He walked down the tunnel and past the large stained glass shield of Sithis that concealed the entrance to the Sanctuary. It was a big space, open, smelling of wood smoke and slightly moist stone. This close to the sea it was damp, and as long closed-up as the space had been, lichen and moss had overgrown many of the stone surfaces. It was largely quiet save for the crackling of the fire, but an occasional loud moan erupted from one of the hallways. Andante grinned. The playroom Delvin’s men had built for the Listener was being used.
Nazir was seated at a large table in the main area, along with one of the new recruits. The big Redguard looked up and greeted him with his slow smile and deep voice.
“So you’re back. You know, this place is starting to feel like home. Must be all the blood stains.” He grinned. “And the moaning. The moaning is particularly homey. How went the killing?”
“A success, as usual, Nazir. He didn’t even know I was there.”
“Drained him in his sleep, undoubtedly, like the accomplished warrior you are,” came a child’s voice, dripping with sarcasm, from the corner. Andante looked at her slight figure and grinned. Nazir laughed, a slow rumble.
“You know me too well, Babette,” Andante answered her. “It was hardly the finest meal ever but I was hungry at the time, so I killed two birds with one stone, as they say.”
“I need to refine your palate, Andante,” she said. “I do wish you would come hunting with me some night.”
She smiled at him, a child’s cherubic smile on the face of a three hundred year old thing of nightmares with a finely-honed expertise in brewing the deadliest of poisons. Andante was not, as a rule, fond of children. Babette was different, though, undoubtedly because she was not actually a child. She had an acerbic and macabre sense of humor that went along with her great age and that amused him no end. He was fond of her. Well, of Nazir too, if he was truthful. He didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than himself around these people; they’d made him welcome and, if the stories were true, they’d been equally welcoming to werewolves and other types of societal misfits in the past.
Babette had been more than helpful in acclimating him to the business of being a vampire. It hadn’t taken her long to notice, and she’d taken him under her wing. He had taken her instruction and advice and had run with them, just as fast as he could run.
“Some day soon, my dear.” Never, my dear. Never. I don’t want to make you feel bad about your lesser hunting abilities. Babette was strong, and experienced, but he had long since surpassed her; and while she knew that, he didn’t care to rub her nose in it. She grinned at him and turned to climb the stairs behind them.
There had been great things afoot when Andante joined both the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild, and in spite of his best efforts he’d been unable to tease out what, exactly, all of those things had been. The Brotherhood had been nearly decimated in some great catastrophe in Falkreath, and had moved here to Dawnstar not long before he had joined them. Emperor Titus Meade II was dead, and the Brotherhood had somehow done that, as well. That much he knew. What exactly had happened in Falkreath, he did not, aside from it having something to do with the Listener; and that fact made him take her very seriously indeed.
He knew even less about what had happened in the Thieves Guild other than the fact that a prior Guildmaster had been killed and everyone was happy about it. Nobody was sharing a single detail beyond that to someone who was, after all, still fairly new to the family. It mattered to him not at all aside from curiosity; all he had cared about at the time was that there had been voids for the filling in both organizations, and that he had done his best to fill them. Still, information was always the close companion of power, and he’d been trying to pry details loose ever since. Both Brynjolf and the Listener knew he belonged to the other organization, thanks largely to Delvin Mallory’s close relationship with the former head of the Brotherhood, and thus far there had been no problems. All they asked was that he remembered when to eliminate a target and when to simply rob him.
“I’ve run out of assignments for you, at the moment. You’re due a short vacation, anyway.” Nazir chuckled. “But here’s your payment.” He passed Andante a large sack of gold. “By the way, the Listener has been looking for you. I think she’s got a delivery for you to make. And who knows, maybe she has a new target for you.”
“Thank you, Nazir,” he said, weighing his new wealth. “I’ll go find her right away.”
Ahh, lovely. Perhaps a new ring or three; I need some practice on my enchantments. And for all I know Brynjolf will avail himself of my stock of skooma. I’ll need to replenish my supplies. He shook his head to clear it. The idea was too distracting. I hope he doesn’t use too much of it, actually, he thought, frowning. I’d hate to see him become reliant on the stuff. It’s easy to forget that he’s not indestructible.
A petulant voice mumbling incessantly wafted down from the upper landing. “Come, now, Mother. Won’t you speak to dear, sweet Cicero, your humble and reliable Keeper? Just once?”
Andante rolled his eyes.
He still couldn’t fathom why, when she’d had the opportunity to kill Cicero, the Listener had chosen to spare the mad Keeper. It was true, or so they told him, that Cicero had considerable skills as an assassin. And yet, as the Keeper, he was never sent out on missions. The man was unbelievably irritating. Andante tended to flaunt his own good looks, that was true, but Cicero was outright flamboyant, prancing about in a jester’s outfit, dancing around at inappropriate moments, speaking in bad rhyme. One just wanted to slap him back to himself but that would undoubtedly be a dangerous course of action. He was small, but he was in fact deadly. Cicero had sliced up half the people in the former Sanctuary before escaping to this one, if the stories were to be believed. And he had had his eye on Andante from the moment they had met each other.
“Oh, Andante, is that you?” Cicero called down, his voice musical in a discordant way. “Come and spend some time with poor, lonely Cicero.”
“I’ll be right up, dear,” he called up in return, a shudder running up his back. All of the men in the world and this would be the one who actively sought his attentions. I’m not picky, generally speaking, but there is nothing in this world that could convince me to give Cicero a go. It’s not that he’s bad looking, really, but he’s just so very odd.
“Why in the name of Sithis did she keep him alive?” he muttered under his breath.
“I will never know, my friend,” Nazir said. “Jesters make me bilious and Cicero is the worst of the lot. Especially when he dances. That makes my skin crawl. But when the Listener speaks, we all obey.”
Andante smiled at Nazir, once more admiring the handsome man. He had been the one who recruited Andante into the Brotherhood. The big, standoffish Redguard with the wickedly sarcastic sense of humor and enthusiastic desire for death and destruction had felt like a friend to Andante from the moment they’d met. He’d brought Andante to the Sanctuary and introduced him to all that was left of the Brotherhood at that point: the Listener, Babette, and Cicero, the man who cared for the desiccated corpse in the huge coffin, the Night Mother. Andante wasn’t much for cults or religions or mystic legends from days gone by; all he knew was that being a part of this group opened doors that would otherwise have remained closed to him. There was room for him here. Besides that, while Nazir was outwardly calm and relaxed about the Brotherhood it was clear to Andante that he was feeling a fair amount of pressure to rebuild the ranks after the disaster in Falkreath.
What a shame that he turned me down cold like that. Well, at least he hasn’t held it against me. Now if only Cicero would leave me alone…
“Yes, yes,” Andante nodded. “And it’s not that I have any objection to doing so. But I do wonder about that particular decision of hers. She sometimes seems almost too kindhearted for her own good, and I can’t get over the fact that I am saying that about an assassin.” He stretched. “Well, let me go get the inevitable taken care of.”
“Good luck. And then you need to go find her. She’s at her house, I believe.”
Andante walked up to the stairs and approached the Night Mother’s coffin, where Cicero hovered almost continually. Look at him. He’s positively wriggling. Let’s make this short.
“How goes the business of attending the Night Mother?” he said.
“Oh, Andante. It is so good of you to visit Cicero. The Night Mother is, well, silent. As usual. The Listener comes to listen and the Keeper … keeps. As usual. But I hold out hope. I do. Some day our lady will speak to dear Cicero.”
He sidled up as closely to Andante as he could. Andante had long since established a distance within which he would not tolerate Cicero’s presence and, for the most part, Cicero respected that. He often wondered what exactly went on in Cicero’s head. He was a smart man, that was clear, but he was also quite clearly insane and one never knew about insane people. Especially insane people who were efficient killers.
“And maybe, some day? Andante and Cicero will …” He giggled. “Get to know each other better?”
Andante fought not to grimace. “I wouldn’t put too many septims on that particular bet, Cicero. Still, it is good to see that you’re doing well. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Babette.” A convenient excuse that happens to be true.
Babette had come to the alchemy station on this upper level while Andante was talking to Nazir, and was now sitting at a small table overlooking the Sanctuary’s main chamber. The scent of the herbs she had ground and infused into a foul-smelling concoction lingered in the air, and he wrinkled his nose at it.
She looked up at him and smiled.
“Have you discovered anything yet?” he asked quietly.
“I have, but you won’t like it.”
“Tell me.” He pulled out another chair and sat down.
“The name of the place is Volkihar Castle. It belongs to a powerful clan of vampires of the same name, and their progenitor is Harkon. Lord Harkon. He ruled the area when he was a mortal, but that was a very, very long time ago. They say that he made a deal directly with Molag Bal to become a vampire and is thus of pure blood, unlike those of us who came by our condition in… other ways. He thinks of us as lesser beings.”
Andante felt himself becoming irritated. Lesser? Really? How dare he.
“Well then. There’s no help for it. I will simply have to eliminate him.”
Babette shook her head.
“It’s not that easy. His entire clan lives there. They’re all very powerful. They don’t let people inside, not even other vampires. I was turned away as a ‘half-breed.’”
“What?”
“Yes. Nobody has been able to enter for years. And even if you could get in, and defeat all of the others, he himself might be impossible to kill.”
“I find that hard to believe. I am Nightlord, after all, Babette. I have barely been scratched in a battle for a long time now.”
“And he,” she said smugly, “is a Vampire Lord. You know about them, yes?”
“Damn.”
Andante frowned. He did, indeed, know about Vampire Lords. They were a different form of life altogether, a transformation in much the same fashion that a werewolf was something “other” in its beast form, and they were deadly.
Babette is right. I don’t know that I could take down a Lord.
“Well… Do you have any other ideas? Is there anything else I could do?”
I want that castle. I want that castle more than anything. I want it for…us.
Andante had discovered the existence of the stunning building off the coast on one of his trips next to the ocean. Sometimes it was simpler to run up the coastline and then go inland than to travel roads infested with Forsworn. That’s what he had been doing when he saw it, the castle seemingly floating in the fog not far offshore. He stood there, mouth open, just taking in the view, and the seeds of his second great desire had been sown. He found a boat tied up at a small jetty, rowed himself out to the island, and found what had appeared to be a beautiful, deserted castle.
When he closed his eyes he could see a vision of himself, establishing his own clan of vampires, there in the perfect, remote, beautiful spot. And in that vision he saw Brynjolf, with golden eyes, establishing the clan along with him. His thinking mind knew that Brynjolf needed to be in Riften; in his imagination it didn’t matter. It had seized him in a way nothing else had in the short time he could remember.
He wanted the castle.
The only thing he wanted more was … Brynjolf.
This will be my revenge. I will surpass them all.
Or if nothing else, I will have a perfect place, a remote place, to live out my days.
But he had not found a way in.
And he was determined to find a way in. He had asked Babette for help.
“There might be. You’ll like this less,” Babette murmured. Then she looked him directly in the eyes. “You need to become human.”
Andante stood and slammed his hand down on the table.
“What? Give up… everything I’ve worked for?”
“Shh. Just temporarily. Stop acting like a little boy. Sit down and relax and I’ll tell you.” Babette had the face of a child but when she scolded, her eyes became cold and harsh, and three hundred years’ experience shone out from them.
All right. Damn it. I don’t have any other sources. Reluctantly, he lowered himself back into the chair.
“There is a group, an old group from the Second Era. The Dawnguard. They were vampire hunters, and they worked out of an old castle southeast of Riften. They’ve been reconstituting themselves, and their goal is to wipe all of us out. They have strength, and they have power. They’ve been training battle trolls. They have silver weapons and I don’t need to tell you what those will do to us as well as the werewolves. It looks like they’re coming for Harkon first because he’s the best-established and most well-known.”
She leaned forward and stared at him, making sure that he caught her point.
“What I’m telling you is that you might be able to get to Harkon if you join them.”
What is she on about?
“I’m sure they would be happy to have a Nightlord with them, yes?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
She sighed. “No, of course not. That’s why you have to get yourself cured first. Then join up with them and see whether you can get access to Harkon.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “I wouldn’t even be suggesting this if not for the fact that they are after all of us, Harkon’s clan and all the others in the world as well. They want to eliminate us, Andante. We are being hunted, each and every one of us. If you can get to the inside, once you’re established, you might be able to help remove them as a threat.”
Andante shook his head. “Without my powers?” I am nothing more than an ordinary Imperial man without them. It would never work.
“No, stupid, you’d have to become a vampire again. That can be easily accomplished after you’ve secured your place with them.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I have nothing else to offer you, Andante. I think it’s a fool’s errand, and that you should just continue doing the Night Mother’s work as you have been. But there is the chance that you could save us all and for that reason, I’m sharing this with you. The Dark Brotherhood is on shaky ground, still, and we need time to rebuild, time we won’t have if the Dawnguard wipes out half of us for being vampires.”
“True.”
Andante stared at the table and thought hard. Give this up? Can I do it? Can I go back to being just a mortal man again? Needing to eat and drink and not just sweetrolls and brandy… Moving so much more slowly, losing that much power in an axe blow. Can I do it? Can I stand it?
It would be so much easier if I remembered anything about what I was before. Maybe I had some special skill, some special knowledge that would help me decide. But I don’t. It’s just nothing but a blank before that mountainside. I can’t remember, and I just have to decide based on what I know now.
If I don’t do it, they’re going to come for me and for Babette, and they will definitely kill us, because there will be more of them than there are of us. Even if the Listener and Nazir and Cicero and the new ones assist us we will all die.
He looked up at Babette.
Do I even care? I could just leave, find a place elsewhere, rely on my own devices.
Several long moments went by while he considered things. Babette met his gaze, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
I don’t care about the Dark Brotherhood. It’s convenient, but that’s all. Sithis be damned. I do his work but I don’t care. But I don’t want to see Babette or Nazir harmed. They’ve been good to me. That might be a decent enough reason to give it a try and, as she said, it would be easy enough to come back here and have her turn me again if it proves to be too difficult.
If I do infiltrate the Dawnguard, and I’m successful, then I will be able to offer Brynjolf the most beautiful home in the world. And maybe he’ll come with me. That would make it all worthwhile.
And if I infiltrate them and am not successful – well, I will have simply died in a different way and by different hands, and probably not much sooner than I would have if I hadn’t tried.
He sighed.
“All right. I don’t like it. But I don’t like the idea of dying because of what we are. And I want that castle. What do I have to do?”
Babette smiled. “I thought you’d see it that way. The man’s name is Falion, and he works out of Morthal. He supposedly can make you human, fully human. The only other way is to become a werewolf and… I don’t know about you, but… let’s just say that Arnbjorn, the old Listener’s husband, was amusing but I had no desire to be like him.”
Andante shuddered. “No. No lycanthropy for me, thanks all the same. I’ll go see this Falion fellow.”
Babette gave him a look that almost seemed sympathetic. “I know. It will be a shock. But it will only be for a short time and then, with any luck, you’ll be able to accomplish your goals,” she said. “Assuming you don’t get yourself killed in the interim.”
Andante rolled his eyes. Ah the unchild, as Cicero called her. What a creature. “You’re terribly reassuring, Babette,” he said. “I’ll hold your well-wishes close to my heart.”
“Now then, I believe you need to go see the Listener?”
Andante nodded. “Yes, I do. Thank you, Babette.” He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and sighed. “Very well, then,” he said to nobody in particular. “Time to go see a man about a cure.”
Babette smiled at him. “Good luck, Andante. Do come back to us.”
He grinned. “I will, my dear. Don’t worry about me.”
He left by way of the Sithis shield. A cure. It put a shudder of revulsion up his spine. It was necessary. It would only be temporary, but still, he really didn’t want to do it. He sighed.
Well, I do have a job to do for Brynjolf. I probably should do that first, yes? I’ll go to Whiterun to do that job, return to Riften to speak to Brynjolf, and then make my way to Morthal to see about the cure.
Oh, who am I kidding. That’s the longest possible route I could take other than going to Markarth first. I might as well be honest about it – just don’t want to do it.
Babette may not worry about me, he thought, but I certainly will.