin swiveled like a ragdoll, but Ku-vastei stood firm against the shove. Navil growled low but said nothing.
They continued up the flight and down a long hall that seemed to stretch forever, with no doors along its length, except for one at the far end. The candles within that chamber were brighter than the entire hallway itself, and Ku-vastei could make out a seated silhouette past the doorway. They crossed the threshold, Ku-vastei close behind Lluthia and Ja'krin.
Orvas sat behind a small tiered desk in the center of the room, scribbling with a ruffled quill on an unseen sheet. A small pair of spectacles extended far down his long nose, near the tip, their set seemingly too narrow for his broad-spaced eyes. His lips were pursed thin, and the lines around his mouth suggested this was a habitual expression. His long, graying black hair was held in a high ponytail by an elaborate yellow woven band embedded with technicolor beads.
Lluthia said nothing, merely standing there with Ku-vastei and Ja'krin, waiting. Orvas finished a line, glanced over the page, then added it to a precarious stack on the upper level of the desk. He slid over another sheet from a lower pile and began to annotate it as well. This went on for several agonizing moments.
Just as Ku-vastei was about to lose her patience, Orvas spoke: "Yes, Lluthia?"
Lluthia stood alongside Ku-vastei, Ja'krin to her other side. "You have a guest."
"I'm busy. Tell them I'll see to them later." Orvas did not look up from his work.
"An important guest."
Orvas finally glanced up over the rim of his glasses. "Ja'krin. Morning. And someone I don't know. Not very important." He lowered his eyes and continued to write.
"Orvas," said Ku-vastei. "I am Ku-vastei."
Orvas sighed and tilted his head to appraise her fully. "You speak without being spoken to. Odd." He clasped his hands over the desk. "Why should I speak to a heretic? Speak quickly. I haven't all day."
"I'm surprised you know how to read and write," said Ku-vastei plainly, "given the average intelligence of your Camonna goons.
Orvas' face betrayed nothing, save for a slight flare of his nostrils. "I'm a traditionalist, not a baffoon. It is a shame I must rely on rural shmucks for my work, but it is nonetheless necessary."
"So you're not totally uneducated," remarked Ku-vastei. "Color me surprised."
"A thorough education in history, theology, and strategy is the mark of a proper Dunmer," replied Orvas. "You wouldn't understand. I know you're naught but an escaped slave from the mainland." He leaned back, hands still clasped. "But you are a warrior, a revolutionary, a woman of principle. That I can respect."
"I don't respect you at all," snapped Ku-vastei.
"I suspected as much." Orvas rose from his seat, but stayed carefully behind his desk. Ku-vastei saw he wore burgundy finery overlaid with a half-plate ebony cuirass. "I also suspect that it matters little. Or else you wouldn't have come unarmed. You're willing to broker a deal.
Ku-vastei said nothing.
Orvas smiled, the outward stretching of his lips unnatural given his usual expression. "A Hlaalu tradition, isn't it? And here I thought you were Telvanni."
"You're not the true face of House Hlaalu," said Ku-vastei.
"Aren't I?" asked Orvas with a derisive chuckle. "Who else is, if not me? Certainly not Curio. A heathen Imperial. Useful, but heathen. Certainly not my dear brother. He knows not to interfere with the Tong — for the betterment of the House, and its bottom line. And certainly not the Hlaarothan thief you call a 'friend.'" He gripped his chin, scratching the loose hairs missed from a poor shave. "What an obnoxious thorn in my side. I should have him killed. What do you think, Ku-vas-tei?" He said her name with an aggressive over-enunciation.
Ku-vastei stepped forward, but hesitated to make her move. "No harm shall come to Llethym."
Orvas ignored her. "Tell me. This war you're trying to fight…do you know what for? What's at stake?"
"Countless lives lost to the Blight."
"No. It is a fight for the very soul of Morrowind, our heritage, our traditions, our culture, of Resdayn reborn in his image —"
Orvas stopped. He'd said too much.
"His?" asked Ku-vastei. It dawned on her. "You're in league with the Dagoths."
Orvas scowled. "They're good customers. And Dagoth Ur has the right of it. We need to get rid of or enslave the other mongrel races before they do the same to us. We have to secure a future for our children. Whatever it takes."
That was all Ku-vastei needed.
She stabbed a claw towards Orvas, bidding Inferno come. A pitch black band on her finger melted and reformed into a weapon, an especially lethal ebon halberd, flecked with fire like blood and menacing with jagged spikes all over. The blade materialized an inch from Orvas' neck; she pushed it the rest of the way for it to nearly cut the scraggle from his neck.
Orvas said nothing, his eyes locked with Ku-vastei's. He tilted his head ever so slightly to gesture towards Ku-vastei's side.
She turned her head slowly, cautiously. Lluthia and Ja'krin stood there — Lluthia behind Ja'krin, dagger point pressed against the soft fur of her neck, behind her collarbone.
"Tsk, tsk," tutted Orvas. "No need for any misunderstandings. If harm befalls me, she dies. And let me clarify something else you've misunderstood. You need me. Alive. In power."
"How? I don't need anyone." But Ku-vastei became more mindful of her weapon's proximity to his jugular, as she stared at Lluthia's silent threat.
"You think my men would simply give up? Forfeit their birthrights — their livelihoods? No. Headless, they'd run wild. You'd set loose a hundred desperate bandit gangs on Vvardenfell — and all with far fewer scruples than I demand from them." He smirked. "Let's be civil. Let's cut a deal. I'll give you the power of the Tong against the Dagoths, so long as you leave my business interests alone."
Ku-vastei scoffed. "Not so keen on working with Dagoth Ur now that your neck's on the line, huh?"
"I'm nothing if not pragmatic. Now put that thing away before someone gets hurt."
Ku-vastei didn't trust this man; she trusted him even less than most Hlaalu. But begrudgingly, she had to admit he had a point. It would be bad for the stability of Vvardenfell during the critical time of the war to come. And she couldn't let the madwoman next to her kill Ja'krin. She bid Inferno return to her finger.
Involuntarily, the halberd ignited and jerked to the side, cleaving Orvas' head from his neck.
Before she could react, Ku-vastei heard the scream from Ja'krin, cut off by gurgling. Ku-vastei snapped her head back from where Orvas' head hit the desk and saw Lluthia, rage plain on her face, dropping Ja'krin's bleeding corpse to the floor and rapidly advancing with the dagger in hand.
Ku-vastei pulled back Inferno and jabbed it through Lluthia's chest, piercing clear through to the other side.
Ku-vastei stopped to take a breath, and breathe in what had just happened. Orvas lay dead, head cleaved from his body; the flaming halberd cauterized his wound, and nary a drop of his blood was spilled. Likewise, Lluthia's open chest was sealed and bloodless. The only blood on the floor was Ja'krin's.
Ku-vastei let go of Inferno, letting Lluthia's body fall to the floor, half-propped up by Inferno's blade behind her. "What have you done?" whispered Ku-vastei.
Taking advantage, replied Inferno. More mortals to kill if we cut off the serpent's head. Like so.
"I didn't want this to happen!" cried Ku-vastei. She stared at the dead grimace of pain and fear in Ja'krin's face, splattered with blood.
Didn't you? You held the blade. Now, pick me up and get going. There's more bodies in this building to claim.
"No," said Ku-vastei, backing away. "We're done. Go back to Oblivion."
Inferno laughed…but not just in Ku-vastei's mind. Each peal of its wicked chuckle came from Lluthia's mouth, pushing out blood from her lips. "We're done when I say we're done. Don't make me subjugate you."
Ku-vastei bared her fangs. "I'd like to see you try. I am not of the slaves that perish."
Lluthia's corpse rose, climbing the haft of Inferno, letting it slide through her chest as she heaved herself to her feet. With just enough haft left to grab protruding from the front of her wound, she grabbed Inferno and ripped it back through, blade flaming. "Pathetic, unarmed machine of meat," she said, her voice mingling with the deep voice of the Daedra, as she wielded the demon halberd with one hand.
Xuth.
Ku-vastei took quick inventory of the other rings on her fingers. Only two struck her as somewhat useful here: a ring of firebite, and a ring of lesser ward.
She called on the latter at the last possible second as Inferno's weapon swung for her head, lifting a magically-shielded hand to guard her skull. The blunt force of the blow slammed the back of her hand into her face, disorienting her. But she had enough sense to blindly spread the shield across her whole body just before another strike came at her torso. That ward, dissipated so thinly, was weak, but her hidden cuirass of Orcish mail under her robes caught the brunt. But it still sent her flying through the open door and down the hall behind her.
Ku-vastei slammed back-first into a glass-doored curio cabinet. The panels shattered, as did the fine plates and knick-knacks inside. Glass shards and ceramic sherds crashed and tinkled to the floor around her like a misophonic symphony. But she wasted no time in clumsily climbing to her feet and setting off around the corner, away from Lluthia and Inferno.
Ku-vastei frantically tried casting a Fleetfoot spell as she heard Lluthia gaining on her — moving much faster than a corpse ought to — but her head was muddled in her rush, and she was out of breath from the last blow. She fumbled with the incantation and gestures as she hobbled away, her spellcasting failing in her fatigued state. (It turns out intricate spellwork can be rather difficult when being chased by a Daedra-possessed corpse.)
Just as Lluthia was almost near enough to swing Inferno again, Ku-vastei finally cast the spell successfully and sprinted off with a burst of speed.
It was another nightmare altogether remembering her way out of the manor. Ku-vastei tried her best not to corner herself as she backtracked through the halls and downstairs to the front door. Alas, she missed the last turn on the ground floor, and Lluthia was hot on her heels, despite Ku-vastei's spell. Ku-vastei ducked into a nearby room and bee-lined for the nearest window. She dove through head-first, shattering the pane and tumbling out into the cobbles of the road outside. She rolled on her side in a bed of broken glass, shredding her robes to reveal her hidden armor.
"Ku!" shouted Ashiri, pushing past Galos to rush to her side. "Are you alright? What happened in there?"
Before Ku-vastei could answer, a wild-eyed Dunmer burst out of the front door, nearly ripping it off its hinges. "Lluthia!" he gasped, clutching tightly at a glass dagger, "Lluthia's gone mad! She…She killed Navil!"
Navil Ienith was the goon they had passed inside earlier. This must be the other Ienith brother, Ranes, thought Ku-vastei numbly as Ashiri helped her to her feet. "Inferno," she muttered. "It's gone rogue. Blasted Daedra." She dusted glass shards off of her robes and winced at her injuries.
"Inferno?" asked Ashiri, her eyes alight with worry. "The halberd?"
"Told you it talked to me," answered Ku-vastei. "It's a Daedra, from Oblivion. It's possessed the Dren bitch's corpse. And killed Orvas."
"Orvas is dead?" cried Galos, drawing his katana. "You'll pay for this, lizard!"
With a decisive chop from behind, Qismehti removed Galos' sword-hand with her axe, its blade sliding neatly between the plates of his ebony armor. The katana clattered to the cobbles, still gripped tight in Galos' fingers.
Galos screamed and fell to his knees, clutching the gushing stump of his wrist like a cradled baby. Qismehti kicked him over and planted her foot on his back. "Anyone else want to attack the Nerevarine?"
Ku-vastei hissed as she narrowly dodged an arrow, and caught another with her magical Shield. "Don't ask that!" she cried at Qismehti, who was now swarmed by guards.
Ashiri lobbed lightning at the archers atop the barracks. "Do you have a spare weapon?"
"No. I came only with Inferno."
As if on cue, Lluthia burst open the half-shut front door behind Ranes, fully taking it off its hinges, and cut the last Ienith brother down with one fell strike.
Ashiri cast a spell and telekinetically grabbed Galos' severed but still-armed hand across the cobblestones, knocking over a handful of guards with the sweep under their feet. It landed near Ku-vastei, who quickly snapped up the weapon. "Now you do," said Ashiri.
Ku-vastei pried Galos' fingers from the grip and discarded the hand. She took a moment to examine the katana. It was of Daedric make, similar in design to Inferno, but decidedly inanimate. She briefly gave its weight and length some consideration with a swing or two. She was more accustomed to lighter, shorter blades — or at least polearms with longer handles. But she would have to make do. She readied the katana awkwardly in both hands.
"You two got the Hlaalu?" shouted Ku-vastei over the din of combat.
"Naturally," replied Ashiri with a smirk as she fried several guards with a chain lightning spell carefully sculpted not to link to Qismehti or nearby slaves caught in the crossfire. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air.
"Then I'll take care of —"
Ku-vastei was cut off by a strike she barely parried with her katana. The blow from Inferno set her off-balance, forcing her to step back a few clumsy steps. She tightened her grip on the sword and made a slow swipe, hoping to catch Lluthia in the thigh. But the possessed woman slammed Inferno's butt into the ground, and the katana smashed into the heft with a horrible screech of demon-metal on demon-metal.
Ku-vastei attempted to recover from that jarring collision to swing vertically, reaching up parallel to Inferno at Lluthia's arm. But Lluthia tilted Inferno to the side at the last minute, smacking Ku-vastei's katana away. There was, though, a small spurt of blood that sprayed into Ku-vastei's arm — a wound.
It inspired Ku-vastei. How do you defeat a woman possessed by a living weapon?
You cut off her arms.
It would be difficult. Inferno's defense was nigh-impenetrable, and Ku-vastei lacked skill with such a long blade. But it fell on her to eliminate this threat; the others were busy with the rest of the plantation.
Ku-vastei raised her sword high, baiting Lluthia. She bit the hook, and thrust Inferno forth towards Ku-vastei's chest. But Ku-vastei dodged to the side, and crashed the blade down on Inferno's haft. She slid the katana across the metal with an evil hiss of sparks towards Lluthia's shoulders and channeled the movement into a vicious strike at her upper arms.
Not vicious enough to sever completely, but still devastating. She managed to chop clear through to the bone of Lluthia's left arm. Not completely removed, but maybe disabled enough to —
Inferno swept sideways, slamming Ku-vastei's ribs with its haft, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending her tumbling to the ground. She rolled away, chest burning, just before Lluthia could drive Inferno's point into her heart, and scrambled to stand again. She caught a glance of Lluthia as she regained her footing — left arm dangling limp, right hand still wielding Inferno with preternatural strength.
Ku-vastei made some space between herself and Lluthia, and fumbled with a pouch on her belt. She retrieved a small glass vial filled with a thick green liquid, and nearly dropped it with her trembling fingers. She chewed off the cork, spat it out, and downed the sweet stuff in a single gulp. But she was careful not to let her eyes off of Lluthia and Inferno. She quickly felt the energy returning to her body, her limbs regaining their agency from her fatigue. It was a fast-acting potion, one she had brewed herself the other day.
She fetched one more vial — this one containing a draught derived from distilled sujamma — and swallowed it too, grimacing at the bitter taste. She tossed both vials on the ground below, shattering them among the other broken glass shards there.
"Okay," she said, confidence surging from the liquor, "let's party." She raised the katana — which now felt light as the daggers she was used to — in the old form she had once taught to her rebel warriors in the Arnesian War: blade held low, nearly perpendicular to her body, level with the ground save for a slight uptilt of the tip towards her opponent.
This Daedric katana was a massive improvement over the sticks and marshmerrow staffs her trainees had used back then. And Ku-vastei was much more skilled in tense combat than she was when she was just a youth biting off more than she could chew.
Her revery was cut short by Lluthia lunging towards her with Inferno, trying to get around her katana's defense. With much less effort, Ku-vastei deflected it, batting the halberd to the side and transferring the energy of the movement into a twist and upward strike at Lluthia's right shoulder. But her strength was almost too great; she pushed Inferno aside, dragging Lluthia with it, and her strike finished lopping off Lluthia's left arm completely. It fell to the ground, lifeless, spurting only the blood that remained in its veins after Inferno had destroyed Lluthia's beating heart inside the manor.
Lluthia returned with a swipe towards Ku-vastei, but she had already recovered her stance, and blocked Inferno's blade with another demonic shudder. But this time, Ku-vastei rolled with the blow, dancing to the side and answering with her own side-swipe, hacking deep into Lluthia's thigh. A small amount of blood splattered onto Ku-vastei's torn robes and Orcish mail as she wrapped around behind Lluthia, and before the Dunmer could turn to face her again, Ku-vastei delivered a final strike at Lluthia's right shoulder, severing her last connection to Inferno, forcing it to thud onto the ground, finally motionless in the dead hand.
Lluthia's corpse finally crumpled completely to the ground, head hitting the cobbles next to the hand holding Inferno.
Ku-vastei let out a gasp of relief, and turned to examine the rest of the scene. Qismehti was prying her axe free from her last victim's skull, and Ashiri had taken a seat nearby to drink a potion to restore her magicka reserves.
"Good job," offered Ku-vastei, still breathless. "Qismehti. See if any of them has a key for the slave bracers." The Redguard warrior nodded, returned her axe to her belt, and began rifling through the belongings of the slain guards. "Ashiri. Come here a moment, when you can."
Ashiri finished off her potion and wiped sweat from her brow. She slowly recorked and pocketed the empty vial, then stood and approached Ku-vastei. "So that's it?" she asked, tilting her head towards the halberd. "Inferno's out of commission?"
As if on cue, the halberd's blade reignited. But it did not speak, neither with Lluthia's voice nor with its own inside Ku-vastei's head.
"Doubt it," said Ku-vastei with a frown. "Some other fool could come across it and become its thrall."
"A fool like you, you mean?"
"Not the time, Ash."
"Very well, dear. What do you propose, then?"
Ku-vastei turned to her partner. "Do you know any spells to banish Daedra?"
"Naturally," answered Ashiri. "A few, actually. Where would you rank this Daedra in terms of power?"
Ku-vastei returned her gaze to the flaming Inferno. "Middling," she scoffed. "But use a powerful spell, just in case."
"This might take a long ritual, then."
"We have time. We need to liberate the slaves, anyway."
Ku-vastei and Qismehti set about gathering the Dren slaves together (away from the piles of their masters' corpses) and unlocking their shackles while Ashiri created the ritual circle. Ku-vastei was too anxious to have anyone move it, even by telekinesis, so they left it where it had fallen — but they did remove Lluthia Dren's corpse from the scene to purify the ritual site. Ku-vastei "borrowed" a couple of wagons used for transporting netch leather from the ranch and loaded up the freed slaves, ready to send them off to the Argonian Mission in Ebonheart en masse for sanctuary. It would cause Im-Kilaya no small amount of consternation to find lodging for the twenty-odd Khajiit and Argonians while their new citizenship papers were processed, but Ku-vastei had dirt on him, and Im-Kilaya knew it. He'd do what she asked to save his own scales.
Once preparations were complete, the ritual itself was uneventful, albeit a bit ostentatious. Ashiri chanted the incantations necessary, and Ku-vastei watched as Inferno dissolved into vapor and faded into Oblivion. All that was left behind was Stormforge — tarnished. Ku-vastei didn't know Dwemer metal could tarnish. It was certainly worthless now. She left it where it lay.
As Ashiri finished up clearing up the ritual site, Ku-vastei said, "You and Qismehti go on ahead to Ebonheart. I'll catch up with you later."
"Why?" asked Ashiri. "We don't know Im-Kilaya as you do."
"I'll be there when you need me, by Divine Intervention. I have an amulet for that."
Ashiri rolled her eyes. "You seem to have an amulet for everything. Just learn the actual spell." She crossed her arms. "But you didn't answer my question."
Ku-vastei raised her right hand and stared at it. No more blood stained it — they had washed in the river earlier while tending to the slaves. But there was blood on her hands, no matter who was to blame. She shivered.
Ashiri noticed and laid a careful hand on Ku-vastei's arm. "Are you alright?"
"I have one more thing to attend to here," Ku-vastei said, shaking off Ashiri's touch and looking away. "I'll meet with you two later. Go."
"…Alright. Love you."
"Love you too."
Ku-vastei stared at the slave-laden backs of the guar-pulled wagons led by Qismehti and Ashiri until they were out of sight. Then she returned to the Dren manor.
She didn't remember the way to Orvas' study, and since nothing living resided here anymore, her Detect Life spell wouldn't have helped. So she picked her way from hall to hall, room to room, until she found it. Ja'krin's blood was dry now, a black sea on the floor. Orvas' body slumped over the desk, his head laying on its side, peeking around the corner of the desk at Ja'krin's corpse.
Ku-vastei heaved. She covered her mouth and ran out of the room.
She hadn't felt anything like this since Malcius died. But this was her fault, even if Inferno forced her hand. If she hadn't killed Orvas, Ja'krin would have survived like the other slaves.
Malcius wasn't her fault, of course. But it occurred to her that deep within her heart, she blamed herself for surviving while he did not. She wanted to go back to the swamp and wallow for months again just thinking about it.
Slowly, with great effort, Ku-vastei returned to the crime scene. With slow and shaky breaths, she slowly lifted Ja'krin up and over her shoulder, and carried her outside.
There was little free wood here. So she grabbed one of the guard's axes and set about dismantling one of the slave shacks. It was grueling work, and it took her hours to disassemble it plank by plank. It was nearly night by the time she had gathered enough wood for the pyre.
She carried Ja'krin down to the river dock, wrapped her in canvas, and laid her in one of the canoes there. Then she piled wood atop her body, careful not to injure her corpse in any way. She untied the boat from its mooring, and before it began to sail away, she laid her hand atop the pyre, and used her ring of firebite to ignite it.
She watched it drift down the river, smoke and flame rising into the night sky, obscuring Masser and Secunda as they rose, until it descended under the horizon. And then she sat there a while more. She didn't teleport to Ebonheart until she bitter chill of the night began to pierce her bones.
Ku-vastei wandered the wastes of the northern Ashlands, seeking adventure. This stretch, she knew, was rife with ruins, Daedric and Dwemer, and old ancestral tombs to plunder. Despite their illegality, most merchants on Vvardenfell still dealt in Dwemer artifacts; Daedric ruins could, with difficulty, yield gems and Daedric hearts, salts, and other reagents for alchemy or selling; and the clever could hawk tomb-loot to even the most devout Dunmer.
She scanned the star-dappled dunes for any signs of buried treasures. The lights of the heavens reflected off the crystallized ash particles all around, the ground cast a faint red by full Masser above, Secunda waning. Ku-vastei could feel the grit between her toes with every step that gently sank into the ash.
She came to a stone pillar raised on an exposed portion of sub-sediment rock, and decided to stop for a rest. She leaned against the pillar and lifted a foot to pick out ash from between her toes and under her talons. (She should find some kind of socks to wear on these expeditions, she thought. But they would make the inevitable combat tricky.)
A flash of light above caught Ku-vastei's attention. She raised her head to see a shooting star streaking across the sky in a strange arc. She admired the odd beauty of it, respecting this rare thing of nature.
Suddenly its arc began to slow, then stopped completely, a single point in the sky. Then it quickly flared brighter. Larger. Then with a great bang it exploded in a fireball the size of Magnus in the sky, the blast nearly guar-kicking Ku-vastei off her feet.
She bolted from the pillar just before it was crushed and shattered by the meteor. She felt the heat of the blast on her scales, and a second wave of force pushed her farther away. A few fist-sized shards of stone pummelled her back as she dived into the ash.
When it seemed over, she climbed to her feet and looked back. Where once was the pillar now was a shallow crater in the ash, ringed around a glassed epicenter. Sitting there in the middle was…an egg?
It was certainly shapped like a kwama egg, a boulder-sized one, made of some rough, molten, stony metal, glowing faintly with red streaks like rivulets of blood.
Ku-vastei, a naturally curious Argonian, cautiously approached the fallen object to investigate. The egg pulsated with an unnatural, sickly light, dull crimson illuminating the still-warm glassed ash around it. She crouched a few yards from the object, trying to ascertain its nature. Surely not of this world, she thought. But of what world?
She reached out with her trusty Dwemer halberd, Stormforge, to tap the egg —
The sharp brass blade suddenly clanged against the object as if drawn by some fierce magnetism. The egg flashed with a blinding scarlet light; red tendrils emerged from the surface, tapping against the halberd's blade, before latching on, and crawling up the surface of the metal of the polearm towards Ku-vastei's claws.
Panicked, Ku-vastei released Stormforge. But it did not fall, suspended by its point of contact with the egg. More tendrils emerged from the egg, slowly coating all of the halberd with black-and-red material, spiked and menacing, the egg shriveling until nothing was left to support the once-Stormforge, which clattered to the stone beneath. Strands of steam rose from the hell-charred weapon.
Ku-vastei stood silent for a moment, watching, ensuring nothing else would happen. Then, cautious, she cast a Telekinesis spell and reached out towards it from a distance, and attempted to grasp it with an invisible hand.
Mortal.
The voice resonated in her head as soon as her mind made contact with once-Stormforge. A familiar voice. One she had heard many times before since returning to Morrowind.
You are difficult to find, continued the voice. Especially ever since you abandoned me for this wretched weapon of the dwarves.
"I don't need you anymore," whispered Ku-vastei, still tentatively keeping the magical hand on the haft of once-Stormforge. "You can no longer serve me." Then she realized something, which tightened her mental grip. "I didn't conjure you here. You came by yourself. You've broken the Coldharbour Compact."
Wicked laughter rang throughout Ku-vastei's mind. Fine print. Do not worry yourself of the details. I've come to you at great expenditure, and at great personal price.
"Why?"
Twofold. We're not finished, and you owe me.
"Finished with what, exactly?" Ku-vastei lifted once-Stormforge into the air with some struggle; it felt much heavier now.
Our work. The only work that matters. Conflict. Battle. War.
"I'm not a soldier."
But a war awaits you. And you will need me for the battles ahead.
Ku-vastei remembered the dying gasps of Malcius, and slammed the halberd back into the ground. "Are you with Azura, Daedra?" screamed Ku-vastei.
The voice cackled again. I have no loyalty to any Prince.
"Then why speak in riddles and prophecy?"
I have my own means, and my own purposes.
"If you won't say the means, explain the purposes."
All I want is blood. The precious, vital lifeblood of this world. You will bring me to it, wherever it may be found, and I shall feast.
"You want me to kill with you."
Anyone will do. Man or beast, bandit or monster. It matters not.
Ku-vastei raised the halberd into the air again and pulled it towards her. "…And what do I get from it?"
I have given this petty trinket of yours all of my power. You will find it much more suitable.
On cue, the blade of once-Stormforge burst into a flame that refused to illuminate, yet blazed hot on Ku-vastei's face. I burn with the wrath of Dagon. I cut with the hate of Boethiah. I pierce with the precision of Mephala. All these things I will be for you. All for the simple price of blood.
Ku-vastei stared into the flame as if it reflected the heart of the Daedra within the weapon. "Very well. What shall I call you, then?"
Laughter again, but darker than before. You won't pry my protonymic from me so easily. What do you call this hunk of metal I've claimed?
"Stormforge."
There is no more storm within; only flame. Call me by the name, "Inferno."
"Very well, Inferno," said Ku-vastei. She reached out with her true hand and claimed the Daedric weapon from her Telekinetic grasp. What had been heavy under the spell now felt comfortably light and nimble in her claws; she couldn't resist giving it a few swipes and stabs into the air.
Good. Now travel east. From the sky I saw a small camp of tribal outcasts. Put me to use.
Ku-vastei nodded, and marched against the rising sun.
When Malcius hired a boat from Molag Mar's small port to the island north of Tel Branora, he had no idea what for. He had met with his friend Ku-vastei in Vivec's foreign quarter the day before, and she had bade him do so, but did not elaborate further.
To Malcius, this was mostly fine. He would do anything for his closest comrade in this strange land of Morrowind. But he did wish she wasn't always so secretive and mysterious about everything. Supposedly this made her fit right in with her Great House of choice, the Telvanni, but Malcius cared little for House politics, and had no intention of joining one himself, not even as a simple retainer. He was an outlander in Morrowind, and that suited him well enough. He'd stick to the foreign quarters and keep to himself as much as possible to avoid drawing the ire of the natives.
The sailing was fine as he and his hired shipmaster headed south from Molag Mar. The skies were clear and the breeze was inconsistent but manageable. The briny scent of Vvardenfell's southern coast filled Malcius' nostrils, and it pleased him. It reminded him of long-ago days spent fishing on Lake Rumare with Abbess do'Matthri and some of the other monks and nuns. A pang of longing struck, though, as he ruminated, his eyes cast on the gentle waves between these small isles of Azura's Coast. What had become of do'Matthri, or of the other Maralius children she had helped raise at the monastery? do'Matthri had seemed ancient to Malcius, even when he was a young child, and he feared the worst. She was a Khajiit in good health due to a life of eating well and exercising vigorously — last he'd seen her, at least. She must have been pushing ninety, all those years ago, before he was imprisoned. (He had inquired a few times in his youth as to her actual age, but learned better from the slaps on the back of his head, and her sharp chiding about asking a woman such things.)
The shipmaster's rough Dunmer voice broke Malcius' revery. "We're almost there, muthsera. That isle ahead is our destination." He turned from the wheel towards Malcius. "Are you sure this is where you want to go? The port's at Tel Branora to the south. This island just has…a kwama mine, last I heard. Belongs to the Telvanni."
"This is where I was told to meet her with the ship," Malcius answered with a shrug. "She's Telvanni. Makes sense she'd have business here."
The shipmaster gave a guttural sound of acknowledgement unique to the Dunmer of Vvardenfell that Malcius had eventually learned was not, in fact, a sign of frustration, but the neutral acceptance of an incongruent fact that regardless they could not be bothered to reconcile.
The ship crawled the coastline until they came upon a promontory of angular basalt columns in the near distance. Malcius could make out dark figures clambering up, and as they drew closer he could make out the gold-trimmed azure robes of Ku-vastei, and her large bonemold pauldrons. "There she is," said Malcius, leaving the shipmaster at the wheel to get a closer look.
"Who are the others?" asked the shipmaster as he squinted against the glare of sunlight on the water.
"Not sure. Bring us in to that rock, kindly. Maybe they can leap aboard."
The shipmaster did so carefully, slowly bringing the ship in. Malcius saw Ku-vastei waving her hands, which Malcius thought was a greeting, so waved back. But she had apparently just been casting some spell with a violet energy, allowing her to walk the air down to the ship.
"Hello, Ku-vastei!" said Malcius, approaching to embrace her. She still stiffened slightly every time he wrapped his arms around her, but she tolerated it much better now. "I've brought the ship, just as you asked. That's the shipmaster, Rindral," he said, pointing towards the wheel. Rindral nodded but said nothing.
"Hello-beeko," said Ku-vastei in a rush, glancing briefly at Rindral with narrowed eyes. "We must hurry. The Khajiit can leap down safely, and the Argonians will swim aboard."
"What is this about, Ku-vastei?" Malcius placed a hand on the non-spiked surface of one of her pauldrons. "I can help better if you tell me."
"Slaves!" cried Rindral as the first Khajiit landed on his ship, her slave bracer catching the sunlight. "On my ship! What have you wrought upon me, Imperial? I don't deal in slaves."
"We're helping them escape," Ku-vastei said as she helped the other two Khajiit land. Malcius helped the swimming Argonians climb aboard as they approached.
"That's no better! I'll report you both for…for…theft of property!"
Ku-vastei grunted and marched up to the shipmaster. They stared at each other for a moment, a battle of wills. Ku-vastei sighed and pulled from her robes-pocket a sack of coins. "Three hundred drakes for your silence, muthsera."
Rindral snatched the sack away and glanced inside, counting with his eyes. "…That'll suffice, Argonian." He glanced across the deck at Malcius counting heads. "All accounted for?"
"Six, right, Ku?" Malcius asked. "Three Khajiit, three Argonians."
"Yes. Eleedal-Lei, come here for a moment."
A shirtless Argonian with more confidence than the other slaves approached. "Yes, beeko?"
"We can trust the Imperial with our lives. For now we will trust the shipmaster. Help Malcius get the others below deck. Stay with them. Comfort Ahnarra."
"Yes, Ku-vastei." Eleedal-Lei glanced at Rindral. "Thank you, beeko. We owe you much."
Rindral grunted — it seemed to be the majority of his verbal repertoir — and said, "You do. Now do as the Argonian says."
Eleedal-Lei hurried off to send the others below deck. When the slaves were all safely stowed and the hatch closed, Malcius returned to Ku-vastei and Rindral. "Let's be off, then, shall we?"
Rindral grunted in his usual way before setting about peeling the ship from the rocky shore. The sails ruffled in the wind, suddenly choppy, and their progress away from the island was arduous.
"Can't you speed this up?" Ku-vastei asked, her tail wagging in a way Malcius knew meant she was particularly impatient.
"Can you control the wind, n'wah?" snapped Rindral. "I can't. So leave it."
Malcius looked to Ku-vastei. "Can you control the wind? You're a conjuror, right?"
"I summon things from Oblivion," Ku-vastei said, staring at the sails as if she could will them to billow. "I can't conjure wind."
"Well. It was a thought." Malcius glanced back at the very-slowly shrinking island. "I think we'll be fine, though. Doesn't seem anyone is following us."
On cue, thunder shook the very boards and nails of the ship.
"Shut up, Malcius," Ku-vastei hissed. She sprinted to the ship's stern, leaning over the railing. Malcius followed, and strained to see in the suddenly dim light, the sun overcast.
He didn't see any ships approaching, from the island or anywhere around it. But Ku-vastei groaned and pointed at a tiny speck in the distant sky. "She's coming."
"A cliff racer? Gull?"
"No. Therana."
"The fetching magelord?" screamed Rindral, whipping his head back so hard it popped. "What in Oblivion have you wrought upon me, n'wahs?"
As the speck grew closer, Malcius could make out the yellow robes billowing around it. And it wasn't just silk, but lightning, that wreathed Mistress Therana's figure. And what seemed to be…levitating kwama eggs? Malcius rubbed his eyes, sure they were deceiving him.
Then a shriek, seemingly louder than the thunder, pierced the sky.
"Xuth," muttered Ku-vastei right before one of those eggs smacked her in the face, cracking open and covering her in its gooey innards and knocking her on her behind.
"Ku!" shouted Malcius, rushing to aid her. "Are you alright?"
"M'fine," she said, wiping yolk from her snout. Then another egg flew past over their heads, flung with such force that it ripped a hole straight through the upper sail.
"My sail!" cried Rindral. "You're paying for that, too! If we even survive this!"
The wind whipped around them like a typhoon, and the sails began to catch less and less air, especially with more and more egg-holes being torn into them. Soon they were fully dead in the water.
"Hold on!" Ku-vastei shouted above the din, raising her hands into a casting position. She began to conjure fire into her fists, and attempted to launch fireballs at the flying magelord.
The first few failed to launch at all. Then a few flew feebly, disintegrating into smoke far before reaching their target. One shot straight past Therana, missing by a mile.
"Xuth," she said. "Destruction's not my strong suit." She turned to Malcius. "Your bow! Shoot her down!"
Before Malcius could respond, a deafening roar nearly burst their eardrums as lightning struck the tip of the mast, riding down its core before shattering it into splinters, the sails catching fire and fluttering to the deck in burning patches.
"My mast!" cried Rindral, fully letting go of the wheel to clutch his head. "I'm ruined! We're dead!"
"Not yet," yelled Ku-vastei. "Malcius, shoot her! Use your sharps."
"Ku," begged Malcius, "I don't use those on people! They're for beasts!"
"You think that thing up there is even a person at this point?"
"I'm sorry. I can't."
Ku-vastei narrowly dodged an electrified kwama egg, then said, "Fine. Give me the bow. I'll do it myself."
Malcius hesitated, but acquiesced, taking his bow from his shoulder and handing it to Ku-vastei with a handful of his sharp steel arrows.
Quickly she fiddled with the placement of her claw on the wooden grip, then clumsily attempted to nock one of the arrows. Eventually she pulled back the string; Malcius noted her upper-body strength was a tad lacking for such a heavy-pull bow. Her arm was shaking as she held the arrow's fletching to her cheek. She held it for far too long trying to aim, and when she finally loosed it was off by a mile. She tried again, but her arms grew weaker with each attempt, the last travelling a feeble arc into the water nearby.
The Argonian Eleedal-Lei came up from below deck. "What is happening?" he screamed over the wind and thunder.
He barely finished the sentence before being struck by lightning.
Ku-vastei spun around towards the peal of thunder just as he collapsed, scales blackened. She immediately dropped the bow and arrows and ran to him, her hands already fuming with bright blue light, ready to begin restoring what remained of him.
"We're dead, we're dead, we're dead!" squealed Rindral, crouched low against the wheel of the ship, his head in his hands.
Malcius ducked as well, hoping to avoid Eleedal-Lei's fate. Lucky, too, as he barely missed an egg to the face. He looked up at Mistress Therana, who was now close enough he could see her face. Her eyes were alight with electricity, and her face was contorted into a mask of pure rage and hatred. He knew she would stop at nothing to sink them — or worse. He swallowed deep, his throat suddenly on fire, his heart rising out of his chest.
Malcius scrambled towards his bow and arrows, snatching them up, and with one smooth rolling motion, nocked and loosed an arrow into the sky.
It caught Therana in the forehead, and she dropped from the air like a stone, sinking into the sea below. The storm abated as suddenly as it had come, thunder echoing one last time as the clouds rolled away and the winds returned to their normal direction and speed. Malcius swore he could smell blood in the brine, and it made him sick.
"Good job," said Ku-vastei after a few moments, now behind him. Malcius turned and saw her propping up Eleedal-Lei, barely conscious but alive.
"Don't make me do that again," said Malcius.
Ku-vastei saw something in his eyes, frowned, and said, "Okay."
"Well, good for you. You killed a magelord." Rindral had appeared behind Ku-vastei and Eleedal-Lei, his hands on his hips. "But we're still dead in the water, with nothing to catch the wind."
"You have oars, yes?" asked Ku-vastei.
Rindral nodded. "I suppose you can put those slaves to work getting us to shore."
"We need to take them to Ebonheart," said Ku-vastei. Eleedal-Lei shrugged off her arm and stood, tall and proud next to her. "That's where they'll be safe."
"I'm done with you lot. We'll head for the nearest dock, and I'm unloading all of you."
Malcius threw a large bag of coin at Rindral. "One thousand pieces. Get us to Ebonheart, please."
Rindral barely caught the sack, and scowled at Malcius. He again glanced inside the sack, and seemed satisfied with the contents. He issued his trademark growling scoff. "Get below deck. I'll take you."
"I'll row for Eleedal-Lei," said Malcius. "He needs rest."
Ku-vastei looked at Malcius. Malcius was still not good at interpreting Argonian facial expressions despite his time with her. But there was a swish in her tail that spoke of a wide smile. And this made everything worth it.
Their feet landed softly on the fungal floor of Divayth Fyr's chamber at the top of Tel Fyr. Llethym and Ashiri worked together to carry Malcius, fading in and out of consciousness, but Qismehti was able to carry Ku-vastei by herself, still somewhat supporting herself on her feet.
His back turned, Divayth still heard them arrive. "Delte," he grumbled, "I said I wanted no visitors at this time."
"Sorry, my lord," said Delte as she landed behind the five heroes. "They were insistent. Pushed past me, really."
Divayth turned, bubbling vials in his hands. "What good are you, then?" He examined the new arrivals: a Redguard carrying a sickly Argonian, and two Dunmer dragging a portly Cyrod. "Hm. New patients?"
"You're supposed to be able to —" Ku-vastei began, but started a coughing fit. Qismehti and Llethym leaned away, but Divayth merely observed with obvious interest. "We heard you could cure us," she finally said, after clearing her throat from the attack.
"Many people hear many things," said Divayth. He turned to place the vials in a rack before turning back, his black-and-red, spiked Daedric armor clanking slightly with the motion. "Who told you this?"
"We can't say," said Qismehti. "But you can help them, can't you?"
Divayth approached, and tilted Malcius's dangling head up with one hand, using the other to lift his drooped eyelids to inspect his pupils. "Certainly looks like corprus. Circumstances of infection?"
"Curse," said Ku-vastei, gritting her fanged teeth. "From a Dagoth."
"Rare transmission type," said Divayth, dropping Malcius's head without warning, "but not unheard of. Tricky cases. As I'm sure you've noticed, onset is rapid."
Ashiri nodded. "It happened less than a week ago, in the West Gash. We've travelled as quickly as we can, without the aid of silt striders or ships. Neither would have us."
"It wouldn't have mattered if they did," said Divayth, now beckoning Ku-vastei to open her mouth so he could inspect the back of her throat. "The curse subtype isn't infectious. But the patient is still dangerous when they lose their mind and lash out."
This, unfortunately, Qismehti knew well. She reached for her bruised jaw with her free hand. She wondered why this up-close inspection was even necessary, even if they weren't contagious; their mutated, bloated bodies should have been evidence enough of the Divine Disease.
"Can you cure us?" asked Ku-vastei again, shrugging off Qismehti's arm, taking a step even closer towards Divayth. He didn't budge.
"We'll see," Divayth responded, rubbing his pale-bearded chin, his Daedric vambraces grinding slightly against his cuirass. "You're somewhat in luck. I've made some recent breakthroughs."
Qismehti pulled out her coinpurse. "How much?"
"Do you take me for a swindling Hlaalu?" asked Divayth with a scowl. "I heal for free, when I can."
"A swindling what?" growled Llethym, dropping his side of Malcius, who would have completely collapsed had he not woken for a brief spurt to catch himself.
"Ah…" Divayth gave a thin smile. "I should be more aware of my company when I say such things. My apologies, muthsera."
Llethym seemed caught off guard enough by the honorific to drop his dispute.
"But no," continued Divayth, "the only price you pay is the risk."
"Risk?" asked Ku-vastei.
"If my cure fails, best case is that you simply join the residents of my Corprusarium for the rest of your existence. Worst case…you die."
Malcius and Ku-vastei glanced at each other. The Cyrod's forehead beaded with sweat, but he nodded. "We'll try it," said Ku-vastei.
"Not yet." Divayth turned to a nearby shelf lined with vial-racks and plucked two vials of clear liquid to offer to Ku-vastei and Malcius. "It will take some time to prepare the potions. But I ask one thing of you before you do. First, drink this."
Ku-vastei and Malcius shakily took the vials in their hands. Ku-vastei gave hers a sniff; the smell of potent alcohol burnt her nostrils. "Is this…flin?"
Divayth nodded. "For your strength. I'd give you something cheaper, but I need you relatively sober for what you're about to do."
Malcius wasted no time in downing the shot of flin, but Ku-vastei persisted in her questioning. "And what is that, exactly?"
"You'll go down into my Corprusarium and fetch me a pair of enchanted boots from one of my old patients, Yagrum Bagarn." Divayth took the empty vial from Malcius's hand, and used a small, spongy utensil to swab around its rim. "It's not so much about the boots, though I have need of them. You need to see what could await you, if the cure fails."
Ku-vastei mulled it over, then nodded grimly before taking a long draught of the flin.
"You'll go alone, you two. Your companions and I will finish preparations for the procedure, and discuss certain necessities regarding the outcome."
"I object," Ashiri said, stepping forward now that Malcius's strength had returned. "I'll go with her."
Divayth glared at Ashiri, looking her up and down. "You're that nuisance mabrigash, always bothering Aryon and Dratha with your antics, aren't you?" He took Ku-vastei's vial and swabbed it as well, keeping the swabbings separate. "I believe Ku-vastei will be fine."
"I never told you my name," said Ku-vastei, stretching her shoulders with newfound vigor from the flin.
"We've met before," Divayth said with a sly chuckle. "Back when you were a House hireling doing errand-work for the Mouths. I understand you've come a long way since delivering me that coded message for Aryon. And I also understand that your mind is too addled by now to remember, so I'll forgive the slight."
Ku-vastei turned towards Ashiri to take her hands, dwarfed in Ku-vastei's mutated claws. "I'll be fine," she whispered. Ashiri slowly nodded, and with some hesitation gave Ku-vastei a kiss on the cheek.
"Now go. Delte, please see them to Vistha-Kai downstairs."
"Yes, my lord." Delte beckoned Malcius and Ku-vastei closer before casting a Levitation spell on the three of them to see them safely down the flywell.
As they floated down, Ku-vastei noted, "Vistha-Kai — that's an Argonian name."
"Yes," said Delte. "He was once one of Lord Fyr's slaves before he disavowed the practice and freed them. But Vistha-Kai refused to leave the tower. He's a very good man, now the Warden of the Corprusarium. He trained my sisters and I in the martial arts."
"Your sisters?" Malcius asked. Their feet landed softly on the spongy fungal floor of the flywell. "Is Divayth Fyr your father?"
"Yes — and no. He created us from his own flesh. In a sense we're his daughters, but not in the traditional sense. It's…complicated."
"When isn't everything complicated in this desolate waste of an island?" scoffed Ku-vastei. Delte smiled but said nothing, turning to lead the two through the maze of corridors towards the Corprusarium.
Passing through the final door to the Corprusarium, the mushroom halls of Tel Fyr suddenly emptied out into a dimly-lit rock cavern. Across the room Delte led them to was a loosely-planked wooden door, light trickling through between its fingers, but obscured slightly by a silhouette standing before it. In the shallow torchlight Ku-vastei could make out the glint of scales and steel, and the slitted lizard-eyes of her people.
"Delte Fyr," said the Argonian simply, his voice deep and gruff.
"Good evening, Master Vistha-Kai," Delte said with a curtsy. "I have brought these two patients to visit the Corprusarium."
"Patients?" inquired Vistha-Kai, leaning on a hefty two-bitted axe with its pommel digging into the earth below. "Visiting? Surely they mean to stay, then."
"Hopefully not. Lord Fyr expects a breakthrough, but demanded they fetch him something from Yagrum first."
"Yes, yes," Vistha-Kai said, nodding as he stepped forward into the brighter part of the chamber. "I know the ritual well." He heaved his axe under its beards, slinging it into the air and catching it further down the haft, and then pointed it at Ku-vastei and Malcius. "Argonian. Cyrod. You may enter, but you will not cause any harm to my inmates. If you do, you answer to me."
Something about Vistha-Kai's easy grip on the axehaft told Ku-vastei he meant it, and could carry out his vengeance with little trouble. "Surely," she said, "we won't be in any danger if we keep our distance, correct?"
"If most of our patients see you, they will attack you. Most are strong and vicious, as I'm sure you have come to learn with your condition. They can be quicker than you expect. Do not underestimate them. But most importantly, do not harm them."
Malcius audibly gulped and sidled closer to Ku-vastei. Ku-vastei frowned and began to brainstorm, consulting her inventory and magical knowledge in her mind. "No other rules?"
"None. Do not harm my inmates. That is all."
"You remember the way back to Lord Fyr's laboratory, yes?" asked Delte.
"Mostly," nodded Ku-vastei. "We'll find it when we return."
"Please do return," said Delte. "We have high hopes for you two. I will see you there." She silently opened the round door back to the tower, the only sound being the subtle click of the mechanism behind her.
"You may proceed," said Vistha-Kai, and he stepped aside to allow Ku-vastei and Malcius to continue to the door to the wider Corprusarium.
"This Yagrum," said Ku-vastei. "Where will we find him?"
"After this door," Vistha-Kai explained, "go straight across to the next, to the Bowels. Then turn left, following the curve of the cavern to the right, and then straight across. Yagrum Bagarn and Uupse Fyr will be on your left at the far end. Note that Yagrum rides upon a four-legged metal carriage; he will be difficult to miss. Retrace your steps to return to me."
Ku-vastei had to grab Malcius by his arm to drag him forward towards the door with her; he had more strength now, and was more clear-headed as she was, but was still flimsy in his resolve. She pulled the door open and passed through it with her friend in tow.
She looked around. The cavern was dark, so she waved her enlarged claw in front of her eyes with a small dose of magicka, and the room lightened with a subtle green glow. She saw some shapes that seemed to shamble from here to there, large and malformed.
"Don't move," Ku-vastei whispered. She slowly removed her backpack and sifted through it as silently as possible. From it she retrieved an amulet, its sapphire turned teal in the pale Nighteye sheen, and a small vial.
"I think I see something coming," whispered back Malcius, pointing at a shape in the darkness.
"Shh," Ku-vastei hissed. "Put this on. I'll drink this potion of Invisiblity. You'll have to open any doors for us."
Malcius was frozen stiff, arm still outstretched. "It's coming!"
Indeed it was. As it grew closer Ku-vastei got a better look through the Nighteye. It was monstrously-shouldered, its arms and legs like treetrunks ending in stubby claws, swinging like meaty pendulums as it approached.
"Put this on. Now." She shoved the amulet towards Malcius. She chewed the stopper from the vial and downed its contents in one swallow. She threw the vial behind the Corprus beast, hoping to distract it. The glass shattered on the cavern floor, but the beast just groaned, a horrible, pained, malevalent gurgle, unflinching from its original path. It lunged forward with its horrid fist —-
Ku-vastei wrapped the Amulet of Shadows around Malcius' neck like a chain and yanked hard with her Corprus-mutated strength, concealing him with a magic Chameleon enchantment. His own cancerous body slammed into hers, knocking them both to the floor.
The beast's claw swooshed in the air where Malcius had been a split-second before, barely missing his ochre monks' robes.
They laid there, silent, barely even breathing, as the confused beast looked around, then slowly limped away into its old corner.
When Ku-vastei was sure it was safe, she slowly stood, lifting Malcius with her, her bloated fingers wrapped around his arm.
"Do not let go of my hand," she whispered as she tightly wrapped those fingers around his palm, giving it a squeeze. Malcius squeezed back, his own Corprus-strength making Ku-vastei wince.
They slowly stalked down the path Vistha-Kai had indicated, giving the other inmates wide berth. To avoid dispelling her Invisibility, Ku-vastei had Malcius open the door to the Bowels of the Corprusarium. Finally, after what felt like miles of winding caverns filled with disturbed moaning, they were able to make out a light ahead.
"I hear voices," Malcius said.
Ku-vastei smirked, even though Malcius couldn't see it through the dark, the Invisibility, and her facing away from him. "Actual people, or Mara?"
Malcius gave Ku-vastei a shove meant to be light but that nearly knocked her over. "Both are actual. But it's people talking up ahead. Can't make out the words."
Ku-vastei listened closely, but couldn't tell what was being said either. All she could distinguish were the voices of a man and a woman. She affirmed Malcius' observation by squeezing his hand.
As they approached, she began to pick up the words:
"Leave it, Uupse. I'm fine. Leave me to my rest, please."
"Lord Fyr will be terribly cross if I don't give you your medicine."
"Bah! He'll get over it."
Finally, the owners of the voices came into view in a well-lit nook on the left. A Dunmer woman in bonemold armor was bent over something in the corner, in front of a large cabinet. Ku-vastei squinted. Behind the woman was a truly massive mer, his obsurd Corprus rotundity squeezed into a Dwemer-brass chassis supported by four Dwarven spider legs. This must be the Yagrum that Vistha-Kai described, she thought.
"Hello?" asked the woman as she straightened up, but still attending to Yagrum. "I hear you. What do you need, dear?"
Malcius let go of Ku-vastei's hand to unclasp and remove the Amulet of Shadows from his neck. "Hello," he quavered awkwardly. "We're looking for Yagrum Bagarn?"
"We?" the woman said as she turned around.
Ku-vastei cast a quick Dispel on herself to clear the affects of the potion.
"Oh, you poor dears," cooed the woman. "You must be new patients. I'm Uupse Fyr, caretaker here. Pleased to meet you."
"Hopefully," Ku-vastei said, "we won't be staying here. Divayth thinks he can cure us."
"Well, let's hope," Uupse smiled. "One day I wish to have everyone here cured. But at least you've met us down here, just in case you need to stay."
"You needed me?" asked the bloated elf in the chassis. "I am Yagrum, yes. 'Last of the Dwarves' and all that."
"'Last of the Dwarves?'" asked Ku-vastei.
"Correct. I'm all that's left of the Dwemer race, to my knowledge. And I've looked extensively."
Ku-vastei figured he hadn't always been in that chair of his. Even with the spider legs, it would make any "extensive" searching quite difficult. "What happened to them?" she continued, agape and breathless. "To your people," she clarified.
"I have no idea," Yagrum said, shaking his head. "I wasn't there. Or, here, in the metaphysical sense, at all, I suppose. I was exploring some realms of Oblivion at the time of the Battle of Red Mountain. Then I come back to find myself completely alone."
Ku-vastei frowned; the expression tugged at a growth on her face painfully. "You really have no idea?"
"Well, surely it had something to do with Kagrenac's Anumidium project. I knew something would go wrong there, eventually. Such risky science. But I didn't expect it to go so terribly wrong."
"Do you have any clue where the Dwemer are, now?"
"I said I've checked extensively," Yagrum snapped. "They very well may not exist anymore, for all I know. Or tucked away in some dark corner of Coldharbour, or worse." He stepped forward, his mechanical legs slowly skittering on the tiled floor of the nook. "Look, this isn't really that interesting a topic. What did you really come to me for?"
"Divayth sent us for some…boots?" suggested Malcius with a shrug.
"Boots…" said Yagrum, scratching his corpulent triple chin in thought. "Hm. I suppose he means those Levitation boots. I fixed them up as best I could, but the original enchantment was shoddy, basically irredeemable." He glanced at Uupse. "If you could, dear. The Dwemer brass pair on the bottom shelf."
Uupse nodded with a smile. She opened the large cabinet behind Yagrum and fetched the boots, as uniform as any other pair of Dwemer make. She delicately handed them to Ku-vastei.
Ku-vastei took a moment to check the etched runes along the metallic binding of the plates. She began to see the issue. "I see what you mean." She ran her finger along the runes, which barely responded to her touch. "They weren't given enough of an initial charge. And this mythopoeic phrasing is all wrong. The creator didn't know the proper Ehlnofex syntax. These couldn't possibly generate more than an inch of lift."
Yagrum's eyes widened. "An enchanter as well, hm?"
"Yes," said Ku-vastei. "Trained by Master Aryon in Tel Vos."
"I see. Divayth's old protege. I remember him. He came to visit me often. Charming boy. Well, you're correct. They're worthless, basically. Let Divayth know that. I have no clue where he scrounged them up. Couldn't be an original enchantment from my people. We had better standards." He rolled his eyes. "Well, I like to think we did, at least."
Ku-vastei nodded. "I'll tell him."
"You two best return upstairs," Uupse said. "Lord Fyr doesn't like to be kept waiting overlong. I hope his latest cure works for both of you."
"Pleased to meet you, uh…?" Yagrum said, his voice trailing off into the question.
"Ku-vastei, of House Telvanni."
"And Malcius, er…unaffiliated."
"Hmph. Well, be off with you then. I need a nap."
By the time they returned, the shot of strength they received from the flin was beginning to wear off. Ku-vastei could feel her body and mind becoming sluggish again. Malcius was worse off; he stumbled several times as they neared the lab, and Ku-vastei had to carry him with great effort as they levitated back up to Divayth and their friends.
Llethym and Qismehti jumped from their seats to help carry Malcius to a cot, and Ashiri took hold of Ku-vastei's hands to lead her to another.
"You took too long," chided Divayth as he mixed liquids and transferred two of them to a pair of hypodermic needles. "Those vials should've been more than enough."
"Not…easy," Ku-vastei gasped. "Getting past the patients."
"Doesn't matter now," said Divayth, flicking a drop of fluid from the tip of the first needle. "We must work quickly. Which of you will go first?"
"Mal-"
"Go first, my friend," interrupted Malcius, in a rare moment of clarity. "I can wait until yours starts to work."
Ku-vastei didn't have the willpower to argue. She nodded weakly.
Divayth stomped forward in his Daedric boots and bent over Ku-vastei. He checked over her body, looking for a suitable injection point free from growths. Finally he settled on the side of her neck, and slowly inserted the sharp point between the scales there. He carefully pushed the plunger, distributing the cure into her bloodstream.
There was a minute of anxious waiting. Even Ashiri, almost always collected and sharp-witted, was biting her nails as she stared at Ku-vastei. Llethym chose to look away at a far corner of the room, while Qismehti did her best to sooth Malcius as the throes of the disease hit him again full force.
First, her mind unclouded. She could smell the sharp alchemical odors of the lab, almost burning her nostrils. Her eyes sharpened, and the world seemed far too bright. She clenched her fists as the pain began — a new pain, different from that of the Corprus. The growths all across her body began to shrink. The release of pressure as they withdrew was a relief but also an intense ache; the ones that had already burst through her skin and scales now shriveled, leaving behind large pock-scars that would linger with her forever.
She felt something new. An expanded consciousness, like from skooma but much wider, far too wide. It was gone in an instant, but she had an ominous feeling of having seen something no mortal was meant to see, if only for that brief moment.
Then, it was over. The pain subsided into a generic ache all over her body, slightly concentrated where the largest growths had been. She held up her right hand to her face, inspecting the fresh scar there from a receded tumor. She flexed her fingers and twisted her wrist to prove they still worked.
She sat up halfway, propped up on her elbows. "Did it work?" she asked.
Divayth flashed a magical light in her eyes, checked the back of her throat, and closely inspected the scars on her scales. "It would seem so. But you still have Corprus."
"What in Oblivion does that mean?" fumed Ku-vastei. "This was supposed to cure us!"
"It did, in a sense," he continued, holding up a palm. "I can't remove the disease entirely. But I can get rid of its most nasty, detrimental effects. Some of them are benign, or even beneficial. You'll find yourself stronger, for example, if only after a few weeks of rest. And you'll live forever."
"Forever?"
"Yes. The Divine Disease imparts immortality to its victims. But for most, it's an eternity of torment. With the adverse effects cured, you'll experience a much more…'normal' eternity."
"I'm losing him," shouted Qismehti, slapping Malcius' face in a desperate attempt to keep him awake.
Ku-vastei sat up and swung her legs off the cot. "Fyr. Give him the cure. Now."
Wordlessly Divayth assented, quickly scanning Malcius' body for a tumor-free spot to inject. Inelegantly he stabbed a vein and slammed his palm on the plunger.
Malcius' eyes remained closed for an agonizing moment. Then they ripped open wide as every muscle in his body spasmed. He opened his mouth as if to scream but no sound escaped his lips. His jaw stretched open wide, wider, seemingly too wide to stay on its hinges. Blood began to stream from his eyes, ears, nose, and tumors.
"Mara!" he finally screamed, before his voice fell to a whisper.
Martin didn’t lack for company. The Blades insisted upon him at every moment: to guard him, to quiz him, to dote and serve and sometimes just loiter nearby, reverently soaking in the presence of a new Emperor. And Jauffre insisted on constant lessons in royal etiquette, political education, and the history of the lineage. But all this did not satisfy what company Martin truly wanted: absent Olof’s.
Cloud Ruler was an expansive compound, but Martin felt chained there with his longing. The time he’d spent with Olof (and to a lesser extent, Jauffre) traveling the Colovian countryside towards Bruma and Cloud Ruler felt like a torturous memory — far removed from this hazy dream of boring mundanity — that he struggled to cling to amidst the constant influx of new expectations. Sometimes he swore he could barely remember Olof’s face, just a grey oval with two bright rubies embedded therein like embers.
Jauffre — curse him — had sent Olof away to rendezvous with Baurus in the Imperial City for some clandestine investigation into the Mythic Dawn and the whereabouts of the Amulet of Kings. It had only been a couple of weeks at most, but to Martin it felt like an agonizing eternity.
Finally, he couldn’t handle being cooped up any longer. Slipping past the night guards in the early morning, he descended the hilltop and wandered the snowy Bruma county, night after night. He wore heavy enough clothes — he wasn’t that soulsick over Olof — but he enjoyed the cold’s sting on his fingers and cheeks. It returned an intimate feeling of real immediacy to his life that he’d been missing during this long sleep. He always made sure to return to the temple before his absence was noticed, cutting this time outside woefully short, but he didn’t want a chastening from Captain Steffan, or worse, Grandmaster Jauffre.
It was the 20th of Frostfall (Jauffre impressed upon Martin the importance of paying close attention to dates) when Martin went out for his fifth and final night.
Martin stared in the distance at the crooked tower to the east. The Blades had called it “Frostcrag Spire,” but none knew much else about it. Martin had only had time to examine a paltry few books from the temple’s libraries, and none had mentioned this place.
He sighed, his breath forming a crystalline vapor in front of his face. He pulled down his hood and shook out his hair, hoping to catch some snow in it. The frigid flakes would melt by the blazing braziers of Cloud Ruler, and it would only seem as though he had just taken a bath. But he cherished them, Zenithar’s beautiful collaboration with Kynareth, while they lasted.
“Lady Kalthav?”
Martin froze. That was his traveling pseudonym, from when Olof and Jauffre were transporting him to Cloud Ruler. But he didn’t recognize the voice that called it.
“Yes, surely you’re Lady Kalthav,” continued the voice. “Your beautiful shoulders give it away.”
Martin slowly turned, his feet shuffling in the snow. “Look, friend, I’m not sure who you think I am, but —”
“Ah!” said the man, a Dunmer in red robes. “What a wonderful beard you have, Lady Kalthav.” Martin hadn’t shaved in several days, and sported a dense stubble on his face. “Why, I’d say it makes you look quite a bit like our late Emperor, don’t you think?”
Martin’s eyes widened, but he answered genuinely: “I can’t say I’ve ever heard that before, no.”
The Dunmer smiled, a wicked splitting of his lips, baring teeth like from a wolf’s maw. “A shame. How handsome you are, Lady Kalthav. Truly a royal visage you possess.” The Dunmer made a show of looking around at the fields of white around them. “Another shame that your…kindly entourage isn’t here to look upon it with me, isn’t it?”
Jauffre had insisted Martin keep a dagger on his person at all times. Martin thought it pointless; he was a rather skilled mage, and didn’t need a weapon beyond his wits to defend himself. So he left it behind tonight. He began to quietly channel fire into his fingertips, ready for a fight.
“Yes,” continued the Dunmer. “A shame no one is here to guard you. Your Blades are quite useless, aren’t they? First your father, and now you. It’s almost as if they never wanted to protect you in the first place.” He cast a spell, and heavy Daedric armor molded itself around him in a red haze like blood, a spiked mace appearing in his hand to accompany it. “Know that this is the will of Mankar Camoran, of Mehrunes Dagon; that Paradise shall overtake this cursed world; that —”
His voice was cut off by an arrow to the throat.
The Dunmer collapsed, his conjured armor and weapon fading away into the cold night air, his jugular blood painting the snow red.
Martin spun around again, in the direction of the arrow’s arrival. At first he saw nothing but a sea of white under a span of stars. Then a figure rose from a crouch, bow in hand.
“Olof!” Martin ran to Olof — as fast as he could in several inches of snow, at least — and embraced him. “You’re back!”
“Aye, Martin,” said Olof with a smile. “But what are you doing out here? He could have killed you.”
“I could have handled him. I’m not helpless.”
“You only know touch spells.” Olof wriggled out of Martin’s arms to properly scold him. “You would have had a hard time getting close with that mace threatening you.”
“You sound like Jauffre.” This realization depressed Martin more than he thought it would.
“Whatever. Come along; Baurus is waiting at Cloud Ruler. We’ve news about the Mythic Dawn.”
Martin wanted so desperately for him to take his shivering hand, to lead him back to the temple with that warmth. But Olof suddenly seemed as cold and distant as the ice in the sky. Martin sighed and simply followed.
The Elven Gardens District was much less filthy than the Market District, but it was annoyingly pompous. Olof was not unaccustomed to a little grime, but being free of it was nice; what he was less used to, however, was the kind of stuck-up citizens that called the Elven Gardens home. At least he was meant to meet Baurus at a boarding house, Luther Broad’s to be specific. Olof hoped the clientele there would be a bit less uppity. He kept his hand close to his concealed dagger, just in case.
He opened the door and saw three men present. One, presumably Luther Broad himself, stood behind a bar; another, perhaps a Breton, sat at a chair by a window, reading lazily from a small red book with no discernible title on the cover. Not a Redguard, so not Baurus. The last sat at a stool across from Luther, his head hooded and lowered over a still-mostly-full glass of mead.
Olof took a seat next to the hooded man. “Baurus?” he whispered.
Olof caught a glimpse of Baurus’s beard, disheveled and unkempt, as he turned his head nearly imperceptibly towards him. “Look away from me,” he hissed back. Olof obeyed. “I’m about to stand up and go downstairs,” Baurus said. “I think that man reading in the corner will follow me. Follow him when he does. Don’t let him see you.”
Olof almost spoke assent, but kept his lips shut. Baurus waited a beat, then stood. Luther Broad glanced suspiciously at the full glass, but said nothing. Baurus walked around the bar and headed towards a basement door around the corner.
Sure enough, after the door closed behind Baurus, the reading man closed his book, pocketed it, and followed after him. Just the same, as the door closed shut, Olof followed suit. Once the door closed behind him, he pulled his dagger from its sheath.
Swiftly yet softly Olof descended the stairs after seeing the stranger’s heel turn the corner. He peeked his head around the corner to watch.
“Do we have an issue?” asked Baurus of the man confronting him.
“Stupid question,” snarled the assassin. “Of course we do.” With a wave of his hand, he was wrapped in the Daedric armor typical of the Mythic Dawn, and his hand was wrapped around a wicked weapon aimed for Baurus’s heart.
Baurus drew his own katana with a trained ease and deflected the sudden strike in a single stroke. But the assassin had the advantage of a smaller, faster weapon, and immediately struck again, cutting through Baurus’s shirt and leaving a bloody — if shallow — gash across his chest. Baurus fell back, and just as the assassin was about to strike again —
Olof slit the assassin’s neck from behind — a move he learned from watching Uriel’s murder. Immediately the assassin perished, the armor and weapon evaporating into the air in crimson sparks, returning to Oblivion for future reuse by a more successful cultist.
Olof threw the body to the side and leapt towards Baurus. “Are you alright?”
“Just a flesh wound,” Baurus said, clutching the cut on his chest.
Baurus attempted to stand, but Olof pushed him down. “Stop,” Olof commanded. “Standing will make it bleed more. Let me heal you.” Baurus sighed and nodded.
Olof softly pressed his hand against the wound, both to stifle the flow and to pour magicka into patching it up. Baurus flinched and grabbed Olof by the wrist.
“It’s alright,” Olof said. But he was blushing, too — he felt the strength of Baurus’s heart pushing blood out, slower and slower, until Olof only felt the beat beneath his mended skin.
There was a silence, which took too long for either man to realize was a bit embarrassing. Finally Olof looked away and wiped his bloodied hand on his trousers. “You shouldn’t walk around with that sword.”
“What?” Baurus asked. He allowed Olof to help him stand.
“I don’t think anyone in Tamriel uses Akaviri katanas besides the Blades. Makes you an easy mark for the Mythic Dawn.”
“What would you know about the Mythic Dawn?” asked Baurus.
“You still doubt my allegiance?”
“...No. But I’m the one who’s been researching them. Not you, to my knowledge.”
“I just have common sense.” Olof kicked the corpse on the floor, his neck still spurting, but barely. He squatted and dug his hands through the man’s pockets. A few septims, and that strange red book. He opened the cover and found the title, reading it aloud: “Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, Book One. By…Mankar Camoran.” He showed Baurus, who had stepped forward to see. “Ring a bell?”
“A very quiet bell,” Baurus said. “This is a Mythic Dawn book. There’s supposed to be several books of the Commentaries. I don’t know how many.”
“Would anyone?”
“Well, I can’t just go up to a cultist and ask, you know.”
“Hm…” Olof opened the tap on a nearby keg and poured out some ale, washing more blood from his hands.
“Well,” Baurus said, thinking. “I have a contact with the Arcane University. Tar-Meena. She might know.”
Olof closed the tap and started drying his hands on the bloodstain on his trousers. “Let’s go see her, then.”
“You will,” Baurus said. “I have other leads to follow.”
“So you’re still bossing me around?” Olof smirked to soften the accusation.
“Might as well,” said Baurus, returning the smile. “I have seniority.”
“Is that so?” said Olof. “Have you ever rescued a lost Imperial heir?”
“He’s safe?” Baurus gasped, his eyes wide.
“Yes. His name is Martin. Jauffre and I took him to Cloud Ruler Temple.”
“Thank the Nine. Now we just need to —”
“— but we’ve lost the Amulet of Kings to the Mythic Dawn.” It took a lot of effort to not blame Jauffre out loud.
“Dammit!” said Baurus. “At least Martin is safe. We can work towards recovering the Amulet. We just need to find the cult’s headquarters and leader, I’m sure. I’ve already been working towards that end.”
Cloud Ruler Temple seemed less a temple, more a fortress. Its massive, ancient stone fortifications rose high on a Jerall peak, looming over Bruma like a staunch sentinel. Its halls stretched from wing-to-wing, and secret passageways channeled into the mountain spiraled deep within. The only thing resembling a traditional “temple” here was a shrine to Akatosh Martin would later discover deep within those winding tunnels. After intensive study and prayer, he discovered it had some sort of abjurative properties, warding off evil from the surrounding area. Truly, Cloud Ruler seemed impenetrable; surely no Oblivion Gate could open here, perhaps not even anywhere near Bruma.
After Martin, Olof, and Jauffre finally arrived, and Martin was coaxed into his improvised first speech as hidden Emperor, he was shown his room in the Temple by one of the Blades, Captain Steffan. At Kvatch he’d lived rather modestly as a priest. Skipping to his earliest days as a farmer’s son, he’d lived even more modestly. But this bedroom was huge, and ornate, and luxurious — and dusty. Clearly no Emperor had stayed here in ages, and at some point in those long years the Blades had given up on sweeping or otherwise keeping tidy. Steffan apologized profusely, and went to fetch a younger Blade to attend to the cleaning at once. Martin almost apologized for Steffan putting them through all the trouble, but realized that this was just his life now. No point in denying it — he was heir to the throne, and had better start acting like it.
Martin had Steffan show him to the library in the meantime. Evidently there was no library as such; simply walls lined with shelves in some of the major rooms of the temple. Steffan took him first to the Great Hall, where he imagined the most pertinent tomes to his search could be found. The large fireplace crackled surprisingly gently, fighting the cold northern air trying to creep in through every crack. Swords hung from the walls and columns supporting the ceiling. (“These,” Steffan had said, pointing to a pair in esteemed position, “were Captain Renault’s and Agent Glenroy’s. They died trying to protect your father. Baurus brought them to us. Evidently your friend Olof was the one who recovered them.”)
After Steffan had left, and the admiration and anxious glances of the other Blades had disappeared into the barracks, Martin was alone in the Great Hall. Well, nearly so. Olof volunteered to keep an eye on him so as to keep the other Blades off Martin’s back. Jauffre vouched for his trustworthiness, so they permitted it. Olof had doffed his armor and even discarded his sword leaning against a table across the room. He sat across from Martin, legs crossed and feet propped up on the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his chair tipped delicately back as he dozed.
His chest. He was wearing, for the first time since Martin had met him, a clean shirt, but it was half-unbuttoned. Martin was constantly distracted by the thick grey muscles buried under heavy black hair, the jagged scars under his pectorals. He had selected, seemingly by providence, to read a book entitled simply “The Amulet of Kings,” but couldn’t keep his eyes off of Olof, his chest, his hairy arms half-sleeved flexing in his half-sleep.
“Whatcha reading?”
Martin nearly jumped out of his seat. He hadn’t expected Olof to speak, his lips seeming barely to move under his pitch-black mustache as he did so. Martin quickly returned his gaze to the dense blocks of text on the page, hoping to disguise his blush. “It’s a book about the Amulet. Appropriately called ‘The Amulet of Kings.’”
“Well…” said Martin, trying to formulate a coherent thought. “I had already known a little about it. How Akatosh gave it to Saint Alessia in the First Era.” He flipped back a page, running his finger across the lines until he found what he was looking for. “But here it says that ‘so long as Alessia's generations were true to the dragon blood, Akatosh would endeavor to seal tight the Gates of Oblivion, and to deny the armies of daedra and undead to their enemies, the Daedra-loving Ayleids.’ And, later,” Martin flipped forward a few pages, “‘In token of this Covenant, Akatosh gave to Alessia and her descendants the Amulet of Kings and the Eternal Dragonfires of the Imperial City.’” He closed the book shut on a finger to keep his place. “So there’s a connection to the Dragonfires, and the barrier between Mundus and Oblivion…”
Olof nodded, seemingly lost in thought. “‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion…’”
“Hm?” Martin tilted his head.
“It was something Uriel told me, right before he died. ‘Close shut the jaws of Oblivion.’ It just reminded me of that.”
“Ah,” said Martin. “He knew more than anyone else, it seems. If only I could…What was he like?”
“Uriel?” asked Olof. “I’m not really the person to ask. I only knew him for an hour or so. You’d be better off asking Jauffre.”
“But from what time you did know him,” Martin pushed. “What was he like?”
Olof paused for a moment. “Weird,” he said. Martin frowned, so Olof continued. “And mysterious. Always talking about prophecy and…dreams. How he’d seen me in a dream. How he knew he was going to die that day. And he was terribly sad when Captain Renault died. He knew he was meant to die, but not her.”
Before he realized what he was asking, Martin said, “What about your father?”
Olof’s eyes shot fully open, and his hand gripped his arm tight for a split second. “Sorry,” Martin said. “I didn’t — I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s…it’s alright. He was a good man. A kind father. Taught me a lot, even some magic.” To demonstrate, he held up two fingers and shot a spark of electricity between them. But the sudden movement upset his balance in the chair, and he fell backwards with a loud bang.
Martin jumped up out of his seat just as the door to the Great Hall opened, the guard Roliand appearing with his katana in hand. “Your Majesty…!”
“It’s alright!” said Martin. “Olof just fell in his chair. We’re alright.”
“Ah,” Roliand said, sheathing his sword. “Be more careful, Olof.”
“Aye, aye,” said Olof as Martin helped him to his feet. He righted his chair and sat back down with all four legs touching the floor. Roliand saluted Martin and closed the door behind him as he left.
Martin sat back down on the other side of the table with a quiet huff, and they were silent for a few moments. Martin almost reached for the book again to continue his study, but the thought just wouldn’t leave his brain. He had to ask. “Can you tell me what happened with your father?”
Olof softened a grimace but nodded. “I suppose.
“I’m from Solstheim, you see. It’s a small island in the Sea of Ghosts, sort of between Skyrim and Morrowind. Mostly Nords and Dunmer there, as you might expect. So my da, a Dunmer, met my ma, a Nord, and had me. No, don’t interrupt. I’m getting there.
“One day a Redguard woman — she was half-Orc, actually — came by Solstheim, shipwrecked. Her name was Qismehti, and my da knew her from when she was a kid. And in Morrowind, she was something of a big deal, politically. You probably don’t know much about Morrowind politics, so you wouldn’t understand. My da always droned on and on about the Redorans back home, in Blacklight, where he was from. Anyways — don’t interrupt.
“Okay, let me go back a bit. That year on Solstheim a lot was going on. There was a storm that kept a lot of people trapped there, unable to leave, and nobody from the mainland could visit, either. Qismehti got lucky she survived. But there was also this…thing with Hircine. Hircine is one of the — Oh, you know about him? Okay. Well, he had spread a curse of lycanthropy — that’s what makes people into werewolves, if you’ve ever heard of those — across the island. Lots of people got infected.
“I was about nineteen then. And I was out one day, fishing, and I got attacked and bit by one of them. I barely made it out alive. But…different. I tried to hide it, but one day Qismehti found me out…’hunting’ — yes, as a wolf-man — and managed to knock some sense into me until I changed back. She wanted to help me, for my da’s sake, since they knew each other so well. So she tried to find a cure for it.
“She managed it. But she was too late. Before she could give me the cure, I’d…changed…and. Well. I was at home, you see, with ma and da, and…No, it’s okay. I can finish.
“I woke up in chains. Qismehti came and told me what happened. That…beast, inside of me. It killed my da. And my ma almost killed it — and me — until Qismehti came in and forced the cure on it. But my ma…I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me. She had me arrested, and they sent me off to the Imperial City’s Prison, and…well. Here I am.”
Martin sat quietly for a while. He wished he hadn’t asked. But he also felt an upwelling of intense sympathy for the man across from him. “It’s not your fault,” Martin said after a few moments of silence. “That wasn’t you.”
Olof rubbed his sharp and angular nose. “I know. But…well. Here I am. It is what it is.”
Martin reached across to touch Olof’s worn and calloused hand. “It doesn’t change my estimation of you, at all. You’re still a good man, Olof.”
“Thank you.”
The door to the West Wing creaked open. The Blade Arcturus entered and bowed to Martin. “Your Majesty. I’ve prepared your room for you, as befits an Emperor. Terribly sorry for the wait.”
“Go get some sleep, Martin,” said Olof.
“Only if you do the same,” countered Martin with a sly smile.
Olof returned the smile. “I’ll try. Good night, Martin.”
Daevos hated it here, this far up the Orange Road. This close to Bruma you started to see snow on the ground year-round. Daevos was from Cheydinhal, blissfully temperate, a proper place where it snowed only in winter. He shivered in his cult-appointed red robes (although these lacked the Dawn’s insignias, for incognito purposes). At least he was on a sacred mission for Lord Camoran, he thought — to find and destroy the final Septim.
Daevos and his cult-appointed partner, Talieron, a rather obnoxious Cyrod from Anvil who at least hated this weather as much as he did, were tracking north. They’d personally discovered the Mythic Dawn’s failure at Kvatch to dispatch the bastard Septim — damn Daedra couldn’t keep up their end of the bargain — and were chasing up the province to seek him out. So far, no luck; just a few random travelers, merchant caravans, pilgrims, and Imperial Soldiers — these latter they gave wide berth, despite their hidden natures. None of the others reported seeing anything unusual from the other direction, except the occasional report of an odd red glow in the distance seen from the road. At least the Daedra were making the most of the situation.
It was near dusk when they came upon a strange trio. Two armed guards accompanied a third unarmed in exquisite finery, their head draped with a thick hood. Daevos greeted them: “Hail, travelers. What news?”
The three stopped. One of the guards turned his head. By flesh and eye he was another Dunmer, like Daevos, but by ear he was a man. Strange. “Can’t say I’ve heard much, stranger,” said the guard. “Wolves about, and Daedra, if you heed the stories. Watch yourselves.”
A normal enough response, thought Daevos. He pushed further. “Are you a noble entourage, by chance?” He nodded at the third, by her dress a woman, but by shoulder a man. Perhaps a woman by choice, rather than by birth, Daevos thought. Or perhaps truly a man in disguise.
“Aye,” said the strangely-eared Dunmer. “Lady Kalthav of Skingrad. But if you’ve a liking for wealth, I’d advise adventuring instead, lad. Many abandoned ruins to be found along these roads.”
Daevos had never heard of any noble Kalthav family, but then again, he wasn’t familiar with Colovia much. He glanced at Talieron. He shrugged. “No,” said Daevos. “We’ve no interest in your Lady. We’re just lost, you see. Which way to Chorrol?”
“Not this way,” said the other guard, not turning his head. “Follow the road south where you came, and mind the crossroad signs. You’ll find it.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” said Daevos. “We’ll be on our way, then.”
Once Daevos and Talieron were out of earshot, Talieron said, “They were very suspicious. Why didn’t we accost them further?”
“Because we’re not idiots, Tal,” said Daevos. “Let’s pass into the woods once they can’t see us and follow them in secret.”
“Aye,” said Talieron.
Daevos was very curious about this “Lady Kalthav.” Perhaps not their mark. But perhaps an interesting target regardless. They would follow her north to her destination, wherever it lay.
They stopped to camp a safe distance from the Orange Road. Jauffre had finished his watch, and closed his eyes to leave Olof to his. Olof hadn’t rested well, but kept a sharp eye out for assassins — or more likely, more wolves.
Olof glanced at Martin, who sat against a tree. His eyes were closed, but he was thumbing through a rosary, his lips mouthing prayers to Akatosh.
“Can’t sleep?” Olof asked.
Martin paused in his count. “No,” he said, his eyes still closed. “I don’t particularly want to. I haven’t slept well since…you know.”
“I understand,” Olof said. Martin suspected he actually meant it. “Do you want to talk about it, Martin?”
Martin sighed and dropped the beads on his lap. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about, honestly. You were there, you know what happened.”
“Yes,” nodded Olof. “I’m sorry.”
Martin thought about Weynon, and the journey so far. “I almost didn’t feel anything when I saw Prior Maborel. I felt even less about the Mythic Dawn we slew in defense of the Priory, or the bandits we’ve run into along the way.”
“I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do, Olof,” snapped Martin quietly, so as not to wake Jauffre. “I was a farmer’s son, and then…a priest. I hadn’t seen many dead bodies before, much less killed anyone. You’re an adventurer, you’re already used to it.” Olof said nothing. “I feel so numb to it all. Does that make me a monster?”
“No,” said Olof. “Even if I don’t understand what it’s like for you, I know that you’re not a monster. Would you call me a monster?”
“Well…no, of course not. You’re more like a hero.”
Martin saw red under Olof’s sharp grey cheeks, and felt it heat up his own as well. “It’s just…” Martin struggled to find adequate words. “I’ve been through a lot the past few days, is all.”
“You’ll go through more, Your Highness, before all is said and done.”
Olof and Martin looked up at Jauffre, who had spoken. He continued: “You’ll be responsible for all of Tamriel soon as their Emperor. You must develop thicker skin to survive.”
“With all due respect —” Martin began.
“Leave him be, Jauffre!” said Olof, nearly shouting. “He’s just a man. And by no means a child, so don’t scold him like one.”
“Am I to care for what a murderer thinks of my abilities as Grandmaster of the Blades?” Olof fell silent. Martin glanced at him, confused. “Oh yes,” continued Jauffre. “I looked into you while you were gone. Only truly serious crimes are punished in the Imperial Prison. Patricide among them.”
“At least I’ve retrieved the Emperor!” Olof spat. “You lost the Amulet because you kept it in your bloody sock drawer!”
“Olof, Jauffre, please!” cried Martin. “That’s quite enough. Jauffre was only doing the best he could on short notice. And I’m sure Olof…regrets what happened with his father.” Martin didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He certainly didn’t want to pry right now.
The two men simmered down a bit. Olof crossed his arms and tilted his head back, glancing at the stars through the leaves above, and asked, “Why did they come after the Amulet of Kings, anyway?”
Jauffre became suddenly thoughtful. “I’m not sure. Of course Uriel had enemies, and this was only the first successful assassination attempt on him and his sons. But how could they have known about Martin for the Kvatch attack? Or that we would bring him to Weynon? Perhaps they sought to kill me, instead.”
“Maybe,” said Martin, “there’s more importance to the Amulet than we realize.”
The conversation paused. Martin thought it disconcerting that not even Jauffre knew the answers to this mystery. “When we arrive at Cloud Ruler,” Martin said, breaking the silence, “I will study this. I’ve been a scholar before. Perhaps I can discover something in the library of the Blades.”
Jauffre and Olof both nodded. “Yes,” said Jauffre. “Perhaps.”
“Try to sleep, both of you,” said Olof. “I’ll keep watch, don’t worry.”
The rest of the night was uneventful, save for Martin’s fitful, restless sleep.
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