The path at the far end of the lake led back to the Wayshrine of Resolution, the one they had most recently found, and Andante felt like an idiot.
We could have just gone down to the lake from here instead of running all the way down it from the other end. I suppose the outcome wouldn’t have been any different; we’d still have had dragons and Brynjolf and I still would nearly have torn each other to shreds, damn it all.
Well, now what?
There looked to be a way around the nearest peak, a snow-covered, nearly flat ledge of sorts if not an actual trail. He made his way along it, listening to the footsteps behind him and enjoying the crisp, quiet darkness until without warning his stomach rumbled.
Oh good. Hunger. And the sun will be up in a few more hours. I hope we run across a person. Or a mer. Or something. I used up my last blood potion some time ago. It would be just too much to have survived all this and die just because I was hungry.
There was another cut in the rocks, the opening of which led into a gorge with stone bridges and hanging walkways criss-crossing a stream below. One end of it was near them, to the left; Andante peered that way and saw barriers of a design he recognized immediately.
“More Falmer,” he whispered, pointing.
“Ugh,” Brynjolf grumbled.
He crept up onto the nearest stone bridge and peered right, down the long valley, where motion caught his eye. It was definitely Falmer, judging by the crouching, swaying movements, and lots of them. He was turning, intending to ask the others what they thought, when an arrow whizzed past his head from the left.
Two Falmer, one an archer and the other a magic-user, had emerged from a crevice in the rock just beyond the barriers. Serana had begun casting ice spikes at the archer as soon as he’d loosed his first shot; Andante pulled out his bow and began picking away at the spellcaster. He gritted his teeth as he saw Brynjolf rush the creature. It would have been safe to do so, to bash the Falmer, to momentarily stun it, except that it cast a frost cloak spell that Andante knew from experience was deadly.
I’m going to kill him if that Falmer doesn’t do it first.
It wasn’t a long battle, though. Serana dispatched the first Falmer easily and then reanimated it. It attacked the spellcaster and took it down not long afterward.
Andante ran to where the bodies lay and looked down at them. He shook his head regretfully.
“Well, it’s my turn to do a distasteful thing,” he said. “If I don’t, you’ll be gathering me up in a pouch before very long.”
“Oh by all means, Andante. Feed. We don’t want to lose you,” Serana replied.
He grinned at her. “Thanks, Serana.” He knelt and fed. Falmer blood was disgusting to his palate but it was blood, and it would do. He would live for another day. But he rose, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the awful, bitter taste.
“The look on your face, lad,” Brynjolf chuckled.
“Well you try it, then. See how tasty they are. Ugh. I need a sweet roll. Or some skooma.” He frowned. “I thought you were going to be more careful, Bryn.”
Brynjolf started to speak, but Andante cut him off, regretting that he’d raised the subject again and not wanting to become even more irritated about it. “Never mind. Which way will we go now?”
“Into the cave,” Brynjolf said without any hesitation. “I just have a feeling about it.”
Serana shook her head and pointed the other way. “Look. The bridges lead upward, in that direction. I’m positive that the Inner Sanctum would be in a high place. Safe. Unreachable. Easy to defend.”
Brynjolf stroked his beard. “Hmm. You have a point.” He moved toward the bottom of the ramp, followed by Serana, and stared down the length of the gorge for a few moments, clearly spotting the Falmer but looking upward toward the highest of the bridges. “Alright. It’s decided. We’ll go that way.”
Andante chuckled to himself. I guess I don’t get a vote. No matter.
They moved up the stone ramp, creeping along as silently as they could. It provided a better vantage point to see the full extent of the hanging bridges crossing the valley, moving high up to the mountaintops beyond, with clusters of Falmer tents here and there on any of the flat surfaces large enough to hold them. The bridges seemed to be made of woven material attached to bones or chitin, and would have appeared perfectly sturdy to Andante if not for the visible remains of a broken one, dangling limply from a cliff face. He looked down and shuddered.
Arrows started clattering to the rocky deck of the ramp. Andante spun around, looking back the way they’d come and seeing nothing, looking ahead of them and seeing nothing.
“Finally! Let’s end this!” Brynjolf shouted, and Andante turned in the direction of his voice. It took him a moment to locate the source of the attack, a Falmer archer on one of the highest of the bridges in this crevasse. Brynjolf was almost to it by the time Andante was able to pull his bow, and Serana had fired at least five ice spikes into the creature. By the time he made it to the others, they had already taken the beast down.
Andante plodded up the ramp just beyond the Falmer corpse, suddenly aware of how fatigued he was, of how many enemies they had battled since entering Darkfall Cave, including two dragons that could not only fly, but swim as well. This is no good. I can’t lead if I’m dragging like this.
The ramp led to a small shelf of rock on which there were two of the Falmer tents. He tucked his head into the larger one and found several well-cured hides from the oddly bright deer that inhabited this area, as well as an elk hide or two, and was suddenly seized with the desire to spread them out and sleep.
“Bryn…” he began, but stopped as another arrow narrowly missed his head. To his left was another of the woven bridges. On it were two Falmer running toward them, one an archer and the other wearing hideous chaurus armor, wielding sword and shield and the desire to kill. Andante sprinted forward, out onto the narrow bridge, and past the fighter, slashing at the archer, hoping that Serana or Brynjolf would follow up with the other. He had landed one good blow when his side erupted in pain and he cried out. The fighter had turned to slash at him with its deadly sword and had connected, hard.
Andante stumbled forward, the force of the blow combining with the heavy, awkward ewer, causing him to nearly lose his balance on the precarious, unsteady bridge. His heartbeat was so loud in his ears that he could barely make out the sound of Serana’s spells sizzling and what he thought was Brynjolf calling to him. His momentum carried him forward, onto the next almost-level stone ledge, where he crouched as low as he could and started casting healing magic on himself as fast as he could summon up the spell. Gasping for air, he turned back to see Brynjolf struggling with the fighter, clinging uncertainly to his balance on the wobbly bridge; and even though he was still bleeding Andante ran back to the battle, snarling at the Falmer.
The archer had moved behind its more heavily-armed companion and wasn’t aware of Andante until the Daedric axe sliced it nearly in two. It slid off the side of the bridge and fell; Andante didn’t want to look down to see how far below them it went. He turned his attention to the armored Falmer just in time to see Serana cast another set of ice spikes at it.
“You fight worse than you smell!” she yelled at it.
I’ll laugh at that later.
He laid into the beast with everything he had left. That was little enough, and yet the combination of his powerful blows and Serana’s magic were enough to topple it from the bridge, tumbling to its death below.
Andante doubled over, gasping for breath even as he felt the warm trickle of blood continuing down his side. He began casting healing on himself again, and saw Brynjolf doing the same, at the far end of the bridge.
“Thank you, Serana,” he managed, finally. “You saved my pitiful hide.”
“I’m not going to die like this,” she answered him, “and neither are you.” Serana seemed to be unharmed, her missile attacks having kept her far enough away from Falmer weapons to avoid injury.
He straightened up, painfully, and made his way back across the bridge to Brynjolf. They stood and stared at each other for a long moment, not touching; and Andante couldn’t read anything from the neutral expression Brynjolf wore.
“Are you alright?” Andante asked after a few moments.
“I am now,” Brynjolf said. “But I’m very tired.”
Andante nodded. “So am I. I’m… going to have to rest. I simply can’t go on until I do. I hate to suggest it but…”
Serana wrinkled her nose. “The Falmer tents? Really?”
“I know. It’s disgusting, but so is feeding on them and we have no choice about that, either. The tents will at least be some protection from the wind. And there are a bunch of pelts. Nice clean ones. They’ll make for some decent bedding.”
“I suppose there’s really no other option,” Serana said with a sigh. “Very well. I’ll take the smaller tent. You boys can have the larger one. Just… try to keep it down, alright?”
“Lass,” Brynjolf said, one eyebrow raised.
“Hey, I’m not the one who gets called ‘loverboy,’ Brynjolf,” she chuckled. “Sleep well, you two.” She disappeared into the tent.
Andante hesitated a moment.
“Shall we? At least make ourselves a bed, I mean?”
“Yes. I need to rest.”
Andante nodded, and followed Brynjolf into the tent. They worked silently, laying out enough of the pelts to rest comfortably on and another two or three to cover themselves with. Andante set the ewer down safely in a corner of the shelter, sat down on their makeshift bed and sighed, then reached into his pocket.
“I need one of these,” he said, pulling out a bottle of skooma. “Well, I don’t need one, but I need one, if that makes sense.”
Brynjolf said nothing, merely sank back onto the hides and stretched out while Andante drained the bottle. It was another from the particularly strong batch he’d made, and as his head started whirling he stretched out as well, then covered himself up, a satisfied groan escaping him as he flexed sore muscles and felt them relax.
“I’m sorry, Bryn,” he murmured, not quite certain whether he’d spoken loudly enough to be heard. There was a pause, a few heartbeats, before Brynjolf’s deep rumble answered him.
“For what?”
“For getting all vampire lord at you, down on the lake.”
“Ha. Well there are two of us in that category, lad. Don’t forget that. I’m sorry as well.”
Even with the heavy furs over them it was cold, and Andante scooted closer to Brynjolf. At one time just proximity would have been enough to warm him but Brynjolf as a vampire didn’t radiate heat the way he once had. Still, it was better than it had been, and he closed his eyes and savored the feeling of rest, his mind sailing off into the distance.
“Do you have another of those, by any chance?”
Andante peeled his eyes open and turned his head to look at Brynjolf, wondering what was on his mind. He saw none of the darkness that he’d seen on some occasions, nor any of the mischief; only a tired man who had been through a lot in a short period.
“I certainly do.” He pulled another of the bottles out of the deep recesses of his armor and handed it to Brynjolf, who drained it and settled back onto the furs with a satisfied sound.
“Shor’s bones. That was quite a batch, wasn’t it?” he said after a few moments.
“It was. I think we earned it, don’t you?”
“Aye. And I’m tired, and it’s gone straight to my head. Somehow the smell of this place doesn’t seem to matter quite as much now.”
Andante snickered. “Agreed. That is what it’s supposed to do, though, after all.”
There were another few moments of silence. Then both of them spoke at once.
“Bryn—“
“Andante—“
They looked at each other in surprise and then started chuckling.
“What is it?”
Andante smiled. “I just wanted you to know that I do realize that I can be quite an ass when I get angry like that. And I’m sorry.”
“Well,” Brynjolf said, rolling onto his side to face Andante, “as it happens, I like that ass.” He couldn’t keep himself from breaking into a broad grin.
“How very inappropriate, sir! I am shocked!” Andante laughed.
“No, you’re not,” Brynjolf murmured. He raised himself up on one elbow, leaned over Andante and kissed him.
Oh, Andante thought as he closed his eyes and focused on the sensations of their mouths telling each other things too difficult to say with words. Maybe it will be alright after all.
He found himself, later, his eyes closed with his head on Brynjolf’s chest, feeling one of Brynjolf’s heavy arms around him, listening to his quiet breathing, and nearly asleep himself. He kept thinking I love you, Brynjolf. I love you.
And as he drifted off to sleep he thought he could imagine Brynjolf murmuring “I know you do, lad,” and thought he felt the large hand stroking his hair. He smiled. What a pleasant dream.
__
The sun was up by the time they collected Serana again.
“I slept very nicely,” she said to them. “I hope you did as well? Eventually?” Her mouth quirked up into a grin.
“Now stop,” Andante said, making a face at her. “But if you must know, yes, I slept well, thank you. I feel much better.”
Brynjolf didn’t answer, but Andante saw him smiling as he scanned the area ahead of them.
It was a beautiful day. But it became a nightmare, very shortly. They wandered for hours amongst the Falmer settlements, up and down ramps, across bridges, and into other tents. They took down several small pods of Falmer, a much easier task during the day than it had been at night. Each of them fed, as they went, and each of them gagged at the taste of Falmer. Several times they found themselves passing over the same territory more than once; they each looked around at the maze of pathways in confusion until one or the other of them would point in a direction and they would be off again. At one point in the climb they looked across a gap and saw a humanoid skeleton, dangling by its neck from a rope anchored high atop an overlook; they exchanged looks with each other but said nothing.
They went as high as they could, and then realized that they could neither see nor reach anything else, and in particular nothing that resembled a Wayshrine. Andante shook his head and pointed back the way they had come.
“We have to go back, and we have to go down.”
“But there was nothing back there, and you know I’m right about the Inner Sanctum,” Serana complained. “It has to be up.”
“Andante’s right, lass,” Brynjolf said. “That cave, back where we came in. It must go through somewhere. I’d wager it will lead us up once we get to the other end of the thing. I told you I had a feeling about it.”
“All right!” she snapped, folding her arms. “Let’s just get to it, then. I want to find that bow and get out of here.”
“No more than the rest of us, dear,” Andante murmured, starting back down the ramps toward the bottom of the crevasse.
By the time he found a gap where he could safely drop to the level of the river, Andante was about ready to scream in frustration. He worked his way back upstream, through chaurus hunters that erupted from their pods as he passed, and finally stumbled across the body of the Falmer they had knocked from the suspended bridge far, far above, the previous night. Andante plucked several of his own ebony arrows from the body and poked at it with his foot.
“Serves you right,” he muttered.
At long last he entered the cave they had seen early on. It was not much more than a narrow tunnel through the ice, formed by the stream itself, and Andante was grateful for his vampire blood as he was forced to wade and then swim upstream through the icy water. The narrow passage opened into a larger cave. Andante had just enough time to check for his companions before the familiar snorts of a frost troll echoed through the cavern; it was easy to dispatch with a few of his arrows and an impressive slash from Brynjolf’s ebony sword. Farther up the cavern were two heavily-armored Falmer, but Andante was able to pick one off with his bow and the second with his axe and Mehrune’s Razor.
The route ahead rose along the edges of the cavern, clearly heading up into the mountain itself.
“I told you, lass,” Brynjolf whispered to Serana.
Andante had a chill run up his spine.
“Shh. Listen,” he said, and they all froze. It was silent in the cavern, save for the sound of the water rushing along far below them and wind whining through the crevices.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, Bryn. I just had this feeling that we’re being followed.”
Brynjolf peered back down the cavern the way they’d come, and then turned to look above them. “Falmer above us,” he whispered. “But it’s just sitting there. Let’s go take care of it.”
Andante nodded, raising his axe and indicating that he would do the honors. He crept up the slope, silently, and took up a position behind the Falmer. It only took two quick swipes with his weapons to send the beast flying down the side of the cavern.
But I still have this feeling. Someone’s following us. I don’t like it. It was the same sensation he’d had when the three bounty hunters had followed them from Markarth into the Reach. Could he have tracked us here after all?
They passed several bridges – or the remains of them – hanging in shreds from the sides of the sheer ice ledge on which their path lay. Across it, in several spots, were tripwires connected to enormous iron claws. Andante nearly stumbled into the first of them, but managed to stop just in time and indicated to the others that they should also jump the wires.
“Looks like they’re better at making traps than they are at making bridges,” Serana said sarcastically.
“Well just don’t set them off, please,” Andante replied. “We don’t want to alert every one of them that remains.” To say nothing of whoever else is tailing us. “And mind your footing. It’s sheer ice up ahead and this path isn’t level.”
It wasn’t level, and it wasn’t empty. At the end of a branch in the cave was a pair of Falmer, seated before a tent perched over a gaping hole straight down to the river below them. Andante took aim at the first Falmer and dropped it with a pair of arrows but the second, armored and ready for battle, rushed out at them. Brynjolf set on it, eagerly, but Andante still found himself face to hideous face with it. He swung his axe with everything he had and broke the beast’s neck, nearly taking its head off.
It seemed to Andante as though the caverns would never end. In one chamber the slope of the path they were on was so steep that he feared even the woven barriers the Falmer had placed along its edges wouldn’t keep him from sliding off the edge to his death. Every time he looked at that edge, he thought of Dynjyl and shuddered. There were Falmer to fight here, but the roaring of the water cascading down into the deep crevices below covered the sounds of their passage enough that Andante was able to creep up behind them, slaying them quickly from a position of stealth. They emerged from the caverns into another high pass, filled with yet more Falmer encampments, traps, and even a frost giant in a remote corner.
Finally, at the very end of the valley they were in, Andante lost his footing and fell from the bridge he was on. It was a short drop, not enough to even twist an ankle; and he found himself at the entrance to an upward-sloping passage, dark and cut into rock rather than ice. He called back to the others to follow, and proceeded up the slope. As he moved, his dread increased.
There seemed to be no reason for the dread. Aside from a lone chaurus hunter, there was nothing living in the tunnel. There was a rockfall trap set up, but he spotted the tripwire well in advance and moved around it, pointing it out to the others. It was eerily silent; even their armor seemed to make no sound as they crept along toward the light of the opening they could see in the distance.
And there, just beyond the tunnel’s end, was a Prelate, his spectral glow a welcome beacon.
“Finally!” he heard Serana breathe behind him.
He stood and moved forward. To his left were the Prelate and the still-lowered Wayshrine; to his right a valley at the end of which was a massive structure, a cathedral-like building that reminded Andante of something. He frowned, and tried to remember, and approached the Prelate.
“You’ve found the Wayshrine of Radiance, Initiate,” the Prelate said, asking whether Andante was ready to fill his vessel with Auri-El’s enlightenment.
“Most definitely, my good sir,” Andante agreed. “More than ready.”
“May the blessings of Auri-El protect you as you climb the road to the Inner Sanctum, and final enlightenment.”
“Thank you,” Andante murmured. I don’t know why but I feel as though protection is in order.
The Prelate cast his spell.
The Wayshrine rose.
And suddenly, out from the shadows of the rocks just beyond the Wayshrine, chaos erupted. A man in Dawnguard armor roared at him, raised his hand, and cast one of the most deadly frost cloak spells Andante had ever encountered. The Dawnguard ran forward, a silvered axe held high, and the edges of the spell caught Andante full on.
He gasped in pain. The closest thing he’d ever experienced to it was Durnheviir’s life-draining Shout in the Soul Cairn, and as he had then he felt himself dying. There was one final gorge between them and the cathedral, a substantial stone bridge spanning the gap. He sprinted for it, as best he could with his legs suffering the effects of the frost cloak, casting healing on himself as he went. Behind him he heard the Dawnguard howling in anger, the clanking of Brynjolf’s shield on the Dawnguard’s axe, and a cry of pain as the cold took its toll on Brynjolf as well.
“No, you don’t!” he shouted, turning and sprinting back toward the man, conjuring his Dremora as he went.
The Dremora waded into the battle as though there was nothing to fear, slashing at the man like the demon it was and buying Andante enough time to heal himself just a bit more. By the time he was done he was close enough to Shout at the Dawnguard.
“IIZ-SLEN!”
The man toppled to the ground, giving them time to take several swings at him before he was able to stand again and re-cast his frost cloak.
“You don’t stand a chance!” the Dawnguard shouted, continuing to beat at Brynjolf with his axe.
Andante snarled, and unloaded as many arrows into him as he could.
The man’s spell dissipated, just as he was saying “Not quite good enough, are you, foul blood-drinker!”
Brynjolf stepped forward and brought his sword down. The Dawnguard’s head flew off and hurtled down into the gorge. Andante could hear it thudding against the rocks each time it bounced, the sound echoing off the rocks.
He stood there for just a moment, dumbfounded, staring at Brynjolf, and then down at the body.
It wasn’t him, Ondolemar’s man. He wasn’t looking for Vitus, he was just hunting vampires. Thank the gods.
“Are you alright?” he asked, scanning Brynjolf for signs of damage.
Brynjolf nodded, panting but smiling. “I had a potion. Frost. I wasn’t comfortable but that spell wasn’t doing much damage to me. Are you alright?”
“Yes. Now I am.” Andante shook his head. “I just knew there was someone following us. Damned vampire hunters and three of us to be tracking.” He looked around. “Wait. Where’s Serana?”
“Here,” came a voice from behind them, as Serana approached from the far end of the walkway. “You boys ran ahead but a Falmer found me. One of the big ones. Don’t worry, it’s gone now.” She looked down at the headless Dawnguard and tsk’d. “Looks like I missed quite a party.”
“You did,” Brynjolf agreed. “But look up ahead. We’ve found it.”
“Yes, this must be the place,” she said. “I’ve never seen a building like that before. It looks like some kind of temple.”
It does. It looks like a temple. An Ayleid temple. That’s what it reminds me of. He suddenly remembered the one he was familiar with, in Cyrodiil. It had the same pointed arches, the same massive, grey stonework. It may not be Ayleid. But it’s at least of a similar vintage and similar construction. And I’ve been in one before. It’s called…
Vitus closed his eyes and concentrated, and yet another piece of his long-missing past filled in. Sedor. That’s what this looks like. Huge, grey, and filled with ice. I hunted someone there, once. I don’t remember who it was. I do remember that he died. I remember how I did it. From behind. With the blade, across his throat. No fuss at all, and his body went down into one of the crevasses very neatly. I suspect they’re still looking for him.
“Well,” Serana said, “what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
He took a couple of steps toward the temple and then stopped, shaking his head.
“We’re waiting for me to wake up. I never had a chance to finish filling the ewer,” Andante grinned.
He dashed back to where the Prelate stood, serenely guarding the open Wayshrine, and dipped the ewer into it. Then he returned to the others.
“Let’s go,” he said, heading up the steps to cross the bridge. “I can’t wait to get rid of this thing.”
“Quit your bellyaching,” Brynjolf chuckled. “It’s almost over.”
At the far end of the bridge, a stairway led up into an open courtyard. There were trees here, and dead grasses. Arched, ornately-decorated niches surrounded the courtyard on all sides save the entry they stood in. In the center of the space, flanked by two grand, curving staircases, stood an enormous statue.
“This is a statue of Auriel,” Serana said. “But it’s using the older signs of his power. This temple must be ancient. The bow has to be in here.”
“Yes, I would imagine you’re right,” he agreed.
And that means it is almost mine.
Vitus smiled. An excitement as deep and as cold as the ice of Sedor rose from within him.
It’s time. It is almost mine. And once it is mine, Harkon, your days are over. Get ready to welcome your dread lord home.