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Mornings in Kogoruhn were never quiet. The army of servants serving the nobles crowding the stronghold filled the corridors, the watch changed, and petitioners ready to make their demands of the Lord High Councillor began to file in long before Voryn Dagoth was ready to receive them.
In fact, the head of House Dagoth was fast asleep and would remain so long past sunrise, as usual; he preferred to work until the small hours of the morning and had not been in bed long. While this caused his retainers much inconvenience, especially today, to his youngest brother, it was a boon.
Araynys had gone to bed early the previous night. Normally, he stayed up late with his brother, drawing quietly on the floor of Voryn’s study or reading his many books, but last night, he had feigned illness. Voryn, as usual, had not paid much attention, wished him well and instructed him to let him know if he needed a healer.
In the small chamber that had once been a cross between storage room and Voryn’s private library, Araynys lay in his bed, clutching the blanket in excitement as he looked up at the ceiling, painted by a local artist to resemble the moon and stars just before sunrise. A tiny window let in a pathetic ray of light, illuminating Araynys’ purple sheets and a strip of dark wall. There had been complaints when Voryn decided that Araynys should stay here, but the boy did not want to be anywhere else. This was his nest, close to his favourite living person in the world.
Even so, sometimes, it did feel small. Confined. Araynys was in dire need of variety.
There was no need to be quiet when he finally slipped out of bed to put on the tunic and breeches he had bought off some servant’s child with a gold coin, more than that child’s family earned in a month. Made from undyed linen with stains that could no longer be removed – cleaning them vigorously enough would likely make the fabric disintegrate -, they fit well enough. The clothes were loose; Araynys did not eat much, let alone do anything that would strengthen his body, and was narrow as a reed of marshmerrow. The awful fit added to the appearance of a pauper’s child and was exactly what Araynys needed.
A long, messy braid completed his disguise, with the added advantage of making him look more like the servant girls than boys. Nobody would recognize him like this, he was certain.
At last, he covered the bronze skin of his fingers in ash from the small brazier by the door, not without accidentally also smearing it all over his forehead when brushing aside a stray strand of hair. His small mirror, polished obsidian framed in brass, once his mother’s, showed a very convincing street urchin. Araynys offered his reflection a satisfied smile.
There was only one more thing to do – Araynys tied a piece of string around his waist to cinch the tunic and slipped his coin purse into the large pocket of his breeches, the bunching fabric hiding the coin-filled lump.
Urchin-Araynys opened the heavy wooden door without a thought spent on how his dirty fingers would stain everything and headed out into Voryn’s study. He made it halfway to the exit before remembering the most important step of his plan. Scolding himself for his carelessness, Araynys turned back to bow to the ash statues on the small altar near Voryn’s desk, representing their parents and grandparents.
“Please watch over me, Mama,” Araynys whispered, “I’ll bring you something nice from the market.” He placed a small soulgem he had kept for just such an occasion in the obsidian bowl where he and Voryn left offerings to their ancestors when they did not have time to visit the family’s tomb. Smiling to himself at a job well done, Araynys left the room.
***
Outside, the dark corridor with its banner-clad walls and narrow windows was empty, though Araynys could hear the voices of servants nearby. Voryn’s chambers were never guarded; a magical lock blocked anyone uninvited from entering, with rather painful consequences. Convenient for a small elf who could not afford to be seen, at least not yet.
Araynys could come and go as he pleased, of course; Voryn had very few rules for him to follow. Still, Araynys felt the need to break the one rule Voryn would never budge on – he was not allowed to leave Kogoruhn’s walls on his own. Every other ten-year-old in the stronghold got to play unattended, even his nieces and nephews who were younger than him, and Araynys had enough. He wanted to see something new, and he wanted to explore it on his own.
It did not take long for Araynys to run into the people whose voices he heard; the moment he rounded the corner, he was faced with a group of exhausted-looking servants, all of them sweaty, their clones stained, their hair covered in dust. The night shift, heading home to their accommodations in the settlement at the foot of Kogoruhn’s great steps.
A delegation of important members of House Telvanni was due to arrive today to discuss some sort of alliance with House Dagoth. Araynys knew nothing about politics and could not care less, and his knowledge of House Telvanni was limited to the fact that the wizards lived in mushrooms and didn’t like strangers. Maybe he would visit one of their strongholds one day to look at the mushroom towers, but he thought that they must be dark and smelly, like the storage rooms in the basement near the sewers where the mushrooms grew out of the walls.
The visitors were of interest for only one reason – their presence threw everything in Kogoruhn into disarray and served to distract everyone from the scrawny mer sneaking past guards who were not paying attention to begin with.
Nobody had enough energy left to care or question who he was, even though the servants’ children had no business visiting the top floor, and it was easy to hide among the elves as long as he matched their shuffling pace, no matter how much it strained his patience. Araynys wanted to run, get as far away as possible before his governess noticed his absence, to enjoy as much freedom today as he could. But only babies could not control themselves, so Araynys kept his pace slow and steady, making sure to look as tired as everyone else.
The lower floors were much the same, all sparkling clean and filled with workers who clearly had enough, though here, minor nobles mixed in with the commoners, retainers who had tasks of their own to take care of. Proudly, Araynys noticed that none of them so much as looked at him; a dirty servant child was not worthy of their attention. The guards were just as inattentive, which was just as well, the corridors here were much wider, allowing the servants to spread out and make him easier to see.
Only when he entered the stronghold’s atrium, the walls two floors tall, banners covering the walls and countless braziers lighting the hall, was there a brief moment of danger. Araynys crossed the path of a small delegation of Dwemer who Voryn happened to have met the day before, with Araynys by his side – an attempt to teach him statesmanship, probably, but their meeting had been so boring Araynys had busied himself making up things to draw later. Not to mention that half the meeting had taken place in Dwemeris, and he still struggled with the language, no matter how much his brother Uthol, who had been assigned to serve as Araynys’ history and language teacher, attempted to make him revise his vocabulary and grammar. Araynys found the language harsh and ugly, and he did not want to visit their loud, hot homes anyway.
It was a group of five who could all easily recognize him if they were to look. Four paid him as little heed as his fellow Chimer did, but the fifth, a lady who had handed him a customary gift the day before, did a double take at the sight of him. Araynys thought she was nice; she had smiled at him, at least, and the present, a mechanical guar that could walk all by itself, was exciting.
There was no denying that she knew where he was, judging by the obvious confusion at his clothing. She reached for the arm of a companion, no doubt to draw their attention and confirm what she saw, but Araynys shook his head vigorously, with pleading eyes, silently imploring her not to give him away. With a shrug, she reconsidered; whatever Araynys was up to was hardly her problem.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Araynys continued his journey and followed the servants out the massive double doors, staring at his feet to avoid being noticed by anyone else, and his day of freedom begun.
***
The terrace the doors lead to was vast and dominated by a lush garden in the centre, split in half by a wide, paved path lit with dozens of lanterns at night. Mushrooms the size of trees provided shelter from the summer sun – it was Midyear, and though the sun had barely risen, the heat was already growing oppressive. Araynys looked up at the cloudless sky, smiling cheerfully as headed to the steps leading down into the settlement. Only when the last set of Dagoth banners was behind him was he truly free, and he broke into an excited run in the direction of the market square.
It was not supposed to be a long journey. All Araynys had to do was pass the merchants’ quarter and the homes of the lesser nobles and make his way through the section of the town were all the well-off commoners lived. The market square was impossible to miss.
At least that was what it looked like when he planned the route from a high vantage point, the Dagoth family’s private rooftop garden. Sure, the road was not straight and he would have to take a few turns, but how hard could it be? Araynys had it all memorized.
Disappointingly, it turned out his memory of what the town looked like from above was not particularly useful once he entered the maze of streets and alleys that was the haphazardly built town. The pale adobe buildings, two-floor rectangles vaguely reminiscent of traditional Velothi architecture that all largely looked the same, obscured his view. They all had rooftop gardens just like the stronghold that were easy to distinguish from above, but of course Araynys could not see them from the ground.
Long gone was his excitement when, exhausted from running too much in the rising heat, he realized that he had entered the same small square for the fourth time now. It was a market, too, in a way; the buildings all housed shops at street level, but not the type of shops Araynys was interested in. Places like this he would often visit with his brother, to buy expensive fabrics and jewellery or have new clothes tailored for them. Nice, but boring.
In the centre of the square stood a fountain; a statue of a pretty young woman poured water from a large jug into a round pool surrounded by a wide ledge to sit on. With his spirits low and thirst overwhelming, Araynys sat down on the ledge to drink the water. It was clean and cool and felt like a restorative potion for his parched throat. Only when he began to feel a little ill from drinking too much too fast did he stop and turn around to take stock of his situation.
His primary urge was to sulk and cry, but he took a deep breath. Yes, he was lost, and this was not at all how he had imagined this day would go, but he had gotten out successfully, and there was still time. If anyone had followed him, they must have lost his trail by now with the chaotic route he had taken.
There were people here, some of whom glanced at him with suspicion. Everyone was dressed in nice, clean garments, dyed in bright colours and embroidered artfully. A lone servant boy had no business being here. It occurred to Araynys that someone might call the guards on him, or worse; what if someone captured him to sell him off into slavery? A servant had told him once that people did that to lone children who did not obey their parents. A story obviously designed to scare him into being a good child, he had thought then, but now he was not so sure. All the Chimer he saw seemed to glare at him.
Anxiety rising, Araynys decided it was time to pick a direction and continue his search for the market, lest he draw even more unwanted attention. An alley between two stores seemed just right – until he walked straight into a pair of chitin-clad mer guarding the back door of a lavish shop. Araynys tried to rush by, but one of them grabbed him by the collar to hold him back.
“What business does a filthy servant brat have here?” the mer demanded, his voice cold and menacing. “Looking for purses to steal? Hoping to sneak in and steal from our Master?”
Not particularly worried about the state of the tunic, Araynys tore himself free and tried to run, but the second mer blocked his path. “Explain yourself, rat. Our Master doesn’t take kindly to thieves,” he growled with a most threatening scowl.
“I’m no thief!” Araynys squeaked, voice high-pitched with fear, “I’m just lost!”
“You don’t think that’s what a thief would say?” the first guard asked. “Perhaps we should have a closer look, see what you’ve got on you. You have that guilty look on your face that says you have your pockets full of stolen gold.”
“No, please!” Araynys cried out, “I swear, I wouldn’t steal from anyone! Really! I just need to get to the market place to pick up a package for my Master!”
Servant boys ran errands all the time, did they not? Araynys felt a brief flash of pride at the quality of his excuse.
The mer snorted, but thankfully kept his hands to himself. Still, he did not move out of the way, ready to grab Araynys again if he tried to sprint away.
Before either could say anything, the door they were guarding opened, and a tall, wide mer dressed in fine turquoise silk peered out at them from a dimly lit storeroom. He looked even wealthier than the elves he had watched earlier, leading Araynys to the conclusion that he owned the shop and employed the pair of guards.
“I heard screaming,” the mer stated, looking curiously at the child before him. “Are you so bored that you’re harassing children now?”
“No, Master, but that kid looks like a thief to me,” said the first guard.
“Me too,” the second added. Neither looked very sure of themselves anymore, Araynys noticed with satisfaction. It seemed like they were in trouble now.
“A thief?” the merchant asked with a frown. “What thief would run into a pair of guards in broad daylight? Even the least talented one would make an effort to hide. You know what I think? This is someone’s escaped brat.”
Araynys’ eyes widened. Did he know? Had Voryn found out already? What if the entire town was looking for him-
“See these earrings?” he said, grabbing Araynys by the chin to turn his head and get a better look at the golden, ruby-inlaid rings dangling from Araynys’ ears. The child barely resisted the urge to bite his fingers for daring to touch him. “Lovely, expensive jewellery for a common thief. Where are your parents, girl? I’m in the market for a little finder’s reward.”
“I’m not- They were a present-” Araynys stammered.
“Grab him. We’ll pay the Watch a visit later, surely, they’re looking for a skinny little mer just like you.”
The guards reached for Araynys’ arms, but this time, he expected it, and in a moment of resourcefulness that surprised himself, Araynys dropped low to escape their hands and sprinted off into the alley, the sound of his sandals echoing off the walls.
“Want us to follow him, boss?” one of the guards asked, neither of them making a move to pursue. Not in this heat.
The merchant shook his head. “And leave my shop unguarded? Not worth it.”
***
This time, Araynys used his brain. Finding the least wealthy-looking commoner he could, he finally asked for directions – after removing the earrings and hiding them in his tunic. Knowing where to go, he found he was not far from the market, and when the sun reached its zenith, he finally reached the large square.
When the street opened up, he stood in awe for a moment. There were so many different people here; in Kogoruhn, everyone was either a servant dressed in drab linen or a noble clad in red silk. The latter all dressed to match whatever Voryn liked at a given time, turning expensive, finely crafted garments into just another uniform.
The market was the complete opposite; the peasants wore whatever they could afford, the merchants ranged from being dressed no better than them to wearing imported clothes that had travelled half the world. Most were Chimer, but he saw Dwemer and Altmer, too, along with Khajiit slaves – they did not have those in Kogoruhn, and Araynys stared in awe at a passing cat lugging a sack of grain from a cart to a nearby market stall. Their bracers glinted in the sunlight. Araynys was only vaguely aware what slavery meant, so to him, the Khajiit was mainly an exotic curiosity.
Once Araynys caught his bearings and finished watching the people around him, he remembered what he had come here to do. He wanted to try a new food, buy a gift for his mother, and purchase something for himself to remember the day by. Maybe meet some children his age – though when he neared the market entrance and saw a group dressed similarly to him, he found himself at a loss how to even speak to them, so he simply stared at them for a while, in the middle of the wide path between stalls selling various rugs and lanterns.
The stalls themselves were a wild mix of solid shacks with wooden roofs, rickety tables with bleached fabric canopies providing a bit of shadow, and vendors sitting on mats on the floor selling pottery and the like in the blazing sun with no protection but their wide-brimmed hats. Everything was cramped, as this was the most important market north of Red Mountain. Even Ashlanders sold their wares here, though they kept to themselves in one corner of the market.
Araynys walked slowly, taking in the sights, not paying attention to the people around him. And why would he not? At Kogoruhn, everyone new to get out of the way of the young Lord.
Here, nobody cared. Even if he had been dressed like he normally would, the commoners hardly knew his face. And so, it did not take long until he was knocked to the dusty ground by a caravaner leading a guar through the throngs of people.
“Get out of the way, s’wit,” he yelled when Araynys looked up at him, shocked that the mer did not even bother to ask if he was hurt. Once again on the verge of tears, he got out of the way to hide between two stacks of crates – filled, apparently, with kwama eggs that were less than fresh – and looked at his now bloody hands. Sniffling, he wiped them on his breeches to get the dust and sand off the wounds, annoyed with himself for not even bothering to bring a napkin. At least the scrapes were minor and quickly stopped bleeding, though he could do without the burning ache in his palms.
Taking a long break to calm himself, he stood leaning against the crates, breathing in the stench and slowly coming to the conclusion that he had made a mistake. The mer was right, he was a fool for standing in the way like that, not to mention that nobody here had any obligation to be nice. That was what he wanted, was it not? To not be recognized. Free.
“I have to buy a gift for Mama,” Araynys muttered to himself, took another deep breath, and squared his narrow shoulders. Time to act like he knew what he was doing.
***
His spirits much improved, Araynys soon found a stall selling something worthy of his mother. Finely woven shawls in all colours of the rainbow. The designs that adorned them were all intricate patterns representing the various insect species of Resdayn, and Araynys picked out a diaphanous purple and violet shawl with golden scarabs woven into it. The fabric resembled the wings of a beetle, and he knew his mother’s spirit would love it.
“You cannot afford that, girl,” the merchant said snidely, and it took Araynys a moment to realize she had been speaking to him. Being referred to as a girl felt much less uncomfortable than he would have thought, and he smiled up at her with benevolence, forgiving the mistake. Buying expensive things made him feel like his usual lordly self, and he forgot his servant act entirely.
“Of course I can,” he said, with the same tone he would have used had Voryn been by his side, earning himself a set of raised eyebrows. “How much is it?” he continued, pulling the coin purse from his pocket.
“Three gold coins, no haggling,” she said, crossing her arms. “I doubt you have anything but change in there.”
But Araynys did indeed have that much, grinning even wider when he pressed the three coins into her hands. She seemed torn between calling the guards on what seemed to be an obvious thief, and a profitable sale – Araynys had homed in on the most expensive shawl she had. The gold won, and she wrapped the shawl in cheap paper, handing it over with a suspicious look. “There you go, now get lost.”
“Thank you, sera,” Araynys replied, taking off with the package under one arm. Things were finally going well, and it was time to do something about the rumbling in his stomach.
***
It turned out that when it came to food, Araynys had tried too much at Kogoruhn; nothing stood out as particularly new or exciting. It occurred to him that his family was far richer than most people, and others could likely not afford to import food from all over Resdayn. No matter, food was food, and he bought a hearty saltrice pie filled with tender chunks of alit meat in a thick, savoury gravy – too simple for the Dagoth dining table. More importantly, he could eat it on the go while he looked for a drinking fountain; he had brought no waterskin, and the heat and thirst were once again getting to him.
Focused on his food, he did not pay attention to where he was going. This time, he did not end up on the floor, instead, he almost marched right into a pair of adolescent elves dressed in the earthy tones of House Telvanni standing in the middle of a wide section of the path. He changed course just in time for an evasive manoeuvre, thinking nothing of them, until he caught a snippet of the conversation they were having with a handful of other young mer, all commoners. They, too, were not dressed in the local fashion, and laughed at what the Telvanni had so say.
“-wouldn’t even let our slaves live in mud hovels like this,” one of them said, to much agreement from the group. “Those Dagoths are too busy letting those blasphemous dwarves walk all over them to care, and they clearly aren’t getting anything out of it, forcing the commoners to live in all this filth.”
Araynys stopped in his tracks, nearly choking on the last bite of pie. “You dare…” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the back of the young man.
“The inn we stay at looks like they haven’t renovated since Prophet Veloth died,” one of the commoners replied, “you wouldn’t see that in Dres lands.” His companions nodded in agreement. Araynys thought he must have guar dung for a brain.
“And yet House Indoril favours them all the time,” someone else replied, spitting on the floor. “Would that our House had such an easy time getting whatever in Oblivion we want.”
“Yes, because the Lord High Councillor-“ the second Telvanni said this with theatrical disgust, “-lets the king use him like a cheap whore. Everyone knows that’s all those dwarf-lovers have to offer. It’s certainly not their culture the king is interested in.”
“Shut your filthy mouth, spore-brain!” Araynys burst out yelling, dropping his package and raising his fists as if he stood a chance against five elves who were all at least two heads taller than him. “You’re spewing nothing but guarshit!” Of course, he was not entirely certain what a whore was, but he knew by the tone of disgust that it had to be a nasty insult.
The whole group turned to him, bursting into laughter at the scrawny mer before them.
“I think you’re too young for your lord to fuck you, kid, no need to get jealous,” one of the Telvanni teased, “now leave your betters alone and go kiss some Dagoth feet, maybe they’ll even feed you someday!”
“You don’t even live in real houses!” Araynys replied, struggling to come up with a worthy, insulting reply. “Your whole House doesn’t know how walls work!”
One of the Dres boys laughed at this, earning himself a shock spell that just missed his feet.
“No need to get so worked up,” he said, taking a few steps backward, smile gone as he seemed to remember how fond Telvanni were of murdering each other. “That’s just some stupid kid, ignore-“ he looked at Araynys, pausing for a moment, “her? Who cares what some Dagoth peasant has to say.”
“This is getting tedious,” one of his friends said, throwing the Telvanni a weary look. “Come, let’s get some food, I’m starving.”
In a sudden rush, they turned away, not without throwing the young wizards suspicious looks over their shoulders, and vanished into the crowd.
“Not even Dres like you,” Araynys said, “aren’t you their prime customers because you’re too lazy to catch your own slaves?”
“What do you know about slaves, s’wit? You wish you could afford a single sick old cat,” one of the youths spat. Now that Araynys got a good look at the pair, they looked very much like twins, from their orange hair to their drooping ears. Even their cruel smiles were the same.
“We don’t need cats, we have altmer,” Araynys bragged, forgetting entirely how ridiculous he must sound to the strangers. Not to mention that the Altmer population at Kogoruhn was one person, who had not been bought at a slave market, but served his family as punishment for some crime or other. Voryn prided himself on all his slaves being mer, most of them criminal Chimer. Araynys did not know why it mattered, but he thought it had to.
“Sure you do, pipsqueak, now leave us alone,” the mer on the left said, and both snorted.
“A servant boy with an Altmer slave,” his brother added, “and I’m some Aedra-loving human.”
“What will you do if I don’t leave, murder me?” Araynys taunted recklessly. “That’s all you do, right? Because you’re too stupid to talk to each other.”
“Maybe we should,” the twin on the right said, and with one quick step, he was behind Araynys, forcing his arms behind his back. The other cackled as Araynys went pale, realizing that things were about to get painful.
“Or maybe we should just take your tongue, so you can stop being a pest,” the other added, pulling a dagger from a sheath at his waist. “Don’t need magic to teach you a lesson, right, brother?”
Araynys’ arms were twisted too far, and he shrieked in pain and fear. “Let me go!” he demanded, struggling against the young man’s iron grip, “you can’t hurt people in the street here! The guards will get you!”
“Nobody gives a damn about you, peasant,” the mer with the knife said, and leaned in, blade a few inches from Araynys’ cheek. “I could take your ears, your eyes, your tongue, and all the guards would do is watch. You’re worthless. Back home I would drown you in the Bay for daring to speak to us.”
He was not wrong; a crowd began to form around them, leaving a good distance as they watched the scene unfold. Nobody wanted to interfere with obviously volatile Telvanni, lest they became the target of some deadly spell.
Araynys was shoved forward, just enough for the blade to nick his skin, crying out again when he felt the blood run down his cheek and neck. “Stop! Please!” he yelled, struggling more, but there was no getting away from the pair.
“A shame, you have such a pretty face,” the one before him said, “but maybe some nice scars will add to it?”
“You should try it, brother.”
“Yes, I think I will,” the Telvanni said, resting the blade against Araynys’ skin, “I should try carving our symbol into you,” he continued, drawing blood again, laughing as Araynys’ eyes filled with tears. “Teach you some manners, s’wit. Too bad I’m a terrible artist…”
He began dragging the knife, but before he could finish the first line, something happened inside Araynys. Fear, anger, they seemed to fill him with heat, heat so unbearable it had to get out-
A flash of fire burst forth from where Araynys stood, a flame so violent it engulfed the Telvanni instantly – and proceeded to burn them to cinders before anyone could even think of trying to put out the fire. Araynys stared at the pile of ash and charred bone before him, breathed in the stench of burned flesh – and screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
In his study, a Voryn still dressed in a linen shift and dressing gown silently berated himself for every decision he had made over the course of the last six years. Araynys was gone without a trace, right under his nose, on the busiest day of the year, and only the Three knew who had him, because surely, by now the boy must have taken captive. If he had not been kidnapped under his nose to begin with.
All Voryn wanted to do was go and search for the boy himself, but what if this was a ploy to get him out of the stronghold? What if the Telvanni delegation who acted so polite and ready for an alliance was behind this and would take down the stronghold from the inside the moment its most powerful defender was gone?
It pained him to trust his guards in this. Araynys had been gone for over six hours now and the only person who had seen him was a Dwemer ambassador who had no clue where he might have gone to, proving that every single guard in Kogoruhn was a useless waste of coin.
“My Lord,” a breathless servant bursting in through the open door interrupted Voryn’s spiralling thoughts. “We found your brother!”
Voryn stopped dead in his tracks; he had barely realized he was pacing in circles in the first place as he waited for news.
“Where?” he demanded, forcing himself not to shake the messenger to make him spit it out faster. “Who in Oblivion dares to capture my brother?”
The poor mer, a rather young woman who was clearly not used to angry nobility, shook like a leaf. “I-it’s the Watch, my Lord, they have him locked in a cell-“
“In a cell?!” Voryn grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her after all. “You want me to believe that the Watch imprisoned Lord Araynys?”
“Please, my Lord, it’s true, they told the guard captain who sent me, there’s trouble with the Telvanni too, they asked for you to come see them immediately!”
She looked ready to cry by the time he let her go – a very small and very quiet part of him felt sorry for scaring her and no doubt leaving claw marks in her skin. It was overshadowed by hatred for the wizards bubbling up in his chest. Trouble with the Telvanni? So they did have something to do with this.
“Lead the way,” he demanded, and the girl hurried ahead.
***
The scene that awaited Voryn when he opened the door to the Council Chamber was not what he expected at all. The captains of the guard and the Watch stood awkwardly by the wall of the large room as two of the guests tried to calm down a woman screaming and crying hysterically. The fourth Telvanni stood beside them, rigid and still as a statue, staring through Voryn as he entered the room.
Perplexed by the sight, he forgot about his anger as he addressed the two Dagoth women in the room. “What in the name of Mephala happened?”
“My Lord,” the captain of the Watch said, “there was a … Scuffle between Lord Araynys and-“
“That brat killed my sons!” the woman shrieked, “set them on fire while your useless guards watched!”
“My brother,” Voryn said, feeling cold fury wash over him, “is no mage. If this is a lie to force my House to agree to your terms…”
“A lie? A lie?” She freed herself from the gentle hold of her companions, raised her hands and threw a bolt of ice at Voryn, who casually summoned a shield that neutralized the spell entirely.
“Lord Araynys has not cast a single spell in his life,” he continued calmly, unfazed by her feeble attack. Telvanni liked to forget that House Dagoth had produced generations of powerful mages who could easily keep pace with them. “What proof do you have?”
“Uhm,” the captain of the Watch said, struggling notably to meet Voryn’s harsh gaze. “She is telling the truth, my Lord.”
“What?!”
“The young Lord, he, well, according to eye witnesses at the scene, the Telvanni boys threatened and attacked him, and suddenly they burst into flame.” Judging from the way she tried to shrink herself, she seemed to expect him to punish her for this mess. Voryn felt the urge, certainly.
“’They suddenly burst into flame’? Perhaps they set themselves on fire trying to attack him.” He laughed without a trace of humour and whirled around to cross the distance between himself and the furious mother.
“How do your tenets go? Murdering your opponents is the traditional way to settle disputes, and whoever survives is right? If this is really what happened, my brother won that dispute,” he hissed, “and your sons should not have picked a fight with him.”
Perhaps it was the truth of his words, or perhaps the callousness of them in the face of a parent’s grief, either way, the woman stopped crying, staring at him with wide, hate-filled eyes instead.
“We extend a hand to you,” one of the unaffected Telvanni – Voryn assumed the mer still staring off into space was the shocked father – said, “and this is how you repay our offer. House Dagoth will continue to stand alone, Lord High Councillor. Just wait until the Hortator grows weak, and you’ll pay the price for your insolence.”
“Threats against me, insulting the Hortator? After two members of your House attacked my brother? It is you who should watch your tongue,” Voryn replied, unimpressed. “We do not stand alone, ambassador, and we will certainly not be defeated by a handful of isolationist wizards who could not work together if their lives depended on it. I suggest you leave my lands immediately.”
As the wizards walked past him, he could not help himself. “Ah, where are my manners? You will of course be handed the ashes first, lest they pollute our soil…”
The silent man whimpered once but said nothing.
***
The prison of the Watch was close to the stronghold, and half an hour later, Voryn stood in a dark, damp dungeon, seething, ignoring the pleas for freedom coming from an assortment of prisoners begging to be let go. Sparsely illuminated, reeking of filth, the dungeon would have terrified an adult, but a child?
Araynys had been thrown into a cell like any other common criminal, and Voryn had to swallow his anger at whoever dared to imprison his brother here instead of returning him to Kogoruhn, even after the boy admitted who he was. They had been informed that he had gone missing!
His impatience reached its boiling point by the time a meek-looking guard unlocked the door, bowed once and hurried off; normally, his duty included watching prisoner and visitor talk, but the Lord High Councillor could do whatever he wished to his own family and would not be supervised.
The cell had no light of its own, so Voryn summoned one; it revealed a pitiful heap of rags shivering in a corner that turned out to be Araynys, looking even younger than usual, completely lost, and in shock. Voryn stood in the door, taking in the sight of Araynys’ bloody cheek, the dirty clothes he must have stolen somewhere, and the elven ash that coated him from head to toe. He wanted to be furious, he really did, as it was obvious by now that Araynys had chosen to sneak out only to get in trouble, but the child looked so heartbreakingly wretched he could not maintain his anger.
With a sigh, Voryn entered the cell and sat down on the floor beside his brother, noting with distaste that the cell had not been cleaned in a while. He would have to have his robes incinerated after this. Just like the Telvanni. Voryn suppressed a snort. S’wits.
“Voryn,” Araynys said quietly, voice hoarse from crying. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I don’t know what happened.”
Voryn laid his head on Araynys’ shoulder, and the child winced. He withdrew his hand. “Who hurt you? Those Telvanni fools, or some s’wit of a guard?”
“The Telvanni,” Araynys whispered. “A lot of people watched, Voryn, but they didn’t want to help me.”
“The people around you were commoners, Araynys, without a drop of magic in their blood,” Voryn replied, swallowing his anger at the thought. “They were smart enough not to get in the crossfire.”
“But…” Araynys’ eyes filled with tears again. The ash on his face was streaked already, and Voryn felt his heart ache at the thought of his little brother sobbing alone in a dark, stinking cell.
“A good thing too, or you might have killed people who matter to our house,” Voryn continued. “You know the Telvanni believe that killing to resolve a fight is perfectly fair, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Araynys sniffled, tears once more flowing down his cheeks, and Voryn spread his arms for a hug. His growth spurt still a few years off, Araynys fit easily into his lap, and moments later, he clung to Voryn like a scrib to a rock, impossible to pry off.
“Explain to me what happened. Ah, and start at the beginning. How did you even come to be at the market square?”
Haltingly, guilt colouring every syllable, Araynys told him about his disguise, hiding in the crowd, getting lost, and wanting to buy a gift for their mother’s altar. He scolded himself for being such a careless fool when he realized that the gift must have gone up in flames too, and it took a moment to calm him down enough to describe the encounter with the Telvanni.
“So, all this happened because you tried to defend my honour?” Voryn asked, smiling down at Araynys, who had his face buried in his robes and could not see. As reckless as it was, he found the idea rather touching, even if he could not care less what the common rabble thought of his relationship with Nerevar or how he chose to conduct himself.
“Mhm,” Araynys replied. “But how did I do that? I didn’t want to burn them. I promise. I didn’t want to hurt them at all, I was just scared!”
Gently stroking his head, Voryn explained. “We all believed you can’t use magic, as you know, and there was nothing wrong with that. I think we were wrong. I think in reality you are a very strong destruction mage; you simply had no reason to show it before. Maybe that’s the only school of magic you’ll ever be able to use, but it’s certainly a powerful one. It’s not unheard of for something like this to happen when a young mage is in danger, and they were certainly threatening you.”
“I don’t want to be a mage!” Araynys replied forcefully. “Gilvoth isn’t a mage either, you can’t make me.”
Voryn snorted. “Gilvoth was born with no magical talent, no doubt thanks to his father, but you’re clearly different. That’s nothing you can chose, and it’s nothing anyone can make you be, you just are a mage like you are a Chimer. Now that we know you have power, you have to learn to control it, whether you like it or not.”
“But I want to be an artist!” Araynys insisted, sitting up so he could look Voryn in the eyes. “I don’t want to do mage training and sparring and all that!”
“I remember a little boy, not too long ago, who told me how much he wanted to cast spells like me. And how sad he was that he cannot. Sounds familiar?”
Araynys pouted in response.
“You have six centuries ahead of you, Araynys. Yes, some of your many, many years will be spent on training, but it’s enough if you learn how to control your magic; you don’t have to become a scholar of the arcane. You can still be an artist. I’d be a s’wit if I kept you from doing that, you’re already more skilled than many who are a hundred years your senior.”
He smiled reassuringly, and Araynys seemed to relax a little.
“Does that mean you’re not angry at me?” he asked.
“No. I’m not angry at you for defending yourself and killing those boys-“ Araynys’ face scrunched up in shame, “-but you did cost us a potential ally. We will make do with the Dwemer, and Lord Nerevar won’t let any harm befall House Dagoth, but if nothing else, we lost a lot of income and access to valuable resources.”
“I’m sorry,” Araynys mumbled. “I didn’t know they’re important.”
“Even worse,” Voryn ignored him and continued, “you frightened me by running away. We could have visited the market together, Araynys, there was no need to worry me like this. I thought someone had taken you, or that you got seriously hurt, and for what? A gift for mother and a few hours of excitement?”
“I wanted…” Araynys’ voice trailed off. “I don’t know.”
“You wanted to feel grown-up and independent, didn’t you? And you did it in the worst way possible. You could have been taken, Araynys, sold into slavery or worse. Perhaps those Telvanni would have killed you if you had not done it first. You know how heartbroken I would have been? Our brothers? Mother’s spirit? Even Lord Nerevar would miss you.”
As proud as Voryn secretly felt of his brother for the display of power, first and foremost, he was disappointed. Not just in his brother, but himself, too.
“I’m really sorry,” Araynys said, and the tears came back once more. “I didn’t mean to do all that, I promise!”
“I forgive you, Araynys, children do impulsive things. But you understand that you will be punished, right? I will ask Uthol to train you to use your magic safely.”
“No! Uthol can be so mean!” Araynys protested. “I don’t like his lessons!”
“That is the point, brother. Besides I don’t have time, and I’m not sending you off to someone like Odros who will immediately let you do whatever you want the moment you put on a sad face.” Voryn frowned. That’s what usually worked on him as well, and it had gotten them precisely where they were at this very moment. In all likelihood, Araynys was the most spoiled child on Vvardenfell.
“But before we do any of that, I need to get you home and have a healer fix your face. I don’t want you to have an ugly scar for the rest of your life.”
Araynys touched his cheek – swollen and inflamed by now with all that ash and dirt on his face – and his eyes went wide. “No, I don’t want a scar.”
“Good.” Voryn stood up. With a wave of his hand, the long chain tying Araynys’ leg to the wall fell off. Araynys thanked him and yawned, and Voryn gathered him up in his arms. Casting your first spell was certainly tiring, and Araynys soon fell asleep, thoroughly spent from the explosion of magicka it must have cost to incinerate two people on the spot. It was a miracle that his brother had been awake enough to talk to him, all things considered.
Before they even left the prison, Voryn’s mind turned to possible solutions to the diplomatic nightmare Araynys had caused – but first, he’d have to recall any Dagoths in Telvanni lands currently working to build an alliance that was now extremely unlike to happen at any point in the future, before they all got themselves killed.
Voryn sighed.