A Sanctuary? Here, underground, in a vampire city? Why have I never heard about this one before? I thought Dawnstar was the only Sanctuary left after Falkreath burned!
Dale descended the steps directly in front of him and carefully eased forward until he had a straight line of sight down the narrow hallway. Nothing attacked. Nothing challenged his presence. He could just barely make out a shrine on a raised platform, in a room at the far end. From this far back, he couldn’t tell what sort of shrine it was but he felt oddly drawn toward it. First, though, he needed to find out who was here and whether or not this place truly was a Sanctuary.
It has to be. The Black Doors don’t open for just anyone.
He passed a closed door on his left and kept moving down the hall. Next, a short passage to his right opened to a large chamber. Across the room was a coffin flanked by the banners of the Black Hand, but with vivid red slashes over the palm print itself. Only members of the Brotherhood would be brazen enough to hang those banners.
The space was like the bedroom recruits in Dawnstar used, aside from the “beds” being coffins. Across from the sleeping facilities, the rank-and-file members had chairs, tables, and cupboards. He stepped back out into the hallway, passing several people who stopped to look at him but raised no challenge.
They know I couldn’t have gotten here if I didn’t belong. Interesting. So is that closed door the leader’s chambers? I may as well go see, and introduce myself.
Dale returned to the closed door, knocking quietly before swinging it open. He immediately noticed the comfortable-looking coffin lined in red satin, situated on a dais. This was obviously the bedchamber for someone important. To the left of the coffin were a low wardrobe and a tall bookshelf, their surfaces covered with personal items. A mannequin dressed in Dark Brotherhood robes watched from nearby. In the right-hand corner of the room was a small dining area.
A tall person wearing a red cape adorned with the symbol of the Black Hand stood before the wardrobe, their back toward the door. As Dale approached, he – for it was a male Nord – turned his head toward the sound.
“Yes?” he said, calmly.
“Sorry to have disturbed you,” Dale said as pleasantly as possible. “My name is Ondale Perdeti, and I work out of Dawnstar, as you probably guessed. I’m just intensely surprised to have found a Sanctuary here in Coldhaven, and I’m trying to get my bearings. Are you the leader?”
The man nodded. “Hail Sithis! I am Camryn and I lead this Sanctuary. I am second only to the Listener, chosen by Sithis himself. We are known as the Crimson Scars – vampires one and all. No finer group of assassins can be found in Tamriel.”
Dale stifled a gasp. He’d heard this name before but thought it was only the stuff of legend. It was odd that not even Babette had mentioned the existence of this group to him before.
“I’m truly surprised,” he admitted. “I didn’t know there were any other Sanctuaries in Skyrim aside from the old one in Falkreath.”
“The fewer that know of our existence the better,” Camryn told him. “You obviously are Brotherhood, or you would not have found your way here; I see no problem in telling you about us.” He paused for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. “There are those who would see us destroyed for our beliefs – history has taught us this. You see, years ago, the founder of our order, Greywyn Blenwyth, was instructed by Sithis to purge the Dark Brotherhood of all non-Vampires. He was betrayed from within by someone he thought was a trusted ally.”
That’s a familiar tale. It seems to happen in every organization, eventually.
“Greywyn barely escaped with his life, but his vision lived on in us. The Crimson Scars Sanctuary will be a seed that will grow and spread – cleansing the Dark Brotherhood and bringing us closer to Sithis.”
Dale was stunned, but he covered his dismay by inclining his head. “Thank you for that information,” he said. “I’m truly honored to have met you.”He left Camryn’s room and wandered back toward the common bedchamber, too confused to do anything else.
Another bit of politics to juggle? I’m sure that the Listener will be appalled to hear of this. I can’t very well neglect to tell her. Unless – could she already know about this group? There are two of us in Dawnstar who are vampires already, but what about Cicero, and Nazir, and the others? They’re human! And so is she.
And what do I do with this information? I can’t share knowledge of this place with Agryn. He knows I’m Brotherhood but he also knows I would be betraying the Tenets to share its secrets with him. That is, if I haven’t broken them already just by telling him how I earn my keep.
The same two assassins he’d seen before were still there in the room. In a daze, he drifted across the space to encounter the Dunmer man who was just rising from his seat at one of the tables.
“Greetings,” the mer said. “I am Diendus.”
Dale nodded. “I’m Dale Perdeti, and I’m just now learning about this Sanctuary. I wonder what you might tell me about Camryn. He seems quite passionate about this group.”
Diendus smirked. “He is, and we follow him because he believes in our mission. We believe in the reformation of the Dark Brotherhood. Camryn will help correct the mistakes of the past. He has studied Greywyn’s failures and he will help us purge non-vampires from the Brotherhood.”
Dale didn’t quite know how to respond. “Thank you,” he finally said, turning back toward the entrance and then stopping at the table where a Bosmer female sat watching them.
“Hello,” he said tentatively. “Who are you, might I ask? And what can you tell me about the Crimson Scars?”
The Bosmer smiled. “I’m Saghar. And there’s not a lot to tell, really. We are what the Dark Brotherhood was always meant to be. Our gifts from Molag Bal make us perfect killers.”
“That’s always been my experience, to be sure. It’s much less messy to use fangs than weapons and easier to disguise.” But some of the best do not have fangs. What about them?
Saghar nodded. “It surely is. If you’d like to learn more, we have some artifacts that once belonged to Greywyn Blenwyth near the altar to the Night Mother.”
“Thank you,” Dale said, turning toward the exit. He was feeling utterly overwhelmed. Too much had happened in too short a time.
First the Dwemer laboratory, then Tamara’s untimely demise, and now this? What am I to make of this?
A Nord woman stood in the main corridor just outside the room. He stopped and tried to muster a genuine-looking smile.
“Greetings,” he said, “I’m Dale. What do you do here in this Sanctuary?”
She smiled. “I’m Alofnorr, and I’m a trainer in our Sanctuary. Members who need to improve their stealth skills seek me out so they can move as silently as death itself.”
“Excellent,” Dale said with honest excitement. “I’m always hoping to improve. Am I allowed to train with you?”
She laughed. “If you have the coin, I’ll train you. Hell, I might even train a Vigilant if they paid me enough.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “But please don’t. They’re annoying enough as it is.”
“Indeed,” she said, smiling again.
He looked down the corridor past her. It seemed a likely moment to investigate the shrine, since it had been mentioned to him more than once.
From the hallway, the room extended left; it appeared to be a common area, with large tables holding food and blood potions. There was an alchemy station at the back, and storage of various types along the walls. Directly in front of Dale was the shrine upon its dais.
On either side of the shrine were pedestals holding books and other items – ore and dishes of some alchemical salt he didn’t recognize. Four banners hung on the walls to either side of a stained glass window, a match to the one in the Dawnstar Sanctuary and further proof – if any was needed – that the Crimson Scars were as dedicated to Sithis as their founding organization was. A weapons rack mounted on the wall to Dale’s right appeared to be empty; but before he could examine it further a dry voice, just above a whisper, startled him.
“While you live, the Dark Brotherhood lives.”
Dale’s eyes opened wide. He whirled from side to side, his gaze snapping from one thing to another, the hair on his neck standing. He turned to look back down the main corridor, but saw nothing.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
“Come closer,” the voice told him. “Approach me.”
“I… don’t see you. Or anyone, really. Where…?”
“Step forward,” the voice rasped. Dale blinked. The only thing in front of him was the shrine to the Night Mother; and it slowly dawned on him that the voice he was hearing – something he’d never heard before – wasn’t in the room. It was in his head.
“I’ve never heard voices before,” he murmured. “It has been a stressful few days but I thought I was holding up fairly well.”
He heard a sound like a dry rattle, once again in his head.
I don’t know what’s going on.
You are listening.
I know, but who is speaking to me? To whom am I listening?
To me. I will speak only to you, for you are the Listener.
Dale’s legs suddenly seemed to turn to liquid, and he sank to his knees before the altar. He began shivering uncontrollably.
I know vampires are cold but this is absurd. I can’t seem to stop shaking.
It will pass, son, and you will deliver many souls to Sithis. I will guide your hand. For you are the Listener.
Dale swallowed hard, the reality of having a voice speaking to him from within beginning to sink in. He shook his head.
But we already have a Listener. She’s in Dawnstar.
No, child. She has finished her service to Sithis.
Dale’s mind raced. He didn’t want to ask what her fate might have been. In spite of having snapped at Molag Bal that he worshipped nobody, it was never a good idea to question gods or Daedric princes, particularly ones directly in front of your person.
You’re the Night Mother.
The response was another dry rattle.
And you want me to serve as Listener? Me? I’m practically a novice compared with the others!
I will speak to you. For you are the Listener.
But why? And how can I possibly convince the others? Like Camryn? And even worse – Nazir…
Speak to the Keeper. Tell him the binding words. ‘Darkness rises when silence dies.’ He will know.
Dale snorted. You’re telling me that I need the stamp of approval of the man who calls me ‘Just Dale.’ Can my life get any stranger?
There was another dry, whispering rattle in his head. He tried to sort through it, privately, but he didn’t know how to shield his thoughts. It just didn’t make sense. He thought back to the last visit he’d made to Dawnstar and pictured the Listener in her dark robes, seated at the table. “I’m so tired,” she’d told him. She must have been. Maybe she knew her end was nearing, then.
Yes.
In fact, he thought, she was doing this when I entered. Kneeling in front of the Night Mother’s corpse, with Cicero standing…
His thoughts froze, then, and his body nearly did, remembering the odd way Cicero had been positioned before the coffin, with the Night Mother’s corpse looking like –
A vampire?
Go to Dawnstar. Speak to Cicero. Speak to me again there. So begins a contract bound in blood.
Then the voice went silent. The presence in his mind withdrew. Being alone with his thoughts wouldn’t even have been worthy of notice a few minutes before, but now left him oddly empty. Nothing he’d encountered since discovering Coldhaven’s existence had bothered him this much: not the Argonian in the sewers, nor having Molag Bal make assumptions about him, nor the sudden massive infusion of life force and killing the Sovrena because of it had left him feeling this unbalanced.
Dale rose to his feet unsteadily and turned to the pedestal on his left, absently picking up the journal that was there. Maybe he could learn something from it. Maybe it would at least help collect his thoughts. He flipped it open.
The first page identified it as the journal of Greywyn Blenwyth, though it seemed highly unlikely that it could be. If nothing else, though, he knew that the Crimson Scars believed it was.
“Sithis speaks to me. He does not use words but I can hear his voice.” Dale shuddered. At least the Night Mother had used actual words, things that he could understand. At least he thought she had. It was hard to imagine how it would feel to know what she was saying without needing words.
He shuddered again and forced himself to focus. Greywyn had been convinced he must rid the Brotherhood of mortals. Silarian – one of the newly-turned – had betrayed them, alerting the Black Hand to the Crimson Scars’ existence. The Black Hand used silver weapons to kill all the vampires but Greywyn, and one Rowley Eardwulf.
Dale placed the journal back on the pedestal, pondering. If the journal was accurate, somehow those two vampires had been able to rebuild the Crimson Scars from a lair called Deepscorn Hollow, in the far south of Cyrodiil.
And I’m supposed to lead this group? But how will I reconcile them to the rest? Nazir, Cicero, and the… oh. Not her. Where has she gone? How can I contact her? I need guidance, and not just a few raspy whispers that nobody else can hear. She at least would know what it’s like to suddenly be – selected.
He looked across the room, numbly, and saw Camryn at one of the tables. He couldn’t imagine what to say to this man. He’d heard from Babette that the leader of the Falkreath Sanctuary had been wildly jealous of the Listener he knew – the woman who knew his father. That jealousy had been the seed of the catastrophe that had befallen them. He didn’t want a similar thing to happen either here or in the Dawnstar Sanctuary.
I don’t know how to approach it. I believe I’ll take the coward’s way out and wait until I’ve had Cicero confirm my – selection – to the rest of the Brotherhood before I say anything here.
This is possibly the most ridiculous thing to happen to me since I found out that my father was also in the Brotherhood.
Having decided what he would do next, Dale felt a bit steadier. He nodded to Camryn and quietly left the room, wandering back down the hall to the now-empty bedchamber. There wasn’t any particular reason to do so but he looked at the books on each table, examined the coffins, and wandered around the room. It was distraction, more than anything else. He needed to get back to Dawnstar to report that he’d taken care of the last contract from the prior Listener – how odd it felt to think of her in that way! – and then head home to find something to replace the sewer-stained armor he hoped never to have on his body again. Just as he had that thought, he passed by an upright wardrobe.
I wonder what kinds of things these brothers and sisters keep at hand?
He opened the wardrobe and stared into it, confused. It was utterly empty. Why, he wondered, would they have a completely empty wardrobe taking up this much space?
Then he felt a draft.
There was definitely air coming from within the wardrobe. He leaned forward, turning his head to listen more closely to the sounds of the cabinet, and definitely heard something that wasn’t the absent sounds of solid stone. While running his hands along the edges of the cabinet’s back wall, he discovered a latch; releasing it allowed a thin panel to slide aside, opening access to a long and very dark corridor.
What have we here?
He started down the hallway. About a third of the way down it he encountered a familiar odor; there was a large puddle of oil on the floor, a tripwire stretched across its widest point. It would have seemed an intensely odd thing to have equipped in a vampire city but with his recent experience with the Sovrena as backdrop, a firetrap was the perfect defense. Should some rival faction of vampires be pursuing someone along this hallway they would at the very least be slowed down. There was a second such tripwire and pool of oil just before a wooden door.
Perfectly placed. How very difficult it would be to stop in time before tripping that wire!
Dale stepped outside and gasped. As much as the balcony of the Sovrena’s tower had startled him with its expansive views, this one startled him even more. This is what he’d sensed from below. It was a very narrow balcony ringing the uppermost levels of the rock spire, and it afforded a view that rivaled the Sovrena’s but included a far superior vantage to the city’s entrance. There were no pieces of fine furniture here, no beautifully-polished spyglass; but there was a fierce-looking member of the Crimson Scars with a crossbow in hand, peering down over the city. Dale nodded a hello to him and marveled at the beautiful simplicity of this base. From the road below, it looked like a stone spire supporting the roof of the cavern. From within it was home to some of Tamriel’s most dangerous vampires.
And somehow I’m now in charge of this.
I need to get back to Dawnstar.
Cicero wasn’t up to his usual routine before the Night Mother’s coffin. That surprised Dale a bit, but not enough to keep him from being relieved that he could speak to Babette without having to watch every single word he uttered. He approached her and smiled.
“You’re back,” she said, looking up at him with a quizzical expression. “You seem different, somehow. Stronger, perhaps.”
“You’re very perceptive, Babette,” Dale replied. “I’ve had quite an experience, and it’s left me, well, a changed man I guess is the right expression. I wish I could tell you all about it but I have to report in to Nazir and take care of some other things before I’ll feel comfortable discussing the whole thing.”
“I understand,” she said. “Things happen. You’ve seen a lot of them when you get to be as old as I am. You’ll get there someday, too.”
“One can only hope,” Dale muttered.
He trotted down the stairs to speak to Nazir. He’s always here eating, Dale thought as he approached. You might think that someone as accomplished as he is would be out doing a job once in awhile. Babette does. Cicero would, I’m sure, if he wasn’t the Keeper. So why not Nazir?
“Welcome back, Ondale,” Nazir said. “I take it you’ve completed the task the Listener gave you?”
Dale hesitated just the tiniest moment before nodding. “Yes, I have. That’s why I popped in. I don’t suppose she’s here now?”
Nazir shook his head. “No. She went home to her husband.” It was impossible not to hear the disdain in the Redguard’s voice.
“I… see. Alright then.” Dale was surprised to learn that the Listener had a husband. This didn’t seem the sort of occupation to lend itself to marriage. But he had other, more pressing matters to deal with at the moment and the first of those involved finding Cicero.
He wandered around the lower levels of the Sanctuary, checking in all the most likely spaces. He even looked in the torture room, grimacing at the noise they made. He hadn’t seen a torture room at the Crimson Scars’ headquarters, and that made him happy.
I suppose that anyone needing practice on that front can simply walk down the road to the official torturer’s place. Better yet, they can leave the work to him. As for me, I don’t like it.
He finally saw the jester standing alone in the middle of the rope bridge, alone under the one brightly lit place in the tower. Alone, quiet, and not dancing around. Dale approached the man slowly.
“Cicero?” he called out quietly. “What’s going on?”
“Just Dale!” Cicero said, but without his usual gaiety. “Cicero is… sad. And perplexed.”
“What are you sad and perplexed about, my friend?”
Cicero heaved a sigh. “Are you? Is Just Dale a friend to sweet, loyal Cicero?”
“Of course I am,” Dale said. And it was true enough. Cicero was odd, and not entirely sane, but he was as much a friend as Babette or Nazir.
“Well then, in that case…” Cicero sighed again and shrugged his shoulders. “Cicero can no longer sense the Listener’s presence. She is lost. And therefore, Cicero is sad.” He turned and took a few paces away from Dale and then back toward him. “Cicero spent years looking for the Listener. Years? Maybe decades. And finally found her. Cicero could tell where she was, most of the time. And now she is simply,” he paused again for a dramatic sigh, “gone! Once again there is no Listener! Cicero has failed!”
Dale took a moment to acknowledge and appreciate the old assassin’s emotions. It had to have been difficult for him to share them. Dale knew all about feeling hopeless and worthless when someone wasn’t there anymore. After a moment of silence he smiled slightly.
“You’re not a failure, Cicero,” he said quietly. “I don’t know why she’s left. I didn’t ask. But the Night Mother has told me that I am the new Listener.”
After a moment or two of open-mouthed astonishment, Cicero’s expression changed to anger. His eyes flashed. “How dare you!” he cried dramatically. “How dare you just presume? How…” He frowned, as if he had stopped himself in mid-thought, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the center of his forehead. “How did you know she was gone? You’ve only just now returned.”
Dale nodded. “That’s right. As to how I knew, I was told. By the Night Mother. She also asked me to tell you these words: darkness rises when silence dies.”
Cicero gasped; then he clapped his hands gleefully. “The binding words! It is true!” His eyes widened. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can sense your presence, Listener!”
Dale couldn’t help but grin. “Well of course you can. I’m standing right in front of you. But I need to ask a favor of you.”
“Oh of course, of course!”
“Come with me to tell Nazir. I’m sure he’s not going to be happy that someone so young is now his superior. I wouldn’t be. I’m not so sure I’m happy about it either, to be honest with you.”
“Oh, but our Mother is wise. She would never pick the wrong person, Just Da… I mean Listener!”
Dale headed back toward Babette’s alchemy garden, with Cicero trailing along behind him, singing.
“Just Dale’s the Listener, Just Dale’s the Listener!”
Dale chuckled, and turned back to Cicero, shushing him with a finger before his lips. “Let’s see if we can surprise everyone instead of alerting them with a song, shall we?”
Cicero grinned. “Oh yes, yes, Listener! Let’s! It is such a big surprise.”
Dale grimaced. “It is. And Just Dale doesn’t really enjoy being surprised.”
Dale nodded to Babette again as they passed her. It was almost impossible to imagine that she hadn’t heard Cicero’s song; indeed, she stared at him, not allowing him to break eye contact until he leaned over and whispered “Yes, it’s true,” in her ear.
“I understand. And I’m not surprised. She’s spent less and less time here over the years. I could tell the end was coming.”
Dale stopped short. “Is she alright? Do you think? She said she was tired. Now I’m concerned.”
Babette smirked. “Oh she’s fine. She just lost interest. It happens sometimes; people get tired of always living in the shadows. Unless they’re people like us,” she added with a chuckle.
“Are you amenable to this?”
“It doesn’t matter one way or another, Dale. The Night Mother chooses who she chooses. But yes. You have no need to worry on account of me. In fact, it will be good to have one of us in charge. I’ll welcome the longevity.”
He felt his level of anxiety drop. He’d been mostly concerned about Cicero, of course. Having Babette’s support as well as Cicero’s would make his life much easier.
Cicero had reached the bottom of the stairs first and was wriggling around in front of the table; Nazir, as usual, was glowering at him. Dale approached quietly and stood beside Cicero, glancing at him and then back at Nazir.
“Nazir, something rather momentous has happened and I hope you will understand.”
“Yes? What is it?”
Dale quietly gave Nazir the news and watched his expression go from one of welcome – or at least as much welcome as Nazir ever offered – to disbelief and then something close to anger. He stared at Dale; the longer the stare stretched out the more uncomfortable Dale became. Finally Nazir nodded.
“So you expect me to believe that one of the newest members of the Brotherhood has been chosen as Listener and that Sayma has – what, just left? How very… surprising.”
“Yes,” Dale agreed, trying to mask his dismay. “An unwelcome surprise. I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter, Nazir,” Dale said quietly. He had hoped this would not be the kind of reaction he received, but it had and now he needed to handle it. Before he could say more, though, Cicero stepped up closer to Nazir and cleared his throat.
“Our Mother chooses who she will, Nazir,” he said. “If she has chosen Just Dale, so she has. And she has,” he giggled insanely for a moment, “because she sent the Binding Words with the new Listener. She never chose dear, loyal Cicero and she never chose hard-working Nazir. I’m sorry. I know it’s disappointing.” He heaved a sigh. “But we soldier on in the name of our dear Night Mother.”
Dale then watched in awe as Cicero had another lucid moment. “There are ways of cleansing a Sanctuary that does not obey, Nazir,” he said quietly. “Even now, there are ways. I know them. I have seen them at work.” His quiet voice carried a threat that made Dale’s hair want to stand on end – in part because Cicero was so seldom lucid.
Nazir just stared at him for a moment, clearly weighing the drawbacks to challenging that threat. Then he looked back at Dale, thoughtful, and nodded slowly.
“Well so be it, in that case,” he said. “I’m getting too old for this. But I’ll tell you one thing, Listener,” he added.
“What’s that?”
“I’d rather have someone like you working with the Night Mother than someone who put our organization in peril every time she went home. Too many people know about this Sanctuary. Some have even been in it.” One corner of his mouth rose slightly. “Now that she is no longer the Listener, perhaps the Night Mother will see fit to help us deal with the risk. I will, of course, await your instructions. Listener.”
For a moment, Dale had the notion to let Nazir know that there was another Sanctuary that they could use if times demanded it; but something about the situation kept him quiet.
If nothing else, there’s the matter of Nazir and Cicero being far too tempting as meals to live in Coldhaven. I can take Babette there, but unless these two and the other new recruits wish to be turned we have a problem in that regard.
“Thank you, Nazir,” he said instead. “Now that this matter has been settled, I need to go to my home for a bit.” He waved his hand in front of himself. “This armor has been in far too many sewers and I’m ready to be rid of it.”
“I did notice a bit of an – aroma, when you came down the stairs,” Nazir said in his dry and sarcastic way. “Not the usual scent of death, but I can only presume that deaths were had, regardless.”
“Oh yes,” Dale said. “They were indeed.” No, Nazir, I’m not going to elaborate. “I’ll return in a day or two and see whether there might be work, either from the Night Mother or from you.”
“As you wish, Listener,” Nazir said.
By the time Dale reached the Sanctuary’s secret entrance, Cicero had returned to his usual duties.
“Just Dale’s the Listener, Just Dale’s the Listener!”
Dale emerged into the frigid evening and waited for an opportunity to change into his winged form and head out over the open sea. He was more than ready to get home. More than ready to spend some time working out his anxieties at the forge, and at the enchanting station. And he was much more than ready to consign his current armor to the fire.
I hope the Night Mother knows what she’s doing. I hope Agryn and Vyctyna will understand, and will have a good idea as to how the sudden power void in Coldhaven should be handled. And I hope this is the end of the surprises for awhile.