Roggi had left the mask behind along with Brynjolf’s old Guild leathers. Andante was appalled to find it sitting on top of the pile of black leather. He stared at it, for a long time, his fingers creeping out toward it and then pulling back in dismay. That flash of a memory, the terror in that woman’s face when she’d seen the same lack of face that he’d seen when Roggi put it on, that vision was horribly disturbing.
Was that really me? Or was my imagination playing with me because I was already off-balance from seeing the mask? And if it was me… When? Where? Was I fulfilling a contract of some kind?
Who in Oblivion AM I?
He kicked over his chair.
Damn it all, I don’t remember! I need to remember! And once I find out who took those memories away from me for all this time I am going to do exactly what I saw myself doing in that vision.
Only slower, and more painfully.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t do horrid things every day, already. It wasn’t as though he didn’t purposefully let some of his feeding victims see him coming. It wasn’t as though he didn’t do minor assassinations for the Dark Brotherhood, and it wasn’t as though he couldn’t have done major ones as well. He wasn’t a person to be distressed by violence. No, it had been the particular depth of terror in that woman’s eyes that unsettled him. That, and the sensation that he’d really, truly enjoyed making her feel that way. And he didn’t know why.
He picked up the pile of black, intending to go to the Cistern and return it, and looked again at the hood.
I could keep it. I think it’s mine anyway.
A shudder ran up his back. He made for the door, but stopped and shook his head. He went to the bedroom and slipped the hood onto a shelf in the wardrobe.
Brynjolf wasn’t in the Cistern when he got there, so he slipped quietly around to the old bed where nobody slept anymore, and slid the black leathers into the chest at its foot. Brynjolf probably wouldn’t ever look for his old leathers if he hadn’t missed them so far, but they were back and his promise to Roggi was fulfilled.
Brynjolf was in the Flagon, standing next to Vex, speaking to her in hushed tones. As he approached, Andante heard Brynjolf thank her, tell her soothingly that she was always the most reliable one in the Guild; and he saw Vex relaxing, her posture shifting a bit, clearly responding to Brynjolf’s voice. He felt the same kind of twisting, burning anger that he’d felt when Brynjolf had spoken of his wife.
Get off him. He’s mine.
“Brynjolf.” He tried to give his voice a lift at the end, make it light, and he failed.
The big redhead turned to him and crossed his arms. He looked relaxed and confident.
“Yes, lad. What is it?”
“Are you ready?” He crossed his arms in return and stared at Vex.
Brynjolf frowned for a moment but then chuckled. “Yes I am. As always.” He grinned, and then turned back to Vex. “I’ll be gone for a few days. Try to give yourself a break, alright?”
“Of course,” she said, nodding.
Brynjolf turned and walked across the room toward the exit ladder. Andante made ready to follow him but Vex grabbed him by the arm and stopped him.
“Hey. What is it with you two, anyway?”
It took everything Andante had to prevent himself from dropping his illusion and baring his fangs. He did, however, shake her hand off his arm.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Vex.”
She narrowed her eyes. Andante knew better than to provoke Vex, but he wasn’t about to back down to her, either.
“Don’t try to give me that. I want to know why you’re giving him orders and he’s obeying them.”
“Maybe he just likes it, Vex,” Andante sneered, enjoying himself as he watched Vex’s cheeks flush. She’s gorgeous, and tough, and smart, but she needs to back off. “As he said, we’ll be gone for a few days.”
He turned once again to leave and she called out, “Don’t tell me you’re walking away without taking another job? That’s like leaving a fat coin purse on the table!”
He waved, even as he walked away. “That’s right!” he called back in what he hoped was a playful tone. I don’t have time right now, Vex. I’ll do the petty burglary things later.
Brynjolf was waiting for him once he got outside the sarcophagus and into the graveyard.
“Now would you like to tell me what that was all about, Andante?”
Andante shook his head. “No, not really. We have to go clear out a skooma den, Brynjolf. Let’s go do it.” He turned to leave and this time it was Brynjolf who stopped him with a powerful grip on Andante’s forearm.
“Lad,” Brynjolf said, pulling him closer and giving him one of his tiny half-smiles. “You really have to stop being jealous of everything that moves. Vex and I go way back. She told me a long, long time ago that she wasn’t interested and she said it in a way that left absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind about that fact. She just needed some reassurance and that’s what I was giving her. You really need to relax about all of this.” He leaned forward and gave Andante a quick peck of a kiss. “Alright?”
Yes, but you have to understand. You’re all I’ve got.
“Alright. I’m sorry if I sounded testy. I’m really… anxious might be the right word? About Harkon.”
“Lord Harkon, if you please,” Brynjolf chuckled. “I made that mistake while you were off doing whatever it was you were doing with him.” He winked at Andante. “I’d wager, based on the look you had on your face at the time, that you weren’t doing half what you’d have liked, with him.”
“Bryn! How could you. You cut me to the quick.”
“But I’m right, aren’t I?”
Andante sighed. “I will go so far as to admit that I was enjoying the view, yes.” And why? That’s the question. I don’t want anyone but you, so why was I even looking?
Brynjolf laughed. “At any rate, I was told in no uncertain terms that his title is to be used. I think I managed to contain my laughter. Let’s get on our way, bad influence. I want to see what all this is about as much as you do.”
They headed for the north gate. Andante looked at him and shook his head. What a remarkable man. Why would I have even looked sideways at Harkon? It felt like I had a voice screaming inside my head.
Maybe I did. Maybe it’s… me. Whoever that is.
___
“There’s someone in that room,” Brynjolf whispered as they approached the partially-burned structure nestled in an aspen grove in the middle of the Rift.
“Yes. I’m on it.” He crept up behind the guard and then rose to drain the man dry. He dropped the corpse to the floor and nodded at the trapdoor.
It wasn’t the old house with the collapsed roof that was the attraction, in this location. It was the lower level. For in the basement was a skooma operation of some considerable reputation in the underworld. A person could come here to feed an addiction – or create one – and rumor had it that the special, highly-refined variant was manufactured here as well. Andante had been here once before, when he was first settling into his new life. As the cravings had gotten stronger and stronger and his need to steal, buy, or make skooma had increased, he’d searched out any source he could find. This was one of them.
Andante and Brynjolf opened the trapdoor and crept down the stairs that opened into a large, mostly empty room. There was a lone guard in front of what Andante knew was an important entryway. The first time he’d been here, he had heard the wracking coughs of addicts smoking a variety of Redwater Skooma rising up the stairs before he’d even gotten through the door to sample some himself. This time it was strangely quiet, with the guard’s breathing clearly audible.
Not for long, though. He crept around the perimeter of the room, in the shadows, and finally close enough to rise and kill this guard just as he had the one above. He opened the door and descended a second set of stairs. There was nobody at the sales booth, and nobody was using any of the filthy stalls customers stayed in while they enjoyed their pastime. The odor of smoked skooma hung in the air, and Andante’s lip curled up as he inhaled it, remembering the experience. He’d spent a full day in one of those stalls, with an Imperial soldier who’d been in one too many battles and seen one too many brutal endings, and the two of them had enjoyed themselves a great deal.
“Good thing I cleaned this place out earlier. This skooma will set you back for a lot of money and a lot of time. It’s incredibly strong.”
“So where is everyone?” Brynjolf asked. “And what are we supposed to use to fill that chalice? The skooma?”
“I think it’s down. Caverns, maybe a barrow. They use something you can only get here as a special ingredient of the skooma. ‘It’ is what we’re supposed to get, whatever it is. I’d guess they’re down in the caves harvesting it, or maybe making more product. As far as where everyone else is, the customers and the barkeeper…” He furrowed his brow, trying to remember. “I’m not completely certain but I think I might have cleared the place of more than just the skooma. I didn’t go down any farther, I’m sure of that, but truthfully I don’t remember it very clearly.”
They made their way through the sub-basement and into a tunnel that emptied out into a large, cold, dark cavern. There were a number of gigantic brewing vats here, with hefty braziers beneath them supplying heat. Shelves held potions and ingredients. There was a pair of people, a man in Dwarven armor and a woman in ringmail, standing near one of the vats, warming their hands at the brazier.
Andante slipped up behind the woman and, in his usual fashion, sunk his fangs into her neck and drained her dry. The man cried out and turned, catching sight of Brynjolf and pulling a war axe. Andante thought he saw a glint of golden eyes, but wasn’t certain.
“Die!” Brynjolf shouted, slashing at him. Andante saw the man lift his axe and aim for Brynjolf’s neck.
No you don’t. You shan’t have him.
And then it seemed as though time slowed, as though someone else was moving in his body, someone else was taking control of what would happen next. He knew what was happening, but it seemed as though he was watching himself, from somewhere else, perhaps above.
He found himself behind the man, whipping one arm around his neck and one leg around the man’s knee. He fell backward onto the floor, pulling the man down on top of his own body. Wrapping both legs around the man’s thighs, he arched backward, his strength fueled by hatred, pulling, pulling, pulling, and then a quick application of extra force…
The man’s back broke with a sickening crack and he screamed, and Andante followed it up by snapping the man’s neck as well.
He stood, calmly, and looked behind him as a steel arrow thudded into the floor beside him. Brynjolf was standing so as to be a clear target for the archer in the bedroom alcove behind him. Andante pushed him aside, snarling “get down!” and ran for the man, pulling out his axe as he went. He didn’t stop running as he attacked, merely used his momentum to pivot on one foot, whirl in a circle and slice into the man’s neck with everything he had. The head flew off into the darkness of the cavern.
Andante turned to face Brynjolf.
“Lad,” Brynjolf breathed.
Andante felt his jaw muscles relaxing, slowly, and blinked several times as he looked around.
“Yes?”
“What was that?”
Andante studied Brynjolf’s face. He was a man not often affected by much; he was a thief, and skilled with his weapons, and hard-bitten. But at this moment he looked almost shaken.
“What do you mean? I killed them. I do this kind of thing for a living. Or at least part of a living.”
Brynjolf shook his head. “Yes, but you did it like a machine. You told me you could snap me in two, back then, but I thought you were just being poetic. And…the look on your face while you were doing it. You looked like, well, I don’t even know how to describe it.”
Andante reached up with one hand and rubbed his jaw. Like someone who could have bitten through that guy’s neck? Yeah.
“I know, it was odd.”
He tried to smile. It was more than odd but I don’t even know how to put words to it myself. All I know is that…
“They were trying to kill you. They had to go.”
Brynjolf studied him for another moment or two before nodding. “You really are stronger now, aren’t you?”
Andante grinned. “Yeah. Remind me to show you, once we have this taken care of.”
Above them, he could see a raised drawbridge and an opening on the other side of the cavern. They followed a ramp up and through a smithing area, and then spent a few moments searching around to locate the lever that dropped the bridge. On the far side, a tunnel led down into what looked to Andante like an old barrow. The sound of a pickaxe breaking stone covered his approach through the shadows to eliminate the woman using it. Farther along were a man and a reanimated skeleton; they went down as well. Their pathway dropped deeper, through a rounded tunnel, and into a chamber occupied by what Andante had been expecting: a vampire and her pet Death Hounds.
“Here we go,” Brynjolf whispered.
Andante circled around behind the vampire and was about to attack her when she shrieked. The tip of Brynjolf’s sword slid out, just beneath her ribs. Andante stood and dealt with one of the hounds while Brynjolf took the second. He looked at Andante and grinned.
“You’re no slouch, either, loverboy,” Andante murmured.
Beyond them, the barrow had been partially excavated. Around a corner, up a short flight of steps, they found a closed door. Brynjolf tapped Andante on the shoulder and pointed down. There was a puddle of reddish liquid that had clearly seeped out from under the door. Andante dipped one finger into it and tasted it.
“Odd. It’s… blood, but it’s not. I don’t know how to describe it.”
Brynjolf followed suit and made a face when he tasted it. “That is strange. I’d wager that’s what they use to make their skooma, though. There’s nothing else I’ve seen so far that would make sense.”
Through the door was a T-junction with a gated room at either end. Through an opening in the wall, Andante could see, but not quite reach, a chain that he felt certain would raise at least one of the gates.
How do I get to it?
A corridor to his left led down into a massive barrow chamber that had been converted to other uses. Cages along one side held more Death Hounds, and a ramp hugged a fat stone column in the center of the room. There were two vampires there; Andante took out the first by draining her dry, celebrating yet again that he was able to do such a thing. Brynjolf, meanwhile, took a massive swing at the second with his shield, a nasty, spiked Daedric item. The vampire dropped. He stood, loosening his shoulders, and grinned a sheepish grin.
“My,” Andante grinned, licking his lips. “Impressive. Keep this up and, well, I’m not sure what you’ll have to do to settle me down later.”
“Heh. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
Gods. This is fun.
Getting to the chain he’d seen through the window, however, was not fun. While Brynjolf dealt with the Death hounds, he searched for what seemed like years before finally making his cautious way up the ramp and down to the end of a long corridor. He stood in front of the chain with his hands on his hips.
I don’t know why it took me so long to figure that one out. I must be losing my touch.
The chain, as it turned out, opened both of the gates. The far gate led them to a well-preserved barrow through which ran a shallow stream of the bloody water, and into a huge, multi-story chamber. Andante saw movement roughly halfway down the cavern.
More vampires. He drew his bow.
The first vampire dropped after two arrows, and the hound that hurtled down the chamber toward him dropped with one. He looked up at the bridge across the room’s center and saw another vampire running for what he presumed was a stairway or ramp. He moved forward, cautiously, and was practically on top of the Death Hound’s corpse when it slowly rose, reanimated, to face him. And so did the vampire who had made her way down to attack them.
“You dare to interfere with me?” she sneered as he fumbled with his bow and tried to draw his axe instead. She caught him a nasty blow in the arm with a war pick, and the hound nipped at him from behind. Brynjolf bashed at her with his shield, distracting her long enough for Andante to slip across the room and pull out his axe. He dispatched the reanimated hound, dashed forward and caught her just before she was able to attack Brynjolf. She fell just as Brynjolf speared a second, live Death Hound that was just about to latch onto his arm.
They made their way up to the catwalk where he had seen the vampire, and turned left down a hallway toward yet another gate. The chain to raise this one was close at hand, a fact for which he was extremely grateful. They made their way through the circular chamber beyond it, and into a nearly pristine section of the ancient barrow.
Pristine because of all these damnable traps, Andante thought as he didn’t quite make it clear of a swinging spiked gate. He turned enough to keep from getting hit full in the face but even so, he had to stop and heal himself from a dozen painful wounds.
“Are you alright, lad?”
“Yes, but keep an eye peeled on the floor. It’s loaded with pressure plates. At least none of the draugr are moving.”
“Aye. Thank you.”
They worked slowly through the hallways, winding their way around the pressure plate traps. At the far end of the passages, Andante’s foot clipped the edge of a nearly-hidden plate and he was suddenly caught in the crosshairs of two flame spouts. While once more his armor saved him, he did smell the acrid odor of singed hair and hoped he hadn’t lost too much of it. He opened the doors at the far end and stepped into a gigantic chamber, with staircases on either side and a generous stream of the red water running down its center.
And things got complicated.
There were several vampires, a substantial skeleton, and, as Andante and Brynjolf rushed forward, a reanimated corpse which slowly rose from atop the long table in the center of the room. One of the vampires had a powerful shock spell. Another attacked with ice spikes. And the master vampire was simply very powerful, more than enough of a challenge for either Brynjolf or Andante, striding through the room with his life drain spell burning red in his palm and his eyes glowing golden. Andante found himself gasping in pain after the first few moments, caught full-on by the breathtakingly strong shock spell. He ran to the far side of the chamber, healing himself as quickly as he could, and then pulled out his bow and his best arrows.
“Ah good, I could use some practice!” he heard Brynjolf growl.
Not now Bryn. Now is not the time to joke.
He had a momentary vision of Brynjolf disintegrating into a pile of shimmering ash, and saw red. He shot as quickly as he could draw, three quick arrows in succession, and took down one of the vampires. The other two turned to rush him.
“IIZ-SLEN!”
They both toppled over, frozen nearly solid, buying him just enough time to stand and draw his axe and Mehrunes’ Razor while Brynjolf slashed at the nearest of them. The two figures disappeared around a corner. Andante heard the vampire’s aggressive screams and ran forward to see Brynjolf backed into a corner, slashing wildly.
“You’ll beg me to kill you before I’m through!” the vampire shouted.
“No, he really won’t!” Andante growled, laying into the vampire with a furious dual-handed flurry of axe and Razor. Brynjolf stepped back, out of the way, and caught his breath for a moment; but Andante heard the second vampire approach. He turned and, in his rage, tore her to pieces. Once it was done he stood, panting, for a moment and then knelt to drain her of her blood.
There was an iron door at the far end of the chamber, and Andante knelt to pick its lock.
“Don’t you suppose there’s a key in here somewhere, lad?”
“Probably, but I’m sick of this. I can pick it open just as easily. Can’t you, Mr. Thieves Guild?” he said as he broke a third lockpick.
“Funny. Yes, of course I can. I had lessons from the best.”
“And who might that be?” Andante asked, swearing under his breath as his fourth pick broke.
There was a moment of silence, while he fiddled with the fifth lock pick.
“Vex,” Brynjolf said just as the lock clicked open.
Andante stood and pushed the door wide.
“I’m going to kill you.”
He heard a snicker behind him.
“You do what you want.”
And behind the locked door was what they’d come for. That much was obvious from the moment they saw it.
In the center of the chamber was a spring. Once it might well have had its liquid completely contained within the three concentric stone rings but it had long since overflowed and was, without question, the source of the streams of red water they had been following since entering the barrow. It was well-illuminated by a firepot hanging overhead and because of that shone an eerie, almost raspberry red. And it was bubbling, and hissing. The center of the spring was filled not only with the restless red waters but also with the remnants of several human skeletons.
“Shor’s beard,” Andante heard behind him. “It doesn’t look like that’s particularly safe to drink.”
“At least not if you’re not a vampire,” Andante agreed. “We both tasted it, and we’re fine. But if that’s what they’ve been using to make the skooma, no wonder it has such a kick.”
“Is this what we’re supposed to get?”
“Yes, I’m quite sure it is,” he said, leaning over to fill the chalice he’d carried from Volkihar Castle almost – but not quite – to the top. “Now we have to add to it one more thing.”
“And what’s that?”
Just as Brynjolf asked the question, two figures stepped out of the shadows before them.
Andante turned and grinned at him. “Give it a moment.”
He turned back and nodded to Salonia and Stalf, two of the vampires they’d met at Volkihar Castle, as they approached. These two were subordinates to Orthjolf and Vingalmo, two of Harkon’s highest-ranking court members, the two who had watched Garan Marethi give him the Chalice and the assignment to fill it.
“It’s really too bad, you know,” Salonia said. “The little accident you had here, completely unexpected …”
Stalf nodded. “Yeah, too bad. Lord Harkon’s new favorite, dead so soon after joining the family.”
Andante laughed, and reached for his axe and the Razor.
“And to which accident do you refer, hmm? I did have several on my way through. The spiked gate was delightful.”
Salonia ignored him. “We’re just lucky I was here to return the Chalice to Vingalmo, so he could make sure Harkon gets it ba…”
Enough of this.
“IIZ-SLEN!”
Salonia fell to the ground, sideways, and Stalf attacked. “Well, well! Another maggot to squash beneath my boot!”
“You think so, do you?” Andante stepped forward, snarling, slashing with both weapons in spite of the deathly cold flames Stalf was firing at him. Behind him he heard Brynjolf rush forward to attack Salonia, laughing. It was a maniacal, terrifying, evil laugh of a type he’d never heard before. Andante shuddered as he brought Stalf down, then turned to make sure Brynjolf was all right.
“You think I’m afraid of you?” Salonia sneered, just as Brynjolf stunned her with a shield bash.
Andante stepped forward, brought his axe and his dagger up to her neck, and calmly scissored her head from her body. He sheathed his weapons, and turned to Brynjolf, whose eyes were dancing even as he panted to catch his breath.
“And this,” he said, “is the other thing we needed to collect. The blood of an ancient vampire. Salonia here has generously given us easy access to hers.” He knelt and finished filling the Chalice, then stood and turned to face Brynjolf.
Brynjolf was standing on a stone that had him towering even more than the half-head taller than Andante he already was. Something about the look on his face had Andante feeling almost intimidated.
Brynjolf grasped his shoulders. There was a wild look in his eyes that Andante couldn’t remember seeing before.
“Lad.”
“What? What is it?”
“That was amazing.” He steered Andante backward, until he was against the wall.
“Yes, but… Bryn, what?” Andante stammered as Brynjolf started unfastening the top of his armor.
“It was…” he said, baring Andante’s neck and pushing his head to the side, “amazing.”
“You’re not going to…”
“Oh yes I am,” Brynjolf said hoarsely. He kissed Andante, first, nipping at his lower lip hard enough to draw blood; when Andante cried out, Brynjolf slipped his mouth down the side of his neck and sank his fangs in. Andante hissed with pain and with pleasure, and closed his eyes.
By all the gods.
He had never expected such aggression, not in a million years, and he simply stood and soaked up the sensations until, after a few moments, he began to feel a bit light-headed. He reached up and gently pushed Brynjolf’s head back.
“Enough, my love,” he whispered. “I need some for myself.”
Brynjolf pulled back, his mouth red and his fangs bloody, and blinked as though he was confused.
“What?” His eyes began to regain their focus.
Andante chuckled. “I can’t let you drain me completely, dearest. Harkon’s expecting you to return with me, not with a pile of my ashes.”
“I’m … sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Hunger?” He realized that, while he had fed on several of the vampires on the way through, he hadn’t seen Brynjolf feed in some time.
“That, and…”
Andante grinned. “And?” He refastened his armor and walked a few steps away from the wall. “You did say you’d think of something to settle me down, but I think you’ve outdone yourself. I’m well and truly impressed, Brynjolf. That was downright masterful. By the way, I told you I’d show you this, once we were done. Watch.”
He focused for a moment and then transformed to his Vampire Lord form. Brynjolf stared.
“What do you think?”
“I think… that you look better in that particular shape than Harkon does.”
He laughed, and reverted to normal. “It’s a little close in here for me to be that large. That’s why I didn’t use it to fight. That, and the fact that I’m not really used to it yet. But just the power to be able to do it, Bryn, that makes me so much stronger than I ever was before.”
“That’s rather, well, tempting. ”
“That’s something I would imagine you’ll be able to do yourself shortly,” Andante grinned. “You did just help yourself to my blood, after all. If you start feeling faint, do sit down right away. Of course, if you’d like to make certain of it…”
Brynjolf’s eyes flashed, and a slow grin took his face. “Andante.”
“Yes? Am I detecting a yes, here?”
Brynjolf started unfastening his own armor.
“Yes, lad. Please.”
“Am I to be your bad influence once more?”
Brynjolf swallowed, and nodded.
Andante laughed, and took his Vampire Lord form again. He stepped close. “Once this is taken care of perhaps we could think of one of those other ways to get settled, before we return to Harkon. Now. Stand still.”
And he bared his fangs.
