It had been easy, after all.
He had made Garon Denworth keep an eye on the rest of the nobles of Daggerfall, making sure to keep his thrall's mind painstakingly busy. Which meant it was time to take care of a certain loose end by the name of Dunyan Tulgren.
Imkrusar went for one of the floating scrying spheres in his room. The duties of the crown mage Dunyan Tulgren included sudden inspections of certain shops and establishments in Daggerfall - including warehouses at the docks belonging to Lord Imkrusar Ordale. Foiling him had been easy enough, but an incipient ruler of the realm was apt to be preoccupied elsewhere in the near future, and it would be unfortunate if the mage stopped by again and discovered the chained slaves deeper behind fake panels at his warehouse. So it was time to take care of thorogh, diligent Dunyan Tulgren. Permanently.
Long ago he had discovered the wizard's weakness: buttered salmon. Buttered salmon served in spiced wine, to be specific. As prepared by either Jauligan's or the Lucky Erald, rival exclusive upstairs dining clubs in the finer quarter of the city. So if Tulgren wasn't busy meddling in someone else's affairs, he was likely to be at either Jauligan's or...
. Jauligan's. The scrying revealed Tulgren sitting at a back corner table in the dining club, belching politely behind his hand as he applied himself to a second sample of steaming hot salmon.
Imkrusar cast a spell and teleported himself as Ulston Mreldvar there, to a bare stretch of elegantly tiled floor besides an empty table at the far side of the back alcove the haughty club staff had relegated the mage to - and fed Tulgren a generously fatal amount of lightning bolts. The air around the mage shrieked and stabbed, clawing at a suddenly visible shielding around the astonished, dining man... that crumbled into nothingness but managed to absorb the last winking motes from the lightning as it did so.
Imkrusar uttered another spell, using the swiftest and most unobtrusive he had at his disposal. An invisible, floating bound dagger, controlled by his mind to strike instantly wherever he desired. If Tulgren wasn't protecting the area around his heart...
Ah, but Tulgren was. A molded, silk-sheathed throat- and chestplate. Of course, several less than elegant citizens had been annoyed by Tulgren's diligence in the past. That, or the mage feared that all of Nirn was out to get him.
Imkrusar settled for directing the dagger at the mage's wrists and fingers, shredding them to ribbons slippery with blood, thus ruining the magic he was desperately trying to weave.
Salmons finally forgotten, the mage rose to his feet, so Imkrusar obligingly hamstrung him.
Tulgren crashed back, slamming onto the table with his back, weakly trying to sob out something. Probably a spell.
, annoyingly persistent crown pet," Imkrusar mumbled, advancing out of his corner.
It was perhaps a score or so strides to where Tulgren struggled on the table, but before Lord Ordale and future ruler of the realm had taken half of them, a noble who'd been dining at a large table not far away had abandoned his own meal, narrowed his eyes, taken a sword from his belt - and raced across the room to shield the stricken crown mage.
Imkrusar now faced a stern-looking, elder lord who was going gray and becoming fat. Lord... Waldcym, wasn't it? One of the wealthy oldcoin nobles of the city, an investor and landowner. Who was wielding his sword as if he knew how to use it. It gleamed with an enchanted glow, too.
With a sigh of disgust, Imkrusar flung a spell at him that should have him shrieking in fear, wetting himself, and fleeing headlong through the club. A more elaborate spell wielded by wizards who sought to-
Damn it if the meddling noble wasn't protected by a shielding spell, too! Was everyone
in Daggerfall a weaver of magic now, or did they all just have spare coins enough to buy small arsenals of magic the fancied they might just need someday?
Lord Weldcym's sword spat golden flames at Imkrusar.
Who sneered, as his many-layered wards of protection easily absorbed them, and continued to advance. He'd have that sword, and leave two victims rather than one...
Men hastened nearer from all over the club, and Imkrusar saw staves in the hands of several hired mages, and nobles brandishing all manner of toys.
No. Another time. His warehouse beckoned.
Ulston Mreldvar, who'd been stalking toward Lord Weldcym - and the moaning, weeping mage on the table behind him, vanished within the sudden wink of a spell.
A hired mage wove his fingers in quick patterns, casting a spell. It made a soft white radiance blossom where the attacker had been, a glow that roved around hastily, then faded away.
"He's gone," its caster announced. "Not lurking and concealed by magic. Nor will he or anyone else soon be able to teleport back into where I just searched."
Many crowded around the wounded mage, and around Lord Weldcym, offering congratulations. Lord Phalcroft gave Weldcym a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Deadly little toy you have there. Well done. I didn't think you even liked
"I don't," Lord Weldcym said gruffly. "Yet I like even less attacks upon the institutions of our kingdom. To attack a crown mage is to assault Daggerfall - and if we don't defend our fair realm, it will fall, and we shall have nothing."
He turned back to face his own table, and the food that would be cold by now, and commented in an angry voice, "Fittingly, for we shall deserve