Eye of the Wind – Ch. 9 – 7: Last Chance

  • Hazy air assaulted my nose, peppery scents burning the insides of my nostrils.  Reeling, I sneezed and my eyes began to water.  With blurry vision, I looked about.  The entry way was dimly lit and shrouded with thick smoke coming from the braziers.  Once my initial reaction abated, I recognized the fragrant scent of cedar.  The braziers must have been fueled by the aromatic wood.  What a waste of a magnificent tree, I thought.  Ahead, through an open doorway, shone a naturally lit foyer guarded by imposing blue marble steps.

    Derkeethus stiffened beside me, his scales bristling at a figure in the corner.  He sat lounging in a low-backed chair, tuning a lute.  When he looked up and finally noticed us, a distinctive sickle smile floated about the instrument.

    "Welcome to the Blue Palace," spoke a musical voice that echoed loudly off the polished stone floors.  Standing, he made his way over to us.  I opened my mouth, smiling to greet the young Bosmer, but winced as Derk stamped on my foot and shook his head minutely.  

    They'll hear us.

    Who?  An equally subtle nod was given to the doorway where I overheard the sudden chime of laughter and utensils on plates.  So, remembering my place I straightened and glared arrogantly at the mer.  He caught on quickly enough to our game and bowed deeply, taking my hand with fingers light as a sparrow's wing.

    "My name is Valindor, apprentice bard of the court, my lady," he said smoothly, as if we'd never met.  Slyly risking a sidelong glance at the Argonian, he kissed the top of my hand delicately.  To my credit, I only stared at him imperiously, waiting for the appropriate offer, which followed quite naturally.  "I see you are the new chef.  Please, allow me to escort you and your servant to the kitchen."  Bowing once more, he led the way.

    Derk barraged my mind with murderous thoughts and the overwhelming echoing theme was one of possession.  We were led through the archway into the rotunda beyond containing the curved stairs.  Turning left, we stole quietly into a wide hallway covered in ornate carpets.  Everything is so clean... I wondered, but my observation was short-lived in the wake of my friend's turbulent thoughts.  He's only being nice, you know.

    We're lucky he didn't do something stupid like blurt out how glad he was to see you.

    I don't think he's that stupid.  Why are you so upset, anyway?

    Why am I--  He wants you!  It's as plain day!

    So?  Why does that matter?  I knew I was wheedling him, and I suspected why he was so irritated.  I just wanted to have him say it plainly.  But he never answered me and instead remained resolutely silent, both mentally and vocally.

    Down the hallway a little further, we came to a sweltering kitchen filled with tables laden with food and silverware, this time made of actual silver.  A blazing oven stood rearguard on the other side of the room, hot as a forge.  There were meat, cheeses, sweetrolls, hot cuts, cold cuts, vegetables, bread, knives, forks, pots, and pans strewn everywhere.  Nearby a disgruntled looking Nord eyed our trio as we stepped into the warm glow of the fires.

    "What have you brought me now, elf?  Not another apprentice, I hope," the Nord grumbled.

    "Odar, the last one I brought you was requested by Sybille.  It's not my fault he didn't...work out," Valindor placated.  Odar scoffed, but said nothing more.  Turning to me, Valindor managed a bow. "I'm afraid this is where we part, my lady.  Perhaps I will see you again," he said with a grin, which tugged into a smirk when Derkeethus shot him a glare as he walked by.  My friend stood silently clutching the basket in a death grip, his claws digging in deep and pulling the straw apart.

    "Put that down on the table, boy, before you scatter dreugh remains all over my floor," Odar barked, absently waving at a table behind him.  "Now, let me have a look at you."  He strode over to me and examined me carefully, stepping around me.  I was a questionable dish of questionable origin.  The head chef lifted the hat from my head, and I grasped after it, jamming the chapeau over my pointed ears.  

    "Wood elf," he concluded with a tired sigh.  "Follow that Green Pact, don't ya?"

    I didn't answer; I only stared at him defiantly.  With a grimace he took a ladle from his belt and thwapped it on a table.  "Answer me when I ask a question!"  Startled, I dropped the arrogant mer act and jumped.  Derk's head whipped up from the contents of the basket, eyes wide in alarm.  When I recovered, I nodded.

    "Hm.  There's no Green Pact here.  You'll cook what I tell you, elf.  Understand?"  I nodded once more, afraid to protest against this most fascist of chefs.

    Don't blow this.  Just go along.

    But Y'ffre...  Irrationally, I saw Valindor's face frowning in disapproval.  Or at least, I was reminded of his face.

    Now's not the time to--

    "Oh, you're here!  At last!  We hadn't heard word from the Black Marsh ambassador in ages.  But now you're here!  Come, there's so much to discuss!" exclaimed an excited, berobed Breton with strangely glowing eyes.  Odar glared at the newcomer suspiciously.  She seized my friend by the arm, and Derkeethus stammered and sputtered in reply.  Surprise.  Confusion.  Suspicion.  All emotions ending in declarations swarming our minds.  Somehow she managed to steer the Argonian down the hall without him being any the wiser.  In my head, she yammered endlessly over courtly and political matters.

    "What are you waitin' for?  Take that knife and start dicing leeks," Odar commanded.  Scrambling, I snatched up a knife and a few leeks, then hesitated.  The Nord had meanwhile turned away to stir a pot roiling on the fire.  The leeks' leafy stalks glared verdantly at me.  Y'ffre, why must you test me now?

    They're already dead, Henny.  How can you harm something already dead?

    Still I hesitated.

    "Give me that!  All they ever send me are hapless fools," Odar grumbled, yanking the knife from my fingers.  "Go make yourself useful for a change.  Take this recipe book and follow the directions for Elsweyr Fondue.  It's over on the fire already.  Surely even you can manage that."

    The recipe book in question was thrust into my hands, and I approached the fire with trepidation.  What was Elsweyr Fondue?  As I flipped to the page, I found an over-complicated set of timed stirring, lifting, and whipping instructions.  Not knowing where in the labyrinth of steps we were, I picked one at random and proceeded from there.  When I opened the lid, a sickly sweet smell assaulted my nose and I recoiled, unsure of what to make of it.  Resolutely, I pressed on.

    After a few minutes, I fell into a rhythm and Odar grumbled unintelligibly before leaving the room.  Alone, I continued my progress, half-listening to the quiet drone of politics in my head.  Somewhere above, Derkeethus had been sequestered in a council room with the Jarl and several other court-appointed members.  Always his thoughts were focused on the Bosmer bard and the various ways he could prove this was his doing.  

    Lost in my thoughts and trying to soothe the Argonian's irritation, I missed several steps in the recipe and the fondue boiled over thickly.  The smell was overwhelmingly horrible as it smoked in the flames.  My eyes watered and I gagged, turning to run from the room.  Gritting my teeth, I tried to stop the dish from getting any worse, and by the end, I held a pot full of what could be best described as horse glue.

    "Oh dear, sweet Mara, what is that awful stench!" cried a high and aristocratic voice.  "Odar, must I explain to you again the effect your cooking has on my rooms?  For the last time, if you attempt to recreate the Gourmet's dish I'll--"

    The rustle of fabric whispered to a stop behind me, somewhere near the door.  With a sharp clearing of his voice, the vaguely familiar stranger continued, "Where is Odar?"

    "I don't know.  Somewhere down the hall, I think," I replied, half-turning to see who was behind me.  In that instant, both of us froze.  I recognized Ondolemar instantly, remembering his intimidating authority in the darkened halls of the Markarth palace.  

    His already pinched face tightened for a fraction of a second before returning to an immutable look of scorn.  For a long moment we both stared at each other, trying to decide what to do.  "I see," he replied slowly.  "Tell me, Gwaihen.  What do the devoted offspring of Irwaen know of cooking with...potatoes?"  He plucked one from the table delicately, as if it offended him to even exist.

    Avoiding his gaze, I cast my eyes upon the fire once more.

    "Hm.  I thought so.  Why are you here in such an abyssmal disguise?"

    I didn't answer, terrified I would be arrested for some form of treason or taken in for my bounty.  "I need your help," I managed finally.

    "And this is how you thought of getting it?  Surely you didn't think this artifice would actually work much less encourage me to aid you."

    "In case you haven't heard, and I know you have, I have a bounty on my head big enough to cause foolish farmers to contemplate my arrest," I snapped, finding my courage.

    "Of course I've noticed, and by all rights, I should be the one claiming that bounty.  However, your clan has always intrigued me..."  His face contained a mixture of pity and contempt and the two battled, until pity won out.  "I thought I warned you not to muddle in the affairs of men," he reprimanded with an almost gentle tone.

    "Ondolemar, I haven't had any choice," I began.

    "No.  You always have a choice.  No matter what the cultures of men think, there is always a choice.  But evidently you continually choose poorly."  With a sigh, he turned to leave.

    "Wait!" I cried.

    He turned, raising an arched eyebrow elegantly.

    "There is one reason that might concern you," I rushed, pulling a document from the inside of my dress. I had almost forgotten about it in the hurry of trying to avoid prying eyes.  It was supposedly the key to gaining Thalmor assistance, and it existed in a carefully sealed document addressed to their organization.  Hrollod had forbidden me from reading it or breaking the seal, so I had put it away and paid no mind to its existence.  Ondolemar carefully opened the packet and read in silence, his high brows coming together to look like the shape of a frightened bird in flight.

    "Come with me," he commanded at last.

Comments

4 Comments
  • Matt Feeney the New Guy
    Matt Feeney the New Guy   ·  December 26, 2012
    Lol. Ondolemar, proving Nords are stupid and High Elves are awesome Great read, Kyrie, shame I'm so far behind.
  • Kynareth
    Kynareth   ·  December 13, 2012
    I loved the convergence of some old friends in Valindor and Ondolemar.  I am pleased to see them again and I am curious what further part they have to play in your tale.
    You do a magnificent job of keeping the tension going between your two main cha...  more
  • Kyrielle Atrinati
    Kyrielle Atrinati   ·  November 15, 2012
    Thanks both of you. :)
    Sure, I'll take a look at your story. I read the first post, but haven't gotten to the next bunch.  I'll go ahead and do that now.
  • B W Games
    B W Games   ·  November 15, 2012
    Enjoyed reading this :)