It was beginning to be a bit ridiculous.
It was bad enough that there had been a Dawnguard hunter waiting for him when he’d gotten out of the carriage at Riften. He had run toward the mountains, into the trees, just as fast as his considerable speed would allow and the man had still managed to catch him with one of the damnable silver-coated crossbow bolts that burned. It was agonizing; but he turned and drew his bow and fired arrow after arrow at the man until finally he dropped to a knee. Then, in spite of the frost cloak spell whirling around the hunter, Andante approached, snarling, and lifted the man up with one hand under the chin, staring him directly in the eyes.
“You do know that you’re a dead man now, right?” he growled.
The hunter couldn’t answer, of course; Andante had him by the neck, suspended above the ground. He could barely breathe. But the man’s eyes said it all. He knew he was going to die and he was terrified.
Andante considered his options. He could drop his prey and break his neck. He could throw him down and transform, ripping the hunter apart with his claws. But the spell hurt, and time was growing short.
He smiled, and lowered the man’s feet to the ground. Then, before the hunter could take any evasive action, he leaned forward and tore his neck open.
The spell stopped, abruptly. Andante drained every bit of blood that he could from the man before dragging the body beneath a bush.
Not quite as elegant as Brynjolf crushing a windpipe in his mouth but it did the job.
He proceeded back to the north gate, nodding to the friendly guards Brynjolf had posted outside it and entering the city.
That had been bad enough. Then, after he took care of the contract on the wayward priest – a ten-minute job that had required nothing more than a bit of stealth and a dagger drawn silently across the man’s throat, from behind – he and Brynjolf had returned to Volkihar. All the way back across Skyrim they’d been followed. Andante kept feeling the sensation of being watched; and he would turn to see three figures, far behind them, far enough that he knew they couldn’t pick him out with their mortal eyes.
“We’re being hunted, lad,” Brynjolf had said yet again.
“I know we are, Bryn.”
“Those aren’t Dawnguard. Why are they after us, in particular? They don’t know who exactly is shooting the sun. They can’t possibly know that.”
Andante chewed on the inside of his mouth. “Well there is Babette. But I can’t imagine why she would have sold us out. She’s a vampire herself and would have had far too much to lose if we’d failed. And she benefits from our success. Aside from that…”
Aside from that, it’s Ondolemar’s thugs. That’s all. Just a group of people hunting for Vitus Perdeti to take him down for everything he’s done in a lifetime. Nothing to worry about at all.
He’d urged Brynjolf to run faster, worried that the posse would start gaining on them and be able to see that they were on the right track. Once they started running, though, the worries fell away. They raced each other down the roads, over the tundra, and across the river, laughing, slowing only when they reached the outskirts of Solitude and were able to dash into Andante’s house and exhaust themselves in the warmth of the steaming tub.
That was a nice evening, Andante thought. He was very affectionate.
He cast a sideways glance at Brynjolf and smiled. He had been, too; murmuring in Andante’s ear, his touches gentle and soft, his eyes and mouth playful, an unusual display for him that for just a few moments had Andante wondering again whether Brynjolf was actually thinking of Dynjyl. And then he had decided that it didn’t matter. He’d told Dynjyl that he would take care of Brynjolf and if this was what it would take to keep that promise, so be it. The alternative was to tell him that his wife was alive, and lived in Dawnstar, and was beautiful and desirable and terrifying, and leading the Dark Brotherhood. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Brynjolf those things. Not yet. He still didn’t know what to do with the knowledge he had. He hadn’t even told Delvin yet. Roggi didn’t know yet. Nobody but him knew that Dagnell was in a cozy home in Dawnstar. He’d abandoned himself to the feeling of Brynjolf’s skin next to his own, Brynjolf’s lips slipping along his neck, down his chest and his torso, and had known that he didn’t care whether Brynjolf was thinking about him, or Dynjyl, or Dagnell, just as long as he was there.
They had made it back to Volkihar only to turn around and leave again, back toward Riften. Andante had reported to Garan Marethi to let him know the vampire they’d been sent to eliminate was dead. He assumed that, as lord of the castle, he might be consulted about what he thought might be necessary to do next. Instead, Garan had surprised him, unpleasantly.
“The Dawnguard will, no doubt, soon become even more of a nuisance now that Auriel’s Bow has been recovered.”
“Oh, no doubt. They’ve already started following us around. I had a very unhappy encounter with one of them just outside Riften.”
Garan nodded. “We need to strike a crippling blow against them before they can muster more men against us. They’ve holed up in Fort Dawnguard. Killing their leaders should discourage them from an out-and-out war with us.”
He stood there, his look expectant, as though he was certain he needed to elaborate no further.
“So you want us to kill them, is that it?” Brynjolf asked.
“Why yes, of course that’s what I meant,” Marethi said.
Andante felt his ire begin to rise.
You shouldn’t talk to me that way, Marethi. It’s not a good choice. I still think you wouldn’t be a match for me.
“Did I hear you correctly, Garan?” he said between clenched teeth. “You just gave us an order to kill the leaders of the Dawnguard. Is that correct?”
The old Dunmer shrugged. “They are the problem. They need to cease being a problem. Killing them would be the one obvious way to accomplish that goal. Yes.”
You don’t give me orders. I am the Lord of Volkihar Castle.
Andante’s anger must have shown on his face, because Brynjolf reached out to touch his arm.
“We can do that. Can’t we, lad?” Brynjolf gave Andante’s arm a squeeze and glanced up at Garan Marethi. “We just need a night to rest a bit and then we’ll go back to Riften. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”
Andante stared at him. You too, Bryn?
Brynjolf’s expression was almost pleading, almost “please don’t make this difficult.” Andante’s gaze flickered from one golden eye to the other. He wanted to be angry, still. He wanted them, all of them, to recognize that he was in charge, that he was the lord of the clan, that he was to be deferred to.
But it just isn’t going to be like that, is it. Oh well. They do at least know not to cross me completely but I suppose it’s too much to expect vampires this ancient to change their behavior overnight. And we are the ones with the clearest reason to be in Riften, after all.
He released the tightness in his shoulders, drawing a deep breath and letting it out. He gave Brynjolf the smallest of smiles, reassurance that he would not create a scene.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“Yes, we can do that, Garan. As Brynjolf said. We’ll go back to Riften tomorrow and see what we can do about this. And you’re right; getting rid of them will make life easier, at least for a time. I can’t imagine that they will be organized enough to get back to full strength immediately after we take them all out.”
So they had returned to Riften.
The night they got back, Andante had waited until Brynjolf was asleep to once again slip into the Ragged Flagon to find Delvin. He couldn’t put it off any longer. Delvin knew that the courier had been sent. He knew that the message had been delivered. He would send people of his own to hunt down Andante for an answer if he didn’t get one in person, soon, because he’d needed to go to great lengths to find the courier in the first place.
He slid into the chair opposite Delvin and said “So…”
Delvin raised one eyebrow.
“I suppose you’re waiting for me to say ‘so what’ now, right? Alrighty. I’ll do that. So… what?”
Andante smirked. “So the courier arrived, while I was there, and there’s no doubt in my mind. She’s the one.”
Delvin leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re positive about this?”
“She got to ‘Nilheim’ and suddenly passed the job to me. Couldn’t keep the surprise off her face when she read it. And then she out and out told me the job was in a place she’d prefer not to visit. I’m completely certain. Aside from the fact that I never really met Dagnell, only saw her from a distance, you know – back before I really knew you.”
“Well, well,” Delvin said, rubbing his chin. “Listener, is it? I heard that the Listener was the one who pulled off a hit that…”
“Delvin,” Andante interrupted him, shaking his head. “I know, and yes, you’re right, and please don’t talk about it. Ears on walls, and all that.”
Delvin looked embarrassed. “Yes, of course. And I should know better. Astrid got me to spring for some funding for… Never mind.”
“Astrid?”
“The previous Listener. I assume you never met her?”
“Um… I don’t think so.”
“You would have remembered. Ever go into the Sanctuary in Falkreath?”
“No. I’ve only walked past the ruins of it.” What’s going on? I feel like I’m being interrogated.
Delvin apparently picked up on Andante’s rising discomfort at being questioned. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“Well. No wonder we couldn’t find her, she really was right under our noses, just like I said.” He grinned. “Clever thing. Of course now the question is what we do with this choice information. I’ll let Roggi know, of course.” Then, to Andante’s surprise, Delvin leaned forward and lowered his voice again. “Let me ask you a thing, Andante. How long is it that you’ve been working for the Brotherhood, again?”
Andante frowned. What an odd question.
“Oh, let me think. Two, two and a half years? Something like that.” Unless you count my time in Cyrodiil, in which case it’s a couple of decades. We won’t count that.
“Huh.”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
Delvin shook his head. “Not sure. It seems like a lot of things happened right around the same time, though, or a little later than that. Mercer Frey, Dagnell becoming Guildmaster…” He looked directly into Andante’s eyes. “You joining the Brotherhood and the Guild. All of it. It’s hard to keep track of what’s important.”
Gods. What an odd feeling. What does he know that I don’t?
“Yeah, it is. Well let me ask you something, Delvin. What do you think I should do next?”
Delvin shook his head again. “Nothing. Let me talk to Roggi and see what he thinks, and then we’ll decide. Bryn has to know, but the question is how and when. Until then, keep him busy.” Delvin smirked, and raised an eyebrow. “Alright?”
Andante laughed. “Yes. I can do that.”
“I’ll just bet you can.” Delvin shook his head and muttered. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Andante stood and patted Delvin on the shoulder. “It’s ok, Delvin. There are many strange things going on in the world right now. I’m hardly the strangest of them.”
He waved and left the Flagon, to return to Brynjolf’s side.
And now they were approaching Fort Dawnguard. Andante scanned side to side, moving quietly through the shadows cast by the mountains and towers, from bush to bush and behind boulders whenever he could. He grinned, thinking about the first time he’d been here. Still vulnerable, aren’t you. And here come the vampires.
“You know, there really isn’t any way for them to know they’re being hunted if we go invisible for a bit,” he whispered to Brynjolf. It looks like such a well-fortified place, and it is, but it’s vulnerable because they haven’t posted guards along the way.”
Brynjolf looked up at the fort and frowned. “I see one guard, up there,” he said, pointing toward the first of the towers, “but if we sneak past we should be fine. Probably don’t need to go invisible quite yet.”
Andante nodded, and continued around the corner and around the base of the tower. There was a small encampment of farmers outside the walls of the castle, and Andante made for that, his greatsword at the ready, hugging the base of the mountains as best he could. They’d almost made it past the first tower when the cry he’d been hoping not to hear rang out from above.
“Burn it! Burn the vampire!”
Andante froze, scanning the area for an attack, but nobody came toward them. Five heartbeats, ten went by, but they weren’t approached.
“Damn,” Brynjolf muttered. “Sorry, lad.”
“Don’t worry about it. I wonder if some other vampire is here. It doesn’t make sense that she would alert everyone to us and then not attack. Let’s just keep going.”
They slipped behind the tents, hoping that smoke from the fire would cover them well enough to get past, and up to the fortress’ entrance. Andante paused for a moment, then drew a breath.
“LAAS-YAH!”
The auras of several people lit up before him, but they all seemed to be from the farmers, some resting inside their tents and others moving around in the small garden patch outside them. None of them came rushing out toward him, so he pressed forward around the tent and up the path.
“Come back here!” he heard from the direction they’d been only a few moments earlier. He grimaced. Damn it.
Everything went sideways.
“There you are!”
Andante swung around. There was a Dawnguard, a blonde Nord, fitting what was undoubtedly a silver-tipped bolt to her crossbow. Andante ran forward and brought his greatsword down on her as hard as he could. She staggered, bleeding, and her eyes widened.
“We are routed!” she cried. “Fall back!” She ran back toward the tower, into a clump of bushes, and both Andante and Brynjolf sprinted toward her. Brynjolf got in at least three sword blows on her that did substantial damage to her armor but did not take her down.
Andante snarled and thrust forward with his sword with everything he could muster, just as the woman reached for hers and cried “Die…” The blade slipped through the holes Brynjolf’s blade had made in her armor. She arched backward over his sword as it emerged from the front of her chest and groaned as he pushed forward, then pulled the blade back out of her body, dropping her onto the ground.
“You die,” he muttered.
The farmers nearby were scattering for cover, shouting. “I’m getting out of here!” one of them yelled. “Someone do something!” another pleaded. Andante crouched into the shade of a nearby rock overhang and slunk forward, uphill, toward the entrance to Fort Dawnguard.
He ran headfirst into a woman who had taken shelter in the bushes near that same rock.
“Damn it,” he growled. He had no choice but to raise his sword and slice the woman to the ground. One blow killed her, as she was wearing no armor at all. He froze, standing over her body, looking around for further signs of life and listening for movement; but it seemed as though all the remaining farmers had retreated downhill, back toward the entrance to the valley.
Andante sheathed his sword and turned to face Brynjolf.
“That was messy,” he said. “I really didn’t want to end up killing civilians.”
“I know,” Brynjolf replied. “But there was no help for it. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. We should have just gone invisible and come up through. Would never have needed to kill a soul.”
Andante shrugged. “Well it’s done now. Let’s keep moving.”
Ahead of them was the wooden wall separating the fort from the valley below; but for reasons Andante couldn’t fathom the gate stood wide open. He crept to the opening and peered around the corner, but there was no sign of life beyond them other than a deer that tried desperately to get out of their way once it saw the dim light glinting off Andante’s sword. There were no guards, no lookouts other than the one they’d already dispatched.
“Where is everyone?” he said.
“Off hunting for us,” Brynjolf muttered.
Andante shot him a grin. “No doubt.”
The sun was high enough, now, that it was beginning to be warm. Andante looked up toward the treetops and squinted into its glare, and pulled out Auriel’s Bow.
“Do I shoot it?” he asked, aiming toward the blinding mass of backlit clouds. He could only make an estimate of where the disc of the sun lay. He ran through a mental calculation of how many blood-tainted arrows he had left. It would leave them very low if he took random shots at the sky and missed.
“No, it’ll alert them that we’re on the move if the sun suddenly goes black.”
“Oh, good point. Never mind then. We’ll be inside anyway. Let’s go.” He swapped Auriel’s bow for his usual one and pushed forward, up the steps of Fort Dawnguard and through the massive wooden doors.
It was empty in the circular lobby Andante had seen before. He slipped around its perimeter, taking care to hurry past the places where someone might see him from another room, and made for the staircase to his right. He’d seen Isran on the balcony above him, before, and it was likely that the man might be there now. He slid up the stairs, looking back once to be sure that Brynjolf was behind him, for the man moved so silently that he wasn’t certain. The balcony was empty, but Andante heard a heartbeat close by. He circled around to the first doorway on the right and peered in; there, heading toward a bedchamber, was Isran.
He must have been guarding all night, to be going to bed at this hour. Well good. That will mean he’s tired and easier to take down.
Isran neither heard nor saw Andante creep up toward him. All he had time to do after Mehrune’s Razor slashed across his back was to turn and exclaim “where’d you come from?” Isran reached for his battleaxe, but Andante brought his axe around in a wide, sweeping attack that ended the man, dropping him to the floor like a stone.
Andante sheathed his axe, grinned at Brynjolf, and whispered “You’ll excuse me for a moment.” Then he knelt and fed from Isran’s still-warm corpse.
“Dawnguard blood. Tasty,” he said quietly. “Next one’s yours.”
“Alright,” Brynjolf said, smiling.
They left Isran’s bedchamber and moved counterclockwise to the next doorway, leading into a small dining area that had obviously been part of Isran’s private quarters. Nobody was there, but voices from beneath them were clear. Andante paused, listening.
“I’d like to be able to make a potion without tasting iron flakes,” a man said.
Imperial, I think. His accent isn’t as obvious as mine.
“Well, I can’t help that space is cramped in here, Florentius,” answered another man.
Nord? Dunmer? I can’t tell. Obviously the blacksmith, though.
“I’d also like to not have to smell troll all the time.”
Oooh, not just an Imperial but one who is quite particular about things. Don’t like troll? Try undead dragons in the Soul Cairn. The scent of a troll will never disturb you again, my good man.
They turned back the way they’d come, the sounds of the continued bickering beneath them fading as they moved along. Andante was pleased. If they were bickering, that meant it was less likely that they would operate as a cohesive group when he and Brynjolf attacked.
He got lost for a moment and found himself in a small torture room. It had clearly been used recently; the rack was more red than brown, there was a puddle of congealed blood on the floor, and a ribcage had been placed in one of the stone niches as a gruesome trophy. Andante snorted at that, laughing to himself that someone surely thought that a frightening display. They should have seen Volkihar before we cleaned it.
There was a small table in the corner, with items atop it. He was about to turn and leave, but one of those items caught his attention. He chuckled, then took the leather pouch and folded it up, careful not to dislodge any of the nasty torture tools from their pockets. He tied it up and slipped it into his own pack.
“Present for Roggi,” he whispered.
“Lad. Good grief. He doesn’t do that…”
“A backup, Bryn,” he interrupted, trying not to laugh aloud. “Don’t be such a spoilsport. At least nobody here will use them again.”
Back on the ground floor, Andante heard muffled barks. He frowned.
The Dawnguard had trained huskies. He’d run across them often enough before and wasn’t happy that they were here. Unlike humans, the huskies were not easily fooled by illusion spells and not at all by clever clothing disguises. All that had saved him from several nasty encounters had been the stupidity or lack of observational skills on the part of those huskies’ handlers. Andante wasn’t happy that they were here now, and determined to get rid of them before doing anything else. It was clear that the dogs knew they were here, and it was bad that they knew it. They didn’t need highly intelligent dogs ruining any chance of stealth they might still have.
The huskies were in an open-fronted pen just through an archway to his right. The fortress itself backed up to the mountains, and this opening led into a cavern; the floors were dirt and the roof supported by massive stone columns that looked naturally-formed. Andante’s muffled footsteps got him into the pen, and allowed him to dispatch the first dog with a single blow. The second was loud, barking and snarling, and it took him several tense moments to drop it, moments during which his jaw clenched tighter and tighter. Brynjolf had apparently been watching his back, because he approached just as Andante left the pen.
“Too bad that had to be done,” he whispered.
“Yes, it is. But they would have given us away. Anything else around?”
Brynjolf nodded. “The trainer’s just around the corner.”
Andante nodded, and moved farther into the cave, peeking around the edge of a stone outcropping. The trainer clearly had heard something and was uneasy; she was pacing back and forth before a wooden platform with several crude tables and roughly-made chairs. It was going to be hard to take her by surprise, as much on alert as she was, but he would have to try. He slipped past the opening to a tunnel, stopping for just a moment to look into its nearest portions.
No. No time. The Dawnguard are here in the fort. I’m not that curious.
He was lucky. The woman had stopped moving. She was standing behind a large boulder, staring through the dimly-lighted area between her and the arched opening to the fort, and Andante was able to move up behind her, unnoticed. He caught her in the back of the neck, his surprise attack taking her down with barely a sound.
Andante smiled at Brynjolf and bowed, with a flourish, toward the woman’s corpse.
“A snack, my dear?”
“Thanks. I think I will.” Brynjolf fed for a moment and then rose with a satisfied sigh. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
Andante chuckled. I love that man. He doesn’t realize how amusing he is, either.
They returned to the main fortress. Andante could hear heartbeats ahead of them but wasn’t certain where they came from or how many people they might be coming from, so once again he used his Voice.
“LAAS-YAH!”
They were clustered, the Dawnguard. All of them straight ahead, and there were at least five of them that he could identify from the fuzzy auras his Shout had revealed. He sighed. It wasn’t that he had any doubts that they could defeat five enemies but he knew they had silver weapons and frost spells at their disposal.
But one has to be that alchemist, and another has to be the blacksmith. Neither one of them is going to be heavily armored, at least I hope. We’ll have to hope that surprise will do.
He turned to Brynjolf and inclined his head toward the room in front of them, holding up his palm with fingers extended to indicate that there were at least five enemies ahead. Brynjolf nodded. He probably knew that already, but just in case.
Moving a bit closer to the targets revealed that it was their main dining area, and most of them were seated at the table. Andante smirked. It was a further advantage to them that the Dawnguard would need to get out from behind the long bench seats to defend themselves.
He pulled out his bow and fired an arrow into one of the two closest targets. Much to his dismay the man did not fall. The Dawnguard armor was tough, and he hadn’t taken that into consideration. Brynjolf rushed past him, into the enemies, and Andante fired two more arrows before snorting in disgust, grabbing his axe and the Razor, and sprinting into the next-closest man. It was a young man, inexperienced, and Andante had him down in two hits. For a fraction of a moment he wondered whether that had been the youngster he’d accompanied in to the fortress on his first visit here and had a twinge of regret; but he had no time to stop and check the body. A large Nord was aiming at him with a crossbow, and Andante could see the silvery glint of the bolt the man had loaded.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he growled, rolling out of the way of the shot and then springing up to attack.
“Come on!” the man yelled at him, swapping out his crossbow for a sword and shield. “Gods curse you!”
“Undoubtedly,” Andante answered him, slashing the man with the Razor and then timing his axe blow to slip it behind the shield, neatly burying it into the man’s chest and dropping him to the floor. Andante turned to see another Dawnguard with a crossbow take aim on Brynjolf.
“Bryn!” he yelped. But Brynjolf raised his Daedric shield as the man fired his crossbow, and the bolt bounced harmlessly off the shield and onto the floor. Brynjolf laughed. “You just made the last mistake of your life,” he snarled, advancing on the man.
Andante sprinted past Brynjolf with his axe raised.
“You can’t beat m – “ the man boasted, his last word cut off by the impact of Andante’s axe across his throat.
“Mercy!” the last Dawnguard standing cried, running away. Brynjolf uttered the maniacal laugh Andante had heard before and chased him around a corner into another of the open-fronted wooden pens. Andante followed, ready to assist, but stopped to admire the sight of Brynjolf seizing the man by the shoulders and laying his throat bare. The Dawnguard gurgled as Brynjolf fed on him, the light in his eyes slowly dimming.
Brynjolf dropped the corpse to the ground and grunted.
“Now I’m too full.”
Andante threw his head back and laughed.
“Well done. Very well done indeed. I most definitely have my match here.” He looked around, listening for heartbeats, and heard nothing. “I think we’ve done it.”
“Aye. They’re not gone by any stretch but we’ve surely slowed them down.”
Andante stepped up to Brynjolf and put one hand behind his neck, pulling him close and giving him the kind of kiss he’d had in Redwater Cave: hard, insistent, and greedy. He could taste the Dawnguard man’s blood on Brynjolf’s tongue and savored it, and then nipped at his lip, drawing a bit of fresh blood.
“Ow,” Brynjolf mumbled, taking Andante’s shoulders and pushing him back a bit. “What’s this all about?”
“This is all about excitement, loverboy,” Andante said, grinning. “Sorry I hurt you. You’re just… remarkable. I never imagined you would become so strong, so quickly, and, well…”
Brynjolf’s eyes sparkled, and he smiled. “I think we should head back to Honeyside to discuss this, don’t you?”
Andante looked around at the state of the fort, still full of cobwebs and clutter, and grinned. “Yes. I need a brandy, and a soak, and…” he slipped his arms around Brynjolf’s waist, claiming his mouth again for just a moment, “who knows what else we might want to take advantage of before we head back to Volkihar.”
“Yes,” Brynjolf said, smirking. “Let’s go.”
They were just about out of the fort, having stopped once or twice to take the fat coin purses left carelessly about on the Dawnguard’s tables, when Brynjolf chuckled.
“What is it?”
“Ahh, I was just thinking about how much fun it would have been to have Dynny along with us on this little excursion. It’s just the kind of thing he would have enjoyed.”
Andante laughed. “Well, I’m not overly superstitious my dear, but something tells me that he was with us anyway. I told him we’d be thinking of him. I don’t know why but I just feel confident that he knows and was probably laughing along with us.”
They pushed open the door and stepped out into the sun. Andante grimaced.
“Maybe that’s what it was, then,” Brynjolf said.
“What?”
“I’ve felt like someone was watching us ever since we left Riften.”
Andante’s good mood vanished. He squinted into the sunny day and scanned the path before them, and the crests of all the hills surrounding the valley they were entering.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s what it was.”
They’re closing in on me. Gods damn it.