Ondale Perdeti crouched atop the guard railing of the bridge over the East Empire Company’s warehouse, searching below for the traces of warmth and heartbeats that meant “living people.” There wasn’t much of either, on the docks or on the Red Wave’s deck.
Excellent.
He skittered down the boulders on the bridge’s far side, intending to avoid any encounters. The warehouse patrol was spaced more closely than he liked; and while the ferryman was dozing, it would be entirely too easy to wake him. Dale therefore slipped into the water, submerged, and swam under the docks to their far end. From there it was only a few quick steps to the gangplank and up onto the Red Wave’s empty deck.
Inside won’t be empty.
As he reached the locked cabin door he extended his senses outward. There were definitely people inside, but the only sources of warmth he could feel were all horizontal, and not moving.
Sleeping. Good. This will make this job so much easier.
He picked the lock, descended below deck and spent a few minutes listening. Safia – the ship’s captain and his target – would likely be the farthest away from him. When he heard nothing stirring he moved ahead, carefully peering into each room. Two of the crew cabins were empty, the well-established cobwebs saying they hadn’t been used for some time, but flimsy cots in the open space beyond held the entire, sleeping crew of the Red Wave. In the back corner, Safia rolled over and made a noise.
Dale froze for a moment, waiting for her to quiet again. He then crept past the two crewmen in the outer chamber and into the back, where Safia and the other female crewmember slept.
How very strange. You might think a sea captain might want some privacy. No accounting for taste, I guess. Speaking of which…
He leaned over the bed and carefully cleared a spot on her neck, feeding long and well from her. Then he smiled.
Another taste for the road, perhaps?
He once again opened her neck, this time taking the blood and storing it for later use, leaving her completely drained and quite dead. He took a moment to relieve her corpse of a goodly sum of money and turned to leave.
To his dismay, both men in the outer room were beginning to stir. Dale had to force himself to stay calm and not simply bolt for the stairs; instead, he gathered the shadows and made his way out as quietly as he could. The crewmen were looking around, aware of his presence but unable to see him.
“Get out!” one of them shouted. “This is the last time I’ll say it!”
Dale grinned as he opened the door and skittered across the still-empty deck. The man put up a good front, but he hadn’t seen Dale and never would. He’d soon enough realize his captain was dead, though. And Nazir would be pleased.
Next on his agenda was the job directly from the Listener. A noblewoman had been targeted by the patron he’d contacted at Candlehearth Hall in Windhelm. She was here in Solitude from just over the border in High Rock, and this was the perfect time to get rid of her. She wasn’t hard to find, looking quite out of place in Castle Dour’s training yard in the dim pre-dawn light. It was simple to slip up behind her and drain her of her life essence, and then lurk in the shadows, gleefully watching the panicked reactions of people encountering her corpse.
After waiting until he was certain the court would be busy, Dale strolled into the Blue Palace to look for Falk Firebeard. It was odd that Agryn had been so vehement about answering Falk’s request. Agryn was determined to follow through on Harkon’s original plan of taking primacy over all the vampire clans in Tamriel, but there didn’t seem to be a logical connection between that desire and Solitude’s court.
He stopped, halfway up the grand staircase, as a stunning thought struck him. Wait. Potema Septim. Royal line. Didn’t Agryn mention that both his sire Edwyn Wickham and Harkon himself were obsessed with the idea of becoming Emperor, near their ends? Does this have something to do with that?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter why. Agryn wanted him to follow up with Falk and, therefore, he would do so.
Falk was standing to one side of the throne, chatting with the assembled thanes. Dale cleared his throat as he approached, and Falk turned to look at him.
“The courier must have found you,” he said with a smile that looked both forced and strained.
“He did indeed,” Dale agreed. “Now what is this about Wolfskull Cave? I thought I’d cleared it out for you.”
Falk pulled him aside, slightly, and lowered his voice. “Yes,” he murmured. “It’s not so much about the cave itself, but I’m afraid it’s not good news.”
“Oh? What’s the problem, then?”
“When you broke up the binding ceremony in Wolfskull Cave, Potema escaped! We’ve encountered some of her minions. Styrr says she’s still in spirit form. If not for that we’d all be dead already!” He stopped, shook his head, and heaved a sigh. “You’ve already done us a service by stopping the binding – but I need you to go talk to Styrr, to see if he can tell us what to do next.”
“Alright,” Dale said, slowly and uneasily. “Who is Styrr, and where can I find him?”
“He’s Solitude’s priest of Arkay. He’s the one who figured out Potema’s still around. He’ll help as much as he can.”
Dale searched Falk’s face intently and could find nothing but genuine concern there. He nodded. “I’ll be on my way, then.”
“I wish you luck, my friend. I’m counting on you. Be careful.”
Dale half-bowed and left the Palace. He strolled back through the city to the Hall of the Dead, thinking hard as he went. His theory about Agryn’s interest in Potema just felt off, somehow. It didn’t matter, though. He’d promised to help, and Agryn had directed him to help.
Styrr was an older man, judging by the amount of white in the lush beard that poked out beneath the hood of his robes. He looked Dale up and down as he entered the space, and nodded.
“You must be the one Falk spoke so highly of,” he said without preamble. “Welcome.”
“Thank you. He sent me to talk to you about Potema.”
“Ah yes. Potema – Former Queen of Solitude and one of the most dangerous necromancers in recorded history. She was responsible for the Empire’s near collapse almost five hundred years ago. Ironically, if she were alive today she’d be the only living heir of the Septim bloodline and, therefore, the rightful Empress.”
“Hmm,” Dale said. So Agryn and his sire were undoubtedly aware of her at that time, if not actually here when she was active. Intriguing. “And now that her spirit has been called back to Haafingar?”
“Summoned in spirit form is not raised from the dead, thankfully. She’ll need help before she can return to the living. For the moment, the Wolf Queen has retreated to a place filled with dead eager to serve her – her old catacombs in the mountainside. A few days ago one of her servants broke through a wall into the Temple of Divines. We’ll need you to go into the catacombs themselves.”
Of course. This should be entertaining. I’m getting stronger by the day but I don’t know that I can stand up to a crowd of the undead directed by a spirit that powerful. Sild and his vampire companion were powerful, but even still I managed to best both of them. But neither was a five hundred year old Septim.
Dale smiled grimly, though. “Certainly. I can do that.”
“Good. You are the one to do it. Your being at the summoning created a connection between you and Potema. Here’s the key. Find what’s left of Potema’s body. Remove it from the catacombs and bring it back to be sanctified by Arkay. Oh, and here,” Styrr said, handing Dale a large flask, “take this. It should provide some help with her minions.”
Dale reached for the flask and had to steel himself not to drop it. As soon as it touched his hand he realized what it was: a powerful potion to turn undead. Even through the heavy flask he could feel its power. He gave Styrr a quick half-bow, turned, and practically fled out into the city, wasting no time before tossing the flask into the bushes beside the city’s walls. Whether it shattered made no difference to him. He just wanted it gone.
I have learned several things today, chiefest among them being that I need to become much stronger, very quickly.
The interior of the Temple of Divines made him feel at home. It wasn’t the loud prayers of the devout that drew him, nor the carefully-displayed shrines at its far end, but rather its dimness and cool temperature. The well-filtered beams of sunlight slanting down toward the shrines made the space quite beautiful, he thought. He nodded to the priestess near the entrance but spoke neither to her nor to the priest murmuring his prayers before the shrines. Instead, Dale located the entrance to the Temple’s service areas and slipped inside.
Down a short flight of stairs was a room perhaps used for sorting and storage of food or supplies. There was a locked cage door, very new, to his eye. Where the metal was anchored, the chipped stones were bright, showing no dirt, moss or other signs of aging. Styrr’s key unlocked it. The space just beyond was full of casks and barrels, but dirty and festooned with cobwebs, looking to Dale as though it should be part of the Temple but clearly wasn’t.
Or maybe it was, once, he thought as he worked his way through the old Imperial-style rooms and down the dirt-strewn stairs. Who knows how many of the structures in Solitude are actually closed off? I’ve heard rumors of an entire wing of the Blue Palace that’s inaccessible.
The hallway he was in ended at a niche holding a bas-relief of a woman. He moved closer to examine it, but two things distracted him. First was a row of thick metal bars, blocking the passage to his left. Second, and more startling, was a woman’s disembodied voice accompanied by a surge of magical energy.
“You’ve arrived at last. The hero who prevented me from being bound returns to my fold.”
“Potema?”
“I have much to thank you for, little one,” she said softly. “When you die, I will raise you and you can take your place by my side.”
Dale smirked. “I believe you are mistaken, lady. You see, I am already…”
“You’ll serve me soon enough,” she interrupted. The bars dropped down into slots in the floor, allowing him free passage. The energy he’d felt ended, abruptly.
“… already undead,” he sighed. “Not that it matters.” He examined the relief: a woman with long, wavy hair and wearing furs, including the ears of a beast. “Wolf Queen, indeed.”
Not far into the increasingly-decayed spaces beyond the lowered bars, a draugr stepped out of an alcove to attack. It wasn’t a difficult battle, but Dale felt certain it was a sign of things to come and in this he was not disappointed. Above a descending staircase, a pair of draugr emerged and started for him. He defeated the first and conjured a gargoyle to deal with the other, and was feeling confident until a voice called out.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
Dale peeked down over the railing just in time to catch a glimpse of ruby eyes, and the red glow of magic in one hand. He tsk’d. There was no way to know how strong a vampire she was until he was dangerously close; so he moved down the stairs, keeping his attention focused on the second, stronger draugr until it was down. Then he hissed in pain as an ice spike slammed into one shoulder.
He grimaced, gritting his teeth. Ice spikes hurt regardless of a vampire’s natural resistance to cold, but he refused to give the she-devil the satisfaction of knowing just how much. She smirked. “And you thought I was just a pretty face,” she said, casting her vampiric draining spell at him.
It was his turn to smirk. “Oh, but two can play at this little game, darling,” he answered, raising his own spell in one hand and slashing with the sword in the other.
She growled, taking a huge swing at Dale that missed entirely. He laughed, backing up onto the stairs, drawing her forward enough that a single burst of energy, carefully focused into a backhanded swipe of his sword, sent her head flying.
“Now you don’t have a face, my dear, pretty or otherwise.”
She was much more closely matched to me in strength than I would have liked. But she’s dead now and that’s all that matters.
He took a key from the pockets of her body. It might not be important, but he’d rather not need to retrace his steps if it turned out to be. He thought of that frequently as he worked his way through ever more decrepit and deeper rooms until, finally, he reached a dirt-and-stone tunnel. He paused there for a moment, wondering exactly where he was.
This must be under the mountain, as Styrr suggested. Beneath and behind Castle Dour. The natural bridge is only so thick and I’ve come down a very long way.
This is almost a city unto itself, down here. I wonder what else I’ll find.
What he found, aside from another weak vampire, a number of draugr, and a swinging gate of spikes that came within a whisper of slamming into his face, was a large cavern leading to a distinctively Nordic barrow entrance. He frowned, looking upwards; the cavern was open to the sky above a partial stone arch. Either he was closer to the surface than he’d imagined, or this maze of rooms tunneled completely through the mountain and emerged on the other side.
Just inside the barrow’s first chamber was a lever mounted atop a stone cairn, behind which was a gateway blocked by a flat stone disc. He thought he recognized the setup; and indeed, when he threw the lever the disc began rotating, grinding loudly. A metal gate embedded in the stone came into view; when it was almost vertical its interior portion began retracting. Dale threw the lever just as the gate fully opened, and the stone stopped rotating. He grinned and scurried through. The next chamber held an alchemy station – and a locked door. Unsurprisingly, the key he’d taken from the currently-headless vampire opened the door.
“Alright, Potema, what else do you have for me?” He didn’t expect a direct answer, and got none.
What he did get were more tunnels and more draugr. Another passage had three rotating discs blocking his path. It was easy to open them, but not nearly as easy to dislodge the soul gems powering blasts of fire blocking another passage. Fire was the second-easiest way to kill a vampire, and he was sweating – and not from the heat of the flames – by the time he’d made the corridor safe.
He was sweating even more after he’d engaged what looked like a single draugr in the next room. That draugr was a Deathlord, a fact he discovered only when it rose from its throne and Shouted at him and his gargoyle. There was also a weak vampire there; both he and the Deathlord ran toward Dale, forcing him back out of the entry and into the previous chamber. The vampire didn’t last long. The Deathlord, though, survived two separate gargoyle conjurations, several volleys of blade attacks, and liberal applications of the Flames of Coldharbour and his life-draining spells before finally falling. Dale panted in fatigue for several minutes after it was down, waiting for his energies to return.
Then a strange thing happened. He’d burned an immense amount of energy in that battle and was beginning to feel an almost overwhelming urge to feed, and from the corpse of the weak vampire in particular.
That’s ridiculous. I’m not strong enough to feed from my own kind.
Am I?
He leaned forward over the corpse and, to his surprise, felt himself drawn to the man’s neck as unerringly as if the corpse was human. He sank his fangs into that neck and drew from it the most interesting feeding he’d had thus far as a vampire: cool, metallic, and somehow full of power. It was decidedly not as tasty as warm, human blood, but he was satisfied.
I am getting stronger. Agryn will be pleased.
The battle had distracted him from exploring the room his meal and the Deathlord had been in. There was a locked wooden door tucked away on the right-hand wall; but on a hunch Dale returned to the vampire’s corpse and found he had been carrying the key. Beyond the door was a series of short passages connected by several metal doors. There were increasing numbers of human remains scattered amongst these rooms, atop tables and tossed unceremoniously into corners. In one chamber Dale discovered another vampire, this one much more powerful than the last. By drawing the shadows around him, though, he was able to surprise attack in a veritable cloud of blade strikes, taking her down before she was able to defend herself. He shimmered back into visibility and grinned down at the body.
“Striking from stealth is part of my job. Don’t feel bad; it’s hard to overcome that.”
He felt his mouth beginning to water in anticipation. “You were the stronger of us, my dear, I can tell. I can barely wait to taste your power.” He knelt and withdrew what rapidly-cooling blood remained in the vampire’s body, wiping his mouth in satisfaction once he was finished and could feel her strength coursing through him. “I thank you. And what’s more, I believe my sire will thank you as well.”
The next few chambers and stairwells had more draugr and skeletons. Those he removed by stealth, speed, and strength. But the grisly scene beyond another metal door caught him by surprise. There was a small, round chamber, closed by a gate on its far side, the floor utterly covered with corpses. Some had been properly embalmed, some not. There were skeletons near the bottom of the heap.
Dale curled his lip in disgust. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a necromancer’s lair stacked with bodies, but this was an absurd number of them. Looking to his right he saw another of the reliefs of Potema on the wall, surrounded by free-standing and wall-mounted candles. It was almost as though the former inhabitants of these bodies had been worshipping her, he thought. No wonder she had delusions of becoming the Empress. He was examining some of the armored draugr when he jumped, once more, at the surge of power followed by Potema’s disembodied voice.
“Not much further. Come, little thing. Serve me in death.”
Dale snarled as three of the corpses there on the floor began rising, slowly. Little thing? Is that what you think? And why would I serve you? I am a…
His thoughts were interrupted by the need to slay the raised minions. The first two, ordinary resurrected draugr, were no real challenge. The third one, though not especially strong, had him greatly unsettled. This one was a vampire, even more desiccated than she must have been before whatever had happened to her. She didn’t last long against Dale’s blades but he shuddered as she dropped back down to become part of the charnel heap once more.
“Why would there be so many vampires here? Why would they be serving a necromancer? Surely that’s not what she wanted…”
His mouth fell open for a moment as he remembered the ghostly men in Rannveig’s Fast. “I’m sorry! This isn’t what I wanted!” They all said that. And Sild was a necromancer. I’m not sure what it means but I don’t like it either. “Serve me in death.” I suppose, technically, all of us who are vampires are dead in some degree.
He felt a shudder run up his spine. No. I refuse. This was a path I chose for myself, not an invitation to be used.
The gate had risen – probably Potema’s doing – during his battle with the draugr. Through it, around a corner and down a half-flight of steps was another set of doors. Dale pushed them open and was greeted by a familiar sight – Potema’s spirit, suspended above the far end of the room and surrounded by pulsing, purple energies. Dale took a few steps into the chamber to investigate. Along either side of the chamber were niches holding coffins and seated draugr. He smiled grimly.
There’s the welcoming committee.
“You’ve come far, mortal,” Potema said, “but can you stand against my inner council? Let’s see!” A beam of energy burst from her and started sweeping the room, crackling and sizzling as it went.
Lovely. A shock spell. I see I have no option other than to rely on my gargoyle.
Dale cast his conjuration and stepped back, just out of reach of Potema’s destruction magic. As he had expected, draugr emerged from their places along the walls to attack the gargoyle, which enthusiastically rushed forward to fight them. Dale hung back and fired arrows when he could. It wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped, for the energy surrounding Potema filled the room with a mist and a glow that made it hard to see targets, and the shock beam had him darting back and forth to the safety of the doorway.
Frustrated, Dale decided to take on some of the draugr directly. He timed his movements to duck behind the podiums and pillars as the shock beam passed, and was able to take down three draugr on his own. The cost was heavy, though; he was uncomfortably damaged by the time the third dropped and was frantically healing when Potema’s voice rose again.
“Don’t applaud yourself too soon, worm!” she snarled.
Dale looked around, confused, seeing no movements from within the throne chamber. When he glanced back at the doorway, though, he saw two from the outer charnel-heap approaching, warhammers raised.
“Rip the eyes from his head!” Potema screamed.
Dale snarled. “I don’t think so!” he shouted.
Then he regretted his decision to use energy arguing. In a sudden burst of blue and purple energies, all of the intact draugr he and his gargoyle had supposedly finished began to rise again to Potema’s necromantic command. He thought they’d had their souls freed when he killed them. He knew he’d freed their souls; some of them had filled gems in his possession. No – Potema was simply torturing their bodies for her own devices.
At least two of the draugr had the Voice, and began Shouting. One of them attempted to disarm him and would have succeeded if not for his vampirically-enhanced reflexes.
It’s what I was afraid of when I spoke to Styrr. I can’t defeat all of these at once! I’m not strong enough. I’m…
He turned and ran back through the draugr-filled chamber. For the briefest of moments he considered using his own skills to raise one of the stronger dead, but he shook his head. No, he thought. I will not do that. These poor souls have been tortured long enough. Instead, he re-conjured his gargoyle and used his bow to pick off the first of the draugr that had followed him. But he was using too many arrows. His archery skills were not good enough to fire more rapidly. Even worse, more and more of the draugr poured through the narrow doorway from Potema’s outer chamber. There were too many of them.
I’m not strong enough. I’m…
I’m a vampire lord, damn it!
Before he’d had a chance to talk himself out of the idea, he transformed into the great, gray beast that was his gift from Agryn.
The next moments were a blur of snarls, Shouts, red vampiric energy blasting into draugr, the gargoyle flying from one target to the next, and draugr speaking in the guttural language they used. Intermittently, the vampire lord flew back to the doorway to regain strength and heal; even then he cast his blood magic at any target he could find. He and the gargoyle took down a draugr casting shock magic, and for a moment it was quiet; then Potema raised the bodies yet again. He looked about in dismay and then bellowed, his voice deeper and more ghastly than any sound he’d ever made in human form.
“Enough, Potema! Let these poor bodies rest! They are not your playthings!”
“Rip the eyes from his head!” she screamed again, as the draugr revived.
He backed up into the small entry chamber, forcing them to attack one by one and using his blood magic to drain them, over and over. Perhaps, he thought dimly, I will drain enough from them that she will have nothing left to play with afterward. At one point the re-resurrected Death Lord got close enough to stagger him with a Shout and land a heavy blow with its weapon, leaving Dale gasping and nearly incapacitated, even in his huge Lord form. He fled back the way he’d come, re-conjuring a gargoyle and drawing as much life force from the draugr as he could.
It seemed to go on forever. At last, though, there were only two draugr left in Potema’s chamber; he and the gargoyle attacked. As the second of them dropped to the floor, the translucent form of Potema’s spirit disappeared. Swirling tendrils of power swept around the room once more and then dissipated, just as they had done in Wolfskull Cave.
Dale waited for a moment, scanning the room, hovering with his spells ready. Nothing happened. He sank to the floor and reverted to his normal form.
She exhausted all the energy left in these poor, tortured bodies. Now then. I’m supposed to retrieve what is left of her. Perhaps in the small chamber just beyond…
As he approached the small antechamber’s entrance Dale saw a throne at the top of a short flight of stairs. On it was a human skull, around which was the specter of a woman. Dale grimaced. Even having been cut off from her supply of minions, Potema’s life force was strong enough to maintain some connection to this world. He snarled.
I am going to sever that connection.
He drew his blades and ran forward, not even attempting stealth. She doesn’t deserve my best. He struck the spirit, over and over, in a flurry of attacks fueled by rage. The ghost mounted a feeble defense with her own spectral blade, but it was not close to being effective. Soon enough, Dale stood staring down at a puddle of ectoplasm.
Dale turned and grimaced in disgust, scooping the human skull from the throne into his pack. A passage behind the throne led him through to the outside world – above the roadway that passed his mausoleum home and hugged the shore to Solitude. The complex really had burrowed through the mountain to the other side.
Styrr’s eager expression was visible from across the room, even behind his beard and under his hood.
“You’ve returned! I hope successfully?”
Dale smiled and pulled Potema’s skull from his pack. He handed it to Styrr. “I’m pleased to say yes. This is Potema’s skull, and I’m happy to be rid of it.”
Styrr examined it and nodded vigorously. “Excellent! These things do have a way of working out when people take action!”
“Yes,” Dale said. “It’s a shame action wasn’t taken earlier, though. I heard the warning being raised before I was sent to Wolfskull Cave in the first place. I alone, with no assistance, was not nearly enough.”
“But you were! You’ve defeated her in spite of everything, and that is what matters. I’ll sanctify the remains. I hope Falk will make it clear that Solitude owes you a debt of gratitude.”
I hope so as well, Dale thought as he walked from the Hall of the Dead to the Blue Palace. It truly would have been a disaster if that power-hungry, insane necromancer had been set loose in Tamriel again.
Vampires aren’t generally considered good people, and many of them use necromancy to gain power over the living. But I can’t abide the thought of what she did, and would have continued to do, to the dead.
Falk Firebeard’s polite smile changed to an expression of solemn awe when Dale told him that Potema had been taken care of.
“You’ve done a great thing today,” he said. “Potema would have been a blight on the land. Without you this would have been a great disaster. I should have paid more heed to Varnius’ warnings. I won’t make that mistake again. Take this payment. The Jarl would thank you personally, but she very much wants to keep Potema’s return quiet.”
“I don’t blame her. It would create a panic.”
Falk nodded, handing Dale a very large, very heavy coin purse. “Make no mistake. We consider you a protector of Solitude.”
Dale glanced at the Jarl, a woman of late middle age who was studiously avoiding his gaze. He looked back at Falk, smiled, and gave him a half-bow.
Protector of Solitude, is it? It seems to me that will make Agryn very happy indeed. Now to find out why, exactly, it was so important to him.
