Once the sky was light enough, Andante and Brynjolf left the city and headed out to find the amulet they’d been tasked to retrieve. Whitewood Creek, they had learned from the innkeeper, was a good bit south of the city of Bruma, and down, into the more temperate woodlands.
“Go south until you’re just about to the little settlement of Greenwood, but not quite there,” he told them. “Off to the left there’s one of those old Ayleid ruins. Anga, I think they call it. I wouldn’t recommend going in there, myself; who knows what might have moved in. But if you go past it and just follow the clearings and such you’ll get to the place.”
Even though the sun wasn’t yet fully above the horizon, Andante could tell that it was going to be a beautiful day; there were a few clouds but the air felt light and soft. He and Brynjolf made their way carefully down the side of the mountain on which Bruma was built. The Khajiit merchant they’d met the previous day wasn’t there this early in the morning, a fact for which Andante was grateful. He didn’t need any problems on this day.
Brynjolf was quiet, but Andante could feel him trying to slip surreptitious looks his way. It doesn’t matter, he thought. I’m not feeling conversational and I’m concerned about the question I know is going to come.
He wants to know my name. I know he does. I can’t possibly tell him.
He’d gotten very little rest the previous night for all the tumultuous thoughts roiling through his head. When he had finally slipped into the bed, Brynjolf had roused just enough to pull him close and wrap him up in an embrace, then had fallen asleep again; but even that comforting contact hadn’t relaxed him enough to quiet the noise in his mind. He’d thought of Alessia Previa, and the Afflicted man he’d killed for no good reason, out in the Reach.
I know what Brynjolf would say about my previous life. He would tell me that I’m a thief, and an assassin, and a vampire, and all of those require killing. He would say it’s just part of my job. But it’s not true. It might have been the case once, when I was younger, but it’s not anymore. It’s not true that I only kill for other people, or to defend myself. What about all those soldiers, and bandits, and others I’ve found walking along the road and have drained of their blood?
He lay there for a long time with Vitus’ memories playing out through the night. He was a killer. He was good at it. He’d always been good at it and he had never stopped, not once, to wonder whether or not it was right to do such things. The Listener, and the others in the Brotherhood, had told him it was all for Sithis, but he didn’t care about that and never had. He took the actions that led to a reward, regardless of what those actions were.
And then there was the life he’d led since becoming Andante. He couldn’t say that he had only killed for honest reasons, not really. The more he thought about it, the more disturbed he was.
Hundreds of them, there have been. I didn’t kill them all, but I did kill a great many of them. There was no reason for it aside from satisfying my own desire to become powerful.
And I didn’t feel sad for them. I still don’t, really. I wonder why this bothers me now.
He shook his head as they approached the turnoff to Anga. They’d left behind the snow-covered rocks of the higher elevations. Here, it was soft and green, the scents of Cyrodiil familiar and comforting. Birds twittered their sleepy morning songs as they prepared for another day of catching insects. The sun filtered down through aspen leaves of both green and bronze. The ground was covered with leaf litter and many types of fungus; and where they walked, their feet released the damp, musty odor of decaying leaf litter. Grasses grew tall, and shrubs and saplings lined the trail leading farther downhill. He would have smiled but for the thoughts crowding his head.
“What is it, lad? You’ve been frowning ever since last night.”
Andante smiled at him. Whatever else is true about him, you can’t argue that Brynjolf isn’t good at reading people.
“I always frown, Brynjolf.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. Did you remember something?”
Andante nodded. “I did. And I’m not happy with myself.” He glanced sideways at Brynjolf. “I’m not a good person, Bryn.”
They passed the exterior of the Ayleid ruins, looking carefully and quietly around the bleached stones of the structure but not going inside. Brynjolf pointed east; there was a narrow but distinct path heading in that direction. He waited until they’d gotten well past the ruins of Anga to speak again.
“’Good’ is a relative term, Andante. I don’t know that either one of us is in a position to be the judge of it. But you are the one with Auriel’s Bow,” he said, nodding at the weapon in Andante’s hand.
“Ah,” he said, looking down at it. “Sun’s starting to get up there. I wondered whether I should block it for the day.” He peered up through the trees. “But I can’t get a good bead on where it is, and I don’t want to waste arrows. Serana’s angry enough with me as it is. So much for the power of being Lord of the Volkihar clan, eh?”
“Well,” Brynjolf said, “I wouldn’t expect much from them right away if I were you. This kind of thing we’re doing now, the little jobs; they’re going to show them that you’re good at what you do and not to be taken lightly. Some day they’ll treat you like a king. In the meantime,” he grinned, “you’ll just have to rely on me to be impressed.”
Andante did smile at that. “You really do treat me well, loverboy, I have to admit it. I don’t know why you stay with me, but I’ll have it.”
Brynjolf shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it, lad. It’s just the way things are.”
Andante was about to deliver a clever but sarcastic reply when he heard the familiar snorts and growls of a troll ahead and to their left. He pulled out his axe and went after it, feeling more than hearing Brynjolf following behind him. The troll wasn’t a normal one; it had horns, and its fangs and claws were longer and, he thought, likely much sharper than those of a normal troll. It smelled worse than a standard troll as well, he discovered as they neared it, and he thought briefly of the Dawnguard blacksmith they’d heard complaining. Still, they were able to down it without so much as a scratch.
Andante looked around and saw an animal trail. Beyond, in a glade below and ahead of them, was a small area with fog lying close to the ground. He pointed at it.
“I don’t know whether it’s a creek, but it’s definitely water. And I think I can hear Nirnroot, even from here. What do you think?”
“Let’s check it out,” Brynjolf said.
There was, as it happened, a tiny, shallow stream wending its way around a short dirt mound near the outsized Nirnroot they’d heard emitting the plant’s distinctive, ringing hum. There was also an elk, trumpeting loudly, standing guard over the bloody corpse of a poor soul who’d been collecting mushrooms judging by the spilled sample and the overturned basket nearby.
“That says spriggan to me,” Andante whispered. “Look at the odd aura on that guy.” The elk had a strange, shimmering green glow about it. Spriggans were known to influence the wildlife nearby, turning usually placid or timid animals into aggressive enemies, and it was clear that this elk was one of those. “But where is the spriggan?”
“Over here,” Brynjolf said, raising his sword and rushing toward a dark brown spriggan behind Andante’s left shoulder. Andante grabbed his axe and was about to assist Brynjolf; but the elk bugled at him again and a second spriggan appeared, this one the color of the birch from which it had emerged. It stepped into view with the sound of angry bees that meant it was about to cast a poison spell at Andante, and raised its limbs.
“Great,” he muttered, dodging sideways. I was going to avoid the elk but there’s no ignoring spriggans. It wasn’t as though the creature was that difficult to defeat, his axe being the powerful tool it was. He had no quarrel with them; they were creatures of nature, and he found them fascinating and lovely. But they were single-minded and would not back down once engaged. He grimaced as he brought the creature down, then turned to see Brynjolf doing the same.
“I think that’s it then. The amulet must be on…”
“That one there,” Brynjolf said, pointing at a third spriggan, a larger one that stepped out from a tree on the far side of the bugling elk. Andante sprinted for the spriggan, muttering “I’m not going to hurt you, buddy,” to the elk as he ran past. He met Brynjolf there and they took turns leaping forward to attack the spriggan and then retreating until it, too, was finished.
Andante stood over the body of the spriggan and frowned at the angry elk, who seemed not remotely readly to let them examine the corpse of the alchemist.
“Shoo,” he snarled. The elk bugled again.
“Damn it, Bryn, can you get near that thing? That’s got to be the person who has the amulet.”
Brynjolf shook his head. “No, lad. Think. If it was on a person who travels about, Feran wouldn’t have been able to tell us where to come. Is there a box or a chest around here?”
Andante looked down at his feet and sighed. “Or maybe a spriggan that doesn’t usually move much.” He knelt down to examine the corpse of the creature and, sure enough, it had around its neck an amulet, the color of its chain blending with the color of the spriggan’s wooden skin. He unclasped the piece and scooped it into his pocket. “What on earth would a spriggan need with a vampiric amulet? It makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Brynjolf told him. “We have it now, and we can go back to Volkihar now.”
Andante stood up; the elk bugled.
“Shut up,” he growled at it.
Brynjolf laughed. He walked around the glade slowly, stopping here and there to examine the varieties of fungus, finally stopping just in front of the dead alchemist. The elk shifted but did not move.
“Don’t worry about it, you great daft thing,” he told the elk, his voice quiet and soothing. “I’m not going to bother you. I’m just here to see what happened to this man.” He lowered himself, slowly, and once it was clear that the elk was only going to watch he examined the body.
“Well, it looks like he just ran afoul of the spriggans. There’s nothing on him to suggest anything else,” he said in the same quiet tone, straightening up slowly and backing away from the elk. “There,” he told it. “We’re all done now. Enjoy your day.” The elk snorted at him and bugled once more. Brynjolf chuckled, and walked carefully down the shallow stream to approach Andante.
“Now then.”
“Yes?”
“Now that we’ve taken care of this, will you tell me what you remembered in Bruma?”
Damn.
“I don’t think you’d like it much.”
Brynjolf pushed his hood back onto his shoulders. He reached for Andante’s and did the same. “Let me be the judge of that, Andante. There aren’t too many things that bother me anymore, you know.”
No, I can’t tell you. Andante started to formulate what he’d hoped would be a clever diversion but was completely distracted when Brynjolf leaned forward and kissed his neck.
“What are you doing?”
Brynjolf grinned. “Trying to get my way. Tell me.” He lifted his hand to Andante’s cheek and brought him close for a kiss that lasted just a bit longer than it ought to, and Andante felt his resolve weakening.
“You’re not going to get an answer if I can’t speak, loverboy,” he said once he was able to breathe again.
Brynjolf laughed, but didn’t stand back from him.
“Listen, lad. I know you remembered something important. You even got sick over it. I want to help. I want to know something…” He paused, making sure he had Andante’s attention.
No, Bryn, please don’t ask me this. I don’t want to lie to you again.
“What’s your name, Andante? I know that’s what it is. I can feel it. Who are you?”
I don’t want to lie to you again, but I have to. I love you but I can’t tell you my name. I’m so sorry.
“It’s not that, Bryn,” he started, closing his eyes as Brynjolf once again nuzzled his neck. “By all the gods you’re distracting.” It is that, and we both know it. But at least you can’t see that I just lied to you.
“That’s the idea,” Brynjolf responded, reaching up to work at the closures on Andante’s armor.
“Wait, what are you doing? Out here?”
Brynjolf smiled. “Look around us. It’s beautiful. We’re in the shade, and we can find deeper shade right over…” he cast his gaze around the area and took Andante by the hand, drawing him toward a rock overhang. “Right over there. It’s warm. It’s perfect. And you need to relax. Come with me.”
“Bryn.”
Brynjolf’s hair was like fire in the muted sunlight, and his golden eyes like flames, and there was nothing that Andante wanted more at that moment than to simply follow the man wherever he led; but he knew he needed to say something, to postpone the inevitable. He looked up at him and sighed.
“I remembered a killing that I did. A woman. It wasn’t a contract. It was just an outright murder. It was a horrible thing to have done.” He frowned. “It made me ill to think about it. That’s what I was telling you. I’m not a good man.”
Brynjolf frowned, too, and stared at Andante for a long while, his gaze passing back and forth from one eye to the other. He’s weighing what I said for truth. He’s good at that, maybe the best I’ve ever known. But I told him something true.
“Alright,” Brynjolf said finally, nodding. “I can understand why a thing like that would bother you. I don’t know the reasons. But it was a long time ago. I don’t need to know the reasons. I’ve told you before; I can see the person you are now right in front of me.”
He smiled and lifted his hand to Andante’s cheek again, then leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
“And I want that person to come over here, with me, right now, so that I can see more of him.”
And for a time Andante forgot to worry about Alessia Previa, or the Afflicted man, or the hundreds upon hundreds of people he’d finished with his fangs.
__
They were just about to take the final turn back to the city of Bruma when Andante’s sharp ears caught the sound of a familiar voice. He grabbed Brynjolf’s arm and pulled him to the side of the road. Andante held his finger up to his mouth to signal silence, and Brynjolf nodded. He crept up the hill by inches until he was just far enough up to see the balding, grey head and white fur cloak of one of the two men he’d hoped never to see again – Haran the bounty hunter, employed by the other man he hoped never to see, Ondolemar the Thalmor Justiciar.
Haran was distracted by his two subordinates, just enough that he didn’t notice Andante down over the lip of the hill.
“Come on, let’s get moving,” Haran called up toward the curtain wall. “He can’t have gotten too far and the guy in red should be easy to pick out.”
“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a second,” another man responded.
A third shout came floating down toward them. “Hang on, Haran, he’s taking a leak. Don’t want him to freeze it off, do ya?”
“Shut it!”
“Get your idiot asses down here now!” Haran shouted. “If we lose him again there’s no telling what parts you might end up losing.”
Andante pulled backward, his heart pounding. He turned to Brynjolf. “We have to leave, now,” he hissed. “Back to Skyrim, right now. I’ll explain when we get some distance.”
Brynjolf, to his credit, didn’t question him. He simply followed Andante’s lead, slipping as silently as possible back down the road. Andante found the nearest place to get off the actual roadway and into what little cover there was; and once they were out of sight of the castle he broke into a sprint. Brynjolf followed.
They made it to the intersection where they’d met the Khajiit and Andante took to the road again, hurtling north toward Skyrim until finally he needed to stop for breath. Brynjolf wasn’t far behind.
“Who was that?” Brynjolf panted.
“His name is Haran. He’s a bounty hunter. Those are the men who have been following us. They’ve been following us ever since we started in to find Darkfall Cave.”
“What?”
“I overheard them talking about tailing a bounty when we were in Markarth, and then I saw them following us. It doesn’t matter, but I know they won’t give up. We need to get distance between us and them.”
“Hmm,” Brynjolf said. “I was a little concerned about something like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“You told that awful bard that you have a house in Solitude and you gave him a good sized sack of coin. And you told the Khajiit that you make your own skooma, and got close enough to him that he probably could count the hairs in your beard.”
Andante started to object, and then stopped, his mind whirling. And I told him I was from Bravil, too. A rich skooma cook from Bravil who now owns a house in Solitude. Anyone looking for Vitus Perdeti would hear those bells ringing from leagues away. I am an idiot. At least I didn’t spill my name by mistake just now. Haran is just tailing “a bounty,” not someone with a known name.
“I’m sorry, Brynjolf. I don’t know how I could possibly have gotten so sloppy.” He shook his head. “We need to get out of here and we need to keep you out of sight, especially.”
“This red armor doesn’t seem like such a good choice right at the moment, for certain. Let’s not worry about the details, lad. Let’s just go.”
They ran as fast as they could to the base of the mountain, then slowed a bit as the road rose up through the first switchbacks. It was a strenuous climb, even for the two of them, and while they made good progress along the flatter portions of the road the steep areas that gained elevation were difficult. And they’d started out tired; they’d been returning to Bruma after a long, lovely afternoon in the glade, expecting to enjoy a quiet evening in the inn before returning to Skyrim the next day.
So. I’m a monster. And I’m an idiot. A sloppy idiot monster. How can it get any better than that?
“There’s something I don’t understand,” Brynjolf asked him as they slowed after a steep rise.
“Yes?”
“Why don’t we just get rid of them? You could probably take them out with an arrow or two. We cleared the whole border gate ourselves.”
Why not? Why can’t we do that? Why am I running, really?
“Because they won’t give up. They’ll have sent couriers by now, saying that they’ve found me. If we kill these there will be others.” As he talked, he could feel bands of tension tightening around his head, squeezing his neck.
“And by then we’ll be long gone.”
Andante shook his head. “But not far enough, Bryn. You don’t know these people. You don’t know the lengths they will go to. We have to get out of here.” His heart started to race. “And if we don’t kill them, if they kill us instead, who will know? Who will run the Guild? Or Volkihar?”
We have to get away.
Brynjolf stopped him and took him by the arms. Andante squirmed, but Brynjolf’s grip was too strong.
“Andante. Stop. I’ll make you stop if you won’t do it on your own.”
He would, too. Alright. He stopped moving, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing deeply while Brynjolf spoke again.
“What is going on here? None of what you said makes any sense. If I die, Delvin will take over until they figure out what to do. He’ll do what he’s doing right now. It’s not the first time for him. Volkihar has existed for a lot longer than either of us. Probably either Serana or Valerica would step up.”
I’m trapped. They’re closing in on me, and Brynjolf has me trapped.
“It’s…” He stared at Brynjolf, not knowing what to say. “Please don’t make me tell you this, Brynjolf. Please…”
“I can’t decide what to do if I don’t know what’s going on.”
Andante pleaded with him, silently, but he could see that Brynjolf wasn’t going to back down. He gritted his teeth, his heart pounding. Say something. Say something, anything at all that will work. We have to get away.
“It’s Thalmor, Bryn. They’re the ones behind the bounty hunters. Thalmor had me, before you met me. They tortured me. They starved me. They beat me. Me, and all the others they had. There was fire.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “That’s why I was so angry at the lake, with the dragons. All I could see was the fire…”
The words came tumbling out of him for long moments, reminding Brynjolf of all the times they’d faced flames, or Thalmor, or other groups of bounty hunters. That he truly had taken the torture tools in Fort Dawnguard so that they couldn’t be used on anyone else. All of it spilled out of him as he stood with his eyes closed, shivering, confined in Brynjolf’s grip, waiting for a silver-tipped bolt to slam into his side and start burning, burning like concentrated fire.
“I’m afraid,” he whispered harshly. “That’s why I want to get away.” He opened his eyes to find Brynjolf staring at him. “I can’t bear the thought of having it happen again. I want to get away so we can think about it and plan what to do next and not just run headfirst into something that might make things worse. I used to be good at that kind of planning before them and I’ve gotten really sloppy and we can’t afford to be sloppy. I’m afraid, and I’m sloppy, and I’m weak, and I want to go.”
And I hate that I’m afraid.
Brynjolf nodded, slowly. “And what is your name?”
Oh dear gods no I can’t do this.
He looked at Brynjolf and shook his head.
“I don’t know. But I remember the Thalmor and I know they’re after me. Us. I want time to figure out what to do. Distance.”
Brynjolf stared at him.
He doesn’t believe me. And it’s all true except for that one thing.
Brynjolf opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of voices interrupted him. He released Andante and dropped into a crouch; and Andante inched forward.
Haran and his two companions had made it to the base of the rise Andante and Brynjolf had just climbed. They were breathing hard, clearly catching their breath, looking around for any sign of their targets. Andante turned to peer at Brynjolf and mouthed the word “go,” waving his hand toward the path south.
Brynjolf frowned at him, but nodded, turned, and sped away. Andante looked back at the bounty hunters once more, then followed him.