User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 19

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4th Era 100, 30th of First Seed, Pyandonea
He had never walked the streets of Pyandonea without armed guards. It reminded him when he used to stroll the streets, avenues, and drives of Aldmeris, before he became a merchant. And he had also never followed in anyone's footsteps. Ever. Even when he was a small boy, he prefered to go his own way. His father had wanted him to become an alchemist like he was, as well as many of the men in his lineage before him. Loathing getting his hands dirty (physically or metaphorically), when he was old enough he instead hired very capable men and women to do the work for him, and thus built a veritable empire of businesses under his name. The artisans and other goods-makers under his umbrella were paid enough so that he could keep them, while he got the majority of the profits. There had seemed no end to the money people would pay to have "his" designs and goods in their homes. If anyone in his organization complained, they were either subject to Illusion spells to "turn" them again, or they one day "vanished" from the island. He carried over this power to Pyandonea when he was permanently exiled from Aldmeris, though it had grown over the millenia.

Today was a day of new sensations: he had no guards (like he always had, even in his early days as a merchant), and he followed in the footsteps of a servant girl. His presence drew no bows, cheers, or salutes from the populace, but this was not to be wondered at: he was invisible. They did not know he was there, provided that they bumped into or brushed against him, neither of which happened. With the dissidents active in an unknown number of areas of the island (and uncomfortable fact for him), he wasn't taking any chances with security, even though he had sent away his guards for this trip.

Arnali headed straight for a massive dark grey building. It was so shadowy, at night it would seem to disappear altogether. He didn't recognize it, but this wasn't to be wondered at, either. The King had many perfectly capable artists and contractors to design a building without him ever needing to lift a finger. As such, often the only involvement he had with his guilds was the approving, appointing leaders utterly loyal to him, and raking in much of the profits, much like he had done all those millenia ago on Aldmeris. With another uncomfortable thought, Orgnum realized that he might not get to be a lax as he had for the past few thousand years. If guild members were killing each other over rivalries, it was his responsibility as ultimate head of guilds to set things to right, as much as he wanted it to be like before. He could tell that today would be an irritating day for self-introspection, a loathsome activity he left to priests and do-gooders.

Arnali had stopped at the last door at the top floor of the building. She fumbled with her keys, still apparently nervous of his presence, despite his urging to be otherwise. He would give her another way to relax, one that involved the two of them and a bed. Orgnum smiled at the thought of her in his bed...or any bed with him, for that matter. It had been a while since he had been with a woman as beautiful as she. He usually only slept with women once before he tired of them and getting another. Supply was not a problem; Pyandonea and the surrounding small isles were full of Sea Elves, and he was the King. Now with Arnali...he was having a hard time not to reach out and...touch her before he had investigated Markadil's flat. At last she found the right key, and slid it into the lock. The lock popped open with a rather loud "click" and she turned the handle to let them in. As he entered, he let the invisibility slip off like a cape falling to the floor.

The smell hit his nose as soon as he entered. Seemed old, already. He ran his fine hands over the walls, stopping when he reached the end table. Something had happened here, but he couldn't tell what. Breathing deeply, he rested his hands on the wood, casting a simple divination spell. The air around him shimmered. Images flitted across his mind, though too fast to catch. Keeping his eyes closed, he furrowed his eyebrows in concentration as he tried to slow them down. Only one slowed enough for him to see it clearly: Orthendar lying on this table dead, and Markadil gripping the dagger planted in the other Elf's chest.

Lifting his hands and opening his eyes, Orgnum stared at the table. Orthendar had been killed here, there was no doubt. That Markadil was the one who killed him was also of no doubt. Rivalry? That was likely. Orthendar had been much younger (34 versus 220 of Markadil's years), and had done some private assassinations rather well. It was also a widely known fact, even for the populace, that Orthendar was Markadil's replacement. Sniffing again, he turned his head to the end of the hallway, where it branched off into the rest of the appartment. He spoke without turning to the cleaning woman, who was huddled in a corner, "Follow me."

He cast another divining spell, this time directed at the air. Holding his hands before him as he walked down the hall, the events of Orthendar and Markadil played in his mind. Markadil's struggle to carry the body away. Following the images, he reached the fireplace, with it showing the recent abuse: cracks, soot, and ashes spilling from the grate. Holding out his hands once more, he recast the spell and saw Markadil stoking a raging blaze. Arranging the body in the fire, almost getting burned in the process. Dousing it with oil from the kitchen to facilitate the fire. Placing the screen so he wouldn't see the burning body. Orgnum waved his hands before him, switching to the last image: Markadil gathering an armful of bones and heading to the balcony.

Straightening, the King turned his head in that direction. Motioning for the cleaning woman to follow, he strode out to the assassin's poisoner's garden. Standing there, with Arnali behind him, he eyed the various plants present. Some were wilted, not having been watered for the past few days. Spying a quite healthy Deathbell, Orgnum asked, without turning, "Have you ever heard the legend of Deathbell?"

Her nervous reply came haltingly. "No...Not really, my Lord. All I know is that it...it hails from...Skyrim."

"In that you are right." He smiled, turning to face her. "However, according to Nordic folklore, Deathbell only grows where there has been a death. The more recent the death, the healthier the plant." His smile grew. "Look at the garden and tell me what you see, my dear."

Obliging, she turned her face from the King to the garden. Many of the plants were wilted - except the Deathbell, whose blue-purple flowers practically radiated light, and the leaves appeared to almost drip water, they were so succulent. She understood.

The King watched her. "You understand?"

She nodded.

"Dig under the plant."

She stared in horror, her eyes darting back and forth from the King and the plant.

"There is no need to be worried, Arnali," The King stated calmly. "Deathbell can only harm you if it has been eaten or distilled down into a poison."

Moving cautiously to the plant, expecting every moment the flowers or branches to lash out and get her, the cleaning woman dug under the base of the plant, not having to go far before her hands hit something long and...stick-like. Heart pounding, she fumbled with it and brought it out into the air, showing it was a leg bone. Just barely suppressing a loud shriek, she dropped it in fright and stumbled backward, landing on her rear and scooting away.

"We're going back to the palace. I will send some men to clear this place of any remains left behind." the King stated, walking back to the apartment, motioning for her to follow.

Arnali couldn't be happier to get away from here, even if that meant going back to the palace with the King. Hoisting herself up from the floor, she brushed her hands and smoothed her dress before following the King.

"I will give you a reward when we are within the palace once more." Orgnum stated, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and smiling.

* * *

As she and Orgnum approached the king's personal quarters, a pudgy man ran up, shouting for His Majesty's attention.

"My Lord! My Lord! Wait!"

She saw from her position behind him the King tense, before he turned and asking through clenched teeth, "What is it?"

Gasping, the man leaned on his knees briefly before righting himself, apparently having ran a long distance. "My...My Lord, I came here as fast as I could." He gasped again. "Your...Y-Your steed is gone!"

The King stiffened further, and she felt herself grow even more afraid than when she first saw him.

Orgnum leaned over the tired Elf and rumbled, "Where did it go?"

Now scared stiff by the King's expression, he no longer gasped and puffed, but instead stood sttraight at attention. "There were reports by some Harbor Guardsmen that it was taken by Markadil on a journey, my Lord."

Leaning back, his eyes tinged red, Orgnum asked quietly, the threat obvious in each word, "Why did you not tell me sooner?"

The man stared at the floor, not daring to look into the King's face. "I only got this information just now." he mumbled, trembling.

Orgnum's gaze smoldered as he stared at the man, before thanking him and dissmissing the Elf. Glancing over, he motioned her to follow once more, blowing out a frustrated breath. As she followed him again, she couldn't help but wonder what would happen to Markadil when he came back from whatever he was doing elsewhere. Jail? Something...else? She didn't want to think about it.

Inside the King's personal quarters, Orgnum had stopped by a magnificent bed. "Are you ready for your reward?"

She now knew what he meant by "reward." She thought it would be money or a trinket or...something. She had hoped to be innocent before marriage (thought she had no suitors), but now it seemed impossible.

The King spoke once more. "I have been with many women over the millenia, but not many as beautiful as you," he said (seemingly) truthfully. He approached and laid his hands on her forearms, leaning his head close. "I can make it so that there will be no chance for offspring in this union, if you so desire."

Resigned, Arnali stared at his chest. "Yes, please, my Lord."

He walked over to a small desk, drawing out a palm-sized bottle. It was filled with a clear blue liquid. "Drink this."

Taking the bottle in trembling fingers, she tilted it back and drank the cloyingly sweet liquid in one swallow. Coughing, she gave back the bottle as she held her hand over her mouth. Straightening, she stood before the King, who was smiling widely.

Lifting her face with a finger under her chin, he kissed her long and deep. Arnali had never felt like this before. She'd never been kissed, so she never knew what it felt like. It was wonderous. Butterflies filled her body, sending her soaring. She felt her arms wrapping around him as he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed. She was kissing him as much as he was kissing her. Everything felt wonderful.