» Fri Feb 18, 2011 10:09 pm
Chapter 35: The Perfect Crime
My ‘bring it on’ mood lasted throughout the evening. It was only once I’d cleaned myself up, eaten, and taken a nice long hot bath that panic finally set in. Well, not ‘panic’ as such – more a sudden realisation of “Oh dear Gods, I’ve just killed the head of the CAMONNA TONG.” Not to mention following it up by very publicly declaring myself the Nerevarine.
Something told me there would be a lot more people out to kill me by the time I woke up the next morning. I spent the night in Ebonheart, hoping I’d be a bit safer from gangsters and religious zealots in Imperial territory. After that, though, I didn’t have much choice but to go back to Ald’ruhn.
I still couldn’t think how to deal with Gothren, but I hoped Athyn Sarethi would be willing to overlook that for the moment. Luckily I was right. “So the Hlaalu have already named you Hortator?” he asked in surprise. “I am impressed. I hope you did not have to do anything dishonourable to get the title.”
“Well… not dishonourable as such,” I said, trying not to shudder as I remembered Crassius’ little ‘favour’. “I had to kill Orvas Dren, though – he attacked me without warning. I’m sorry, Athyn.”
He shook his head. “I fear you have made more enemies, but I suppose it cannot be helped. Besides, from what I knew of Dren, I believe that Vvardenfell will be better off without him.” He glanced down at the Hlaalu declaration. “‘This sweet little dumpling’…? Ah, I see: Crassius Curio. Well done, Ada.”
At this point I had to make a rather embarrassing confession: I still didn’t really know what a Hortator was supposed to do. I’d led a few very small operations during my time in the Guild, but my skills as a General were… well, ‘untested’ was the politest way of putting it. I had about as much knowledge of large-scale military strategy as I did of advanced Conjuration magic. The Hlaalu and Telvanni didn’t seem to care, for whatever reason, but I had an uncomfortable feeling that the Redorans would.
But Athyn’s answer surprised me. “A Hortator is not really a general,” he told me, when I explained my concerns. “More of a chief hero. It’s the Councils who plan and approve strategy.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “A Hortator is a champion who leads by inspiration. He – or she, in this case – challenges opposing heroes in single combat.” Well, I’d done that… sort of. “She goes on long, desperate quests.” Check. “She goes alone into the citadels of the enemy.” Uh-oh.
“Athyn,” I said quietly. “Are you saying I’m going to have to confront Dagoth Ur alone?”
“That remains to be seen. Once you have the support of the Houses and tribes, and have convinced the Temple authorities that you are the Nerevarine, there will be time to discuss a strategy.”
“But…” Frustration bubbled up inside me. “This all seems completely backwards. When all those Hlaalu and Telvanni agreed to make me Hortator – the ones who care at all, that is – they did it because they thought I had some sort of plan to defeat Dagoth Ur. What am I going to do when they realise I don’t? What happens if the Temple finally agrees to recognise me as Nerevarine, and I have to admit that I don’t have the faintest idea what to do next?”
“I know it must seem foolish, but you must understand: there is no chance that the Temple will even consider your claims until the prophecies are fulfilled. You are challenging centuries of deeply-held belief.” He laid a hand on mine. “You must trust in the Gods to show you the way, as they have always done in the past.”
I said nothing. “Ada,” he went on, “I am not going to force you to be our Hortator if you don’t wish to. If you prefer to give up your claim, that is your choice.”
Easy for him to say, I thought. He wasn’t the one who had Azura breathing down his neck. “I can’t back out now, Athyn. I’ve already told half of Vvardenfell that I’m the Nerevarine.”
“Then you wish me to declare you Hortator, in spite of your own doubts?”
I couldn’t really see any way out. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
“So be it. I owe you a personal debt, and would be glad to repay you… but truly, Ada, I believe in you. I think you have the strength to undertake this quest, and the courage and passion to see it through.” If only I could believe that. “I name you, Ada Ventura, Hero and Hortator of House Redoran. I am sure the other councillors will agree.”
“What about Archmaster Venim?”
“Come back to me when you have convinced the other Councillors, and I will tell you a way that we might deal with Venim.”
I decided to visit Miner Arobar first, just to get the worst over with. He looked even worse than he had when I’d last seen him, and even less pleased to see me. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot – in fact, I could almost have sworn that he’d been crying recently. What the heck was going on there?
“Why have you come back here, House Father?” he asked, before I had the chance to speak. “If this is about the Council, I have already told you – ”
“It’s not about that, serjo. Something else entirely, in fact.”
His face relaxed ever so slightly. “Then I trust you will explain this reason for interrupting me yet again?”
I launched into my story, trying to keep it as short and direct as possible. Arobar listened, stroking his chin, and as I went on his expression became increasingly skeptical. “So,” he said at last, “you come to tell me that you are the reincarnation of Indoril Nerevar.”
“Yes.”
“Azura spoke with you,” he continued. “In a cave. And told you that because you are the reincarnation of Nerevar, you must become the Hortator of all three Great Houses. And that is why you are standing here now, telling me this story of the Tribunal stealing power from a god’s heart with Dwemer tools. And that Dagoth Ur is not dead, but even now plots to conquer Morrowind with the power of this alleged… heart. Is that correct?”
Put like that, it did sound a little unlikely.
“That’s correct,” I said, rather apologetically. “Look, here’s the Moon-and-Star ring I was telling you about.”
He took my hand and peered at it closely. “You see, sera,” he said, “my problem is that your story is a little… unbelievable. And, well, there are also these rumours about you being an Imperial spy…”
“What?” I gasped, outraged. “But that’s ridiculous! That’s – ”
I paused. I was an Imperial spy, wasn’t I? So much had happened since I’d last seen Caius Cosades that I’d almost forgotten.
“Very well,” he said with a sigh. “I will speak to Athyn Sarethi, your sponsor, and ask for his counsel. Please, wait here until I return.”
I sat down on a bench in the hallway and waited, hoping that he really was going to speak with Sarethi and not just fetching guards to haul away the dangerous lunatic. I wouldn’t entirely have blamed him, to be honest. Just two or three months ago, I’d have laughed my head off if someone came to me with a story like that.
It took quite a while for Arobar to get back, but whatever Athyn had told him seemed to have done the trick, as he looked deeply contrite. “I have spoken with Athyn Sarethi,” he said, as I stood up to greet him. “He believes your story, and I have absolute faith in his judgement. Please accept my apologies for not accepting you at once… and for believing these rumours about you being a spy.” He grasped my hand. “You have my vote. Tell the other councillors that I have given you my blessings.”
Wow. I didn’t know what Athyn had been saying to bring about this transformation, but I sure as hell owed him for this. “That’s quite alright,” I said graciously. “Er… while we’re on the subject, I don’t suppose…?”
But he was already shaking his head. “No, my friend. I am sorry, but I still cannot support you as a Councillor. Please don’t ask me again.” Oh, well.
I visited the other councillors one by one, and rattled off my story: Nerevarine cult, Dissident Priests, Lost Prophecies, Seven Trials, visions of Azura, Moon-and-Star. And each time it played out the same way: they listened to me with varying degrees of skepticism and disbelief, before going off to speak to Athyn Sarethi, who somehow managed to convince them that I was both sane and trustworthy. By the time I reached the last one, Hlaren Ramoran, I was tempted just to send him straight off to Athyn and get him to tell the story.
At last, with everyone’s vote in the bag except Venim’s, I went back to Sarethi Manor. I hadn’t asked any of the councillors to put their vows in writing – I knew the Redorans well enough by now to realise they would see this as a grave insult. But as Athyn had just spoken to them himself, he knew perfectly well that they’d all given their consent.
“Well done, my friend,” he said, as soon as I entered his study. “And now we must turn to the matter of Bolvyn Venim. I fear he will never agree to name an outlander Hortator – in fact, I would not advise you even to try. But now that you have the full support of the council, he may agree to an honourable duel.”
I sank down into a chair. “Another duel, Athyn?”
“I know it isn’t what either of us would wish, but I fear there is no other way. Venim was a great leader once, but he has grown tyrannical and unjust, and he loathes outlanders – and of course, he knows the part you played in freeing my son. Still, it is your decision.”
Both of us were silent for quite a while. “I’ll tell him my story first, and see what he says,” I said at last. “You never know. Miracles might happen. Oh, by the way: do you know what’s up with Miner Arobar? He refused me outright when I asked for his support on the Council.”
“Miner did not even consider your case? This is troubling.” He thought for a moment, frowning. “I believe from this and from his recent votes on the Council that he may be under Telvanni influence.”
“Damn. Do you have any idea who might be influencing him?”
He shook his head. “If you are not too busy, perhaps you could go to Sadrith Mora and find out? I hate to ask this of you at such a time, but it is an urgent matter.”
I’d have to go back there anyway in order to deal with Gothren, so I agreed to look into it. In the meantime, though, I had to prepare myself for my first meeting with the Archmaster.
As I was walking down the entrance hall, the door opened and Varvur Sarethi entered the room. “Varvur!” I exclaimed, briefly forgetting about Venim in my pleasure at seeing him again.
“Ada!” He stopped dead, hovering a few feet away from me. “I didn’t realise you were in Ald’ruhn. Are you… well?”
“Fine, thanks. Where’ve you been this last week?”
“I have been on a mission in the Ashlands. Helping to destroy an illegal Telvanni base.” He was still hanging back a bit, keeping his distance.
“Is everything all right, Varvur?” I asked.
“I – yes. Why?”
“Well, I’m just getting the impression that you’re trying to avoid me,” I said. “I don’t have corprus any more, if that’s the problem. Really.”
He hurried forward immediately. “No! Forgive me, Ada. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that, well…” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe you are the Nerevarine.”
Uh-oh. “Literally can’t believe it, or just can’t take it in?”
“The second.” Phew. “I… suppose I did avoid you, for a little while. I just wasn’t sure how to behave around you. I mean… you are the Nerevarine.”
“You know I’m still the same person, right?” I said quietly. “Nothing’s changed. I have a fancy ring now, that’s all.”
“I know.” He laid his hands on the tops of my arms, as if trying to reassure himself. We stood there awkwardly for a few moments.
“Anyway, wish me luck,” I said at last. “I’m about to go and ask Bolvyn Venim to declare me Redoran Hortator.”
He frowned. “You are going to Venim Manor? You shouldn’t go alone, Ada. What if he sets his guards on you? ”
“What? There’s no way he’d attack me in broad daylight for no reason.” I paused. “…Would he?”
“I don’t know, but I know I would not trust him.” His grip on my arms tightened. “I’ll come with you.”
“Varvur, no! What if he tries to kidnap you again?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been cleared of Bralen’s murder. He would not dare to arrest me now.”
I wasn’t willing to bet on that, to be honest. “Your father’s not going to like this,” I warned.
“I don’t care,” he said bluntly. “Am I a baby, to be ordered around by my father? He may be willing to let you face Venim alone, but I am not.”
What could I say? I didn’t really want to take Varvur with me, but I could hardly order him around like a child – even if I was technically his superior. This wasn’t the time to pull rank. Besides, I was secretly rather grateful for the moral support.
We walked together to Venim Manor and entered the manor cautiously, making sure our weapons were clearly on display. Several of the guards and servants glared at us as we passed, but they didn’t attack us… yet. Varvur, who’d been inside the manor many times before, led me on into Venim’s private quarters.
I’d never met Bolvyn Venim before, and I was interested to see what kind of man could inspire such conflicting feelings in the other Councillors. Venim was tall and powerfully built, dressed in a full set of ebony armour. He was surrounded by a group of guards and assorted hangers-on, including several women who all looked far too young to be his wife. One of the perks of being Archmaster, I suppose, but not exactly what I’d have expected from the ultra-stuffy Redorans.
He looked up sharply as we approached, and his face darkened as he recognised Varvur Sarethi. He shot the young man a filthy glance – which, to Varvur’s credit, he returned unflinchingly – and directed an almost equally unpleasant scowl at me. “What is it, outlander? Unless you have some important business to discuss, I suggest that you leave.”
I bowed low, ignoring his sneering tone. Varvur followed suit. “I do have some rather important business, serjo. Might it be possible for us to talk in private?”
“Certainly not! If you have something to say, outlander, say it here – and be quick about it.”
The guy was already pissing me off, but I was determined to keep my cool this time. “All right,” I said. “I’ve come to ask you to support me as Redoran Hortator.”
There was a ripple of incredulous laughter. Venim stared at me in disbelief. “What?”
“Hortator,” I repeated. “It’s a kind of war leader – ”
“Of course I know what a Hortator is!” he thundered, making me jump. “Why in all Oblivion should I make you our Hortator?”
“Because I’m the Nerevarine.”
Again the other Dunmer burst out laughing, but Bolvyn himself looked distinctly unamused. “Outlander, if this is some kind of joke – ”
“It isn’t a joke, Archmaster,” I said quietly. “Won’t you let me at least try to explain? I am a member of your House.”
He glowered at me for a couple of seconds, but said nothing, which I took as a cue to launch into my story. I tried my very best to make it sound convincing this time, but it clearly wasn’t having the desired effect on Venim; the further I got, the angrier he looked. By the time I reached the part with Azura and the Moon-and-Star he looked downright furious, and when I finally removed my gauntlet to show him the ring, he practically exploded with wrath.
“Do you take me for a fool, outlander? Do you think I can be so easily won over? You are a fraud. Cunning, for an outlander, but a complete fraud.” He was breathing heavily. “No, you will never be Hortator. I will not permit it!”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Why not?” He was spluttering with anger. “Apart from the fact that you are a fraud and a liar?”
“Suppose I could prove to you that I wasn’t lying,” I said. “Would there still be a reason not to declare me Hortator?”
“There are a thousand reasons!”
“Such as?”
“You are an outlander. A Cyrodiil!” He practically spat out the last word. “How could we trust you with the leadership of our House?”
“All the prophecies state that the Nerevarine will be an outlander,” I said mildly. “Read them, if you don’t believe me. And as for the House, I’ll be a Councillor myself soon enough, so I don’t see why that should be a problem.”
He brushed this aside with an irritated gesture. “How old are you, outlander?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three?” He snorted derisively. “By the standards of our race you are an infant. We Dunmer have seen centuries of warfare, and now you ask us to declare you our champion?”
…Okay, so he kind of had a point. “Well, we humans develop more quickly,” I pointed out, standing my ground. “I’ve proven myself in your House, and I’ve persuaded the other Councillors to support me. I think that ought to count for something.”
“What? I do not – ”
“It is true, serjo,” Varvur said quietly, speaking up for the first time. “She has their support.”
Just for a moment, the older man looked slightly rattled. He rallied quickly, however. “Well, you may have played your tricks on the others, but they will not work on me. If you dare face me in a duel to the death – ”
“There’s no need for a duel, serjo.” I slipped the Moon-and-Star off my finger, and held it out to him. “There’s a very simple way to prove I’m telling the truth. Here, try it on for yourself.”
A sudden hush descended. Bolvyn’s eyes seemed to bulge out as he stared at the ring lying there in my palm, his face rigid, not moving a muscle. The assembled Dunmer were watching with raised eyebrows, and as the seconds passed I saw some of them exchange meaningful glances.
“Well, Archmaster?” I said at last, hoping to goad him into taking the ring. “If you think this is all a trick, why not try it on? Are you afraid, perhaps?”
There was dead silence, and I realised I’d gone too far. Much too far. Bolvyn took a step towards me, his fists clenched and his face pale with fury. “You must be a coward to even suggest such a thing,” he hissed. “Knights and gentlemen do not yield to animals. I despise you.”
I felt the blood rush to my face. For a moment I was too angry and humiliated to speak, but Varvur sprang forward with a cry of rage. “How dare you! She is a House kinsman, and you have no right to say such things to her!” He reached instinctively for his scabbard, and I hastily caught his arm before he could do anything really stupid.
Venim waved a hand dismissively, as if swatting a fly. “Run away, stupid child.”
“Leave it, Varvur.” I gave his arm a squeeze and then turned back to Venim, trying to keep my voice steady. “Well, Bolvyn, I’m a Knight of the Imperial Dragon. Is that knightly enough for you? I’m not a gentleman,” I added, “but hey, I guess that makes two of us.”
Another tense silence followed. Venim drew in breath with a sharp hiss. “This has gone far enough, outlander. If you are not a coward as well as a fraud, I will put a stop to your ambitions at the Arena in Vivec.”
“Fine. Whatever.” I heaved a sigh. “I hereby honourably challenge you to an honourable duel in the honourable traditions of House Redoran. Is that all right? Only you’ll have to give me a week or so, ’cos I’ve got stuff to do first.”
He laughed scornfully. “Very well, outlander. I will meet you in the Arena in a week’s time.”
I was still smarting from the ‘animals’ insult as we left the Venim manor. So, by the looks of it, was Varvur. “Thanks for sticking up for me back there,” I said, with genuine gratitude. “Though I guess I kind of had it coming.”
He shrugged. “You spoke the truth. He was afraid, and everyone could see it!”
“Hmph.” To tell the truth, I was already wondering if I might have bitten off more than I could chew. OK, so I’d faced tough opponents before, but the guy I’d just challenged to a duel to the death was the head of Morrowind’s ancient warrior House. Not to mention bigger, stronger, better-armed and several centuries more experienced than I was.
Back in Sarethi Manor, I told Athyn what had happened. He greeted the news with a resigned shake of his head. “So be it. You must fight him, Ada.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Yet another pointless death.” I just hoped it was going to be Venim’s, not mine.
I had dinner with the Sarethis again that evening, but I couldn’t eat very much – I was too busy worrying about the upcoming duel with Bolvyn. I’d got further than any of the other would-be Nerevarines, but was this going to be the test that finally proved too much for me? Was I doomed to spend the rest of eternity in the Cavern of the Incarnate, telling newcomers “I was not the Nerevarine, because I was stupid enough to challenge the Redoran Archmaster to a duel”?
“Maybe you could give me some advice about fighting Venim,” I suggested hopefully to Athyn. “For instance, what sort of weapons does he prefer to use?”
Athyn chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of kwama egg before answering. “For duels, he generally uses a Daedric dai-katana.”
I nearly dropped my fork. “Oh, crap!”
“Do not worry, muthsera,” he said calmly. “I have faith in you.” Well, at least one of us did.
I stayed at Buckmoth fort that night, and set off for Sadrith Mora the next morning. I wasn’t sure who to talk to about Miner Arobar, so I started by asking around the Mages’ Guild in Wolverine Hall, trying to be as discreet as possible. Luckily I found an ally in Uleni Heleran, the mage who’d told me all about Telvanni Mouths. It turned out that she was an outlander, and didn’t get on very well with the Morrowind Dunmer – especially the Telvanni.
“Well,” she said cautiously, “I have heard rumours that Master Neloth is holding Nartise Arobar hostage.”
“Nartise Arobar?”
“Miner Arobar’s daughter. Just a rumour, of course,” she added. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
Miner Arobar’s daughter? Well, that would certainly explain how weirdly he was acting. What the hell was it with all these Councillors’ children getting themselves kidnapped? It seemed to be practically a rite of passage for Redoran noble kids.
All of a sudden I remembered the woman I’d seen in a cage in Tel Naga – the one I’d assumed was a slave. Was that Nartise? If so, no wonder she’d looked at me so strangely – she must have recognised me as a fellow Redoran. And I’d just walked out and left her there…
It didn’t take me too long to think of a plan to rescue her, but I decided it would be best to tackle Gothren first. I got the feeling I’d need to get out of town pretty quickly after messing up Neloth’s little kidnap-and-blackmail scheme. Good thing I already had his vote…
Dealing with the Archmagister was something I’d quite happily have put off as long as possible. There was no getting round it: for the first time ever, I was going to have to cold-bloodedly murder a (relatively) innocent person. At least I’d given him fair warning, I suppose. But in any case, I still needed to come up with a way to do it.
I wasn’t fool enough to think I could actually fight Gothren. A guy who’d survived for centuries in House Telvanni could probably kill me just by waggling his eyebrows. But my talk with Venim, useless though it had been in most respects, had given me the beginnings of an idea.
While visiting various apothecaries and alchemists, I’d sometimes seen small bottles of ‘Fortify Luck’ potion on their shelves. I’d never bought one before now – after all, how are you supposed to tell if they even work? Especially when your luck is as unpredictable as mine? But the scheme I had in mind was going to need a lot of luck, so perhaps I ought to give them a try.
It wasn’t too difficult to find Fortify Luck potions in Sadrith Mora, the magic-and-alchemy capital of Vvardenfell. Afterwards I made my way to Tel Aruhn – no flying this time, I preferred to stay out of Vivec right now – and used my Chameleon amulet to scout out Gothren’s quarters without being seen. A plan was slowly forming, but I’d definitely need that Luck potion.
I went back to Wolverine Hall for the rest of the day and returned to Tel Aruhn after dark, wearing Caius’ black clothes and making sure to avoid the guards. Using the Amulet of Shadows, I levitated up to Gothren’s quarters without being seen and entered the tower. Gothren was sleeping, but his two Dremora guards were watching over him – and he probably had all sorts of magical protections as well. I ignored him, wanting to complete my task before the spell wore off.
Some of Gothren’s clothing was laid out on a chair. I slipped off the Moon-and-Star and hid it in the folds of his robe, then crawled underneath one of the wardrobes, where there was just enough space for me to hide out of sight. Clutching my luck potion, I settled down for a long, uncomfortable night.
At long last I heard Gothren’s footsteps approaching, and quickly gulped down the potion. I heard an exclamation of annoyance as he picked up the robe and the ring clattered to the floor. From underneath the wardrobe I could just see his hands scrabbling around to pick it up. Moments later there was a terrible scream, then a loud thump.
I dragged myself out from under the wardrobe. Gothren was lying stiff and motionless on the floor, his face frozen in an expression of utter horror. He was undoubtedly dead. The Dremora guards seemed to have vanished – they must have been released back into Oblivion by his death.
I bent down to remove the ring from Gothren’s finger and slipped it back onto my own. As I straightened up, I heard footsteps rushing down the stairs, and a robed Telvanni woman entered the room. She spotted the body and raised her hands instinctively to cast a spell – then lowered them as she realised that probably wasn’t a good idea.
“I didn’t kill him,” I said. It was true, sort of.
The woman stared at me for a few seconds. Finally she turned away and knelt down by Gothren’s body, searching for marks that would indicate how he died. There weren’t any.
“Well, outlander,” she said at last, rather shakily. “I don’t know how you did this, but I congratulate you. You would make a good Telvanni.”
Well, I assume she meant it as a compliment.
So I’d finally committed the crime I was once accused of, more than a year after being thrown in jail for it. Had that all been part of Azura’s Grand Plan, I wondered? Had some unpleasant-but-harmless noble brat had to die just so that I could become Nerevarine? The thought made me feel slightly sick.
Luckily I didn’t have time to brood on it for too long – there was a damsel-in-distress to be rescued. Maybe I should have brought along another Luck potion, because this plan didn’t go quite as smoothly.
My idea was to enter Tel Naga under a Chameleon spell, slip past the guard into Nartise’s cell, and hand her a Divine Intervention scroll without being seen. The slight flaw in the plan was that I had no way to warn her I was there. I hoped she’d have the sense to realise what was going on, but when I cautiously tapped her on the arm, she let out a sharp gasp.
The guard swung round. “What’s going on?” His eyes darted back and forth before focussing on me, and I realised he’d seen through the Chameleon spell. Abandoning my original plan, I leapt forward and used the Star of the West spell to drop him just as he raised his weapon.
An armoured battlemage cast Dispel at me from the other side of the room, and suddenly I was fully visible again. Damn. Nartise flung herself to the floor with a shriek as the battlemage rushed at me, axe raised. The other mage in the room cast some kind of Shock spell at me, but I ducked behind the battlemage and it hit him right in the back.
Instantly the second mage cast another spell, but this time Marara’s Ring reflected it right back at him. As the two of them collapsed to the ground in agony, I dragged the screaming Nartise to her feet and hauled her up the stairs, bundling her out through the door into the open air. “RUN!” I roared, shoving her in the direction of Wolverine Hall.
She didn’t have to be told twice. We raced down the streets towards Wolverine Hall, past the astonished-looking Telvanni guards, as sounds of pursuit gathered behind us. They seemed to die down once we got close to the fort, but I wasn’t taking any chances. We didn’t even stop for breath until we reached the hall and I pulled Nartise into the Imperial shrine, slamming the door behind us.
“It’s you!” she gasped, seeing my face for the first time. “I knew you’d come back for me! I saw your Redoran shield and – ”
“Yes, fine, but save it for later! We have to get out of here!” I dragged her out of the shrine, snarling “Out of my way!” at a bewildered priest, and led her up to the Mages’ Guild, where I yelled at the long-suffering Guild Guide Iniel to get us to Ald’ruhn. Luckily I’d had the sense to pay her in advance, and she was too flustered to do anything but obey.
Even when we reached Ald’ruhn, we kept running. We didn’t stop until we were under Skar and at the door of Arobar Manor. By now poor Nartise was sobbing and trembling like a leaf, gulping for air as if she’d been half-drowned. She looked very young and frightened, and I suddenly felt very sorry for her.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said gruffly, giving her a hug. “Go on, go to your father. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”
She nodded tearfully and hurried off into the manor, while I headed back to Buckmoth to clean myself up. I didn’t want to pester Miner Arobar until he’d had some time alone with his daughter, but that evening he sent me a message asking me to visit him in his manor. When I saw him again, the change was amazing: he looked like he’d just had a hundred-pound weight lifted off his shoulders.
“You have rescued my daughter.” His voice was choked. “I must apologise for the way I treated you, sera. I will gladly offer my support to make you a Councilman. Please take this amulet as a sign of my support.”
“Thank you,” I said, wondering what I was going to do with yet another amulet. “But you really don’t need to –” Hang on, was that an enchantment giving near-total resistance to fire? Hot damn.
“I mean, I don’t deserve it,” I finished hastily. “But it’s really really kind of you and thankyousoverymuchCouncillor.” Well, I had saved his daughter. And frankly, with a duel against Bolvyn Venim coming up, I was going to need all the help I could get.
oo: 
