Garan Marethi and Serana were both reading quietly in the small room where Marethi had first spoken to them about heading out to fill the Bloodstone Chalice. Andante met Serana’s eyes as he and Brynjolf entered the study, but said nothing. She looked at Brynjolf closely, and squinted, as though she recognized that something was different about him, but she said nothing. She simply watched as Garan stood and approached Andante.
“I’ve brought you the Chalice, as you asked. We’ve filled it from the Redwater fountain and the blood of a rather determined ancient vampire.”
“Might I ask which?”
“Salonia, as it happened, although it would have been equally convenient either way. I killed them both. I take it you’re not surprised by this?”
Garan wrinkled his nose, a gesture that was uncommonly unattractive on a Dunmer vampire. Marethi had been unfortunate enough to have the least attractive type of transformation when he turned; his face resembled a snout more than a face now, and his dark, ancient skin accentuated its strangeness. Andante was grateful once more that the only real changes he’d had himself were reflected in the color of his eyes, the paling of his skin, and a slight narrowing of his features.
“Lord Harkon and I suspected they might follow you there,” Garan said, taking the Chalice and placing it on a pedestal in the center of the room. “Welcome to the politics of Lord Harkon’s court. Vingalmo and Orthjolf both long for our Lord’s throne, but cannot make overt moves against him. Each sought to gain power by using his underling to kill you and keep the Chalice for himself. By ensuring that the Chalice reaches our Lord, you have increased his power over them and at the same time have deprived them of their little pets. You’ve done Lord Harkon two great services. Take what you’ve learned to heart, and be careful who you trust.”
Trust? Did you imagine that I trusted anyone at all in this place, Garan? You might easily have given me some idea that all of this was going on in the background, when you sent me out on that errand. Ah well. It is very good to know that things are as I expected them to be.
“Now, I believe Lord Harkon wishes to speak to you.”
“Thank you. I’ll be on my way, then.” He half-bowed and turned to leave, shooting a wink and slight smile at Brynjolf. They made their way out of the room where the Chalice was held, and he leaned in closer to Brynjolf.
“We’ll keep our eyes on him,” he whispered.
“Aye. I don’t trust him any more than I trust Harkon.”
“No. I expect that Vingalmo and Orthjolf are not the only ones who long for the throne. But, my dearest, they will be disappointed. Do you know who is going to end up in that throne?”
Brynjolf raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I think I do. Perhaps both at the same time.”
Andante laughed, took in a deep breath, and stretched out his shoulders. “You are the most deliciously evil thing when you let yourself be, loverboy.”
Brynjolf performed a perfect imitation of Andante’s half-bow. “I’m taking lessons from one of the best.”
“Ha! You don’t fool me. You’ve always been like this. You just hide it exceptionally well.”
Brynjolf chuckled, but didn’t make any attempt to deny the truth of his observation.
They made their way around the back end of the castle to a room that clearly served not only as a lounge but also as a torture chamber. There were several racks and a long table, all splattered with a great deal of blood. At the far side was a fireplace, its crackling fire throwing comforting heat well out into the otherwise cold stone room. Before the fire, in an ornate throne upholstered in crimson and gold, sat Lord Harkon.
“Speaking of the throne,” Brynjolf whispered in his ear.
Andante smiled, and wondered what exactly it was that he’d seen, looking at Harkon before, that had excited him so much, why the voice inside him had been so insistent. Harkon was ancient. He was still attractive, certainly, but as Andante peered at him he could see the lines, the wear that even immortality could not disguise. He cast another quick sideways glance at Brynjolf, caught his breath, and marveled, yet again, at how just the sight of the man had the power to raise his heart up into his throat.
It is a beautiful throne. And it is a beautiful castle. And it will be mine, Harkon. And I will give it to Brynjolf. He will be beautiful in it.
Harkon looked up at him, his eyes narrowed.
“Ah, you’re here.”
“You wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes, I did,” he replied. “When I told you I was grateful for my daughter’s safe return, I told the truth. But I did not tell you everything.”
Andante laughed. “Why am I not surprised? It would have been foolish of you if you had and I would expect someone of your stature and experience not to be foolish.”
Harkon’s expression barely changed, but Andante thought he saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Good. Strong instincts and a cunning mind will serve you as well as blade, spell, or claw.”
“That’s been my experience, yes.” Amusing indeed. He also knows how alike we are.
Harkon nodded. “As you know, vampires are powerful, but we have limits. Our great enemy is the sun, and until recently it’s an enemy we’ve had no way to fight.”
Not directly. We can mitigate its effects, though. Surely you know this?
Harkon continued speaking. It seemed to Andante as though he was almost speaking to himself, or to the room, as though it was unimportant whether a single other soul heard his words. He spoke as though he was unaffected by the amount of raw power represented in that one small space, filled as it was by three Vampire Lords.
“For centuries I searched for an answer to this problem. I found an old prophecy written by a Moth Priest – those scholars who read the Elder Scrolls. The prophecy tells of a time in which vampires will gain power over the sun and will no longer fear its tyranny.”
Andante could nearly taste the greed in Harkon’s voice. No longer fear the sun? What would stop any of us then? The entire world would be ours for the taking. I begin to understand what drives this man. He would almost have to be consumed with the idea to want to become involved with something as odd as the Moth Priests.
The Moth Priests were one of a number of cults devoted to an animal totem – in this case, Ancestor Moths. Many cults in Tamriel worshipped their ancestors in some way but Moth priests were special in that they also trained their entire lifetimes to study the Elder Scrolls, an activity that could drive a person mad without the proper preparation and which would, eventually and inevitably, render him blind with enough readings.
“I believe the secret to unraveling that prophecy is written in Serana’s Elder Scroll. I have ordered the court to assemble. I have a new task for us all to carry out, and that includes you. Come now, and hear my proclamation.” Harkon rose and walked down from his lounge, past Brynjolf, and to the left past a balcony where, curiously, Serana was waiting. Andante stared at her, but she didn’t speak, and her eyes told him nothing at all.
Harkon stepped to the rail and addressed his court, his voice ringing out into the vaulted chamber.
“Scions of the night! Hear my words! The prophesied time is at last upon us. Soon we will claim dominion over the sun itself, and forge a new realm of eternal darkness. Now that I have reclaimed one of my Elder Scrolls, we must find a Moth Priest to read it.”
One of “my” Elder Scrolls, is it? After your daughter guarded it safely for how many hundreds of years?
Andante only half listened to the rest of Harkon’s speech, looking instead at the stiff expression on Serana’s face. I would have just used her as a tool, myself, but I’m not her father. I can only imagine that she must feel a bit… But he couldn’t put words to it, had no benchmark against which to compare the feeling, couldn’t remember having had a father in spite of knowing he must have had one.
It seemed that Harkon had spread rumors, trying to draw one of the priests to Skyrim, and he was sending them all out to search for just such a person. He went on at length and ended with a great shout: “This is my command!”
Her father had no sooner left the balcony than Serana stepped forward, suggesting to Andante that they go to the College of Winterhold. It had an enormous library that might well attract a scholar like a Moth Priest. He was just about to thank her for the suggestion and counter with his own when she spoke again.
“Now that I think of it,” she said, “I’m going to come along with you. I’ve been really wanting to get out and explore a bit.”
Oh gods no. Please no.
“What do you know about Elder Scrolls?” he asked, trying desperately to think of something he could say to dissuade her from coming along.
“Well, about the same as anyone,” she said. “Which is not much. Turns out you don’t learn that much about a thing simply by sleeping with it.”
Andante couldn’t help himself. He laughed. And Brynjolf, who had come to stand beside Serana, chuckled as well.
“Are you trying to imply that you want to learn more about me, then?”
Serana smirked. “Not at this rate, no.”
Brynjolf broke into his hearty laugh. Andante looked at him and grinned.
“Well then we’re in agreement. Alright, then. Let’s go see whether we might find this priest. We can stop at my house in Solitude and take the boat to Dawnstar. That’ll make the trip to Winterhold a little shorter. I think we’re closest to Dragon Bridge here; let’s go there first.”
—
It didn’t take more than a few moments for them to run into trouble once they had landed at the jetty near Northwatch Keep. A group of three Dawnguard hunters came running down the finger of land on which the keep rested, and attacked with everything they had. But there were three substantial vampires working against them. For a moment, Andante again pondered transforming to his Lord form, but then thought better of it.
We’re too close to the keep. Vampire Lords will attract Thalmor and they like to fight with fire.
As it turned out he didn’t need to. Serana attacked with frost clouds and ice spikes, and revived the first hunter who fell; he rose and set to on his former fellows and fought well until one of them took him down. Andante fired arrows as quickly as he could draw, and Brynjolf waded into the hunters with his sword and shield, taunting and bashing, laughing and skewering. Between them, it didn’t take long to rid themselves of the threat.
“Word spreads quickly, it seems,” Andante said to the others. “I’m sure I’m high on their popularity list after failing to return to Fort Dawnguard.”
“I wonder if they know what else you did,” Brynjolf muttered.
“I don’t know, but the last thing I want is to alert our friends there to what is walking by their keep at the moment.”
“True,” Brynjolf said. “Two Vampire Lords and – well, lass, I’m not sure what to call you aside from powerful. At any rate I’m certain they’d be none too pleased, and the last I heard, those Thalmor are nasty.”
Andante felt a shudder run up his spine. “That’s what I understand, as well.”
“Yes,” Serana muttered. “Let’s just get going, shall we? It’s so bright out here.”
They worked their way over the crest of Haafingar’s central ridge and down to the little settlement of Dragon Bridge.
“I’m going to check in here before we go all the way to Solitude,” Brynjolf said, mounting the steps to the inn. “Harkon was right. Innkeepers usually have lots of information, and I happen to know this one.”
“Do you indeed?” Andante grinned. “Well it’s a good idea anyway. You try the inn. We’ll see what we can find out here.”
Andante spoke to several townspeople who hadn’t seen anything. He looked back at the inn to see Brynjolf emerge, shaking his head. He was just about to round up Serana and get them started back up the road to Solitude when her voice caught his attention. He turned to find her engrossed in conversation with an unlikely party.
A young boy walking down the road had introduced himself to Serana. Clearly smitten, he sparkled and smiled and, when she asked him about Moth Priests, tried to impress her by saying that he’d seen an old man walking through town just a short time earlier.
“He headed across the bridge,” the boy said. “Not very long ago. You could probably catch him if you didn’t wait long.”
Serana smiled and Andante nodded; but Brynjolf, who had approached quietly, murmured “Thank you, lad. That was very helpful,” and slipped a coin into the boy’s hand. The child’s eyes got round.
“Thank you, mister!” he yelped, then turned and ran toward the inn.
They started trotting south toward the bridge. “Feeling generous, were you?” Andante asked.
“You always pay for your information, lad. I thought you knew that. He’s just a boy but he gave us more than the innkeeper did. It wasn’t much money but it’ll be enough to buy him a sweet roll or something.”
Andante nodded. “I did know that, but sometimes I forget. That’s why you’re the best, yes?”
Brynjolf grinned. “At some things, yes. At others…”
Serana pointed ahead as they reached the apex of the bridge. “I hate to interrupt your love fest, boys, but that doesn’t look good.”
Ahead of them, a wagon had been overturned, its horse and an Imperial guard, as well as a vampire, slaughtered in the middle of the road.
“It definitely doesn’t,” Andante agreed, kneeling to check the vampire’s pockets. Inside them was a note from Malkus, another of Harkon’s high-ranking vampires. “Here we go. This one was ordered to ambush these people and take the moth priest to a place called Forbear’s Holdout. Apparently Malkus’ people got here before we did. Do you know where this place is, either of you?”
Serana shook her head. “I’ve been, well, asleep for long enough that place names have changed several times.”
Andante nodded. “True. Bryn?”
Brynjolf chuckled. “I know it’s nearby, but not exactly where. It really doesn’t matter, though. Look down the road.” He pointed to a large splatter of blood not far away from them. There was a trail of it leading farther down the road and to the left where a side road branched off.
“I’m slow today, I see. Good catch, loverboy. Let’s go.”
Serana sighed. “Loverboy,” she muttered.
“Don’t let it worry you, lass,” Brynjolf told her. “He’s mostly harmless.”
The blood trail led them to a narrow opening in the mountainside, and into a tunnel. As soon as they entered Andante could hear a noise, a humming and hissing, that got louder as they passed through the darkened tunnel and stepped out onto a platform much like the one he’d seen in Dimhollow Crypt. From it, they overlooked a large cavern through which flowed a substantial stream, forming a natural moat for the stone structure on the opposite side. A stone-cobbled path ran from the platform down into the open spaces, bridging the river and running along its opposite edge to that structure.
Andante could see an archway beyond which must be stairs leading up to a higher platform holding the source of the sound they’d been hearing. There was a large magical construct, a shimmering cylinder of power containing something that he could not see, its energy creating the humming noise. He could see people pacing back and forth between the magical barrier and the edge of the platform. He turned to Brynjolf and Serana and pointed at it; they both nodded and stepped down onto the path.
In spite of their nearly silent approach the Dawnguard’s dogs, robust Huskies, spotted them and attacked immediately. Andante took one down with his bow and Brynjolf slashed the other. Beyond the archway were several of the Dawnguard. The first who rushed at them must not have been expecting any sort of interference, as he had no weapons drawn and posed no threat with just hand-to-hand combat. The second and third Dawnguard, though, grabbed their weapons before attacking. Serana took out a man firing silver-tipped bolts from a crossbow and Brynjolf chased a woman with a sword all the way across the bridge before finally finishing her.
Andante left them to it and worked his way further into the building and up to the second level, creeping silently onto the platform where the magical barrier roared. It emanated from a circle, set with curved half-arches and short barricades carved with glowing curves and striations, much like the ones around Falion’s conjuration circle near Morthal. Vampire coffins lined the wall behind the magical construct and gargoyles perched along the banister.
“Those vampires put up a hell of a fight,” a woman’s voice came from the opposite site of the magical construct. “Do you think they turned him?”
Andante forced himself to suppress a snort. They wouldn’t have him in a cage if they had turned him, idiot.
“I don’t know,” a deep male voice replied. “Maybe. Won’t know until we get him out of here.”
“How do we do that?”
Andante crept around the outside of the circle to where he had a good view of the two Dawnguard. The man suddenly looked up and drew his sword.
“What was that?”
Damn, I thought I was hidden.
He was ready to berate himself for having been caught, but the man ran right past him back down toward where Serana and Brynjolf were entering the area. Andante grinned to himself. Alright. One for me to deal with and neither of them have seen me. I’m the best.
He froze the woman solid with a Shout. She fell over, revealing the corpse of a vampire in Volkihar armor – an Orc, much to his surprise. As far as he knew, there was only one Orc among Harkon’s court.
“Well damn, Malkus. I wouldn’t have expected you would fall,” he murmured. “And where are all the rest of your people?”
He checked Malkus’ corpse and found an odd stone, shaped like an inverted teardrop and resembling the stones that contained the magical construct. He swept it into his pocket, turned, and helped Brynjolf and Serana finish off the two Dawnguard.
“Alright,” he said, straightening to look around. “Now what?”
Brynjolf pointed to a small platform above them. “Up there? It looks like the same sort of markings.”
Andante trotted up the short ramp to a platform that overlooked the magical cave. There, at its edge, was a cylindrical device with a central, conical depression. He looked down at Brynjolf and grinned.
“What shall we bet that this stone will shut it down?” He slipped the stone out of his pocket and into the receptacle, and rotated it clockwise. Once the grinding of the stones ceased the magical barrier vanished. There was a man standing in the center of the arched stones.
“I serve my master’s will,” he said quietly. “But my master is dead, and his enemies will pay.”
“His master?” Andante asked Serana and Brynjolf. “Do you suppose Malkus managed to enthrall him before the Dawnguard killed him?”
“I can’t imagine who else he would be talking about,” Brynjolf muttered.
The stones that had formed the skeleton of the magical barrier sank down into the platform, grinding loudly. Below them, the priest drew a sword and brandished it about wildly.
“Ugh. Damn it,” Serana muttered from behind Andante. She reanimated one of the dead Dawnguard, who moved to stop the priest.
“Leave me be!” the priest shouted.
Andante ran to him and blocked his exit.
“If you think I’ll help you, you are mistaken,” the man said quietly. He was calm and unafraid, non-combative, and yet it was clear that he would offer no assistance of his own accord.
I’ll bet old Malkus did manage to enthrall him. Well that should make my job easier.
“Oh, I think I can change your mind about that,” Andante said, grinning and casting his calming spell on the man.
“I am not afraid of you!”
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, good sir. Just stand here for a moment.”
Andante stepped around behind him and fed, briefly. The priest turned to face him; his eyes grew wide.
“By the Divines!” he said. “It’s as if my eyes have been opened. I am blinded by the light of your majesty. I… I must obey you. What would you have of me, Master?”
Andante felt odd for a moment. He’d created thralls before, temporary companions destined to be travelling food and nothing more. None of them had ever spoken to him of majesty; but in his mind he heard Of course. Of course I’m majestic. He blinked several times, then nodded. “I want you to travel to Castle Volkihar. I will meet you there.”
They gave the priest, who identified himself as Dexion Evicus, directions to the castle. He agreed to leave at once, and scurried out of the cavern. Andante turned to Brynjolf.
“There’s a thing I hadn’t shown you before. I now have an obedient thrall who is blinded by my majesty. Isn’t that lovely? You can do that as well. As can Serana, I have no doubt.”
“Of course,” Serana harrumphed. “I don’t have much need of such things, normally. Father keeps the castle well stocked, as you saw. I don’t know how long I was locked away but things haven’t changed much in that regard.”
And they won’t in the future, either. Andante grinned at her.
__
Andante walked down the aisle between Harkon’s feasting tables, listening to the greedy sounds of vampires sipping from goblets of blood and lapping the marrow from bones. He nodded to Dexion as he passed, and nodded to Garan Marethi, then approached Harkon and half-bowed.
“Well done,” Harkon greeted him. “Somehow I knew it would be you who would find our Moth Priest.”
I could almost believe that he means that. But I don’t.
“It was hardly just me,” Andante said, shrugging. “Malkus had him well contained before his unfortunate demise. At any rate, I’ve made the priest my thrall.”
“Yes, I see that. I trust his capture was not too difficult a task?”
He almost seems friendly. I wonder what he wants now.
“The Dawnguard were there before us. Brynjolf found their location and I wouldn’t have survived the Dawnguard without Serana, so you have all of us to thank. But we managed.”
“I wish I could have been there to hear the sounds of their screams,” Harkon said, not-quite smiling. “Well. Your thrall awaits, and we have given him the Elder Scroll. Command him to read it, and let us hear the words of prophecy together.”
Yes, indeed. Let me command my thrall. Mine.
Andante turned to walk slowly back to the Moth Priest, exquisitely aware of all the eyes on him as he went. To hear the reading of an Elder Scroll was to be near timeless power. Once again he felt almost as though he was watching himself, from outside himself, as if someone else was in control of his body. He was practically breathless by the time he reached Dexion.
“Master,” Dexion said, raising his hands and casting his eyes downward. “I have done as you asked and travelled here.”
“Yes, well done,” he found himself saying. “Thank you for obeying my wishes. I have a new task for you now.”
“Of course. What is it that you need me to do?”
“You must read an Elder Scroll for us. We need to know what it says.”
Dexion put his hands on his hips; his expression came as close as Andante had seen to a smile.
“Ah yes. The Elder Scroll. I admit, I am looking forward to this.”
“As well you might. So are we. By all means, please begin. I am eager to hear your words.”
“Of course, Master,” Dexion said, pulling the scroll out into reading position in front of him. His voice filled the room. “Now, if everyone would please be quiet. I must concentrate.”
The room went silent, even the death hounds ceasing their roaming and the tick-ticking of their claws on stone.
“I see a vision before me. An image of a great bow.” His brow furrowed, and then relaxed. “I know this weapon; it is Auriel’s Bow. Now a voice…whispers, saying: ‘Among the night’s children a dread lord will arise, in an age of strife when dragons return to the realms of men. Darkness will mingle with light and the night and the day will be as one.’ The voice fades, and the words begin to shimmer, and distort. But wait! There is more here. The secret of the bow’s power is written elsewhere.”
Once again he frowned. “I think there is more to the prophecy, written in other scrolls. Yes – I see them now. One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood.”
Dexion paused, took a deep breath. “My vision darkens, and I see no more. To know the complete prophecy we must have the other two scrolls.”
Andante stood staring into space. He heard the voice inside him laughing. He turned, slowly, and walked back down the length of the hall yet again, half-hearing the insults the members of Harkon’s court cast at each other disguised in cultured tones.
Harkon met his eyes.
“That was… not as useful as I would have liked. Even so, you did well.”
Andante smiled. “Do you know where the other scrolls are?” I require the other two scrolls, Harkon. Where are they?
Harkon’s lip curled into something that was not quite a sneer, not quite a snarl.
“My traitor wife stole one of them away and then disappeared. As for the other, the last that I heard it was lost in the bowels of a Dwemer ruin. It seems our work is not yet done. But I have waited this long, and we are so very close now. I can wait a bit longer.”
He turned and left the room. Andante watched him leave, and smirked.
“Our” work, Harkon? “We” are so close? Clearly, you expect me to find the other scrolls. You do not understand the person you have chosen to do your work, or his companions.
He turned to find Brynjolf standing at the other end of the hall, and smiled at him. An excitement, a feeling, a voice from deep inside him clamored to be heard.
Perhaps “we” is the correct word after all. Just not the “we” you mean, Harkon.
“A Dread Lord, in a time of strife, when dragons return to the realms of man.”
You think that refers to you, don’t you, Harkon. But you are wrong. You are dead wrong. I was a creature of the dark long before you gave me your blood, long before I was a vampire in the first place. I will be the one who sits in this throne, in this castle. I will mingle the night and the day.
I will be that dread lord.
And I shall have my revenge.