The path Karliah had mentioned wound around the base of one of Riften’s outer hills. Dag could see one of the rings of standing stones, much like the one she and Roggi had seen near Whiterun, farther up on the hill; but that was not her destination. Brynjolf and Karliah stood by a single stone, a large one, with a symbol carved on it. Dag frowned. That symbol. I’ve seen it before. As she approached, it came to her. It was the same thing that was on the hilt of Gallus’ Nightingale sword, a circle with six arcs below it, vaguely reminiscent of a bird with outspread wings.
“This is the headquarters of the Nightingales, cut into the mountain by the first of our kind,” Karliah began. “We’ve come here to seek the edge we need to defeat Mercer.”
This was a temple of sorts, she explained, a shrine to Nocturnal. “She is the mistress of night and darkness, and the patron of every thief in Tamriel.”
“Alright,” Dag said. “You’ve mentioned this before, and I still don’t understand. Temples seem like the last things thieves would be involved with.”
“No. Nocturnal is not one for worship, not in the traditional sense. She influences our luck and in return demands payment.”
“Ah,” Brynjolf said. “It sounds like a Guild contract.”
Karliah nodded. “Now you’re beginning to understand.” She then opened the door to the cavern and led Dag inside, with Brynjolf following.
“So this is Nightingale Hall,” Brynjolf said. “I heard about this place when I joined the Guild, but I never believed it existed.”
“The idea that it was just a myth was seeded on purpose, to deflect attention,” Karliah said, as they wound down and around a corner to the left. “What’s wrong, Brynjolf? I can almost hear your brow furrowing.”
“I’m just trying to understand why I’m here, lass. I’m no priest, and I’m certainly not religious. Why pick me?”
Karliah called back to him. “It’s not about religion, Brynjolf. It’s business.”
“Even more to the point, why pick me?” Dag said. “I’m nobody, truly nobody.”
Why in the name of Stendarr am I here? Dag wondered. I have no idea what they’re talking about, all the talk of Daedric things is making me nervous, and this isn’t getting us any closer to snuffing out Mercer.
Brynjolf shot her a sharp look, and shook his head. She frowned back at him. Hey, Red, that’s my opinion. I’m not a leader in the Guild, but you two are.
Ahead of them was an odd room, an antechamber of sorts, with three stone pedestals engraved with the same symbol as the standing stone outside. “If you’ll proceed to the armory and don your Nightingale armor,” Karliah said, “we can begin the oath.”
Nothing Karliah was saying made any sense to Dag. She exchanged a confused look with Brynjolf. He just shrugged and walked to the stone Karliah indicated. Well, ok, she thought, I’ll play along. Each of them stood by one of the stones. Suddenly, Dag found that she had, in her hands, a set of armor of the darkest hue, almost a blue-black, with a short cape attached to the shoulders. Its aura nearly rang with the hum of enchantments. Body armor, boots, gloves, and a hood with an attached face mask. She was so startled that she almost dropped it all on the floor.
“What is this?” And where did it come from? This rock? How in the world…? Dag was beginning to feel extremely unsettled. “Karliah, what is going on?”
But Karliah and Brynjolf had already slipped into the dark armor and were moving down a hallway to the right of the armory, so Dag did as well. I suppose it won’t harm anything to put this on, she thought, but it certainly is strange. It was form-fitting, silent, and with the masks and hoods on all that was visible of each other were their eyes.
Dag stood and admired them all. I have to admit, it looks good on us. It was beautiful armor, and it might as well have been made especially for each of them. Brynjolf turned to face Karliah and Dag suddenly felt very warm. My, my, she thought. That is a nice fit. He looked positively heroic in it. His Guild armor was attractive on him but this was hard to stop looking at.
Oh stop it already, her sarcastic voice said. I thought you wanted to break his nose.
Karliah paused before a doorway blocked by metal posts.
“Ok, lass,” Brynjolf said. “We’ve got these getups on, now what?”
Karliah nodded toward the bars. “Beyond this gate is the first step to becoming a Nightingale.”
“Woah there,” Brynjolf said, putting his hands on his hips, almost a defiant pose. “I appreciate the armor, but being a Nightingale? That was never discussed.”
“Brynjolf, if we are to have any chance of defeating Mercer, we must have Nocturnal at our backs. If she’s to accept you, an arrangement must be struck.”
That makes sense, Dag thought. A Daedric prince is not going to do something for nothing.
“What sort of arrangement? I need to know the terms.”
Damn these masks, Dagnell thought. I need to know the terms too, but I need to see your faces so I can tell whether you’re being straight with me. This is beginning to sound too much like joining the Thieves Guild – now that we know about it we’re stuck.
“The terms are simple. You become a Nightingale, and are given all the powers and knowledge that go along with being a Nightingale. You can use them however you wish, whether for your own purposes or to help the Guild. In return, you pledge to serve Nocturnal and defend the Sepulcher, both in life and in death. Once you die, your spirit is bound to the Sepulcher, until Lady Nocturnal determines that your contract has been fulfilled.”
Brynjolf looked down at the floor, hands on hips, clearly struggling to come to terms with this situation. Finally he looked up at Karliah again.
“Aye,” Brynjolf said. “There’s always a catch. But I suppose at this point, there isn’t much to lose. If it means the end of Mercer Frey, you can count me in.”
Dag looked from him to Karliah and back again, mouth open.
“Is this serious, Karliah?” she asked. “You want me to bind my soul, assuming that I even possess such a thing, to a being I’ve only heard of in tales and am not even convinced exists? Really? To say nothing of the obvious: of all the people in the Guild you might have chosen to bring here you picked me? I’m … seriously, I’m nobody. What about, oh, I don’t know, Delvin.”
Karliah crossed her arms over her chest. “Delvin wasn’t even a consideration, Dagnell. Even if he had been, I can almost guarantee you he would have nothing to do with this. His interests on this level lie… elsewhere.”
Dag had no idea what she was talking about. None. But it didn’t matter, because Brynjolf caught her attention yet again as he shook his head.
“You’re hardly nobody, lass. You’re a Thane of the Rift. You’re the one who Mercer raised his sword to. You got the translation for Gallus’ journal. You have as much right to that bastard’s neck as anyone else.” He looked down at her, making sure she saw his eyes. “I think we should trust the lass, and take the deal.”
Dag stared at him, wondering yet again how it was that this man was having such an oversized influence in her life. So I’m to be a Nightingale? she thought. The three of us are taking over the role that used to be held by Karliah with Gallus and Mercer? How is this even possible?
Brynjolf’s eyes seemed calm, decided, sure. Dag sighed. Well, all right, Red. You win again. You’re the boss now, after all.
Dag nodded. “All right. I think it’s crazy, but I agree. I’ll do anything to get that skeever at this point.”
Karliah nodded. “Once I have opened the gate,” she instructed, “stand on one of the stone circles.”
Beyond the gate was a large room, reminiscent of the Cistern. Water flowed into a shallow pool, over which was a central stone circle with three arches leading to smaller, raised stone circles. Dag walked to the left-most circle and turned to see Karliah on the center arc and Brynolf on the other side of the room from her.
Then Karliah lifted her arms and shouted:
“I call upon you, Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow. Hear my voice.”
There was a long, pregnant silence. The air felt heavy. Then there was the hum of energy.
Dag nearly fainted.
A shimmering blue ball of light, vibrating loudly with power, appeared over the central stone. A Daedric prince. It wasn’t just a tale, it was real. First dragons, and Shouts, and now a Daedric prince. And here she’d thought bandits and gigantic spiders were frightening.
A dark, sultry voice said “Ah, Karliah. I was wondering when I’d hear from you again. Lose something, did we?”
Dag’s small voice suddenly spoke up. Oooh, this is a sarcastic one, isn’t it? A voice after my own heart. Oh shut up, Dag told it. I’m about to soil my new armor and you’re happy with sarcasm?
Karliah went down on one knee, begged forgiveness for having failed in her duties, and asked for Nocturnal’s aid.
I have no bloody idea what’s going on right now, Dag thought.
Do you ever?
Dag ground her teeth. I never thought I’d be in a position where I had the urge to strangle myself, but there it is.
“You’re already mine, Karliah; your deal was struck long ago. What could you possibly offer me at this stage?”
“I bring you two who wish to transact the oath, to serve as your guardians in life and death.”
“You surprise me, Karliah. This offer is definitely weighted in my favor,” said the disembodied voice. Dag had the disturbing feeling that she and Brynjolf were being analyzed, weighed in some way, against some standard of which she had no knowledge.
“My desire for Mercer Frey’s demise outweighs any desire for power or wealth,” Karliah murmured. There was so much behind that quiet little speech. Dag felt an involuntary shiver up her spine. I have a feeling that Karliah would be a fearsome opponent in a battle, she thought.
“Revenge, is it? How interesting. Very well, Karliah. I name your associates Nightingales, and restore your status to the same. I would suggest that in the future, you refrain from disappointing me again.”
There it was again, Dag thought. Disappointment. Brynjolf had said the same thing to her. What an odd term to use for the act of failure, of breaking faith with someone or something.
Nocturnal and Karliah were speaking to each other, discussing oaths and obligations, and it all washed over Dag’s head in a blur of incomprehensibility. She stood and watched in a daze, almost as if from outside herself, as Karliah pledged all three of them to something she didn’t understand.
Three shafts of light poured through holes in the ceiling, surrounding each of them and illuminating the three circles of stone. Then, just as suddenly as she had appeared, Nocturnal’s aspect hummed with power and blinked out of sight.
Karliah walked back down the stone arch before her, to the center of the room; Brynjolf and Dag followed.
That hardly seemed fair, Dag thought. Karliah wasn’t the one who killed another Nightingale. Mercer was. She wasn’t the cause of the disappointment. She glanced down at herself. So here I am. A Thane, a member of the Thieves Guild, and now a Nightingale. A thing of tales, something most of the Guild and almost all of the rest of the world thought didn’t even exist. How is it that this kind of thing keeps on happening to me?
“Now it is time to reveal to you the true extent of Mercer’s crimes,” Karliah said.
Dag made an inarticulate, strangled noise. “Are you kidding? There’s more?”
And then Karliah told them a tale that, had she shared it a few hours earlier, Dag would never have accepted as anything other than the ravings of a lunatic. There was, in the place called the Twilight Sepulcher that Gallus had mentioned in his journal, a conduit to Nocturnal’s true power. She was the source of the uncanny luck that allowed the Thieves Guild to be more than just a group of random bandits; she did not wield a heavy hand in the world, rather nudged events slightly. That conduit was activated, and likewise protected, by an artifact known as the Skeleton Key, and that was what Mercer Frey had stolen.
“That is why our luck has been fading for the past twenty-five years. Our connection to Nocturnal’s power has been cut off. If it is not restored, it will continue to diminish, to the point of nothingness.”
Dag thought about meeting the Guild. Brynjolf had said they’d hit a run of bad luck. Delvin had told her the Guild was cursed. Vex had called it bad luck, too. All of them had mentioned this happening, slowly, over the last twenty-five years or so. It sounded crazy but there was too much coincidence to ignore.
“That,” Karliah said, “is why Mercer could rob the Guild vault without needing two keys.”
Brynjolf’s eyes were burning with anger, but he did not speak.
“And it’s why he could get through the Nord puzzle gates at Snow Veil Sanctum!” Dag blurted. “That skeever was trying to make me look bad for not being able to open them, but nobody could, without that Key! So it can open any lock?”
“Yes,” Karliah answered. “But it’s more than that. The Key is not limited to physical locks. All of us possess untapped abilities, the potential to wield great power, securely sealed within our minds. Once you realize the key can access these traits, the potential becomes limitless.”
“Oh. Oh my.”
Dag thought back to the frightening ease with which Mercer cut through the draugr at Snow Veil Sanctum. Yes, that makes sense. He was tapping into something then, something that had allowed him to be more than just the good fighter he probably was without it. She suddenly thought about Roggi, unexpectedly releasing enough anger to break Rolff’s nose on little provocation. What if the Key could tap into something like that? She looked at Brynjolf. And what about something like the way he grabbed me, back in the Cistern? Or the way I killed that Forsworn?
Dag shuddered. The implications of this were enormous.
“I think,” she said slowly, “this sounds like a thing that nobody should have.”
“Yes,” Karliah agreed. “I’m glad you understand. And now we must find Mercer and defeat him.”
Brynjolf spoke up. “I’ve done a lot of research, and I think I’ve narrowed down the location of the Eyes of the Falmer. It’s an old Dwemer ruin called Irkngthand. We need to head there and stop him before he vanishes.”
“All right,” Dag said. Finally. Enough of the standing around. Let’s go get him. “Point me in the right direction and I’ll meet you there.”
Karliah and Brynjolf looked at each other.
“Before you leave, there’s one more thing to discuss,” Karliah said. “I think you should listen to Brynjolf.”
What?
Brynjolf stepped closer to Dag, one hand on his hip. “Listen lass, there’s one more thing we need to settle before we take on Mercer, and that’s the leadership of the Guild.”
“Of course. Why are you telling this to me? What do you need my help with? Is someone being obstinate?”
Brynjolf looked at Karliah again. I wish I could see their faces, Dag thought for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Before you arrived, Karliah and I had a long talk. Thanks to your efforts, Mercer’s treachery has been exposed. After we deal with him, all that is left is to return the Guild to its full strength. As a result, we both believe that you have the potential to become the next Guildmaster.”
Dag had another of the moments she was beginning to get used to, those moments where her head rang as though it had been struck by a warhammer.
“Did I just hear you say you think I should be Guildmaster?”
Brynjolf nodded.
Dag exploded.
“What in Oblivion are you talking about, Brynjolf? Are you mad? Thanks to my efforts? All I did was follow Mercer’s orders and become closely acquainted with his sword.”
Karliah and Brynjolf just stared at her.
She stepped closer to Brynjolf and looked him squarely in the eyes.
“There shouldn’t even be a discussion, Brynjolf. You should be Guildmaster. You are Guildmaster. That’s your job. You’re already doing it. Good grief, half of Skyrim knows your name. And the half that doesn’t is afraid of you anyway. You’re that good. You started doing it the second you found out about Mercer and nobody so much as batted an eyelash. Everyone looks to you for guidance. Me? Are you serious?”
There was a long, quiet pause in the cavern. Then Brynjolf sighed.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
There was such sadness in that one word. It caught Dag completely by surprise.
“I’ve been at this game a long time, lass. A very long time. I’ve stolen trinkets from nobles and framed priests for murder. I’m good at what I do, maybe one of the best. But I’m not a leader. Never desired it, don’t want it. All the others – they look up to you. They admire what you’ve done. They may not come out and say it, but I promise you it’s true. And now they know that Mercer never genuinely cared about the Guild. That’s a quality that you clearly possess. ”
Well, Vekel had said he liked her, but he was only one guy. And he was just the bartender. And Thrynn had told her that Vipir admired her, but that had more to do with her selection of physical parts than with any particular skill set she might have.
Dag stood there with her mouth open. It wasn’t right. Based on what Mercer had told her about the chaos following Gallus’ death, the place would have fallen apart a long time ago if Brynjolf hadn’t managed to hold it together, maybe by sheer force of personality, finding recruits who could work together as the family he so obviously desired it to be. Mercer certainly wasn’t responsible for its survival. But Brynjolf sounded … tired. Not quite defeated, but tired. Worn down. Dag studied his eyes, the only part of him she could see. They were sad eyes, tired eyes. I wonder when he last slept for more than a couple of hours, she thought. “Yes,” he had said. The sound of it kept echoing in her head.
By all the gods, she thought. Those eyes are breaking my heart. I know I’m not the right person for this job, I know it down in my bones. But maybe if I can lean on him, and on Delvin and Vex and Karliah, maybe I can do it so that he doesn’t have to.
She took a deep breath. “It doesn’t make any sense to me, Brynjolf. When I look at you I do see a leader.” She glanced at Karliah, but Karliah wouldn’t meet her eyes. She agrees with me, I know it. “But if that’s truly what you want, I will accept.”
He nodded. “Aye, lass. Then it’s settled. But it will be awhile before we can make it official. We need to defeat Mercer, and then restore the Guild to its full strength. I’ll keep doing what I’m doing until then.”
And I’ll keep trying to change your mind, Dag thought.
They agreed to meet at Irkngthand as soon as possible, and then started walking out of Nightingale Hall. Brynjolf walked beside her.
“Do you think we actually have a chance to defeat him?”
“You know, lass, if you had asked me that yesterday, I would have said no. But now? Call me crazy, but I trust Karliah. I don’t think she’d lead us down a suicidal path.” He paused. “And if we don’t succeed, well, I’d rather die with some of Mercer Frey’s blood on my hands than to say I ran away without trying.”
I can definitely agree with that, Dag thought. Give my regards to Brynjolf, indeed. You’re going to die, Skeever-Face.
