Thanks a hundred thousand million everyone!
YAY SIERRA, YOU'RE BACK! :twirl: I'm so pleased you found the Crassius/Nenya scene amusing - I did wonder if I was flying over the top again but honestly, Crassius is my one indulgence. It's just so
fun to write him as http://www-tc.pbs.org/wgbh/gormenghast/scenes/images/costumes_prunes_04_big.jpg philanderous long-lost brother.
oh boy, this promises to be one hell of a finale.
I really hope so, because remember when I said there's a point when the action explodes? We have arrived in explodeyville.
The King And I
Chapter Thirty-Six – The Last Task Of Eadwyrd GreenhartThe door to Morgiah and Barenziah’s parlour banged open, causing the three occupants to leap up in alarm, Bomba ‘Lurrina’s hand going to her katana. She checked it, however, when the lamplight revealed the intruder to be Nenya. Caius was not far behind.
“The oil’s really on the fire now,” the Nord said grimly, throwing herself into a chair without waiting to be asked. “Helseth has a mob on his hands. I’m going to
kill that jumped-up conniving snake Crassius.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, a flicker of smug satisfaction seemed to cross Caius’ face at Nenya’s verbal evisceration of his nemesis.
Barenziah looked thunderstruck. “A
mob? How? What do you mean? What in the gods’ name has happened?”
“Elysana,” Nenya announced. “Queen Elysana of Wayrest has been in Morrowind for a whole month, sitting in Crassius Curio’s plushed-out mansion sending Morag Tong assassins after your family.”
For a moment, neither Barenziah nor Morgiah spoke. Then the Princess’s hands began very slowly to clench and unclench.
“Crassius Curio, you say?” Her voice was deadly calm.
“He didn’t know,” Nenya said reluctantly, weighing honesty against personal grievance and coming out on the side of the former, as usual. “He didn’t have a clue who she was; she set herself up as some impoverished noble. The
real problem was that he took her to the King instead of bringing her here. I don’t know how he knew Helseth was in Vivec – he must have only just arrived – but he and Elysana had a brawl on the Justice steps and practically the whole city turned out to watch.”
Barenziah was silent, apparently too appalled to speak. Morgiah sat down slowly, tense as a bowstring.
“Elysana has been detained?” she questioned, still with that awful composure that spoke less of peaceable acceptance and more of racks and thumbscrews.
“I told the Ordinators to find her a cell in the Ministry of Truth.” Nenya narrowed her eyes at the Princess; was there something...
different about her? “With no torture. She can await trial; we need to sort Helseth out first.”
“What is he doing in Vivec?” Barenziah whispered, regaining her voice at last. “He said nothing to me about any journey.”
Bomba ‘Lurrina spoke up from the corner. “I would suppose he is heading towards Red Mountain, your Highness.”
Nenya looked the two Dunmer women in the eye, one after the other. “I know you didn’t want to believe it before, and I don’t blame you. But there is
no time for denial now. If he’s going all the way up there, my guess is that things are coming to a head. Whatever the black-robes are doing for him, they’ve finished.”
Morgiah breathed in very slowly. Her mind was a mess of whirling thoughts – plans, strategies, outcomes, all formed and dismissed in a moment. To quiet the storm more than anything, she reached for the notes she and Barenziah had been reviewing before the interruption.
“We may have found another connection,” she informed them, the proclamation sounding absurdly minor in the light of what had just been announced. “We have been re-evaluating the findings from yours and Ser Curio’s investigations, Sergeant Cosades, and from Bomba ‘Lurrina’s report of Orsinium. We have found a rather strange connection. A young Imperial by the name of Tulius Cicero appears in both accounts; first as a scholar on Dwemer architecture that King Gortwog recommended to Helseth’s envoy, and second as a missing person in Ser Curio’s list of recent abnormalities and disappearances. Can either of you shed some light on this coincidence?”
Nenya threw up her hands in exasperation. “What does it matter? There’s no
time for this–“
But Caius’ suddenly clapped a hand to his mouth, his eyes flying wide.
“Tulius Cicero,” he hissed. “I knew it – I
knew I recognised the name! How could I have been so
stupid… he’s a Blade! An acolyte. He worked in High Rock, but he was relocated to Morrowind last Frostfall. I would never have known if I signed his transfer when I was on secretary relief in the Imperial City barracks.” His hand formed a fist. “A
Blade…”With a sickening lurch, Morgiah realised she recognised the name as well – and also remembered from where. No wonder it jumped out at her; it had been a newspaper headline in her study not two months ago. The Common Tongue. It had been right in front of her all that time, and she’d not had the wit to see it. “He must have known something Helseth wanted. High Rock… he must have had information about Numidium.”
“Poor bastard,” Caius whispered, face grey. “Talos knows what Helseth did to make him talk.”
Nenya stood up. “I’m going,” she announced abruptly, swinging her hammer onto her shoulder.
Morgiah surfaced from her reverie, blindsided. “Excuse me?
Now? You’ve only just arrived!”
“To Red Mountain,” Nenya said, her face uncharacteristically serious. “I might be able to get rid of enough Dreamers to delay Akulakhan’s reactivation. Worth a try, anyway.” Her eyes flickered uncertainly to Caius, but he was already on his feet by her side. It seemed there was no question of their being separated.
Morgiah let them go. What did it matter? There was a small possibility they could do some good, even if it was only damage control. “Go well,” she said, the words sounding as meaningless as they were. If Helseth had got this far, no amount of Dreamers’ heads would make much difference.
They left, Nenya narrowly avoiding a catastrophe as a tray-laden chambermaid appeared in the doorway.
“Tea, ma’am,” said the maid imperiously, transferring a cake-stand to the sideboard and arranging the cups.
“I cancelled all service today,” Barenziah said curtly. “Please see that the message is conveyed to the kitchens and kindly do not disturb us further.”
The maid nodded and turned – but Bomba ‘Lurrina had suddenly vacated her inconspicuous chair in the corner, and quick as lightning, had shot a hand out to grasp her wrist.
“By the Moons,” she whispered, her voice becoming feral. “Well I never. It has been many years since I have seen
you, my lady.”
Barenziah stood, the confusion on her face turning to furious suspicion in the blink of an eye. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her soft tone somehow more threatening than any voice raised in anger.
There was a pause, a moment of uncertain power-struggle as the personalities in the room clashed, before the chambermaid broke the silence.
“Forgive me,” she replied coolly, crossing the room and laying a ring down on the table, “but the deception was necessary. The Empire is not as ignorant of this matter as you would like to think.”
Morgiah’s sharp eyes took in the seal on the ring’s flat surface; the Imperial insignia. “You have one minute to explain who you are,” she said in the same quiet tone as her mother, “before you ensure that these four walls are the last you see.
Your name, madam.”
“My name is Lady Brisienna Magnessen. I am a loyal servant of the Empire, and the Hlaalu Crown’s doings have not gone unnoticed by our Sovereign’s agents in the province.”
“Bomba?” Morgiah asked, her eyes not leaving the Imperial’s face.
“She’s a spy,” Bomba ‘Lurrina confirmed. “In my time as agent to the Emperor, she acted as my contact.” The Khajiit cocked her head, regarding the lady with a peculiar expression of smugness. “Unlucky for you I was here, no? The only person in all Morrowind who could have blown your cover! What are the chances?”
“Indeed, you have ever delivered undesirable results,” Brisienna rejoined, her voice like a barb of ice. “The Empire holds no love for oathbreakers and traitors.”
Bomba ‘Lurrina laughed witheringly. “My lady, the reason I have eluded ‘justice’ all these years is because the Emperor
knows my decision was undisputable. Numidium’s Mantella belonged to no-one but the Underking. Given your scepticism, perhaps you would like to follow him to his current resting place and conduct your trial there?”
Brisienna’s eyes flashed with anger.
“Enough,” pronounced Barenziah, her authoritative tone cutting through the atmosphere like a knife. “I see there is much history here that would be best left undisturbed. Lady Magnessen, do sit down.” It was not a request.
The four women settled on the edge of their chairs, like vipers ready to strike.
“Now,” Barenziah said, attempting to appear civil, “Let us hear from you, Lady Magnessen. What is the Emperor’s stance on this matter, and what exactly do you hope to achieve by your actions here?”
“I am in no position to discuss the Empire’s designs,” Brisienna replied evenly. “Let it be plain that we have learned enough here to piece together what King Helseth is doing, and it is high treason. There can be no mistake in this. Your own roles in this fiasco are as of yet indeterminate. Provide us immediately with the King’s full plans and his whereabouts, and you will be pardoned with minimal interruption to your sovereignty. An Imperial co-ordinator will be dispatched to supervise the transfer of the crown, and to oversee the initial stages of the new reign.”
The words closed over Morgiah like a blanket of ice. With Imperial involvement, reality hit like never before. This wasn’t just a kin squabble to be resolved among themselves; it was Empire-wide now, and it would result in the sundering of this family forever. High treason meant execution, no exceptions.
As the sudden emotions raged in her, she heard Barenziah’s calm voice as if through deep water. “I am afraid these terms are not acceptable, my lady. We know nothing of his Majesty’s whereabouts, and have only scant information of what he may or may not be doing.” In any other mouth, this blatant lie would have lit up like a beacon, but Barenziah’s cool surety gave it precisely the weight it needed. “Furthermore, no ‘co-ordinator’ will be necessary. Morrowind has ever managed its own affairs, in accordance with our long-established Imperial agreement.”
“You must have
some idea where he is,” Brisienna snapped, losing patience. “I have seen enough in my time here to know that you have been conducting your own investigations into his activities. The King is suspected of numerous crimes against the Empire. We already have proof that he is involved in the disappearance of the Blade associate Tulius Cicero, and circumstantial evidence of much more. I have so far gone to great lengths to exempt you from Helseth’s sentence; do not force me to rescind such generosity.”
“Your efforts are noted and appreciated,” replied Barenziah mildly. “But I am afraid we cannot help you. Whatever you believe his Majesty may be doing, I am sure such hysterical accusations as
treason are premature.” She passed over the fuming Brisienna and held the door open politely. “We will, of course, inform you of any developments to this case. Please do not hesitate to contact us if you require further assistance.”
Brisienna rose, gathering her skirts. Her glare was a frozen lance. “Your lack of cooperation has been noted. Make no mistake: Helseth
will be found, and quickly. The Empire is not finished with this debacle.” She swept from the room, the door banging behind her.
Barenziah and Morgiah looked at each other, the expression on each blood-drained face reflecting the other.
“This has escalated far beyond anything I had imagined,” Bomba ‘Lurrina said softly, startling them with her sepulchral tone. They had forgotten she was even there. “I do not think you can protect Helseth from the Empire, your Highnesses.”
“Of course we cannot, the stupid boy,” Barenziah expostulated, showing her anxiety at last. “How could he endanger himself this way? The
family? Is Morrowind not enough for him? He’s coveting the whole of
Tamriel, for Azura’s sake! Has he lost his mind?”
“I think he has,” Morgiah murmured.
Barenziah looked at her, suddenly haggard. “This is it, you know. That damned woman won’t wait, no matter how we try to stall her. They’ll be releasing the hounds any day now. Morgiah, I ask this as your mother –
find him.”A wrench, tugging her heart. “And do what? Magic a pardon for high treason out of thin air?”
“I don’t know,” Barenziah whispered. “Just find him before they do.
Please.”Morgiah closed her eyes, the alien plea in Barenziah’s voice making her blood run cold. They'd built themselves like a house of cards, this family, adding layer upon treacherous layer until the links were flimsy as silk... and now Helseth had tried to snatch an ace from the bottom row, and suddenly everything was crashing down around them. Images flashed across her vision; she and Helseth playing Halma-board in the dim light of the nursery candle, she and Helseth sharing midnight feasts, she and Helseth breaking into the Wayrest Treasury and playing marbles with the precious gems, she and Helseth when life was simple, and they had not become strangers…
It seemed aeons away, a distant past. She opened her eyes.
“Tell the groom to ready my carriage.”
*
The Dreamer Master gripped the rail of the observation platform, the unnatural strength of his fingers crushing the copper tubing.
It’s a fever, he assured himself.
Such as anyone could have. It means nothing. There is nothing wrong.Another crippling pain shot through his stomach, sending him to his knees.
Struggling upright, he looked wildly around – he could not allow his subordinates to learn of his predicament. Fortunately, he was high on the walkway, near the tarnished gleam of the great Head. The cultists seldom came up here; the only people you would find at these dizzy heights were the Patients, and it mattered little what
they did or did not see.
From his vantage point, he could see the unobtrusive bronze-bound door in the rockface hundreds of feet below, and to his satisfaction there was a robed figure standing quietly nearby. It was essential that this door was guarded at all times; the old woman, especially, had become difficult and troublesome of late. And Vivec was always a problem. With the project so close to completion, everything must be perfect for his Majesty’s arrival.
The air around the Master seemed to shimmer; he gasped, his breath catching in his throat. Damn this place; the exposed magma chamber made the Facility Cavern a furnace.
Air. I must have air.Turning, he began to stumble down the ramp to the mined air-duct that would lead, small and winding, to the exposed mountainside.
*
The guard by the bronze-bound door on the lower level of the Facility Cavern lifted his head slightly. The face underneath the hood was not the ash-dark of a Dunmer, but pale and drawn.
Eadwyrd pulled the cloth down lower over his face, and moved into the shadow of the wall.
It had not been difficult to get this far. The Master Dreamer’s concerns were elsewhere; the mer was clearly in the advanced stages of full-blown Corprus. Even Eadwyrd’s toil across Red Mountain to Dagoth Ur had gone by in a haze, the harshness of the landscape bearing no comparison to the nightmare in his mind.
The ceiling of the cavern stretched away above him, disappearing into darkness. The gigantic figure filling it gleamed from the ministrations of a hundred Corprus victims, scurrying across its vast surface like beetles. Even in Eadwyrd’s tortured mind, a seed of horror burst forth at the sight. He had imagined what Helseth must be doing, but
this… this was beyond anything.
Suddenly afraid for the first time in the whole journey, he stumbled backwards into the shadowy alcove behind him, and fumbled for the handle of the door there. It swung open…
Into total and utter darkness.
He blinked. It was not just shadow, it was like a window had been cut out of the air. Now he looked more closely, he could see pinpricks of light, like stars. Had he inadvertently opened a door that lead onto the slope of the Mountain? But no – there was no rockface, no clouds, no moons. Just the stars, and… a golden figure?
There was someone out there.
Eadwyrd stepped through the concealed entrance to the Aetheric prison, and began to run.
*
In the crater of Red Mountain, the ancient Dwemer ruins of Dagoth Ur lay scattered like broken and discarded toys. The volcano’s many eruptions had caused the majority of the structure to sink into the basalt, creating the curious effect of a city submerged in a charcoal sea. One might think, due to the dread threat of Corprus and Blight that has dogged this region for so long, that any potential visitors might move with stealth and caution.
Nenya strode through the ruins as if it was a stroll down Balmora’s high street. Trailing a short distance behind her, looking far less comfortable in his surroundings, was Caius.
“Almost like home, really,” commented Nenya in a casual display of black humour.
“Cosy,” said Caius dryly. “How long since you were last here?”
“More than a year now.” Nenya loosened her hammer in its bindings as they neared the main complex. “Looks pretty deserted, but for all we know, these Dreamers are just as dangerous as any Blight monster. Stay close and look sharp.”
Caius was happy to oblige; his own shortsword had been at the ready ever since they passed the now-defunct Ghostgate. Together, they crept towards the spherical gateway that obscured the entrance to the interior ruins. At the end of the path, however, they were thwarted – the metalwork was distorted by the heat of the most recent lava-flow, and the seam of the doors had been fused shut.
Caius scowled. “Now what? There’s no way we can pry this thing open with just the two of us.”
Nenya was looking at the portal shrewdly. “Got any magic, Cai?” she said suddenly.
Caius furrowed his brow. “You know I don’t – nothing worth speaking of, anyway. Why?”
Nenya examined the doors carefully. “I wish Bomba was here,” she said in frustration after her search proved fruitless. “I’d bet a whole suit of Ebony we’d find the same magical residue on this door that we did in Shedungent, but neither of us have the skill to detect it.”
“Is there another way in?”
Nenya thought for a moment. “There used to be vents in the Facility Cavern –air-ducts, although they were really just small tunnels through to the mountainside. If you’re up for a bit of scrambling, we can have a look.”
Caius sheathed his shortsword with a sigh. “Scrambling? Just what I fancied.”
Nenya almost smirked before an ominous rumbling met their ears – a distant roaring, coming as if from the mountain itself. Something was happening inside.
Sharing a disquieted glance, they began to climb with a greater sense of urgency, two glinting ants on the vast surface of volcanic rock.
*
Three figures stood lined up in the Aetherius star-room in a row, like something out of a diseased dream.
The first had eyes that mirrored Eadwyrd’s in their cold flatness, though the face they stared from was unrecognisable. Yagrum Bagarn had abandoned hope a long time ago, and all that was left now was loathing of the thing he had unwillingly helped create.
The second was little more than a pathetic heap of dirty sacking and matted hair. Nulfaga was barely aware of her own surroundings any more, her decrepitude a canker that ate into the very core of her soul.
The third was golden. Golden and mad.
Nothing could shock Eadwyrd any more. The fact that he was standing before a god had no effect on him; all he wanted now was for Helseth’s abominable scheme to be stopped before the whole world was thrown into chaos. He was here. This was it. It was up to him now.
Vivec smiled pleasantly at him. He held an object in each hand; one a short length of iridescent metal wreathed with complicated symbols, the other what looked like an impossibly large soul-gem, flushed a deep, disturbing red. “Ah, my subject. Have you come to escort me to where I can watch our foe’s demise?”
“I- what?” Eadwyrd gaped, barely able to get the words out. Had Vivec really fallen so far that he thought this conquest of slaughter was acceptable? Is this how Helseth had managed to accomplish what he had?
Vivec’s eyes shone with compassion, with love. “My people shall rest easy. Their god will ensure their safety as he has always done. The enemy that threatens our land will be cast out by the grace of my wisdom and might. Is it not so, dear one?”
Eadwyrd could have cried, had the events of the last week not left him dry. Vivec had sunk so deep into lunacy that all Helseth had to do was tell one simple lie, and the rest followed like sun after rain. The ease with which this atrocity had been achieved was crushing.
“It’s a lie,” he said simply. “Helseth has lied to you. He’s using you to rebuild the golem that
you helped destroy, hundreds of years ago – the one you fought against to prevent exactly what will happen now if you don’t
do something.”
Vivec was shaking his head, still smiling. “Dear one, you are tired and confused; I can see you are wounded from a great harm in your mind. There is no golem. I have created talismans to keep my people safe.” He proffered the objects in his hands, the things Eadwyrd now recognised as a Totem and Mantella.
“Those ‘talismans’ are just what Helseth needs to control the golem! You have to stop this,” Eadwyrd pleaded, hopelessness seeping through him, overbearing, overwhelming. How had he ever thought he could succeed? If Vivec was useless, everything was lost. He couldn’t stand against a half-mile high golem on his own.
“There is nothing to stop,” Vivec said peevishly. “You tire me, young one. I am weary. Leave me now.” He turned his back.
Eadwyrd grabbed his arm, his frozen brain registering with shock how frail, how
mortal the god felt. He dragged him towards the improbable square of rock that floated in the midst of the chamber – the open door to the Cavern – internal voices shrieking all the while at the danger, the looming disaster.
Vivec began to struggle and wail, the sound appallingly childlike and distressed. Eadwyrd found that his tears were not gone, against all odds. His face was streaming with them.
“Look at what is happening out there!” he screamed, thrusting the god’s face through the doorway to stare at the monstrous figure illuminated by the grisly light of volcanic flame. “People are going to die! This thing will sweep across the land, and no-one will be able to stop it! People are going to
die!”At the other end of the Aetherius-room, a terrible moan rent the air. Nulfaga was stirring. To Eadwyrd’s dismay, she began to beat herself, scratching at her frail body until her arms ran with blood.
“They have not come!” she howled, her face a grotesquerie of pain and betrayal. “They listened to my stories, they fed and clothed me, and then they left me to die like all the others! My Lysandus, where are you to ease your mother’s burdens? My Lysandus – poor, poor darling!”
She was on her feet, running with frightening speed towards them – Eadwyrd stumbled to the side, pulling Vivec with him. As her ravaged form sped past them out of the doorway, he tripped in his haste to get out of the way; the satchelbag flew from his shoulder, spilling its contents to the floor. His poetry manuscripts caught the updraft, bursting into flames, flying through the volcanic fires like burning birds.
Vivec’s face was drenched in horror, but he was not looking at the broken wreck of a woman who now stood at the brink of the magma chamber. He was looking up, at Akulakhan, his mouth moving soundlessly.
For one moment, Eadwyrd thought his eyes cleared, and the mantle of madness lifted.
“No,” whispered the god. “No… Aedra forgive me…what have I
done?”An impossible hope flared in Eadwyrd, and then three things happened at once.
Nulfaga gave a horrific scream of anguish, and hurled herself into the pit of lava beneath Akulakhan’s massive feet.
Vivec raised the Totem, and swept his fingers across the writhing symbols of its surface.
The Mantella fell from his right hand, landing on one of the pieces of parchment that had fallen from Eadwyrd’s satchel – not, as it happened, a poetry manuscript, but one of the leftover Recall To Palace scrolls given to him by Morgiah before she sent him to Tel Fyr. It touched the surface and vanished.
Then everything was chaos.
The door behind him was screeching on its hinges – the star-room was bending, crumpling, folding like parchment. With Nulfaga burning in the heart of the Mountain, the connection to Aetherius was severed – with a jolt, Eadwyrd realised that the third prisoner, the deformed Dwemer, was still inside.
“Get out!” He screamed at the dwindling figure, not daring to venture through the doorway. “You’ll be trapped; it’s collapsing!
Hurry!”With awful slowness, Yagrum Bagarn raised his head. There was at last some trace of humanity in his dead eyes; a spark of relief, of finality. He turned his head to the diminishing ceiling, and raised his arms in welcome.
The stars clashed together with a flash of piercing white, and the doorway vanished as if it had never been, leaving Eadwyrd on his knees outside, struck dumb in the face of the pandemonium before him.
Akulakhan was attacking itself.
Vivec was sprinting with astonishing energy up the spiral ramp that circled the cavern, the Totem clutched in his wasted hand. Without the Mantella, the golem was merely a huge doll, with none of the intelligence or drive that the soulgem would have instilled. As Vivec’s fingers flashed across the surface of the Totem, Akulakhan responded with clumsy limitation – it flailed at its own body, huge hands tugging at welded fittings, a kneecap hanging loose, both thumbs crushed beyond repair, the great head dented and tarnished. Screaming Corprus workers fell dislodged from its heights like gruesome rain.
Black-robed Dreamers were pouring from the myriad doorways in the walls, crying out in fear and alarm as the golem’s increasingly violent movements damaged the walls and ceiling of the cavern. The magma chamber, disturbed by the seismic activity around it, began to rumble like a disquieted beast.
Eadwyrd stood, a small form of stillness amid the chaos, his head turned up to the sky. Rocks fell everywhere; showers of basalt rained on and around him, and the glow from the steadily-rising magma fell hot and dry across his face. For a moment he thought he saw a blonde woman screaming at him from a balcony above, but then she was gone and so was he, insensible now to the collapsing world around him, locked in a place within his own mind.
“It’s done, Gwyn,” he whispered hoarsely. “Did I do well? I did it for you – I did it for you, Gwyn –”
The rain of rocks became a torrent; he fell to the ground, head bloody and gashed. Faintly, as if through distorted glass, he saw the entire right side of the golem fall into the expanding pool of lava with a roar of sparks, before the world darkened.
When the explosion of magma claimed him along with the rest of the Facility Cavern, he had long since stepped over the threshold to Oblivion.
*
*
» Sat Feb 19, 2011 3:08 am 
Rumple, out! xxx 
I must say, I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't finish, lol. I see now that you had much more important things to do lately (grats on all that btw), but I'm glad to see this story continue, hopefully to its exciting conclusion 
