For my brother''s sake, the mission entrusted by the Duchess had to be done.
I prepared myself for the journey, letting aside any planning; at dusk, under the soft and dense rain of delicate spider threads, that leisurely fell from the old poplars guarding the secret exit from the Sanctuary, like the ashes sprinkled from a funerary urn, I emerged into the narrow valley now bathed in the dying sun''s light.
I slipped silently past the ancient, moss-covered walls of Cheydinhal and glanced nostalgically at the gate through which we had first entered the city, then continued my way to the ducal stables near the town. Patiently, I waited there until nightfall, and then, walking stealthily, I crept into one of the barns. I chose a bay horse and, after caressing and calming it with whispered words and mostly with my gaze, I mounted and set off at a gallop, leaving behind the two soldiers who just woke up and stared in astonishment as I rushed like a shadow through the open gate. I galloped for hours on the Blue Road under Secunda''s faint light, and when dawn began to flame the horizon, Corbala River was already behind me. I let my lathered steed trot; soon, a sparse forest appeared on the left. There, I pulled up and rested until noon, then resumed my journey, always heading south at a steady gait, lost in thought about my mission.
I was worried... I already knew I would have to deal with the swamp people in their own realm, a matter that unsettled me deeply; as a city girl, I had never even seen a marsh. Without a doubt, the narrow path leading to the Baron''s fortress was being watched and patrolled thoroughly. In such lands, any stranger is met with suspicion, and eventually, hatred. So, it was to be expected that, even if I managed to slip past the outer sentries and guards, the people living in the village surrounding the fort would question me and distrust my presence. On the other hand, I couldn''t imagine how I''d manage to sneak into the keep itself—surely it was heavily guarded, especially considering the border zone and the recent war.
And above all, the swamp... Depending on the situation, the swamp is either a terrible enemy or an invaluable ally. For newcomers—specifically for aggressors—the marsh is a dangerous foe; it would slow their movements, sicken them, and decimate their ranks. Or lead them straight into the hands of the patrol!
I tried to push all my concerns aside, repeating in my mind: ''I shall not think of these now; I''ll worry about them later.'' Over and over again, until—bit by bit—my worries eased, and I continued my journey a little more at ease.
After crossing the bridge arching over the muddy waters of the Silverfish River, I dismounted and unsaddled the horse, removing any trace of its belonging. Then, I let it go free a bit further from the Yellow Road. The animal began to peacefully graze the lush grass on the riverbank, and I plunged into the dense forest over which the shadows of dusk were starting to fall.
I stopped by an old and thick tree, so ancient that it seemed a true patriarch of the forest, and changed my clothes, leaving all the things I had brought in one of the deep, moss-filled hollows that furrowed the tree trunk.
The path to Fire Moth, the baron''s residence, stretched ahead of me, cleared and well-maintained, generally following the gentle course of the river, which allowed me to advance easily almost the entire night under Masser and Secunda''s light. The forest rustled under the breeze from the east, which, after a while, began to carry the pungent scents of the swamps. I stopped by the riverbank and muddied my face and the worn clothes I wore, then tied up my hair and put on the specially prepared wig, previously sprinkled with sand taken from the riverbed.
When dawn began to break and the swamp mists ahead of me started to rise like a shadowy wall, I left the road and looked for a resting place among the trees, which were now different, filled with the abundant vegetation of the swamp, with branches painfully contorted towards the light, towards the sky that seemed so far away in this misty land at any season. I quickly consumed the provisions I had brought with me, and then, wrapped in my cloak, I slept until noon, when I resumed my journey towards Fire Moth. More cautiously and trying to walk as painfully as possible, as something was wrong with one of my legs.
Not long after, I spotted a wooden guard tower overlooking the road, and at the top of it was an archer observing the surroundings. Two soldiers were playing dice at the base of that tower and, after giving me indifferent glances, resumed their game. I went straight to them and, with a sad voice, asked for some food... One of them, the younger one, cursed and picked up a stone from the ground, but the other restrained his hand and asked me to come closer.
He took a piece of bread from his bag and offered it to me. I approached shyly and with a limping step, adopting a pained expression, contorting my mouth, and crossing my eyes; I grabbed the piece of bread and began to bite into it like an animal, swallowing large chunks almost without chewing. I sat on the ground and continued to eat, staring at them all the while.
The older one seemed to be a seasoned soldier, a veteran of the endless battles from this uncertain frontier, while the younger one appeared to be a novice in arms, as it seemed to me. His hands were soft, and the typical calluses of those who have used weapons for many years were not present.
I studied their weapons: a heavy club, a short spear, and a dagger... Ah, and each had a blowpipe for poisoned darts, as is common among the swamp people! All were in excellent condition.
Their armor was worn and not even identical; only the archer in the watchtower seemed better equipped in this regard.
While I was eating, the older one, the one who had given me alms, asked what I was doing in those parts. I started laughing foolishly and told him I wanted to get married and was looking for a husband. The younger one burst into laughter, but the older one looked at me with pity and shook his head, saying:
"War... When will all this end?"
I fixed my gaze into his eyes and I could read fatigue and sadness in his soul, maybe even pity for me; there was something else too; his deep memory revealed a little girl with short blonde hair lying full of blood and with closed eyes on the side of a dusty road—and a boy which was crying near her tormented body...
I forced myself and began to shed tears while asking him if I could join them on their way back to Fire Moth when their guard duty ended, saying that I was afraid of the swamp beasts. He nodded and told me to sit a bit further from the watchtower. I pretended to sleep while they resumed their activity; well, all soldiers worldwide have the habit of endlessly playing dice in their spare time, but these two had something special that made me think. They didn''t drink like all mercenaries do in similar situations... I thought that perhaps the discipline imposed by the baron was something extraordinary since soldiers in a remote post from an area without particular dangers did not do what all soldiers do in similar situations...
Toward evening, a group of merchants, accompanied by their servants and pack animals, appeared in the area. They were met with a thorough and conscientious check, after which, having proven their intentions, they were allowed to continue toward the baron''s fortress.
Not long after, from the opposite direction, from Fire Moth, an impressive column of soldiers appeared; all were clothed in dirty and tattered armor, yet all carried gleaming weapons in impeccable condition... In the lead, an Argonian sergeant walked proudly, his sharp eyes meticulously scanning the surroundings. The archer climbed down from the tower and, after presenting his report to the sergeant, the guard changed, three soldiers taking the place of the present ones.
The eldest soldier murmured something to the sergeant while gesturing toward me, and after casting a disdainful glance at me, the patrol''s leader nodded and signaled me to follow the column back to Fire Moth. Nearly a hundred soldiers marched in that column, a sight that left me very nervous; escaping this place after completing the double assassination would be far more difficult than I had anticipated. I had expected the worst, but this... this felt even worse than I had imagined!
Since I saw no trace of a soldier on the way back, I assumed they were scattered throughout the swamp, ensuring the narrow, plank-lined path remained under constant surveillance.
We reached the village after nightfall. The soldier who had shown me kindness handed me his bag, which still held some food, and wished me "good health". It was almost pitch dark; only here and there timid lights flickered in the windows of the surrounding houses, and somewhere ahead of me, light and noise came from an open door. It was the village tavern, where the caravan''s members who had arrived earlier were now spending the evening. I headed there and peeked inside a large room filled with the smoke from the stove where food was being cooked and the voices of those who had already started consuming the local drinks generously provided by the innkeeper, an old Argonian, and his wife.
The tavern was packed at that hour and a true spectacle in itself; the swamp people are unlike any others, with customs that might seem strange to those unfamiliar with their way of life or who have not lived among them for long.
Here, in this particular tavern, there was no usual clamor in such places and hours, and likewise, no one was playing gambling games; also, the merry girls who often frequent such places were nowhere to be seen. People were quite silent and somewhat grim while they consumed large quantities of strong spirits, and almost all smoked enormous, interestingly shaped pipes that exhaled a choking kind of fumes, filling the room with a tasty scent that really prompted dreaming. Little was said, and when the bearded, of short stature, men did speak, they used few words uttered in a harsh, guttural tone, using many words which were unknown to me, foreign to the common language spoken in the Imperial territories. There were also Argonians among them, and certainly, some of the strange linguistic elements came from their language.
An exception to the general rules, universally accepted in these places, was the behavior of the caravan members who had just arrived in the locality. The chief was a relatively old Khajiit, and among them were people of all kinds, men and women alike, including two enormous orcs with huge muscles tattooed with the most colorful and artistic tattoos I had seen until then. They all seemed terribly happy and contented, probably due to the unusual properties of the drinks they were consuming in impressive quantities, and a few of them had even started to sing some of the shameless songs I knew so bloody well from Bravil''s docks. But the leader, the old Khajiit, was alert and wide sober, observing the room with alert eyes!
I carefully observed all these while standing in the tavern door, then walked toward the fire burning in the clay stove. I did that, purposely stumbling over as many people and objects as I could to draw the innkeeper''s attention, and, after rummaging through the bag given to me by the soldier who had protected me, I began to burn, intending to roast, some big beef bones I found there. As you can easily imagine, the rather large room, already saturated with the smoke from the pipes and the meat fried for dinner, instantly filled with the unpleasant and acrid fume of the bones I was burning. The owner quickly approached me and, fixing me with a stern look, ordered me to leave immediately. I began to stutter and cry, begging him to have mercy on me, to let me warm myself by the fire and give me something to eat. But, all the while, I continued to roast the bones in the cheerful flames dancing in the hearth... The Argonian then shouted at me in irritation, and in response, I muttered some of the dirtiest curses I had heard on the docks of Bravil at him, making sure to do so in a low voice so that only he could hear. The innkeeper then grabbed my shoulder roughly and tried to throw me out of the tavern, at which point I scratched him deeply and began to scream hysterically while tears streamed down my face.
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Furious, the Argonian seized an enormous club hanging above the stove and swung it at me. I dodged easily, but immediately collapsed to the floor, as though I''d taken the full brunt of the cudgel''s blow. I began to writhe and scream even louder than before, imploring the old Khajiit in Ta''agra to help me, begging him not to let a sister of his kin be beaten by a foreigner. Surprised, he stood up at once and grabbed the innkeeper''s hand just as he was preparing to strike again.
"Let her be, master! Allow me to speak with her, I beg you," he said, at which the Argonian showed him his hand, bleeding from my scratches.
The old Khajiit smiled and remarked that such behavior was common among our kin, and that he would compensate the owner appropriately for all the trouble I''d caused. He then reached out his hand to help me up, but I shrank back in fear, crying even harder, though I didn''t forget to lock my gaze on his yellow eyes.
I saw many things in his old soul, but not a bit of compassion for me, only a spark of interest and another of curiosity, both drifting over the sea of greed that flooded the mind of this Khajiit. I instilled in his mind a vague inclination to affection, as much as the soul of this old merchant could absorb, and then, in a humble and feeble voice, I told him I was hungry and cold. He extended his hand again, and this time I took it hesitantly, keeping my eyes down and moaning softly... He led me then to the place where the caravan members were feasting and handed me a plate full of food.
This was a difficult moment for me because, while I could cry whenever I wanted and for as long as I wished, I was not hungry at all at that moment. But I forced myself, I forced myself hard, to swallow all those greasy pieces and to occasionally sip from the jug filled with a burning drink that churned my insides. I passed the test well and then I went to the Khajiit and, after kissing his hand several times, I crawled, contorting my body, towards the fire burning in the hearth.
The innkeeper glared at me with hatred from behind the counter; I smiled back impertinently at him and, careful not to be seen by others, showed him my claws... He started and wanted to come toward me, but changed his mind and continued grumbling while attending to his innkeeper duties.
Ah, these innkeepers in southern Cyrodiil are another example of greed and even wickedness in this dangerous area bordering the wild territories to the east and south. So much skooma passes through their hands, their drinks are prepared in the most vile ways possible, and sometimes they hide kidnapped children from the Empire in their cellars... Maybe someday I will tell you some terrifying stories about the secret fate of these children in the laboratories of the Dominion''s mages!
But then I just waited patiently by the fire until the caravan members had satiated their hunger and thirst, and then, when I saw them getting up to leave, I gave pleading looks to the old Khajiit. He gestured for me to follow and, with the same limping and tormented gait, I accompanied them outside into the cold and foggy night, full of the strange sounds of the swamp.
The swamp has a life of its own, a richer and more intense life than other regions, and is cunning and unforgiving to strangers who dare to confront it, especially in the dead of night. Now, when I write all this, I know many of the dangers and mysteries of the marshes, but then it was my first encounter with such a dangerous zone, and I must admit that I feared the swamp more than the entire baron''s garrison.
Especially, I was terribly worried about how I could escape the area after completing my mission... But, as usual in my life, I set aside worries for the future and focused on the present, striving to win the merchant''s favor.
He took me to their camp, which was set up right in the narrow and filthy market square of the settlement, and here the old Khajiit asked me how I had ended up in these places so far from Elsweyr. I told him I had lived with my parents in Leyawiin and that after the elves conquered and looted the city, they took me with them for a while, then abandoned me on the side of a dusty road near Bravil. I told him I had begged for a while in the big city until I was chased away and then took the road north... I also lied him that my parents had been prosperous merchants in Leyawiin and that in my childhood I had learned to dance and sing, that I was skilled in appraising things coming from both the frozen north and the sun-scorched south; in short, I listed a multitude of talents that might have piqued his interest. The old Khajiit looked at me quite suspiciously for a while but didn''t take his eyes off mine, so it wasn''t hard for me to suggest without words that it would be useful for him to integrate me into his caravan''s staff. So, in the end, he handed me a thick camel hair blanket and allowed me to sleep in the tent of his servant women.
The night passed; in the morning, the merchants set up their stalls and the locals began to come, mainly for bartering, as money was rarely in the hands of these inhabitants from the obscure fringe areas of the Empire. The merchants primarily acquired wild honey and reptile skins, so I imagined their route would continue north after they finished their business here. When the market activity became feverish because more and more locals came and haggled, I slowly moved away and, slipping carefully through the village''s narrow streets, headed towards the fortress adorning the low hill in the middle of the settlement.
Just as I had read in the library in Cheydinhal, the fort was entirely wooden, with very tall walls but not too hard to climb for an agile person moving under the spectral light of Secunda. The gates were closed and from the nearby towers, archers watched the road winding up the hillside. A ditch, not too wide but filled with water, stretched along the palisades...
Satisfied for the moment and understanding that I couldn''t do more now, I returned to the market where I tried all day to help the caravan members as much as possible. As evening approached, the day''s frantic activity subsided, and the old Khajiit beckoned me to come closer. He gave me a set of clothes somewhat suitable for me, and I must tell you it took him some time to search for them in the heavy saddlebags of the caravan. Then he ordered me to wash and change out of my rags into what he had given me. I did as he asked and then presented myself, smiling timidly, before my master. He looked at me, smiled, and told me that I no longer brought shame to our race! I lowered my eyes in shame and continued to strive to be as useful as possible while the caravan members packed up the goods and loaded them onto the horses'' saddlebags.
We spent the evening in the usual manner at the village tavern, and the night passed quietly. The next morning, we resumed our activities as we had the previous day. Now the influx of buyers was even greater because, attracted by the news of the merchants'' arrival, many lone hunters from the surrounding areas had come to trade their goods with those the caravan had brought from the south.
Around noon, I saw a richly dressed Orc woman, accompanied by two soldiers, stop in front of our stalls. Speaking the common tongue in a guttural, broken manner, she asked the old Khajiit for remedies, poisons, and other things typically sought by healers and witches.
I set aside whatever I was doing and hurried closer. While my master displayed the specific goods she requested, I asked him about the price at which we could trade some strange products just brought in by an Argonian hunter.
The old lady sensed my mind before even seeing or hearing me; she stopped examining the goods, turned abruptly, and looked me straight in the eye.
I saw deep astonishment in her gaze and felt her weak powers probing my thoughts. Immediately, I put myself on guard and summoned the sweetest look I could muster. Almost instantly, I conjured in my mind a world drenched in blood—vast battlefields where warriors of all kinds, but especially Orcs, clashed heroically. And there, towering between the blood-soaked lands and the smoke-darkened sky, I placed Malacath.
Ah, just as I had seen him in a book from my mother''s vast library—draped in furs, his muscles enormous, a massive sword gripped in his right hand. I couldn''t resist coloring his right tusks red before serving the entire vision to the elderly lady.
She visibly shuddered, her eyes flickering from astonishment to joy, then to something deeper—an almost sacred ecstasy.
"Who are you?" she asked me in the kindest voice she could muster.
"Me...? I am just my master''s humble servant, ma''am," I stammered as convincingly as I could, timidly lowering my gaze while nervously scuffing the marketplace ground with my heel.
"Ah, don''t mind her, lady! She''s just a wretched, weak-minded creature I took under my care out of pity!" the merchant said sweetly.
"I wasn''t asking you," she snapped at him. Then, grabbing my hand, she asked, "Dear child, has the Master ever spoken to you? Even in a dream?"
"Oh, merciful lady, he speaks to me every day and is very kind to me. He feeds me and lets me stay by his fire," I murmured in a low voice, looking her straight in the eyes while offering her visions pleasing to any Orc, especially related to the old and surly Malacath.
Ah, my beloved Mistress, Nocturnal, together with her dear friend, the Queen, often amuse themselves at the thought of his angry nature... They even mock him sometimes, mock him hard as only two wasps like them can, and then flee desperately, screaming, from his rage—though either of them could easily defeat or calm him at any time!
You see, the Daedra are very much like us. Sometimes, they enjoy childish games... Well, most of them do. Some, however, are truly terrifying. But if you think about it, you''ll realize there are just as many dreadful beings among mortals as well!
But, once again, I digress, and I apologize for that, my friends! Let us return to our tale and see what that lady said...
"Not your current master, but the Lord who reigns over glorious battles, richly rewarding the brave while disdainfully punishing the unworthy! Or the weak..." She laughed lightly, baring her yellowed tusks.
"Ah, Him..." I whispered as I began to tremble more and more. "Very often, ma''am, but only in dreams! Yet his harsh voice and great, blood-stained tusks frighten me so much..."
She let out a hearty laugh, then turned abruptly to the Khajiit and declared in a commanding tone, "I''ll buy her, sir! Name your price!"
The merchant scratched his head for a moment, casting her cunning glances before abruptly blurting out, "Five hundred gold coins, madam! Not a copper penny less!"
"Done! Come with me to the castle to be paid, and bring all the goods I''ve chosen!" the old Orc woman commanded.
Immediately, I feigned panic and attempted to run, wailing desperately, "But I don''t want to go...!" Only to promptly trip over a stone and sprawl into the mud...
One of the soldiers grabbed me roughly, hoisting me to my feet. I struggled helplessly against the steel arms locking me in place, but sensing his intent to grab my hair, I swiftly calmed down. It wouldn''t have been very proper for him to yank the wig off my head, now would it, my friends?
The old lady approached and brusquely shoved the soldier aside, then gently took my hand—the same hand I had scraped as hard as I could against the stone.
"Come, my dear! No one will harm you, and you will be well-fed!"
I burst into uncontrollable tears and followed her, stumbling along behind.
At the fortress, the merchant was paid with a plump pouch and left utterly satisfied, not even sparing me a glance, while my new mistress settled me in a massive, filthy chamber where dirty straw was strewn directly on the damp ground. The place reeked of sweat and mildew, and the beds—if they could even be called that—were covered with grimy, moth-eaten blankets.
"You will stay here until we get to know each other better!" she told me.
"What is your name?" she then asked.
"Ashivi, mistress!" I murmured.
"Are you a Khajiit?" she asked, clearly surprised.
"Yes, ma''am," I replied, pretending to be embarrassed as large tears rolled down my cheeks.
"But that is something special... then you must be one of those Ohmes, so rare these days! Where did you spend your childhood?" she inquired, speaking such broken Ta''agra—littered with foreign words—that I could barely understand her. At the same time, she was eyeing me shrewdly...
"In Leyawiin, madam. And my parents were merchants!" I replied in the clearest, most melodic Ta''agra I could muster.
She was visibly pleased; her broad face lit up with the satisfaction of knowing she had not wasted so much gold in vain.
"I am the mother of Baron Ivanovic!" she proclaimed. "And at the same time, the Wise Woman of this blessed place, this fortress filled with worthy warriors! Perhaps, using my great powers, I can heal a wretched, weak-minded creature like you. But you will serve me, and you will do only as I command!"
With that, she turned and walked away majestically, leaving me alone for the moment.
I lay down on one of the filthy beds in that far less inviting room—less inviting, even, than the ducal stables in Cheydinhal—and, for the first time in many weeks, I felt calm. Content.
Somehow, I was beginning to sense that our Mother would not disapprove of my actions. The caravan''s arrival in the area at precisely the right moment, the ease with which I had infiltrated its ranks, the way I had deftly maneuvered the Fire Moth Wise Woman''s wild imagination, the swiftness with which I had entered the fortress—now even as one of its maids—all these things made my future seem a little less grim than it had before.
My thoughts began to race quickly, and I was greatly astonished when I realized that maybe I was stepping onto a path destined for me long before I was born...