XXX - Hortator and Nerevarine

I apologise for the lack of an update last week. Real life got in the way. I will try to make sure it doesn't happen again.

The sun had not yet risen when Fen and Julan set out for Tel Branora. The boat ride was nearly six hours, and Fen spent the majority of the time on deck, watching the smooth gray rocks of Azura’s Coast drift sluggishly past. It was midmorning when they arrived at the docks of Tel Branora, a crooked Telvanni town that was situated in a gloomy, rock-covered valley by the water. The skies overhead were gray and heavy with waiting rain.

Fen remembered Aryon’s warning of Therana’s waning sanity, but she still wasn’t prepared for the interior of the councilor’s tower. The smell hit them first – an awful stench of something rotting that permeated the very air around them The source of the smell soon became clear.

It was designed much like the towers of the other councilors, but this one was decorated with Kwama eggs. The hung from walls, lamps, the undersides of staircases and tables. They were nailed to the floor in random patterns, pasted to the surface of a table, drilled into the walls to form oblong white archways around doors. And even as they entered, three Khajiit slaves were moving around the room with an enormous basket of them, using a bottle of paste to glue them all over the room.

“I get the feeling she likes eggs,” Julan whispered. They levitated up to the higher reaches of the tower which was, mercifully, clear of eggs. Therana’s chamber was at the very top, where she sat at a large table sorting different colored jewels into piles. She looked much younger than Dratha, though still quite old, with her fading red hair in an unkempt mane around her face.

“Why are you here?” she asked immediately, her thin neck stretching and her eyes bulging from her narrow face. “Are you here to feed the spiders?”

“I – um – my name is Fen, sera, and I have business with you concerning the position of Telvanni Hortator.”

“Well it’s a steel box, of course,” Therana answered, rubbing an emerald between her fingers and setting it down in the pile of rubies, never taking her eyes off them. “You keep things like bittergreen roots in it, keeps ‘em fresh, with a little netch blood. Or is that a hormador? Yes. Or spiders. In the box. Spider eggs. Keeps ‘em fresh. With netch blood. You wouldn’t have any with you, eh? Spider eggs? Nice fresh ones?”

“Um…no.”

“So, go ahead. Show me the hordador. Hormador? You got it with you? Always happy to get some fresh spider eggs. Or spiders? When I was a MUCH younger, we grew our own spiders in hormadors. Big ones. Needed ‘em big, for the spiders. What? Spiders? You listening?” Fen nodded quickly. “Spiders. That’s what I said. Big ones. So you need a big hortator. Ours was steel, with silver plating. Kier-jo used to polish it. Cute little kitty. Had it since it was a bitty kitty. Gone now, of course. Dropped dead. They get old, and you have to get new ones. Never quite as good as the old ones, of course, but what can you do. Oh! There you are, Fur! What was your name again? Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, sera,” Fen said quickly. “But I was wondering about the Telvanni Hortator –”

“What? Oh. You want to be a Hortator? Certainly. Go right ahead. Whatever you like. I don’t mind. What were we talking about?”

“We were just leaving,” Julan said, and he grabbed Fen’s arm as they levitated out. “She’s crazy,” he whispered, glancing back at her. Therana had picked up a quill and was stroking her ratty hair with it, singing a traditional Dunmer song Fen recognized to her Khajiiti slave.

“Maybe she can’t help it,” Fen suggested, and Julan rolled his eyes.

“I suppose it’s better that you’re in the Mages Guild than in with those idiots,” he said, leading the way back to the dock.

It was evening when they reached Tel Aruhn, the settlement of Archmagister Gothren. So far, all the sorcerers of House Telvanni had been easy to convince. Fen had a nasty feeling, however, that Gothren wouldn’t be as simple. Sure enough, when they entered his tower and found him sitting on a raised dais guarded by two scowling Dremora, he muttered that he had to think about it.

“If you please, serjo,” Fen asked nervously, glancing at the Dremora. “All of the other councilors have agreed. And it is exceedingly important that I have your refusal or approval tonight.”

“I told you,” he said, straightening up in his chair. “I have to think about it. I know the rest of the councilors are so boneheaded that they will agree to any offer that comes into their hands, but I am different! Leave me!” Fen turned to go, then remembered Aryon’s words. He will not refuse you directly, but will delay indefinitely. There was nothing else she could do.

Making sure Julan was out of the way, she turned on her heel and fired a spell of God’s Fire into Gothren’s room. The blast encompassed the entire chamber, and Fen heard the Dremora drop dead. But now she was severely sapped on magicka, and Gothren, while weakened, was doubtlessly still alive.

“Fen, what the hell are you doing?!” Julan shouted as the smoke cleared and Gothren was briefly visible, his robes scorched and blackened, his eyes furious. Then he let off a similar spell towards Fen, and she seized Julan and pulled him to the ground beside her.

“Help me!” she snapped as Gothren’s spell flashed overhead and went through the wall, sending chunks of mushroom flying about the room. Thunder boomed outside as Fen sprang to her feet, draining a Restore Magicka potion as she did so. She used one of Dratha’s scrolls to summon a Golden Saint and pulled the Staff of Magnus from where it hung behind her shoulders. Julan and the Golden Saint ran forward to meet Gothren and Fen joined them, swinging the Staff over Gothren’s head and letting its power drain his energy. He hurled some sort of spell at the Golden Saint and it shattered to dust, then another at Julan. Julan froze mid-swing and remained immobile while Gothren turned to Fen.

He raised his hand to fire another blast, and Fen threw her Mages’ Staff toward him. His spell burned the Staff into ash and he raised his hand for another blow. At that moment, the paralysis spell on Julan wore off and he finished his blow, cutting through the fabric of Gothren’s robe and cleaning severing his arm from the rest of his body.

Gothren shrieked, reeling backwards while blood spurted from his shoulder, drenching all three of them. Any other person would have been killed instantly, but Gothren, whose life was sustained through the necromantic arts, remained alive. Fen risked the rest of her magicka with a spell of God’s Fire that swept through the whole room. She dropped to the ground to avoid the backlash of the spell, burying her head in her arms as heat blazed above her. When the air cooled again, Fen slowly raised her head to take in the ruined room. Gothren was gone, incinerated by the God’s Fire. And Julan…Julan was nowhere to be seen.

“No,” Fen whispered, struggling to her feet. “No, no, no, no…” She gazed frantically around. The room was a mess – furniture was fire, ornate tapestries had been turned to piles of smoking ash. An entire section of wall had been blown away and rain poured in through the gap. The tower felt utterly empty. Fen went to the empty section of wall and peered out…her heart leapt. Julan lay far below, sprawled on the ground surrounded by chunks of mushroom and ruined furniture. Guards were hurrying towards him – people were clustered nearby, muttering.

Fen pulled the Amulet of Slowfall from her pack and clipped it around her neck, then leapt from the tower. Her descent slowed down until she reached the ground right beside Julan. She yanked the amulet from her neck and knelt by Julan’s side, urgently feeling for a pulse and oblivious to the whispers around her.

“Please Julan,” she muttered, pressing her fingers into his neck just under his jaw. “Please…” There! A beat! It was very faint, but she could just barely make it out. She had no magicka left – instead she fumbled in her bag and found a healing potion. She hastily uncorked it and poured it into his open mouth, biting her lip and praying silently while thunder boomed imperiously overhead.

Julan coughed suddenly, his eyes springing open. Fen gave a cry of relief and embraced him.

“Oh, thank gods,” she whispered, pulling back. Julan’s face was scratched and raw-looking. He had clearly been caught in the crossfire of someone’s spell, lucky to have survived it. “You’re looking a bit worse for wear,” Fen said with a halfhearted smile.

“You’re no better,” Julan replied, and even as he spoke, the healing potion was sewing his skin back together, drying the blood that was crusted across his jaw.

“I didn’t fall out of a five-story tower,” Fen said, helping him to his feet. She swept her rain-soaked hair away from her face, suddenly aware of the people staring at them.

“I have a mark set in Vos,” Julan muttered.

“Let’s go.”

In an instant, they were back in the solitude and quiet of Tel Vos, where the rain had not yet fallen and the skies were merely dark and gray. They climbed the hill to Aryon’s tower, where he greeted them with a satisfied expression.

“I see you’ve gathered the votes of all the surviving Telvanni councilors. That means you are now the Hortator of House Telvanni. And I had something taken out of my storage for you.” He went to a table in the corner, where a bundle of black cloth lay folded. Aryon lifted it up by the shoulders to reveal a magnificent robe made of black silk and lined with deep crimson. Its belt bore the Moon-and-Star emblem that was becoming so familiar to Fen. “The Robe of the Hortator. It is an ancient artifact, and hasn’t been used in centuries. I think it will serve you well.” Aryon handed Fen the robe, which she took with a sort of reverence. He gave her a firm look. “I wish you luck, Hortator. I may even pray for you.” Fen gazed steadily back at him.

“Thank you, serjo,” she told him, and he replied with nothing but a nod.

The following day, Fen dressed in the black robe and stood before the cracked mirror in her room, studying her reflection. The robe hung perfectly on her frame, as if it had been specifically tailored for her. The fabric was clearly old, but it felt fresh and new on her shoulders. Moon-and-Star glittered on her finger. Her Wizard’s Staff lay strapped across her back. Her hair was clean and braided down her back and her face was set. She was ready to meet the Archcanon.

Fen and Julan, who was dressed again in his preferred attire, recalled to the Foreign Quarter of Vivec, where Fen wore the Amulet of Shadows to hide herself from the Ordinators. They made the long walk across the cantons to the Temple, where they quickly found the priest that the letter from the Archcanon had referenced.

“I’m Fen,” she said upon pulling off the amulet. The priestess jumped slightly, then hastily took Fen’s arm and steered her around a corner, out of sight of the lurking Ordinators. They crouched beneath the great shadow of the High Fane, with Vivec’s palace visible in the distance.

“The Archcanon is in his private quarters, and he very much wishes to speak with you, but I am to warn you...” the priestess glanced around. “Avoid confrontations with the Ordinators at all costs. The Archcanon has spoken with the High Fane Ordinators, but if you are a wanted criminal, they may try to arrest you. If the blood of faithful servants of the Temple is spilled, it will make a reconciliation all that much more difficult. His private quarters are in the southern half of the East Chapel of the High Fane. But there are Ordinators at the entrances to both the East and West Chapels. They are highly trained, and sneaking past them, even aided by magic, may be very difficult. But if you have any art in stealth or magic, you should use it to avoid trouble. Now go, quickly!” She glanced around, then gave Fen a small push and walked hurriedly away from them. Fen replaced the Amulet of Shadows, glancing around.

“You go first,” Fen whispered to Julan. “It shouldn’t look obvious that you’re following someone.” Julan led the way past the Ordinators and into High Fane, the main Temple for the city. Fen followed closely behind, careful not to make too much noise. The Amulet of Shadows guarded against the Ordinators seeing her, but they could still hear her if she failed to remain silent. They quickly found the entrance to the Archcanon’s chamber, though it was firmly locked and an Ordinator stood just across the room. Fen tugged Julan’s arm and motioned towards the more crowded part of the Temple, where they wouldn’t be overheard.

“I’ll go back into the antechamber,” she whispered to him. “You cause a diversion and get out as soon as you can.”

“But what –?” Julan started, but Fen had already slipped back into the room just outside the Archcanon’s office. Within a minute, Fen heard someone scream in the Temple and the Ordinator that was in the room with her sprinted away. She quickly pressed her hand to the lock of the door and it clicked open with her unlocking spell as Julan came hurrying down the stairs into the antechamber.

“You didn’t hurt anyone, did you?” she asked, pulling off the amulet.

“No, I just summoned a skeleton. They’ll take care of it fine. But we’d better go in before that Ordinator comes back.” Fen lifted the latch and they entered into a small room, where the Archcanon, Tholer Saryoni, sat behind his desk. Julan shut the door on the noise, putting them in silence, watching Saryoni as he lowered the quill he had been writing with.

“Fen,” he said after a moment. “Thank you for coming.”

“What are you playing at?” Julan said suddenly. “You let the Ordinators persecute her, then you invite her in here and act like it’s fine?”

“I understand your anger completely,” Saryoni said amicably. “Please sit down. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” Fen said, shooting Julan a sidelong glare.

“Very well. Now, Fen, you know the Temple’s doctrine on the Nerevarine. Perhaps it is time to change that doctrine.”

“High time,” Fen replied coolly. She had not forgotten the capture of Mehra Milo and her imprisonment in the Ministry of Truth.

“The Temple must protect the people from false doctrines. And your association with Imperial intelligence makes your motivations and integrity suspect. But you have been chosen Hortator and Nerevarine by the Dunmer people. And we have reached a crisis with Dagoth Ur. We can no longer defend the people against the awakened Sixth House. You and your prophecies may represent our last hope.”

“So I’m a last chance for the Temple?” Fen asked icily. “The Nerevarine’s coming was prophesized since Nerevar’s fall at Red Mountain, and you think that I should serve as a final attempt? Tell me, Archcanon, what else have you tried to defeat Dagoth Ur? Because to me, it seems like all the Tribunal have been doing is floundering in their own stolen power. Surely that isn’t the right path to take to destroy him?” The Archcanon gave Fen a long look, his jaw tight and his eyes narrowed. He set down his quill and leaned back in his high-backed chair with a sigh.

“Our situation is desperate. But I would rather have you hear the details of our situation, and the circumstances leading up to that situation, from Lord Vivec himself. He has asked to see you. Would you agree to a private meeting with him, and hear in person what he has to say?”

“Vivec wants to speak with me?” Fen repeated softly. Saryoni nodded. There was a short pause. “Yes,” Fen said finally. “I will meet with Vivec.”

“Good.” Saryoni reached into his desk and withdrew two small brass keys, which he handed to Fen. “Here are two keys: one to the private back entrance to my quarters, the other to a locked entrance to Lord Vivec’s palace. I regret that, at present, the Ordinators are not completely under my control, so, for now, I’ll ask you to avoid confrontations with them. Lord Vivec is expecting you. His Lordship is remarkably patient, but perhaps it would be better not to keep him waiting.”

Fen did not thank him, but simply stood and went to the back door, unlocking it and stepping through, Julan at her heels.

“You aren’t seriously going to go meet Vivec, are you?” Julan said the moment the door had closed.

“What?” Fen said, looking back at him.

“You believed that guarshit Saryoni was saying?! He just wants to catch you off guard! You’re prophesied to destroy the power of the false gods! Don’t be a fool, Fen, he wants you dead! And don’t forget, he’s killed you once already!”

“I think we can handle him,” Fen said coolly. Julan frowned at her.

“Well…don’t think you can leave me outside. I’m coming in with you, and if I have to cut off another fetcher’s arm, I will.”

Fen hadn’t realized how much time had passed, for the sky was now dark and the cantons had emptied. Overhead, the stars were out, Masser and Secunda, the brother moons, rising slowly to their heights. Fen didn’t bother with the Amulet of Shadows. There were no Ordinators in the back of High Fane and certainly none guarding Vivec’s palace. The palace itself was a separate canton, the very last one in the cross of Vivec. It was made up of four tiers and a single set of wide stairs leading up to the dome on the top of the canton. Silently, Fen and Julan climbed the stairs to the very top, where they had a view of the entire city spread out in the darkness below them. Wordlessly, Fen slid the second key into the lock on the door and turned it until it clicked. She closed her eyes for a moment, one hand on the handle of the door. Then, with a deep breath, she pushed it open and stepped into the Palace of Vivec.