He stepped down through the shimmering purple light of the portal and looked around.
The Soul Cairn hadn’t changed at all, not that he really would have expected it to, except for the absence of the magical barriers around its edges. Andante moved down the stairs and onto the path that would lead them to Valerica, and cast his gaze around the area. There were specters here, and the wisp-like remnants of other souls, but he didn’t see the shape he was looking for or, he knew, Brynjolf would be looking for.
He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Brynjolf was doing the same, scanning the horizon for Dynjyl’s familiar figure.
I shouldn’t let it get to me. Of course he’s looking for Dynny. Why wouldn’t he be?
“Let’s get this over with, yes?”
“Aye. I’m right behind you.”
They hadn’t gone far before a bone man surprised them. It had been standing next to one of the black standing stones along the path, and both it and its brother were completely invisible until stepping out to attack. Brynjolf took down one of them, silently, and Andante found that his heavy new greatsword could shatter even a bone man with just a couple of blows so long as he took a good deep breath beforehand and got a solid stance before swinging it.
Then he turned and peered around himself in confusion. There was a platform, a structure above which floated a thing that looked like a gigantic black soul gem. It was humming, glowing with a pulsating purple energy. He didn’t remember seeing it before, when he’d first come into the Soul Cairn, but he had the unsettling feeling that he should have recognized it. He also thought he should have seen Dynjyl. He wanted to find Dynjyl, for Brynjolf’s sake.
Where is the man? I thought he was in this area. I don’t see anything that looks familiar.
Except for those bone men.
There were at least five more of them, rising from the powdered surface of the ground around the platform. Both Andante and Brynjolf waded into battle, confidently, but as his first opponent beat against and blocked his blows it dawned on him; the last time they’d been here, they’d had Serana, and Serana’s revived assistants, and later Dynjyl as well. This time there was only Brynjolf alongside him and, formidable though he was, Andante heard him grunting with effort as the bone man he was fighting did its damage. A sharp blow to his shoulder had Andante’s head snapping around long enough to spy the archer bone man just under the platform. He grimaced and turned back to bring his greatsword down just as hard as he could manage, shattering the skeleton that was closest to him, and heard the clatter of bones behind him as Brynjolf also defeated his enemy. Both of them ran to the platform, up the stairs, and toward the archer as it retreated up the stairs onto the platform itself.
And then the most horrible thing happened.
They both attacked the archer. It should have gone down almost instantaneously, between the two of them. But Andante felt his energy being sucked from him, his movements slowing, his life dissipating in a similar way as it had when Durnheviir had Shouted at him. This felt different, though. He sensed that no matter how close to death he got, he would not die; he would simply continue to be held in place, to be drained, to feed…
He looked up and saw a great tendril of blue light extending from Brynjolf to the gigantic gem above him. Suddenly he remembered where he had seen such a thing before: the souls that had been trapped, feeding the magical energy of the barrier, from above each of the Keepers. They’d been frozen in place, moaning, unable to die and unable to exercise any sort of free will, and just above those towers or just beside them had been more of the gigantic gems.
Now they had Brynjolf. And, as he looked down at himself and saw the wide band of pulsating energy extending upwards from his own body, he realized that they had him as well.
“Get away, Bryn!” he shouted. “That gem! It’s one of the Ideal Masters! We have to get away from it!” Or we’ll be trapped here, forever, and we’ll never see Dynjyl or Valerica or our castle again.
In his panic, he beat on the archer hard enough to push it right to the edge of the platform, and Brynjolf followed it. Andante watched the filament of energy detach from Brynjolf’s back and retract, back up into the gem above them. He pushed his own body toward the edge as hard as he could and felt the same thing happen.
“It has a range, Bryn! Stay toward the edge!”
“Aye, lad!” Brynjolf swung to slash at the bone archer once more, keeping away from the tendrils of energy that extended from above, like fingers seeking to grasp them once more. The skeleton finally disintegrated; Andante grabbed the sleeve of Brynjolf’s armor and pulled him, as hard as he could, down the stairs, away from the platform and back out toward the trail.
He stood there for a moment, his hands on his thighs, panting.
“Are you… alright?” he said between gasps. “That was horrible.”
“Yes, I am now,” Brynjolf said, also laboring to get his breath back. “What were you doing over there in the first place, Andante? The castle is up that way.” He pointed toward the two enormous towers in the distance.
“I was looking,” Andante said, grabbing one more lungful of air and straightening up, “for Dynjyl. I thought we left him around here, somewhere.”
Brynjolf stared at him for a moment, looking stunned.
“Really?”
Andante snorted. “Yes, really. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Why would I not try to give you what you want, you silly man?” Do you really not understand that I want to please you more than I want anything else?
“Lad.”
“Loverboy.” He grinned. “Come on. I’m sure he has to be around here somewhere. But mostly I want to find Valerica and get out of this place. Once was enough for me. Twice is more than I could ever have asked for.”
Brynjolf laughed. “I agree. Let’s get going, then.”
They ran forward, through terrain that began to look more familiar to Andante as he went. Arvak the spectral horse ran past them. Some of the same spirits he’d spoken to before still haunted the same areas. Another bone man attacked them, and try though he might Andante couldn’t seem to bring him down.
“Ha! You’re pathetic!” Brynjolf yelled.
“I know I am!” Andante snapped, bringing his blade down hard. “But I need to learn how to use a greatsword and the only way to do that is practice!”
Brynjolf smashed the bone man into pieces with his shield.
“I didn’t mean you, lad,” he snorted. “I was laughing at this skeleton. As new as you are to that blade he should have been filling you full of arrows.”
“Oh,” Andante said, feeling foolish.
“What, did you really think I’d say such a thing to you? Honestly. Let’s go.”
They trotted across the landscape, Andante’s head swiveling right and left as he searched for, but did not see, Dynjyl. Near one of the small outbuildings he saw a figure walking about and sprinted to get closer; but as he neared, he realized that this was the shade not of a tall Nord man but of a woman with a broom, seeming not to know that she was dead and trying to sweep up lifetimes of dust and decay.
He was about to give up and simply run to the castle when a bright spot off to his right caught his attention.
Maybe?
He broke into a full run, dashing over the uneven terrain in the heady way only a vampire could move; and the closer he got the wider his smile became. He pulled up beside the man and called out to him.
“Dynjyl! Good to see you!”
Dynjyl smiled at him as though he’d never been anywhere else. “Good to have you by my side, friend,” he said. He glanced over Andante’s shoulder and broke into a brilliant, joyful expression as Brynjolf caught up to them.
“Bryn!”
“Hello, Dynny,” Brynjolf said, beaming. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Where else would I be, you damned fool?” Dynjyl laughed.
“There is that I suppose.”
“Why are you two here?” he asked.
Andante swapped glances with Brynjolf.
“We’ve taken Volkihar Castle,” Andante told him, “and it’s safe for Valerica to return if she wants to. We’ve come to tell her that.”
Dynjyl was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Well. I’ll be sorry to see her leave, but I’m certain she’ll be happy to return to her home.” He nodded, and once more Andante was impressed by the unflappable good nature of the man. “Let’s go share the news, shall we?”
Andante nodded, and trotted ahead of them toward the castle. He could hear the two behind him, their low voices just far enough behind to give them privacy. I hate that we’re leaving him alone. Why do I even care? If we could bring Dynny out I’d be guaranteeing the end of my own relationship with Brynjolf, the same way I’ll be doing if I am able to find Dagnell. It makes no sense. But I still hate that we’re leaving him here.
As he had the thought, he frowned.
Something scrambled my brain. I don’t know whether it was the beatings by the Thalmor, or becoming a vampire, or turning back twice now but something happened in there. I never used to care about anyone else and here I am worrying about a ghost.
He found Valerica where he had first seen her, bent over an alchemy table and hard at work. She looked up and nodded at him in recognition.
“You appear to have something on your mind,” she said. “What is it?”
“That I do. I’ve come to tell you that Harkon is dead.”
Her eyes grew round. “What? Are you certain?”
Andante laughed. “Oh yes, quite certain. He died by my hand, with the help of Brynjolf and Serana. He fought well, but his ashes currently adorn the floor of the cathedral in Volkihar Castle.”
“Yes, he’s definitely dead,” Brynjolf said, coming up behind them. “He was slippery but we got him in the end. Auriel’s Bow worked as described; a big burst of sunlight.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“That must have been a painful way to die, burning in the light like that.”
“I don’t know,” Andante said quietly. But I do know. He vividly recalled the day Brynjolf had turned, when he’d opened the door and been caught full in the face by mid-day sun. It had been excruciating. “It probably was. But it was very quick.”
Valerica nodded.
“Then… I see nothing preventing my return to Tamriel. Allow me to gather some of my things, and I’ll… return to Castle Volkihar.” She straightened, and faced Andante. “And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You will find that we’ve spent time restoring much of the castle; but we have left your quarters and your study for you. Feel free to direct the thralls and so forth to restore it to your specifications; there’s no reason for you to do the heavy work yourself.” He started to turn away and then stopped. “Oh, and at Brynjolf’s suggestion we’ve left the gardens untouched. Maybe you’ll be able to coax some life back into the things that are still there. All you need to do is ask and we will be sure you have any assistance you need.”
While Valerica gathered her possessions, Andante walked around the area before the castle, leaving Brynjolf and Dynjyl alone to talk while they could. It was the least he could do, he thought; he would have Brynjolf to himself once they returned to Tamriel, at least until such time as he learned whether or not the Listener was really Dagnell. That thought was distressing. He didn’t know what he would do, exactly, if Roggi’s hint and Delvin’s contacts managed to determine the truth about her. The worst of it was that the longer he thought about what he knew of the situation, and the timing of it all, the more certain he was that he was in fact working with Brynjolf’s wife.
If it had been anyone else, anyone at all, he’d have been tempted to just sink his fangs in and remove the problem once and for all, and realizing that was unsettling all on its own. But it was the Listener in question; and no matter what other circumstances existed, one respected the Listener.
And then I’ll lose him.
He had the unmistakable sensation of being watched, and turned to find that Brynjolf was frowning at him. Or frowning in his direction, at least; as he watched the man turn and walk down the stairs toward the trail back, Andante realized that he knew of no reason why Brynjolf should be frowning at him unless he’d suddenly developed the ability to read minds.
“Andante,” Dynjyl said quietly, from just behind Andante’s left shoulder.
Ah. That’s who he was looking at, not me. I should have known.
He turned to face the specter. Dynjyl’s expression was sad, but kind.
“He’s upset. He doesn’t want to leave me here.”
He pondered Dynjyl’s sad expression and frowned. From the depths of his mind a thought came, unbidden. We have so much in common. Both of us want him, and neither of us can really have him. Not really. All we can do is share little portions of the man.
“Neither do I, Dynny, if the truth be told.”
“Then you two are more alike than he knows.” He smiled. “Listen to me. There’s nothing that can be done for me at this point. He knows that. You know that. Except for one, solitary thing.”
Really? Is there something?
“What’s that?”
“Take care of him for me, Andante. I know you care for him as much as I do. I can feel it. I can see it. I see his ring, and I don’t see a matching one on your hand. I know he’s married to someone else, but that she’s not with him. You are.”
Andante sighed, and tried to make light of it. “How do you know it’s a she, Dynny? Can you see into Tamriel?”
He chuckled. “No, but I know Brynjolf. And I know in my heart that you treasure him as much as I do. I can be here for all of time if I know that you are watching out for him.”
Andante started to speak but realized that his voice was caught and his eyes were blurring. He nodded.
“Yes, Dynny. I’ll watch out for him as long as I’m alive, as long as he’ll allow me to be nearby. And I can promise you that we’ll be thinking of you. Both of us will. I’m… glad to have met you.”
To his great surprise, Dynjyl snickered. “Now, you know that I know Brynjolf well enough to have a very good idea of just exactly what he’ll be thinking. He’s really a very unconventional man when he lets himself loose a bit.”
Andante stared at him for a moment, caught completely off guard by Dynjyl’s irreverent observation, and then burst out laughing. “That’s exactly so. I do my best to keep him that way.”
Dynjyl chuckled. “Good. That makes me happy to hear. I’ll be picturing it in my mind and enjoying the view that my twisted little mind presents.”
“Well! My, my. No wonder the two of you got along so well. It’s probably a good thing that you have to stay here. The world simply wouldn’t be safe if all three of us were in the same place at the same time.”
Dynjyl nodded, and laughed. “That’s why we ended up together all those years ago.”
“What are you two laughing at?” Brynjolf grumbled from down the path.
“Nothing at all, my dear,” Andante called to him.
“Loverboy,” Dynjyl added. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Andante. “More than twenty years and he hasn’t changed at all in so many ways.”
Brynjolf stomped back to them and glared at Dynjyl. “Have you been putting ideas in his head?”
“Why, whatever could you mean, my dear boy?” Dynjyl smirked.
Brynjolf looked back and forth between them.
“Don’t look at me, Bryn,” Andante said, putting as innocent an expression as he could muster on his face. “You’re the one who introduced us. And you know perfectly well I have more than enough ideas of my own.”
“I’m ready,” Valerica called from the door of the castle, pushing a crate of ingredients along with her foot and balancing another on her hip. “Could one of you take this?”
Brynjolf harrumphed at Andante, glared at Dynjyl, and picked up Valerica’s crate. He lifted it up onto one shoulder and started down the trail toward the portal. Andante grinned at Dynjyl.
“I’ll take the other one. Somehow I don’t think you could.”
“You are correct. I’ll walk with Valerica and keep an eye out for bone men.”
Andante took the crate from Valerica and then hurried down the path. “Brynjolf. Wait up a moment, dearest,” he called.
It’s such a shame that he’s not still alive. I really like him. It would be good to have another real friend in the world.
And he laughed to think that he, of all people, was considering what it would be like to have friends at all.
__
They arrived on the shoreline near Northwatch Keep and were set upon almost immediately. Andante hadn’t been expecting to see any Thalmor; it hadn’t been that long since they’d gotten back to Volkihar, walking past an empty fortress. But somehow, during the time they’d spent rebuilding the castle’s interior, the Thalmor had moved back in undetected by anyone on the island.
He wasn’t even conscious of transforming. The rage rose up in him, overpowering, all-encompassing rage, and he found himself roaring, swiping with long, poisonous claws, firing life-draining blasts at the Thalmor over and over and watching them fly backward, dead. He was dimly aware of both Brynjolf and CuSith, one of Volkihar’s death hounds, tackling the Thalmor nearest them – but only dimly aware.
Kill them. Kill the Thalmor. Revenge.
After some time he looked around at the cluster of bodies laid out before him and realized, slowly, that he was hovering just above the ground, held aloft by his own massive wings. He looked down at Brynjolf, puzzled.
“I did that?”
“Most of it, yes.”
“I don’t remember transforming.”
Brynjolf shrugged. “I didn’t even have time to think about doing the same. You had them all on the run by the time I drew my sword.” He grinned. “You’re getting better at aiming with that spell.”
Andante concentrated for a moment and reassumed his normal form, shaking his head. “I’m glad, because obviously it’s not a thing a person wants to misfire.” He looked down at the nearest Thalmor body and kicked it. “They all need to die.”
Brynjolf frowned.
Great. Now I’m in trouble. He’s on the scent. I can’t let him learn about Markarth.
“I’m tired of being attacked for no reason, Bryn.” He spied a Vigilant of Stendarr in the group and pointed to the body. “These people, well, I can understand it. I’m a vampire; they kill vampires. It’s their job. But the Thalmor? They just attack because we’re not elves. I won’t have that.”
Brynjolf nodded, slowly, then raised his hand to shield his eyes. The sun had risen high enough over the horizon that it was beginning to be hot, beating down from a clear sky. Andante had felt his body growing ever more sluggish as it had risen, and growled in frustration about it.
“Good thing you weren’t hungry, lad. That would have been nasty on all that exposed skin.”
Thank all the gods, Andante thought. He’s been distracted. I really don’t know how to go about talking of the Thalmor without getting myself into a lot of trouble. But now…
He looked at Brynjolf, a smile growing as he contemplated what he was about to do. It’s time.
“Yes. Let’s see what we can do about that.” He drew his bow; not the Daedric bow he’d carried for years now but the gleaming elven bow they had fought so hard to find.
Brynjolf’s brow furrowed. “You’re not going to…”
“Oh indeed I am,” Andante said, pulling one of the blood-cursed arrows from his quiver. “We may not be elves, and they may think we are lesser beings because of it. But we have an elven bow that is going to prove otherwise.” He fitted the arrow to the string, carefully, and turned to face directly into the sun.
“We have it. We got it, you and I. Let us see what it will do. We’ll never know unless we try.”
He let fly the blood-cursed arrow.
For a long, silent moment nothing happened.
He was wrong, Andante thought. Harkon was wrong, and so was Gelebor. The blood-cursed arrows don’t do a thing. Damn.
Then the disc of the sun, just high enough to have fully cleared his line of sight over the trees and nearby hills, turned black.
What is this? What is this?
There was a deep, concussive boom, the loudest explosion he’d ever heard. Andante flinched backward, involuntarily, unable to avert his eyes from what was happening. The hair on his neck rose. Behind him he heard Brynjolf’s sharp intake of breath as he gasped in surprise.
YES.
There was a second explosion.
The disc of the sun turned a bloody, angry crimson and concentric rings of black and red energy began radiating from its center like ripples from a stone dropped into water. They raced away from the sun, the initial shockwave visible as a grey ring followed by bands of black, red, and orange.
YES!
The blackness expanded, filling the entire field of his vision, racing outward across the sky. At the center, where the bright yellow sun had been, an enormous oval of fiery red expanded for just a moment, surrounding the central disc like a horrid, malevolent eye in the sky, and then collapsed to form a brilliant, incomplete ring around a completely blackened star.
The sky was dark. Only a sickly reddish glow, like the light of the sun filtered through closed eyelids, illuminated the landscape. The band of red rotated around the darkened sun, filling in, becoming an eerie, moving disc around what had been a brilliant orb just a few moments earlier.
Vitus stood and spread his arms wide.
“YES!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. He could feel his body responding to the dark, knew that he would be as fast, and as strong, and as dangerous as he ever was during the night. They would be in Solitude in minutes and could probably run to Riften in the space of a day.
He turned to Brynjolf.
“Yes! Look at it! We’ve done it!”
Brynjolf was utterly silent, his eyes scanning the sky, taking in the enormity of what they’d done. Vitus took him by the shoulders and turned him to face Volkihar Island.
“Look at it, Brynjolf! It’s ours! Ours! And so is EVERYTHING else!”
He whirled and ran back along the shoreline, eastward toward Solitude. Behind him he heard Brynjolf’s voice calling after him, but he didn’t stop. He knew only the joy of running forward into the darkness, toward his prey.
You took my life away from me. I will have my revenge. You are all going to die.