The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl, chapter 7, part 1

Every day, A day on the Farm

Darius, according to Master Demnevanni, ran his office out of the Madach Tradehouse in Gnisis. So, after translocating there after breaking my fast, I made my way into the lower half of the "shell" that comprised the Tradehouse. Darius was short, stocky, and clad in gorgeous armour - all gilded metal with a flowing red cape. He looked up at me and said, "So, you want to join the Legion do you Citizen Vahl? Well, it's true that we have a shortage of Manpower ∼ and Merpower for that matter. You look capable enough. Tell me, are you capable of following orders?"

"Excellent," he said when I assured him I was. "It's a Mer's life in the Legion. Every day a walk in the park, every meal is a banquet, every pay check a fortune. It'll make a Ma... Mer of you. Right, Recruit Vahl, here is your regulation-issue chain cuirass. You will wear it when you address a superior officer, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes... sir," I replied.

Darius shook his head. "The first and last word I want to hear out of your mouth when you address me is 'Sir'. Now sound out like you got a pair. Do you understand me?"

"Sir, yes Sir," I said in a clear voice, desperately trying to ignore the sniggering Orc in the corner of the room.

"Outstanding," he said. "Now get that cuirass on and I'll give you your orders.

"You might be wondering," he said once I'd got the chain cuirass in place, "why I am billeted in the Tradehouse? Well, it's because we have no room to expand. The widow Vabdas has a parcel of land the Legion needs to expand. I want you to come back to me with the deeds as quickly as possible. Is that understood?"

"Sir, yes Sir," I replied, turning to march out of the room. As I went up the stairs, I heard General Darius addressing the Orcish Trooper, "gro-Khazor, what is your major malfunction?"

Vabdas had a house just west of town, out past Arvs-Drelen, so it wasn't difficult to get to. Her reaction, when I spoke to her about the land-deed was to slap me across the face ∼ hard. I suppressed the spells that roared into my mind and, speaking carefully, said, "you would be wise not to do that again."

"Why?" she snapped, and now I could see the tears in her eyes. "Because you'll kill me like you did Mansilamat?"

"I assure you ma'am," I told her, "I had no part in the death of Mansilamat. Tell me what happened..." Bit by patient bit, I dragged the story from her. It seems that her husband, the aforementioned Mansilamat, had gone to the Egg-Mine at Gnisis to get some eggs. There, according to the widow, the Legion had killed her husband.

As I walked back towards Gnisis, I reflected that whatever power controls my life has an infinite capacity for capriciousness. What should have been the simple acquisition of a deed to some land had now become a murder investigation. Of course, that was how General Darius saw it and he told me to obtain proof that the Legion had been involved. Fortunately, the guard at the door of the Egg-Mine proved amenable to my charming behaviour and, after checking that there was nobody watching, he gave me the key to the door.

There was a familiar stink about the mine, one that I remembered from the Mudan-Mul Mine. Drawing my sword, I advanced with some care. Fortunately, whatever was blighting the mine was confined to the lower quarters and the Scribs in the upper chambers were not aggressive. I wish the same could be said of Trooper gro-Ogdum. The Orc gave me a three count to get the Oblivion out of the area he was guarding. As quickly as I could, I chose one of the passages and headed off down it. From up ahead I could hear the drip-drip of water and a strange noise ∼ like wind. As I rounded the corner, I came upon the source of the sound. There, in the middle of the passage, was an Ancestral Spirit.

"Hear me Mortal," it moaned, as I made ready to swing my sword, "Stay your hand ∼ I am Mansilamat Vabdas, I was murdered, most foully, by the Orc Lugrub gro-Ogdum. I beg you, avenge me..." The last syllable was drawn out as the spectre faded from view. I knew that the word of an apparition would carry no weight with General Darius: I needed more proof. I found it in the depth of the pool nearby ∼ the corpse of Mansilamat and a notched Imperial axe.

"Hmmm," General Darius said when I showed him the axe and told him what I had seen. "I doubt the word of a spirit would have any validity in this case Recruit. However, the axe I do recognise. It belongs to Trooper gro-Ogdum all right. Further more, I recognise the marks on the blade ∼ those are what you get when an axe strikes bone.

"Very well, there is little doubt that this Mansilamat was murdered and less doubt that Lugrub gro-Ogdum was the murderer. One thing I cannot abide is a rogue soldier: this gro-Ogdum will have to pay and pay dearly. Bring justice to his miserable Orcish hide Recruit Vahl, bring it swiftly."

I returned to the mine and made my way to the chamber the Orc was using. Kicking the drunken form, I snapped, "on your feet soldier."

Swaying slightly and blinking blearily, the Orcish Trooper stood in front of me. "You have been judged guilty of the murder of Mansilamat Vabdas. Do you have anything to say before you are brought to justice?"

"I suppose me saying 'I didn't do it' wouldn't work would it?" the Orc asked, his right hand sliding down towards the sword hanging from his belt. "No, didn't think so," he rumbled when I shook my head. With sudden speed, he grabbed the hilt of his sword and started to draw it.

Quick as he was, I was quicker. "Dywyll chymylau, yn nadu bwrw eira, angheuol brythwch," I yelled, taking a step backwards as the Orc's sword hissed through the air. The air darkened and flakes of frozen water swirled around the suddenly shivering Orc. As the temperature plummeted still further, a rime of frost appeared on Lugrub's body. Even protected as I was by the powerful enchantments against cold that Jaron had woven into the gloves and robe I wore, I couldn't suppress a shiver as a distinctive cracking sound issued forth from the swirling column of dark air that surrounded the Orc.

"Nasty business that," General Darius said when I returned to the Tradehouse, "can't have soldiers going round killing civilians during peacetime." Then he surprised me. "Here's a bag of gold and a letter for the widow of Mansilamat Vabdas. The letter tells her she'd entitled to a pension and the gold is that pension backdated to when Vabdas was murdered. I want you to deliver them.

"Oh, and here's a little something from the Legion by way of a thank you," he added as he handed me an Imperial broadsword. Shaking my head, I took the papers and money over to the widow's hut. She was as surprised as I had been.

When I got back to the Madach Tradehouse, General Darius was standing by his desk, looking at several sheets of parchment. When I snapped to attention, he carefully rolled them up and returned them to his desk. "Seems strange to me," he said carefully, "that Lugrub gro-Ogdum froze to death right there in the mine. I guess you might have had something to do with that. Anything you'd like to tell me Recruit?"

With equal care, I replied, "Sir, I have some training in the magical arts, sir."

He nodded. Going to the large cupboard near his desk, he unlocked it and fetched out a large rectangular shield. Slightly curved, and made of metal-covered wood, I recognised it immediately as the standard Imperial Legion shield. "Legion needs people like you Recruit," General Darius said. "You'll find me not ungenerous when it comes to promotion. Effective immediately, you are given a field commission to the rank of Trooper. Here..." With that, he handed me the shield before returning to the desk.

"Now, this magical training of yours Trooper..." he said as he sat down, "...does it include any skills in the School of Restoration?"

"Sir, yes sir," I replied, adding, "I have knowledge of several curative spells..."

"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "Don't understand all that mumbo-jumbo myself," he said, "give me a decent sword and a charger ∼ that's the way to fight, not all this hand-waving stuff. Still, got to admit it comes in handy sometimes.

"Don't know what you know about Gnisis," he continued, "but the Egg-Mine here feeds a lot of people, keeps them in work too. Now the Mine has had to be locked up and the lower levels guarded..."

"Sir, because of the blight, sir," I said.

"Right," he said, looking surprised. "Since you know something about this magical stuff, I want you to go in there and cure the Kwama Queen. Head chappie in the village sells scrolls that cure blight; you can get one of those. Suppose you can draw funds from the contingency funds."

"Sir, won't need a scroll, sir," I replied. He looked surprised again, and then nodded curtly. Taking that as a dismissal, I left his 'office' and made my way back up to the mine. Curing the Queen was a simple matter of 'hand-waving mumbo-jumbo' as Darius would have put it. There were far more interesting things down in the Egg-Mine than a blighted Queen. Off the Queen's chamber ran a series of tunnels that dead-ended at a deep, underground stream. On the other side was a very familiar shape.

Levitating across the chasm, I made my way up to the Dwemeri door and traced the symbols that were embossed into the surface. If I was reading it correctly, the name of these ruins was Bethamez. The door hadn't been opened for a while ∼ possibly not since the disappearance of the Dwemer ∼ but it creaked open when I pushed. Beyond the door was a ruin: in more senses than the usual.

At some point in the remote past, a massive cave-in had sealed all but a tiny proportion of Bethamez behind tonnes of impenetrable rock. Only the antechamber and a small area of the room beyond that were accessible: and even there rocks had crushed and covered much that might have been of value. The only thing I found was a book, protected from the ravages of time by the heavy metal table it lay under. The script inside the book was beyond anything I could translate but the title ∼ 'Divine Metaphysics' ∼ was written in Altmeric script.

General Darius gave me a hundred Septims when I reported back to him. Taking back the chain cuirass he'd given me that very morning, he presented me with a much better quality steel cuirass that was more befitting my rank as Trooper. The money, he explained, was the difference between my starting pay and the pay for my new rank ∼ plus a little something extra for solving the problem at the mine.

It was in a very puzzled state of mind that I returned to Tel Vahl. Most military personnel that I've met have been complete and utter bastards, ruthless to the core. Yet General Darius seemed a genuinely pleasant Man ∼ oh, he was a proper martinet but, underneath it all, he seemed was quite decent in his fumbling military way. The awarding of the pension to Vabdas' widow had been a real revelation and I understood that was why his troops were so fanatically loyal to the Man. An object lesson ∼ and one I intended to take fully to heart.

General Darius was in a pensive mood this morning and I soon found out the reason why. "Pilgrim taken hostage by a group of Ashlanders near Ald Velothi," he said in his usual curt manner. "Not a good thing, what? Anyway Trooper Vahl, I want you to go to Ald Velothi, rescue the pilgrim ∼ name's Madura Seran by the way ∼ sort out these Ashlander chappies; teach them the error of their ways and all that.

"Word of warning," he added. "Ashlanders not very happy about the Legion tramping through areas they consider theirs. Might be a good idea to keep the slaughter to a minimum: other words, no killing unless necessary."

I snapped off a crisp salute, which General Darius returned, and marched out of the Madach Tradehouse. Ald Velothi wasn't that far away as the Cliff-racer flies but I didn't intend to levitate all the way there. Instead I headed out past Arvs-Drelen and up to the point where the Old Guar Trail started. I knew the way from there but on a whim, I decided to head the long way around. Not having to cross those rickety bridges was a great relief.

I made quite good time, despite the unaccustomed weight of the shield, and soon came to a very familiar spot. The pool was smooth and serene and the only sign of my previous struggle here was the broken pieces of Chitin armour scattered near the rocks. There was no sign of either of the bodies. With a shrug, I continued on my way, eventually arriving at the small township of Ald Velothi.

A few inquiries among the guards soon gave me the information I was looking for: Madura Seran was, despite her Meric name, an adherent of the Cult of Julianos and had been 'passing through' Ald Velothi on her way to the Imperial Chapel at Ebonheart. The Ashlanders of the Aidanat Camp had kidnapped her and were demanding five hundred Septims ransom. Since I hadn't been given any money, I guessed that simply paying the ransom wasn't an option.

"I'm here to discuss the release of the captive," I told one of the gloriously be-feathered women outside the traditional Ashlander yurt that sat on a hill to the south of Ald Velothi. I was rewarded with a curt instruction to speak to Abassel Asserbassakit, who was inside the crude hut.

"Five hundred," Asserbassakit repeated when I offered him a lower sum to secure Seran's release, "take it or leave it Outlander. No negotiations."

"Why do you think anyone would pay five hundred Septims to secure her release," I asked, "she's just a poor pilgrim."

"That's what I keep telling them," Seran squeaked indignantly.

"Five hundred," the Ashlander repeated.

"Look..."

"Five Hundred," he interrupted, glowering at me.

I sighed, so much for diplomacy. It never was my strong point anyway. Glancing over at the pilgrim, I made a suggestion, "duck."

"Wha..." she started to say. I glared at her and she suddenly got the point and, with a small cry of "oh!" dived for cover. Asserbassakit never knew what hit him, although I did since I was the one who cast the fireball. The glowing sphere of fiery energy exploded against his chest, picking the burly Mer up off his feet and throwing him into the side of the yurt. He was so busy trying to extinguish the flames licking at his robes that he never even saw me step forward, Imperial broadsword raised. There was a swishing noise that ended in a meaty thud as I severed his spinal cord.

His pitiful screams were cut short as the blade descended a second time, this blow completing the job of separating his head from his torso. The flap of the tent was ripped open and the two Ashlanders from outside struggled to get through the small opening at the same time. Unfortunately for the male of the pair, he was first through. The upward blow of the broadsword disembowelled him quite neatly while the back-slash opened his throat from ear to ear. The woman took one look at the two dead bodies and smiled a sickly smile.

"You want the pilgrim?" she said frantically as I advanced towards her, "take her. Take her and go."

"So kind of you," I said, stepping to the side and using the remnants of the flap to wipe my sword clean. Sliding it back into the plain leather sheath, I extended a hand to Madura Seran and said, "Shall we go?"

She took my hand nervously, and I led her outside and down to the Tradehouse. Still looking at me nervously, she stammered a few words of thanks before darting inside and slamming the door. With a wry smile at one of the Redoran guards, I opened a path back to Gnisis and made my way to the Madach Tradehouse.

General Darius was impressed; although I'm not sure whether it was with my improving sword skill or the fact I hadn't killed all of the Ashlanders. "That was neatly done," he said. "I was going to give you a reward of a few Septims but I think that you deserve a promotion. Take this chitty to the quartermaster in the garrison ∼ he will issue you with a helm and some gauntlets. When you've done that, report back to me Agent Vahl."

"Sir, yes, sir," I replied.

"No need for that any more Agent," General Darius said, "a simple Sir will suffice."

The quartermaster, a massively muscled Orc, peered at the chitty and then vanished behind his counter. Bobbing back up, he placed several helmets on the counter along with a pair of steel gauntlets. "One them fit," he rumbled. One of the helmets did, indeed, fit but I requested a slightly larger size of gauntlet. This allowed me to keep on the gloves that Jaron had given me as well as my 'standard' uniform.

"Understand you've been into Arvs-Drelen," General Darius said, "more importantly, you've come out of Arvs-Drelen. The wizard Demnevanni lives in there, decent enough chappie, never much trouble. However, we've... well, lost one of our tax-gatherers. Ragash gra-Shuzgub went into the tower, never came out. Wondered if you'd like a word with the owner?"

"I'll have a word with Mast... the wizard, sir," I said, silently cursing at myself for nearly calling him 'Master Demnevanni'. General Darius might give the appearance of a bumbling military idiot, first-class, but he was anything but. With a smart salute, I turned and left Darius' office ∼ aware that he was looking at me in a very speculative manner.

'Pot' firmly on my head, shield slung over my arm, and cuirass gleaming, I marched into Arvs-Drelen and navigated the corridors to Baladas' chambers.

"Well look at you," he chortled, walking around me as I stood there. "Quite impressive I must say." We looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing. After a while, Baladas wiped his eyes and said, "Well, I'm guessing that you didn't come here just to show off your fashionable uniform..."

"What do you know of a Ragash gra-Shuzgub?" I asked.

"Had the bloody cheek to come to me asking for taxes," he snarled, his face going flushed. "Me, who was here before this... this... empire of Men with their taxes. I refused to pay and, when the Orc persisted, I stuck her in the cell downstairs."

"Ahh," I said. "See, there's a problem there. The Empire expects all its citizens to pay taxes, regardless. However, I think I can promise that you'll not be bothered for taxes again." Baladas looked at me flatly for a moment, and then nodded and fetched a large iron key from his desk. As I turned to leave, he said, "By the by Arch-Magister, you wouldn't happen to know anything about an Argonian named Miles Durango would you?"

"Why, should I?" I asked, biting my bottom lip.

Baladas snorted laughter, "thought as much," he said. "He had a glass dagger belonging to me. I had to... ahh, discipline him about it."

"Oh dear," I said sweetly, "I hope you weren't too harsh on him." Baladas got that twinkle in his eye and went over to a set of shelves nearby. From it he fetched a glass globe - inside of which was a tiny figure: if you squinted really hard, you could just see that it was an Argonian. "That's an awfully good likeness," I said.

"Not an image my dear," Baladas said, shaking the globe. I fancied I could hear a tiny, indistinct scream as the figure tumbled around the inside. I nodded, and raised my eyes to meet Baladas': he was regarding me coolly, obviously making a salient point. Time, I thought, to make a point of my own.

Taking the glass globe from his hand, I took off my glove and focused the skills that Jaron had honed ∼ pouring the power into the globe. With a smile, I handed it back to him. He gasped as his fingers struck the icy-cold surface, tears springing to his eyes as the globe, so cold it burned flesh, adhered to his hand. Calmly I took the globe and allowed the spell to dissipate before holding it up in my ungloved hand in front of Baladas. He grinned sheepishly, taking the globe and setting it on the desk. "Point taken Arch-Magister," he conceded.

Ragash was only too pleased to allow me to escort her out of the tower. When we got outside, I had a few words for her. "It was unwise to go and see Demnevanni about taxes, unwise and dangerous."

"He has to pay," she protested gruffly, "everybody does."

"True," I said, "but then not everybody can turn you into a Guar if you annoy them too much."

"He wouldn't dare turn me into something... unnatural," she gasped.

"He dared to lock you up didn't he?" I asked. She gave me a worried look and scurried off. General Darius was amused by the way I'd dealt with the matter and scribbled a note that he said would be delivered by his most diplomatic officer: exempting Baladas from paying taxes. 'For the general good of the local populace' was how he phrased it.

"I have a different task for you," he said. "Come to my attention that some of the chaps dabbling in the Cult of Talos are, perhaps, getting a little out of hand. Some sort of conspiracy going on, don't know what. It's all rather sordid and distasteful to my mind. Sort it out for me would you?"

Well, that was a barrelful of trouble, and no mistake. Still, I was generally quite liked by the troopers ∼ well, the non-Orcish ones anyway ∼ so I might be able to charm some information out of them. With that in mind, I went to the mess hall and got myself some lunch.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," a deep voice rumbled. Looking up I saw Trooper Din standing by my table. "Is this seat free?"

I nodded and he sat down. We got talking and he told me he was career army, signed on for the long haul (35 years). I explained that I had signed on for a short-term career, just to teach myself some useful skills. Eventually, I managed to manoeuvre the conversation around to the Talos Cult.

"Oritius Maro is the person to see," Din said uneasily. I asked him if there was a problem. After a moment's thought, he said, "there's something going on. Closed meetings, cultists getting together at odd times... I don't like it," he added. "That sort of thing leads to trouble, mark my words." Glancing around, he leaned in and whispered a single word before getting up and walking away, most of his meal uneaten.

I finished my meal in silence, turning down several offers to join various groups. I was considering what Din had whispered, the word "mutiny". While it wouldn't bother me overly if the Legion tore itself to pieces, there was another matter to consider. And that was what the Empire's response was likely to be. Even at the most optimistic, the Empire was likely to strike back quite hard. And that wouldn't be good for the House. So, I thought, scraping the remains of the meal into the bin, Oritius Maro.

"Well, if you're at all interested," the florid-faced Man said, "you should see Arius Rulician down in the Shrine. It can do a soldier's career the power of good, belonging to the Cult."

"Tell me about the Cult," I said. He smiled and proceeded to launch into a lengthy monologue about Talos, or Emperor Septim the First. Long story, short: The Cult of Emperor Zero worships and venerates Septim I as a sort of living avatar. I'd heard stories of this, Talos the Ninth Divine, back on the mainland but never paid much attention. Maro went on to explain that the Cult was very much like a guild in as much as it looked after its own. "And," he concluded, "there are some very highly placed officers who belong to the Cult."

Arius Rulician was the complete anti-thesis of Mero. Tall where Mero was short, thin where Mero was rotund, with a long, thin face that wore a habitual frown. Despite his pleasant greetings when I entered the shrine, he was obviously annoyed about something. "We're always on the lookout for new cultists," he said, "take a look around and see if you like what you see."

The shrine was unremarkable as Cult shrines go ∼ a large tapestry behind a votive altar. Rows of small seats and prayer-stools. 'Holy' artefacts on the altar ∼ an ancient metal gauntlet and a broadsword in this case. The only thing that struck me as odd was the ornately carved stone box that sat in the middle of the altar. Having taken a look around, I thanked Rulician and said I was due on duty shortly but, when I finished, I'd be back to discuss joining the cult.

As soon as I was out of his sight, I donned the ring and activated the Shadow-Weave spell. Then, invisible to the naked eye, I stepped back into the shrine. It was the work of but a moment to shatter the lock of the casket and take the contents: a tightly rolled parchment.

General Darius threw the parchment down onto his desk in disgust, his face as dark as a thundercloud. "Traitorous, disloyal dogs," he spat. "Planning to assassinate the Emperor. Deal with them Vahl," he added, venomously, "You have my full authority."

"Fall in, single file!" I thundered, stepping into the barracks and slapping the General's baton against my leg. "Look lively now." When everyone was lined up, I stood in front of them and said, "Right, anyone who's not a traitor to Uriel Septim, take one step backwards. Not so fast you two," I said, pointing at Mero and Rulician. Ashen-faced, they returned to their original position.

"These two," I said, pointing at the pair ∼ one short and round, the other tall and thin ∼ "are plotting to assassinate the Emperor when he visits Vvardenfell. I have the evidence here..." I held up the parchment so that they could all see it "...in my hand. Now, Mero and Rulician have been here a while ∼ the Divines alone know how many others they've convinced to take part in this cowardly plot. All those unwilling to bring Imperial justice to these traitors on the left side of the room, those loyal to the Empire to the right."

Not surprisingly, there was a sudden stampede to stand on the right-hand side of the room. "Any last words?" I asked Mero and Rulician. Rulician shook his head.

"Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten me into, Arius," Oritius Mero snapped as I ordered the assembled soldiers to draw their swords. As the 'loyal' soldiers meted out Imperial justice, I took my leave of the barracks and returned the baton to General Darius. He shared my conviction that there were still traitors to be weeded out, but he was willing to leave that to the 'appropriate authorities' ∼ which, I guessed, would be Caius Cosades.

"I have new orders for you," General Darius said. "You are to report to Fort Moonmoth on the morrow. There you will be given officer training and advanced combat training before reporting to Radd Hard-Heart."

The last two days have been exhausting. I've been given 'instruction' in commanding troops and battle tactics; as well as drilled in various forms of combat ∼ including spear, short-sword, and advanced long-sword techniques. From comments I'd overheard, this was my reward for dealing with the Cult in Gnisis ∼ the fast track to officer status. Even though I was outranked by many of the tutors, they all scrupulously addressed me as "Ma'am" or (and this amused me) "Sir".

Now I was making the walk from Balmora to Fort Moonmoth where my new commanding officer waited. Radd Hard-Heart was his name, a tall Nord with an expansive personality. "Lass," he boomed as I walked in the door, "'tis fine to see ye. Now, I have two things for ye to attend to.

"The first is the Buoyant Armigers up Ghostgate. They tasked us lassie that they did. They've challenged us to a hunt, claiming they'll bring in the skin o' a Corprus beastie. I want tae teach 'em no to mess wi' the Legion: I need you tae bring me some scrap metal from one o' them Dwemer centurions. That'll teach 'em nae tae mess wi' us.

"There be a ruin near here, Arkngthand or some such jaw-breaker o' a name. Ye'll be sure tae find what we need there. T'other thing is, I got a message from someone named Caius Cosades in Balmora. He says, an' I quote, 'you never call, you never write, yer family is getting' worried. Come see me as soon as ye can, I'll let them know where you are and what you're up to.'"

See, now this is exactly the reason I was reluctant to have dealings with the Legion. I knew that putting myself in their orbit would put me dangerously close to Cosades. And I had grown up enough to understand the threat implicit in the message. My 'family' would love to know where I was ∼ especially if they knew how well off I was. They'd be on the first Mage Transport over here, demanding money to pay back some imagined debt. With a sigh, I headed back down the road towards Balmora.

Daniela Styles was intrigued by the news that the tomb of the Master Smith had been overrun with Daedra and even more by the news that I had taken two rings from there. "You know that Master Lheros wrote many valuable books on the art of smithing armour? The Legion confiscated many of them, but several are in private hands. Each book teaches how to make a particular type of armour."

Cosades was in an avuncular mood when I let myself into his room. "Well, well, look what the Alit dragged in," he said. "Done well for yourself haven't you Novice Vahl? Or would you prefer Theurgist Vahl, or Arch-Magister Vahl, or Protector Vahl, or Disciple Vahl, or even Agent Vahl? I know I said to establish a cover identity but there is such a thing as taking things to excess. Still, I assume you know your own mind best."

I narrowed my eyes at Cosades, unhappy that he had been keeping such close tabs on me. Although, on reflection, I shouldn't have been surprised. "I need you to do something for me Novice," the spymaster continued. "I need some information about the Sixth House Cult and the Cult of the Nerevarine. Now, Hasphat Antabolis at the Fighter's Guild is the person you'll be seeing and it's very likely he'll want a favour for a favour as it were. I don't care what the favour is, I need that information."

"Well, well," Antabolis said when I opened the door to the training area in the Guildhouse cellars, "long time, no see Protector Vahl. What bring you to sunny Balmora?"

"I'm looking for information on the Sixth House Cult and the Cult of the Nerevarine," I told him. He developed a frown and motioned for me to shut the door. Drawing me close, he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Dangerous subjects," he murmured. Then, in a slightly louder voice, he said, "I've heard tell that there is a Dwemer Puzzle-Box in the ruins of Arkngthand. Don't..." he said, holding up a hand to forestall my question, "...ask me how I know, I just do. The box is about so big, made of a brownish coloured material and has symbols on each face. Bring it to me and I'll tell you what I know about those two subjects you mentioned.

"Oh, and a bit of information you might find useful," he added, "from what I hear, the ruins have been the base of a group of smugglers for a while. You might want to approach it with some caution."

It seemed that the two tasks I had merged with a worrying degree of synchronicity: Hasphat and the box and the scrap metal hunt for Hard-Heart. You'd almost think that the Powers That Be were playing games with my life ∼ and we all know they'd never do that. Yeah, right. It was in such a mood that I tramped up the road towards Moonmoth. Just before the Fort, there is a road that leads around to Caldera: according to Hasphat Antabolis there is a path that leads up to an old Dwemer bridge off this road.

Sure enough, there was such a track and it did lead up to a massive Dwemer construction that spanned the Foyada Mamaea. Of course, most Dwemer bridges don't feature a snowy-haired Imperial busily unloading crates from a cart. Ahhh, I thought as the man yelled something at me and summoned forth a skeletal warrior, drama.

The scroll I wanted dropped easily into my hand and I spoke the words as the warrior rattled its way across the bridge towards me. With a sparkle of light, the Clannfear appeared in front of me. Sniffing the air, the crocodile-snouted creature hissed its disapproval of being Summoned before turning with reptilian speed and tearing through the oncoming skeleton. And I use the phrase 'tear through' in its most literal sense: with one swipe of its claws, the Clannfear reduced the skeleton to several hundred separate pieces before loping towards the Man.

The man attempted to summon another warrior to assist, but the Clannfear was far too fast, barely had the first syllables of the spell been uttered when the scaly beast was tearing into him. The Man wielded a short-sword with some skill, fending off the creature's snapping jaws. Of course, I wasn't content to let the Summons have all the fun. While it had been dismantling the skeleton, I had fetched the crossbows out of my pack. By the time the Man and the Dremora were locked in combat, I had both of them loaded.

Taking careful aim, I let fly with the first bolt, the heavy metal shaft slamming into the Man's shoulder and pitching him back against the railing. The Clannfear lashed out, the blow catching the Man high on the chest. With a despairing wail, the Man over balanced and toppled, headfirst, over the guardrail. I winced; the soft, squishy thud had been clearly audible even at this distance. I didn't think there was much chance he'd survived that ∼ but a quick check wouldn't hurt.

Right there's an experience I never wish to speak of again. Let's just say that he didn't survive and leave it at that. To take my mind off the unpleasant sight, I examined the crates the Man had been unloading. Most of them were empty, those that weren't contained various foodstuffs. Pushed behind the cart, where I hadn't noticed them before, were two Dwemer barrels. One contained a small number of tiny Dwemer coins, the other a number of emeralds. Scooping up the contents of both barrels, I continued towards the now visible ruins of Arkngthand.

Where I ran in to my first major setback. The door I had expected to see at the end of the well-worn path was conspicuous by its absence. Instead, a smooth stone sphere extended from the side of the building. The word 'Arkngthand' was clearly written across it, but no amount of prodding or prying would persuade the sphere to budge. I cast around, looking for some clue: which is why, a short distance from the door, I found the crank. The curved handle moved smoothly and easily as I pushed on it and, with the sound of stone grating against stone, the sphere split down the middle and each half retracted back to reveal the main entrance.

The door led into a vast cavern where, protruding from the rock, were various bits of Dwemer architecture. A stone ledge led down to the floor of the cave, although there was a break in one of the rocky walls that obviously led into some of the ruins. There were a number of bandits in the ruins, about six in total. They may have been impressive as smugglers and bandits, as fighters though? They hardly caused me any problem at all.

There were large numbers of crates in the ruins, identical to the ones the Man had been unloading from the cart. These, however, were full of far more interesting things than simple foodstuff. Emeralds, rubies, diamonds, Dwemer goblets, bowls, jugs, and pitchers. Two crates contained nothing but those huge 'cogs' you often find scattered throughout Dwemer ruins. I also found a small fortune in Glass and Ebony, along with the usual things you find: Ash Salts, Fire Salts, Dwemer pipe, Dwemer grease, and shards of Dwemeri metal. I made sure that, while I took a large number of items, I picked up several of these twisted metal chunks for Radd Hard-Heart.

Exploring the ruins had brought me through several chambers with the usual inscrutable names. Names like 'Weeping Bell Hall' and 'Heavens Gallery': which I assume meant something special to the original occupants of these gloomy ruins. It was off one of these that I discovered a small area called 'Hollow Hand'. And there, at the back of the chamber, was the treasure I sought.

I picked the puzzle-box up off the shelf and examined it. It seemed to consist of several smaller cubes, nine to a side. Careful experimentation showed that each band could be rotated horizontally or vertically ∼ it was obvious that the disrupted patterns that decorated each of the six sides could, if you knew how to do it, be reassembled. Tucking it carefully into my pack, I made my way back to Balmora.

"Yes!" Hasphat exclaimed when I gave him the puzzle-box, "Rhubrihk's Cube!" I gave him a quizzical look and he had the grace to look abashed at his enthusiasm. He explained that these puzzle-boxes were highly prized and that this one, according to what he could make out, gave directions on how to access the lower areas of Arkngthand. "When I've managed to crack the puzzle," he said, "I'll let you know how to get into the lower areas of the ruin.

"Now, the information you wanted." He closed the door and spoke quietly while I made notes. "I can't tell you much about the Cult of the Nerevarine," he said, "other than it's a pretty wide-spread local religion. The Sixth House, however ∼ that I can tell you a bit about. Back in the days of the Dwemer, Morrowind was controlled by six Great Houses: Redoran, Hlaalu, Telvanni, Dres, Indoril, and Dagoth. The Dwemer were, for political reasons, referred to as 'The Seventh House'.

"For reasons I'm not sure about, the Dwemer and House Indoril went to war; it was during this conflict that the Dwemer mysteriously vanished. House Dagoth betrayed House Indoril and the head of both Houses were killed. The cult seeks to establish dominance over all of Morrowind in the name of the Sixth House, or House Dagoth. There are dark rumours that the cult uses some foul magical process to promote its aims and there are even concerns that the Sixth House Cult is responsible for the spread of the Blight..."

There was, of course, much more information that Hasphat gave me, but most of it was in the form of hearsay or conjecture. Regardless, I wrote it all down and delivered my notes to Caius Cosades.

"I shall need a while to distil the relevant information from this," he said, holding up my notes. "However, I still need information on the Cult of the Nerevarine. Sharn gra-Muzgob at the Mages Guild has made a study of local legends and might be able to provide some information. Like Hasphat, she's likely to want you to do something for her..." I was beginning to see a pattern here: rather than pay informants in cold cash, the Blades worked on the 'you do me a favour, I'll do you a favour' system. And, as the lowest ranking member of the Blades, guess who it was that got to do the 'little favours'?

While I was musing on that happy thought, I made my way over to Dura gra-Bol's former house, where I intended to spend the night.

The 'Eight Plates' was where I chose to break my fast this morning and, while I was eating, I heard a most amusing tale. Late last night a rather drunken Dunmer had entered the 'Eight Plates' and proclaimed, despite the rather fleshy evidence to the contrary, that he was a Lich. When the barkeeper remonstrated with him, the Dunmer fled and disappeared somewhere north of the Temple, by the little bridge that leads north out of Balmora. Shaking my head at the oddness of some of the locals, I finished my meal and made my way over to the Mages Guild.

Despite a frosty reception, the Orc gra-Muzgob seemed quite pleased to see me. She showed virtually none of the standoffish attitude shown by the other Mages. "So," she said, "You want to know about the cult of the Nerevarine? Well, I know some things about the cult and, if you'll do a favour for me, I'll tell you what I know."

"And what would that favour be?" I asked.

"I need a skull from the Andrano Ancestral Tomb," she said. "More specifically, the skull of Llevule Andrano. I'd get it myself but the locals have this silly prejudice against necromancers."

"Are you a necromancer?" I asked, coldly.

"What, me, no, no I'm most certainly not a necromancer," she boomed loudly and unconvincingly. "Ha-ha, whatever gave you that idea?"

I decided to be diplomatic and made no comment. She gave me detailed directions to the tomb, not that I needed them: I'd been in the Andrano Card'ruhn back when I first arrived on this island and, somewhere, I had the skull gra-Muzgob wanted. Now all I had to do was remember where...

Radd Hard-Heart was delighted when I put the three chunks of Dwemeri metal on his desk. "Now that's canny," he crowed. "Let's see them Armigers beat that!" Despite my protests, he insisted on paying me for the metal at the current market rate. Then he dropped the other shoe.

"A missionary from the Imperial Cult has been kidnapped," he said. "He was out at the Erabenimsun camp, back of beyond in the Molag Amur. Seems Jocien Ancois ran foul o' some local witch-woman. 'Tis very important we get him release Agent Vahl. I'm counting on ye lassie."

As I made my way out of the keep, I took the opportunity to cast an eye over the goods offered for sale by the various vendors that serviced the place. A large, black-bound volume on the table of a Nord named Urfang caught my eye. "How much for this?" I asked, holding up the book.

"Thousand Septims," Urfang replied. I shook my head, mentally spat on my hands and went to work. After several minutes of friendly barter, I had convinced the Nord to sell me the book four eight hundred Septims. Carefully tucking 'Lheros on Imperial Chain' into my backpack ∼ which was now starting to bulge alarmingly ∼ put on my stronghold ring and made the journey to Tel Vahl. There I collared Gorven Menas and told him to put the ingredients I unloaded from my pack into the appropriate receptacles in my alchemy lab. Mindful that he had a business to run, I told him that he could keep one-fifth of each ingredient for himself. Leaving Gorven Menas carefully sorting through a mound of bottles, packages, and phials, I made my way south to the Erabenimsun Camp.

The glowering circle of warriors that surrounded me as I entered the camp didn't exactly inspire me with confidence but having had some dealings with these proud and quick-tempered people, I knew better than to make any overt moves towards my weapons. Reluctantly they parted and let me through to the middle of the camp where the circle quickly reformed. "Does anyone here know the missionary Jocien Ancois?" I asked, standing by the fire that seems to be a central feature of all the Ashlander camps.

"We know of him Outlander," a voice called from the back of the crowd. "Why do you ask after the kindly fool?"

"I represent his... Clan," I said with sudden inspiration. "They are concerned that he has not returned and have asked me to seek him out."

"Then this is a Clan matter?" a burly Ashlander in heavy Chitin armour asked, bullying his way to the front of the crowd. I nodded, "Then why does his Clan not stand here asking?" he asked, "or are you of his Clan and seek to disguise this fact?"

"Ancois' Clan is far from here," I extemporised. "And have instructed me to act as their representative."

The burly Ashlander looked disappointed at my reply. With a sniff of distain, he turned and walked away ∼ accompanied by several other warriors. Somehow I had the feeling that I had averted a disaster ∼ although for the life of me I couldn't have said how or why. Several other warriors drifted away now that any chance of some 'entertainment' had faded, leaving a handful of younger males and a scattering of women.

"Does anyone know where Jocien Ancois is?" I asked. There was a group of women near the back and I saw them bend their heads and whisper to each other. Then one of them called out.

"The Mabrigash has taken him Outlander," she said, "she will never let him go."

"And where would I find this Mabrigash?" I asked.

"If you truly wish to die Outlander, follow the canyons west to the stream of fire," one of the young men said. "Near the clump of dead trees is a steaming vent. Somewhere near there is Zennammu's camp."

Thanking the young warrior, I headed off into the echoing canyons surrounding the camp. Pretty soon there was a hint of sulphur in the air and I saw the unmistakable roseate glow of lava up ahead. This, then, must be the 'Stream of Fire' that the young warrior had alluded to. As I drew closer to the sluggishly flowing molten rock, I spotted a scrap of parchment caught up in some long grass.

Bending down, I examined it ∼ it read: Antiochus was certainly one of the more flamboyant members of the usually austere Septim Family. He had numerous mistresses and nearly as many wives, and was renowned for the grandeur of his dress and his high good humour. Unfortunately, his reign was rife with civil war, surpassing even that of his grandfather Uriel II. The War of the Isle in 3E110, twelve years after Antiochus assumed the throne, nearly took the province of Summurset Isle away from Tamriel. The united alliance of the kings of Summurset and Antiochus only managed to defeat King Orghum of the island-kingdom of Pyandonea due to a freak storm. Legend credits the Psijic Order of the Isle of Artaeum with the sorcery behind the tempest.

Standing, I scanned the immediate area and, sure enough, there was another scrap of parchment from 'A Brief History of Empire' caught in the gap between two rocks near the path. In this manner, scouting for the loose leaves of the book, I made my way through this rocky patch of the Molag Amur until I came to a deep depression. Skeletal trees poked long-dead branches towards the sky while, from the deep crevasses and cracks in the surrounding ground, rose a thick and stinking roil of steam. Circling the depression, I soon spotted another loose scrap of parchment and, on approaching it; I espied a well-built yurt tucked back against the rocky canyon walls.

With a degree of trepidation I approached the camp, gripping the hilt of my sword as two Ashlander women came out of the yurt and took up positions near the entrance. As I drew closer, the taller of the two pushed back her hood and called, "what do you do here Outlander?"

"I seek audience with the Mabrigash," I called back, standing still as the other woman strung an arrow in her bow.

"Approach then Telvanni," the taller woman called, "I will announce your presence." She vanished into the yurt and I spent an uncomfortable couple of minutes under the watchful eye ∼ and drawn bow ∼ of the silent Ashlander female. Finally, the taller one came out of the tent and said, "you may enter Telvanni, and Zennammu will speak with you."

I'd been expecting some wizened old crone but Zennammu was middle-aged, tall and regal. Not pretty, even by the most generous standards, nevertheless she had a certain austere beauty about her. When she moved, she moved like a knife - smoothly, effortlessly, and deadly. I bowed my head, waiting for her to speak.

"I say," a rich and plumy voice said, "I seem to be in a bit of a bind here. Any chance you could see your way clear to, well, helping me out?"

"Jocien Ancois, I presume?" I said sparing him a glance before turning my eyes back to watch the Mabrigash. She motioned for me to stand upright and looked me square in the eye.

"Why are you here Telvanni," she asked in a soft voice, "wearing the armour of your enemies?"

I glanced at Ancois and then back at Zennammu. She took the hint and, waving a hand in the Breton's direction, she spoke a soft word. Instantly, Jocien was asleep on his feet, his soft snores punctuating our conversation. "I seek the knowledge of how my enemies fight," I replied, "and, to do that, I must move among them unremarked."

"And so you hide your true hatred from them by masquerading as one of them," she said. I gave a start: up until that moment I hadn't considered the fact that my dislike of the Imperial system might be classed as hate. Something to think on. Meanwhile, the Mabrigash was still speaking. "You came seeking the kindly fool."

It wasn't a question, although I treated it as such. "Yes, I came seeking Jocien Ancois," I replied.

"Those who's uniform you wear sent you," she said. Again, this was not a question ∼ the words were delivered with the flat conviction of someone who knows they speak the truth.

I nodded, "there are those who are... alarmed by his disappearance and wish him returned. Whatever the cost," I added.

"We are but simple women-folk," the Mabrigash said, and it was all I could do to suppress a snort of laughter. I had seen the two women outside moving with a dancer's grace and I'd seen the controlled movements of the Mabrigash ∼ whatever else they were, 'simple women-folk' was about as far from the truth as it was possible to get. "We need the kindly fool to do certain tasks, such as hunting and... other things."

Uh-uh, there was no way I wanted to know what 'other things' might cover. However, I had an idea. "Wouldn't it be better if you had a warrior from the Erabenimsun Camp?" I asked. "Then you need not look over your shoulder for the soldiers who are bound to come if I fail."

She nodded, "if you can persuade a warrior from the camp to come to us, we will release the kindly fool and return him to you. Assaba-Bentus is a good warrior, young and strong. He will make an acceptable... substitute. Now, you have heard our terms..."

Bowing once more to the Mabrigash, I stepped outside and let out a shaky sigh. The taller of the Meric females regarded me with cool amusement but the younger one said nothing, the edge of her hood down over her eyes. With a polite nod, I made my way back towards the Erabenimsun Camp, rehearsing the words I was going to say.

Assaba-Bentus was a dour-faced young man with sharp, aquiline features and a nice line in ornately decorative facial tattoos. "Why is everyone so afraid of the Mabrigash?" I said to no one in particular as I stood near where he was standing.

"I'm not afraid," he snapped predictably.

"Oh come on," I chided. "One elderly woman and two assistants and you're afraid of them. Big strong Mer like yourself scared of three females."

"I. Am. Not. Afraid," he said, emphasising each word.

"Prove it," I replied.

"Lead me to the Mabrigash," he snarled, "and I'll show you who's afraid of who, Outlander." Suppressing a smile, I nodded my head and guided Assaba-Bentus through the canyons of the Molag Amur to Zennammu's camp.

"Yes, he will do nicely," the Mabrigash said with a lascivious grin. "Take the kindly fool and leave. Now."

Jocien Ancois scurried out of the yurt after me, offering his profuse thanks. "I have a question," I asked. "Why do the Ashlanders call you 'The Kindly Fool'?"

He grinned, rather shame-faced. "I bring them medicines and try to teach them the ways of the Divines. They thank me for the medicines but think I am a fool for giving them away and even more of a fool when I speak of the Divines.

"It's not easy, trying to get through to them. However..." he straightened and his face took on a determined look, "...I have no intention of giving up on them just yet. Thank you again for rescuing me, but I must get back to the Erabenimsun Camp and continue teaching them the ways of the Empire. Assaba-Bentus shows a great deal of promise... why are you coughing like that?"

"Oh, it's nothing," I lied before beating a hasty retreat and allowing Ancois to make his own way back to the Ashlander camp. According to my map, the Mabrigash's yurt isn't that far from Tel Vahl and I decided that I would walk back. On the way I had a most peculiar encounter.

I was near a tomb ∼ the Maran Ancestral Tomb ∼ when the door burst open and a Man rushed up to me. "I am Batou," he screamed, "saviour of Vvardenfell." I pushed the dishevelled Man away from me and regarded him warily. He raved and ranted about how he, Batou, was going to cleanse Vvardenfell of the 'Dunmeri taint' and 'restore it to the glory that was Resdayn'. When I pointed out that the Dunmer were the rightful inhabitants of Vvardenfell, not the Nords, he went absolutely mental ∼ not a particularly long journey I think.

Having already had a run in or two with those whose view of reality has been distorted somewhat by Sheogorath's influence, I knew it was pointless trying to argue with the Man and retaliated to his attack with my sword. Intrigued by his comments, I ventured into the Card'ruhn and did a little exploration. Inside I found several quite valuable items: the Bloodwurm Helm, a Teal Ioun stone, a pair of shard greaves, an apprentice scroll that teaches Taldam's Scorcher, and a book. The book, 'Daedric Shrines of Importance' looked interesting enough so I added that to the pile.

Returning to Tel Vahl, I called Kallin Basalius to my chambers and instructed her to keep an eye on the witch Zennammu and, if possible, to befriend her. There had been something about the woman, a sense of controlled power and I'd rather that power was on my side than set against me.

After quite a bit of searching through various shelves, cupboards, and boxes, I found the skull that I had picked up so long ago. Wrapping it in cloth, I spoke the words of the spell that would transport me to Balmora, "Ex hic absum, ut, Balmora."

Sharn gra-Muzgob took the skull from me with trembling hands, examining it minutely before locking it into a chest that stood near her desk. Then, turning to me, she said, "you wanted to know something about the Nerevarine Cult?"

I nodded, taking a roll of parchment from my pack and uncorking the travelling inkwell. Dipping my quill in the ink, I transcribed the information the Orc gave me. "Nerevar was a Dunmeri hero, many, many years ago," she began. "He was a powerful and charismatic leader who forged peace between the Dunmer and the Dwemer. When he died, he was canonised and revered as a saint by the Temple.

"However the Cult that bears Nerevar's name believes that he will return in the hour of Morrowind's greatest need. The Temple views this as heresy, believing that the Tribunal have no need of a resurrected hero to protect Morrowind. The Temple calls those who claim to be the Nerevarine (as the Dunmeri call the Nerevar Reborn) 'False Incarnates' and prosecutes them with all its might..." there was more to what gra-Muzgob told me but, like Hasphat's information, much of what she told me was hearsay and supposition. Her final words on the subject, however, were of interest. "The last 'False Incarnate' was a Dunmeri woman by the name of Peakstar. She raised quite a commotion among the Ashlanders but vanished ∼ presumably the Temple had a hand in that."

Caius Cosades was pleased to see me and even more pleased with the notes I brought him. "I need some time to consider how this information fits in with what the Emperor has planned for you," he said, "so I have no other tasks for you at the moment. However, as soon as I have a clearer picture, I will have new orders for you.

"Now, before you go, I have a few things that you might find useful and a little surprise. These scrolls are Divine Intervention scrolls, I assume you know how those work?" I nodded, and he continued, "and the little surprise is a promotion. Effective immediately, you are raised to the rank of Apprentice."

Thanking Cosades, I took my leave of his hovel and ∼ in a very pensive mood ∼ made my way back up towards Fort Moonmoth. I hadn't liked his comment about having more orders for me, although it didn't surprise me. What was really weighing on my mind was his comment: how this information fits in with what the Emperor has planned for you. That I really didn't like. What possible connection could there be between a cult that worshipped some long-dead hero, a second cult that planned to overthrow Imperial rule in Morrowind, and a twenty-five year old Dunmeri exile that had never known her real parents? I tried fitting the pieces together as I walked along but really couldn't see how they would go together.

Moonmoth had all the scurrying business of an anthill that someone has poked with a stick a few times. Several of the guards were hammering on the door to the Arkay Shrine, others were doing that popular impersonation of a headless Scrib ∼ running around but not actually accomplishing anything. "What," I yelled above the din, "is going on here?"

"Someone broke into the Shrine ma'am," one of the guards hammering on the door called back. "Now the blasted door is stuck and we can't get it open." I walked over and examined the door. It was jammed all right. My guess is that someone had braced the door from the inside with a bench or something.

"How important is it that we get inside?" I asked.

The incredulous look the guard gave me was sufficient answer to that question. Moving all the guards back into the courtyard, I concentrated as hard as I could before launching a fireball at the door. The effects were rather more spectacular than I'd anticipated ∼ fragments of wood whickered softly as they whipped across the courtyard in a deadly horizontal hail. "By the Emperor's Balls," the guard next to me breathed, taking a step away from me, "nobody said nothing about you being a Battle-Mage ma'am."

"I'm not," I snapped curtly as I drew my sword, "and that's something you'd do well to remember Trooper."

I barely heard his whispered "Yes ma'am" as I advanced, kicking several smouldering chunks of wood out of the doorframe so I could enter the Shrine. In the antechamber were two dead bodies. The first was that of a priest ∼ the front of his long dark robe sodden with blood from the cut that stretched clean across his throat. The second body was clad in dark armour of a design I'd not seen before ∼ blackened iron covered with silver metal studs. The cause of death was pretty self-evidence ∼ a shard of wood jutted from the centre of the corpse's chest. Warily, I advanced further into the shine.

The rest of the main shrine was deserted, if you don't count the slaughtered priests. I got a really bad feeling right about then: all this death and destruction yet, on the shelves of the shrine stood many valuable items. None of which had been taken. If simple theft wasn't the reason for the slaughter then what was? With a final look around, I moved deeper into the shrine.

The vault behind the shrine was unlocked and, as I slipped through the door, I could hear two things. The first was the crackle of flames, the second was the sound of an aggrieved voice demanding, "where is the hidden chamber, the switch must be here somewhere?"

I strained to hear if there was any reply, perhaps some priest had survived the slaughter in the shrine and was being interrogated. There was no sound. So, someone was talking to a companion, or had the very bad habit of talking out loud to themselves. Either way, if I wished to discover what was going on here, I would need to talk to whoever was in the vaults.

Sword in hand, I advanced into the main room. There stood a Man in a dark green robe and a figure clad in the same studded iron armour as the Man upstairs. Both saw me at the same time. With a bestial roar, the armour-clad figure raced towards me while the robed Man began muttering some arcane cantrip. The disgusting form of a Bone-Walker materialised near him, blank eyes burning in my direction as my sword crashed into the blade the armoured figure was wielding. Ducking under a fierce slicing cut, I planted a foot in the middle of the fighter's chest and shoved as hard as I could. As he crashed to the floor, I extended my right hand and concentrated on Aryon's Dominator.

As the Bone-Walker turned on the robed Man, I turned my attention back to the armoured figure ∼ now clambering to his feet again. There is a simple rule to combat: magic-users, archers, melee-fighters ∼ the Legion drills that into you again and again. Closing my ears to the Man's pitiful screams as the Bone-Walker tore into him, I hammered my blade down onto the armoured figure's shoulders as he finally stood upright. With a grunt, the figure stepped back and readied his sword.

I swayed backwards, narrowly avoiding a powerful blow that would have dented my armour at the very least. My retaliatory blow slid past the figure's defences ∼ crashing into his helm and tearing the visor clean off its mountings. No Man this, nor yet a beast ∼ some obscene melding of the two. Feral yellow eyes glared at me from a whiskered face as the beastling tore off its helm and readied another blow. Not that I planned to give this creature a chance: stepping back I spoke the words, "Chyffyrddiad chan rhew."

As shards of ice tore at its now exposed face, I calmly drove the point of my sword into its breast, the heavy iron armour parting like butter before the keen edge of the Ebony blade.

I squatted next to the robed figure and demanded, "What are you doing here?" the Man looked up at me, an already vacant look in his eyes. With an effort, he shook his head, and then closed his eyes. "Don't you die on me yet," I snapped, punching him in the ribs. When that had no effect, I drew my dagger from its (very) non-regulation hiding place in my boot, "you and me still need to talk."

His eyes snapped open as I applied the point of my dagger to the gaping wound in his chest, a wheezing moan coming from him as I felt the point scrape along a rib. He shook his head, blood frothing on his lips as he tried to scream. I can be very persistent and, despite the distasteful task, I had no qualms about torturing this Man ∼ he had, after all, been responsible for the death of a number of unarmed priests. I must have stroked something that really, really hurt ∼ despite his wounds and his near-death state, he let out quite an energetic scream. I poked whatever it was a couple more times, encouraging him to talk. Turning his head, he spat out "Crn spas osim ako mene," and then died. I had heard those words before and, after a moment's thought, it came back to me: the woman in the shrine to Kynareth had spoken those very same words.

Lord Zumars, I thought to myself as I stood up. The mysterious Lord behind the attack on the Kynareth shrine was behind the attack on this one. Why, I wondered as I searched the corpses, was he so anxious to get his hands on armour from one of the Orders? Finding nothing of value, I continued through the vaults until I came to a spiral staircase leading upwards. Following the stairs, I came to a roughly hewn doorway that led into a natural cavern. Beyond it I could make out a small bridge across a natural chasm and a passageway that led into another smaller chamber. Of much more concern were the two iron-clad figures patrolling the bridge.

The slighter figure was carrying a torch, and this made an excellent focus for my softly murmured spell. As before, I could see the faint wisps of greenish vapour rising from the torch as the figure patrolled up and down the bridge. It didn't take too long for the virulent toxin I had unleashed to take effect: clutching at their throats, the two figures thrashed and convulsed before collapsing out of sight behind the wall that topped the sides of the bridge.

A bridge that led to nowhere, apparently. The small chamber at the far end was empty apart from a couple of heavy sacks ∼ the only feature a heavily locked wooden door that, if memory served me correctly, led out into the Foyada Mamaea. I grinned as I examined the contents of the one sack: the soft glint of Imperial silverware told me that Zumars' men weren't above a little petty larceny. The other sack contained a shield: black as midnight and edged with worked silver in the form of a twisted rope, the heavy shield bore the device of the Order of the Circle. Hmmm, shield but no armour. I remembered the words of the first of these interlopers; he'd been looking for the armour too and had said something about a hidden chamber.

Since there was obviously nothing here, I made my way back into the vault and studied the place carefully. I was just about to return to the shrine and search there when I spotted something out of place: on one wall was an ornately embossed plaque, its decoration a pair of skulls. Similar plaques decorated the whole of the shrine and vault but this was the only one I'd seen with two skulls on the plaque. One of the skulls depressed when I pushed on it and, with a heavy grating noise, a superbly hidden door swung open to reveal a smaller chamber. There, arrayed on a stand, was the remaining armour of the Order of the Circle.

"Lassie," Radd Hard-Heart boomed when I walked into the keep carrying a sack full of armour, "heard ye got Ancois back from some witch-woman out Molag Amur way? That was a canny bit o' work from what I hear. I spoke tae General Darius up Gnisis-way, he speaks highly o' you. Take this chit tae the quartermaster."

The Moonmoth quartermaster was a wizened old Cyrodiil who took the chit from me and then gruffly requested my size. Digging about under the counter, he came back up with a pair of steel pauldrons and a pair of boots. I felt odd wearing the boots, odder still with the shoulder-guards in place. I winced as my footsteps echoes in the halls as I made my way back to where Radd stood ∼ sneaking up on anything in these boots would be damn' near impossible.

"Well Champion," he said, "I've got another wee rescue mission for ye. A traveller by the name o' Dandsa has been captured by bandits near Gnaar Mok. Intelligence says they're holed up in a cave-system called Abernanit."

"Wait..." I said, "What's this 'Champion' bit?"

"Did ye no know lassie," Radd Hard-Heart said, grinning. "I'm givin' ye a promotion. Nay, no less than ye deserve," he said when I started to protest. "Besides, d'ye ken how much paperwork is involved in revoking a field promotion?"

I shrugged, if the Imperial Legion was going to persist in promoting me, who was I to argue? Besides, elevated rank has its privileges: greater access to important briefings and the like. Leaving the Fort, I made a brief detour to Dura gra-Bol's house and dropped off the Arkay armour I'd taken from the shrine before heading out of town and along the banks of the Odai to the plateau. The Hlaalu manor stood deserted, and I cut through the courtyard and through the eastern gate into the Bitter Coast region.

It was early afternoon by the time I arrived in Hla Oad, but not too late to arrange for a fishing vessel to run me up to Gnaar Mok. Unfortunately, it was quite late when I arrived in the small village of Gnaar Mok and there was no room at the inn ∼ no Inn either, for that matter. With a good deal of grumbling about parsimonious Redorans, I set up my tent just a little way outside the village and settled down for the night.

After several hours of hacking my way through the heavy undergrowth of the Bitter Coast, I came to a deep and unpleasant-looking pool that had spread out in front of a cliff. There, on the opposite side of the pool were the Abernanit caves. Unfortunately, there was no way into the caves that didn't involve wading across the pool. Removing my boots and rolling up my robe, I tentatively stepped into the murky waters, making a moue of disgust at the slimy touch of the water.

As you can imagine, I wasn't best pleased by the time I'd waded waist-deep in the pool in order to reach the cave-entrance. The tunnel behind the entrance sloped gently downwards to a small wooden door, which was unlocked. Some sense made me hesitate before opening the door and a quick reveal spell showed that it was warded in some way. The faint runes that crawled across the surface were gone too quickly for me to get much of a sense of what the warding-spell was other than that it came from the school of illusion. Since there are few offensive spells in that school, my best guess was that it was a cantrip of silence. Backing away, I spoke the words, "Ysbryd ddwylaw."

Again there was that curious doubling effect and I instructed my ghostly self to open the door. There was a flare of green and my magical construct collapsed, its form disrupted by the spell's discharge. Not that that was a great worry to me, I still had full command of my magical abilities. And an axe that was ready to make someone pay for the brackish water that had drained from my robe and was now sloshing about in my boots. Beyond the door, the tunnel sloped downwards until it opened out into a large cave ∼ across the water-filled floor, wooden decking had been constructed.

My entrance into the cave hadn't gone unnoticed; a raised wooden platform gave the Dunmer standing there a clear view of anyone entering the cavern. With a cry of "prepare to die fetcher," he thundered down the stairs to get at me. Now, anyone will tell you ∼ if they have an ounce of common sense ∼ that the high-ground is always preferable in combat: it gives you many advantages. One thing you do not do is rush down a set of open wooden stairs when there is a very annoyed person underneath them.

As the fool came down the steps, I rushed forward and sliced my axe across the backs of his knees ∼ rather effectively severing the tendons there and sending him crashing down to the floor with a shriek of agony and a very nasty cracking sound. A couple of swift kicks convinced me that the fool had broken his neck in the headlong tumble down the stairs. His noisy demise had served another purpose: from the corridor to the right I could hear the sound of metal-clad feet rushing towards the chamber. Calmly, I unhooked one of the crossbows from my back and loaded it.

The ring-mail clad Nord came pounding into the chamber and came to a sudden shocked halt. Part of that might have been the sight of me standing there ∼ mostly it had to do with the bolt that suddenly lodged itself in his right eyeball. Quickly, I scouted down the corridor he'd emerged from ∼ finding a vast water-filled chamber at the far end. The archer who stood on the wooden platform that extended into the cave died in the same ignoble manner as his Nordic friend. I smirked as I returned to the main part of the caves ∼ acquiring these crossbows might have been one of my smarter moves. Easier to handle than a longbow, they had awesome stopping power over short distances: easily able to punch through most armour.

The last of the bandits inhabiting the cave was a deeply worried Mer. His three companions had, presumably, been set in the caves to prevent exactly what was happening now ∼ namely him having to face up to a warrior determined to reach their prize. "You... you'd better t-t-turn back now," he stuttered as I stepped into view.

I arched my eyebrow at him, mentally calculating what his response was likely to be, and what options I had. At the back of this chamber, the small figure of a Redguard female struggled against the ropes that tied her to one of the massive support beams. Her close proximity to the sweating Dunmer precluded the use of any of the more devastating spells but contact spells? Those would be fine, although probably unnecessary. "And if I don't go away?" I asked.

"Th-th-then you'll d-d-die," he stammered.

With a grin that made him gulp, I nodded and said, "let's dance."

The axe whistled through the air, tearing a hole in his leather armour and making him squeal. Effortlessly dodging his return blow, I used the butt of the axe to break his nose before bringing the blade up and round in a sweeping arc that buried the sharp edge deep in his stomach. He sank to his knees and, as he desperately tried to stuff his intestines back into the gaping stomach wound, I stepped passed him, bringing the axe around in a decapitating arc that did its job neatly and easily.

"Damn," I commented as the headless body thumped to the floor behind me, "I think I've just chipped a fingernail."

"Was that really necessary?" Dandsa asked as I untied her. I grinned and nodded. "Well," she snapped, "I've had enough of this damn' island. I've been attacked by weird flapping monsters that seem to appear out of nowhere, every damn cave has rats, the whole place stinks, and I've never met a less friendly group of people in my entire life. Get me out of this damned cave... RIGHT NOW!"

I winced; her captivity didn't seem to have affected her voice at all. With a sardonic smile, I ushered her forwards towards the caverns entrance. As she went passed, I couldn't help but comment, "Some people might be grateful after having been saved from a bunch of bandits. Some people might have the common decency to say a simple 'thank you'."

She ignored that but I had the satisfaction of seeing her blush. Taking the lead, I lead the ungrateful wretch out the way I'd come and took a great deal of delight in watching her struggle with the concept that she'd have to wade across a pool of stinking water to get away from the cave. While Dandsa waded away through the pool towards whatever future awaited her, I turned around and made my way back into the now unpopulated caves. There had been a large number of very interesting boxes and barrels inside the hideout and I wanted to see if there was anything that might be useful. As, indeed, there was.

I found several bundles of golden-coloured arrow-shafts: extremely light and tough and a silver rapier. Nor was that the limit of what Abernanit had to offer. In fairly short order I'd discovered a linked artefact called 'Dmitri's Mixing Glove', a couple of Ioun stones, some shard boots, and a little under four hundred Septims in coins. So, my returning to the caves hadn't been a complete waste of time.

I cast Recall and returned to the Moonmoth Fort where, by the usual lightning-fast method, Radd Hard-Heart already knew that I'd managed to rescue Dandsa. However, it seemed that my visits to the Bitter Coast, and Gnaar Mok in particular, hadn't finished.

"I'm sorry tae do this tae ye lassie," Radd said. "But I've just got this report from Gnaar Mok. The locals are having a wee bit o' a problem wi' a pair of Netches. Seems 'tis the season for them to make jolly, if ye ken what I mean..." I nodded, I had the general idea. Radd continued, "When they get frisky, Netches tend tae get aggressive too. Seems this pair keeps drifting in tae town and causing all sorts o' problems."

"Not a problem," I said sweetly, even though I was seething inside. "I'll deal with it on the morrow." And, with that, I flounced out of the Fort and returned to Tel Vahl. I wasn't angry at the task Radd Hard-Heart had given me, menial though it was. No, I was annoyed because I knew damn' well he'd had that report on his desk when he'd sent me to rescue Dandsa ∼ I could quite easily have taken care of both problems at once. Now, instead, I had to go back to that fetid little hole of a place to hunt down a couple of Netch.

Once again I found myself sailing out of Hla Oad towards Gnaar Mok. I fear I was somewhat short with both the captain of the vessel and the hapless Redoran guard I approached once we'd docked in the fishing village. "They're often found to the north of the town," he said in response to my question. "We've driven them off a couple of times, but they keep coming back."

Nodding curtly to the wide-eyed guard, I made my way north, coming to a little promontory of land. Over the expanse of water I could see three Netches drifting backwards and forwards among the trees. Right, I thought to myself, two males and one female and no way of telling which is which. Simple problems require simple solutions. Extending my hand, I concentrated and then said, "chan annwfns fferedig asgre."

A concentrated explosion of power detonated across the water, greedy tendrils of magic seeking out targets to latch on to and consume. It was overkill, pure and simple, but I wasn't feeling in a particularly charitable or subtle mood and a little excessive destruction is a wonderful way to exorcise any ill feelings. Besides, if nothing else it would give those priggish Redoran warriors a nasty turn. With a smile, I cast Recall and returned to Fort Moonmoth.

"Well lassie," Radd said, eying me warily, "are ye feeling a little less out o' sorts?" I assured him I was, and he visibly relaxed. "I have something else for ye," he said. "There's a necromancer, name o' Skorvild, up in Dagon Fel. Now, I've nothing against those who practice necromancy but the locals? Well, as ye probably know, they don't take kindly tae that business. Now, what I want ye tae do is.... Yes?"

"I've already paid a visit to Skorvild the Raven," I said. "I was up in that part of the world a while ago and somebody complained about him."

"Ahh," Radd said, "well, since it's ye standing there, I dinnae need tae ask how that meeting went. Well lassie, that's all o' the business I had for ye. I have here orders from command for ye. They say that Knight Errant Vahl is to report, on the morrow, tae Fort Buckmoth up Ald'ruhn way."

"Knight Errant?" I said, weakly.

"Aye lassie," he said. "Seems someone in high command has noticed ye an' taken themselves a wee interest. Take this chitty tae the quartermaster, he'll have your stuff ready."

After exchanging farewells with Radd Hard-Heart, I made my way across to the quartermaster's stores and presented the slip of parchment. I was instructed to turn in my cuirass and greaves. In return I was given Templar armour. This was the same gilt-coloured armour that General Darius had been wearing and, come to think of it, so had Sellus Gravius. The armour was obviously a custom-made job as it fit perfectly.

Imsin the Dreamer was, as her name implies, a Nord ∼ one of those tall, statuesque and achingly beautiful Nordic females that I used to wish disaster and ruin upon whenever they rode through the village. Still, despite her frosty beauty, Imsin seemed pleasant enough, in a softly spoken sort of way. "Hail," she said as I snapped to attention in front of her. "We dinnae go for that sort of nonsense here," she admonished, "A simple salute and the occasional ma'am are all ye'll need here.

"Now, if you're ready tae do a bit of work, I need someone with a bit of panache. From what I've heard, you seem to be lacking in that department but I'm short-handed at the moment so ye'll have tae do. We have a problem here in Ald'ruhn: there's a healthy smuggling operation goes on around here and the high command is getting a wee bit annoyed. We suspect a local by the name of Drinar Varyon of being the Mer responsible for getting the goods out of Vvardenfell, but we have no idea how he's doing it. Nor," she added with an unmistakable warning in her voice, "do we have an iota of proof. So we cannae just go barging in. If there's proof tae be found, I want you to find it. And, for goodness sake, don't go there in uniform."

I'd show her, I thought as I made my way along the dusty road that joins Buckmoth to Ald'ruhn. Well, just as soon as I'd found out what 'panache' was I'd show her.

I'd changed into a soft robe with the sort of expensive stitching that certainly wasn't 'regulation'. To my delight, I found that the guards were quite happy to talk to me and I was soon given directions to Varyon's hut. The hut itself was simple enough to find ∼ opposite the Ald Skar Inn, the one with the cart outside.

"Help you?" the Dunmer inside said, straightening from a potter's wheel. On seeing me, he rather grudgingly added "ma'am".

"My, you certainly seem to have been busy," I said, indicating the pots and jugs that covered just about every surface. "I'm looking for some earthenware and I heard that you were something of a potter."

"Something of a potter," he spluttered. "I'll have you know that I am one of the best in the whole of Morrowind Province. I come from a famous family of artists, perhaps you've heard of us?" I shook my head, and he launched into a long and detailed description of his artistic family. I tuned him out as he spoke; my interest had been caught by the glint of crystal on a desk nearby.

"So," I said, "how much would you want for, let us say, a dozen pots and a like number of platters?"

"Ma'am," he said with obviously strained patience, "I do not sell my goods on Vvardenfell, they are to go to the finest retailers throughout the Empire." Yes, I thought to myself as he ushered me out, and now I know exactly how you're smuggling Dwemeri artefacts off the island. Once I was outside, I retrieved the Ring of Surroundings from my pouch of magical rings and slipped it onto my finger. Once I was wrapped in the Shadow-Weave, I pushed open his door and slipped inside.

"Who's there?" he said, looking up suspiciously. As he moved towards the door, I slipped around the stove in the other direction and grabbed the Dwemer Tube off the desk. Varyon cursed as his door swung open of its own accord again ∼ I had, of course, opened it myself and slipped outside. Maintaining the spell until I was out of sight, I walked down into the dusty main square.

Back at Fort Buckmoth I changed into my uniform before going to see Imsin. She was quick; I'll give her that. No sooner had I mentioned the fact that I'd found the tube among the pots than she realised how the operation worked. "Excellent work Vahl," she said, "we've been waiting ages to get that snivelling little Scrib bang to rights. And, thanks tae you, we've got him. I'll send a couple of Troopers over there right away. We'll soon have the names of his accomplices.

"Now, I have another job for you Knight. The Knight Errant Joncis Dalomax was sent tae investigate rumours of cult activity at the Ashurnibibi Shrine near Hla Oad. He was due back yester but there has been no sign o' him. Our agents in Balmora and Hla Oad report that he hasn't been seen since he headed towards the shrine. We need you to go to Ashurnibibi and ascertain what has happened tae him."

It was a simple matter for me to get to Hla Oad, a void-walk to Balmora and then up via the Odai Plateau into the Bitter Coast region. A local kindly pointed out the ruins to me, they are visible from the docks in the village. Casting water-walk, I made my way across the shallow bay and onto the foreshore by the shrine. Pressing myself against a convenient block of stone, I peered around it to scout out the lay of the land. Not that far away from where I stood was the by now familiar oval shape of a doorway into the shrine. Unfortunately, between the door and me stood another all too familiar shape. Tall, feminine, metallic ∼ the Golden Saint scanned the surroundings slowly ∼ the faint tinny creak of its joints audible even from here.

There was a trick I'd heard of although, admittedly, it was used on wolves rather than Dremora. All I needed was a moment or two of distraction and I could make the door and slip inside. Past experience told me that I could easily secure the entrance against something outside. Careful not to disturb the nearby bushes, I stooped and picked up a stone. Timing things carefully, I threw the stone off to the side as the Golden Saint's head was turned. Quick as a lightning-flash the head snapped around ∼ zeroing in on the source of the sound. To my dismay, the creature made no move to investigate, instead staring carefully towards the spot where the rock had landed. Horror-struck, I watched the head move in a perfect arc ∼ tracking the rock's trajectory back to where I stood. With the famous Vahl battle cry of "Oh Bugger" I drew my axe and raced towards the figure.

The Golden Saint manifested a wicked looking sickle that glinted evilly in the sunlight that filtered between the standing stones. With a metallic cry, it rushed towards me. Axe-blade met sickle-blade with a crash and battle was joined. We hacked away at each other, dodging the worst of the blows and hammering home the slightest advantage. The fight was very much like a Bosmer: short, brutal, and nasty.

I was covered with small cuts, a present from the curved sickle-blade, when I finally vanquished my otherworldly opponent ∼ sending the essence of it howling back into the void. Gasping, I sank to the ground and opened my pack. Several freshly-created healing potions nestled within, and I grabbed one gratefully. As I drained the acidic potion, I saw a glint of light in the grass. When I had healed, I went and investigated: discovering that the Golden Saint had left the sickle behind when I returned it to Oblivion.

While short-bladed weapons are not my forte, the sickle was obvious valuable ∼ the filigreed and inlaid cross-guard and the tiny gemstones set into the handle were what gave me the clue ∼ so I took it with a view to selling it to whomever showed an interest. There seemed to be no other guardians outside the ruined Shrine so, taking a deep breath, I approached the oval door.

Stepping through into the cool gloom inside, I carefully made my way down the stairs. Such a stealthy approach was pointless ∼ Ashurnibibi was a single square chamber with nowhere to hide. Which meant that the four cultists saw me at pretty much the same time as I saw them. Even though the potion had healed me, I still ached abominably from the fight with the Golden Saint and was in no mood to cross blades, or exchange magic, with these four. Many moons ago, Aryon had given me gloves as a reward for tasks done. I had never used the left-hand glove despite the fact that I wore it still.

The curved and alien runes glowed briefly before my eyes as I concentrated on the spell woven in to the glove. Three swirling vortexes formed in the very air around me and, from each portal, stepped a Dremora. With echoing howls, the Flame Atronach, the Frost Atronach, and the Storm Atronach fell on the nearest cultists, tearing into them ferociously. That left the one at the back for me. With a contemptuous look on his face, he started to cast a summoning spell ∼ always a mistake when you're being stalked by an irate Dunmer female with a quick temper and a quicker sword.

As he choked out the last of his life on the floor, I took a look around. Over in one corner was a steaming pile of meat ∼ legacy of the Atronachs. The other two cultists had fared little better. With a shrug, I stepped up to the statue of Malacath and looked at the small chest that rested between its feet. The lock opened easily: revealing two apprentice scrolls and a rusted key.

The key opened the oddly shaped door at the back of the shrine, revealing a dishevelled-looking Breton in Imperial Templar armour. "Joncis Dalomax?" I asked.

"Yes, thank the Divines," he gabbled, grabbing my shoulder. "I was overwhelmed and they shoved me in here. Arkay alone knows what foul ritual they were planning...." He took several deep breaths, mastering himself. "Thank you Knight," he said in a much calmer tone of voice. "I will return to Hla Oad and thence to Fort Buckmoth. I shall be sure to relate to Imsin how you helped me."

I nodded, thanking him softly. I understood his embarrassment: he was an elderly, grizzled warrior who had obviously seen his fare share of warfare. Yet he had been beset by four cultists and captured. Along comes a newly promoted Knight Errant ∼ a young, female, Knight Errant ∼ who not only sets him free but single-handedly defeated the four who took him captive. Such thoughts engender feelings of mortality in the best of us.

I shook myself as Dalomax left the shrine: maudlin thoughts and sympathy for Imperial soldiers? I'd best watch that tendency lest I start regretting leaving the Empire behind. With a laugh, since that was about as likely as me becoming a hero, I translocated back to Tel Vahl for some well-earned rest and recuperation.

The book, 'Daedric Shrines of Importance', proved to be an interesting and entertaining read ∼ little did I then know the consequences of such a simple act.

There were smiling faces at Fort Buckmoth when I returned this morning, Joncis Dalomax had made his way back to the garrison there and reported my (rather self-evident) success. However, Imsin wasn't going to let me rest on my laurels, she already had a new task for me. "One of the Buoyant Armigers, and please don't ask which one, is being blackmailed by Varona Nelas. This Armiger gave Nelas an embroidered glove as a token of affection and, needless to say, should this become common knowledge the scandal would be a bitter blow to the Armigers. We... I would appreciate it if you could speak to Varona Nelas and recover the glove.

"We believe," Imsin continued, the blush on her cheeks very evident given her pale complexion, "that Nelas is in Assumanu: a small system of caverns located southeast of Ald Redaynia." I assured Imsin that I would be at my most persuasive and, wondering what could make Imsin feel so uncomfortable, I cast the spell that would open a passageway to Dagon Fel.

As I made my way westwards, the Septim suddenly dropped: an embroidered glove. It was hardly the sort of thing that a big, burly male Armiger would give to his paramour. I chuckled uneasily: my upbringing in the more liberal West warring with the more puritanical attitude I had picked up from the Dunmer in the months I'd been here. Well, it really wasn't any of my concern...

Several hours later I discovered the Sargon caves which was the home of a number of bandits. They were neither good at banditry or fighting. The caves made an excellent place for me to rest and take a meal-break but they yielded little by way of treasure other than an ancient hammer that screamed powerful chords when I took it from the cold, dead hand of the Redguard bandit.

Assumanu: if the conical pile of skulls just inside the cave's entrance wasn't a clue to the necromantic nature of the occupants, then their habit of summoning Bone-Walkers was. There were two necromancers ∼ surprisingly, both were Dunmeri females ∼ inside the cave who decided that the best way to deal with the intrusion was to summon up a Bone-Walker each and sit back and watch the spectacle that would follow. Unfortunately for them, I have found that I am quite proficient as a Summoner and even a pair of Bone-Walkers are no match for a Storm Atronach.

Having cleared those two obstacles, I ventured deeper into the cavern. "Do you have an appointment?" the Bosmer said, stepping out from between two rocks as I approached the wooden bridge that spanned the underground river.

"A what?" I exclaimed, nonplussed.

"I assume you're here to speak with Mistress Nelas," the Bosmer said. "If she has asked to speak to you, then you will have an appointment to see her. Regrettably, that means that I would have been informed."

"Why is it regrettable that you would have been told about an appointment?"

"Ahh, I'm sorry, " the Bosmer said, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking pained. "Perhaps I should have been clearer. The poor fortune is yours rather than mine. Y'see, I would have been informed if you had an appointment: since I wasn't, you haven't. And, therefore, you can't."

"Run that past me one more time," I said slowly.

"-Sigh- I wasn't informed that we were expecting a visitor this day. Therefore my Mistress isn't expecting you. Therefore you haven't an appointment. Ergo, you can't get in to see her."

"I'm here on important business," I snapped.

"That's what they all say," the Bosmer retorted drawing his short sword. Dwemer metal clashed on Imperial steel as I blocked his blow with the Wish, bringing the blade back in a blow that split the air with a deadly hum. "Whoa!" the Bosmer gasped, leaping backwards agilely.

The blade crashed against my armour as he lunged forward, my retaliatory blow tore a chunk of metal from the bottom of his cuirass. Again and again our blades crashed together, my greater reach and strength finally proving superior. Twisting to avoid a vindictive stab of the short sword, I brought the humming blade of the Wish down on the back of the Bosmer's head, crushing the back of his skull and putting his lantern out immediately. As he slumped forward, I took several deep breaths to steady myself.

"Who are you, and how did you get past Allimer?" the tall, well-dressed Dunmer female asked as I clambered up the short flight of steps to the raised platform. "You haven't an appointment, so that means.... DIE FETCHER!"

"Eep!" I yelped, diving to the side to avoid the sudden explosive conclusion to her unspoken spell. I grabbed the nearest upright wooden pole, using it as a pivot. Spinning around, I waited until the last moment and then thrust outwards with my feet. This had been a useful manoeuvre when I was a child, often ending a fight with one or other of the village bullies. Of course, back then I'd been wearing cheap felt shoes instead of solid Imperial Steel Boots. There was a sickening crunching noise as the soles of the aforementioned boots impacted, cutting short the spell Nelas had been intoning. I didn't see quite what happened next ∼ I was far too busy discovering a little known fact about feather-enchanted armour.

Clinging desperately to the wooden pole to prevent myself from being thrown into the main body of the cave by my momentum, I was dimly aware of a heavy thump somewhere behind me. When I'd got myself back under control, I was able to see that I'd dealt a lethal blow to Varona Nelas. When I'd finished frantically wiping the boots on a nearby rug, I explored the small platform.

I recovered the embroidered glove, a number of utility scrolls (hearth heal and the like) and an apprentice scroll that taught the spell Golnara's Eye-Maze. Feeling unaccountably weary, I sank down onto the hammock and closed my eyes.

When I woke, about an hour later, I felt full of fizz. I felt fitter than I had in ages and I seemed to have tapped into potential strengths I didn't know I had. With a broad grin at the way I felt, I left Assumanu and headed back towards Dagon Fel. On my way here I'd passed a Daedric shrine ∼ Assurdirapal by name ∼ and the name had been nagging at me ever since I'd seen it. My little nap seemed to have jogged the memory loose: the ruins had been mentioned in the book 'Daedric Shrines of Importance'. I wanted to know why this shrine was so important.

Shrieking, I left the shrine at Assurdirapal, shaken to my core. I'd ventured inside the deserted ruins and explored the various chambers and levels without finding anything of value ∼ coming, at last, to the vast central chamber. Dominated by a bronze statue of Malacath, the large open area had yielded nothing by way of treasures or artefacts of power. Standing there, hands on my hips, I had wondered why this was noted as a shrine of importance.

"Perhaps, mortal, 'tis because I reside here," the statue said, turning its misshapen head to look directly at me. The glowing red eyes of the statue held me transfixed as the Daedric Prince continued. "Tell me, Elfling, have thee heard the tale of Oreyn Bearclaw?"

Dumbly I nodded, the tales of the Elven hero reached far beyond the borders of Morrowind. "Know thee, then, that such tales be false!" the statue thundered. "Forsooth, Oreyn was no hero, base and false he was. The heroic deeds for which Oreyn is praised were, in truth, by Kharag gro-Khar performed. I now lay this charge on thee Sudhendra Vahl: find the descendant of this false hero and kill him."

"Kill him?" I managed to murmur.

"Aye," the statue thundered, "and I shall reward thee accordingly. For, in his possession, the descendant of Oreyn Bearclaw hath a helm of great power, dedicated in my name. This helm I grant to thee as payment and reward for a deed done well."

With a grating noise, the statue turned its head and fell silent. That was the moment I fled the shrine in terror. Daedric Princes speaking out of statues to me ∼ not just once, but twice now: no that just wasn't right. Having composed myself somewhat, I returned to Tel Vahl at all speed.

When I returned to Fort Buckmoth with the news of Varona Nelas' death, Imsin wasn't pleased. "That is nae what I sent you tae do," she complained unhappily. "Ye were simply supposed tae get the glove and return it."

"My apologies," I replied, "but Nelas gave me little choice in the matter. Besides, there is no chance of any scandal now... is there?"

"Aye," she conceded, "but it's nae the best solution. Still, I thank ye for your devotion to duty Knight. I have two bits of new for you. Firstly, you are tae report with all speed tae Fort Hawkmoth in Ebonheart: Frald the White will be your new commanding officer.

"As tae the second bit o' news, well: Hawkmoth is a prestigious appointment. Accordingly, Frald has instructed that ye be promoted tae the rank of Knight Batchelor. Take this chitty wi' you when you go and present it tae the quartermaster."

As I handed in my steel gauntlets and 'pot', I reflected on life's little ironies. I had joined the Legion for two reasons ∼ firstly to improve my fighting abilities and secondly to get an idea of how the Legion operated so that Great House Telvanni would be prepared for any eventuality. Now, here I was wearing the gilded armour of an Imperial Legion Knight ∼ complete with the new helm and bracers that the quartermaster had just handed me. I had seen many Dunmer in the Legion: Spearmen, Troopers, even an Agent or two ∼ but no Dunmer above those ranks.

Having translocated myself to Vivec City, I had some time to reflect on this as I walked down the coastal road towards the stronghold of Ebonheart. From conversations I'd had with fellow soldiers, I knew that the Legion recruited about twenty-five to thirty percent of its troops locally. However these recruits were usually short-term recruits who gained very little in the way of promotion. The indigenous troopers who signed up for long-term service usually didn't get promoted much beyond the rank of Spearman. This made my own rapid ascent through the ranks quite the puzzle. The only reason I could think of was that, while I was Dunmeri, I was also 'Imperial born and bred' as they say. Somehow, I knew that my promotion was going to get me into trouble.

Frald, a broad-faced and broader-shouldered Nord with only the faintest hint of accent, greeted me warmly as I stepped into the main barracks at Fort Hawkmoth. "Knight Vahl," he said, extending his hand, "I've heard very good things about you."

"Thank you," I said, grasping his hand and shaking it in the western fashion. He grinned hugely, taking off his helm and exposing the mass of braided, snow-white hair that had been concealed underneath.

"Now, I'm sorry to throw you in at the deep end, first day here an' all that. We have a little problem with a Buoyant Armiger by the name o' Salyn Sarethi up at the Ghostgate. He says the Legion is full of witless bores. He's... well, he's sort of challenged us tae a contest of wit and poetry. I'm sort of hoping that you're going to uphold the Legion's honour."

Oh great, I thought to myself as I smilingly accepted the challenge, the honour of the Legion is resting on the shoulders of yours truly. Not, I realised after a moment's reflection, that I actually gave a damn'. I mentally slapped myself, I'd got myself caught up in the momentum of my promotions and had started thinking like an Imperial officer instead of the head of Great House Telvanni. That was a tendency I'd have to keep a close eye on.

Tendrils of raw magicka discharged into the ground as I dismissed the portal that had carried me from Ebonheart to the Ghostgate. Salyn Sarethi was, according to Frald, in the Tower of Dusk and was expecting me. Making sure I avoided the Temple ∼ where, presumably, Uvoo Llaren was still waiting for me to return with her blessed cleaver ∼ I entered the Tower of Dusk and made my way down to the offices of the Buoyant Armigers.

"So," the Dunmer sneered, "you're the barbarian they've sent in response to our challenge. The rules are simple ∼ we kept them that way so that you'd have no problems understanding them ∼ we take turns to pose a riddle or conundrum that the other answers. A correct or witty answer wins the point.

There followed quite the battle of wits, Sarethi scoring some early favour with the crowd by using some fairly complex riddles and word-play. But, as I grew more confident, I got more of the assembled crowd on my side of the table as I dredged up fairly complex riddles of my own, adding in some word-play by the renown Cyrodiilic author Octavius Torva. Before too long, the only people on Salyn Sarethi's side of the table were a couple of grim-faced Armigers, the rest of the crowd was standing behind me. At the end of the allotted time, there was no doubt who was the winner.

Grinning sarcastically at the bewildered Armiger, I bowed to the clapping crowd. "Perhaps, next time you open your mouth," I told Sarethi, "You'll consider what comes out beforehand."

"Lassie," Frald boomed, "I'd have given a year's pay to have seen that. Here, I have a little present for you." Frald presented me with a copy of '2920, Second Seed'. I thanked him and, at his invitation, accompanied him to the officers' mess for a midday meal. While we were eating, Frald broached the subject of Honthjolf.

"He's a traitor to the Legion, that's for sure," Frald said around a mouthful of boiled Scrib-cabbage. "Took himself off and got himself a job with a bunch of cultists. We weren't happy about his defection, even less so about his choice of people to hang around with. But now, it seems that he's branched out into petty banditry and extortion. A survivor of one of the raids overheard Honthjolf speaking about a place called Aharnabi.

"We've had to be careful in obtaining information," he continued, leaning forward to whisper confidentially, "That's Telvanni country out there. Mage-Lords they call themselves and they are as mad as Sheogorath's tailor they tell me. Still, when you're dealing wi' a bunch of people who really don't like you and can turn you into something small and unnatural... well, it pays to be cautious. I digress; Aharnabi is a cave-system south of an ancient shrine dedicated to Azura. Someone really should take care of the situation before it gets any worse."

"Really?" I said through gritted teeth. "Perhaps I should go and see if I can resolve the situation?"

"That would be great," he said, cheering up.

"In fact, I think I'll depart right now," I said, standing up, "I seem to have lost my appetite. Oh, by the way, if I need more information ∼ who's our contact out there?"

"A Dunmer by the name of Rolis Garvon, native of Sadrith Mora," Frald responded without a moment's hesitation. After all, why should he hesitate? Wasn't I a fellow officer, trustworthy and dedicated to the Empire's cause? The fact that I intended to have the traitor's head on a pike before sundown had probably never occurred to Frald the White ∼ it had occurred to me though...

"Rolis Garvon," I snapped at Kallin Basalius, having used the stronghold ring to get to Tel Vahl, "has been feeding information to the Legion. I want the whole of Sadrith Mora turned upside down until you find him. Close the bridge to Wolverine Hall so he can't run to his Imperial masters ∼ nobody goes in or out of that pile of bricks until Rolis Garvon is caught. If you can't find him in the next six hours, I want the head of the Sadrith Mora Morag Tong here in seven hours."

"Yes ma'am," Kallin replied, casting me a worried look before rushing out of the chamber. I sighed, I realised that I was jeopardising my position in the Legion by acting on the information Frald the White had given me: after all, he didn't need an Imperial degree in advanced mathematics to add two and two and get 'Vahl' as the result. But I couldn't risk leaving Rolis Garvon alive ∼ to date he hadn't given the Legion my name or position but it was a risk I couldn't take. Leaving my able staff to take care of the matter, I struck out in a vaguely easterly direction from the stronghold.

Turning southwards after reaching the coast, I made my way through increasingly rougher terrain towards Aharnabi. I was beginning to regret my response to the information that Frald had given me; my actions were hasty and ill advised; placing my position within the Legion at risk. I was tempted to return to Tel Vahl and rescind my orders but...

"Dinsalipal Dun-Ahhe is waiting for you in the main hall," Raissu Asserbas said with a hint of smugness. "Kallin Basalius and I suspected that you'd change your mind when you'd had a little time to consider things so we called him straight away."

"And here I am," said a voice right behind me ∼ almost causing me to swallow my tongue. Kallin and Raissu both made "eeking" sounds as the well-dressed Dunmer stepped noiselessly out of a pool of shadows and bowed low. Only iron-willed stubbornness prevented me from yelping and leaping ten feet into the air. "It has been some considerable time since Great House Telvanni called for our services Arch-Magister. How may the Servants of Mephala be of service?"

"I see," he said smoothly after I'd explained the situation. "One assumes that, as well as dealing with the traitor to your House, this is intended to be a lesson to those that consider similar paths?"

"It's intended to be a lesson all right," I replied, grimly.

"Yet some degree of discretion is required..." the assassin mused. "We believe we have the ideal solution Arch-Magister. And yours for but one thousand Septims." Instructing Raissu Asserbas to pay the assassin, I left the tower and headed back to the spot I'd been at before I'd had second thoughts.

The terrain got increasingly more rugged and, before too long, I had to divert inland instead of following the coastline. One such diversion brought me close to a huge statue: weathered and dirt-encrusted, it was still recognisable as Azura. Since I had read the book 'Daedric Shrines of Importance', I had been having nagging feelings about the shrines it had mentioned and felt strangely drawn towards the statue. Perched on a rock that jutted out over steep cliffs, I realised that the statue guarded the entrance to the shrine. For there, down a path that had seen far better days, lay the unmistakably warped shapes of a shrine-platform. Scrambling down the path, avoiding looking at the dizzying vista that lay on the right-hand side, I reached the platform. The door yielded easily to my touch and, glad to be off that exposed and crumbling entrance, I stepped inside.

This was not the first Daedric shrine I'd ever been in but it was certainly the most atypical. I could still feel the sheer power of the place rising up through my feet but, unlike other shrines, there was a... serenity and harmony to the power. That feeling was reinforced by the shrine itself ∼ no strangely angled corners or warped walls here. A soft blue light suffused the shrine and it took me a moment or two to realise it was emanating from the tall silver statue standing at the back of the ruin. I felt no overwhelming fear as I approached the statue ∼ despite my experiences in the other shrines. As I drew nearer to the statue, the blank metal eyes flashed azure for a moment.

"Beloved," a soft voice breathed out of the air around me. "I am gratified that thee approach without fear. I have a task for thee. I have a wager entered into with the Mad One. He doth maintain that it is impossible for a Mortal to live a life of pure devotion. To task him, one of my priestesses hath taken solitary residence near to Dagon Fel. For one hundred years, she was to live in solitary devotion, praising my name...

"Now that time doth come to an end and still Rayna Drolan doth pray. The Mad One, Sheogoraph, hath determined to cheat to prove his case. Beloved of Azura, I beseech thee; bring me proof of the Mad One's meddling that I may give him the lie direct. In this task thou shall be well rewarded. Have a care, thou must not disturb my priestess in any wise..."

The voice faded to silence and the indefinable sense of Azura's presence faded with it. I blinked... that voice was familiar. I knew that I had heard it before but couldn't place it. I sat for a while, partially to puzzle over this conundrum and partially to soak up the ambiance of the place. Feeling calmer and more focussed than I had in several days, albeit no closer to remembering where I had heard that voice, I left and continued my way southwards.

The door to Aharnabi led me into a steeply sloping tunnel hewn from the rock. As I walked carefully down the slippery passage, an Altmer walked around the pillar of rock at the bottom of the tunnel. With a curse, she raised her hands and spat a short phrase. I jerked backwards, my feet slipping out from underneath me as a hissing sphere of purple light whizzed over my head. Arresting my slide, I raised my hand and responded with a spell of my own, "Chyffyrddiad chan rhew."

The High Elf's scream was cut short as the spell worked its gruesome way with her, leeching the heat from her body. By the time I had regained my feet, she was dead, her golden skin dusted with speckles of ice. The tunnel continued downwards, taking quite a sharp rightward bend before continuing down some more. Here it entered a cavernous space, high up on the wall of the vaguely spherical chamber. A wooden walkway led to a ladder that went down to a lower level.

Of course, the Dunmeri sorceress who was walking along the lower part of the wooden construction wasn't particularly happy to see me, or so I assumed by the Bone-Walker she summoned. I drew my crossbow ∼ already loaded and ready ∼ as the misshapen fiend scrambled up the stairs. "Hey, Muthsera!" I yelled, leaning over the railing. As the Mer looked upwards, I fired downwards. There was a satisfying spurt of blood as the bolt took her right in the centre of the forehead. The Bone-Walker, which had its damn clawed hands close to my neck ∼ far too damn' close if you ask me ∼ sparkled with yellowish light and faded from view before it could reach me.

I had a choice of directions when I reached the lower level of the wooden construction. Lacking any clues (and with the usual unerring instinct for walking into trouble) I chose to go to my right. Another Dunmeri sorceress joined the growing tally of the dead littering these caves as, after a brief exchange of magic, I took advantage of my position behind a rocky outcrop to reload my crossbow and fire at her.

This left the left-hand passage and, this time I seemed to have made the right decision. The wooden walkway led through an arch that had been hacked into the stone, opening up a water-filled cavern beyond. The wooden platform continued out over the water, massive wooden pilings sunk into the silt-covered floor of the cave. Several platforms were attached to the walkway ∼ all but one was deserted. With a sardonic laugh, a tall and untidy-looking Nord sauntered arrogantly down the steps from the furthest platform and stood there looking at me.

"D'ye think ye can take me, Dark Elf?" Honthjolf snapped, descending the steps to stand on the opposite end of the wooden pier that jutted out over the underground lake. "I eat fetchers like you for breakfast, always have, always will. Well, Dark Elf, got anything to say, or are ye so scared that the Khajiit's got yer tongue?"

"Let's dance Honthjolf," I replied with a grim smile, advancing down the deck towards him. He frowned and then, with a yell, drew his sword and rushed to meet me. Our blades clashed, striking sparks that glittered in the semi-darkness of the cavern. Again and again we struck at each other: blocking and circling, each seeking an opening. Locking blades for the third, or fourth, time, Honthjolf hissed, "you're good Elf, but not as good as I am."

With a scything kick, he swept my feet from under me, causing me to crash down on the wooden pier. In retaliation, I hammered the heel of my steel boot into his exposed knee, making him cry out. As he took a step back, I kicked him again, this time aiming a good deal higher than his knee. Honthjolf's eyes crossed and he wheezed as he sank to his knees. A third kick knocked him onto his back.

I was quicker to my feet and the Nord's eyes widened as he saw the heavy Ebony blade hissing down towards his head. With a grunt, he rolled to the side. Which is never a good idea when you're on a narrow wooden platform over a body of water and, this is the important bit, the platform has only got rope to stop you from falling in. Bigger and heavier than the Dunmer that had lived here with him, the rope slowed him not in the slightest and, with a curse he disappeared. The splash as he hit the water was quite impressive.

I knelt on the platform, looking down into the florid face of the splashing Nord less than a foot below me. Wordlessly, I extended my hand down towards him. "Akatosh's Balls," he said, reaching up towards my hand "that's bloody decent of you."

(c)2005 OverrideB1

On to part 2