Sayma had just finished feeding Qaralana and was rocking her back to sleep when Roggi walked into the house blinking and yawning.
“Have you seen Dar? He left before I woke up.”
She smiled up at him. “He had some breakfast and went outside to play with …Chip.”
Roggi laughed. “Chip. I take it you don’t approve of the nickname?”
“It’s not that, it’s just that of all people to give it to him – Delvin, and not his own father.”
Roggi reached down and ran one finger down Qaralana’s cheek. “She’s such a beautiful little thing. You’re really lucky.”
“I agree,” Sayma said. Then she looked up at Roggi’s face and frowned. He was troubled. That was clear.
“Roggi, are you ok?”
“Of course!” He chuckled and moved toward the kitchen. “I’m just fine.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know you better than that.”
He turned from pouring himself some tea and stared for a moment. “Yeah you do,” he said with a grin.
He walked back into the room where she sat and took a seat next to her. “It just makes me kind of sad to know that I’ll never have a child. Of my own, you know? I love our girls, but really we’re just looking out for them for a few years while they finish growing up. And now there’s all this business of babies going on.”
“And things happening with Ulfric.”
They’d talked privately the night before. Finally, for the first time since the day she’d met him in Steamscorch Mine, Sayma felt as though she actually understood why Roggi was the way he was.
“I’ve thought about it a lot,” he had told her, smiling. “If I were a superstitious man I might believe that Talos put you in my path so that I could remember how to feel things. So that I would be ready for Dar when he came along.”
She had nodded, and had thought about it for a moment before agreeing that, just maybe, there was something to that. Even without the Talos part it made sense, perhaps. She felt closer to understanding why they’d been so drawn to each other, both of them looking for something solid in their lives and mistaking their shared loneliness for something more than simply friendship. Right now, though, it was easy to see what he was feeling.
He nodded, with a lopsided grin. “Right. Things happening with Ulfric.” He sipped his tea. “It’ll be fine, now that it’s all out in the open at last. But it just makes me sad. Some of my decisions have made differences in my life that I can’t change.”
“FUS!”
The booming sound from outside was followed instantly by peals of small-person laughter and deep adult giggles. Roggi’s face lit up with a genuine smile.
“Showoff. Knocking over piles of rock again, I’ll bet. He is why it’ll be fine.”
“It’s good to hear him having fun and not worrying about everyone else, for once.”
She looked down at the tiny girl in her arms and began murmuring nonsense to her, just repeating her name, describing where they were, and the like. I hope it is all well, little one. I hope that the world will be good to you. I hope that our experience with the dragon didn’t harm you in any way.
Qaralana squirmed. Suddenly the child opened her eyes and gazed at her, solemnly, with a gaze very unlike what she would have expected from an infant.
Sayma blinked.
Could it be?
It had occurred to her, to the very quietest part of her mind, that there must be a reason that even after she’d killed that dragon and absorbed its power she still couldn’t speak the words she could now understand. There were differences among people with respect to Dovahzul. Roggi and Brynjolf couldn’t do anything with the words at all. Andante had been able to read the words, and use some of them in Shouts, and of course Ulfric Stormcloak could do that as well, to a greater extent; but neither one of them could absorb a dragon’s soul, killing it permanently. Dardeh could do all of it. In fact, as far as anyone knew, he was the only person alive who could.
Yet she had watched the dragon’s soul curling around her in tendrils of flame, and she had felt its heat enter her. And she still could do no more than understand the meaning of the words Dardeh made when he Shouted.
So where… had that energy gone?
She looked down again at the tiny form before her. She thought of Jine, telling her that yes, of course she was Dragonborn, or she would never have been able to reach him in Hammerfell. And yet she wasn’t Dragonborn. She could not Shout. That much was clear.
But the power moves with the bloodline, he said. And perhaps, like my father, the power was in me, but sleeping. Dormant. Not fully awakened because – it didn’t need to be. Because Dardeh existed already, and for whatever reason he did need to be the Dragonborn.
Her head hurt thinking about the possibilities. But if she was right, this small being, this tiny girl falling back asleep in her arms, might have inherited the ability to destroy dragons.
Why? Is something wrong with Dardeh? Does she need to be here because he won’t be?
“Roggi… is Dardeh OK?”
He’d wandered over to the door to look out, but turned back to her in surprise. “Why do you ask? Is there something I don’t know about?”
“I…” She frowned, trying to figure out how she could explain it. “I just am worried. I told you about the dragon, right? The one in Dragon Bridge?”
“Yeah, you did.” He returned to her side, giving her a piercing stare that a part of her mind recognized was his particular power speaking. She tried not to shudder. “I was just thinking….”
She told him all the things that had just gone through her mind, quietly so as not to wake the baby who had begun to doze again. Roggi’s frown deepened as she went.
“There’s something going on, for certain,” he said. “We’ve had a problem with vampires lately, too. For some reason it seems like they’re all trying to get hold of him – even when there are other people in the area.”
She was about to ask more, to give voice to the concerns that were pressing on her, when voices outside caught her attention. Iona came through the door just then.
“Brynjolf is home, my Thane. And he’s brought some guests. I … think you’ll be interested to see who it is with him. Give me the babe. I’ll watch her.”
“I already know who it is just by the sound of his voice,” Roggi murmured. “I wonder what’s gotten into Bryn to bring him here, of all things.”
“Thank you, Iona,” Sayma said, handing over the infant. “She was almost asleep for awhile there.”
“It’s fine. I enjoy rocking her.”
Sayma and Roggi swapped a smile and rose to leave. They stepped outside to find Brynjolf at the fore.
“I’m glad you’re home safely, Bryn,” she said, stepping forward to gather him up into an embrace. After a quick kiss she pulled back. “And it must be hot in the sun. You’re warm.”
He smiled and caressed her cheek. “You’ve forgotten you married a Nord, lass? Glad to be home. It was an… interesting trip. I’ve brought some guests.”
Roggi had nodded at Brynjolf and stepped down off the porch to sweep the tall blonde woman into a hug. Sayma watched his face break into a warm smile.
“Frina. I’m glad you’re here. Is everything alright?”
So this is Frina. Briinda’s sister.
“Yes, we’re fine. We might not have been if not for Brynjolf,” she said, frowning. “Things are becoming very strange.”
“And strange times make for strange bedfellows,” the man in Orcish armor behind them said.
The hair on Sayma’s neck rose. I know this voice. Ulfric Stormcloak. She would never forget encountering the sound of that power, then turning and running from the Palace of the Kings with her heart pounding. It wasn’t as terrifying now, having met and listened to her half-brother for so long; but Ulfric’s voice still had the same undercurrents it had then. She stared at him as he removed his helmet, and recognized the weathered, blonde man she’d seen in Windhelm.
“Interesting choice of metaphors, Ulfric,” Roggi snorted.
She looked between the two of them, marveling at Roggi’s nonchalance in addressing this man who would soon be High King, and tried to picture them as a couple, years in the past. She could see the pull between them, even now, even with Ulfric’s wife and Roggi’s husband standing next to them, and yet she could see the antagonism as well. No. It would never have worked. Their personalities are both too strong.
“It’s good to see you again, too, Roggi,” Ulfric said, smirking.
“Jarl Ulfric, Frina,” Brynjolf said, taking Sayma by the hand and leading her forward, “this is my wife, Sayma Sendu.”
“… and his son Chip,” a deep voice added from around the end of the house. Dardeh emerged from around the side of the house leading the child by the hand.
“Brynjolf, son of Brynjolf,” Sayma said, making a face at Dardeh. “But I think I’m fighting a losing battle in trying to get people to call him by his actual name.”
To Sayma’s astonishment, Ulfric squatted down to be closer to Chip’s eye-level and held out one hand.
“Come here, son,” Ulfric said quietly.
“Okay,” Chip said, trotting over to look him over. “Who are you?”
“I am Ulfric Stormcloak,” he said, calmly, as if he were addressing one of his advisors and not a boy of only three winters. “I live in Windhelm. I’m very pleased to meet you, Chip. My wife and I are expecting a son soon. Perhaps the two of you will be friends some day.”
Chip took the measure of the future High King in the brutally honest way young children tended to do. Then he took Ulfric’s hand and pumped it vigorously.
“Hi, Ulfwic,” he said, nodding solemnly. “You’re old.”
Ulfric broke into laughter, a hearty sound that not only had no anger in it but which sounded much closer to joy than anything else. “Yes, I am old. You’re a very observant young man.”
“Ulf-ric,” Sayma said slowly, correcting Chip’s pronunciation. “And you should call him Jarl Ulfric.”
“Ok, Ma,” Chip said. “Can I go play with sister?”
Everyone chuckled, Ulfric in particular. He rose to his feet once more and ruffled Chip’s hair, earning a giggle from the boy.
“I think she’s sleeping, love, but you can go see,” Sayma told him. “And maybe you can help Iona.”
Chip dashed for the door and disappeared inside.
“He’s a fine boy, isn’t he?” Ulfric said. “I am very pleased to meet you as well, Sayma. I hope that Harald will live up to such an example.”
Dardeh chuckled. “Be careful what you hope for, Ulfric,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But… what’s this? I’ve never seen you in Orcish armor.”
“Nor has anyone else, and that was exactly the point.” He turned to Brynjolf. “Perhaps you should tell everyone else what you told Frina and me.”
“Right,” Brynjolf said, waving them all toward the door of the house. “Let’s go in. You two, make yourselves comfortable.”
Frina stepped up to Sayma and smiled. “I understand you have a new daughter.”
“Yes! We do indeed. Would you like to meet her?”
“Definitely.” Frina leaned closer to Sayma and whispered. “And I wonder whether you might have a robe I could borrow? Something… looser than what I’m wearing?” She ran her hands down her front and sighed. “It still fits, but only barely, and by Talos it’s uncomfortable. I think it’s not going to be long now before I’ll be more or less confined at home.”
Sayma grinned. I like this one. From everything Dar and Roggi have told me she’s as fierce in battle as I am and yet here we are, both being mothers.
“I do indeed,” she said. “Let’s go get you out of your armor.”
___
Brynjolf spent a goodly amount of time with his guests and extended family, describing his trip to Dawnstar, what he’d heard from the Jarl there and, more importantly, what he’d observed and heard from the Archmage Edwyn Wickham. He’d also told them what he knew to be true from observation: the man was a vampire, and was also in charge of the Volkihar clan.
“Some of you knew parts of this already,” he told them. “But this is the whole story, at least as much of it as I know. Some of it he’s told me himself, in visits to Riften. That’s one of the reasons I thought it was important to move all of us here, in a place that few know about and that we can defend.” His guests, primarily Frina and Ulfric, had exchanged nervous looks. “I know that’s a lot to take in. But trust me when I tell you that I have eyes on this place, and anyone trying to get in is going to have a lot more to contend with than they expect.”
Roggi snorted, and then chuckled. “If by eyes you mean who I think, then yes. I wouldn’t want to cross him, either.”
Brynjolf nodded. “You’re right. Now as it happens I need to check in with that very person. I’ll be gone for a few hours, less than that if I can manage it. Make yourselves comfortable, enjoy the peace and quiet, and swap notes. I’ll be back and we can talk more about it. But let me just say I’m glad you came with me, Jarl Ulfric and Frina. I dare say our friend from the far north is not a happy person this evening.”
“I suspect you’re right about that,” Ulfric rumbled. “We’ll talk more when you return.”
Brynjolf made his way out of the valley and around the far side of Riften, entering the city through the north gate to let himself into Honeyside. Thankfully, the water keg was still full from the last time he’d been there, and he drank two tankards quickly, sighing once he finished the second.
“Better. Now then.”
He’d stopped here for one specific purpose. He’d left a fair amount of alchemy supplies here when they’d moved, including moon sugar and some other items that he’d thought would not be good to have near youngsters. He loaded that material into his pack before leaving the back way, onto the deck and down, and circling back around the city to enter through the southeastern gate.
I hope anyone who’s watching me is good and confused. They should be.
It was easy to slip across the quiet and deserted graveyard and down into the Cistern from outside. Anyone who knew about that back entrance knew better than to so much as open the sarcophagus unless they had standing to do so. Far too many “bags of trash” had been removed over the years for anyone to even chance it any more.
People spoke to him as he made his way through the Cistern, filling him in on how things were going; checking their understanding of what he might want or need them to do next. As usual he had no complaints. The Guild had grown enough, and was well-run enough, that there really wasn’t need for him to do much more than serve as a figurehead these days, and that he did willingly enough. He made a bit of a show of kneeling quietly before the statue of Nocturnal for a few moments, just to serve a reminder that yes, they owed their good fortune to her. He finally found Delvin in the corridor leading to the private bedchamber the senior members shared.
“Hello, boss,” Delvin said. “How was your trip?”
“Troubling, if I’m being honest. But none of it has anything to do with the Guild, at least not directly. Not yet, anyway. I wanted to check in with you on that other matter.”
Delvin cracked one of his crooked smiles and nodded. “Right. And I think you’ll find that everything is set up to your specifications. It’s enough to get us started, and you’ll find the supplies you need in a chest there.”
“Good. I’ll head over now and practice a bit before I have to go back home. We’ve got company, so I don’t want to be gone too long.”
“Well before you go, Bryn, you might want to check around in the Ratway. The room with that old chopping block in it, to be exact. I, uh, may have invited an old friend to set up shop in there. Her name’s Zarashi, and if anyone can get our enterprise off the ground it’s her. Stop by and introduce yourself.”
Well, well. This may turn out to be better than I had hoped. I’m kind of glad Sayma is busy with the children, though.
“Alright. I’ll do that right now. Thanks, Delvin.”
“Any time, boss.”
“I’ll leave what I make in the chest for you.”
Delvin nodded and headed back toward the bedroom. Brynjolf walked back out through the Flagon; but before he could get all the way past the bar, Vekel stopped him.
“I wanted to tell you something, Brynjolf,” he said in a low whisper.
“What’s that?”
“Well… you know that wizard who has come to see you a couple of times? Short hair, black robes?”
Brynjolf simply nodded, not wanting to give away how alarming those words actually were.
“He was here one night, a while back now, but one night when you weren’t here. He came in with a woman and a really scruffy-looking Breton guy.”
“Really. Lord Wickham doesn’t strike me as the type to associate with ‘scruffy guys.’”
“That’s what made it stand out, Bryn. I was just cleaning around the bar as usual, not eavesdropping or anything…”
“Of course not,” Brynjolf grinned at him.
“You laugh now – but they visited Galathil. And when they left, there was the woman, the wizard, and a man who looked exactly like him except for the clothes.”
Brynjolf’s gaze shot over toward Galathil, who was seated as usual in the outer area of the Flagon, reading her book. Then he looked back at Vekel.
“You’re sure about this?”
“Yes, and I didn’t want to say anything about it to her. Privacy and all. You know how particular she is. But I swear to you that man looked identical to the wizard. I don’t know why it’s important, Bryn, but I figured you would.”
Brynjolf nodded. “Oh yes indeed I do, my friend. Thank you.” He started to leave, but then turned back to Vekel. “By the way, if anyone should come in here looking for the Thane of Solitude, put them in touch with Delvin. Discreetly.”
Vekel looked confused for a moment, but then nodded in agreement. He knew better than to ask too many questions, which is one of the reasons he’d been around so long. “Alright then.”
Brynjolf waved and headed for the exit.
So Lord Wickham made himself a human copy, did he? Now I know why he was so interested in my having a new child. He was trying to figure out how to do it himself.
This is not good.
He entered the Ratway, turning left at the top of the stairs. At first he didn’t see anything different, as dark as the space was; then he noticed a door that he hadn’t remembered ever seeing before. As soon as he pushed it open a crack, though, he knew what was on the other side by the smell.
Leave it to Delvin to rub Maven’s nose in it by setting up our own skooma den practically under her mansion. I love it.
Unsurprisingly, the place was heavy with smoke. What did surprise him was the number of customers here already. He hadn’t been gone all that long. It wasn’t much – not the fairly elaborate setup he remembered seeing at Redwater Den – but given the hurried nature of the establishment he was impressed. There were pipes, and tables, and bedrolls and rugs to sit on, bottles of wine lined up along the stone ledges of the circular space; and, sitting in front of what was undoubtedly a very carefully-locked chest, a Khajiit woman whose eyes clearly missed nothing at all. Brynjolf approached her and sat down on the floor near her rug.
“You’re Zarashi?”
“You know this one’s name. Therefore you must be Brynjolf.”
“Aye. That I am. It’s good to meet you, Zarashi. Is there anything you need here that I might help you with?”
“This one understands that there may be supplies arriving soon that are at least as good as Balmora Blue. That will be the only thing this one needs. We will be a profitable partnership.”
“Alright, then. As it happens, that material you’re thinking of should start arriving soon. A small batch to begin with, but it’ll be enough to start the wheels turning.”
“Very good. Zarashi hopes you walk on warm sands.”
Brynjolf left the Ratway grinning and humming to himself and slid through the shadows to the back of Riftweald Manor. Making certain not to be seen, he let himself into the gated yard and lowered the second-floor ramp, walking up it into the house and then down through the false-back wardrobe, down past a host of traps to what had once been Mercer Frey’s “safe room.”
It was perfect. Delvin had removed the old display case that had been in the room and replaced it with two alchemy stations. There was an extra alembic on the long table, as well as a pipe and a number of bottles, both empty and full, of various blends of skooma. In the chest just inside the entryway Brynjolf found everything he might have needed to start working on the product that Andante had taught him to make.
“Well, time to see if I remember what you showed me, lad,” he said to the air. He turned to the chest to take out what he needed, and bent over the table, getting to work.
He wasn’t aware of the time passing. It felt good to engross himself entirely in a task and not worry, for once, about anything but creating something with his own hands. After a time he’d bottled a few doses of what his taste buds and his improved state of being told him was as close as he’d ever come to what Vitus could have made.
Best not to have much of that. The lass would know right away, I fear.
He did feel better, though. He packed the supplies he’d brought from Honeyside and his completed wares away in the chests. It was time to get back to his family. But he couldn’t stop the curl of excitement in his gut at the idea that he was finally going to have something with which to establish the Guild’s independence from Maven Black-Briar.
___
“So you see,” Brynjolf told them, “he’s been trying to beat the two of you to having a family, on top of everything else. It’s pretty clear that he wants the throne.”
“He has to be stopped.” Ulfric said. “We talked about it while you were gone, Brynjolf.”
“So that you can be High King, Ulfric?” came a sarcastic snort from the side of the room. “Is that it?”
Ulfric glared at Roggi. “That is the first part of it, of course. You know that. We’ve spoken of this many times. But that’s not the most important reason.”
“Gods. You’re right. No, it isn’t,” Sayma spoke up. Her words came slowly at first, and then more rapidly, and she frowned in obvious discomfort. “The most important reason is that Edwyn wants to take the place of the man who … died on his ship, docked outside of Solitude. The Emperor.” She looked across the room and locked gazes with Brynjolf, sitting quietly in the corner. “And if he does that, Skyrim will never truly be free. Never again.”
“And neither will the rest of Tamriel,” Dardeh added. “He’ll be Emperor forever, because he can live forever. And who knows what plans he will put in place with the Thalmor. Or the Psijics. Or the College of Whispers. Or maybe he wants to take all of them over as well, the same way he took over the College of Winterhold. He’ll renew the attack on Skyrim and he’ll win, if he’s Emperor, in spite of everything we’ve done, because he’ll have all the time there is to do what he wants. And time won’t end, because Alduin is dead. Because of me.”
There was a long, quiet pause broken only by the snapping of wood burning in the fireplace.
“We can’t let him get to Dardeh,” Sayma said, quietly.
“And why is that?” Frina murmured.
“Because, my dear,” Ulfric rumbled, smiling at her, “Dardeh is the Dragonborn.”
Frina frowned. “Yes, I know, but what…”
Ulfric sighed. “Legend holds that only one of the dragon blood can be the true Emperor of Tamriel. Only one who could wear the Amulet of Kings, imbued with the blood and souls of all the past true Emperors; who could light the Dragonfires, it was said. The Amulet of Kings is long ago lost. The best that can be done is to ensure that the Emperor is as good as can be found, and that is what we have been doing since Martin Septim; but there have been no true Dragonborn emperors since his time.”
“And of course,” Roggi said sourly, “by becoming High King of Skyrim you are that much closer to that other throne.”
“Roggi!” Dardeh snapped. “Cut it out! That’s not it. Listen to what he’s saying.” He frowned, concentrating. “I could do it. I could light the Dragonfires. I don’t have the Amulet of Kings. But you know that if any one mortal human can light a dragon fire, it’s me. Right?”
“Yeah? And?”
“And I’m not going to be Emperor. Not now, not ever. Can you even imagine it? I can’t.” He frowned, his brow furrowed in concentration. “When we were helping to clear out threats to Helgen, Roggi and I worked with a soldier who stumbled onto something important, I thought. Our father – Sayma’s and mine – kept saying I must kill ‘the other one.’ We knew the first one was Alduin. Everyone assumed the second was you, Ulfric, but that wasn’t right. Roggi and I thought maybe ‘the other one’ was the strongest vampire, since vampires keep attacking me.”
“But Andante – Vitus – killed Harkon, the strongest vampire. And then he died himself. So our friend asked us ‘who’s the strongest vampire now?’” Roggi continued. “And it looks like that’s Edwyn Wickham.”
“Right,” Dardeh said. “But if Edwyn Wickham gets to me first, what is it that he can get from me that he can’t get from anyone else in the world?”
Roggi stared at him. Slowly, his eyes widened.
“Dar.”
“Yes. Dragonborn blood. Where else would he get such a thing except from me? I’m all there is. Sayma is of the same bloodline but she’s not truly Dragonborn.”
Frina looked confused for a moment. “He wouldn’t become Dragonborn by drinking your blood, Dardeh. Would he? I mean… dragon-born. He’s a Breton.”
“By Ysmir,” Roggi said quietly, his face ashen. “I just remembered that one night when Bryn and Andante joked about Dragonborn blood probably being mighty tasty. I wonder if there’s something to it. I wonder if Andante knew. What if he would take on some of that power that way, the same way Dar takes on the power of the dragons when we kill them?”
“Or the way a Nightlord can take some of the power of another vampire he has killed, if he feeds.” Brynjolf said quietly. They all turned and stared at him. “It’s one of the things the most powerful vampires can do that weaker ones can’t. It makes sense that Edwyn would believe such a thing could happen with respect to Dragonborn blood.”
“We have to consider that possibility from a man who has been working toward this goal for so very long, and who is so versed in all types of magic. If nothing else, it is likely that he believes that he would take on the power. So you all see why we must stop him,” Ulfric rumbled. “He is a danger to our friend the Dragonborn. He is a danger to Skyrim. And he is a danger to all of Tamriel. If we do not remove him, my being named High King of Skyrim will be meaningless, and any single person being crowned Emperor will also be meaningless.”
“Oh, so I’m your friend now?” Dardeh mumbled.
Ulfric turned to look at Dardeh. He gave the Dragonborn the smallest of smiles.
“Yes, Dardeh,” he said quietly. “I consider you my friend. You know that Roggi is important to me.”
Roggi stared at Ulfric from across the room and sighed. Ulfric glanced at him, nodded, and smiled, then turned back to Dardeh.
“And because you are the most important thing in the world to him, yes. Because you were instrumental in securing my victory, yes. I consider you a friend. I understand if you do not feel the same toward me.”
Dardeh said nothing, but bowed his head slowly in acknowledgment.
“Poor Elisif,” Sayma said. “You’re going to widow her twice in the same lifetime, Ulfric.”
Ulfric shook his head. “No, I won’t. That’s just it. I can’t. I have the Voice, but it is a weak imitation of the Dragonborn’s Voice. I cannot imagine myself capable of defeating the Archmage. I am getting old. I am no longer the warrior I once was.”
Roggi turned back to face him and snorted. “Could have fooled me in Solitude, Ulfric,” he muttered.
Ulfric’s eyebrows rose, and then the corner of his mouth. “Thank you for what I think was a compliment, Roggi, but the fact remains that I am no Dragonborn. General Tullius was a formidable adversary, but he was just a man. How can this be done? How can we beat Edwyn Wickham?”
“What about the Greybeards?” Sayma offered. “Their Voices are strong, and there are four of them.”
Dardeh looked at Ulfric, and both of them started laughing. Dardeh spoke up first.
“There is no more chance that I could rouse those old codgers off their stone chairs again than there is that I could sprout dragon wings and fly myself back to Skuldafn,” Dardeh said. “The only reason they budged at all for the truce was that I shamed them into it by reminding them that Paarthurnax was directing me.”
“The Dragonborn is correct,” Ulfric rumbled. “The Greybeards live a life of contemplation, not action. Or so they say. They have mastery of the Voice but only rarely use it.”
“And they’re stubborn,” Dardeh added.
“Yes, they are,” Ulfric agreed, grinning at him.
They all fell into silence again.
Then a low, rich brogue arose from the floor next to the fireplace.
“I know a way.”
Sayma’s head shot up. “Brynjolf?”
“You won’t like it.”
As was so often the case, Roggi caught on first. “Bryn, you can’t mean what I think you mean.”
Brynjolf sighed and slowly rose to his feet.
“Like it or not, lads and lasses, if not for our friend Vitus casting a single spell on me I would still be a Nightlord vampire.”
Sayma gasped.
“Listen,” he said. “Listen, and think about it. There is a real possibility that Edwyn might well take on Dragonborn powers from Dardeh’s blood. The reason I know this to be true is that when I was ‘born’ as a vampire I had powers almost as strong as Vitus’. It’s in the blood. It travels with it. That’s why Harkon could create him as a Vampire Lord, and why he could share that gift with me.”
Frina squeaked. “You were a…”
Brynjolf nodded. “Yes I was,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And I was just short of being as strong as he was. As Roggi told you, Vitus was the man who took down Lord Harkon of Volkihar Castle, the most powerful vampire in Skyrim at the time and one of the most powerful in all of Tamriel. Edwyn is another of those. Ancient, deadly, and incredibly strong. I was not that strong, but I was close. I took part in that battle against Harkon. I believe that I know how Edwyn can be killed. But it requires access to Castle Volkihar and the people I know there.”
Frina objected. “But you’re not a vampire now, are you?”
Brynjolf shook his head. “No. I’m not. But neither was Vitus, when we first met Harkon. He had been, before, but was then cured of the condition and was fully human again. Harkon re-created him as a vampire lord, with a single bite. Vitus regained every bit of strength he had originally, plus those of a Vampire Lord. And he then shared that with me.”
“But you were cured, Brynjolf, yes?” Frina pressed the issue.
He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he nodded. “Aye. That I was. Right now I’m just a regular man.”
Ulfric stroked his chin and nodded. “If I understand correctly, were you to be turned again you would regain all of your powers and …”
“No! Brynjolf, you can’t do that!” Roggi growled.
Brynjolf gave Roggi a sad smile, then turned his attention to Ulfric. “You understand correctly, Jarl Ulfric. That is my belief.”
“So, if I am following,” Ulfric said, “you believe that you would be strong enough to kill Lord Wickham if you were to be a vampire once more.”
“Perhaps,” Brynjolf said. “Perhaps not. But I’m the only one of us who has that option.”
“And then once it was over,” Frina said, “you would be cured again, and we would be free of that problem once and for all.”
Brynjolf cleared his throat. “Well. About that.”
“No, he couldn’t,” Roggi said quietly. “Vitus killed the only mage in the world aside from himself who knew how to do the spell to cure vampirism. If Bryn is turned again he stays that way.”
“By Talos,” Frina breathed.
Sayma rose and fled to their bedroom without saying another word.
