Challenges

Once back on the street, Saber knew that Eiryn must still in Balmora, considering Caius looked as though the one vein in his forehead was about to burst when asked about her. He’d never seen the man so angry, and Saber had taken too often delight in provoking the man.
Saber smiled to himself. He took guilty pleasure knowing Caius was human after all, and his reaction to mentioning the young Breton also seemed an intriguing mystery. That was no typical reaction of a guildmaster concerned for a member. No, there was something else. Perhaps they were lovers, he mused. Somehow the idea of the two of them together seemed very wrong, and not just because of the age difference. Why, he was old enough to be her father!
The thief paused, looked back over his shoulder to the square home of the spymaster. If they were related, that would explain why Caius was being so protective, but they looked nothing like one another. And Eiryn said she was Breton. She looked nothing like an Imperial. They were more stout, with wider faces, wide-set eyes, and thinner lips. Eiryn looked more Breton with the lighter frame, the large eyes, and curving mouth…
Perhaps Caius wanted Eiryn, and the feelings were not reciprocated? Again, the idea was rather abhorrent. Although Saber knew her only for the one night, nothing in her manner indicated she faced an enamored guildmaster, and somehow he doubted she’d tolerate that from any man. Still, the reaction the spymaster had might be more personal and only directed to Saber. That idea provoked a wave of anger. Saber knew Caius hated him, and had treated him with distain the moment they met. The cool indifference soon turned into open loathing, and the thief had provoked the man more than once. Still…nothing revealed why Caius held such derision for the Dunmer. Hadn’t he fulfilled every stupid duty set to him? Hadn’t he followed the ridiculous orders up until the past week?
No longer wishing to waste further endeavor on this mystery, Saber made his way to the South Wall to finish some business there. Thoughts continued to drift towards the young Breton, who he had found to be quite remarkable and intriguing.
Friendlier than most of the locals, she was also intelligent and remarkably quick witted. He could sense she held doubts of herself. Nothing outside of her own misgivings seemed to indicate she was incompetent and Saber suspected she had potential if she could overcome her own uncertainties.
The evening spent talking over drinks was one of the most pleasant evenings he had since coming to this gods-forsaken land. She wasn’t some of the women adventurers who seemed to need to prove themselves against men, nor did she primp herself with false vanity. She was also exotic to his standards.
Shorter than most women, her stature was balanced by the slim, athletic figure she carried with grace. Her hair was a mane of auburn brown, falling to the middle of her back in amazing silken waves once freed from the imprisoning braid.
She had a very young face for her age, with a small curving mouth, lips almost pouty. And marvelous and expressive eyes of deep green flecked with brown-
Chuckling to himself, Saber paused mid stride to recognize how distracted he’d become. Yes indeed, Eiryn was someone he wanted by his side for a time while traveling through this foreign country. With her considerable knowledge of the people and culture, she was clearly the best choice to provide him help with locals as well as being a wellspring of information. She was very forward when it came to her opinions as well, refusing to hold back on important matters. The night of their little talk had certainly won him over, and wanting to know her better.
Eiryn was the one who taken the initiative that night, despite all his bravado, and he couldn’t have been more pleased. It was an enjoyable change to have a woman take command, and one who clearly knew what she wanted! She had perhaps a bit too much to drink, he mused, but her interest in him was clear enough when she was sober. He even tried to back out of consideration for her, but found her too demanding, too insistent-
Again, a smile touched his mouth in memory of that night. Such affections from a woman like that could keep a man warm all winter! He was delighted when she asked him to come to Balmora with her, but knew his needed to provoke the spymaster in this petty game he played. He couldn’t challenge Caius openly, but the self-righteous indifference the old man had towards him was not easily forgiven. He might be like this with all his so-called operatives, but somehow the Dunmer had doubts on that. No, the distain was for him alone, and clearly not Eiryn. No, Eiryn was special to him, even to the point of breaking his controlled temper.
Once Saber reached the South Wall, he entered the ‘poor man’s pub’ with a warm greeting from familiar faces. He’d come as often as Caius allowed him between ‘orders’, and now had a place of respite.
“Why…if it isn’t Saber himself come back from adventuring!” A loud woman’s voice laughed over the usual raucous of the pub. Several faces turned to see his arrival, sharing welcoming smiles and urging for him to sit with them to drink.
Tossing his pack to Master Phane, the barkeep, Saber settled himself amid the strange variety of patrons. The woman who greeted him was a tall Nord, with long blond hair most of which was tied back from her flawless face and nearly white skin. Brilliant blue eyes sparkled back the torch glow, and her rosy mouth grinned widely. She moved behind him, wrapped arms around his neck to lean her lips down against a sensitive ear.
“Habasi has been wondering about a little item you promised her…” She purred.
Saber grinned, feeling his nerves practically tingle in response. “Does she doubt me?” He purred back, enjoying the game. He slipped a small key he’d snatched from a local noble to a room the thieve’ guild master had some interest in. The Nord woman took the key, brushing lips against his ear to tease him.
A cat-like Khajiit hissed at the Nord to get out of the way, bringing a tray of drinks for everyone. Chirranirr squirmed between the bodies to plant herself next to Saber, baring teeth in a semblance of a smile. Her whiskers bristled, ears twitched. The tawny strips of her coat were soft against him as she leaned forward. “And what of my prrresent?” She spoke with a half-purr, half rasp in her voice. A paw trailed down Saber’s arm, claws raking skin ever so lightly. “You prrromised.”
“Ah dear Chirranirr...” He smiled his most charming at her. “I have been amiss in my attentions.” Reaching up he moved as though he was to scratch behind her ear, and she purred loudly before he even touched the mottled brown fur. Instead, his fingers moved as if pulling something from said ear, and revealed an expensive ring he’d stolen off a cousin of hers in Suran. “Khinjarsi sends her regards.” He chuckled
It was a magical ring the cousin had stolen out of spite years ago, and returning a favor to the young Khajiit, Saber found the bauble and give it to its owner. The cat-woman made an odd rumble sound in her throat, grabbing the ring to slide it on a thick ‘finger’ of her paw. “Saberrr is my trrruest frrriend!” She purred, throwing arms around his neck to rub her face against his.
He laughed, patting her arm to release her tight grip. Someone handed him a cup of Matze, a strong beer he’d grown accustomed to. The young Woodelf sitting across from him seemed amused by the others’ antics. “Word has it, you’ve met Aengoth the Jeweler, and did that Redoran Job for him.”
Saber sipped his drink, and pretended to know nothing about he spoke of. “Do thieves always boast of the jobs they do?” He was curious about the customs here.
The Woodelf winked, “And some even boast to jobs they don’t.”
“Foolish.” Saber shook his head, taking another long drink from his cup. “Why boast when the crime trail can be led back to you? And you’re asking me if I stole the Redoran master helm off one of the councilors of Morrowind? Are you mad?” He cast a smug grin at the Bosmer, “Do you have idea how difficult it is to sneak into the Arobar estate to take the master helm under the very nose of Sera Arobar? Doing something like that could get one killed.”
“Aengoth has been wanting that job done for months.” The elf laughed, knowing the truth of the matter. For a Bosmer, he was short even by their standards. Blond hair was tied back and up from his heart-shaped face, with a jeweled earring to dangle from one of pointed ears, and three gold rings hung off the other. Dark brown eyes stared out to the world with casual indifference, but Saber knew better. The elf was always aware of what went around him, eager to pick a pocket, or snatch a valuable if it lay within reach.
Chirranirr sat close against him, listening to their play of words. Her yellow-gold eyes blinked slowly in pacification. “Habasi says you are promoted to Captain?”
Saber shrugged, talking into his cup as he took another drink. “Did she? I don’t pay attention.”
The handful of thieves around him laughed, already knowing his opinion when it came to rank. He’d already made captain when most were still in the early ranks of the guild. “Vanity and trouble.” He often told them, preferring to remain anonymous in what he did.
It was all foolishness. Even this obtaining of position Saber held little regard for, being that it served no other purpose than conceit to guild members to further their bragging rights and to what end? To an Imperial jail cell? His only reason for even joining the guild was the side benefit of having bounties paid off should one get caught.
Even with Eiryn’s talk of challenges, she held more regard for the actual daring of skill, than actual rank. He sensed that in her immediately. Warming with the memory of the young Breton, Saber settled back in his chair to listen to the bragging game.
They began sharing their own stories of conquest with thinly veiled boasting and much exaggeration. It was a pleasant game, Saber mused, knowing some of the stories were just that of fiction. One young thief bragged of a job in Sadrith Mora to which an Ebony staff was expertly stolen from a Televani mage, even adding that the very item was beside the very mage and stolen without his even knowing it.
Close enough…Saber thought to himself, sitting back to listen to the tall tale. Now he knew what the Bosmer meant by boasting of jobs one didn’t even do.
The thieves business here in Morrowind was far different from that of Cyrodil. The guild there was by far more secretive and ran the undercurrent of shadow. Members never admitted to it openly, where here they would sing your own praises, and even took credit not of their own efforts.
The evening wore on, and Saber felt more than a bit of the affects of the never-ending filling cup of Matze he received. It was enjoyable he was well liked here, being he can let his guard down. He never could before, and the people were shady, and though not what one might consider ‘trustworthy’ they were still good-natured people.
He was also told on many occasions from his new ‘friends’, that he had a unique personable nature for his race. Here in Morrowind, every Dark Elf he met carried a humorless visage. They took themselves much too seriously here in their homeland, from their religion to the politics. Dark Elves as a whole struck him as basically racist, arrogant, and altogether grim people. Then again, even back in Cyrodil, the Dark Elves often carried a darker edge to them, some to the point of being evil. Thieves, assassins, and the undercurrent of society was rife with them, and even in higher society, one never quite could bring oneself to trust them. They were shrewd players in the political game, and often held disregard for the other races.
Saber however, never perceived himself as ‘good’ or ‘evil’ but self-preserving. His rules were simple; if attacked, defend to the highest level of one’s abilities. He avoided killing when he could, but he didn’t berate himself over the ‘righteousness’ or ‘wrongness’ of killing. He also accepted that using his race’s dark reputation sometimes enveloped intimidating others to get what he wanted. But this avoided a fight, then was it ‘evil’? It was ponderings such as these he simply refused any inner monologue and accepted doing whatever tasks that were required of him in order to survive…
This however, did not include thieving. It wasn’t the stealing that he enjoyed, but the using of his skill. Trained from the age of five in stealth, Saber knew he was very good at what he did. Picking locks, or pockets, as well as hiding in shadow or pilfering goods from under the very nose of the owner carried a high level of excitement and self-pride. He didn’t even need others to know of it. It was enough to know that he was that good.
The Nord woman snaked arms around his neck again from behind, and Saber felt the pleasant touch of lips against the tip of his elongated ear. “I’ve missed you Saber…” She whispered seductively. He could smell the scent of perfume she wore, intermingling with the aroma of Imperial brandy she drank. “Let’s go someplace more private.”
Briefly Saber considered, but oddly enough, wasn’t in the mood despite the chills her breath against his responsive ear affected. He trailed fingernails along her bare forearm near his neck. “Another time, Sottilde, my dear. I just need sleep tonight, and tomorrow I leave for Maar Gan.”
“Maar Gan?” Her sultry voice sharpened in disgust. “There’s nothing in Maar Gan.”
“Indeed.” He smiled, turning his head to look up at her. Her lovely face was twisted into a delightful pout, as she was not happy with his refusing her. “But it’s nonetheless a long trip and I need my stamina for the journey.”
Blue eyes narrowed, and her full mouth thinned into a line. “You’re seeing someone else.” She stated suddenly.
Now curious to why she’d think that, Saber pulled her arm off so he could turn in his seat to see her better. “I am?”
Her arms withdraw altogether, and folded across her chest. “That’s why a man would refuse such an offer.” She stated with conviction.
Saber held his laughter in check, not wishing to insult her further. “Is that so? And it can’t possibly because I’ve walked all the way from Suran this day?”
The scowl deepened. “A strider could bring you to Balmora within hours. Why in the Nine Divines would you walk instead of take a Strider?”
“I hate bugs.” He grinned, not lying. He hated the cursed Striders, and the gentle sway often made him feel seasick. They stood nearly three stories high, with their bodies being all legs. What was even more disgusting was how the drivers, often referred to as a caravaner, hollowed out the carapaces of the insects and then poked and prodded the beasts’ innards to whichever direction they needed to go. The very thought made him queasy, and he wondered how long before the Empire would bring horses to Morrowind, an altogether more civilized means of travel.
Sottilde wasn’t convinced. “If you’re seeing someone else, why not just tell me?”
Unable to hide his amusement of her jealousy, Saber tugged her forearms so that he could clasp her hands in his own. Arms were stiff with indignation. “I’m not seeing anyone, Sottilde.” He assured her. “Any more than you are.”
She drew in a frustrated breath of air, glaring at his assumptions. “Now I know you’re seeing someone-“
He barked a laugh, thinking the whole things silly. There had been no promises between them, and the Nord woman was known for her enjoying several men’s attentions. “My refusing you has nothing to do if I’m bedding someone else.” He told her, trying to make amends. “I’m tired. I’m drunk.” He flashed a wide grin. “Though I suppose if I gave you a chance, you might convince me otherwise-?”
He knew she was too angry with him now, her own mood lost in his teasing her. Shaking his hands off, Sottilde sniffed in distain. “Your loss.” She snapped, stomping off.
The Woodelf shook his head; “You couldn’t go along just to appease her, could you?” He said with a smirk “Now she’ll be in a mad snit all night.”
Saber finished his Matze. “I was telling her the truth of it.” He said with a wink, “Its not my fault she thought I was lying. Perhaps you should go make her feel better.”
“She hates short men.” The Bosmer grunted. “And I can’t stand my woman that tall.”
Saber could see why. A woman like Sottilde could hurt a small man like Arathor. He stood barely five feet, against Sottilde’s six. Saber’s only saving grace as he was taller than most Dunmer males, but Sottilde was still a good few inches taller than he was. Not that he cared for tall women, or Nords for that matter. Saber found Sottilde a pleasant evening past time. Arathor had a good point. Short women had their appeal- Yes shorter women…women such as Eiryn, yes, he could see the appeal in that.
“Would the scout’s guild be open this late?” Saber asked the wood elf.
Arathor nearly coughed his drink out of his nose. “Scout’s Guild? What in the name of Oblivion would you go there?”
“I need to find a scout for my trip.” Saber told him. He remembered that Arathor also knew of Caius and had been the one to direct the Dunmer directly to him when he first arrived in Balmora. The Bosmer knew almost everybody in Balmora. “Perhaps you know this scout…Her name is Eiryn?”
“Ah yes, Eiryn Acques.” The smaller man nodded with a smile. “Now she’s a good height, that one.”
“Is she in Balmora?”
Arathor was no fool, and his dark brown eyes turned sharply to appraise him. “And you want her to be your scout?”
“I’m told she’s proficient enough in her craft.”
”Oh she’s capable enough.” He readily agreed, then twisted his heart shaped face into a frown. “Its Caius I’d be concerned with. I know they are friends, and he’s rather protective of her.”
”That sugartooth doesn’t scare me.” Saber felt the smile fade from his face. “And what is Eiryn to him?”
The Bosmer shrugged, taking another drink of his beer before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not sure. Rumor has it they are an item, others speculate they’re just close friends. I don’t see how any of it matters, only that Caius is very protective of her.”
“You think they’re a couple?” Saber tapped fingers against the grain of the wooden table, pondering on the mystery himself.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t. I think perhaps Caius is a relative of sorts, and set to keep an eye out for her. An uncle or a cousin perhaps.” The elf leaned forward to lower his voice. “But rumor has it Caius has some connections that makes men disappear, so take my advice friend, and keep your hands off that young Breton.”
Leaning back in his chair, Saber folded hands behind his head to think. So Caius isn’t above using his ‘connections’ to keep Eiryn chaste? This seemed unusual, though there was nothing and no one he could ask on the conduct of the Blades. They remained secretive, rather hush-mouthed, and many never knew of the others’ existence. But if Caius were a relative, then his over-protective nature made sense. Saber wasn’t exactly being singled out as much as Eiryn was being protected.
Saber sipped his Matze slowly, enjoying the sour taste rolling over his tongue. No, Caius had been obvious of his thoughts on letting Saber into the Blades the first day they met. He loathed being ordered to accept a thief into his guild, but Saber found it seemed even more personal than that. It wasn’t just his being a thief, since there were other thieves that the Guild used for certain jobs. No, there was something else that fired that man’s hatred of him.
Saber even considered it might be something as simple as racism. Dark Elves were not exactly well received no matter where you went. Yet Caius spoke well of Marayn Dren at the Mages’ Guild, and even of some members of House Hlaalu who were Dunmer. Now things pointed to something even deeper than what Saber could fathom. Caius disliked him for some other reason he wasn’t sharing.
And his reaction to hiring Eiryn as his scout was a bit excessive. Was it protecting the girl from me, or keeping her in the confines of Balmora?
Even as the Dark Elf thought this, he knew the girl must be chafing at the confines. She mentioned wanting a challenge and she had a remarkably free spirit, and obviously Caius wasn’t giving her any chance to prove herself. He’d continue to keep her safe as well as he could, but why have her in the Blades at all? Was he only condescending to her desires?
“Where might I find Eiryn?” Saber asked softly.
Arathor cocked an eyebrow at him, thinking him mad. “You walk a treacherous road my friend.” He said, “But if you refuse to take my warning, then see if she might be at the mages’ guild. I hear she’s being trained there.”
“I just might do that.” Saber smiled.