Andante followed Valerica through the door, only to discover that his assumptions about her former prison had been completely incorrect. It wasn’t a castle he’d been seeing. Oh, it was surely a large, formidable structure, no doubt about that; but the towers were merely two of a series of six towers connected by great curtain walls at least twice as thick as their poorer cousins surrounding Whiterun. Each of the walls had at least one raised platform nestled at about half the height of the wall, with stone stairways running up to them. No, it was not a castle, but rather a great open arena, with clusters of the same sorts of standing stones as they’d passed all along the way in the Soul Cairn outside. Somewhere in this huge space was the Elder Scroll, hidden safely away by Valerica.
Andante was trying to take it all in when Serana spoke.
“I hear something.”
Andante hadn’t had nearly the same amount of experience with them as Dardeh, the Dragonborn, but he knew the hollow roar of a dragon when he heard it. To the best of his knowledge, Brynjolf had no experience with dragons at all, and he was certain that Dynjyl and Serana hadn’t either because of how recently the dragons had returned. He looked up to see a shape, distant and distinctly green, approaching rapidly.
“It’s Durnheviir! He’s here! Defend yourselves!” Valerica called.
Andante swapped an alarmed glance with Brynjolf, then drew his weapons and ran forward into the yard. The creature flew directly overhead, and Andante gagged.
It was enormous, like all other dragons he’d ever encountered. But it was green, and rotted, portions of its huge ribcage visible where the flesh had long since fallen away, tendons and muscles visible in other places. Its wings were a magnificent latticework of putrid membrane stretched thin over bones that somehow maintained their integrity in spite of untold eons of decomposition. Strands of green saliva stretched between its opened jaws as it roared. And the smell, pushed downward with every flap of its wings, was the foulest thing Andante had ever experienced, an overwhelming, thick stench that could nearly be felt as well as smelled.
He coughed, trying not to breathe through his nose, and was grateful for perhaps the first time ever that he’d not fed recently.
Vampires create death. But we feed on the living, primarily, or the very recently deceased; clean, fresh, warm beings. This is decay. This is rot. This is the foulest aspect of death. This is horrible.
He heard Serana making distressed noises, somewhere nearby, and while he could neither see nor hear the others he was certain they must be in equal discomfort. How could they not be?
Durnheviir flew across the yard and landed atop one of the towers, and Shouted. At least, Andante assumed that it Shouted; he felt or sensed it rather than hearing anything over the crackling of nearby lightning and percussion of thunder. The dragon opened its mouth, and from it flew a strand of blue energy that arced over the center of the bone yard and then split, descending like fireworks in smaller balls that fell to ground in the various clusters of standing stones around the yard. Where the balls landed, the ground turned red like a vampire’s life-draining spell; and from each of the areas arose a bone man, one of the creatures with legs of mist, and a large, draugr-like skeleton wearing armor.
Oh by the Eight we’re going to be busy.
He’d no more than had a chance to think that when a flash of light to his left caught his attention; it was Dynjyl, rushing into action against a bone man that had attacked Brynjolf. “Is that it?” he yelled, his voice harsh and angry. “Is that your best?”
And here I stand, doing nothing, and me the only one who’s ever fought a dragon. Move!
He swapped his axe and Razor for his bow, readied his strongest Daedric arrows, and took aim on the dragon. His very first shot was a solid hit; he saw the creature’s head jerk backward. But before he could get another shot off, Durnheviir launched himself back into the air and flew across the yard, toward Andante.
Andante stopped, and loosed another arrow straight overhead as the creature passed, catching it in what was left of its enormous gut. It howled, then banked to return. A brilliant spot of red in his peripheral vision made him turn just in time to see Valerica battling a draugr. “I’m not going to die like this!” she shouted.
And then he wished he hadn’t stopped, or turned.
“GAAN – LAH HAAS!”
The sound boomed so loudly across the yard that dust flew. The force of the Shout hit Andante full on. He swiveled, and let fly another arrow that was a solid strike on Durnheviir, but he felt himself failing even as he let go the bowstring.
He was dying. His life force was draining away from him. His feet would barely move, his heart started pounding, and it was all he could do to focus enough to cast a healing spell on himself.
Got to find cover. Got to keep healing.
He looked about frantically and spotted a shallow alcove between two of the staircases, and made for it as quickly as he could make his body move. It wasn’t perfect, but it was some cover. As he gasped for breath he continued to cast healing spells, but it was an uphill battle against the Shout that kept draining his vitality faster than he could replenish it.
I’m not going to die like this, either. I have things to do. I refuse.
Outside the alcove, the others were making slow but steady headway against the creatures of the Bone yard. He heard Brynjolf taunting them, Valerica crying out as weapons struck her, Serana declaring that it wouldn’t end well for them; and all the while he fumed that he was doing so little to protect the only one of them he truly cared about.
Finally, he could sense that he’d gotten the better of whatever terrible force had been behind the dragon’s shout, and ran back out into the yard. He was about to take aim at it again when it flew down into the yard, hovering just high enough to be well clear of weapons, and drew a deep breath. Just beneath it were Valerica, Brynjolf, and two bone men.
It’s going to use that shout again.
“Brynjolf! RUN!” he screamed, then pulled his bow around in front while gathering his own breath.
I only know one word of Unrelenting Force. But if I don’t do something Brynjolf is going to die.
“GAAN—“ Durnheviir bellowed.
“FUS!”
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched the shock wave of his own Shout travel into the air and strike the dragon’s head, interrupting the remainder of its Shout. Brynjolf grabbed Valerica’s arm and rolled to the side, dragging her down with him, outside the area of the dragon’s shout just enough to spare them the brunt of it, though Andante did see her casting a heal spell.
And he pulled an arrow from its quiver, slung it into position and let it fly as quickly as he could. It struck the dragon in the neck. Durnheviir fought his way back into the sky and flew for the far end of the bone yard again.
The battle went on like that, in a blur of confusion, Shouts, spells, bone man attacks and battle cries, for what seemed a lifetime. All five of them fought as hard as they could; Andante focused on the dragon while the other four kept knocking down his summoned bone men. He interrupted its attacks as best he was able, fired as quickly as he could, sprinting around the perimeter of the arena so as to avoid Durnheviir’s Shouts, and eventually the beast was wounded enough that he came to ground, as dragons always did.
Andante dashed to the stairway behind him, to try to get some height from which to fire. He was almost close enough to touch the dragon, definitely close enough to feel increasingly ill at the putrid odor of it. The dragon was still, crouched over, breathing heavily and trying to recover its strength. It wouldn’t be moving any time soon, and it didn’t appear to sense his presence.
Andante snuck along the top of the curtain wall, creeping closer until he had the smallest of angles, down the stairwell, in which he might possibly fire an arrow. He pulled his bow around from behind him and nocked an arrow, pulling the string back and holding it.
Focus, fool. This should be easy. You’ve done this hundreds of times before.
And suddenly out of nowhere the memory of flames enveloped him, so overpowering that it took his breath away. He began shuddering. Flames would kill a vampire, faster than Durnheviir’s vitality-draining Shout, faster than anything else except full sun on an empty stomach. Flames were to be avoided.
What? Flames? He hasn’t used flames on us. Focus, Andante!
He’d relaxed his arm while he shook, and thus had to draw the bow again and take aim. Even as he took a deep breath and tried to steady himself a part of his mind wailed about flames.
Enough! Let’s end this!
The arrow caught the dragon square in the eye, the closer eye. Its head snapped back, and it flailed about looking for the enemy, but couldn’t see Andante in his perch above and behind him. It Shouted, the energy of it shooting out across the arena without a target; Andante saw the others dashing away from any chance of encountering it. He smiled, grimly, and fired four more shots in quick succession.
As he saw the dragon go limp, the telltale sign that he’d finally felled it, Andante raced down the stairs toward the carcass and witnessed the most remarkable thing. It sizzled and glowed, energy in coruscating patterns of lavender and blue that dissipated slowly until there was absolutely nothing left of the thing – not even its stench.
The others all came running. He was still staring dumbfounded at it – or the spot it had been – as they arrived. He shook himself back to life and turned, finding Brynjolf’s familiar bulk first.
“Are you all right?”
Brynjolf grabbed him by the upper arms and nodded, scanning Andante for damage. “Are you?”
“Yes, yes I’m…” No I’m not. What was that? The flames? I was… afraid. But physically… “I’m fine. And it’s dead.”
Brynjolf released him, and released a breath. “Good. We all seem to have come out of it mostly unscathed, too. That was a nasty Shout it had. Is it really gone, then?”
“Who knows?”
Valerica had been staring at the empty spot where the dragon had sat, as dumbly as Andante had been. She turned to him and shook her head.
“Forgive my astonishment, but I never thought I’d witness the death of that dragon. Volumes written on Durnheviir allege that he cannot be slain by normal means. It appears they are mistaken. Unless…”
Andante grimaced. “What now?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for on my part, Madame. Go on.”
Valerica spoke slowly, pacing back and forth, her attention focused inward.
“The soul of a dragon is as resilient as its scaly hide. It’s possible that your killing blow has only displaced Durnheviir’s physical form while he reconstitutes himself.”
As soon as she said it, Andante knew it had to be true. He swapped glances with Brynjolf.
“You’re right. I’m not Dragonborn. I didn’t absorb its energy. It’s off somewhere, trying to recover. How long will that take?”
“I have no idea. Minutes? Hours? Years? I suggest we don’t wait around to find out.”
She turned from the spot and began walking toward the wall in another area, a place where Andante could see a niche tucked between matched stairwells. “Now let’s get you the Elder Scroll and you can be on your way.”
Valerica led them to the niche that contained an alchemy station and a long, shallow chest. She opened it and pulled out the Elder Scroll, handing it to him and saying that they should be on their way.
“You’re staying here? I thought perhaps you’d like to go back to your workshop; it’s very much intact and very much closed off from the rest of the castle.”
She shook her head. “I have no choice. As I told you before, I’m a Daughter of Cold Harbour. If I return to Tamriel, that increases Harkon’s likelihood of bringing the Tyranny of the Sun to fruition.”
“True.” It increases the likelihood regardless of who is trying to complete the prophecy, doesn’t it. “Well, as I told you, I intend to do something about him. We’ll return for you if we can.” That much is true.
“I appreciate your concern for me but Serana is all that I care about. You must keep her safe at all costs.”
Andante stared at her, considered her ancient, wrinkled features, and wanted to shake his head. I don’t believe you. I just don’t. Why would you suddenly hold her near and dear to your heart when for hundreds of years, maybe thousands, all you were concerned about was revenge on your husband? I’ll never understand people.
“Definitely. We’ll do our best in that regard.” I need to safeguard her blood, too.
“Remember that Harkon is not to be trusted. No matter what he promises, he’ll deceive you to get what he wants. And promise me you’ll keep my daughter safe. She’s the only thing of value I have left.”
Oh, have no fear on that front, Madame. I wouldn’t trust Harkon if my life depended on it. As to the rest: Serana does not belong to you.
Andante inclined his head to Valerica, stowed the Elder Scroll and stepped away to get his bearings, while Serana and her mother said their goodbyes. Off to the side, Brynjolf and Dynjyl were also speaking quietly to each other. He sighed. I came into the Soul Cairn with a partner and now I’m the odd one out. Again.
He spotted the great doors back to the Soul Cairn and trotted to them. As he pushed them open he gagged, caught full in the face by a familiar stench he’d not expected to encounter again. Perched on a stone building before them was Durnheviir, reconstituting himself as they approached, the lavender and blue light resolving into a familiar shape with rotting green skin. They were close enough to the dragon to see flies buzzing around him. Andante drew his axe and heard the sounds of other weapons being readied behind him. Durnheviir spoke, his voice deep as the ocean floor.
“Stay your weapons. I would speak with you, Qahnaarin.”
Andante slowly returned his axe to its place. “I thought you were dead.”
“Cursed, not dead. Doomed to exist in this form for eternity. Trapped between Laas and Dinok, between life and death.”
“So tell me, then. Why are you here? Why are we speaking?”
“I believe in civility between seasoned warriors and I find your ear worthy of my words. My claws have rended the flesh of innumerable foes but I have never once been felled on the field of battle. I therefore honor-name you Qahnaarin, or Vanquisher in your tongue.”
Andante barely knew how to respond. Staring back at the great beast that had nearly ended his existence with a power he couldn’t begin to equal, he said, slowly, “I find you… equally worthy.”
“Your words do me great honor. My desire to speak to you was born from the result of our battle. Qahnaarin. I merely wish to respectfully ask a favor of you.”
“Go on.”
“For countless years I’ve roamed the Soul Cairn, in unintended service to the Ideal Masters. Before this, I roamed the skies about Tamriel. I desire to return there. I fear that my time here has taken its toll upon me. I share a bond with this dreaded place.”
Behind Andante, Dynjyl drew a breath, catching Andante’s attention for a moment. He’s trapped, too. I’m not sure whether I’m pleased about that or not.
“If I ventured far from the Soul Cairn my strength would begin to wane until I was no more. I will place my name with you and grant you the right to call my name from Tamriel. Do me this simple honor and I will fight at your side as your Grah-Zeymahzin, your ally, and teach you my Thu’um. “
“That seems a very simple request to honor. Just Shout for you?”
“Trivial in your mind, perhaps. For me, it would mean a great deal. I don’t require an answer, Qahnaarin. Simply speak my name to the heavens when you feel the time is right.”
Andante nodded. “When the time is right, I will call.”
Durnheviir launched himself into the skies and flew away, and the air around them became breathable, if not pleasant.
“I don’t know whether I could bear to inflict that stench on Tamriel,” he muttered.
“Let’s get going, then,” Serana said. “I need some fresh air, too.”
“Truly,” Brynjolf said. “Up to now the worst I ever smelled was Falmer but this place outdoes even them.”
“I suppose there is some advantage to being dead, in that case,” Dynjyl said, his voice cheerful. “I can’t smell a thing.”
Andante set off at a run, frowning as he went. It was a long run, back across the wastes to the stairwell portal, and he couldn’t help thinking about what might happen when they readied themselves to leave. They passed several other specters along the way, some resting mournfully on blocks of stone.
Look around you. The Keepers are gone. At least you don’t have to fear them anymore. But this isn’t much of an existence, is it.
At the base of the portal, Andante turned to look at Dynjyl, and sighed. I like him. I wish I didn’t but I do. He ought not to be here. He approached the ghost and spoke quietly.
“It’s been a pleasure, Dynjyl. I hope to see you again.”
Dynny smiled. “Take care of Brynjolf for me, Andante. I know you will, but it makes me feel better to say it.”
“I will. At least I’ll try.” He looked past Dynjyl to Brynjolf, who was hanging back, looking uncomfortable. “I think you should talk to him. He isn’t very good at hiding his feelings, really, but he’s even worse at expressing them.”
Dynjyl laughed. “That is very true. I’m glad you know him so well. Take care, Andante.”
The specter moved to face Brynjolf.
“What is it, Bryn?”
“I don’t want to leave you behind, Dynny. This is no place for you.”
Dynjyl’s crisp, businesslike voice softened.
“This is the only place for me now, Bryn. I can’t leave. You know that.”
“But we dropped the barrier…”
“Brynjolf.” Dynjyl crossed his arms and smiled up at the man. “Think about it. With your head, and not just your heart.” Brynjolf winced. “We defeated the Keepers. The Ideal Masters still exist. That barrier was only to imprison Valerica, not the rest of us; we can’t leave anyway. And when that archer stole my life he also stole part of my soul. What you see is all that was left. You know that.”
Brynjolf nodded, slowly, looking miserable.
“Even if that wasn’t the case, my dear, I still couldn’t be with you again, and you know that to be true as well, don’t you. That long, long staircase behind you? As soon as I stepped through the portal I would cease to be. I’m dead, Bryn. You know that. I’m so glad I’ve gotten to see you again, but we both know this is all there is for me now.”
Brynjolf tried to speak, but what came out was barely a whisper. “Dynny.”
Dynjyl shook his head.
“Don’t give me that. You know I’m not going to Sovngarde. You know that. Even in my best moments I wasn’t a warrior.”
Andante frowned. Oh I think you accounted for yourself very well, sir. Don’t sell yourself short.
“There must be a way, lad. There must be a way to at least… let you rest,” Brynjolf said quietly, his voice cracking at the end.
“I wish I knew what that was, Bryn. But I don’t. Don’t worry about me. Please. You have a life to live and,” and he nodded at Brynjolf’s hand, adorned as it was with the Bond of Matrimony, “someone special to be with.”
Brynjolf’s head shot up and he looked at Andante, his expression miserable.
Andante sighed and shook his head. It’s alright, Bryn. It’s alright. I understand.
“I’m… it’s not that simple…”
Dynjyl waved a finger at him. “Hush. It doesn’t matter. You need to go, and do what you need to do with the Scrolls, and Serana here. I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll pop by and say hello to Valerica from time to time now that I’ve met her, formally.”
He smiled.
“Take care of yourself, my lovely boy. Take care of Andante. I hope we’ll see each other again someday.”
He waved cheerfully, turned, and scampered back down the path into the wastes.
Andante stepped up to Brynjolf and turned to watch Dynjyl receding into the sulfurous mists. He slipped one arm around Brynjolf’s waist.
“I’m sorry, Bryn.”
“There has to be a way,” Brynjolf muttered. “We have to be able to set him free, at least. There just has to be a way.”
He seemed to finally realize that Andante was there, put an arm around Andante’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze.
“Thank you, lad. I’m sure this wasn’t any easier for you than it was for me. Thank you.”
Andante smiled at him. “I like him, Bryn. He’s… a good fellow.” He looked back out over the wastes. I need to break this mood. I can’t stand to see him so sad. “I might even have tried to give you some competition if I’d known him when he was alive.”
Brynjolf swatted at his arm. “You have no shame whatsoever, do you, lad?”
“None. Be happy you didn’t hear what I was going to say next before you interrupted me.” I do have some shame, though. I want to kiss you but this truly isn’t the moment for it.
Serana, standing not far away, had been listening quietly. She made a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes.
“Perhaps we should go now?” she said. “There’s another Elder Scroll left to find.”
Andante walked to the base of the stairs and looked up. Another trip through a portal. This is starting to get tiresome. But I’m hungry, and there is a nice soft bed, a warm bath, and some skooma in Solitude calling my name. And a castle to take.
And I need to figure out what is going on in my mind.
“So there is.”
