“I’ve never seen any kind of portal near Pinewatch,” Brynjolf said as they walked up the road east from Falkreath. “And I’ve spent more time than I’d like to remember walking this road in the past couple of years.”
Sayma nodded, and peered up the road ahead of them. It wasn’t raining, not quite, but there was a heavy mist through which the sun had not yet broken. Almost anything short of a dragon could have been lurking ahead of them unseen. She was cold, and damp, and actually was looking forward to being in the hot, dry desert again.
“You wouldn’t have. I have to cast a spell for it to appear.” She sighed heavily. “This damned spell. I wish I had a septim for every time I had to cast it getting to Ben Erai. It’s fascinating, the way the process to get there was set up, but I’m no mage.”
She’d told Brynjolf a bit more about her trip through the Old Way of the Thieves and beyond as they travelled southeast toward Falkreath proper, although she hadn’t gotten to the most frightening parts. The only time he’d reacted with anything other than calm acceptance was when she’d described the room of flame; then he’d shuddered. “Flames and I have not been on good terms for some time,” he’d told her, and had pointed to his ruby ring. “Enchanted. Flame resistance.” She’d watched the emotions that flitted briefly over his face and sighed. She was never going to understand all that had transpired in his life during the intervening time. It made her sad. But at least at the moment he was talking to her, easily; and she would take that.
He nodded. “I found myself casting a lot of spells as well, in the past couple of years. I even reanimated a skeleton once. I can’t imagine how. I can’t do the spells anymore.”
The hair on Sayma’s neck rose as she tried to imagine Brynjolf raising a skeleton from the dead. “Necromancy?”
There’s nothing at all that I like about the fact that Bryn was a vampire. This makes it even worse.
“If you want to put it that way. It just happened. We were in a tight spot and I reacted.”
There were so many things she wanted to say, and she didn’t know how to approach any of them. Part of it was that she was Redguard. I’ve never been religious, but even as young as I was when my parents died I learned the message that the undead were simply… wrong.
“Bryn,” she began, and then trailed off.
“What is it?”
“I don’t even know how to ask.”
He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. “So just ask. We’ve known each other long enough to be past polite chit-chat.”
Alright, I will.
“Why?”
She knew why, in part. She had puzzled that out, sitting in the cave in Coldharbour. She knew he had needed something to fill the emptiness. But knowing that didn’t answer her visceral need for it to have been different, as impossible as that need was to answer. She still wanted to know why, to hear it from him.
He snorted. “I might ask you the same question.”
She sighed. Yes, you’ve got me there.
“But I’ll give you an answer anyway,” he said. “I’ve already told you, all of you. I wanted the power.” He shrugged. “I wanted to protect the Guild. I never wanted to be controlled again. Or see someone draining us dry from inside. Never again. I wanted to make sure that I could protect it all, forever if I could manage it. It doesn’t make much sense, now that I hear myself say it; but that was why.”
He was staring straight ahead, scanning the road for dangers. Sayma studied his face from the side. She might have expected him to look angry, or distressed, or saddened; but he was simply being matter-of-fact.
“And Andante? How did he fit into the picture?”
One side of his mouth rose. “A means to an end.”
She stopped, and put both hands on her hips. He continued a few steps up the hill, but stopped when she didn’t keep pace and turned to stare at her.
“Don’t give me that. I saw the way he looked at you.”
Brynjolf sighed. He returned to her, and put his hands on her shoulders.
“I’ll be honest with you, if you want. You won’t like it.”
Probably not. “Tell me anyway.”
“At first, he truly was just a means to an end. And a diversion. A nice one, at that. He reminded me so much of Dynjyl; I was lonely, and he was interested. I played him exactly the way he wanted to be played, because I knew he was a vampire and I knew he could give me that power. It was as carefully planned out as any con I’ve ever run.”
“Bryn.”
“I told you that you wouldn’t like it.”
She looked up into his face, so subtly changed from the way she had known it before, and saw something else in his eyes. That’s not the whole story. I know it, and he realizes that I know it.
“And?”
His eyes softened. “And he made me feel alive. He made me…”
“What?”
He was gazing at her face, but she knew he saw something else, a million leagues away and in another time. He spoke as though he was speaking to himself.
“How can I say it without sounding stupid? Breathless. He… well, you said you saw how he looked at me.” He waved his hand in the air, emphasizing the brilliant ruby on his finger. “How often have you ever had a person make you a thing like this? I was what mattered most to him. How can you not be taken away by something like that? It didn’t happen all at once, of course. It snuck up on me.”
And he was right. I didn’t really want to hear this. But I suppose I deserve it. And I suppose I should be grateful that he feels comfortable telling me these things.
Brynjolf turned and started trudging up the hill again, and she followed. He started speaking again, quietly.
“He gave himself up for me. I can’t do anything for him in return, because he’s gone. All I can do is try to free Dynny from the Soul Cairn, because that’s what he wanted to do.” He glanced at her again, as if anticipating her questions. “I can’t tell you why Dynny and I fell for each other, all those years ago. I’m not one to believe in fate, but if I did that’s what I’d say about him. Andante knew that. In spite of not really wanting to share me with anyone else he tried to help Dynny, and he helped us find you.” He turned to give her the smallest of smiles. “That’s why I’m here with you now. I need to do this.”
Sayma nodded. I can understand that, a little bit.
“You miss him.”
“Of course. I’ll always miss him.” He turned to glance at her for a moment. “Just as I’ll always miss Dynjyl. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living. I have things to do. I still need to protect the Guild.”
That’s remarkable, Sayma thought. It hasn’t been that long. He’s still grieving. And yet he’s pushing forward. I think I might have crawled into a hole to die.
Then she remembered, yet again, what Roggi had told her. “When you left, he fell apart. He was trying to end it, the slow way.”
So what was different about that? I don’t understand.
They passed Falkreath and started up the incline toward Pinewatch. Sayma’s mind was whirling. In part it felt familiar and comfortable to be walking down the road with Brynjolf, and she supposed that it must feel that way to him as well. Otherwise, he’d never be talking about these things with her. On the other hand, there were the awkward truths that stood between them, starting with the fact that she looked completely different – a fact that would forever point out her betrayal.
“He made you feel alive by making you undead.”
“Yes. It doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
“Undead are…” she shuddered. “One of the places I had to visit in order to get to Ben Erai was a tiny island in Coldharbour.”
Brynjolf’s sharp intake of breath told her that he was as shocked by that as she had been to learn he’d reanimated a skeleton.
“I thought I could just, I don’t know, swim to the mainland and escape. The water, though. It drains you. Your life. Pulls it out of you, like a…” She trailed off again, remembering the hideous pain of that water, and shuddering.
He nodded slowly. “Like a vampire.” He frowned. “Well if it’s any consolation to you I tried to be careful. It’s possible to cast a spell, and only take as much as you need to feed yourself, without killing the mark. I was careful, most of the time. Andante, though; he just took whatever was in front of him. Every bit of it.”
“Gods.”
“Yes.” There was a pause while they turned off the road toward the portal. “That was one of the reasons he was so exciting. No limits.”
Sayma sighed. I suppose I do understand that. Why else did I join the Brotherhood, after all? She frowned.
“Speaking of limits,” Brynjolf said, “you might be interested in this. You remember the bedside table in Honeyside?”
“Gods. Sixty-four bottles of skooma?”
“Mmm,” Brynjolf said, smiling. “The very best. Andante made it. I’m sorry; I know you don’t like the idea of me using it. I didn’t expect you’d be around to worry about it.”
Sayma stopped and stared at him. “Brynjolf, is there really any reason you have to be cruel to me right now?”
His face softened. “I don’t mean to be. I was going to tell you that I had Delvin get rid of them.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Yes. I just wanted you to know that. It was one thing while I was a vampire, but now? Not a good idea at all. I’m telling you, it was the best, and I don’t know how well I could have avoided ending up like…”
“Please, Bryn,” she said, shaking her head and putting her hand on his arm. “Don’t. It still hurts after all these years. But thank you for letting me know. That… means a lot to me.”
He nodded. “Aye. I thought you might be pleased that it’s gone. Besides,” he added, stretching his neck, “it probably has made a lot of coin for the Guild. Delvin’s connections are always good for that.”
“Something tells me you wouldn’t have found me if not for Delvin’s connections.” Of course, it helped that I couldn’t stand it anymore and had to let you know that ‘Dag’ was still alive.
“Delvin’s and Roggi’s. He may have been out of the business for years but he still has an impressive network.” Brynjolf grinned. “I suspect Dardeh doesn’t quite realize the extent of it.”
Sayma chuckled, and looked around the area. “Up here,” she said, pointing up the hill from where they stood.
They padded quietly up the dirt path. Sayma raised her left hand, gathered her power, and cast the Ancient Vision spell. As usual, it exploded noisily, revealing a stone plinth next to the trail. Sayma reached for Brynjolf’s hand, rough and warm as she remembered, and pulled him near it.
“Let’s go,” she said, and activated the portal.
Brynjolf grumbled, when they stepped out into dark interior of the Ben Erai fortress. “This doesn’t look like a desert to me. It could be the fort at Pale Pass for all I can see.”
“Stop acting like a grumpy old man and come out here,” Sayma said, pushing open the door and stepping out, squinting, into the heat of the day. The desert palms swayed in a very hot and dry breeze that bore no resemblance whatsoever to Pale Pass, and only the momentary blindness caused by sun on bleached sand would make a person think of snow.
“Oh!”
She chuckled. I haven’t gotten that reaction from him very often. Maybe that very first day, when I told him no in the marketplace in Riften.
“This is Ben Erai. Somewhere in Hammerfell; I’m not sure where, exactly. I came here from another spot the first time – up to the northwest. No need to ever visit those places again. In fact, I’m not sure we could, even if we wanted to.” She looked up at the sky and noted the sun, high overhead. It wouldn’t be long before the heat would be unbearable. “We need to get under shade for a few hours. I have just the place.”
She led Brynjolf through the guards’ encampment and along the tiled pathway toward the center of the village, watching in amusement as his gaze flitted from place to place, from person to person, few of them though there were outside at this time of day. He’s casing it. Of course he is. Some things never change.
“I bought a house here,” she said quietly as they approached.
“You what?” She grinned at his incredulous look.
“Well, it’s nothing special. Really. Come on in,” she said, pushing the door open.
It was all she could do to keep from giggling as she watched him take in the full expanse of the tiny room. She forced her face to stay as neutral as possible and waited. Finally, he cleared his throat. Here it comes.
“It’s not exactly … opulent here, is it?” he said tentatively.
Sayma fought her face more, trying not to burst into laughter. “No, it’s not a wealthy village. And this isn’t a big house. There’s a nice patio up on the roof, though, where you can catch a breeze without burning to death.”
He nodded. “There’s one thing, though.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”
“It needs dusting. It’s full of cobwebs.”
She stared at him for a moment in disbelief, because while there was an inevitable coating of fine dust anywhere in a desert, there was nothing like a cobweb in this home, anywhere that she had seen. Then she saw his eyes start twinkling and, in spite of all efforts to the contrary, one corner of his mouth rose.
Oh good grief.
She swatted at him.
“You will never let that go, will you?”
“Not ever.” He snickered.
“You’re insufferable, Brynjolf,” she said, pretending to be cross; but inside her heart was doing a little dance. He doesn’t hate me. If he remembers that and can tease me with it, he doesn’t hate me. I’ll take it.
“Oh, and something else.” She pointed toward one of the chests. “Look in there. That’s for you. I was going to bring it through myself, but since you’re here now we can split the job when we go back.”
Brynjolf flipped the chest’s lid open and made a strangled noise. He knelt down beside it and started rifling through its contents, lifting things out to examine them, every so often saying “oh!” or making some other expression of surprise. Finally he rose to his feet and stared at her.
“What do you mean that’s for me? That’s a huge amount of wealth.”
“Yes it is,” she said, allowing herself a grin at last. “That path to get here was a test of a thief, a real thief. I told you. It was hard. And it was simply loaded with treasure. I left behind the heaviest pieces but just the gems and the jewelry are enough to supplement the Guild’s coffers for awhile, don’t you think?”
He was silent for several moments, just studying her face.
“Yes. Yes they are. Why would you want to do such a thing?”
“Well first of all, I’ll be damned if I let Nocturnal tell me I’m not a real thief. They’d just stripped me of my title and made you Guildmaster, and I had a point to prove. But I owe you. I owe all of you. I disappeared for two years. This is what I can do, since I can’t give back the time. When we go back I want you to take it to the Guild.”
“Sayma.”
“Bryn.” She smiled at him. “It’s the same thing as you wanting to come with me for the Cowl. We both have something to make right, don’t we?”
He was quiet for a few moments, and then smiled and nodded.
“Aye.”
For several hours they rested. Sayma went to the inn and bought some cool drinks, and they spent time on the rooftop and in the house both. They each kicked off their boots, and removed gauntlets, and bandoliers, and capes, and opened up their armor enough to let the breeze cool them down; and Sayma couldn’t help but cast a few furtive but appreciative glances at Brynjolf’s chest peeking out from his unfastened leathers. They were mostly silent, but sometimes chatted about insignificant things. She brought out the map she had slipped from Syloria’s room into her pack, and showed Brynjolf the general lay of the land, and pointed to what she thought were the places they needed to visit. He nodded, and once or twice she thought she caught him smiling at her, just slightly.
It felt good.
After some time she stretched out on the bed to try and nap. She had offered him the bed, but he had shaken his head and said “no, you know I don’t sleep much.” It had taken her no time at all to fall asleep, and it seemed as though no time at all had passed before she heard it again.
Come to me.
She bolted upright with a cry, and heard heavy footsteps on the stairs outside before Brynjolf burst in the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“I heard it again! The voice!”
“What? What voice?”
She shook her head, and tried to calm herself. “This is the third time. I keep hearing this voice, a man’s voice. It says ‘Come to me.’ I don’t know whose voice it is, but I only hear it here, in Ben Erai.”
Brynjolf frowned. “That’s strange. Any idea who it could be?”
“Not a one. It’s got to have something to do with the Cowl. Doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we’ll find something out as we travel. Unless you know someone here who we could ask.”
Sayma shook her head and grumbled. “No. The only people here I could talk to would be all full of ‘Yes, Dragonborn. No, Dragonborn. Whatever you need, Dragonborn.’ We’ve waited two hundred years for you to get here, Dragonborn.”
She didn’t notice that Brynjolf had gone silent for several moments. When she did, she looked up to find him staring at her.
“What?”
“Dragonborn?” he said, one eyebrow raised. “Dardeh is the Dragonborn, isn’t he? Or is there something you haven’t told me?”
“Oh.” By the gods. I didn’t tell him this, did I?
“Don’t ‘oh’ me. What’s this all about?”
She blew out a long breath, and rubbed her forehead. “You may as well sit down, Bryn. This is as strange a story as Coldharbour was.”
She spent the next little while telling him about the dragon she had fought with Roggi and Dardeh. How she’d nearly been frozen to death, but Roggi had stepped between her body and the beast’s maw and saved her once again. How she’d watched Dardeh finish the dragon, the magnificent sight of its energy rushing to surround him, to enter him.
“… and?” Brynjolf asked flatly. “What’s the rest?”
“Some of it, the energy… it came up the hill toward me. Dardeh thinks I absorbed it, the way he does.”
“Hmm.” Brynjolf stroked his beard. “And why would he think that?”
“You just don’t give up, do you?” she snapped at him, and then thought better of it. “I’m sorry. The whole thing makes me uncomfortable to think about.”
“No, I don’t give up,” he said quietly. “Why would Dardeh think you absorbed the power?”
“Because, Brynjolf,” she said, looking him square in the eyes, “before that, when I heard a dragon roar I heard loud sounds. When Dar Shouted, I heard loud sounds. That was all. After that – the energy – Dardeh Shouted, and I heard what he had said. I understood the words. Three words: frost, cold, freeze. In dragon language.”
He stared at her. He turned and walked the two or three paces it took to span the length of the house, and turned back.
“Can you make the words yourself?”
“No. I can understand them but that’s all.”
“But that’s enough to make these people think you’re Dragonborn.”
“It must be. But the weird part, Bryn, is that something about me made those people out in the Reach think I was Dragonborn before this happened. They sent me here. It’s supposed to be something only the Dragonborn can do. And yet here we are. All these people talk about is their ancestors and Caio Umbranox and how he left the Cowl for the Dragonborn to find. Ancestor this, ancestor that.”
Brynjolf sat down at the table and stared at the floor, clearly deep in thought.
“Well,” he said, “it must have something to do with your ancestors, then. Yours and Dardeh’s. Because we know he is Dragonborn. No question of that. And you’re his sister.”
“Half-sister.”
Brynjolf looked up at her and smiled, gently. “So you’re half Dragonborn, then. Maybe. It’s got to be something you have in common. Or someone.”
Sayma frowned. “It’s not our father’s voice I’m hearing, Bryn.”
He shrugged. “As long as it’s not threatening you, does it matter?”
She stared at him for a moment, and then shook her head. He’s just trying to help. I should be grateful for the support. “No. I guess it doesn’t. But it’s the most unsettling thing.”
“I’m sure it is.” He chuckled. “Well, no. The most unsettling thing would have been for you to watch me change to a Vampire Lord. That would have been very unsettling.”
She felt a shudder ripple out from her core.
“Gods, Bryn. I don’t even want to think about that.”
“Aye. I don’t blame you.” He stood and grinned at her, his eyes twinkling. “I was pretty fearsome. Great big wings and you can’t imagine the claws….”
“Cut it out, already. I don’t even want to picture it!”
He laughed at her.
I’m going to break his nose.
She looked at the window and judged the angle of the light. “It’s probably cool enough now that we could start on our way, if you’re up to it.”
Brynjolf snorted. “Are you calling me an old man, now? Of course I’m up to it.” He started pulling on his boots; and as he did so and bent over to tug them on, his leather jacket opened even more. Sayma stared at him for a moment and then made herself turn to her own boots.
I should not be looking at him like that.
No? I thought you liked that view.
Oh for the sake of all the gods, please shut up now.
She cleared her throat.
“All of the places we need to check first are to the north and northwest. I suggest we go as far northwest as we can, along the foot of the mountains, and see what we find.”
Brynjolf stood and began fastening his jacket, shrugging into his bandoliers and pauldrons and pulling on his gauntlets. “That sounds like a good plan to me.” A moment or two later he looked at her and snorted. “That is, if you ever get ready. You do plan to put on the rest of your armor, yes?”
Sayma had been just watching him dress, taking in the sight of him, and she both jumped in surprise and blushed furiously.
“Um, yes, I’m almost ready,” she said, turning to pick her cape up from the bed and put it on. Gods damn it. What in Oblivion am I thinking about? He doesn’t want me looking at him like that.
The sun had sunk fairly low in the sky by the time they walked out through the gates of Ben Erai. Sayma pointed northwest, toward the small oasis where she’d met Arenar Esdrecus.
“That way, generally speaking. There’s at least one oasis out there, probably more. Let’s see if we can make some progress before it gets too late, because when that sun goes down…”
“Yes?”
She turned to see him standing with his hands on his hips, his expression unreadable.
“When that sun goes down it gets really dark. No giants’ fires or settlements to light the way. And I was told there are things called dune rippers out there, that have fireballs that can kill us.”
This time she could read his expression. He shuddered.
“Alright. Let’s get going.”
They walked for a short time, in silence, only the sound of their leather boots whispering through the sand accompanying their passage.
“It’s going to get cold, isn’t it?” Brynjolf said out of nowhere. “Once the sun goes down.”
Sayma laughed. “Yes. That’s usually how it goes in a desert. Blazing hot in the day and cold at night. Very cold.”
They walked for a few more moments.
Brynjolf chuckled.
She turned to look at him, puzzled.
“What’s so funny?”
He grinned at her.
“Roggi and I were caught out in the rain and we both thought about how much you hate to be cold.”
“Brynjolf. You both did? That’s… embarrassing.”
“No. It was funny that we both said the same thing. I thought it was funny, anyway. Roggi was embarrassed.”
She took a few more steps, staring straight ahead, feeling herself blushing in spite of all efforts not to, and very grateful that the light was dimming.
I can imagine. Good grief.
Brynjolf chuckled again. She turned to find him smiling at her.
“Well don’t worry. I’m human again. Nord. I’m still warm.”
She had no choice but to smile back.
