It was a long, bumpy carriage ride from Windhelm to Falkreath. Andante was happy to get off the hard seat and start walking down the hills toward the big house where Dardeh and Roggi lived. The old, uneven Imperial road ran through the damp, rocky foothills of the Jeralls, in amongst Falkreath Hold’s famous, thick conifer forests and down a steep hillside toward the crossroads to Whiterun Hold and the Reach. It smelled musty, and green, and teeming with life.
It was a nice day, which made Andante even grumpier. Sun made him feel sick and made his movements sluggish, and he couldn’t imagine that it was any better for Brynjolf.
“We could have run here for less money and fewer bruises,” he grumbled. “I’d like my backside intact, if it’s all the same.”
“Stop bellyaching,” Brynjolf snapped. “We’ve been back and forth across the whole province half a dozen times and I wanted to let someone else’s legs do the work for once. Besides, sitting in that cart with our heads down was a lot less like wearing a target than it would have been running down the road as fast as we can move.”
“Yes, I know. You’re right. You usually are.” He walked along for a few moments and then added, “But my rump still hurts.” Brynjolf snickered at him.
In one spot, the road ran down a steep incline. They passed an area where the foliage on one side was shorter, newer. There was a depression, at the side of the road, a ditch of sorts with a small pond at its base and the remnants of a path running past it. Andante stared at it as they approached, and then shook his head.
I’ll bet that’s the spot. They’ve told me about it, but I’ve never checked it out. The old Sanctuary under the road, mostly destroyed by fire inside and out.
Andante felt a little shudder roll up between his shoulder blades, thinking about what it must have been like to have a fire there. He thought of the terror of being trapped in a place like that, mostly underground with a sole exit, surrounded by flames. Nazir and Babette had told him the stories of barely escaping with their skin, and the Listener during those tales had gritted her teeth and refused to comment at all. It had to have been awful. It reminded him of…
He frowned. I don’t remember. But it’s something about fire. Again. He shook his shoulders, trying to brush off the feeling of creeping dread. I suppose it’s just as well that I have a healthy respect for flames. Maybe it’ll keep us alive. But I need to stop freezing up over nothing.
“Hey there!” they heard as they approached the home a short time later. Roggi straightened, lowering the woodcutting axe he’d been using to break up firewood. “Good to see you! What a surprise to find you somewhere that isn’t Riften. What brings you out this way, brother?”
Brynjolf smiled at him as they made their way down the walk and onto the grounds. “Good to see you, too, Roggi. We’re here to talk to your better half, but I hope we can maybe spend a night before we continue.”
“Better half, is it?” a deep voice rumbled from around the corner, followed by a distinctive form in gleaming black armor. “Tired half, anyway. We got another call to take care of a dragon. Again. Just got back.”
“Yes, but that skirmish broke up when they saw you do your magic, didn’t it?” Roggi chuckled. He turned to grin at Andante. “Hi, Andante. I hope you’re doing well.”
“I am. What sort of skirmishes have you two been interrupting, anyway?”
“Oh, it’s a tale,” Dardeh said. “Let’s go sit down. The womenfolk are off in Whiterun. Both girls insisted they needed new clothes, and Lydia wanted to get out for awhile.” He exchanged a mischievous glance with Roggi and the two of them chuckled.
“She, uh, wanted to make sure Breezehome is all in one piece, I’m sure,” Roggi said, grinning.
“What’s all this, then?” Andante laughed. “I see those looks.”
“Not much,” Roggi said, propping up his axe next to the chopping block and motioning them to follow him out onto the deck overlooking Lake Ilinalta. “Lydia, um, sees someone in Whiterun. We don’t know who it is but we keep trying to guess.”
“What we do know,” Dardeh snickered, waving at the benches for them to take a seat, “is that Balgruuf was awfully pleased that I didn’t sell Breezehome. Personally I think he was interested in more than the tax revenues.”
Andante lowered himself onto the bench and laughed. “Cagey old bastard, isn’t he? Well more power to him, then, if that’s what he’s up to. Lydia’s a prize, at least from the little bit I saw of her at your wedding.”
There was a light breeze blowing in off the lake. Andante’s keen ears picked up gulls and crows from various angles, as well as the distant bugling of elk and the occasional howl of a wolf.
Brynjolf sat and leaned forward.
“Now then, Dardeh. Skirmishes?”
“Yeah. That.” He ran a hand up over his braids and grumbled. “Stormcloaks and Imperials, of course. Every few days, down by the crossroads. We keep an eye out on the village down there because there are only a few guards and they can use the help.”
“This time,” Roggi added, “that dragon just sort of evaporated the fighting. Well, not so much the dragon. It was just an ordinary dragon.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe we live in times when that phrase makes sense. But it was the spectacle of Dar absorbing its power that did the trick. We looked around afterward and they were just standing there staring, eyes as big as plates, and both sides went their own way afterwards.”
Brynjolf frowned. “I thought there was a truce, lad. That’s why Maven’s been made Jarl in Riften.”
Dardeh grimaced. “There is. Or at least there was. After about the fifteenth trip up that damnable mountain. I don’t know what’s going on but it doesn’t seem to be holding very well. All that work for nothing.”
“Not for nothing, Dar,” Roggi argued. “I’ve told you that over and over. It gave you the time to do what you had to do. You’re not responsible for everyone else, especially not Jarls who won’t stand by their own word.”
“Bah,” Dardeh growled, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t nag, Roggi.” Then he glanced at Roggi, their obvious affection for each other bubbling over into smiles. “I have Lydia for that.”
Andante swapped a look with Brynjolf. We’re here for a reason, remember? “Dardeh, we need to ask your help,” he began slowly, not quite certain how one asked to borrow one of the most powerful items known to exist. It’s not like asking the neighbor for a pile of salt.
“Oh yeah? What is it you need help with?”
“Well, we…”
“We need to borrow your Elder Scroll, lad,” Brynjolf interrupted.
“My… really? What in the world?”
Brynjolf nodded, and leaned forward, his face urgent and serious. And Andante sat back and marveled at Brynjolf’s handiwork.
He launched himself into the tale of the Dawnguard, how it was fighting the vampire menace but particularly targeting the group that lived north, off the coast, and how the two of them had been working their way into the midst of the struggle. He told them of Volkihar Castle, how it was full of some of the most deadly vampires in the world, led – if not actually controlled – by one as ancient and powerful as existed anywhere. He went into detail about Harkon, how he was a Vampire Lord; and when both Dardeh and Roggi admitted to having never seen such a thing before, he described vampire lords in exquisite detail, emphasizing the horror of the things, their claws and teeth and size, and their deadly magical attacks.
“You think an ordinary vampire is something to be afraid of? Well you’ve never seen the like of a Lord. It’s terrifying, I tell you,” he said, earnestly, his eyes flashing green as they did under the influence of his illusion spell. “I almost couldn’t believe such a thing existed until I saw it with my own eyes.”
He went on to tell them, in hushed tones, how the world might well be plunged into darkness if they weren’t able to recover all three scrolls and find the location of the bow before Harkon did. The Civil War would be nothing, compared with that. Even dragons would seem tame in comparison. And the only Scroll they were missing was the very one Dardeh had in his possession. Andante watched as both Roggi and Dardeh began to nod, slowly, in agreement that something had to be done.
I’d believe him, too. Not a single word of what he’s said isn’t absolutely true. I’m beyond impressed. I’m sure it helps that he wears that Amulet of Articulation but the man’s a master. The only thing he’s left out – the solitary thing he hasn’t woven into his tale – is that both of us are vampire lords as well, and that we’re – or at least I’m – after the bow for my own purposes.
“You can’t be the one to use the scrolls, Dardeh,” Brynjolf said. “They’d be on both of you immediately. I suspect Dragonborn blood would be mighty tasty. To a vampire lord, you know,” he hurried to add after a tiny pause that probably didn’t register to anyone but Andante.
Andante stifled a grin. Almost slipped up there, didn’t you? I’ll bet you’re right, too.
“Well, it does sound important,” Dardeh agreed. “And you’re right, I can’t go off chasing after more legendary artifacts. I have enough to do keeping up with the dragons that were supposed to be under some kind of control but aren’t, and I’m still the only one who can take care of them.”
“We wouldn’t have been bothering you at all if we didn’t have to,” Andante added. “The original intention was to find out where the Scroll was, on our own, and take care of this problem quietly. Urag told us about someone named Septimus Signus and then said that ‘the other guy’ had the scroll. The ‘big Redguard.’”
Dardeh frowned. “Yep. A Nord in Redguard clothing. Well, be happy you don’t have to deal with Septimus. The man’s wildly strange. Speaks in rhymes, and not very good ones, either. Yes, I have the Scroll. I had to read it, up on the Throat of the World. I’ve heard that reading those things makes you crazy. I don’t think I’m crazy because of it. I hope not, anyway. Roggi would be a better judge of that.”
Roggi smiled. “No, Dar, you’re not crazy.”
“Well, I’ll lend it to you, Bryn,” he said, staring into Brynjolf’s eyes. “I trust you on this. But you need to bring it back. I’m not losing track of the thing. It’s too dangerous.”
Brynjolf nodded. “Aye, lad. We know. We’ll make good use of it.”
Andante wanted to shout. He wanted to grab Brynjolf and devour him, right then and there. That was brilliant, loverboy. As good as I am I could never have come close to that. Well done. Well done indeed.
That castle is almost ours.
Instead, he stood as the others did, and filtered indoors out of the sun that was starting to be burdensome even in his specialized armor, and accepted a drink of wine while the others had mead. Dardeh puttered about in the kitchen while they chatted, and before long they had warm meat pies to eat. Andante and Brynjolf took turns discreetly disappearing for a moment or two to refresh their illusion spells. While Roggi was perfectly aware of their status, Andante didn’t know whether Dardeh was. It seemed better not to press their luck.
It was much later, in front of the fire, when the conversation returned to the war.
“The truce isn’t holding,” Dardeh muttered from his seat on the floor. “I heard there was some kind of tussle out at Korvanjund. New recruits joining both sides every day. It’s just not right.”
Roggi sighed and exchanged glances with Andante and Brynjolf. “We were attacked by a group of Imperial soldiers on the road, a while back.”
“Really?” Brynjolf asked, surprised. “But you’re not on one side or the other.”
“Not now, but I used to be a Stormcloak, a long time ago,” Roggi said. “Guy in the patrol recognized me somehow from years ago, and they attacked. I have to be careful, now, when we’re out. I wear a facemask.” He slipped a sly glance toward Andante. “Covers my beard. I guess that’s enough.”
Andante shuddered. Not the mask again. You should have taken it with you.
“Gods-damned Ulfric Stormcloak,” Dardeh growled. “I should have killed him while I had the chance.”
“Lad,” Brynjolf said, his eyebrows arched.
There was an awkward silence for a few moments.
“Well that’s the sort of thing you leave to the Dark Brotherhood, anyway,” Brynjolf continued. “I only know of one or two people who could pull off an assassination like that in the first place. And that only through rumor.”
“Yeah,” Roggi agreed. “I know who you mean. There was supposedly this guy out of Cyrodiil who could do anything if you could just locate him, but he’s been missing for a long time. Nobody knew what he looked like or anything, always kept his face completely covered.”
Andante felt himself getting slightly dizzy, as though his consciousness wanted once more to float away, somewhere, above the group, and just observe. No face. Just a mask. That damned mask. The one in the wardrobe in Riften. I have a feeling about it.
“Yes, that’s the one,” Brynjolf agreed. “I never knew whether to believe that or not. There’s another one, too, or so I’ve heard, but I’m pretty sure he existed. A Bosmer. Guy was supposedly almost legendary. But who knows what any of them are up to these days. It’s all been hard to keep track of since the fire that took out the Brotherhood in Bravil all those years back.”
“Yeah, and I’m more or less out of the loop these days,” Roggi said.
“And I’d like it to stay that way, if it’s all the same,” Dardeh growled from his spot on the floor. “And I still say I should have killed Ulfric while I had the chance.”
“What is it with you two and Ulfric?” Brynjolf began.
Andante stood slowly. “I’m, uh…” He waved toward the back door. “I need a little air, if it’s ok. I’ll be out back.”
As he moved toward the door he heard Dardeh neatly change the subject. “Hey, speaking of legendary things that actually exist, you know the story of Alduin, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Roggi said. “You should hear this, Bryn. It’s pretty amazing…”
Roggi’s voice faded as Andante stepped out onto the deck into the cool of the dark evening and sat slowly at the small table in the corner. I have to think.
A fire, in Bravil. A fire in Falkreath. Dark Brotherhood sanctuaries wiped out. His mind worked at those two pieces of information, and the more it did, the dizzier he got. He saw red; red flames, red hair. Like Brynjolf’s hair. Why am I thinking of red hair? Tiny snippets of a picture that wouldn’t make a whole flashed through his mind: a place he couldn’t identify that seemed familiar, a statue, green-leaved deciduous trees. Not the Rift, but…
Red hair. Flames.
A mask. A man in a mask.
He was sitting there with his head down, breathing deeply, when the door opened behind him. There were quiet footsteps across the wood, and then Roggi slipped into the chair beside him.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m… not entirely sure, Roggi. It feels like I’m starting to remember things. But it’s so vague that I don’t know whether they’re really memories or I’ve just had one too many bottles of skooma.” He glanced sideways at Roggi and grinned.
“You don’t need to go do… whatever it is your kind does at night? Because I can occupy Dar if you need cover.”
Andante raised his head and laughed. “I’ll bet you can. No, I’m fine on that front. We both made sure to take care of that before we arrived.” He chuckled again. “You two sound like an old married couple.”
“Well, if the boot fits…” Roggi snickered.
“Speaking of skooma. Listen, Roggi,” Andante said slowly as another thought occurred to him. “About that other thing.”
“What other thing? Oh, about Dag?”
Andante paused for a moment, considering whether he was ready to move forward with his suspicions. If he opened his mouth he was violating the trust of the Brotherhood. But I have to find out, for Brynjolf. Then he nodded. I’m sure Roggi will keep it close. If nothing else it will distract everyone from my plans regarding Volkihar. “Yeah. I have reason to believe she might be closer than we knew. I think… that the Listener is really Dagnell.”
Roggi’s mouth fell open. “What?”
He told Roggi about all of it. How she matched the description Roggi had gotten from the face changer: pale green eyes, husky voice. Her aversion to skooma. How, according to Nazir, she’d joined the Brotherhood and become Listener around the same general time Brynjolf had told him that Dagnell left Riften.
Roggi nodded, slowly. “It fits, doesn’t it?”
“It does. Also – you should have seen her when she gave me the note telling Brynjolf that Dag was alive. She must have re-read that thing a dozen times before she handed it over, like she couldn’t decide whether to send it or not. But I can’t tell Brynjolf my suspicions, Roggi. Not unless I’m completely certain. Because, you know…”
Roggi met his eyes and sighed, his expression one of sympathy. “Yeah, I do. Things will be difficult for a lot of us if we find her.”
“Now here’s the issue. I can’t just bring up in casual conversation that one thing you gave me about her. I’ve wracked my brain. There’s no way to do it. But what if the Dark Brotherhood was to receive an anonymous assassination request? One that didn’t come through the usual channels that Sayma – the Listener – gets them from?”
“What are you saying?”
“What if, say, there was a new group of bandits who had moved themselves into the ruins of Nilheim, and their leader was someone who someone else dearly wanted to see dead? Hypothetically, of course. And the Listener was to receive just such a request while I was in the room?”
Roggi winced. He looked out over the lake for a moment, and then nodded. “That would surely get a reaction from her.”
“Like it just got one from you.”
“Yes.”
“Well how … I can’t very well hand her the note myself. I could, of course, but it would be too suspicious, I think. That’s the biggest problem.”
Roggi nodded, slowly. He reached up and stroked his beard.
“Damn,” he muttered. “It’s times like this that I miss my old network.” He was quiet for another moment, then nodded. “I say take it to Delvin. Remember that guy we were talking about earlier? The one in the mask? He got his assignments via courier, or so the story went – at least till he disappeared a while back. I don’t know how to make contact with those people. But I’d be willing to bet you a lot of money that Delvin does.” He grinned sideways at Andante. “And I’d be willing to bet you it will take a lot of money to get such a message delivered, if he does know.”
Andante chuckled. “You’ve never seen my home in Solitude, Roggi. Money is not a thing I’m concerned about.”
“That’s my best advice. Take it to Delvin. If he could get one of those special couriers to take a note to the Listener it just might work. If you’re there when she gets the request I can guarantee that you’ll see the truth on her face.” His smile faded. “Neither one of us will ever be able to associate Nilheim with anything else ever again, I promise you.”
“Thanks, Roggi. We’ll keep this between us for now, yes?”
“Of course,” Roggi replied. “Besides, Dragonborn blood is probably tasty. I’d just as soon nobody had reason to test that idea out.”
Andante burst out laughing.
“You are good, Roggi.”
“Thanks. Now I’m going to go back inside. Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Mmm. Thank you.”
Andante waited until Roggi had closed the door, then stood and wandered down to the docks. At the far end of one jutting out into the quiet waters of Lake Ilinalta were a chair and a cluster of heavy pots holding fishing poles at crazy angles. He sat in the chair, watching dragonflies flit over the surface of the water, hearing the lapping of ripples up against the shore and the distant sounds of animals calling to each other in the deep forest above them to the south.
Fire in Cyrodiil. A statue. Assassins from there, one of whom wore a mask and could only be contacted by courier.
I think I know where that man is now. But I’m not sure. I have to be sure.
Just the way I have to be sure about the Listener.
The Listener.
He closed his eyes for a moment and had a flash of a memory, the merest wisp of a vision of red hair.
Red hair like Brynjolf’s.
He opened his eyes and shook his head.
It doesn’t matter. We’re going to get the scrolls, and we’re going to find the bow. And then I’m going to kill Harkon and take his castle. And I am going to have a power that nobody can really fathom.
He dropped his head.
But I think I remember. And I don’t much like it.
What is my name?
