“Wait.”
Vilkas’ voice caught him before he got past the Gildergreen. He snarled silently before answering.
“What is it?”
Vilkas cleared his throat. “We have to go north, and it’ll save time if we just go through the Underforge.”
Chip sighed, feeling embarrassed. He truly didn’t even know where they were headed; he’d just angrily started for the gate. It would in fact save them a lot of walking if they just ducked out the mostly unknown passage. He turned to face Vilkas and nodded.
“Good idea. And who knows. There might be enemies watching for us to leave by the main gate.”
A minute later they were in the Underforge, facing each other across the basin still colored by Aela’s blood. Vilkas stared at him.
“So say it.”
“What?”
“Whatever it is you need to say to me. Get it out of your system before we have to watch each other’s backs in battle.”
Chip frowned at him, considering. Vilkas had a point. He’d been a thorn in Chip’s side from the start, but at this moment they shared a goal and its risk. Vilkas deserved some answers.
“You’ve taken every opportunity to ridicule me, Vilkas, ever since we met. I don’t understand it. I don’t deserve it, either. It wasn’t my fault Kodlak died and you know it.”
Vilkas nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” He sneered. “But you came into Jorrvaskr acting like you were entitled to be a member of the Circle. You’re just a boy. Farkas and I have been here forever; Skjor and Aela longer, and Kodlak – well, there was a reason we called him the ‘old man.’ And the others were also here before you. You needed to be shown where you stand.”
Chip should have been livid, as he had been only a few minutes earlier. Yet somehow, he found Vilkas’ frankness calming, in an odd way. He nodded slowly, and began speaking slowly.
“You’re right. I am young. I haven’t seen twenty winters yet. And yet here I am, Vilkas, and I don’t know why. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, is to know why I am a werewolf. Our brothers on Solstheim couldn’t tell me. Nobody here has been able to tell me, and I can’t ask my da or my uncles, who know about practically everything else. It stinks. That’s why I’ve been following Aela’s lead, and that’s why I did what Kodlak asked.”
Vilkas said nothing, but watched. Chip couldn’t read his face, so he just kept going.
“When I say I’ve been to Hircine’s realm I am not being metaphorical. Here,” he said, pulling out the totem and handing it to Vilkas. “I had this from Lord Hircine himself as a prize. I’ll use it when we fight, if we’re in a scrape, to make up for my own lack of experience. You’ll see.” Vilkas examined it closely and then handed it back to Chip.
“Vilkas, I know you’re the wisest of us now. And the strongest. Oh maybe not in physical strength,” he said when Vilkas raised an eyebrow. “I’d be willing to bet Farkas out-muscles you. But it takes more than just muscles to be strong. I told you, I won’t stand in your way. You’re the leader. But you don’t get to call me the name my mother gave me, especially not in anger. My best friend is King Ulfric’s son and even he doesn’t get to call me Brynjolf. That’s my father’s name. I am making my own.”
“Understood,” Vilkas said. “I need to think on all of this. In the meantime, we’re heading to Driftshade Refuge. Southeast of Dawnstar.”
“Let’s go,” Chip said. “And let’s create a little terror.”
Chip somehow lost Vilkas along the way. Perhaps he’d run into a bandit as they passed Snowpoint Beacon. Chip had reached Driftshade, standing behind what once had been a corner tower; but as he stepped to his left, backing out from behind it, a Khajiit lookout on the upper wall stood and reached for his bow. Chip couldn’t afford to wait for Vilkas. He snapped an elven arrow into position and loosed it, watching in satisfaction as the Khajiit fell dead.
“Huh?” Another man emerged from the shadows of the doorway just below where the Khajiit had been standing. He scanned the area quickly, spotting Chip and making a beeline for him. Once more, a single shot from Hircine’s increasingly-powerful bow took the man out. As Chip searched the body, he heard Vilkas approaching from the crest of the nearby hills. He pushed open the door to the fort, wanting to get inside before any other patrols could spot him. Vilkas would catch up.
The store room inside led to a downward staircase. When the door behind Chip opened quietly he verified that it was Vilkas; then he gestured toward the exit and got a nod in return. They crept down two short flights to a wooden door, which Chip eased open. There were at least two enemies in the large room beyond. Chip raised his bow. “For Kodlak,” he whispered as he released the first arrow, which staggered but did not kill the woman he’d aimed at. She headed for the Companions at a dead run.
“Over here!” a male bandit yelled, moving out from the deep shadows. Vilkas pushed past Chip to meet the woman bandit head-on. He watched in stunned silence as Vilkas’ massive swing put her on the floor; then he finished the job with a quick arrow while Vilkas moved down into the main complex to dispatch the male bandit.
They could go straight ahead or left. Without speaking to each other, they both turned left into a partially-collapsed room filled with decrepit wooden furnishings. Chip was scanning the shelves for valuables when he heard a man say “Huh?” from the next hallway. Chip growled, raised his bow, and dropped the man with a single arrow to the heart.
“You’re pretty good with that bow,” Vilkas murmured.
Chip grinned. “Told you I was an archer.”
Through the next room, a short hallway, and a half-flight of stairs up they arrived at another closed door. Beyond it was a large chamber, several stories tall in the center with a solid stone balcony around the outside. Chip took one step forward onto the balcony and then froze; he could hear and smell another bandit to his left. The man had heard them as well, it seemed; Chip first heard the clanking of armor and a sword being drawn, and then saw the light-colored fur the man wore around his neck as he moved. Chip was able to catch the bandit with a single arrow, but the noise of him falling alerted a woman below them.
“What was that?”
Vilkas stepped out from the doorway to engage her as she hurtled up the stairs. This woman was one of the tougher Silver Hand Chip had met so far. Both Vilkas’ greatsword and his own daggers seemed to have little effect on her – perhaps her armor had an enchantment, or perhaps she was just a talented fighter. Either way, the fight seemed to go on forever before she finally groaned and dropped against the railing that ringed the balcony.
Vilkas moaned. Or, at least Chip thought he heard a moan. He scanned Vilkas, quickly, but saw no major wounds.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Vilkas looked startled for a moment; then he sighed. “It’s the blood,” he mumbled. “Let’s get going.”
Chip stared at him for a moment. His own inner wolf was salivating at all the fresh meat they were creating; but he had the wolf firmly under control. It was too important to wipe these people out before indulging in any feasting. But, he realized with a shock, Vilkas had been trying to control his own lycanthropy as long as they’d known each other. It must be an exquisite sort of torture to be in the presence of all these prizes.
I never even considered that. He has some pretty strong willpower.
“Moving out,” he agreed.
They took the stairs down and made a quick turn around the chamber. As with other parts of the old fort this was full of rotting and moldering wooden furniture, poorly-placed lamps, and crates that would be a real hazard in the dark. Beyond them a stairway led further downward to a long hall, with a doorway on the left a few paces away. Vilkas tried the door, but shook his head and mouthed the word “locked.”
Chip grinned. He hadn’t grown up around the Thieves Guild without learning anything; and while he’d never be a master, this lock yielded to him almost immediately. On its other side was a bedchamber, with one bandit fast asleep. Chip drew his daggers and waggled them at Vilkas.
A lot easier and quieter to take this guy out with these than with a gigantic two-hander.
He slipped quietly up to the man’s bedside and slit his throat. No remorse, no guilt. You’re a Silver Hand, and you have to die.
Returning to the hallway, they followed it as it narrowed, darkened, and turned right. By the time they neared its end, Chip could barely see except for a sliver of light before them; but he could sense movement in the next room. He inched toward the opening and glimpsed a large chamber with a barred gate on its far side, with another member of the Silver Hand standing nearby.
Vilkas tapped him on the arm and moved up beside him. Chip had been reaching for an arrow just then, and fired it off as Vilkas passed; but he’d grabbed one of Hircine’s arrows by mistake. Suddenly there were four of them in the very narrow, very dark hallway: Vilkas, Chip, the bandit, and a large and extremely angry werebear. Chip fired again, wildly, and sensed that he’d struck his own werebear; the bandit it had been fighting slipped past and attacked Chip, only to fall, in the next moment, to another elven arrow.
“You can’t win this!” came from the far room.
Another one in there? Is Vilkas getting him? Come on, bear, get out of the…
The werebear bounded down the hallway, and Chip then heard the familiar sounds of claws ripping armor and flesh. He ran into the open chamber to find that Vilkas and the bear had the second Silver Hand pinned against the barred doorway. It took only moments for them to finish him off. The bear looked at them and plodded away to the center of the space before dissipating in a noisy ball of magic.
“You ok?” he whispered to Vilkas.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Chip threw the lever beside the bars, wondering as he watched them drop what might have needed to be locked in below behind these bars and a closed wooden door. When he opened the door, he was struck full in the face by the unmistakable scent of lycanthropes – werebears, most likely. He glanced at Vilkas, who nodded. He smelled it, too.
They eased forward toward a dimly-lit space lined with barrels. Noisy breathing off to the right grew more and more noticeable as they neared the end of the hallway, as did the tangy scent of dead animal.
They stepped out into the open. Chip caught three distinct impressions: there were two lycanthropes in a cage to the right, one living and one dead. There was a pressure plate in the floor, presumably attached to the deadly spiked wall just past it. And there was a bandit heading directly for them.
“Floor!” he called out to Vilkas, trying to roll past the bandit and the trap so as to get a better angle of attack. He turned and raised his bow, but then watched the battle behind him for just a moment, admiring Vilkas’ skill. That sword was heavy, and the woman was beating on it; but Vilkas stood his ground calmly, blocking until there was an opening and then laying the bandit open, not having exhausted himself with useless flailing.
I guess there’s a reason he’s the master-at-arms, eh?
Chip stared sadly at the trapped werebear. He’d learned his lesson with Aela; the ones who didn’t revert on their own were too far gone to be set free safely. He met Vilkas’ gaze and saw shared sorrow. Vilkas shook his head, and Chip sighed, turning to follow the passage downward through the cluttered ruins.
A wooden door at the bottom of another half-flight opened into a large, rough-hewn cave dominated by what seemed to be a huge brewing vat. Before he could really take that information in, though, a Silver Hand on a platform next to the vat turned, spied them, and attacked. Vilkas growled “Move” and pushed past into the open, to meet the bandit. They were fully engaged when a second bandit appeared from the left, swinging.
Chip didn’t dare fire in the direction of the main battle for fear of striking Vilkas. But the second bandit was far enough away that he made a perfect target. Chip’s arrow buried itself into the bandit’s chest in a direct hit, dropping him.
“Enough!” the first bandit wailed just before Vilkas’ greatsword ended him. Before Vilkas could take a deep breath, though, yet another female bandit ran toward him from the left.
“You’re a disgrace to…” the woman began, only to be silenced as Vilkas, growling deep in his throat, turned from his last kill and swung in a fluid arc that might easily have been a part of the previous one.
How did he do that? He didn’t even have time to aim!
Chip wasn’t certain the space was empty, quite yet, and his own senses were slightly overloaded by the onslaught of scents beyond. He lobbed a wolf arrow into the room and waited, grinning in satisfaction in the next moment as he heard the wolf snapping at a bandit. He stepped out past the pile of bodies and looked left, where the fight was happening against a backdrop of snow, almost blindingly bright after the long stretches of dark corridor. It was over quickly enough.
The original walls of this fortress’ basement had been broken through and now opened into a snowy cave holding two cages, each with a werebear and a dead food animal inside. They were keeping the lycanthropes alive. It made no sense to Chip, unless their sole purpose was to torture the creatures. The werewolf heads on spikes just outside each cage reinforced that idea. He felt terrible. He didn’t want to leave the beasts alive to suffer a slow demise from hunger, and yet he didn’t want to free them or kill them, either.
“Just go,” Vilkas murmured, obviously understanding what was going through Chip’s mind.
The next chamber confirmed his suspicions. It was a fully-equipped torture room, complete with a dead werebear on the floor, joined in short order by the corpse of the man who’d been overseeing its torture.
“Why werebears, though?” he whispered. “I don’t understand it.” And he didn’t, but he did know that he felt their deaths much more deeply than he’d expected. There was something about them that tugged at him, the same way the bear he’d had to kill with Aela had tugged at him.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to make them pay,” Vilkas snarled.
A moment later they had a chance to do just that. The room emptied onto a balcony overlooking a fireplace, before which stood two men warming their hands. Chip’s first arrow struck one of them; but his armor was well-hardened and it took three shots to kill the man. Vilkas rushed down into the chamber and took out the second Silver Hand. As Chip approached, Vilkas surprised him by giving him the closest thing to a grin that he’d ever seen.
“Teamwork, eh?”
Beyond the fireplace were stairs leading up toward the center of the fort, into a multi-story chamber with a platform just across from them. Chip took aim and fired; but the target didn’t seem to drop. He shot again, and still he didn’t see movement. Then he cursed floridly. What he’d fired at was a practice dummy leaning against the railing, at just the right angle to be mistaken for a person.
The Silver Hand bandits that were up there, however, came rushing down. There was a woman and a very green Orc in barbarian armor. The battle was brief, but strenuous; when both their foes lay dead on the floor Vilkas and Chip stood, panting, and nodded at each other.
“I think we’ve done it,” Chip said. “I can’t hear or smell anyone else.”
“Aye,” Vilkas said. “We’ve brought death to the Silver Hand, just as we vowed. And a fair bit of terror, too, I’d wager. Now let’s retrieve Wuuthrad and get back to Jorrvaskr. We’ll want to pay our respects to Kodlak’s spirit.”
“Oh yeah,” Chip said, scratching his head as his inner wolf started agitating about meat. “I’d almost forgotten.” He walked up to the platform and discovered, to his amazement, that he had in fact killed a Silver Hand with his first shot. The body lay on the floor in a direct line of sight between where Chip had been standing and the practice dummy. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “My eyes tricked me, but I actually hit him.”
The fragments of Wuuthrad had been arranged on a wooden table as though the enemy had been trying to figure out how to reassemble the broken weapon. “Look at this, Vilkas,” he said. “Were they going to try to repair it?”
“Wouldn’t work,” Vilkas snorted. “They don’t have all the pieces. Neither do we. That’s why we have that special display for the ones we’ve gathered over the years. Anyway, let’s get going.”
They found the exit – a barred door – and opened it. Chip was trotting out alongside Vilkas when they passed the corpse of the first Silver Hand they’d killed, and the werewolf whined loudly.
Meat!
“You go, Vilkas,” Chip said. “I’ll follow along as quickly as I can. There’s something I need to take care of. I promised.”
“Wait, you’re not really going to…” Vilkas protested.
“Sure am,” Chip grinned, as the transformation process began. “Feel free to join me.”
A moment later he looked at Vilkas and saw the older man’s admiration of him as a werewolf. Vilkas ground his teeth, though, and shook his head. As the werewolf bent to devour the corpse, he thought he heard Vilkas moan.
It doesn’t matter. Meat.
He lost track of time, and of Vilkas, and of everything else while he retraced their steps through the fort, consuming all of the corpses he could find. There were probably twenty of them, maybe a few more. He wasn’t certain. It didn’t matter. He could feel himself gaining in power with each. He left the fort and consumed the Silver Hand he’d killed on their approach. Then he started south, following the scent of Vilkas’ footsteps and that of the corpses Vilkas had left behind, consuming each one he found. He ran into a pair of vampires that had taken down several Vigilants, and killed them, then consumed the dead Vigilants. He ran and ran, the celebration in his soul over having defeated the enemy growing louder and louder until…
“Wait!” Vilkas had caught up to him from behind and was calling to him, panting.
Chip stopped and howled up at the moon.
“Chip!” Vilkas shouted, his voice commanding attention. “Stop. You have to stop. We’re too close to Whiterun. You can’t go back like that.”
Chip looked down at himself and saw the huge, clawed hands and feet, the red fur, and the blood and gore splattered over all of them.
Oh. Yeah. We can’t, can we?
No. I sleep.
He sighed, closed his eyes, and endured the breathtaking but mercifully brief, searing pain as he reverted to his human form. He dropped to his knees for a moment to pray, feeling the warmth of Hircine’s approval; then rose again, and nodded to Vilkas.
“Thanks. I think I was getting a bit carried away.” How do you do it, Vilkas? How can you keep from allowing that side of you to enjoy its existence? I’ll never understand it, but it must take all the strength you have.
“Maybe just a little,” Vilkas said with a lopsided grin, as they closed the distance to Whiterun’s gate. “I’ve never seen anyone eat that much in one go before. Not even Farkas.”
Chip laughed. “You…could have joined me, you know,” he said tentatively.
Vilkas shook his head. “No. I have fought it too long to give in now. Not even for a success like wiping out the Silver Hand. There is too much grief involved to consider it a celebration. To have lost both Skjor and Kodlak, well… I would consider it a defeat if I gave up now.”
“Hmm,” Chip murmured, not wanting to say something that would irritate the older wolf. They’d worked together like they’d always been a team, and he’d been genuinely impressed with Vilkas’ skills – his strength, his fluid, graceful movements that conserved energy only to have it explode to its greatest effect. It would be a shame to argue with him now about being a werewolf.
“Don’t worry,” Vilkas said as if he’d read Chip’s mind. “I don’t hold it against you. Kodlak understood. It’s probably obvious to you that both Aela and Skjor enjoyed everything about having the Gift. It’s… personal, I think.”
Chip looked sideways at Vilkas as they walked up to Whiterun’s gate. I may have misjudged him. I would have half expected him to start pressuring us to cure ourselves.
He thought for a moment about the exchange they’d had beside Kodlak’s body and frowned. He’d been so angry at Vilkas, but… Vilkas had also been in pain.
Maybe I should just give him a chance. He was just reacting out of grief. That didn’t keep him from having my back in the fortress.
“The others have probably prepared Kodlak’s funeral by now,” Vilkas said as they entered the city. “Come up to the Skyforge to pay your respects.”
“Of course,” Chip said. He hadn’t realized they would hold the funeral there, but it made sense. Where better to build a pyre than above the very forge that had prompted Ysgramor and his companions to build Jorrvaskr in the first place? He followed Vilkas through the darkened city and up the stairs to the Skyforge.
He had to work not to gasp aloud. All of the Companions were there – and that he had expected. But so were the Jarl and his household, and Eorlund, and really anyone with any connection to Kodlak who could have been reached on such short notice. He felt out of place, really, as he approached the forge and heard Eorlund speak.
“Who will start?”
“I’ll do it,” Aela said.
Chip knew they were about to perform a call-and-response ceremony, much like the one they’d done for him when he became part of the Circle. But, sadly, he did not know the words. He would remain respectfully silent. Still, it moved him that Aela had offered to begin.
Good. Good, Aela. I know you and Kodlak didn’t always see eye to eye, so it’s especially appropriate that you be the one to start the ceremony.
“Before the ancient flames,” she said.
“We grieve,” everyone responded, their timing scattered so that when Chip breathed “we grieve” under his breath it didn’t seem jarring at all.
Eorlund spoke next. “At this loss…”
“We weep,” people responded. Vilkas waited, his voice joining Chip’s a moment behind all the others. Chip felt a lump rise into his throat.
Thank you, Vilkas.
There was a moment of silence before Vilkas’ firm voice rang out. “For the fallen…”
“We shout!” the assemblage returned. Chip couldn’t get his voice to respond, much less to shout, but he closed his eyes and nodded.
“And for ourselves,” Farkas said, his familiar tones making Chip smile in spite of the solemn moment.
“We take our leave,” was the answer to his call.
“We take our leave,” Chip whispered, just barely audibly. Even though it is far too soon.
Aela stepped forward, torch in hand, and set the pyre alight. It surely would have gone up on its own, resting as it was just above the heat of the forge; but this was the symbolic thing to do and Aela performed it with dignity.
“His spirit is departed,” she said. “Members of the Circle, let us withdraw to the Underforge to grieve our last together.”
The congregants began to disperse. Chip knew he was expected to join the others, but somehow felt uncomfortable simply heading to the Underforge before they did. He was spared any indecision, though, by Eorlund’s approach.
“Do you have the fragments of Wuuthrad, still?” the old smith asked. “I’ll need to prepare them for mounting again.”
“What?” Chip hadn’t expected that. “Oh! Of course. Yes, here you go.” He handed them to Eorlund.
“Thank you. I have a small favor to ask of you,” Eorlund said. “There’s another piece. Kodlak always kept it close to himself.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Would you go to his chambers and bring it back for me? I’m not sure I’m the best one to go through his things.”
Chip snorted. “And you think I am? But of course, I’ll do this for you. Seems like the least I can do.”
“I appreciate it,” Eorlund said, turning to leave.
The smithy had emptied by the time Chip slipped down the back staircase into Jorrvaskr and then down the stairs into the living quarters. It was eerily quiet as he made his way down the hall one more time, this time continuing past the chair where he’d last seen Kodlak, and going into the Harbinger’s private room. He wandered through the space, randomly touching objects, sighing, and finally speaking aloud.
“I’m really sorry our last talk was an argument, Kodlak. All I really wanted was to know why I’m the way I am, and I assumed you would know because you were the oldest and wisest. But I did what you asked me to do.” It’s still sad that our last words were tinged with anger, though. I wish it had been otherwise.
He finally got serious about searching for the fragment. Kodlak had chests, tables with drawers and satchels in every corner of the room. For all he knew, the fragment might have been under a plate, or tucked under a pillow. He hadn’t found it by the time he opened the drawer in Kodlak’s bedside stand.
There were a few odds and ends inside, including a journal that Chip lifted out and set on the bed. Beneath it was a familiar piece of broken metal with one sharpened edge; he retrieved that and slipped it into a pouch.
“Finally. Now then…”
He picked up the journal to return it; but the clasp was loose and it fell open. Chip was about to close it when his own name called up at him from the page.
“What the…?”
He sank slowly onto the edge of the bed, guiltily looking through the pages, his face burning. I shouldn’t be reading this. These are his personal thoughts. But I saw my name… Maybe I’ll learn what he couldn’t tell me in person…
Kodlak wrote of his dreams of the former Harbingers, especially Terrfyg, the man who had first brought the gift of lycanthropy to the Companions. He had dreamed of facing the spirit wolf who had taken Terrfyg, in the company of a stranger. That dream had given him hope that he might have a choice, to go to Sovngarde rather than the Hunting Grounds when he died.
He had spoken to the Circle about this. Chip smiled when he read Kodlak’s description of Vilkas. “The boy is as fierce as a saber cat in battle, but his heart’s fire burns too brightly at times,” Kodlak wrote.
Maybe we rubbed each other the wrong way because we’re too much alike.
Then his hair threatened to stand on end. Kodlak wrote of the day Chip had wandered into Jorrvaskr, looking for Lydia. “It was the stranger from my dream, the one who would stand with me against the beast.” Chip’s stomach tied itself up in knots and his heart began to pound.
Me? I was the one in his dream? And he expected me to be the one to help him cure his condition?
I guess… I guess he did. That was why he sent me to kill the witches.
Kodlak had been aware of what he and Aela had been doing, the whole time. He understood their motivations, but he worried. It was right here in the pages of the journal.
Then Chip read something that made his blood freeze.
“I have high hopes for his destiny, as I realized that his appearance in my dream may indeed mark him as the Harbinger to succeed me.”
Chip slammed the cover of the journal closed, put it back in the drawer, and closed the nightstand, then stood. The room started spinning around him; so he stood leaning against Kodlak’s desk with his head hanging down, breathing slowly.
No. It’s impossible. It’s ridiculous, even. He must have been closer to the end than we knew to even ponder such a thing.
I have to get this fragment to Eorlund, as soon as it’s light.
He ran from the room and found one of the empty beds in the main bedchamber. He huddled beneath the cover, shivering, but sleep refused to come.