Serana was nowhere to be found. He had made his way through the entire main portion of the castle, beginning with her bedroom and covering every inch of the place. He’d even been so bold as to open the occupied coffins to see who was taking a nap in the event that she was using one, even though Serana generally preferred the comfortable bed in her quarters. His last stop had been the cathedral; and as always he lingered for a few moments before the blood altar, remembering those heady first moments as a Vampire Lord when he’d truly realized the magnitude of the gift Harkon had bestowed upon him.
You gave me your blood. The touch of Molag Bal himself. I have been forever indebted to you, for it has given me a life far beyond any dream I might have had the audacity to dream. But why could you not have seen how complete my devotion was and set aside your suspicions long enough to tell me the details I needed to know?
The power was in the blood. The wisdom was not.
Edwyn sighed. He hadn’t held out any real hope that Serana would speak to him, not if he was honest about the matter. And while she was undoubtedly somewhere in Volkihar, the sheer extent of the restored castle made the prospect of searching for her absurd. There was no time. He’d come to refresh himself at the Bloodstone Chalice and to consult with his subordinates on the business of the Dragonfires; and while he dearly wished to see Serana, to try to apologize to her, to explain that his marriage to Elisif was strictly a matter of positioning himself politically, he simply did not have the time to seek her out. Elisif was waiting for him; and he needed to provide her with a child.
It is both a blessing and a curse that you repaired the castle, Vitus Perdeti. It was a true service to the Volkihar and will continue to be such for eons to come. This castle is a monument both to a time long past and to the present of our clan. And yet it is nearly impossible to know where any single individual might be inside it at any given moment.
What sort of man were you, that you were able to be a renowned assassin and yet secretly become a vampire of almost unparalleled skill and strength – which you must have had in order to defeat Harkon? Brynjolf tells me I would have lost to you. I would have relished the opportunity to test that theory.
He exited the cathedral and turned right, along the upper level of the castle where some of the more senior denizens of the court tended to spend time. Garan Marethi assured him that life had been very quiet of late and that they were all enjoying that quiet.
“But speak to Vingalmo, my lord,” he told Edwyn. “He has something for you, I believe.”
“Does he indeed?” Edwyn said, not quite suppressing a smirk. “Thank you, Garan. I shall go in search of him immediately, for I need to return to Solitude.” Vingalmo always had something for him, he thought as he made his way around the periphery of the building. Nearly every time they spoke, Vingalmo had some task or other for him to complete; and Edwyn had always done them because he was, after all, constantly in motion across Tamriel and Vingalmo was not. Vingalmo was also very good at making certain that Edwyn knew he was the more ancient of them, and subtly suggesting that he, as the superior scholar, should have been Harkon’s right hand.
But Harkon had been nothing if not a Nord, regardless of his status as one of Tamriel’s senior vampires, and he would never have acquiesced to an Altmer as his right hand. That was Edwyn’s sincere belief. Orthjolf was a Nord, but Orthjolf was a rough, crude beast, more suited to pounding problems to death with his fists than to solving them through finesse and guile. No, Harkon had chosen him, a Breton, because of his quick intellect and his facility with court niceties – and because he was not an elf of any sort. Vingalmo’s knowledge was beyond useful, but Edwyn had chosen his own right hand in Agryn, also a Breton.
Vingalmo turned his statuesque body to face Edwyn as he approached. His eyes glimmered, and he gave Edwyn what passed for a smile.
Oho, Vingalmo. How are you plotting against me on this day?
“Good evening, my lord Archmage,” Vingalmo said, bowing his head briefly in an acknowledgment of Edwyn’s status. “I trust you are well?”
“I am, Vingalmo. Thank you for asking. But I would like your input on some issues that I’ve been puzzling over. I suspect you would be the most likely of our court to have knowledge of their background.”
“Of course, my lord. How may I assist?”
Edwyn smiled. First he outlined the research he had been undertaking regarding the Dragonfires, and admitted to a fair amount of confusion about the topic.
“I of course was in various parts of Tamriel at Harkon’s bidding for most of my many years, Vingalmo, and I did not give the succession of emperors any serious thought until the moment when we were dodging Oblivion Gates at every turn. What do you know about this title, this Dragonborn business?”
Vingalmo gave one of his most condescending smiles. “Of course, my lord realizes that the Dragonborn is not simply a title, but a living and breathing man?”
What? Truly?
“Is that so. I was under the impression from the oldest materials at the college that it was simply a legend, the ‘dragon blood’ being a fanciful metaphor for a supposed religious covenant between the being commonly known as Akatosh and those humans of the time of Alessia. You’re saying it’s more than that?”
“Yes, sire. It is said that the Dragonborn – and there have been several of them – are human in form but possessed of the blood and soul of a dragon. They have abilities that may rival or surpass ours as elder vampires.”
Edwyn kept his face composed but internally he was stunned. The blood of a dragon? The actual blood of the god of time himself? Could it be?
Of course it could be. Do we not ourselves carry the blood touched by Molag Bal?
“And Emperors from that lineage were the ones who could light the Dragonfires by virtue of their blood and their power, and the power contained in their hereditary Amulet of Kings,” Vingalmo continued. “This is why so many complain that there have been no true Emperors since Martin Septim; he used whatever power was in that Amulet by destroying it to augment his own blood, and thereby defeated Mehrunes Dagon. It is also why, as you no doubt know, the mortal man Tiber Septim is worshipped as a god by some. He was a true Dragonborn, according to the legends.”
“I see,” Edwyn murmured, rubbing his chin. “People believe that he was a Dragonborn, and therefore above all normal men.”
“Indeed. And prophecy has it that the return of the dragons that we have suffered for the past several years indicates that another Dragonborn walks Tamriel at present.”
Edwyn’s gaze snapped up to meet Vingalmo’s. “This wouldn’t possibly have been the late Lord Andante, I assume?”
Vingalmo laughed. “No. I assure you that while he was able to use some words of the dragon tongue he was nothing more than an exceptional vampire and a cunning man.”
“Hmm.” Edwyn paced back and forth for a moment. “That is interesting.”
“Yes it is, my lord. Because if there is in fact a Dragonborn among us, that has greater significance than we have given it, having been preoccupied with everything else that has been happening.”
“Yes? And what would that…” Edwyn froze. If there was any truth to the legend that only Dragonborn could be true Emperors of Tamriel… “Oh. Oh dear.”
“Indeed, Lord Edwyn. The next true Emperor could be walking among us even as we speak.” He chuckled. “Of course, I don’t believe a word of it.”
A wave of relief washed over Edwyn at the sound of Vingalmo’s dismissal of the idea. There is still something in this I must figure out, something that is important about it. If nothing else, we must discover the whereabouts of this Dragonborn and eliminate him as a contender to the throne. But if Vingalmo doesn’t believe it is a fact I will not panic about it.
“Thank you for your input, Vingalmo,” he said. “I was very tired when I was researching this issue at the College, and I couldn’t seem to put all of the pieces together. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Is there anything else, sire?”
Edwyn smiled. “Yes, in fact there is. I took the liberty of speaking to the Nord known as Brynjolf when I was last in Riften. There can be no doubt about it: he is a clever man, and devious, and he as much as admitted to me that he is a thief. But he is not a vampire. How is it possible?”
Vingalmo smirked. “I can assure you that when he was here, at the time of Lord Harkon’s demise and while the castle was being restored, he was a vampire lord and a very strong one. Precisely how strong he was, I never had the occasion to know. But he was a vampire. The only mortals to set foot in this place during your years in Cyrodiil were our stable of cattle and Lord Andante himself, when he brought Serana home to us.”
Edwyn blinked. “What?”
“Yes. He was mortal until Lord Harkon gave him the Gift. He was allowed to approach Harkon because he was in Serana’s presence. As to Brynjolf, the obvious answer is that he found a way to cure himself.”
“I always assumed the ‘cure’ was merely legend.”
Vingalmo shrugged. “I have no way to know for certain, my lord. But what other explanation could account for the fact that Brynjolf was a vampire when he was here, and now is not?”
Edwyn shook his head. “There is no other explanation.” He stroked his beard. “Intriguing. Well then. I was told you had a task for me?”
“Indeed I do,” Vingalmo said, his eyes sparkling. “It has come to my inescapable attention that you, my dear friend, are married.”
Edwyn felt annoyance rising in him. Not only was the observation completely irrelevant to anything they’d been discussing, it was unnecessary. Everyone here knew that he had married Elisif. Vingalmo’s coy dancing about the topic set his teeth on edge and raised the hackles on his neck.
“Of course I am, Vingalmo. I have done as Lord Harkon asked and married Elisif of Solitude. This is not exactly a closely-held secret; nor is it any concern of yours.”
Vingalmo’s elegant brows rose. “Do I detect a hint of reproach? I am only looking out for your own best interests. And, perhaps, a small measure of my own.”
“Indeed?”
“An unattended attachment, such as found in your beloved wife, creates… well, an opportunity for unnecessary agitation. Should your wife go missing, perhaps unable to bear the thought of living with a… a monster…”
“Elisif will never learn that I am a vampire, Vingalmo. I may be many things, but a fool is not one of them.”
Vingalmo shook his head and acted as though he’d not heard Edwyn. “Why, you would be distraught with emotion, perhaps even to the point of questioning your loyalty to this Court. And we, ours to you.”
Edwyn ground his teeth together as his anger rose, barely controlled. Still, he hadn’t survived as long as he had by over-reacting. He kept his voice low and smooth. “Are you threatening me, Vingalmo? That would be most unwise. It would definitively work against your own best interests.”
“My sincerest pardons, but I look after your own peace of mind. May I strongly suggest that you make a visit to this spouse of yours and invite her to the family by offering her Harkon’s gift.”
“No, Vingalmo. This is not what Lord Harkon wished to have happen and in fact making a vampire of her would be directly counter to our efforts.”
Vingalmo smiled. “But, my lord, It is the greatest token we can bestow upon those we love and… wish to see protected.” The look in his eyes as he uttered the final phrase left no doubt as to what he was implying.
Edwyn wasn’t certain, looking back at it afterward, what exactly had transpired in his mind during those next few moments. Garan Marethi, however, had been standing nearby and later confirmed to him what he recalled of his next actions.
His left hand flew to Vingalmo’s neck. One-handed, he lifted the Altmer off the floor, high into the air; and while Vingalmo was a senior vampire in his own right and well capable of defending himself, he’d been caught completely off-guard. Edwyn was not a vampire who often displayed his extraordinary strength. Over the hundreds of years he had existed he had honed his skills, removed his enemies and fed his fill of mortal blood quietly, out of the view of others. Not even Serana knew how strong he truly was.
His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that revealed his fangs. His right hand moved to grasp Vingalmo’s throat; as the Altmer thrashed and twisted, trying to get a grip on Edwyn’s left hand, Edwyn spat words at him.
“You dare to threaten me? And my wife? You have forgotten your place, my dear Vingalmo. I am the Lord of the Volkihar clan now, Harkon’s hand-picked successor. I’ve always been above you, you sniveling, simpering Altmer fool. I gave you fair warning to back away from your threats, and you continued in them. I’ve had more than enough of you and your scheming.”
He wrapped his right fingers around Vingalmo’s windpipe and, after a moment of watching the panic rise in Vingalmo’s eyes, sneered. He snatched his right arm backwards, ripping Vingalmo’s throat open and sending a spray of blood through the air.
Edwyn tossed Vingalmo to the floor, then bent and drained what remained of the Altmer’s blood – a symbolic gesture, mostly, and a demonstration that yes, he was capable of feeding from even the most senior of vampires. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then gathered magic into that same hand. He fired a quick burst of flame at Vingalmo’s body, reducing it to a mound of ash in a matter of moments.
It occurred to him then that it was nearly silent in the castle. He turned to survey the area. Garan Marethi was moving slowly toward him. He saw Orthjolf and all the other lesser vampires who had been at the feasting tables silently looking up at him from below. And on the balcony above Harkon’s throne he saw a familiar figure, her hand at her mouth. Serana stared at him for a moment before turning and rushing away again.
“My lord,” Garan said quietly. “Are you well?”
Edwyn forced himself to smile. “Of course, Garan. Please have someone clean up this mess. I must return to the College and attend to business.” He met Marethi’s gaze and raised the volume of his voice just a bit so that those in the hall below would hear him. “Let this serve as a reminder that there was ample reason for Lord Harkon to have chosen me to sit at his right hand. I trust there will be no future threats forthcoming toward either me or my wife.”
“Of course, my lord,” Marethi murmured, bowing his head.
Edwyn stared down at the hall for a moment longer, making eye contact with each of the people who had observed him executing Vingalmo. Then he strode down the steps into the main hall and up again, to the exit and out. It was time to make contact with Agryn and Vyctyna.
__
He was once again reading in the Arcanaeum, in the wee hours, when Agryn and Vyctyna entered. He looked up and smiled.
“Agryn. Vyctyna. It’s good to see you both.”
“Well, well. The rumors are everywhere,” Agryn said, grinning.
“About?”
“Vingalmo, of course. I can’t say that I’m terribly disappointed that I’ll never see him again. You’ve created quite the stir.”
Edwyn smirked. “I’m certain of it. While I hadn’t intended to remove him, it did at least capture everyone’s attention.”
“I’ll say,” Vyctyna said. “For someone who was supposed to be so important, he sure was stupid. Anyone ought to know that Harkon wouldn’t choose some sort of also-ran as his chief aide.”
Edwyn smiled at her. “Speaking of aides, my dear, have you anything to share with me?”
She smiled, and winked at Agryn. He smiled back and then moved toward the archivist’s desk, picking up and examining books briefly and then carefully placing them back where he’d found them.
“You mean like a very willing Breton man with hair and eyes the same color as yours? I do believe there’s just such a guy waiting for us at the Bee & Barb in Riften. He’ll need a bit of time with a barber but I think he’ll do. We could have just sent a courier to tell you, I guess, but I needed a run. And a snack.” She giggled.
“Oh excellent!” Edwyn nodded. “I knew I could count on you. It is very handy that he is in Riften at the moment. I am not certain that I have the skills to proceed according to our original plan, but I learned of an alternate path we can take.”
“The face-changer?” Agryn said from behind Edwyn.
Edwyn turned to face him, surprised, one eyebrow raised. “You knew of this person?”
Agryn shook his head. “Not until just recently, Edwyn, or I would probably have suggested her earlier. I spent a bit more time in the Ragged Flagon while Tyna was out hunting down a thrall for us. Would have saved us a whole lot of time and effort if I’d known about it beforehand.”
Edwyn waved his hand in the air. “Eh, think nothing of it. Now that the pieces are in place we can head there immediately and put the plan in motion.”
“Huh,” Agryn said.
“What is it, hun?” Vyctyna asked.
Agryn waved a piece of paper at Edwyn. “Take a look at this. It was here on top of the desk.”
Edwyn moved to Urag’s desk and took the paper from Agryn, flipping it open to examine its contents. It was a note addressed to Urag, written in a strong, dark hand.
To Urag gro-Shub:
I am very sorry to inform you that Septimus Signus has passed. I was present when it happened and can assure you that not only did he feel no pain, he was exclaiming over seeing something beautiful. I thought you might like to know, as you seemed to miss him when we spoke about the Scroll.
My best wishes to you. – Dragonborn.
Edwyn was stunned for a moment.
“So it’s true. There really is an individual known as the Dragonborn.”
Vyctyna laughed. “Of course there is, boss. Where have you been? The whole time the Stormcloaks and Imperials were fighting, people kept talking about the man who could burn his enemies up with his Voice.”
Edwyn met Agryn’s gaze and grinned. “I was… otherwise occupied with business here. I really wasn’t paying attention to the war except to keep myself well out of its way if at all possible.”
“But I sense this is important,” Agryn said quietly.
“Yes. It definitely is. Does either of you know who this Dragonborn is?”
Agryn and Vyctyna looked at each other for a moment, and then back at Edwyn.
“No, I’m afraid not, sir. Should we send out the word?”
“Yes,” Edwyn said, his mind racing. “If you should find him before I do… see if you can’t figure out a way to keep close watch on him. I need to know as much as I can about this man before I decide what we do about him. I don’t believe Harkon ever considered needing a contingency plan for this particular legendary figure.”
He put the note to Urag back on the desk and smiled at his lieutenants. “Come. We need to make the trek to Riften once more.”
__
The man in the Bee & Barb looked adoringly at Vyctyna when they entered.
“Mistress,” he said quietly. “What can I do to serve you?”
“Boss,” she said, looking at Edwyn, “this is Geor Mantel. He will be more than happy to do as we ask. Won’t you, Geor?”
“Of course, Mistress,” he said, nodding. “If there is anything I can do for you, you have only to ask.”
Edwyn sniffed. The man smelled as though he hadn’t bathed for some time. He had long hair, a long beard, and a large nose. He had to admit, though, leaning in to examine the man more closely, that the similar coloring, height, and build would make the deception much easier to accomplish.
We might not even need the face-changer if we give him a careful makeover. But I’d just as soon not leave any detail to chance.
He nodded, and smiled at Vyctyna. “Well done, my dear,” he said very quietly, making sure not to be overheard. “Let us be off, then. I’d like to get our little errand taken care of, and then our friend Geor here needs a very thorough bath at Proudspire before coming anywhere near Elisif.”
Agryn burst out laughing, but recovered quickly. “I’m sorry, Edwyn. It was my first observation about him, as well.”
They made their way to the Ragged Flagon. Edwyn scanned the place to be certain nobody who knew him was around, particularly not Brynjolf; but they, the bartender, a blonde Imperial woman, and the Bosmer face-changer were the only people about. The woman peered at Geor and, when told that the task was to make him look as much like Edwyn as possible, sniffed.
“I thought you were going to bring me a challenge. This will be barely above the level of child’s play.”
“You can thank my associates for having good eyes, in that case. I asked them to find someone who looked a great deal like me.”
The face-changer led them to a more private area and got to work. It seemed as though no time had passed at all when Edwyn found himself staring in awe at… himself.
Geor had started with the same general look as Edwyn – the same height, generally the same weight, and similar coloring of his eyes and hair. But the face-changer had altered the size and angle of his eyelids, had narrowed and raised his nose, and had plumped up the man’s lower lip to match the shape of Edwyn’s. She’d also taken the time to cut Geor’s hair and beard and change the shape of his brows.
He stared at the thrall for a moment longer, and then turned to the face changer.
“You’ve done a spectacular job. Tell me your price.”
She smirked, and gave him a figure. He paid her that and half again as much.
“It may have been a simple task for one of your skill, but I am more than pleased. And will continue to be pleased at your discretion.”
“That comes with the price, sir.”
He smiled again, knowing that his smile barely masked threat. “I am certain of it. I also know that everyone has a point at which price is no longer an object. I’m hoping yours is very high indeed.”
He saw her fingers curl protectively into her fists. Someone’s gotten to her before. I’m wise to be cautious.
“You need fear nothing, sir,” she said. “I am the very soul of discretion.”
“Very good. I thank you once more,” Edwyn said, motioning to Agryn and Vyctyna to collect Geor and follow him.
“Remarkable,” Agryn murmured, looking back and forth between the two of them.
“It certainly is. Vyctyna, you truly went above and beyond the call of duty.”
“Told you, all I need to do is look interesting,” she said, giggling. “I’m a walking honeypot.”
Agryn harrumphed.
“Let us be off, then,” Edwyn said. “We’ll take a carriage back to Solitude and get our friend here situated.”
“Let’s hope this all works out as we expect,” Agryn said.
“Indeed.” I need to have at least one fewer thing to worry about. The sooner the better. Though I must admit that it makes me uneasy to think of this smelly man being with my wife. Ah well. We all must make sacrifices for the greater good, as Vingalmo learned too late.
They made their way to the exit leading out to the Ratway. None of them noticed the Nord bartender watching them over the top of his broom.
