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真实的巴兰兹雅，卷五
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2022-11-16更新
最新编辑:Lu_23333
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更新日期：2022-11-16
最新编辑：Lu_23333
真实的巴兰兹雅，卷五
正如希玛丘斯所说，混沌之杖的被窃已经导致了一些短期效应。现任皇帝，尤瑞尔·塞普汀对法杖被盗甚为震怒，他催促希玛丘斯不惜一切代价尽快找到法杖的下落，并和新就任的帝国战斗法师贾加·萨恩一起负责此事的进度。
“萨恩！”希玛丘斯歇斯底里地吼道，他正在一个小房间里踱步，已经有了几个月身孕的巴兰兹雅坐在一边，正在编着一条婴儿的毛毯。“就是那个贾加·萨恩，妈的！我才不会去给他指路，最好他喝醉了烂死在街头！”
“怎么了亲爱的，你和他有什么过节吗？”
“我就是不信任那个精灵杂种，又不像暗精灵，又不像高精灵，还不知道他是不是有其他种族的混血。我保证他体内流的都是卑劣下等的混血”他愤恨地说着。“谁都不了解他。他说他来自南威木省，由一个木精灵母亲抚养长大。好像去过很多地方……”
巴兰兹雅刚才还沉浸在怀孕的幸福和困倦中，只是像看笑话一样看着希玛丘斯。听到这里她突然丢掉手里的针线活抬头看着他，有些事情引起了她的兴趣。“希玛丘斯，这个贾加·萨恩会不会是夜莺假扮的？”
希玛丘斯仔细考虑了一下才回答，“不可能，亲爱的。萨恩的祖先里应该没有人类”巴兰兹雅知道她丈夫的缺点。她的丈夫看不起木精灵和高精灵，认为他们是懒散的盗贼和孱弱的施法者。但是他欣赏人类，特别是布莱顿人，因为他觉得他们讲究实用，充满智慧和能量。“木树之心的夜莺，还有拉希姆家族，哈拉鲁家族，特别是我准备去管辖的莫拉家族，这个家族从建立起就有了人类的血脉。木树之心对于泰伯·塞普汀用法杖交换我们的召唤号角这件事耿耿于怀”
巴兰兹雅叹了口气。木树之心和哀伤之城的对立几乎可以追述到晨风的历史初期了。二者原本是一个国家，和晨风至高王之间拥有亲缘关系的拉希姆家族，拥有领地上大部分富饶的矿产。当莉安女王的双胞胎皇子——传奇国王莫拉雷因的孙子们——被宣布将联合执政时，木树之心分裂成了两个独立的城邦，木树之心和哀伤之城。与此同时，至高王的办公室被腾出来以便于议会指派一名临时战争领袖来处理行省内的各种紧急事务。
然而木树之心总是在意自己是晨风省最早的城邦（“首当其冲”已成了统治者的常用语）因此坚持应该由她城中的家族来守护混沌之杖。哀伤之城反击说，是莫拉雷因国王为了纪念艾芬神而把杖留在此地，而哀伤之城是艾芬神无可争议的诞生之地。
“为什么不告诉贾加·萨恩你的猜测呢？让他来负责找回法杖。只要法杖是安全的，在哪儿，由谁去收回不都是无所谓的吗？”
希玛丘斯难以置信地盯着她，“当然有所谓！”顿了一下，他柔声说，“不过也没那么严重”他又补充道，“当然还不用你来关心这些。你只要好好地坐在那里，做你的……”他恶毒地笑了笑，“针线活”
巴兰兹雅把手中的工作一把扔向他。针，顶针，一股脑地正中希玛丘斯的脸庞。
过了几个月，巴兰兹雅诞下了一名男婴，他们给他取名叫海尔赛斯。混沌之杖的调查毫无进展。如果真是木树之心拿到了法杖的话，他们显然是不会声张的。
就这样平安快乐地过了几年。海尔赛斯长的又高又壮。他像极了他所崇拜的爸爸。海尔赛斯八岁的时候，巴兰兹雅又怀上了第二胎，一个女儿，这让希玛丘斯欣喜若狂。海尔赛斯是他的骄傲，不过小莫加（为了纪念希玛丘斯的母亲而起的名字）的出世，揪住了他的心。
令人沮丧的是，莫加的出生并不是好年景的前兆。虽然表面上看不出来，领地与帝国间的关系却在不断恶化。赋税和配额逐年上升。希玛丘斯感到皇帝也许是怀疑他与法杖的消失有关，于是他竭尽所能满足皇帝的任何要求。他延长了工作时间，增加了赋税，甚至带头削减开支，裁剪奢费。但是征税不断上涨，平民和贵族都开始抱怨，这是个不祥的预兆。
“我想让你带着孩子们去帝都旅游”某天晚餐后，希玛丘斯终于绝望地说道，“你必须让皇帝知道，再这样下去，到了春天除了我这里，整个哀伤之城就要造反了”他龇牙咧嘴地笑着，“你对说服很有一套，亲爱的。一直如此”
巴兰兹雅强装笑颜，“我对你也很有一套”
“是啊，你对我那是相当的有一套”他亲切地承认道。
“两个孩子都去？”巴兰兹雅通过角落的窗户朝外看，海尔赛斯正弹奏着鲁特琴，和他的妹妹唱着二重唱。海尔赛斯已经十五岁了，莫加八岁。
“他们可能会让他心软。另外，也正是海尔赛斯在皇家宫廷上露面的时候了”
“也许吧，但那不是你的真正理由吧”巴兰兹雅深吸一口气强压住怒火，“你觉得我们在这里不安全，如果是这样的话，那你也不安全。你得跟我们一起走”她劝道。
他握住她的手。“巴兰兹雅，我最最亲爱的。如果我现在走了，那我们就无家可归了。别为我担心，我会没事的。我会照顾好自己，而且不用担心你和孩子们的话，我能做的更好”
巴兰兹雅把手放在他胸前。“你要记住我们都需要你。我需要你。只要我们拥有彼此，什么事情都难不倒我们。两手空空，饿着肚子总比心灵空洞好忍受”想到夜莺和那些与法杖有关的事情，她忍不住哭了，“我的愚昧把我们逼到了这一步啊”
他温柔地向她微笑，“如果是这样，也许并不是坏事”他充满慈爱地看着他的孩子，“我们终将是尘归尘，土归土。曾经是，将来也是，我亲爱的。巴兰兹雅，我和泰伯·塞普汀曾经让你赌上一切。如果没有我，帝国不可能建立起来。是我成就了帝国”他加重了语气，“我也能让帝国覆灭，你就这样告诉尤瑞尔·塞普汀。说我的耐心并不是无止尽的”
巴兰兹雅艰难地喘息着，希玛丘斯看起来并不是在装腔作势。她从来不敢想象他丈夫居然敢反对皇帝，就像她家壁炉边养的狼不会突然咬她一样。“你准备怎么做？”她说这话的时候气都喘不上来了。但是他摇摇头。
“你最好还是不要知道”他说，“就把我刚才那些表示反抗的话告诉他，别害怕。他如果是一个真正的塞普汀家人就绝不会拿传递信息的人出气”他冷酷地笑了笑，“要是他真这么干了，哪怕他只是伤害了你或者孩子一根头发——那所有泰姆瑞尔的神明都将站在我这一边，他将祈祷自己从未降生在这世上。我将会追杀他，和他的整个家族，只要有一个塞普汀的人活着我就不会安息！”希玛丘斯血红的暗精灵双眸映衬着壁炉的火光闪闪发亮，“我向你发誓。我的皇后……我的巴兰兹雅”
巴兰兹雅一把抱住他，竭尽全力地抱住他。虽然她能感受到拥抱的温暖，她整个人仍然颤抖个不停。
巴兰兹雅站在皇帝的王座前，想说明哀伤之城的窘状。她等了好几周才得到觐见的机会，总是被这种那种的理由回绝。“陛下身体欠佳”“陛下正有一桩紧急要务要办”“很抱歉，殿下，您一定搞错了，您的会晤被安排在下周。不相信的话，您可以问……”就算是现在，情况也很诡异。皇帝根本没表现出一点想听她说话的意思。他甚至没请她座下，也没让孩子们退避。海尔赛斯仍然像石雕一样站着一动不动，但是小莫加已经开始不耐烦了。
她的胡思乱想对她完全没有帮助。早些时间她刚到驿馆时，哀伤之城驻帝都大使要求觐见，带来了一捆希玛丘斯的消息。都是坏消息。领地的人真的造反了。农民们联合了几个哀伤之城的小贵族，要求希玛丘斯下台并交出行政权力。只有那些帝国卫兵和世代忠于巴兰兹雅家族的军队挡在希玛丘斯和暴民中间。两边已经是针尖对麦芒，不过至少目前希玛丘斯还是安全的并控制着局势。不过坚持不了多久了，他写道。他恳求她尽力觐见皇帝——不过他还是在信中说在他确保安全后写信让她回到领地前要好好待在帝都。
她动用了各种关系试图接受召见——不过收效甚微。而且令她更加痛苦的是，所有来自哀伤之城的信息突然中断了。她徘徊在对皇帝缓兵之计的愤怒和对她与家人命运的惶恐之中，几周以来她品尝着煎熬，痛苦，冷漠。直到有一天，哀伤之城的大使前来告诉她第二天晚上有望收到希玛丘斯的消息，并非通过一般通信而是通过夜莺。戏剧性的是，与此同时，一个帝国宫廷的书记告诉她次日一早尤瑞尔·塞普汀将会召见她。
皇帝在他们三个进入谒见室时用一个很夸张的笑脸招呼他们，不过他的眼神一点不配合。然后，当她介绍她的孩子的时候，他用一种很不适宜的眼光注视着他们。巴兰兹雅和人类打交道超过五百年了，早就学会了在人类察觉不到的情况下进行察言观色。尽管皇帝试图要隐藏，他的双眼充满了饥渴——和一些其他的东西。遗憾？是的，遗憾。但是为什么呢？他自己有好几个健康的孩子，为什么要嫉妒她的呢？还有为什么要那么邪恶地看着她——虽然只有那么一下——也许他厌倦了他的配偶。人类由于他们的善变，不可揣摩而臭名昭著。在那长长的一瞥后，当她开始叙述她的任务以及哀伤之城的暴乱时他收回了他的目光。整个陈述过程中他像块石头一样坐着一动不动。
巴兰兹雅奇怪于他的懒散，她怕这样下去没完没了，于是直奔主题，她板起脸，想找回那个她所熟悉的塞普汀。她并不熟悉尤瑞尔·塞普汀，她在他还是孩子时候见过他一次，另外一次是在二十年后他的加冕礼上。只有两次。在加冕礼上，他表现得威严有风度，纵然他还很年轻——而不是像现在这个冷冰冰的成熟男人。事实上，除了外表上相似，他似乎根本就不是以前那个人。不一样，不过他身上的某些部分让她很熟悉，很意外地让她很熟悉，一些姿势和手势的诡计……
突然她感觉很热，就像岩浆泼在她身上一样。幻术！从夜莺那里她已经尝够了这种艺术的苦头。她早就学会了如何感知——现在她感受到了，就像一个盲人能够感受到太阳照射着他的脸庞一样。幻象！但是为什么呢？虽然她的嘴还在陈述哀伤之城的困境，她的脑子却飞速运转起来。虚荣心？人类在精灵面前总是羞愧他们短暂的生命，但是尤瑞尔塞普汀的脸看起来和他的实际年龄十分相称啊。
巴兰兹雅可不敢在这里使用魔法。即使最低微的贵族都有感知魔法的方法，他们在自己家里一般都有隐藏魔法的方法。在这里使用魔法就和掏出一把匕首一样，绝对会招来皇帝的愤怒。
魔法。
幻象。
突然夜莺出现在她脑海里。他坐在她面前。然后影像转变了，变成了尤瑞尔·塞普汀。他看起来很悲伤，陷入了困境。然后尤瑞尔的影像又消失了，另一个人坐在那里。有点像夜莺，又有点不像。苍白的皮肤，血红的眼睛，精灵的耳朵——他饱含着一股恨意，一股先古的力量——一道恐怖的，毁灭性的闪光。这个人无所不能！
然后又一次，她又面对尤瑞尔·塞普汀。
她怎么确定她是不是沉浸在幻境里？也许她的大脑欺骗了她。她感到十分疲倦，就像她背着一个重担走了好久好远。她决定不去谈那些哀伤之城的事——这些都不是重点——她决定开个玩笑。一个有目的的玩笑。
“还记得吗，陛下，在您父亲的加冕礼后，希玛丘斯和我与您全家共进晚餐？那时您还没小莫加大呢。我们很荣幸我们是那晚唯一的客人——当然除了您最好的朋友贾斯丁以外”
“啊，是的”皇帝小心地微笑着，非常小心地，“我想我记得”
“您和贾斯丁是那么好的朋友，陛下。我听说他不久以后就过世了，真是令人惋惜”
“确实如此，直到现在我仍然不愿意谈起他”他的眼神变得空洞——更空洞了。“至于你的请求，夫人，我们会仔细考虑，有结果了会告知你的”
巴兰兹雅鞠了一躬，孩子们也照做了。皇帝点点头让他们退下，于是他们退出了房间。
走出王座间的时候她长舒了一口气。“贾斯丁”是一个想象中的玩伴，尤瑞尔小时候坚持每顿饭都要给贾斯丁安排一个座位。不仅如此，虽然这个名字听起来是个男孩，实际上贾斯丁是个女孩！尤瑞尔从小到大，希玛丘斯一直把这个当做和尤瑞尔·塞普汀见面时的笑谈——见面就会假装询问贾斯丁的健康状况。最后一次巴兰兹雅听到贾斯丁是几年前，皇帝显然是精心策划后告诉希玛丘斯，贾斯丁遇到了一个热爱旅行但是有点固执的虎人青年，并嫁给了他。定居在了利兰德里以种植为生。
坐在王座上的那个人不是尤瑞尔·塞普汀！难道是夜莺？是的，是的！前思后想以后巴兰兹雅知道她是对的。一定是他！夜莺！假装成了皇帝！希玛丘斯全搞错了，错的离谱……
现在怎么办？她快要疯了。尤瑞尔·塞普汀出了什么事——更重要的，这对于她自己和希玛丘斯，以及整个哀伤之城意味着什么？回头想想，巴兰兹雅猜想他们的麻烦全都来自于这个冒牌的皇帝，这个夜莺假扮的家伙——或者不管他是谁。他一定在那些对哀伤之城毫无理由的要求提出前就取代了尤瑞尔·塞普汀的位置。这就解释了为什么她与泰伯·塞普汀私通了那么久以后，领地与帝国之间的关系才开始恶化（以人类的时间观念来看）。夜莺对希玛丘斯的名誉，忠诚，知识以及与塞普汀家族的关系了若指掌，于是策划了这次看不见的完美攻击。如果真是这样，那他们现在就是羊入虎口，她和孩子们正处在他所掌控的帝都内，而希玛丘斯则还在哀伤之城处理着夜莺带来的麻烦。
她必须做点什么。巴兰兹雅按住面前的两个孩子，一只手搭在他们一个人肩上，试图冷静，镇定，她的女侍和贴身骑士正尾随其后。终于他们到达了马车旁边。即便他们的住处离皇宫只有几条街，皇家的尊严禁止他们徒步前往——以往她都讨厌这样，这一次却让她觉得些许欣慰。马车现在就好像是避难所一样，虽然她知道事实并非如此。
一个男孩冲到一个卫兵面前并递给他一个卷轴，他指指马车。卫兵把卷轴交给他。男孩站在一旁等着，眼睛睁得老大。书信简短而礼貌，位于高岩行省途歇城的艾德威尔国王久慕哀伤之城的巴兰兹雅女王的威名，希望能结交您。
巴兰兹雅的第一反应是拒绝。她只想快点离开这个城市！她现在可不想和一个昏了头的人类扯上关系。她不悦地抬起头，其中一个卫兵说，“夫人，那个男孩说他的主人在那边等着你回覆”她朝卫兵所指的方向望去，看见了一个骑在马背上的英俊小老头，他旁边有超过半打的侍者和骑士。他们四目相对，男人恭敬地脱帽行礼。
“很好”巴兰兹雅一时冲动，就对男孩说道，“告诉你的主人今晚晚餐过后可以拜访我”艾德威尔国王看起来既有礼貌又严肃，还有点焦急——不过那可不是对恋爱的饥渴。就是那种感觉，她幽幽地想着。
巴兰兹雅站在塔楼的窗户旁，等待着。她感受到老熟人就在附近。但是因为夜晚的天空对她来说就像白天一样，她还没看见它。这时它突然出现了，从稀薄的云层中透出一个小点。几分钟以后，它完成了它的降落，收起翅膀，爪子搭在她厚厚的皮制臂章上。
她气喘吁吁地把鸟儿放到它的栖息处，她打开鸟腿上取下信匣时双手不耐烦地颤抖着。她打开信匣的时候，老鹰在一旁猛喝几口水，然后精心地梳理自己的羽毛，骄傲地站着。她实在很想赞扬他完美地完成了任务，他有权利休息了……但是手中的事情实在让她没心情。就算是这只鸟类也看得出来，事情不对劲。
她颤抖着打开细细的羊皮纸卷，凝视着那难辨认的字迹。不是希玛丘斯那大大方方的字迹！巴兰兹雅缓缓地坐下，手指在纸张上抚摸着，她已经准备好接受任何灾难性的消息了。
确实是灾难性的消息。
帝国卫兵背叛了希玛丘斯，加入了反叛军。希玛丘斯死了。剩下的皇室军队一败涂地。希玛丘斯死了。反叛军首领已经被帝国特使钦点为哀伤之城的新国王。希玛丘斯死了。巴兰兹雅和她的孩子们被指控为叛国贼，全国通缉。
希玛丘斯死了。
原来今早的觐见只是一个障眼法，一个诡计。这太明显了，皇帝早就知道一切。她就像木偶一样被操纵着，被告知放心，静候佳音，皇后夫人，请尽情享受帝都的一切，想待多久就待多久。享受待在这里？这简直就是拘留，是囚禁。她即将面对的很有可能就是被囚禁。她现在明白自己的处境了，皇帝绝不会再让她离开帝都，至少不会是活着离开。
希玛丘斯死了。
“夫人”
巴兰兹雅被接近的侍女吓了一跳，“什……什么事？”
“夫人，那个布莱顿人来了。艾德威尔国王”幸亏她补充了一下，不然巴兰兹雅早忘了这事。看到夜莺，侍女犹豫了一下说道，“夫人，有新的消息吗？”
“没什么，别耽误正事”巴兰兹雅迅速答道，她的声音夹杂着哈欠，听起来空空洞洞。“照顾好夜莺”她站起身来，整了整她的长袍，准备接待她的贵客。
她麻木了……就好像她周围的石墙一样，就好像夜晚的空气一样……麻木的就像一具行尸走肉。
希玛丘斯死了。
艾德威尔国王非常恭敬地问候巴兰兹雅，态度甚至可说有点过于浮夸。他自称自己非常崇拜希玛丘斯，认为希玛丘斯在他家族的历史中占了一席之地。他逐渐地将话题转向巴兰兹雅与皇帝之间的事情，并且不愿放过任何细节，同时也询问哀伤之城的情况是否有出现转机。但当他发现巴兰兹雅似乎不是很在乎他们的这番对谈时，他情绪失控地吼道，“女王夫人，您要信任我。那个皇帝是别人冒充的！我知道这听起来很疯狂，可是我……”
“不用说了”巴兰兹雅语气坚定地说道，“你说的完全正确。国王大人。你说的我都知道”
艾德威尔听了以后终于放松地坐了下来，但他的眼神突然一变，“您居然知道？您不是把我当作疯子在捉弄吧？”
“国王大人，我可以跟您保证我没有在捉弄您”她深深吸了一口气，“但您认为，是谁在冒充皇帝呢？”
“帝国战斗法师贾加·萨恩”
“啊。国王大人，不知您是否曾听过夜莺？”
“我的确有听说过夜莺，夫人。我跟我的盟友认为他跟逃亡中的萨恩是同一个人”
“我就知道！”巴兰兹雅站起来试图隐瞒自己的激动，“夜莺就是贾加·萨恩！但是那男人是恶魔！既邪恶又阴险，却又聪明。他策画毫无破绽的阴谋，让他们堕入深渊！希玛丘斯，我的希玛丘斯……！”
艾德威尔干咳了几声，“夫人，我……我们……我们需要您的协助”
巴兰兹雅诡异的笑着，这事情的演变实在太过于曲折，“我原本以为，这句话应当从我口中说出来。您说吧，我如何帮得上忙，国王大人？”
艾德威尔很快地把计划说了一遍。法师瑞雅·席曼本是贾加·萨恩的学徒，但她遭到假皇帝以叛国的名义杀害。她找到方法保留了些许的能量，并且成功地联系上她在人界里的亲友。她选出一名勇士，来找寻被那个阴险的法师藏在一个隐密之处的混沌之杖。勇士得要使用唯一能够伤害到贾加·萨恩的混沌之杖来摧毁他，并且救出被囚禁在其他空间的皇帝。但是那位勇者，尽管他还活着，却正在帝国的地窖中受苦。她必须转移萨恩的注意力，让瑞雅的灵魂有足够的时间救出勇士。
巴兰兹雅能够吸引皇帝的注意，尤其是他的目光。但是这样就够了吗？
“我应该可以再让假皇帝召见我一次”巴兰兹雅小心翼翼地说道。“但是这样就够了吗？您得知道我跟我的孩子已经被帝国认为是叛国贼了”
“在哀伤之城跟晨光省你们也许是叛徒。但是帝都跟领地不同。一关接着一关的繁复程序，让您无法晋见皇帝跟他的大臣。但同样的程序也会保障您不会在受到一个公正的审判之前被关进地牢里。夫人，因为你们身分的关系，让您跟您的孩子的情况更为复杂。您贵为皇后，您的孩子为王位继承人，基本上没人动的了你们”艾德威尔笑着说道，“我的夫人，帝都的官僚是把双面刃啊”
至少她跟两个小孩暂时不会有事。但她突然想到，“国王大人，您刚才提到我尤其能够吸引到皇帝的目光，那是什么意思？”
艾德威尔面露难色，“从仆从的耳语得知，贾加·萨恩在他的卧室里有着一尊照着您外观制成的神像”
“我懂了”她不禁想到她与夜莺那段疯狂的罗曼史。她曾如着魔般地爱着他。傻女人。那个她曾爱过的男人如今杀了她当真爱的人。爱过的人。爱过。他已经不在了。他……他……她依旧无法相信希玛丘斯已经死了。但就算他人死了，我的爱还活着，会继续活下去。他会永远在我心里。那痛楚也会存在。下半辈子缺少他陪伴的痛楚。度过每一天，每一夜，没有他的存在，他的安慰，他的爱情的日子。知道他永远无法看着他的孩子长大成人的痛楚。他的孩子永远无法认识他们的父亲，无法知道他是多么地勇敢、强壮、美好、慈爱……特别是小莫加。
为此，为这一切，为你对我家人所做的这一切。夜莺。你得死。
“这让您感到惊讶吗？”
艾德威尔打断了她的思绪。“什么？什么东西让我惊讶？”
“您的雕像。在萨恩的卧房里”
“喔”她坚定的回道。“对。但也不对”
艾德威尔从她的眼神中看出她想要改变话题。他选择将话题转回到他们的计划。“我们的勇者可能会需要数天的时间才能逃脱，夫人。您能够帮他争取到足够的时间吗？”
“国王大人，为什么您愿意相信我？”
“我们走投无路了，夫人。我们别无选择。但就算我们有的话，对，没错。我还是会选择相信您。我信任您。您的丈夫多年来关照我的家人。希玛丘斯大人……”
“死了”
“什么？”
巴兰兹雅简短但冷静地把事情述说一遍。
“夫人……皇后……这太惨了！我……我很抱歉……”
巴兰兹雅寒冰般的心防第一次出现了空隙。面对这股同情心，她感受到自己逐渐无法保持平静。但她最后还是强迫自己维持沉着。
“夫人，这种情况之下，我们无法要求您……”
“不，国王大人。在这种情况之下，我得做出任何可以让我复仇的事。为了我孩子的父亲”一滴眼泪突破她的眼眶。她不耐烦地把脸颊擦干。“我只要求您，尽您所能保护我这两个失去父亲的孩子”
艾德威尔站了起来，两眼发出光芒。“我勇敢且高贵的女王，我在此发誓，会保护他们的安危。以这片土地的神明，还有整片泰姆瑞尔大陆为证”
他的这番话虽然荒谬却又深刻地打动了她。“我打从心里跟灵魂里感谢您。善良的艾德威尔国王。我跟我的孩子都会永远感……感……”
她终究撑不住，倒了下去。
她整晚没睡，坐在床边的椅子上，两手环放在大腿上。在黑漆漆的夜晚仔细思考着。她不打算告诉她的孩子们，时候未到，要等到必要时才说。
她不需要再次请求皇帝的召见。隔天一早她就被要求上朝。
她告诉她的孩子们她会离开数天，要求他们不要给仆从带来麻烦后，亲吻他们的脸颊道别。莫加情绪不太好，她在帝都感到无聊并且寂寞。海尔赛斯看起来有点忧郁，但没说什么。他跟他父亲很像。他父亲……
巴兰兹雅抵达皇宫后没有被送往前次的听政大厅，反而被带去一间较小的会客室。皇帝正单独在里面用餐。皇帝看到巴兰兹雅后点了头并把手指向窗户。“风景很棒吧？”
巴兰兹雅往外看着这座伟大城市林立的塔楼。她突然想起她多年以前是在这里第一次跟泰伯·塞普汀会面。泰伯·塞普汀。另一个她曾爱过的男人。她还爱过哪些人？希玛丘斯，泰伯·塞普汀……还有斯图尔。她想起那个在马厩工作的高大、金发男孩，唐突但热情。她直到现在才领悟到自己曾爱过斯图尔。但她从未让他知道。她那时候还好年轻，过着无忧无虑的日子。在现在所有这之前，这一切之前，……在他之前。不是希玛丘斯。是夜莺。她被自己的反应吓到。那男人还是能够让她心动。即便现在这个时刻。即便发生了这种种一切。她顿时被一股原始的情感所侵袭。
当她最终冷静下来时，尤瑞尔·塞普汀消失了，而夜莺坐在他的位子上。
“你早知道了”他边扫着她的脸部表情，平淡地说道，“你早知道了。瞬间就知道了。我原本想给你一个惊喜。你至少可以假装一下吧”
巴兰兹雅将她的手臂放松，试图让体内那股吞噬自己的漩涡平缓下来。
“我想我装模作样的本事比不上你，大人”
他叹了口气。“你生气了”
“我承认。是有那么一点”她冰冷地说道。“我不知道你怎么想，但我认为背叛是很严重的冒犯”
“你好有人性啊”
她深深吸了一口气“你要什么？”
“现在换你在演戏了”他起身正面面对着她“你知道我想从你那得到什么”
“你想要折磨我。请。我不会抵抗的。但不要碰我的孩子”
“不、不、不。我不想要那样，巴兰兹雅”他逐渐贴近，用那低沉，抚慰，曾让她全身因愉悦而颤抖的声音说着。那声音现在，这个时刻，对她也有着同样的效果。“你不懂吗？这是唯一的方法”他的手握住了她的手臂。
她感觉到自己的意志不再坚定，对他的厌恶逐渐转弱。“你本来可以带我走”突如其来的泪水湿透了眼眶。
他摇摇头。“我没有那力量。啊，但是如今，现在……！我什么都有了。一切都在我的掌心，由我分享，由我给予……给你”他再次将自己的手指向窗外下的城市。“整个泰姆瑞尔都在你的脚下。而这还只是序章”
“这一切太迟了。太迟了。你让我跟了他”
“他死了。那个农夫死了。只是几年的光阴，那什么都不是”
“孩子们……”
“由我来领养。我们也会有自己的孩子，巴兰兹雅。他们会有多棒啊！我们可以传承下去的东西！你的美貌跟我的魔法。我的力量是你作梦也梦不到的，比你最疯狂的幻想还了不起！”他靠近巴兰兹雅想要吻她。
她摆脱他的掌握，转过身说道。“我不相信你”
“你知道你相信我。你只是心里还在生气罢了”他露出微笑。但他的眼睛却没有在笑。“告诉我你想要什么，巴兰兹雅。巴兰兹雅我的爱人。告诉我你想要什么，你就有什么”
她的一生就这么闪过她眼前。过去，现在跟未知的未来。不同的时刻，不同的生活，不同的巴兰兹雅。哪一个才是真的？哪一个才是真的巴兰兹雅？一旦她做出抉择之后，她就会知道如何塑造她的命运。
她决定了。她知道了。她知道哪一个才是真的巴兰兹雅。也知道自己想要什么。
“在公园里散散步，我的大人”她说道。“或许再唱一两首小曲子”
夜莺笑了。“你想要被追求”
“何不呢？你那么在行。被你追求那也是好久以前的事了，而且，我还记得那滋味有多可口”
他面带微笑说道。“恭敬不如从命，我的女王夫人，巴兰兹雅。你的愿望是我的使命”他拿起她的手并印上了一个吻。“从现在到永远都是”
他们就这样度过数个欢乐的日子，散步、一同谈天说笑。皇帝的职责全都丢给他的属下去执行。
“我想要看看那把杖” 巴兰兹雅某天随口说出。“我那次只看到一眼，你还记得吧”
他皱起眉头。“我想满足你所有的心愿，我亲爱的。但这是不可能的”
“你不相信我”巴兰兹雅扁起嘴。但当他的嘴唇靠过来时她又软了下来。
“没这回事，亲爱的。我当然相信你。但是杖不在这里”他咯咯地笑了起来。“事实上，杖不在任何地方”他又亲了她一次，这次更热情。
“你又在说谜语了。我想看那把杖。你不可能把它毁了”
“啊，自从上次之后你学聪明了”
“你似乎激起了我求知的欲望”她站起来说道。“混沌之杖是无法被摧毁的。它也无法被带离泰姆瑞尔，这么做会让这片土地遭受难以想象的灾害”
“啊，你真的很了不起，亲爱的。你说的都没错。它没有被摧毁，也没有被带离泰姆瑞尔。但是，就像我说的，它不在任何地方。你可以解出这个谜吗？”他将她拉近自己身边，而她顺从地窝在他怀里。“接下来还有一个更大的谜题”他悄悄地说道。“要如何让二合而为一？这个，就由我，来告诉你”他们的身体缠绵在一起，四肢缠绕着彼此。
稍晚当他们的躯体稍微分开后，他已熟睡，但她还在睡梦中想着，“二分之一，一分为二，二分为三，三分为二……无法被摧毁，也无法被放逐的，也许被分割了……”
她陡然站起来，眼睛散发光芒。她开始笑了。
夜莺平常有写日记的习惯。每晚听取下属的简报后会在里面做些简单的纪载。日记平常被锁在一个箱子内。但开锁不会是问题。毕竟她上一辈子也是盗贼公会的一员……上一辈子……另一个巴兰兹雅……
某一天早晨，巴兰兹雅趁着夜莺在上厕所的时候偷偷阅读了日记的一小部分。她得知混沌之杖的第一个部位被藏在一个叫做利牙巢穴的古老矮人矿坑。但可惜的是矿坑的位置没有明确标示出来。日记的内容除了琐碎之外，速记的方式更是难以在一时之间理解。
全泰姆瑞尔，她想着。在他跟我的手中，可能还有更多地方……但是……
他虽然外在表现出热情如火的样子，但是内在，本该是心的地方却是冰冷空虚的。他自己似乎也没发现，她想着。不时可以发现他的眼神会突然放空，变得如铁石般钢硬。但是他依旧渴望，虽然他对幸福以及被满足仍有所渴求，但他对这两者的定义异于他人。农夫的梦想，巴兰兹雅想着，斯图尔闪过她的眼前，看起来既无助又难过。接着是赛瑞斯，有着虎人猫般的微笑。泰伯·塞普汀强大且孤单。希玛丘斯，可靠、迟钝的希玛丘斯。他知道什么事情该做，就会默默地，有效率地完成那事。夜莺。夜莺既是谜语又是真理。同时是黑暗也是光明。夜莺会统治一切，但不光是统治，他会以秩序之名带来混沌。
巴兰兹雅好不容易才使他同意让她去探望孩子。那两个还不知道自己父亲已经过世，又被皇帝领养的小孩。她终究还是告诉了他们，这并不简单。莫加紧紧抓住她，好似一整个世代之久，啜泣的声音如刀在割着肉一般悲痛。海尔赛斯独自一人跑去花园，事后也不愿意听任何关于他父亲的事情，也拒绝被她拥进怀里。
艾德威尔国王有来拜访她。她告诉他事情的演变，以及近期的发现，跟他解释她得要继续留在皇宫以便获得更多情报。
夜莺曾嘲笑过她有一个这么老的追求者。他很清楚知道艾德威尔对他的存疑，但是他一点也不在乎。没人会相信一个老疯子。巴兰兹雅甚至还安排两人修补关系。艾德威尔公开忏悔他的过错，而皇帝，他的“老朋友”也原谅他了。他事后每周至少会被请来共进晚餐一次。
孩子们喜欢艾德威尔，就连海尔赛斯也喜欢他。那个孩子强烈反对他母亲跟皇帝的关系，并且总是表达自己对皇帝的厌恶。随着日子的过去，他的态度逐渐恶化，情绪反应也越来越激动，不时跟他的母亲以及她的爱人吵架。艾德威尔也表达出对于这段关系的不满，但夜莺却乐于在公开场合上刻意展现自己对巴兰兹雅的感情来气这个老人。
他们无法结婚，毕竟尤瑞尔·塞普汀是有妇之夫了。至少现在还不能结婚。夜莺窃取王位不久之后便将皇后放逐了，但他没有胆子杀害她，选择让她留在至尊神殿内。关于她生重病的传言不断流出，夜莺的特使也散播流言说她精神方面出了问题。皇帝的后裔们也被流放至泰姆瑞尔四处的“学院”，但那些事实上都是监狱。
“她情况迟早会恶化”夜莺随口说道，指的是皇后。同时眼睛满足地盯着巴兰兹雅肿胀的胸部跟隆起的肚子。“至于皇帝的后裔呢……世事总是难料，对吧？我们会结婚。你的孩子会成为我真正的继承人”
他真的很渴望那孩子。巴兰兹雅对这非常确定。但是她可是一点也不确定他对于她的感情。他们现在常常小吵，时而大吵，起因通常都是海尔赛斯。夜莺想要把他送去夏暮岛，距离帝都最远的省分。巴兰兹雅对于这些争吵却从不闪躲，毕竟夜莺对于平淡无奇的日子不感兴趣。何况他对于床头吵完后，床尾和这件事也乐此不疲。
巴兰兹雅有时会带着小孩们回她们以前的公寓住，并表示她不再愿意跟他有任何瓜葛。但是他总是会马上把她接回去，而她也总是会让自己被接回去。这情形不可言喻，就如同泰姆瑞尔的两个月亮升起跟落下一样。
当她解读出混沌之杖最后一个部位的下落时已经怀孕六个月了。最后一个地点不难找，任何一个暗精灵都知道达格斯·乌尔山脉在哪里。
她再次跟夜莺吵架后，就直接跟着艾德威尔一路骑回高岩行省途歇城。夜莺对此感到怒不可遏，但却束手无撤。他的刺客有点无能，但自己也不敢离开王座亲自追逐。而且他也无法直接跟途歇城宣战。依法，他无权处置她跟她肚子里的小孩。不意外的，帝都的贵族阶层反对他跟巴兰兹雅的关系，就如同他们多年前反对她跟泰伯·塞普汀之间的关系一样。对贵族而言，他们乐于看她离开。
途歇城也同样地不信任她，但这个富裕的小城邦的人民却疯狂地热爱他们的国王，也因此愿意妥协于他的一些……怪癖。巴兰兹雅生下她跟夜莺的小孩，一年之后跟艾德威尔完婚。尽管事情的演变不尽人意，但是艾德威尔却溺爱着巴兰兹雅跟她的小孩。她不爱他，但她喜欢他，这样也许也足够了。有一个人在身边很好，而途歇城是一个好所在，适合孩子们成长，适合等待，并祈祷勇者可以成功达成他的任务。
巴兰兹雅希望这位无名的勇者可以尽快达成任务。她是暗精灵，时间对她而言不值钱。她要多少有多少。但是她已经无法爱人了，心中的仇恨也燃烧殆尽了。她一无所有了，只剩下痛楚跟回忆……还有她的孩子们。她只想把她的孩子们拉拔长大，让他们生活无虑，然后自己度过剩下的日子。她确信自己的日子还很长远，她只希望自己的灵魂还有心灵能维持平静跟安宁。农夫的梦想。那是她想要的。那是真的巴兰兹雅渴望的。那就是真的巴兰兹雅。农夫的梦想。
农夫的梦想。
The Real Barenziah, v5
The Real Barenziah
Volume Five
As Symmachus had predicted, the theft of the Staff of Chaos had few short-term consequences. The current Emperor, Uriel Septim, sent some rather stiff messages expressing shock and displeasure at the Staff's disappearance, and urging Symmachus to make every effort to locate its whereabouts and communicate developments to the newly appointed Imperial Battlemage, Jagar Tharn, in whose hands the matter had been placed.
"Tharn!" Symmachus thundered in disgust and frustration as he paced about the small chamber where Barenziah, now some months pregnant, was sitting serenely embroidering a baby blanket. "Jagar Tharn, indeed. Ai! I wouldn't give him directions for crossing the street, not if he were a doddering old blind sot."
"What have you against him, love?"
"I just don't trust that mongrel Elf. Part Dark Elf, part High Elf, and part the gods only know what. All the worst qualities of all his combined bloods, I'll warrant." He snorted. "No one knows much about him. Claims he was born in southern Valenwood, of a Wood Elven mother. Seems to have been everywhere since -- "
Barenziah, sunk in the contentment and lassitude of pregnancy, had only been humoring Symmachus thus far. But now she suddenly dropped her needlework and looked at him. Something had piqued her interest. "Symmachus. Could this Jagar Tharn have been the Nightingale, disguised?"
Symmachus thought this over before replying. "Nay, my love. Human blood seems to be the one missing component in Tharn's ancestry." To Symmachus, Barenziah knew, that was a flaw. Her husband despised Wood Elves as lazy thieves and High Elves as effete intellectuals. But he admired humans, especially Bretons, for their combination of pragmatism, intelligence, and energy. "The Nightingale's of Ebonheart, of the Ra'athim Clan - House Hlaalu, the House of Mora in particular, I'll be bound. That house has had human blood in it since her time. Ebonheart was jealous that the Staff was laid here when Tiber Septim took the Horn of Summoning from us."
Barenziah sighed a little. The rivalry between Ebonheart and Mournhold reached back almost to the dawn of Morrowind's history. Once the two nations had been one, all the lucrative mines held in fief by the Ra'athims, whose nobility retained the High Kingship of Morrowind. Ebonheart had split into two separate city-states, Ebonheart and Mournhold, when Queen Lian's twin sons -- grandsons of the legendary King Moraelyn -- were left as joint heirs. At about the same time the office of High King was vacated in favor of a temporary War Leader to be named by a council in times of provincial emergency.
Still, Ebonheart remained jealous of her prerogatives as the eldest city-state of Morrowind ("first among equals" was the phrase its rulers often quoted) and claimed that rightful guardianship of the Staff of Chaos should have been entrusted to its ruling house. Mournhold responded that King Moraelyn himself had placed the Staff in the keeping of the god Ephen -- and Mournhold was unarguably the god's birthplace.
"Why not tell Jagar Tharn of your suspicions, then? Let him recover the thing. As long as it's safe, what does it matter who recovers it, or where it lies?"
Symmachus stared at her without comprehension. "It matters," he said softly after a while, "but I suppose not that much. Ai." He added, "Certainly not enough for you to concern yourself further with it. You just sit there and tend to your," and here he smiled at her wickedly, "embroidery."
Barenziah flung the sampler at him. It hit Symmachus square in the face -- needle, thimble, and all.
In a few more months Barenziah gave birth to a fine son, whom they named Helseth. Nothing more was heard of the Staff of Chaos, or the Nightingale. If Ebonheart had the Staff in its possession, they certainly did not boast of it.
The years passed swiftly and happily. Helseth grew tall and strong. He was much like his father, whom he worshipped. When Helseth was eight years old Barenziah bore a second child, a daughter, to Symmachus' lasting delight. Helseth was his pride, but little Morgiah -- named for Symmachus' mother -- held his heart.
Sadly, the birth of Morgiah was not the harbinger of better times ahead. Relations with the Empire slowly deteriorated, for no apparent reason. Taxes were raised and quotas increased with each passing year. Symmachus felt that the Emperor suspected him of having had a hand in the Staff's disappearance and sought to prove his loyalty by making every effort to comply with the escalating demands. He lengthened working hours and raised tariffs, and even made up some of the difference from both the royal exchequer and their own private holdings. But the levies multiplied, and commoners and nobles alike began to complain. It was an ominous rumble.
"I want you to take the children and journey to the Imperial City," Symmachus said at last in desperation one evening after dinner. "You must make the Emperor listen, else all Mournhold will be up in revolt come spring." He grinned forcibly. "You have a way with men, love. You always did."
Barenziah forced a smile of her own. "Even with you, I take it."
"Yes. Especially with me," he acknowledged amiably.
"Both children?" Barenziah looked over toward a corner window, where Helseth was strumming a lute and crooning a duet with his little sister. Helseth was fifteen by then, Morgiah eight.
"They might soften his heart. Besides, it's high time Helseth was presented before the Imperial Court."
"Perhaps. But that's not your true reason." Barenziah took a deep breath and grasped the nettle. "You don't think you can keep them safe here. If that's the case, then you're not safe here either. Come with us," she urged.
He took her hands in his. "Barenziah. My love. Heart of my heart. If I leave now, there'll be nothing for us to return to. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right. Ai! I can take care of myself -- and I can do it better if I'm not worrying about you or the children."
Barenziah laid her head against his chest. "Just remember that we need you. I need you. We can do without the rest of it if we have each other. Empty hands and empty bellies are easier to bear than an empty heart." She started to cry, thinking of the Nightingale and that sordid business with the Staff. "My foolishness has brought us to this pass."
He smiled at her tenderly. "If so, 'tis not so bad a place to be." His eyes rested indulgently on their children. "None of us shall ever go without, or want for anything. Ever. Ever, my love, I promise you. I cost you everything once, Barenziah, I and Tiber Septim. Ai. Without my aid the Empire would never have begun. I helped its rise." His voice hardened. "I can bring about its fall. You may tell Uriel Septim that. That, and that my patience is not infinite."
Barenziah gasped. Symmachus was not given to empty threats. She'd no more imagined that he would ever turn against the Empire than that the old house wolf lying by the grate would turn on her. "How?" she demanded breathlessly. But he shook his head.
"Better that you not know," he said. "Just tell him what I told you should he prove recalcitrant, and do not fear. He's Septim enough that he will not take it out on the messenger." He smiled grimly. "For if he does, if he ever harms the least hair on you, my love, or the children -- so help me all the gods of Tamriel, he'll pray that he hadn't been born. Ai. I'll hunt him down, him and his entire family. And I won't rest until the last Septim is dead." The red Dark Elven eyes of Symmachus gleamed brightly in the ebbing firelight. "I plight you that oath, my love. My Queen ... my Barenziah."
Barenziah held him, held him as tight as she could. But in spite of the warmth in his embrace, she couldn't help shivering.
Barenziah stood before the Emperor's throne, trying to explain Mournhold's straits. She'd waited weeks for an audience with Uriel Septim, having been fobbed off on this pretext or that. "His Majesty is indisposed." "An urgent matter demands His Excellency's attention." "I am sorry, Your Highness, there must be some mistake. Your appointment is for next week. No, see..." And now it wasn't even going well. The Emperor did not even make the slightest pretence at listening to her. He hadn't invited her to sit, nor had he dismissed the children. Helseth stood still as a carven image, but little Morgiah had begun to fuss.
The state of her own mind didn't help her any. Shortly upon arrival at her lodgings, the Mournholdian ambassador to the Imperial City had demanded entry, bringing with him a sheaf of dispatches from Symmachus. Bad news, and plenty of it. The revolt had finally begun. The peasants had organized around a few disgruntled members of Mournhold's minor nobility, and were demanding Symmachus step down and hand over the reins of government. Only the Imperial Guard and a handful of troops whose families had been retainers of Barenziah's house for generations stood between Symmachus and the rabble. Hostilities had already broken out, but apparently Symmachus was safe and still in control. Not for long, he wrote. He entreated Barenziah to try her best with the Emperor -- but in any case she was to stay in the Imperial City until he wrote to tell her it was safe to go back home with the children.
She had tried to barge her way through the Imperial bureaucracy -- with little success. And to add to her growing panic, all news from Mournhold had come to a sudden stop. Tottering between rage at the Emperor's numerous major-domos and fear of the fate awaiting her and her family, the weeks had passed by tensely, agonizingly, remorselessly. Then one day the Mournholdian ambassador came calling to tell her she should expect news from Symmachus the following night at the latest, not through the regular channels but by nighthawk. Seemingly by the same stroke of luck, she was informed that same day by a clerk from the Imperial Court that Uriel Septim had finally consented to grant her an audience early on the morrow.
The Emperor had greeted the three of them when they came into the audience chamber with a too-bright smile of welcome that nonetheless didn't reach his eyes. Then, as she presented her children, he had gazed at them with a fixed attention that was real yet somehow inappropriate. Barenziah had been dealing with humans for nearly five hundred years now, and had developed the skill of reading their expressions and movements that was far beyond what any human could ever perceive. Try as the Emperor might to conceal it, there was hunger in his eyes -- and something else. Regret? Yes. Regret. But why? He had several fine children of his own. Why covet hers? And why look at her with such a vicious -- however brief -- yearning? Perhaps he had tired of his consort. Humans were notoriously, though predictably, inconstant. After that one long, burning glance, his gaze had shifted away as she began to speak of her mission and the violence that had erupted in Mournhold. He sat still as stone throughout her entire account.
Puzzled at his inertia, and vexed no end, Barenziah stared into the pale, set face, looking for some trace of the Septims she'd known in the past. She didn't know Uriel Septim well, having met him once when he was still a child, and then again at his coronation twenty years later. Twice, that was all. He'd been a stern and dignified presence at the ceremony, even as a young adult -- yet not icily remote as this more mature man was. In fact, despite the physical resemblance, he didn't seem to be the same man at all. Not the same, yet something about him was familiar to her, more familiar than it should be, some trick of posture or gesture...
Suddenly she felt very hot, as if lava had been poured over her. Illusion! She had studied the arts of illusion well since the Nightingale had deceived her so badly. She had learned to detect it -- and she felt it now, as certainly as a blind man could feel the sun on his face. Illusion! But why? Her mind worked furiously even as her mouth went on reciting details about Mournhold's troubles. Vanity? Humans were oft as ashamed at the signs of ageing as Elves were proud to exhibit them. Yet the face Uriel Septim wore seemed consistent with his age.
Barenziah dared use none of her own magic. Even petty nobles had means of detecting magicka, if not actually shielding themselves from its effects, within their own halls. The use of sorcery here would bring down the Emperor's wrath as surely as drawing a dagger would.
Magic.
Illusion.
Suddenly she was brought to mind of the Nightingale. And then he was sitting before her. Then the vision changed, and it was Uriel Septim. He looked sad. Trapped. And then the vision faded once more, and another man sat in his place, like the Nightingale, and yet unlike. Pale skin, bloodshot eyes, Elven ears -- and about him a fierce glow of concentrated malice, an aura of eldritch energy -- a horrible, destructive shimmer. This man was capable of anything!
And then once again she was looking into the face of Uriel Septim.
How could she be sure she wasn't imagining things? Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her. She felt a sudden vast weariness, as if she'd been carrying a heavy burden too long and too far. She decided to abandon her earnest narrative of Mournhold's ills -- as it was quite plainly getting her nowhere -- and switch back to pleasantry. Pleasantry, however, with a hidden agenda.
"Do you remember, Sire, Symmachus and I had dinner with your family shortly after your father's coronation? You were no older than tiny Morgiah here. We were greatly honored to be the only guests that evening -- except for your best friend Justin, of course."
"Ah yes," the Emperor said, smiling cautiously. Very cautiously. "I do believe I recall that."
"You and Justin were such friends, Your Majesty. I was told he died not long after. A great pity."
"Indeed. I still do not like to speak of him." His eyes turned blank -- or blanker, if it had been possible. "As for your request, Milady, we shall take it under advisement and let you know."
Barenziah bowed, as did the children. A nod from the Emperor dismissed them, and they backed away from the imperial presence.
She took a deep breath when they emerged from the throne room. "Justin" had been an imaginary playmate, although young Uriel had insisted a place be set for Justin at every meal. Not only that, Justin, despite the boyish name, had been a girl! Symmachus had kept up the joke long after she had gone the way of imaginary childhood friends -- inquiring after Justin's health whenever he and Uriel Septim met, and being responded to in as mock-serious a fashion. The last Barenziah had heard of Justin, several years ago, the Emperor had evidently joked elaborately to Symmachus that she had met an adventurous though incorrigible Khajiit youth, married him, and settled down in Lilandril to raise fire ferns and mugworts.
The man sitting on the Emperor's divan was not Uriel Septim! The Nightingale? Could it be...? Yes. Yes! A chord of recognition rang through her and Barenziah knew she was right. It was him. It was! The Nightingale! Masquerading as the Emperor! Symmachus had been wrong, so wrong...
What now? she wondered frantically. What had become of Uriel Septim -- and more to the point, what did it mean for her and Symmachus, and all of Mournhold? Thinking back, Barenziah guessed that their troubles were due to this false Emperor, this Nightingale-spawned glamour -- or whatever he really was. He must have taken Uriel Septim's place shortly before the unreasonable demands on Mournhold had begun. That would explain why relations had deteriorated for so long (as humans reckoned time), long after her disapproved liaison with Tiber Septim. The Nightingale knew of Symmachus' famed loyalty to, and knowledge of, the Septim House, and was effecting a pre-emptive strike. If that were the case, they were all in terrible danger. She and the children were in his power here in the Imperial City, and Symmachus was left alone to deal with troubles of the Nightingale's brewing in Mournhold.
What must she do? Barenziah impelled the children ahead of her, a hand on each shoulder, trying to stay cool, collected, her ladies-in-waiting and personal knights escort trailing behind. Finally they reached their waiting carriage. Even though their suite of rooms was only a few blocks from the Palace, royal dignity forbade travel on foot for even short distances -- and for once, Barenziah was glad of it. The carriage seemed a kind of refuge now, false as she knew the feeling must be.
A boy dashed up to one of the guards and handed him a scroll, then pointed toward the carriage. The guard brought it to her. The boy waited, eyes wide and shining. The epistle was brief and complimentary, and simply inquired if King Eadwyre of Wayrest, of the Province of High Rock, might be granted an audience with the famed Queen Barenziah of Mournhold, as he had heard much of her and would be pleased to make her acquaintance.
Barenziah's first impulse was to refuse. She wanted only to leave this city! Certainly she had no inclination toward any dalliance with a dazzled human. She looked up, frowning, and one of the guards said, "Milady, the boy says his master awaits your reply yonder." She looked in the direction indicated and saw a handsome elderly man on horseback, surrounded by a half dozen courtiers and cavaliers. He caught her eye and bowed respectfully, taking off a plumed hat.
"Very well," Barenziah said to the boy on impulse. "Tell your master he may call on me tonight, after the dinner hour." King Eadwyre looked polite and grave, and rather worried -- but not in the least lovestruck. At least that was something, she thought pensively.
Barenziah stood at the tower window, waiting. She could sense the familiar's nearness. But though the night sky was clear as day to her eyes, she could not yet see him. Then suddenly he was there, a swift moving dot beneath the wispy night clouds. A few more minutes and the great nighthawk finished its descent, wings folding, talons reaching for her thick leather armband.
She carried the bird to its perch, where it waited, panting, as her impatient fingers felt for the message secured in a capsule on one leg. The hawk drank mightily from the water till when she had done, then ruffled its feathers and preened, secure in her presence. A tiny part of her consciousness shared its satisfaction at a job well done, mission accomplished, and rest earned ... yet beneath it all was unease. Things were not right, even to its humble avian mind.
Her fingers shook as she unfolded the thin parchment and pored over the cramped writing. Not Symmachus' bold hand! Barenziah sat slowly, fingers smoothing the document while she prepared her mind and body to accept disaster calmly, if disaster it would be.
Disaster it was.
The Imperial Guard had deserted Symmachus and joined the rebels. Symmachus was dead. The remaining loyal troops had suffered a decisive defeat. Symmachus was dead. The rebel leader had been recognized as King of Mournhold by Imperial envoys. Symmachus was dead. Barenziah and the children had been declared traitors to the Empire and a price set on their heads.
Symmachus was dead.
So the audience with the Emperor earlier that morning had been nothing but a blind, a ruse. A charade. The Emperor must have already known. She was just being strung along, told to stay put, take things easy, Milady Queen, enjoy the Imperial City and the delights it has to offer, do make your stay as long as you want. Her stay? Her detention. Her captivity. And in all probability, her impending arrest. She had no delusions about her situation. She knew the Emperor and his minions would never let her leave the Imperial City, ever again. At least, not alive.
Symmachus was dead.
"Milady?"
Barenziah jumped, startled by the servant's approach. "What is it?"
"The Breton is here, Milady. King Eadwyre," the woman added helpfully, noting Barenziah's incomprehension. She hesitated. "Is there news, Milady?" she said, nodding toward the nighthawk.
"Nothing that will not wait," Barenziah said quickly, and her voice seemed to echo in the emptiness that suddenly yawned like a gaping abyss inside her. "See to the bird." She stood up, smoothed her gown, and prepared to attend on her royal visitor.
She felt numb. Numb as the stone walls around her, numb as the quiescence of the night air... numb as a lifeless corpse.
Symmachus was dead!
King Eadwyre greeted her gravely and courteously, if a bit fulsomely. He claimed to be a fervent admirer of Symmachus, who figured prominently in his family's legends. Gradually he turned the conversation to her business with the Emperor. He inquired after details, and asked if the outcome had been favorable to Mournhold. Finding her noncommittal, he suddenly blurted out, "Milady Queen, you must believe me. The man who claims himself the Emperor is an impostor! I know it sounds mad, but I -- "
"No," Barenziah said, with sudden decisiveness. "You are entirely correct, Milord King. I know."
Eadwyre relaxed into his seat for the first time, eyes suddenly shrewd. "You know? You're not just humoring someone you might think a madman?"
"I assure you, Milord, I am not." She took a deep breath. "And who do you surmise is dissembling as the Emperor?"
"The Imperial Battlemage, Jagar Tharn."
"Ah. Milord King, have you, perchance, heard of someone called the Nightingale?"
"Yes, Milady, as a matter of fact I have. My allies and I believe him to be one and the same man as the renegade Tharn."
"I knew it!" Barenziah stood up and tried to mask her upheaval. The Nightingale -- Jagar Tharn! Oh, but the man was a demon! Diabolical and insidious. And so very clever. He had contrived their downfall seamlessly, perfectly! Symmachus, my Symmachus...!
Eadwyre coughed diffidently. "Milady, I... we... we need your aid."
Barenziah smiled grimly at the irony. "I do believe I should be the one saying those words. But go on, please. Of what assistance might I be, Milord King?"
Quickly the monarch outlined a plot. The mage Ria Silmane, of late apprenticed to the vile Jagar Tharn, had been killed and declared a traitor by the false Emperor. Yet she had retained a bit of her powers and could still contact a few of those she had known well on the mortal plane. She had chosen a Champion who would undertake to find the Staff of Chaos, which had been hidden by the traitorous sorcerer in an unknown site. This Champion was to wield the Staff's power to destroy Jagar Tharn, who was otherwise invulnerable, and rescue the true Emperor being held prisoner in another dimension. However, the Champion, while thankfully still alive, now languished in the Imperial Dungeons. Tharn's attention must be diverted while the chosen one gained freedom with Ria's spirit's help. Barenziah had the false Emperor's ears -- and seemingly his eyes. Would she provide the necessary distraction?
"I suppose I could obtain another audience with him," Barenziah said carefully. "But would that be sufficient? I must tell you that my children and I have just recently been declared traitors to the Empire."
"In Mournhold, perhaps, Milady, and Morrowind. Things are different in the Imperial City and the Imperial Province. The same administrative morass that makes it near impossible to obtain an audience with the Emperor and his ministers also quite assures that you would never be unlawfully imprisoned or otherwise punished without benefit of due legal process. In your case, Milady, and your children's, the situation is further exacerbated by your royal rank. As Queen and heirs apparent, your persons are considered inviolable -- sacrosanct, in fact." The King grinned. "The Imperial bureaucracy, Milady, is a double-edged claymore."
So. At least she and the children were safe for the time being. Then a thought struck her. "Milord King, what did you mean earlier when you said I had the false Emperor's eyes? And seemingly, at that?"
Eadwyre looked uncomfortable. "It was whispered among the servants that Jagar Tharn kept your likeness in a sort of shrine in his chambers."
"I see." Her thoughts wandered momentarily to that insane romance of hers with the Nightingale. She had been madly in love with him. Foolish woman. And the man she had once loved had caused to be killed the man she truly did love. Did love. Loved. He's gone now, he's... he... She still couldn't bring herself to accept the fact that Symmachus was dead. But even if he is, she told herself firmly, my love is alive, and remains. He would always be with her. As would the pain. The pain of living the rest of her life without him. The pain of trying to survive each day, each night, without his presence, his comfort, his love. The pain of knowing he would never see his children grow into a fine pair of adults, who would never know their father, how brave he was, how strong, how wonderful, how loving... especially little Morgiah.
And for that, for all that, for all you have done to my family, Nightingale -- you must die.
"Does that surprise you?"
Eadwyre's words broke into her thoughts. "What? Does what surprise me?"
"Your likeness. In Tharn's room."
"Oh." Her features set imperturbably. "Yes. And no."
Eadwyre could see from her expression that she wished to change the subject. He turned once again to their plans. "Our chosen one may need a few days to escape, Milady. Can you gain him a bit more time?"
"You trust me in this, Milord King? Why?"
"We are desperate, Milady. We have no choice. But even if we did -- why, yes. Yes, I would trust you. I do trust you. Your husband has been good to my family over the years. The Lord Symmachus--"
"Is dead."
"What?"
Barenziah related the recent events quickly and coolly.
"Milady... Queen... but how dreadful! I... I'm so sorry..."
For the first time Barenziah's glacial poise was shaken. In the face of sympathy, she felt her outward calm start to crumble. She gathered her composure, and willed herself to stillness.
"Under the circumstances, Milady, we can hardly ask--"
"Nay, good Milord. Under the circumstances I must do what I may to avenge myself upon the murderer of my children's father." A single tear escaped the fortress of her eyes. She brushed it away impatiently. "In return I ask only that you protect my orphaned children as you may."
Eadwyre drew himself up. His eyes shone. "Willingly do I so pledge, most brave and noble Queen. The gods of our beloved land, indeed Tamriel itself, be my witnesses."
His words touched her absurdly, yet profoundly. "I thank you from my heart and my soul, good Milord King Eadwyre. You have mine and m-my children's e-everlasting g-gra -- grati -- "
She broke down.
She did not sleep that night, but sat in a chair beside her bed, hands folded in her lap, thinking deep and long into the waxing and waning of the darkness. She would not tell the children -- not yet, not until she must.
She had no need to seek another audience with the Emperor. A summons arrived at first light.
She told the children she expected to be gone a few days, bade them give the servants no trouble, and kissed them good-bye. Morgiah whimpered a bit; she was bored and lonely in the Imperial City. Helseth looked dour but said nothing. He was very like his father. His father...
At the Imperial Palace, Barenziah was escorted not into the great audience hall but to a small parlour where the Emperor sat at a solitary breakfast. He nodded a greeting and waved his hand toward the window. "Magnificent view, isn't it?"
Barenziah stared out over the towers of the great city. It dawned on her that this was the very chamber where she'd first met Tiber Septim all those years ago. Centuries ago. Tiber Septim. Another man she had loved. Who else had she loved? Symmachus, Tiber Septim... and Straw. She remembered the big blond stable-boy with sudden and intense affection. She never realized it till now, but she had loved Straw. Only she had never let him know. She had been so young then, those had been carefree days, halcyon days... before everything, before all this... before... him. Not Symmachus. The Nightingale. She was shocked in spite of herself. The man could still affect her. Even now. Even after all that had happened. A strong wave of inchoate emotion swept over her.
When she turned back at last, Uriel Septim had vanished -- and the Nightingale sat in his place.
"You knew," he said quietly, scanning her face. "You knew. Instantly. I wanted to surprise you. You might at least have pretended."
Barenziah spread her arms, trying to pacify the maelstrom churning deep inside her. "I'm afraid my skill at pretence is no match for yours, my liege."
He sighed. "You're angry."
"Just a little, I must admit," she said icily. "I don't know about you, but I find betrayal a trifle offensive."
"How human of you."
She took a deep breath. "What do you want of me?"
"Now you are pretending." He stood up to face her directly. "You know what I want of you."
"You want to torment me. Go ahead. I'm in your power. But leave my children alone."
"No, no, no. I don't want that at all, Barenziah." He came near, speaking low in the old caressing voice that had sent shivers cascading through her body. The same voice that was doing the same thing to her, here and now. "Don't you see? This was the only way." His hands closed on her arms.
She felt her resolve fading, her disgust at him weakening. "You could have taken me with you." Unbidden tears gathered in her eyes.
He shook his head. "I didn't have the power. Ah, but now, now...! I have it all. Mine to have, mine to share, mine to give -- to you." He once more waved his hand toward the window and the city beyond. "All Tamriel is mine to lay at your feet -- and that is only the beginning."
"It's too late. Too late. You left me to him."
"He's dead. The peasant's dead. A scant few years -- what do they matter?"
"The children--"
"Can be adopted by me. And we'll have others together, Barenziah. Oh, and what children they'll be! What things we shall pass on to them! Your beauty, and my magic. I have powers you haven't even dreamt of, not in your most untamed imaginings!" He moved to kiss her.
She slipped his grasp and turned away. "I don't believe you."
"You do, you know. You're still angry, that's all." He smiled. But it didn't reach his eyes. "Tell me what you want, Barenziah. Barenziah my beloved. Tell me. It shall be yours."
Her whole life flashed in front of her. The past, the present, and the future still to come. Different times, different lives, different Barenziahs. Which one was the real one? Which one was the real Barenziah? For by that choice she would determine the shape of her fate.
She made it. She knew. She knew who the real Barenziah was, and what she wanted.
"A walk in the garden, my liege," she said. "A song or two, perhaps."
The Nightingale laughed. "You want to be courted."
"And why not? You do it so well. It's been long, besides, since I've had the pleasure."
He smiled. "As you wish, Milady Queen Barenziah. Your wish is my command." He took her hand and kissed it. "Now, and forever."
And so they spent their days in courtship -- walking, talking, singing and laughing together, while the Empire's business was left to subordinates.
"I'd like to see the Staff," Barenziah said idly one day. "I only had a glimpse of it, you'll recall."
He frowned. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, heart's delight -- but that would be impossible."
"You don't trust me," Barenziah pouted, but softened her lips when he leaned over for a kiss.
"Nonsense, love. Of course I do. But it isn't here." He chuckled. "In fact, it isn't anywhere." He kissed her again, more passionately this time.
"You're talking in riddles again. I want to see it. You couldn't have destroyed it."
"Ah. You've gained in wisdom since last we met."
"You inspired my hunger for knowledge somewhat." She stood up. "The Staff of Chaos can't be destroyed. And it can't be removed from Tamriel, not without the direst consequences to the land itself."
"Ahhh. You impress me, my love. All true. It is not destroyed, and it is not removed from Tamriel. And yet, as I said, it isn't anywhere. Can you solve the puzzle?" He pulled her to him and she leaned into his embrace. "Here's a greater riddle still," he whispered. "How does one make one of two? That I can, and will, show you." Their bodies merged, limbs tangled together.
Later, when they had drawn a bit apart and he lay dozing, she thought sleepily, "One of two, two of one, three of two, two of three... what cannot be destroyed or banished might be split apart, perhaps..."
She stood up, eyes blazing. She started to smile.
The Nightingale kept a journal. He scribbled entries onto it every night after quick reports from underlings. It was locked in a bureau. But the lock was a simple one. She had, after all, been a member of the Thieves Guild in a past life... in another life... another Barenziah...
One morning Barenziah managed to sneak a quick look at it while he was occupied at his toilet. She discovered that the first piece of the Staff of Chaos was hidden in an ancient Dwarvish mine called Fang Lair -- although its location was given only in the vaguest of terms. The diary was crammed with jotted events in an odd shorthand, and was very hard to decipher.
All Tamriel, she thought, in his hands and mine, and more perhaps -- and yet...
For all his exterior charm there was a cold emptiness where his heart should have been, a vacuum of which he was quite unaware, she thought. One could glimpse it now and then, when his eyes would go blank and hard. And yet, though he had a different concept of it, he yearned for happiness too, and contentment. Peasant dreams, Barenziah thought, and Straw flashed before her eyes again, looking lost and sad. And then Therris, with a feline Khajiit smile. Tiber Septim, powerful and lonely. Symmachus, solid, stolid Symmachus, who did what ought to be done, quietly and efficiently. The Nightingale. The Nightingale, a riddle and a certainty, both the darkness and the light. The Nightingale, who would rule all, and more -- and spread chaos in the name of order.
Barenziah got reluctant leave from him to visit her children, who had yet to be told of their father's death -- and of the Emperor's offer of protection. She finally did, and it wasn't easy. Morgiah clung to her for what seemed an era, sobbing wretchedly, while Helseth ran off into the garden to be alone, afterward refusing all her attempts to speak to him on the subject of his father, or even to let her hold him to her breast.
Eadwyre called on her while she was there. She told him what she had discovered so far, explaining that she must remain awhile yet and learn more as she could.
The Nightingale teased her about her elderly admirer. He was quite aware of Eadwyre's suspicion -- but he wasn't the least bit perturbed, for no one took the old fool seriously. Barenziah even managed to arrange a reconciliation of sorts between them. Eadwyre publicly recanted his misgivings, and his "old friend" the Emperor forgave him. He was afterward invited to dine with them at least once a week.
The children liked Eadwyre, even Helseth, who disapproved of his mother's liaison with the Emperor and consequently detested him. He had become surly and temperamental as the days passed, and frequently quarreled with both his mother and her lover. Eadwyre was not happy with the affair either, and the Nightingale took great delight at times in openly displaying his affection for Barenziah just to nettle the old man.
They could not marry, of course, for Uriel Septim was already married. At least, not yet. The Nightingale had exiled the Empress shortly after taking the Emperor's place, but had not dared harm her. She was given sanctuary by the Temple of the One. It had been given out that she was suffering from ill health, and rumors had been circulated by the Nightingale's agents that she had mental problems. The Emperor's children had likewise been dispatched to various prisons all across Tamriel disguised as "schools."
"She'll grow worse in time," Nightingale said carelessly, referring to the Empress and eyeing Barenziah's swollen breasts and swelling belly with satisfaction. "As for their children... Well, life is full of hazards, isn't it? We'll be married. Your child will be my true heir."
He did want the child. Barenziah was sure of that. She was far less sure, however, of his feelings for her. They argued continually now, often violently, usually about Helseth, whom he wanted to send away to school in Summurset Isle, the province farthest from the Imperial City. Barenziah made no effort to avoid these altercations. The Nightingale, after all, had no interest in a smooth, unruffled life; and besides, he thoroughly enjoyed making up afterward...
Occasionally Barenziah would take the children and retreat to their old apartment, declaring she wanted no more to do with him. But he would always come to fetch her back, and she would always let herself be fetched back. It was ineffable, like the rising and setting of Tamriel's twin moons.
She was six months pregnant before she finally deciphered the location of the last Staff piece -- an easy one, since every Dark Elf knew where the Mount of Dagoth-Ur was.
When she next quarreled with the Nightingale, she simply left the city with Eadwyre and rode hard for High Rock, and Wayrest. The Nightingale was furious, but there was little he could do. His assassins were rather inept, and he dared not leave his seat of power to pursue them in person. Nor could he openly declare war on Wayrest. He had no legitimate claim on her or her unborn child. True to form, the Imperial City's nobility had disapproved of his liaison with Barenziah -- as they had so many years ago of Tiber Septim's -- and were glad to see her go.
Wayrest was equally distrustful of her, but Eadwyre was fanatically loved by his prosperous little city-state, and allowances were readily made for his... eccentricities. Barenziah and Eadwyre were married a year after the birth of her son by the Nightingale. In spite of this unfortunate fact, Eadwyre doted on her and her children. She in her turn did not love him -- but she was fond of him, and that was something. It was nice to have someone, and Wayrest was a very good place, a good place for children to grow up, while they waited, and bided their time, and prayed for the Champion's success in his mission.
Barenziah could only hope that he wouldn't take very long, whoever this unnamed Champion was. She was a Dark Elf, and she had all the time in the world. All the time. But no more love left to give, and no more hatred left to burn. She had nothing left, nothing but pain, and memories... and her children. She only wanted to raise her family, and provide them a good life, and be left to live out what remained of hers. She had no doubt it was going to be a long life yet. And during it she wanted peace, and quiet, and serenity, of her soul as well as of her heart. Peasant dreams. That was what she wanted. That was what the real Barenziah wanted. That was what the real Barenziah was. Peasant dreams.
Pleasant dreams.
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