It certainly was easier to move in fancy clothing than in steel plate armor, but Dardeh didn’t feel comfortable at all. He was sitting across the table from a pleasant-looking but very nervous, redheaded Bosmer who took one look at him and said “You’re who she picked? I hope she knows what she’s doing.”
Dardeh sighed. No, I’m not a Redguard. Yes, I’m Nord. Yes, I worship Talos. Yes, I’m Dragonborn, whatever that means. No, I don’t know how to breathe fire. Yet. Yes, I might possibly be tempted to use it on the next person who asked me these things, if I did know it.
No, I don’t really mean that.
“Well, I’m what she has to work with, so yes. I’m who she picked. How do you want to handle this?”
Malborn arched an eyebrow. “Give me whatever you can’t live without and I’ll smuggle it into the Embassy for you. Now I have to get back before I’m missed.”
Dardeh passed his armor, his weapons and arrows, a few lockpicks, and all the healing potions he had to Malborn, and watched him scurry out the door with them. Hope he doesn’t have any trouble getting that inside. It was hard enough getting my weapons back after Helgen. He got himself another drink and sat back down with it, sipping it slowly while he thought, and tried to rest.
This whole thing is beginning to tire me out. And now I have to go meet the Thalmor. Sneaking around in their Embassy? In full steel plate. And I’m as big as an elk. This should be really good.
Reluctantly, he heaved himself to his feet and left the Winking Skeever to meet Delphine and pick up the piece of paper that would get him access to the Embassy. She took everything else he had and promised to keep it all safe in her secret room in Riverwood. So that means another trek halfway across the province, he thought sourly. Then he sighed. I wonder what has become of the man Ma called “my sweet boy.” I can barely remember him. Maybe I need to find a mine and chop out some ore.
_______
Dardeh was reminded once again of how short he really was compared with a full-blooded Nord when he stood next to Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador. The top of his head barely reached the level of her eyes. Tall, even by Altmer standards, and nothing short of statuesque, she approached him and greeted him kindly, asking for his name by way of a polite “You have me at a disadvantage. I don’t believe we’ve met,” and carefully blocking his access to the rest of the room.
“Thank you!” he said, hoping he sounded sincere. “I’ve heard so much about you.” That was certainly true. He flashed her a smile, hoping that it would distract her. He’d been told that he had an attractive smile, that he should use it more often. It was worth a try.
She smiled back at him. Nope, he thought. She’s going to be polite but she’s in no way distracted. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not exactly her type.
“All good, I trust? But you were just about to introduce yourself…”
He smiled at her again. No I wasn’t.
“Ma’am?”
Malborn was speaking from just inside the room, and Elenwen turned to look at him. “We seem to have run out of the Alto wine. Do I have your permission to uncork the…”
She snapped at him. “Of course you do. I’ve told you not to bother me with such trifles!” As she was talking, Dardeh slipped past, shooting another smile in Elenwen’s direction and making the briefest of eye contact with Malborn, giving him a tiny nod, before making his way into the room.
The party itself was well-appointed, with a bard playing a flute, trays of sweets, cheeses, meats and breads laid out, and serving girls carrying trays of drinks around to the guests. Dardeh took a piece of cheese to nibble, and a goblet of wine to sip, then scanned the room. He didn’t recognize most of the people there, aside from the man he’d met just outside the Embassy, the one who had proudly told him that he was there for the drinking. He walked into the crowd, smiling and nodding at people he didn’t know and who didn’t know him, all of them behaving in that excruciatingly polite fashion used by people who didn’t actually like each other at all. In fact, he heard mutterings about Elenwen, and the Thalmor in general. It became increasingly obvious that many of these people were Jarls, or Thanes in their various courts, and only a few of them had anything good to say about any of it. He couldn’t help himself; he grinned.
Dardeh heard a familiar voice behind him and turned to find Jarl Balgruuf the Greater across the room, speaking to a younger man wearing a circlet topped with elk horns. Balgruuf met his eyes and one eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t acknowledge Dardeh’s presence in any other way. Dardeh nodded at him, then made his way back to the bar, near the Embassy entrance, and spoke to Malborn.
“I’d like a drink,” he said.
“Certainly, sir! Here you are; the finest Colovian brandy!” Malborn said loudly. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Good, you made it. Now you need to figure out a way to distract the guards somehow. Then come back to me and I’ll sneak you out the back way.”
“All right. I think I have an idea,” Dardeh said, turning back to the party guests.
Balgruuf was still in his corner, standing next to Proventus Avenicci, complaining about the Thalmor in a volume that probably was not wise. Dardeh approached him, nodding at Proventus but making it clear that he wanted Balgruuf’s attention.
“My Jarl,” he said. Look at me, talking to a Jarl just as though I belong in this company. Although I am Thane of Whiterun, so maybe I do. Life is so strange these days. “Enjoying the party?”
Balgruuf frowned. “I am not. I have no more taste for Thalmor wine than I do for Thalmor company. What is more, I’m away from the hold at a time when there are dragons and Stormcloaks on the loose. There’s every chance I’ll return to find a pile of smoking ash where Whiterun once stood.”
Dardeh nodded, then spoke quietly. “Well I’ve been trying my best where the dragons are concerned. There are several fewer than there were the last time we spoke. Which brings me to why I’m here. I need your help with something, if you’re willing.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I need you to cause a scene. Something to get everyone’s attention for just a few minutes.”
Balgruuf’s eyes twinkled, he grinned, and Dardeh had no choice but to grin back. He hadn’t expected to pique Balgruuf’s sense of mischief but it seemed as though he had. “Say no more. I was wondering what you were doing here. I’m glad to play my part.”
Dardeh headed back toward Malborn, slowly, and watched Balgruuf approach the drunk who had been sitting outside the Embassy when he arrived. He heard Balgruuf whisper “It’s for a good cause” to the man, and then start accusing him, loudly, of disrespecting the Ambassador and her Justicars. Every eye in the room snapped to the two of them; there wasn’t a chance anyone was going to notice an unknown slipping around the back side of the bar.
Dardeh grinned at Malborn. “All set.”
Malborn ushered Dardeh through the kitchens, to the chest where his things were stowed. He changed into his reassuring steel plate, armed his weapons, took a deep breath, dropped into a crouch and slipped through the door into the Embassy proper.
And then things got exciting.
There was absolutely no sneaking to be had as he moved through the Embassy. It didn’t matter how careful he was; the Thalmor, warriors and mages alike, heard him and attacked. He was grateful once again for the plate mail from Ustengrav, and for the fact that he’d remembered potions. He didn’t dare use a Shout for fear of bringing the whole Embassy to him, so he swung and blocked and used his shoulders and his bulk as a battering ram; and eventually he made his way out an upper door onto a walkway surrounding the inner courtyard. Across a short opening was the building where Elenwen had her private quarters and where, he assumed, he would find anything that Delphine might be able to use.
But the Thalmor spotted him instantly and started firing magic at him. There was only one thing he could think to do that might get him where he needed to be.
Well, here goes.
“WULD!”
Dardeh’s Shout took him to within a few paces of the door to Elenwen’s solar, quickly enough that none of the attacking Thalmor could aim at him again. He burst through the door and was immediately attacked by two more Thalmor and a man in plain clothing. None of them was particularly difficult to dispatch, but he took a fair number of burns and slashes, and was again glad for having learned some healing magic by the time he was finished with them.
Dardeh wandered as quietly as he could around the place, marveling at the number of books in it. They were everywhere: in stacks, on the numerous shelves, on the floor, and piled high on a desk in a room that was clearly an office. Behind the desk he found a chest with two journals, a key, and a note regarding the investigation into the dragons. He read the note and frowned.
“Really? They don’t know any more than we do?”
The two journals contained information on Delphine, and to his surprise, Ulfric Stormcloak. Nothing in the documents about Delphine surprised him, although he was again hard-pressed to reconcile what he’d seen of her with the idea that she was a veteran of the Blades. He’d heard about the Blades from his mother. They were practically the stuff of legend. No wonder Delphine was more than a little arrogant.
But Ulfric Stormcloak as a former Thalmor “asset?” That surprised Dardeh. He knew that Ulfric and his men had been in Markarth some twenty years ago, but he had always thought of them as Stormcloaks, not as Legionnaires. And he certainly had no idea that the Thalmor had used him. And tortured him. Or, rather, “interrogated,” according to this journal. He wasn’t fooled by the wording. No wonder Ulfric was so persistent against the Empire.
Still, interesting as the journals were, they told him nothing important about the return of the dragons.
He found a set of stairs leading down from the office to a dingy little hallway below, ending before a locked door that yielded to the key he’d found. The door opened onto a narrow landing. What he saw below him shocked him. There was blood spattered all over the floor and over a small table from what was clearly an equally bloody torturer’s rack. A Thalmor was pacing back and forth before a caged cell in which Dardeh could just make out the slumped figure of a Breton man, hanging by his wrists from metal shackles affixed to the wall.
What kind of a sick piece of work does this?
It was one thing to kill a man in battle, to protect oneself from a direct attack. But to torture them? Make them suffer, deliberately?
Sick. These people have to be taken care of, somehow.
Dardeh made his way down to the lower level and drew his bow. Inching out into the room, he crouched, barely breathing, and took aim at the Thalmor. He was just about to release when the man turned, saw Dardeh, and released a gout of magical flames. Dardeh released the arrow, not able to see whether he was still on target or not, and rolled to the side, behind a wooden pillar. Standing and drawing his swords, he rushed forward to find the Thalmor still staggered, the arrow having caught him squarely in the gut. It took only a couple of slashes to finish him off.
There was another chest on the floor, behind a table placed so as to give the interrogator a clear view of the cells. Inside, Dardeh found one more journal like the two he had found upstairs. This one discussed a man named Esbern, a former Blade who might, they thought, be their last chance to learn about the dragons.
Dardeh opened the gate of the cell. The Breton in rags lifted his head slowly, glanced at Dardeh, then slumped again. He was covered with livid bruises and dried blood, and had clearly been battered by the now-dead Thalmor.
“I’ve already told you everything. Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?”
I need to know what this all is, Dardeh thought.
“I’d like to hear it one more time,” he said. I’m sorry to put you through this, but I just really have to know.
The man confirmed what was in the journal. The Thalmor were looking for a man named Esbern. The prisoner, who gave his name as Etienne Rarnis, was from Riften and knew of an old man living in a place called the Ratway. “He matches the description of the guy they’re looking for. That’s all I know, I swear it.”
Dardeh nodded. “Thanks. Now. I’m not here to torture you, I just needed the information. Let’s get out of here.” He released a very surprised Etienne.
“Um, thank you? I think there’s a way out, over here. A trap door. I’ve seen them dumping bodies down there. But you’ll have to find the key.”
Dumping bodies? Good grief. I feel a lot less guilty about killing them, now.
Dardeh was just about to begin searching when voices from the platform above caught his attention. Two more Thalmor entered, leading a frightened-looking Malborn. Dardeh pulled out his bow and tried to find a spot within range, but the Thalmor spotted him before he could draw. The next few moments were a blur of arrows, swords, and spells, along with one very well-timed Shout that sent both Thalmor through the air onto their backs. Malborn managed to duck out of the way, Etienne just vanished somehow, and Dardeh finished one of the Thalmor with his swords.
The second stood and began to gather magic in his hand. Dardeh leapt at him, intending to knock him down again. He was just short of his intended spot; instead, his arms reached around the Thalmor’s legs and his momentum took both of them down. There was a resounding, sickening crack as the Thalmor’s head struck the stairs behind him.
Dardeh stood, staring down at the man. He’d been unfortunate enough to land exactly the wrong way, and his neck had been broken.
Dardeh searched the bodies; each of them had a key to the trap door. He opened the trap, and looked around. Etienne and Malborn had emerged from whatever shadows they’d found for cover, and they both looked none the worse for wear.
“Let’s go,” Dardeh said, dropping down ahead of the two unarmed men. At least I can be a shield of some sort.
There was a short, dirt passage ahead of them. Etienne made as if to rush ahead of Dardeh, but Dardeh grabbed him.
“No,” he said. “Don’t do that. You’re in rags and I have weapons. Besides. Listen.”
The distinctive groans and snorts of a frost troll came toward them from the far end of the passage. Dardeh drew his bow and turned to look back at the other two men.
“I know you can’t wait to get out of here,” he said, “but let me go first. I’ll see if I can get rid of the troll. If I can’t, then sure, run like Oblivion and pray.”
They edged down the corridor onto a dirt ledge, and Dardeh began unloading arrows into the troll. He was making good progress on it when Etienne ran past him and jumped down.
“Damn it!” Dardeh yelped, and followed him down into the cave, drawing his swords. The troll had its eyes on Etienne and was heading for him when Dardeh tossed it backward with Unrelenting Force, then flew to it and killed it as quickly as he could.
He stood, panting, and looked around just in time to see both Malborn and Etienne running out of the narrow cavern entrance. He sighed.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured to the empty cave.
______
He nodded at Delphine. “Right. Riften it is. I have a couple of things to do in Whiterun and then I’ll head out.” He turned to leave and then looked back at her.
“You know, the dragons are bad, but the thing is that we can kill them. I’m not so sure that the Thalmor aren’t worse. I don’t blame you for hating them.”
She nodded. “I thought you might come to understand that. Be careful in Riften. Good luck.”
Dardeh climbed the stairs, slowly. He needed a drink. He needed to rest. He needed a chance to resume the search for his sister. And he needed to see Proventus Avenicci about a house. Balgruuf had offered him a little place in Whiterun and he intended to have it.
It’ll give Lydia a place to do … whatever it is that housecarls do.