He couldn’t get her out of his head.
He’d gotten used to the effect he had on people in general. It was something peculiar to vampires that mortals were always, in some measure, charmed by them. It was undoubtedly why Qara hadn’t retreated to a more comfortable distance from him after he kissed her fingertips. It was why she’d seemed almost eager to accept the kiss he’d given her.
It was true that he took a perverse delight in stoking the fires of Brynjolf’s discomfort whenever they were near each other. He’d felt the heat of Brynjolf’s glare from all the way across the marketplace. It was even more enjoyable knowing that the man was suffering the pangs of protective fatherhood while watching him kiss Qara. Adding Harald to the mix had been a delightful bonus; he couldn’t imagine that the Nord was really “just a friend” in spite of Qara’s protestations, and he’d no doubt been fuming.
But none of that explained why he’d needed to struggle with himself to keep from tasting her life essence. It didn’t explain why he’d had an overpowering need to inhale her scent, to touch her skin with his lips. It had been such a strong compulsion that he’d nearly fed on the poor girl right there in the middle of Riften.
And that would have been a catastrophe.
He chewed on the problem all the way up to the shrine and back down into Coldhaven. There wasn’t anything overly special about her, as far as he knew. She was much younger than he was, barely beyond childhood and thus a poor match for him. But he had been the one who couldn’t pull away from Qara, not the opposite. He’d had to exert every iota of his willpower to avoid sinking his fangs into her neck. He didn’t understand it. It simply wouldn’t do.
As he started down the pathway toward the Sovrena’s tower he finally shook himself back into focus. He had business to attend to here, and he needed to pay attention to it.
In spite of her suggesting that they meet in court rather than in her private quarters, Tamara was in her central study area when Dale found her. He’d been musing over what he might say to her, how he would broach the subject. It wouldn’t do to seem too eager, but he couldn’t think of another way to start than to simply come right to the point.
“Greetings, my lady,” he said, approaching from the doorway. “I’ve been thinking about our last conversation ever since I left. Something you said has been weighing on my mind.”
“Oh?” she asked; Dale was relieved that she did not seem in the least annoyed with him.
“Yes. You mentioned that one of the founding members was missing. Dalaran, was it?”
“Indeed. For a long while now. And I do miss his counsel.”
“Forgive me for being so blunt but you’ve never found a body, correct?”
“Yes, that’s so.”
“What if I were to help look for him? I’d like to do something to repay you for your warm welcome. That’s a rare and wonderful thing to encounter in this world, and I am very grateful for it.” More grateful than you could possibly imagine. I really needed that information to take back to Agryn.
Her eyes opened wider for just a moment before she smoothed her expression back to its normal smoothness. Her tone of voice, though, revealed how pleased she was.
“That would be greatly appreciated! Please keep your eyes and ears open. A fresh perspective may well help find clues we have missed to this point.” She paused for a moment, and a small, brief smile took one corner of her mouth. “A fresh perspective that will not automatically arouse suspicion will be most useful.”
Very good, Dale thought. This is how I hoped this conversation would proceed. “That often seems to be the case, yes.”
“I’ll inform the Captain of the Guard – discreetly, of course – that you’ll be exploring around the city. I hate to say this, given that you may be looking for a body, but…”
“Yes?”
“I’d suggest starting in the mine, or perhaps the workers’ encampments. Or, and I hesitate to mention this, but it’s a real possibility – the sewers.”
Ah yes. The sewers seem to have been an area of concern. I’ll definitely look there.
“Let me think. I’ll have Nasaris double shifts in the mine to help find anything hidden there. He’ll make certain the sluice gates in the sewers are raised, too. That may make moving through them easier. I can’t begin to thank you enough for offering to do this.”
“I’ll get to it right away, then.” Dale gave the Sovrena a half-bow and turned to leave. He was certain she appreciated not having to send any of her own people sloshing around in a sewer, but he wasn’t completely sure he liked the idea of Nasaris being involved.
Although I’m not convinced he’ll think I’m worth being concerned about one way or another, as very important as he is.
He chuckled as he left the Sovrena’s tower. One of these days my sense of humor will get me into trouble. Or maybe “even more trouble” is closer to the truth. I’m convinced that Brynjolf would have happily wrung my neck several times by the time I left Riften.
He nearly jumped out of his skin as a Falmer clutching a pickaxe passed him from behind on the left. Another Falmer waddled down the road in front of him. He wrinkled his nose in dismay as the pungent scent of unwashed Falmer drifted through the air.
Good gods, the stench. And I’m used to smelling dead things. Honestly.
I can hardly wait for the sewers.
He followed the Falmer at a safe distance. One of them broke away from the road to enter a substantial and impressive mushroom bed. Not far away was a door set into the cavern wall. It had no sign outside, but what had looked like two plaques proved to be a matched set of torture devices. I should have recognized them, he thought, and stepped out of the way as a large man with flaming red eyes walked in front of him and through the door. That was the torturer, no doubt of it.
People speak of being afraid of vampires, but I’d put torturers and inquisitors right up there with us as beings to fear.
Farther along the road a small stream flowed from a grated tunnel down into a small, shallow pool. An old man with a pole sat at the end of a short dock; he assured Dale that he’d been fishing and hunting there for years. Dale merely smiled, nodded, and went on his way. Apparently senility could strike vampires as well as mortals. That thought had him frowning, remembering Agryn’s comment about having “the crazy” passed along.
Down the road a bit from the torturer’s place was another door. A man stood there keeping a stern eye on two comely women. The local brothel, no doubt, and he’s their “manager.” Very well. I do believe I’ll pass on that temptation. Neither of them compared favorably to Qaralana, he realized, frowning.
Finally, at the very end of the street, he found two things of real interest. The first was the smithy – Karsh Metalworks, according to its sign. The blacksmith wasn’t outside, but given the effusive praise everyone had heaped on him, Dale would make a point of returning later. He needed to learn more about the “new weapons” and report back to Agryn about them.
The second thing of interest was the mine. He knew it was the mine not only because of its proximity to the smithy, or the array of ore carts, pickaxes and shovels outside the door, but because a smelly Falmer was entering just in front of him. To the best of his knowledge they had two jobs here: farming the fungi or mining the gold. He took a deep breath and blew it out, hoping to clear his nostrils, and then pushed the door open.
This far underground the mine was not only hot but also very humid, with a heavy mist hanging just above the floor. Dale broke into a sweat, once again grateful to Vyctyna for his much lighter and looser armor.
There was little light here, making the Sovrena’s choice of Falmer to do the mining a brilliant one. No eyes, no need to maintain lanterns or wall sconces, and no additional smoke. Clever. Dale was happy that his vampiric sight allowed him to make his way along the tunnels fairly safely, but even at that it was a deeply gloomy place.
He wandered for a bit, running across several large veins of gold being worked on by Falmer. At the end of one tunnel he saw two round spots on the wall, and upon feeling them realized he was looking at the cut-off ends of two pipes.
Dwemer? Hmm. If Dalaran was a Dwemer enthusiast he might well be buried down here somewhere.
Around the corner from the pipes was a large chamber with wooden platforms along the walls and Falmer chipping away at the rock. He looked around for a bit, feeling frustrated; then he caught something in his peripheral vision. It looked like one tunnel had partially collapsed. The shape on the floor might well be a body.
Dalaran?
A few steps nearer had him holding his sleeve up across his mouth to filter the stench. It wasn’t a mortal, or a vampire, but a dead Falmer, its head crushed beneath a huge stone. He found a Dwemer cup nearby, as well as a dwarven warhammer lying by the Falmer’s leg. A small draft whispered from behind the stone that had crushed the creature. He took a nearby shovel and poked at the rock with its handle; and to his surprise the wall crumbled to the dirt below. The poor Falmer had just gotten unlucky, the lone substantial boulder striking at just the wrong spot.
Probably when it tried to pull this warhammer out of the pile.
For a pile it was. There were gauntlets, and a helmet and mace, all of heavy Dwemer metal. A couple of large scraps lay just beneath the Falmer’s body, and a container of oil just beside its hand. Even more interesting was a chest just beyond where the crumbling wall had been. Dale reached carefully across the putrid body and lifted the chest’s lid to look inside. He saw a dagger, and some potions, and something radiating magic folded up at the bottom, but he didn’t take any of the items.
I’m not a thief.
And this is not Dalaran.
At the very end of this branch was a heavy vertical partition topped with grillwork. He recognized it as something one could find throughout Dwemer ruins, metalwork that could mean the difference between life and death through the gnashing teeth of gigantic gears. No, this wasn’t Dalaran. It was, however, an indication that he’d very likely found more of the ancient city that once thrived here deep beneath the mountain.
All he needed to do was find the right tunnel. He was certain he’d find Dalaran at the end of it.
Dale eased himself back out past the Falmer body and up the mine, stepping into the open air of the city with more than a little gratitude for being in it. It wasn’t as though the huge cavern had the crisp air of the surface of Skyrim but it didn’t reek of Falmer and for that he was more than happy.
He took a different route this time, circling around the far side of the Tower rather than cutting through the gardens beside the magic shop. He needed to find the sewer outlets and so far all he’d seen was the grate near the fisherman. And that one, he discovered on his way back out, didn’t open. There was a butcher shop to his right, a provisioner’s store tucked into the cavern wall on his left, and more plots of the odd red grass and purple grain. As he passed the Tower he saw a number of people tending to the huge glowing mushrooms inside the gates of the Tower’s plot. He had intended to skirt completely around the fence, but motion and sound caught his attention.
Snug against the base of the Tower’s stone foundations, almost hidden between two large upright supports, there was a fountain. And not just any fountain: it was, as far as he could tell, identical to the one Agryn had shown him at Volkihar castle. Curiosity had him cutting through the Tower grounds to stand before it.
It certainly was a blood fountain, no doubt about that, gurgling quietly like the Volkihar’s shrine to Molag Bal. He found himself thinking about the plaque near Coldhaven’s entrance. “Drink of the font… paths will be opened.” Well, what can it hurt, really? It’s not as though I don’t live on blood already, and I do have a directive to learn as much as I can about this place.
Dale leaned forward and cupped a palmful of the deep ruby blood up to his mouth. It tasted different – richer, he thought – than any mortal blood he’d ever tried. That made sense if it was actually the blood of a Daedric Prince; but there were many fountains and only one Molag Bal.
Then the blood took effect. He suddenly felt himself suffused with power and energy, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He looked down at his hands and saw them glowing bright red; he could feel the same flush of warmth and power spreading over his face and suspected he was glowing like a beacon. Suddenly the world around him went red, his vision completely obscured in the same way it was for a brief moment after each feeding. Agryn had explained that this was the power of fresh blood rushing through his system. At first it had frightened him, but he’d eventually accepted its regularity as part of his existence.
This, though. This, he hadn’t expected. It was so much stronger a feeling than any he’d had before; it was at the very least disconcerting and at worst terrifying. As the sensation neared its height he heard a voice, deep and echoing but whether throughout the cavern or simply in his mind he couldn’t tell.
You bend to me? Ah hahahahahahaha…
Dale’s vision returned to normal. He felt no different than he had, except for the fact that he was angry. Extremely angry.
I will not bow to you. How dare you presume? I’m just looking for paths to be opened. As advertised.
And yet you have accepted my mark, the voice in his head said, sounding amused.
I accepted nothing. The terms of this agreement were not made clear to me beforehand. I bow to no one, neither gods nor Princes, nor earthly kings and queens. I worship nobody. I accept directives voluntarily and gladly, from those I choose to respect. That is all.
The great, sardonic laugh surrounded him again. Dale cast surreptitious looks around to see whether anyone else had noticed, but the voice seemed to have been confined to his own consciousness. He could only imagine what his expression looked like.
I do not like surprises.
He strode angrily around to the far side of the Tower and looked up at the Noble’s platform. He was supposed to be looking for the thralls’ quarters, or the Falmer encampment, or the sewers themselves, but he was angry and wanted nothing to do with stale, putrid air for a few more moments. His gaze fell on the remote shack, alone on a rock pillar far removed from the rest of the Noble quarters. There. He would go there, and investigate that. Agryn had asked that he do that, as well.
There were several flights of stairs leading up onto the plateau. The first led to a small, dome-like structure with yet another shrine to Molag Bal on its roof. Dale approached the doors and pushed on them; they were locked, though, with a lock far too complex for his modest skills to pick open.
He turned right and climbed two more flights to a landing holding a public garden of sorts, with stone benches to accommodate those wishing to relax overlooking the city. There was a bulletin board against the wall to his left, illuminated by braziers burning with the blue fire of Oblivion. At the far end of the landing was a metal cage like the one at the city’s entrance. This one, though, was glowing with magic emanating from the disc set into the stone floor and filling the space inside the cage, lighting it up like a beacon.
He frowned. He was tempted to investigate but couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted by shiny things while he had a directive to complete. He turned instead, and mounted the next staircase. This one curved slightly, toward both a great manor house and two shacks connected by a rope bridge, just beyond it. A man wearing leather armor with wide pauldrons and many pouches leaned against the manor house. Though he couldn’t see the man’s eyes from under his heavy hood, Dale was sure this was a guard, someone he didn’t want to cross. He nodded as he passed, turning toward the nearer of the two shacks. He hadn’t seen this building from below, tucked away in the darkness as it was.
Interesting. I wonder who lives here. I suppose there’s one good way to find out.
He walked up to the door and rapped on it. There was no response from inside, so he pushed gingerly against the wooden panel and, to his surprise, it swung open.
It was, indeed, not much more than a shack, he saw as he stepped inside. A raised stone platform at the back held a coffin. A long table flanked a couple of chairs filled the center of the room. A tiny noise off to his right turned Dale’s attention to a cage with a human swaying unsteadily inside it, tucked back in the corner. Candles cast flickering light over what was, in the end, just a small room enclosed with boards. It even had a dirt floor rather than a proper floor of polished stone or wood. The only nods to comfort were a couple of threadbare animal skins.
A woman, an Altmer by her looks, sat next to a small, round table at the far left end of the shack. She was neatly dressed in what probably had been quite fine clothing at some point but was now, like the rugs on her floor, a bit worse for wear.
“Can I help you?” the Altmer said, pleasantly enough for a high elf but in a tone of voice that said she had no doubts about her ability to defend herself if necessary. Dale approached her, smiling.
“I humbly beg your pardon for simply bursting in like this,” he said, holding out a hand. “Ondale Perdeti. I’ve been asked to search for something and didn’t expect an open door to… Never mind. I’m sorry to have intruded. And you are…?”
He approached her, hoping that she would take the hand he’d offered. She did not. Instead, she stared implacably at him with intense amber eyes and gave him the tiniest smirk.
“Sicara. And we’re kin; otherwise I would have drained you the moment you walked in here.”
Dale stifled a gulp. He’d expected to find Sicara in the truly isolated shack, across the rope bridge – but here she was. The former Sovrena. With that face, and those eyes, and that attitude, he had no doubt that she could have done just that, drained him before he was even aware he was being attacked. He wasn’t partial to Altmer personally, but she was quite striking, a handsome example of the more pleasant things that could happen when a person was turned. And he sensed that she was ancient, as well.
She tipped up her chin and continued speaking in a slightly more defiant tone. “I’m not interested in being a zoo exhibit for you.”
“Oh, not at all. Don’t misconstrue my motives. I’m just trying to find my way around Coldhaven and learn about it, as I am new here.” He sensed her attitude relaxing, not by much but by enough that he felt it might be safe to continue. “Would it be alright for me to ask a few questions, since I’m here? After that I will promise to be on my way and not bother you again.”
She looked him over for what seemed an interminable moment, and then nodded. “If you must. What would you like to know?”
“You’re the person who used to be Sovrena, am I correct in that?”
She grimaced. “Thank you for bringing up such a sensitive topic. But yes. I was Sovrena, not that long ago. I founded Coldhaven, alongside Galain and Dalaran. Of the three of us I am the only one left, so far as I know. Galain was killed by those damned Dawnguard, and Dalaran became obsessed with his own research to the point at which it overwhelmed him. Nobody knows where he is, now.”
She looked down at the table for a moment and shook her head. “The Noble houses deposed me. Our city was secure and was everything its founders could have hoped for, but that bitch Tamara stoked people’s fears.”
“Hmm,” Dale murmured, thinking hard. “That does seem to be the way some take power. They aren’t strong enough to take it by force, or good enough to earn it on their own merits, so they frighten people into thinking they are the only thing standing between them and disaster.” He realized that Sicara was starting to bristle again. “Not that I know much of anything about the situation here, of course. I’ve seen it happen elsewhere.”
“In this case you are correct, however,” Sicara said smoothly. “She scared everyone with tales of doom and gloom. We have many enemies in Skyrim, for certain, but this city is all we need for security now. Tamara brought new technology and superior weapons and armor to help “defend” all vampire kind, or so she says.” She snorted. “My fangs and my magic are all that I need.”
Dale’s mind raced. It was becoming more difficult to see where exactly Agryn’s beliefs might fit into this puzzle. All vampire kind? Is Tamara looking to do the same thing Agryn wants, in that case? Organize all the vampire clans under her roof, and her rule? I wonder.
But rather than give voice to his confusion, he smiled warmly. “I have no doubt about it. I can sense that you are a powerful vampire. Considerably stronger than I am, by far.”
“Indeed. And while I am currently living in a hovel,” she cast a hand around the tiny expanse of the room in a sarcastic gesture, “this is my city. Our city. There’s no place I’d rather be. Even though I think Tamara and the Nobles are all fools, I’m in this for the long haul. It may take centuries, but everyone will realize Tamara was wrong, eventually. We’re secure. We don’t need to stay vigilant and hyper-alert.”
And yet I found my way here with not all that much effort, really. I really don’t know which side of this issue to embrace.
“I understand,” he said, bowing and backing toward the door. “Thank you very much for your time, lady. I’ll leave you to it.”
She made no response, merely nodded. Dale stepped back outside and looked around the plateau once more.
“So, then. Who is over here?”
I may as well go see, he thought, heading across the rope bridge. A remote cabin on a tower all by itself – I would have expected Sicara to be out here, but now I’m wondering whether Dalaran might have hidden himself out here exactly because it’s remote. But I won’t know until I see for myself.
He tried the door. Like that of Sicara’s home it was open, so he stepped in.
“Is someone there?” a woman called out.
Dale had just enough time to form an impression of the place – a fine stone house with polished stone floors and wooden beams and rafters – when the ringing of a weapon being drawn had him swiveling to the left. He instinctively gathered the energy needed to cast the blue flames of Coldharbour.
“Never should have come here!” the woman yelled, reaching out and casting her vampiric drain spell across the room, toward…
“Dawnguard!” Dale yelped in spite of himself. The woman in the distinctive helmet of the Dawnguard cast her own spell, this one a flame cloak.
“Now you’re mine!” the Dawnguard snarled.
Oh, no.
But the vampire’s spell had a long range. She drew a lethal-looking blade into her right hand and cast the spell toward the Dawnguard without any signs of fear whatsoever.
Dale stepped forward and began blasting the woman with his magic, drawing his own blade and slashing at her once he was close enough. Between Dale and the other vampire, the interloper was soon on her knees, crying “enough!” But Dale knew better than to show mercy to any one of the Dawnguard. Not only would they not back down from any particular fight, they would continue to follow their intended target through entire holds until they came to blows once more. He stepped into his own flames and hers, wincing as exposed skin burned, but brought the shortsword down across her neck and ended her.
As he healed himself, the other vampire put away her sword and turned to look at him. She also was an attractive vampire, a slim Breton who had come through her transformation largely intact. He smiled at her even as he grimaced at the burns’ sting.
“I’m sorry to just have barged in here like that,” he said. “I’m lucky you didn’t think I was an opponent as well. I didn’t even think about it. I see Dawnguard, I attack. It’s just as simple as that. Oh, I’m Ondale Perdeti, by the way. I hope you came through that unscathed.”
“I did,” the woman said, “and thank you. I’m Madi. I don’t know what happened, or why I was being attacked. I was resting in my coffin when the lid suddenly burst open and this scum started attacking. It’s fortunate that I am very fast. I’m still thankful that you came in when you did, though. I’ve not seen you in Coldhaven before, but I believe I owe you my life. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, just ask.”
“I’m just glad I was able to help. I wonder how in the world a Dawnguard managed to make it all the way up here, though! You’re not exactly in the center of town.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said. “I mostly keep to myself, mind my own business. Once in awhile I help bringing in new workers. I enjoy the stability our city offers. It’s my home.”
Stability – at least until now. This is truly troubling. I don’t know how safe it truly is if one of these bastards made it in without being noticed.
Madi continued talking, apparently not noticing the growing frown on Dale’s face. “I used to be a member of a noble house in Cyrodiil, but I don’t want anything to do with intrigue or politics anymore.”
Perhaps not, but you seem to have found them, Madame.
Dale finished healing himself with a sigh of relief. He examined the Dawnguard’s body. Two things stood out to him. First, she was wearing armor styled so as to resemble the commonly-seen vampire armor. The cloak had the Dawnguard symbol on it; but, he realized, that was considerably closer to the Coldhaven standard than he had noticed. The matching cloak and armor would have made this woman seem completely unremarkable, particularly with the Dawnguard closed-face helmet masking the fact that she had mortal eyes. Second, she carried a note. He slipped that from the body and tucked it into a pocket, to read later.
He rose and nodded to Madi. “Perhaps I shall come and visit you another time? Only with your approval, of course. But it seems to me that, politics or not, I should let the Sovrena or her assistant know that there’s been an attack.”
Madi nodded to him and looked down at the body, sighing. “What a mess,” he heard her muttering as he stepped back out of the home.
The note turned out to be orders from the Vigil of Stendarr. “We have no idea if the rumors of a vampire city are true or not,” it read in part. The woman had been ordered to gather information and report back to them as soon as possible. If the city existed, she was to have found a “non-descript observation post” and wait for reinforcements. The last lines were chilling. “These vampire abominations may enjoy a brief taste of power if they have a ‘city,’ but we will ensure any and all threats who prey upon Stendarr’s children are eliminated.”
Dale shuddered. This one, at least, is dead. But had she gotten in touch with the Vigil, yet? Will more be coming? Does this mean Tamara is right and the city needs to be defended by force? I don’t know, and I don’t know how to find out.