It seemed to Agryn Gernic that the old mage, Tolfdir, was pleased that they had gotten rid of the anomalies in Dawnstar. It was a huge relief, as well, because Edwyn managed to tell him about it without so much as a hint that they’d also leaned hard on the Jarl to support Elisif at the Moot. Agryn had been concerned that Edwyn’s burgeoning ego would lead him to brag about what had, after all, been an elegant little bit of intimidation.
Tolfdir, however, thanked them effusively and then admitted that he had another issue that needed to be addressed. A former College member had gone rogue and was creating problems along the border near Falkreath. He was concerned that what little goodwill the College had left in the world could be squandered even further if people associated such a person with them.
“We’ll take care of it,” Edwyn had said quietly. “It’s right on our way.”
Agryn hadn’t been surprised that Edwyn had agreed to deal with the problem. It was rather his job now, after all, what with being the Archmage. But Edwyn’s second statement had confused him.
What is he up to now?
After they’d left Tolfdir and made their way out of the Hall of Attainment, Agryn cleared his throat. “I thought we were on our way to Windhelm?”
Edwyn smirked. “Indeed we are. And from there we will take a carriage and travel to Falkreath in comfort. Besides, the fewer people who know that I am planning a visit with Stormcloak, the better, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Agryn nodded. He rubbed his chin and gave Edwyn a sideways glance. He couldn’t think of any good that could come of confronting the Jarl of Windhelm, but it was very easy to envision all the things that could go wrong.
Maybe I can make this new assignment work to my advantage.
“I… don’t suppose I could convince you to skip the Windhelm business and go directly to Falkreath?”
Edwyn turned to stare at him, and Agryn’s internal alarm bells began to ring. He hadn’t seen Edwyn look so irritated since the last time he’d spoken about Brynjolf of Riften.
“No. You could not. Why would I want to do such a thing?”
Agryn shrugged. “I just think we’d be better off focusing our efforts on some of the smaller holds, where the Jarls are more susceptible to influence. With time being a dwindling commodity, you know? Stormcloak isn’t going to suddenly back down and say ‘oh yes, Archmage, of course you and your lovely wife should have the throne.’ If he’d been going to do something like that he would never have decided to earn himself a terrible reputation by killing Torygg.”
As soon as he finished speaking he knew he’d made a mistake. All the years they’d known each other, Edwyn Wickham had said that he valued Agryn’s judgment, his straightforward advice, and his willingness to speak up. Agryn had always believed him when he’d said those things. Lately, though, Edwyn had seemed different, somehow; more impatient and less understanding. And right at this moment the anger in his eyes was bright as a flame in spite of the illusion spell making them appear their usual light grey color. He looked as though he might explode at any second.
Agryn raised his hands before himself in an apologetic gesture.
“No need to get angry, Edwyn. It was just a suggestion. I couldn’t help but note how close we’d be to the Dragonborn’s home if we were to go pay a call on the Jarl of Falkreath. And of course he no longer has the Redguard housecarl to protect him. It might be a perfect opportunity to…”
“Enough!” Edwyn shouted, making Agryn flinch. “We are going to Windhelm!” His lips drew back into a snarl, nearly exposing his fangs.
“Alright, alright, you win. We’ll go see Ulfric Stormcloak.” Agryn shook his head and rubbed one hand over it. “I don’t understand it, but we’ll go.”
“Yes,” Edwyn said, as calmly as he could. “We shall. In fact, we shall leave immediately.”
Edwyn turned and swept out of the courtyard toward the bridge to Winterhold. Agryn watched him for a moment; then he shook his head and followed.
That’s the second or third time he’s lost his temper with me lately, and for no truly good reason. I’ve always done what he’s asked, without question.
He stepped out onto the bridge and shivered as a gust of cold air off the Sea of Ghosts caught him full in the face.
For hundreds of years, I’ve done that. Perhaps I should be questioning more often.
It wasn’t that long a trip from Winterhold to Windhelm, particularly if one was a vampire lord and could run like the very wind. The two of them didn’t speak; but when a trio of frost trolls and a pair of ice wraiths attacked they exchanged a glance and fought like the well-coordinated team they’d been for so long. Edwyn used his bow, as usual, while Agryn stepped in close to drain the adversaries and strike with his sword. Agryn got the last blow in on the final troll. As the beast dropped at his feet he laughed and turned to Edwyn, expecting the wry remark or burst of laughter that so often followed one of their victories.
“Well done,” Edwyn said, giving him a nod. “Now let’s be on our way.” He passed Agryn without so much as another look and broke into a trot, disappearing over the rise that held the upper portion of Snow Veil Sanctum.
Agryn frowned.
Well done indeed. As always.
He brushed himself off before breaking into a run to catch Edwyn.
__
“Well, well,” Edwyn said, standing before the throne. “How very rude of our host to be away from his court. Don’t you agree, Agryn?”
Agryn sighed internally and considered what he would say. In spite of his better judgment he’d tried to convince Edwyn to leave, one more time before they’d entered the palace. Edwyn had ignored him as if he’d said nothing whatsoever. Instead, he strode into the Palace of the Kings and made his way down the long, cold room, moving to stand before the steward and demand an audience with Ulfric Stormcloak. The man had shaken his head and crossed his arms.
“The Jarl is not receiving visitors at the moment, sir,” he’d said calmly, exchanging a brief glance with Agryn. “And it is very late. I’m afraid you’ll have to return another day when court is in session.”
“But I am the Archmage of the College of Winterhold,” Edwyn had told him, drawing a gasp from Agryn.
What is he thinking? How does it make any sense at all to let them know who is demanding to see him? Unless… He rubbed his chin in thought. Unless it does. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the Archmage stopping in to see whether he can do anything for the various Jarls. There’s nothing necessarily threatening about that. It’s not as though he’s baring his fangs to this steward.
“And I will let him know that the Archmage was here inquiring into his health and well-being, sir,” the man said without so much as raising an eyebrow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I am not as young as I once was, and it is well past time for me to retire.” He looked each of them in the eye before making his way back down the great room and through one of the side doors.
Thus it was that Edwyn stood staring at the throne. “I think, Agryn, that I should leave a message for the Jarl. What do you think?”
“I… thought you had already done that. I’m not convinced it was the best idea to tell the steward that you’re the Archmage, but I’m … sure it will do no harm,” he trailed off as Edwyn turned to stare at him once more.
“Hmm. Still.” He turned to make his way back to the exit. “I have an idea.”
Agryn followed him outside, not knowing what to think. It was fully dark, and the city was largely empty at this hour. Edwyn walked quietly through the courtyard and down the broken steps into Windhelm, taking the turn that led toward the old, decrepit graveyard. Agryn trailed behind him, confused until he spotted the lone guard enter the graveyard from the other end, the walkway that led to the wealthier homes in the city. Suddenly, Edwyn disappeared.
What is he…? Oh no. Not the guard. Not really!
The guard’s head suddenly bent to one side and he crumpled to the ground. A moment later, Edwyn Wickham shimmered back into visibility.
“What are you doing?” Agryn hissed at him.
Edwyn smiled at him and picked the dead guard’s body up with one hand. “Preparing a calling card. What does it look like?”
Before Agryn had a chance to object, Edwyn briskly headed back the way they’d come, carrying the limp form of the guard before him. Agryn tried not to panic. It wasn’t that the two of them were incapable of dealing with any opposition they might encounter. He himself was strong enough to deal with anything short of a silvered bolt to the heart, and Edwyn – well, Edwyn was his superior in many senses. But the recklessness of the move had him in a complete froth of confusion.
What is he doing? What is wrong with him?
Edwyn carried the body back into the Palace of the Kings and all the way down its length, where he tossed it onto the floor and stood staring at it. Agryn stood well back, looking around nervously and listening for guards or anyone else who might approach. Just the dead body was bad enough; but Edwyn had, inexplicably, allowed his illusion spell to lapse and was displaying his deep golden eyes as though they were the most natural things in the world.
“Hmm,” Edwyn said, taking a few paces back and forth in front of the guard. “This is certainly disturbing enough, but I don’t think it leaves a strong enough message. Let me think.” He reached down and lifted the corpse once more, stepping up onto the dais and dropping it into the throne. The dead guard settled there with his head back and his neck exposed, the dark red fang marks prominently displayed.
“There.” Edwyn grinned. “I think that even that rather dense steward will be able to grasp the meaning of this message, don’t you?”
Agryn stepped forward, hesitantly, running a hand up over his head. “Um, Edwyn, far be it from me to question your decisions but are you sure it’s a good idea to be alerting everyone that the Archmage is also a vampire? I mean, this leaves very little doubt.”
Edwyn smirked. “Perhaps this will bring people to their senses, in that case.”
Gods damn it; the man’s lost his mind.
“Or it could paint a gigantic target on your back, Lord Wickham. Don’t you think this is a bit much?”
Edwyn chuckled. “I believe that the calling card will have long since been removed by the time the esteemed Jarl of Windhelm and wife return to court, Agryn. What remains to be seen is whether or not the steward will have enough influence to change events here in Windhelm. Somehow, I doubt it.” He stepped near to Agryn and clapped him on the back. “Now then, you were anxious to get to Falkreath. Let us go rouse the carriage driver and be on our way.”
“Very well, sir.”
Agryn followed his master out of the Palace of the Kings wondering whether they hadn’t just made a very, very big mistake.
___
They did not, after all, visit the Jarl of Falkreath.
What they did, instead, was to leave town as soon as the carriage dropped them off, and travel south along the mountain roadway toward the Hammerfell border gate. There was an inn of sorts just inside the Skyrim border, a hostel often used by those looking to be out of sight of the province’s main concentrations of power as they traveled to and from the north. Edwyn had been certain that was where they would find their miscreant mage.
Agryn approached the bartender as they entered the place. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Edwyn making his way toward the back of the public room; and the sounds he heard told him that his master was walking up the stairs.
“Hello there,” he told the bartender. “We’ve had reports that there’s a mage causing trouble in these parts. I wonder if he might be here in the inn?”
The man raised an eyebrow at him and snorted. “You really think I would just tell you personal details about one of my customers? Even if I knew who you were talking about, buddy, it’s not my business who’s doing what as long as they pay their tab and don’t cause trouble here in the House.”
Agryn sighed and reached for a pouch. “I don’t suppose…” He trailed off as sounds caught his attention before he could retrieve the bribe he’d intended to offer.
He’d been dimly aware of the regular thwack… thwack… thwack of something behind and above him, but hadn’t looked to see what it was. Now he heard the distinctive humming of a conjuration spell, followed by a series of much more closely-spaced thwacks. He excused himself to follow the sound up the stairwell where Edwyn had gone.
On the wall across the open space above the public room, someone had mounted an archery target. There was a hooded man with a bow on his back – an elf, possibly, though Agryn didn’t look closely enough to be certain. He’d clearly been the source of the sounds they’d heard at first. But now, Edwyn Wickham was rapid-firing his conjured Daedric arrows across the gap. Agryn squinted at the target and frowned. Edwyn was missing the center. Not by much – it would have been a major shock indeed to have him miss by much – but his arrows were landing a bit above the bulls’ eye. The archer beside them seemed impressed enough, judging by the grunts he made after each arrow landed; but to Agryn’s eye this was another sign that all was not quite well with Edwyn.
Suddenly there was a discordant twang of the bowstring followed by a woman’s shout from below.
“Hey! Watch it, there!”
Edwyn swore, and dismissed his bow. Agryn followed him down the steps into the public room, where the woman in question was opening her mouth to give Edwyn a hard time. She was standing in the center of a circular rug and just a few inches in front of her, one of Edwyn’s arrows had buried itself deep into the fur.
“You almost hit me, jerk!” she snapped. “I don’t care if you practice up there but at least try to hit the target, would you?”
“Please accept my apologies. I am very tired and lost my grip on the bowstring for just a moment. I am glad you were unharmed.” Edwyn’s voice was charming, as usual, but Agryn could see the muscles in his jaw working and stepped up to take the woman’s arm.
“Let me treat you to a drink,” he said, tugging her away from Edwyn. “Please,” he whispered, leaning close in to her. “My superior is not in a great mood tonight and I’d like to make it up to you.”
Before she could argue, Agryn had her seated at one of the tables and had waved at the bartender to bring them drinks. He heard, rather than saw, Edwyn stomping back up the stairs and conjuring his bow once more.
“Your superior,” the girl said, “is a walking hazard zone. He ought to be more careful, especially with that kind of bow.”
“Yes, I know,” Agryn agreed, frowning. “I’m not certain what’s going on. He’s usually among the very best with it. But never mind that. I was hoping you could help me. I’m looking for someone…”
For the next several minutes Agryn did something he rarely did any longer. Before he’d met Vyctyna Tardif, Agryn had prided himself on his ability to charm others, especially women. It wasn’t so much that he flirted, not really. He’d never known whether it was his ability to be a sympathetic listener, or whether he just had a nonthreatening face, or whether his vampirism enhanced some natural quality; but for whatever reason he had always been good at drawing out information. He smiled, and nodded, and eventually had from the woman – who was, as it turned out, the inn’s bard – the information that there was a hidden door in the basement that would lead them to a cavern.
“The creep you’re looking for has been doing something in that old barrow,” she whispered. “I don’t know what, and I don’t want to know. But that’s where you’ll find him.” She reached across the table and grasped his arm. “There’s another entrance to it, down the road; but he’ll be watching for people coming in from outside and won’t be expecting anyone to come in through the inn. And be careful. He’s a mage, and he’s powerful.”
Agryn smiled at her and nodded. “I know. I probably don’t look it but I’m reasonably strong myself. And he,” he nodded toward the stairs, “is pretty much equipped for anything. Except for being pleasant today, it seems. Again, I apologize for his bad aim and bad humor. And thank you for the information.”
Agryn found his way back up to where Edwyn was practicing archery. The shots across the way were all clustered in the center, now; Agryn breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps things would be alright after all.
“He’s in the barrow nearby,” he told Edwyn quietly. “There’s an entrance in the basement.”
“Well done, Agryn,” Edwyn said, dismissing his bow. He rotated his shoulders and took and expelled a deep breath. “I’m happy to have had some practice. I needed to work out some energy. Let’s go.”
The entrance in the basement was a wall that opened into a mushroom-laden cave. A doorway at the far end opened with a key Edwyn discovered atop a nearby pedestal; and beyond they found a barrow. Unlike many barrows, this one had specters as well as draugr but none of them were especially difficult to deal with. One draugr was seated on a throne; Agryn anticipated a real battle, but Edwyn’s first arrow caught the ancient man and crumpled him to the ground without so much as a fight.
A lever on the back of the draugr’s throne opened a gate to a multi-chambered area containing what Agryn thought of as the most tiresome of all ancient Nord puzzles – the rotating animal plinths. There were draugr there, and spirits, all of which tried to stop them as they moved through the chamber setting the puzzle to its correct position. None of them got much more than a scratch on either Agryn or Edwyn. When Edwyn threw the puzzle lever, however, things got interesting. The man they’d come for – a Dunmer mage – flew out of the next chamber casting flames in their direction.
Clever. Flames. He may not have known we were vampires but he certainly picked the best attack.
Agryn ran forward into the flames, ahead of Edwyn as he always did, wincing at the pain as he began draining the man with magic while slicing at him with his sword. The mage glanced at him as if taking his entire measure in half a moment; then he turned toward Edwyn and began screaming his rage. Agryn paused for a moment, the pain from his burns nothing aside from the flames of anger that were threatening to overwhelm him.
Dismissed. As if I have no value aside from being a place-holder.
I … am the right hand of the Lord of the Volkihar.
He bared his fangs and readied himself to strike.
The mage fell to his feet, a single arrow protruding from his gut. Edwyn approached the corpse, smirking, and dismissed his bow.
“There. Done. Now let’s be off; I’d like to check back in at Proudspire before reporting success to Tolfdir.” Edwyn turned to leave, making his way through the corridor from which the mage had erupted.
Agryn stood staring at the mage for a moment. He heard Edwyn’s footsteps retreating; then he heard the snarl of a draugr and the hum of Edwyn’s bow being conjured yet again. He couldn’t quite seem to move his eyes, tear his gaze away from the corpse at his feet; nor could he make himself follow Edwyn to help him.
He looked at me and reckoned me of no value whatsoever, even though I was completely capable of rending him limb from limb.
“Agryn!” Edwyn shouted from the midst of his battle. It wasn’t a sound of distress, or need, or desperation. It was merely a summons. Agryn shook himself into motion and ran down the passage toward the sounds of battle, only to watch in impressed silence as Edwyn fired two shots in quick succession that took down a spirit; it dissolved into a pile of ectoplasm on the barrow floor. Two similar piles lay nearby.
“Damn draugr split itself into three parts when I shot it,” Edwyn said, dissolving his bow and brushing off his Archmage robes. “I thought you might have helped.”
You didn’t need me, Edwyn. You haven’t needed me for a very long time.
“I’m … sorry,” Agryn said. “I was healing my burns. It took a moment. It doesn’t look as though you had any real need of my assistance.”
Edwyn chuckled. “Probably not, but one never knows with these ancient things. Some of them turn out to be nearly as strong as I. At any rate, let’s be off. The exit is down this way, unless I’m utterly mistaken. I believe that we are above the cave from which we entered this barrow.” Edwyn opened the large, circular trapdoor in the center of the room and jumped down inside it without looking at Agryn.
Agryn watched his mentor’s back disappear and heaved a sigh. It wasn’t as though he expected praise; not exactly, anyway. But it would be nice if, just once in awhile, he wasn’t taken completely for granted.
He stepped to the edge of the opening and hopped down.
___
They’d headed back to the north, Edwyn just enough ahead of Agryn that he wasn’t able to press the issue of meeting with the Jarl. They had climbed up through the city, through the driving thunderstorm that developed as they traveled, and onto the roadway that skirted the edge of Lake Ilinalta when Edwyn stopped and cocked his head to one side.
“Do you hear that, Agryn?” he called back, apparently assuming Agryn’s presence rather than confirming it.
Agryn listened. It was definitely a dragon that he heard, although not immediately near them.
“Yes, sir, I do. But I can’t tell where it is.”
They both stared into the night, looking down the length of the lake. Suddenly Edwyn grabbed Agryn’s arm and pointed.
“There. Across the way. Did you know that the Hollowfangs believed that they could take the soul of a dragon by drinking its blood?” Even as dark as it was, Agryn could see Edwyn’s eyes flickering with a sort of avarice that he’d never seen before.
Agryn blinked. “Surely you’re not intending to…”
He didn’t get to finish his question, for a searing pain took his left arm. He looked down to find a bolt protruding from it. But this was not just any bolt; it was, judging by the incredible burning pain that increased as moments went by, a silver-tipped bolt. He gasped and reached for it with his right hand, gritting his teeth together and yanking the bolt free.
In spite of himself he howled with the pain as the bolt ripped its way back through his flesh.
“Die, monster!” he heard a woman shout from just down the road. He hissed. Vigilants of Stendarr, three of them judging by the heartbeats, and he’d been caught completely off-guard. He bent the shadows around himself long enough to heal his arm and find his way behind the woman with the crossbow that had injured him; then he rose up behind her and drained her dry, dropping the corpse in the road and whirling to meet the other two Vigilants with his sword and his spells. Strengthened by his kill, he was able to move quickly – far more quickly than they could aim and shoot their crossbows. The second Vigilant went down to his sword and magic. The third smiled grimly at him and took aim with her weapon. He laughed, transformed himself into a cloud of bats and leapt for her. She was so surprised and terrified by the sudden onslaught of bats that she stumbled; and he used that moment to reconstitute himself and tear her throat out with his fangs. He laughed and, out of habit, turned to speak to Edwyn.
Edwyn was not there.
The roar of the dragon, much closer now, had him whirling to see where the battle was happening. It was, in fact, on the opposite shore from where he stood. Agryn peered through the driving rain and while he could not see Edwyn, he could see the bright light that was Edwyn’s conjured wraith, firing spells at the dragon as it strafed them.
“Damn it, Edwyn. What is wrong with you?” Agryn checked both ways down the edge of the lake to be sure he was alone and then took his vampire lord form, in order to fly across the water and get to the battle as quickly as possible. He reached the shore and resumed his human form just as the dragon – a beautiful forest green creature with orange-tinged wingtips and underbelly – crashed to the ground a final time, high on a ledge above Agryn’s line of sight.
He began scrambling and leaping his way up the banks. He couldn’t see Edwyn, but he heard a cry of pain and annoyance, followed by some robust swearing. He popped up to the level of the carcass just in time to see Edwyn rubbing his mouth gingerly and shaking his head.
“Are you alright, Edwyn?” Agryn called out as he pulled himself up the last few feet.
“It seems that the Hollowfangs were wrong. It isn’t possible to directly drain a dragon’s soul in this manner. It’s barely possible to get through their skin.” Edwyn was speaking as if to himself, and yet was clearly aware that Agryn was present. He turned, slowly, to stare down at Agryn.
“Where were you, Agryn?” he said quietly.
Agryn had to force himself not to gasp at the expression on Edwyn’s face. The Archmage hadn’t refreshed his illusion spell. He was frowning. Because it was day, his skin was smoking and his armor steaming – not that this was unusual, but it was ordinarily masked by the illusion spell and was therefore all the more disturbing. He leaned forward, looming over Agryn and the wraith that had still not dissipated, a fact which Agryn’s more analytical mind filed away as noting the extreme strength of Edwyn’s conjuration abilities.
“I was on the other side of the lake, dealing with three Vigilants of Stendarr. I thought you were aware of that. It’s a good thing the first one was such a poor shot, in fact, or I’d likely be dead by now. Those silvered bolts are awful.”
Edwyn Wickham stared down at him as though he hadn’t spoken at all.
“It is your responsibility to guard me, Agryn, unless I tell you otherwise. If not for my friend the wraith, here, I’d have been fighting this dragon alone. See that you do not fail me again.”
He turned away and made for the entrance to Brittleshin Pass, just uphill from where they stood. Agryn found himself standing in shock, staring, needing to close his mouth which had fallen open at Edwyn’s words.
Not a word about the fact that I nearly died. Again. Not a word. No acknowledgement that I barely took time to heal my wounds before dashing across the lake to help if I could.
He felt the bands of tension tightening around his forehead and a sickly, unpleasant, unwanted, angry flame beginning to burn in his gut. He’d been annoyed with Edwyn so many times he couldn’t possibly count, over a period of time so long he could barely remember when it had begun. He’d always just put up with Edwyn’s personality quirks because he believed in the man.
He was beginning to wonder whether he believed in Lord Edwyn Wickham anymore.