Chip walked slowly down the long hallway in Jorrvaskr’s living quarters, torn between anxiety and excitement. On the one hand, he very much wanted the chance to ask Kodlak about his lycanthropy. Kodlak was much older than him, and presumably had been a werewolf for a very long time. Surely he had to know something. On the other hand, any time he’d been specifically called for a “chat” by either his mother or his father it had been because he was in trouble. He suspected the worst, right at this moment.
Kodlak was seated in his usual chair. He looked calm, but Chip still needed to swallow against the knot of worry that threatened to clog his throat.
“Harbinger. You asked to see me?” he asked quietly.
Kodlak looked up at him and smiled, briefly. “Yes, youngling. Have a seat.”
Chip obediently sat down opposite Kodlak and waited. Kodlak’s face gave nothing away; but as soon as he spoke, his tone had Chip feeling like a young child, about to be lectured by a stern father.
“I hear you’ve been… busy, of late,” Kodlak said.
“Well, yes,” Chip said tentatively. Then, almost as though from a distance, he heard his own voice. “I work for the honor of the Companions.”
He cringed internally, and felt his face growing hot with embarrassment. Boy that was lame. Where did that come from? I wouldn’t buy that for a second if someone said it to me.
Kodlak heaved a heavy sigh. Chip was certain he was fighting not to roll his eyes.
“Lad. I know what you’ve been up to. Mind you, it’s no business of mine what each Companion does in the name of ‘honor.’ But this sneaking around…” He shook his head. “It does not befit warriors of your standing. Aela knows better. And so should you.”
In spite of his intentions and desire to be respectful, Chip’s anger flared in resentment the way it always had when his elders told him no. He tried to keep quiet, but the words insisted upon being said.
“But they killed Skjor! And they were torturing others of our kind to the point that they didn’t even remember themselves! Even if Aela hadn’t asked me to do it I would have wanted to take them out.”
Kodlak observed him for a moment. Chip hoped he hadn’t overstepped too badly.
“Your hearts are full of grief,” Kodlak said quietly. “I understand this. My own weeps at the loss of Skjor. But his death was avenged long ago. You have taken many more lives than honor demanded. The cycle of retaliation may continue for some time. It is not good for any of us.”
He was right, Chip realized in shock. Kodlak was right, and that was why he was the Harbinger. Small-child Chip wanted to hang his head and cry “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I won’t do it anymore!” but Kodlak spoke again, cutting off any chance Chip had to embarrass himself more.
“In any case, I have a task for you. Have you heard the story of how we came to be werewolves?”
Ah! Finally!
“Skjor said it was a blessing from Hircine. And I would agree, except that I have no idea how I came to be a werewolf…”
“Aye,” Kodlak said with a ghost of a smile. “That sounds like him. As in all matters of faith, though, the reality is a bit more complicated than what one believer would tell you.”
“So what is the truth, then?” Chip asked hopefully. Surely Kodlak was going to tell him something meaningful to his own situation.
“The Companions are nearly five thousand years old.” The hair on Chip’s neck suddenly rose, to realize he was part of such an ancient organization. “This matter of beast blood has only troubled us for a few hundred,” Kodlak continued. “One of my predecessors was a good, but short-sighted man. He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven. If the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power.”
Chip nodded. “And they were. They became werewolves. It’s hard to imagine power like it – except for the dragons, of course.”
“They did not believe the change would be permanent,” Kodlak said. “The witches also offered payment, like anyone else would. But we had been deceived.”
Chip’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But you became more powerful. You did.”
Kodlak stared at him. The intensity of his gaze made Chip both uncomfortable and certain that Kodlak was about to tell him something surprising.
“The witches didn’t lie, of course. But they didn’t tell the whole truth. The disease, you see, affects not just our bodies. It seeps into our spirit. Upon death, werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds. For some, this is a paradise. They want nothing more than to chase prey with their master for eternity.”
Yes! That’s the idea, isn’t it? We worship Hircine, don’t we?
Chip nodded vigorously. “It’s not such a bad place,” he muttered under his breath. “A little dangerous, but that’s the point…”
Kodlak continued as if he hadn’t heard Chip speak. “That is their choice. But I’m still a true Nord, and I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home. I’ve spent my twilight years trying to find a cure, and now I’ve found the answer. The witch’s magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us. They won’t give it willingly but we can extract their foul powers by force.”
Chip snorted derisively. “Sure. That seems honorable.”
He jumped in his chair as Kodlak frowned. He hadn’t intended to say that aloud. “I’m sorry.”
Kodlak scowled at him. “I want you to seek them out. Go to their coven in the wilderness, at the southern edge of Falkreath Hold. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild, and bring me their heads, the seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity. You will have no shield-brother this time. The spirit of Ysgramor will travel with you to restore the honor of his legacy.”
“But…” Chip’s frustration broke loose. “But I don’t want to be cured! I’ve been to Hircine’s Hunting Grounds. I proved myself to him. I don’t want to give up this gift, and I don’t consider it an impurity. All I want is to know why. Why am I this way in the first place? Can’t anybody give me a straight answer?”
Kodlak growled quietly under his breath, and Chip froze in his seat. Kodlak was old, but he was the leader. He deserved respect, and Chip had been decidedly disrespectful. He thought back to the first time he’d met Kodlak. Vilkas had been sitting here, equally frustrated, and yet he’d been completely deferential to the Harbinger.
Kodlak breathed deeply, his growl having clearly been meant to achieve exactly what it had – getting Chip’s attention. “This is not about your desires, lad. Your own fate will be your own choice. Just as always. Now be gone.”
Chip nodded. “I will. And forgive me for being a jerk. I’m just…”
“Young, and confused. I understand. Talos go with you.”
Chip rose from his chair, feeling even more conflicted than he had been when he sat down on it. He hadn’t learned anything important from Kodlak. Or, rather, he had – but it wasn’t anything that applied to his own situation. He owed Kodlak his allegiance, though, and his obedience.
“I’ll bring you those heads, Harbinger, whether Talos goes with me or not. I appreciate the support, though.”
He left Jorrvaskr, frowning. He made his way through Whiterun’s gate, annoyed. He was still annoyed when, halfway across the hold, a saber cat came out of the tall grasses to attack. He snarled at it and raised Grabber over his head, slamming it down into the base of the animal’s skull to take the beast’s life, and its soul.
I couldn’t have done that before I became a werewolf. I wasn’t nearly strong enough. Why would someone want to give that up?
He continued thinking about it even as he worked his way slowly through Brittleshin Pass, where necromancers and their skeletons tended to congregate no matter how many times it got cleared out.
Maybe it has to do with getting older. I can’t say that it’s ever even crossed my mind to wonder what my soul will be doing after I’m dead. I’ve surely heard enough of the old Nords talk about wanting to go to Sovngarde, though.
He grinned, remembering a conversation he’d had on the topic with Harald Stormcloak. Harald had snorted at him over a tankard of ale and laughed.
“By all the old gods, Chip, it’s all they ever talk about, Father and Galmar. Talos this. Sovngarde that. They’re so busy worrying about what happens after they die that they’re not living while they’re still here! And it’s almost worse with Mother. She’s so much younger than they are.”
Chip chuckled, thinking of it. His own parents never said much about such topics, but he’d heard the word Evergloam in their conversations more than once. He’d heard his Uncle Roggi talk about Sovngarde from time to time, though he was stubbornly determined to live every moment he had on Nirn to its fullest and for as long as he possibly could. Uncle Dardeh was different, though. He often got misty-eyed if the conversation drifted to Sovngarde. Chip had always assumed it was because of the old stories that said Dardeh had traveled there to defeat Alduin, the World-Eater.
I wonder, though. He’s a half-breed, like me. Where do our souls go when we die? I wonder if that’s what makes him so sad. Maybe we’re not “Nord” enough for Sovngarde. I should ask him, sometime.
All the more reason for me to be happy. I know I’ll go to the Hunting Grounds in the end. But I suppose there’s no harm in at least helping Kodlak achieve some kind of peace. He certainly deserves that much from me. I wish I hadn’t been such a jerk.
The moon was hanging low and orange in the sky just above the mountaintops as Chip padded up the dark path toward the cavern entrance. It was hard to tell whether he was in the right place; but when he saw the spriggan taproots adorning dead trees near the top of the path – to say nothing of the odd assemblages of deer skulls and ribcages – he knew he’d made it. Glenmoril Coven. And just in time to escape the thunderstorm that was moving in as he reached the cave’s door.
Rumor had it that there were four or five of the witches inside. Even one of them was a decent challenge, as far as he was concerned. Hagravens, which were basically the same thing as these witches, packed an enormous wallop with their fire spells.
I only need one head for Kodlak. Maybe if I am quiet enough getting inside, I’ll be able to do the job quickly and get back to Whiterun unscathed. I should be able to do that.
As dark as it had been outside, inside the cavern was worse. He stood in the doorway for a few moments and stared straight ahead, willing his eyes to acclimate to their surroundings. Ahead of him, weak light shone from the right-hand side of the tunnel; he headed for it with his weapon at the ready. It wouldn’t do to be surprised.
The light had been cast by a brazier just inside the corner of the tunnel’s dogleg. Chip could see an enormous cavern beyond, cook fires and braziers creating small pools of light here and there on at least two different levels. It seemed completely empty to him as he crept toward the end of the tunnel. Then a tiny movement caught his eye.
A Glenmoril witch, standing almost motionless in the center of the cavern, had scratched her arm.
Chip reached slowly into his pack and drew out a vial of poison. He wasn’t a skilled alchemist, but he practiced often and carried poisons with him just in case. This seemed a good time to use one. He readied his bow and slowly raised it, aiming at the witch’s head. The shot struck her somewhere in the chest, not in her head; and she reacted instantly, drawing magic into her clawed hand and shuffling toward him. Chip backed away down the tunnel into the deepest shadows and fired another arrow from behind a dead shrub. He couldn’t see her; but he heard the arrow connect, heard her noisy breathing and her bird-like feet scratching in the dirt, so he fired one more time. This time it went silent.
He waited a moment before emerging into what passed for light, to search for the witch’s corpse. She was hideous to behold and smelled worse to a nose as sensitive as Chip’s; but he dutifully took out his woodcutter’s axe and chopped off the head, tucking it into a sack he’d bought specifically for the purpose.
Gross. But I’ve done what Kodlak asked of me.
The practical side of his nature told him to head back for Whiterun, right then. But he sniffed the air, and listened hard, and something told him that there were more creatures stirring in this room. Braziers along the right wall spoke of a ramp leading upward, so he worked through the intense darkness to find the dirt path and followed it. He’d just about reached the top when a familiar skittering sound in front of him revealed a frostbite spider at the other end of the ledge. It took him four tries to kill the creature, due in part to the face full of venom that hit him just after he’d released the second shot.
He passed the spider’s body and crossed a short wooden bridge, turning into the next opening he found. This passage doglegged left, ending at a substantial chamber with a fat stone pillar in its center and water flowing in to form a pool in the floor. He was almost into the room when he spotted another spider, waving two of its legs in the air. It didn’t see him, and it fell to a single arrow; but the sound had alerted the other resident of this space – a second witch.
I guess I’m taking care of all of them. Oh well.
He was just about ready to take a shot at the witch, thinking that she didn’t see him, when she turned and looked directly at him. She raised a hand and gathered a fireball in it, startling him so much that he lost his grip on the bowstring. He got lucky anyway; she was moving quickly – at least for a hagraven – and she walked directly into the path of the misfired arrow. She changed to a healing spell as she squawked her pain; but as she cast it on herself Chip snapped another arrow to his bow and launched it at her. This time it was a solid hit, and she fell.
He pulled the corpse out of the water where it had fallen, and hacked off its head. May as well. You never know. If Kodlak’s first attempt isn’t successful maybe the second will be.
He found something else in this chamber, besides the pool of water and the hagraven’s tent. At the very edge of the platform where her bedding lay was an altar, much like the one out in the wilds of Whiterun’s western grasslands. Chip ran his hands over the altar, smiling as he felt the energy he’d encountered there, and to an even greater extent at the shrine on Solstheim. Then a thought occurred to him that nearly turned his blood cold.
Oh no. What if… what if Hircine is angry that I am killing these witches?
He sank to his knees before it and raised his hands in supplication. He murmured a prayer aloud, asking for tolerance and forgiveness; because even while he was harming another creature who revered Hircine he, himself, was not seeking to change his status.
“It’s too great a gift to reject, Lord Hircine. I accepted your boon with pride, in your Hunting Grounds. But I made a promise to the Harbinger. I don’t understand him, and I don’t agree with him. But I must keep my promise.”
Chip didn’t sense a response from Hircine. He hadn’t really expected one, but it had seemed the thing to do, to try and explain the tangled and slightly contradictory thoughts he had about this entire adventure.
He returned to the primary cavern and started down the ramp on his right, only to discover the other creature he’d heard and smelled in this room: another frostbite spider. This one was smaller than its fellow, and took no time at all to dispatch; but Chip was fully annoyed that he hadn’t spotted it before.
A bit of light beneath the ledge caught his eye, and he worked his way to the back of the chamber where another tunnel led into the rocks. It was a long tunnel, snaking back into the side of the mountain so far that he wondered if he’d ever reach the end; but at last he emerged into a dimly-lit cave that sloped downward from where he stood. As he had expected, there was another hagraven there, moving up the slope toward him at an uncomfortably quick pace. He’d been prepared for another witch, though, and snapped two arrows at her in quick succession. She shrieked and fell; and her head joined that of her sisters in the sack that felt far too heavy now.
He could have left. He debated with himself, actually, about doing just that. But if these Glenmoril witches were attacking a fellow Hircine devotee on sight surely they would do the same to anyone else. Especially now that I’ve killed three of their sisters. I can smell more. I need to finish the job.
It took him a while to find the next tunnel, in the dark, hidden beneath the supports for the small wooden bridge he’d crossed earlier. It was such a short passage that he nearly stumbled into the room at its end. He couldn’t see the hagraven, but she certainly heard him. She raised her hand to begin drawing power, and that gave her position – on a ledge behind a wall of wooden spikes – away. Chip shot at her once, twice, and again; but he’d been clumsy entering the room and was off-balance. Two of the three shots missed. The third struck home, and the witch yelped but didn’t go down. Another two shots went wide of their mark.
“Gods damn it!” Chip shouted, firing one more arrow. That one struck home, and the witch died. He ground his teeth, shook his head, and went to harvest the fourth head, muttering to himself the entire time. “I have got to be quieter, and I have to take my time before I just fling arrows around. Besides, it’s going to start getting expensive to replace them soon. Moonstone doesn’t just grow on trees.”
He wandered around in the dark of the complex for what felt like an eternity before locating the final tunnel with a whiff of hagraven coming from it. It was on the upper level, its entrance mostly dark because of the angle of it; and he’d walked right past it earlier by stepping over the carcass of the first frostbite spider he’d killed. He was annoyed with himself for taking so long to find the place, but he knew that annoyance would only serve to make him less accurate. So he stood for a moment, leaning against the cool rock walls with his eyes closed, breathing deeply and quietly until he felt fully settled again. He took a sip of water, and readied his bow, and said a quick, silent prayer to Hircine before pushing ahead into the dark.
This tunnel emptied into a small, dark egg of a room. He couldn’t see all of it for the thick stone pillar in its center. But he did see a brazier, up near the top of the chamber; and he saw the hagraven next to it. She saw him, as well. She immediately started down the path that sloped behind the pillar.
Chip raised his bow to take a shot at her and then nearly jumped out of his skin. So focused had he been on the brazier’s light and the hagraven just behind it that he’d completely missed the spider lurking just in front of him. He almost fell over on top of the spider, but managed to catch himself and backpedal into the tunnel, his heart pounding so hard that he was afraid he would turn right then and there in the narrowest spot. And he wasn’t sure the great red werewolf could fit through that tunnel. He had a brief vision of being unable to evade the spider’s fangs and the hagraven’s fireballs, and practically fell onto his backside in an effort to get away; but then he caught himself, grimaced, and dispatched the spider.
The hagraven had started down to the right, when she’d seen him. To his astonishment, she turned back toward the left and passed behind the brazier, where she disappeared.
“What the…?”
Chip’s question was cut off by the appearance of the bony, smelly creature coming straight toward him from the left. It was so dark in the cave that he hadn’t seen a ramp down the left wall. He certainly saw it now, though, as the light of the hagraven’s magic showed her off, in all her hideous glory.
He took a step to the left to get a better angle on her. The arrow he loosed struck her solidly; but once again the lack of distance to build momentum meant he hadn’t killed his foe in one shot. He fired again but the arrow went wild, clattering onto the stones beyond the hagraven. She turned around to look for it, dropping her hands and dousing the light; and Chip shot once more into near-total darkness. The cry of pain told him that he’d done the job in spite of everything.
He stood there for a moment, shuddering as he tried to calm down again. Another sip of water helped. Then he collected the witch’s head and stowed it in the large sack, now full to the top.
“Better not be any others in here because I’m out of space,” he said to the room. He took a few minutes to retrace his steps all through the complex, to make certain he’d completed the job to his own satisfaction. Then he found the exit and stepped out into the open dark, raising his face gratefully to the cool rain that still fell over southern Falkreath Hold.
“There, Kodlak,” he said quietly. “I’ve done as you asked. I’ve gotten the heads. Now let’s see if we can’t get you cured, if that’s what you really want.”
There was a strange atmosphere in Whiterun, as he walked through the marketplace and up the stairs toward the old flowering tree. Subdued, it was. People who might ordinarily have greeted him with a smile or a joke glanced at him and then quickly looked away, lowered their heads, and scurried past. At first, Chip wondered whether it was simply the quiet after a day of thunderstorms; but the closer he got to Jorrvaskr the heavier the atmosphere seemed.
He turned for the staircase to the old mead hall and frowned. Brenuin, the old beggar, was standing at the base of the stairs, silent and still, staring up. So were three or four others of the townsfolk, people Chip didn’t know well. He crossed the small footbridge and the hackles on his neck rose.
Blood. I smell blood.
At the first landing, he met Aela, her sword drawn, standing over two corpses. Chip’s mouth dropped open.
“These two aren’t a problem anymore,” she said, a sharp edge in her voice.
“Aela,” Chip breathed. “What…”
Torvar was on the other side of the paved walkway, standing over a corpse of his own making. “The Silver Hand,” he said grimly as Chip approached. “They finally had the nerve to attack Jorrvaskr. We got most of them, but I think a few stragglers made it out.”
“By the gods,” Chip said quietly. Kodlak told me so. He was right. This is terrible. His head swam and his legs trembled as he walked slowly up the steps and pushed the door to Jorrvaskr open.
Vilkas stood just inside the doorway, as if he’d been waiting for Chip’s arrival. His frown was so deep that his brows nearly met in the middle, and his eyes blazed.
“Where have you been?” he said, his voice heavy with accusation.
Chip’s anger flared immediately, overriding the horrible dread he felt in the room around him. “I was doing Kodlak’s bidding. He gave me a task to do, and I did it.”
“I… hope it was important,” Vilkas said, his voice sarcastic but shaking. “Because it meant you weren’t here to defend him!”
“Instead of blaming me because I did something I was supposed to do, Vilkas,” Chip snapped, “why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“The Silver Hand. They finally found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr,” Vilkas said. “We…fought them off. But…” His voice began to tremble again, whether in sorrow or rage Chip couldn’t tell, as blinded by his own anger as he was.
“But what?”
“The old man. Kodlak.” Vilkas swallowed hard. “He’s dead.”
“What?” Chip started for the center of the hall, only to have Vilkas step in front of him. Chip saw red. It felt like an explosion in his head, and in his heart, and he could barely focus for the rage. He reached out and pushed Vilkas aside. “Get out of my way, asshole,” he growled quietly. “Or you’ll find yourself in another battle.” He didn’t wait for Vilkas’ reaction.
He ran down the steps and took in the sight, then sank slowly to his knees. Farkas and Njada Stonearm sat next to the bodies of a Silver Hand bandit and Kodlak. Njada, always the sharp-tongued, abrasive member of the group, was fighting back tears. Farkas, though…
“Farkas,” Chip whispered. “Are you alright?”
Farkas looked up at him with an expression of sadness the likes of which Chip had never seen. He looked broken. Crushed. Utterly defeated.
“Oh Farkas,” he managed to say. “I’m so sorry.” He reached toward Kodlak and then pulled his hand back. “I did what he wanted, Farkas, and now it’s too late. I’m so very sorry.”
He sat there for a moment, taking in the scene, trying to deal with his shock as the others were. And the longer he looked, the angrier he became. He began speaking again, raising his voice to be certain that the man standing behind them would get the message.
“Not that it would have made much difference if I’d been here,” he said slowly and carefully, with the heat building in his words. “As you’ve made certain to let me know, on any number of occasions, I’m barely more than a whelp. I’m the youngest and weakest of the Circle. And you should know that better than anyone else, Vilkas.”
He was a bit afraid that Farkas might take exception to what he was saying to his brother. But Farkas seemed frozen in his shock and his grief, and so did Njada.
There was a moment of utter silence. Then Vilkas spoke again, his voice steady but cold.
“Nobody else was hurt, but they made off with all our fragments of Wuuthrad.”
I should care about that, Chip thought distantly, after all the time I’ve spent collecting them. But I don’t. Kodlak is dead and I don’t care about a broken weapon.
“But you and I are going to reclaim them, Brynjolf Brynjolfsson,” Vilkas said loudly, snapping Chip completely out of any fog he might have been in. “We will bring the battle to their chief camp. There will be none left living to tell their stories. Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung! We will avenge Kodlak, and they will know terror before the end!”
Chip rose slowly and returned carefully up the stairs. He turned to stand in front of Vilkas, and took a deep breath while he considered what he was going to say next.
By the Nine, the Old Gods, and all the Daedric Princes. You are more full of shit than any other man I have ever met. It’s remarkable to me that you don’t draw flies where you stand.
That was what he wanted to say. Instead, he shook his head. What came from him was from somewhere deep inside, something that had never been given voice before.
“Never call me that again. Never. That is my name, but only my father Brynjolf and my mother Sayma Sendu have the right to use it. Is that clear?”
Vilkas’ eyes widened. Then he nodded, slowly.
“Good. Then understand this, Vilkas.” He dropped his voice low. “I know that you probably consider yourself the alpha now, and with good reason. I won’t challenge that. But hear me. I was chosen by Hircine. I have been to his Hunting Grounds, and defeated his hunters, and received his tokens. You have not seen what I am capable of, not by half. But you will. We will go, together, and we will wipe the Silver Hand off the face of Tamriel.”
He turned and went back out into the beautiful day that had been forever marred by death. He stopped next to Aela and knelt to dip his fingers in the blood of the Silver Hand nearest her. Then he reached up and drew them down over his face, in a symbol his sister also wore. He was going to war.
He both heard and smelled Vilkas following him, as quietly as a wolf in heavy armor could follow.
