Dale leaped down the stones of the hillside, landing near the lumber mill. Beside him was a steep cleft in the mountains, carved over eons by water flowing down from the Reach to meet the Sea of Ghosts near Solitude. Between the spray from those falls and the cold, dense fog from the river beyond, the town of Dragon Bridge seemed eerily deserted, its sounds muffled except for the quiet, regular splashing of the nearby water wheel.
It had seemed more expedient to cross the ridgeline overland rather than take the beaten path from Volkihar Castle. The fewer encounters the better, as far as he was concerned. This area was rife with bandits even on the best of days, and that meant there were a great many other vampires out hunting at night. He didn’t want confrontations.
“Well then,” he murmured, casting his illusion spell before approaching the mill. I need to find the source of the rumors. And if I am not misremembering, our local innkeeper is one of the most shameless gossips in the entire province. I’ll go speak to her first.
The fog was lifting as he passed the lumberyard, forcing himself to walk rather than run. At a walk, he was just another Imperial traveling in what was still a largely Imperial hold in spite of being under Nord rule. If he ran, he stood out because of his speed. Walking, he was –
What did Agryn call my father? A cipher? That’s me at a walk. Utterly unremarkable.
He was highly annoyed, therefore, when the innkeeper Faida – a middle-aged Nord who was utterly unremarkable in her own right – peered at him and shook her head.
“There’s something different about you,” she said. “I can tell. Hope you ain’t here to cause trouble.”
Dale had composed his face into what he hoped was a pleasant-enough smile as he’d approached her. Now he fought to keep it frozen in place, even as he chuckled as charmingly as he was able.
“Not at all. Not at all. I’m merely seeking directions. And, possibly, some information.”
“Hmm,” she said, looking him over with worldly-wise suspicion. “I tend to keep my customers’ private business private, if you know what I mean.”
His smile faded, in spite of his best efforts to keep it in place.
“No, you don’t understand. I’ve been hearing rumors and wondered whether you might have heard them as well.”
“Mmm-hmm. What kind of rumors?” Faida asked, leaning over the counter toward him.
“Vampires? A vampire… city, somewhere? A person can’t be too careful these days and I’d like to steer clear if I am able.”
“Well yes, actually. I hear people talking about a vampire city, just like you said. Can you imagine? Sounds like a load of bull to me. But you never know. There used to be stories about a place like that from way back. Second era. Maybe even earlier. But they’re just old stories.”
“Alright then,” Dale said. Damn, that doesn’t help at all aside from repeating what I already knew from Agryn. Well, I guess there’s no help for it. I’m going to have to try Whiterun and then make my way to Ivarstead as Serana suggested.
“It’s a shame,” Faida said, surprising Dale out of his thoughts.
“What is?”
“They used to say that Falion of Morthal studied vampires, draugr, and all manner of undead. He might have helped, if there are vampires out and about.”
“Why do you say ‘used to’?”
“He got killed in some kind of attack, back quite a ways now. He was said to be the only one who could cure a vampire. Shame he’s not around anymore.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Dale murmured. “Thank you for your help.” He turned to leave.
This woman sees what people shouldn’t see when they look in my direction. The less time I spend lingering here, the better.
“Because you know they’ve also been talking about attacks, out near Ivarstead. It would have been good if someone could cure the vampires. Just a thought. It’s probably not related.”
Dale whirled to stare at her again. “Ivarstead, you say?”
“That’s what I heard. Probably just drunken ramblings.”
He took a second to compose himself. That’s what I was looking for, Madame. I thank you. “Yes, probably. You have my thanks, at any rate.”
He slipped out the door into the sun. The fog had burned off and it was a gorgeous day.
And I can’t stay out in it. I think this would be an excellent time to go visit a mausoleum for awhile.
Dale winced. As beautiful a day as it was – and it was truly lovely here in Whiterun, with sky as blue as his mortal eyes and air warmed by the sun – the daylight was uncomfortable to be in. He stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust, looking up at the great mountains to his south and east.
Next stop, the other side of that one.
He hadn’t planned on spending the previous day in his coffin, but it had turned out well in spite of that. He’d gotten rested, and on his trip through to Whiterun Hold he’d had engaging and enjoyable battles with two giants, their mammoth, at least one frost troll – maybe two. I lost count – and an ice wraith. With each battle he felt a bit stronger, a bit more like the vampire Agryn clearly hoped he would become. He’d arrived in Whiterun very deep in the night, taking the opportunity to sample the blood of several guards, one of the town drunks, and a number of citizens sleeping at the inn. He was very careful to ensure that none of them died. Being caught out as a vampire, here in one of the largest cities in the province, would be an unwelcome surprise. He did not like surprises.
Now he was headed out to Ivarstead. He’d considered waiting to travel during the night, but he was heading into less familiar parts of Skyrim and had no desire to be surprised.
He stopped on the bridge over the White River, trying to decide which way to go. He was familiar with the southerly road that would take him to Riverwood, but in order to reach Ivarstead from there he would need to pass through Helgen and traverse the narrow mountain pass where ambushes were easy to stage. He wasn’t sure he wanted to travel it on a day as bright as this, when the sun rendered him weaker than usual.
Rumor had it that there was a trailhead, not far from the giants’ camp at Guldun Rock, for a path that avoided several old Imperial installations by hugging the mountainside. After watching the salmon leap up the White River’s rapids for a few minutes he decided that, yes – the unknown trail would still be safer than the known but populated pathways.
Dale crossed the river and walked up the slope to the east. He could just make out the flickering of a huge bonfire – the giants’ camp, a good distance away. Just beyond that was Valtheim, the place he most wanted to avoid. In groups of one or two, bandits were easy enough to slay, but there tended to be large congregations of unsavory types squatting in the old towers – which were, after all, choice locations.
Dale was about to make for the trailhead when motion and sound to his left caught his attention. Just ahead was a rocky knoll, crowned by several triliths around an old standing stone. What caught Dale’s attention even more than the ancient structures were the heartbeat and the chanting of a woman, as clear as if she stood directly beside him. He crouched to stay below her line of sight and crept across the road to the stone stairway up the hillock. The chanting became clearer and more definitive the closer he got.
That’s a raise zombie spell. It’s another damned necromancer. Just very poor planning and bad luck on her part, that she should be attempting a spell just as I’m passing, but alas. What can I do? There’s no help for it. And I’m not even going to pretend, this time.
“Well hello there!” he called out, watching in satisfaction as the necromancer whirled to face him, readying her dagger. He stood and pulled his own blade from its sheath, preparing to summon his gargoyle. “It seems to me that you may have been performing some necromancy just now and I’m sorry to say that I can’t have that.”
“You’ll wish you hadn’t come here!” the woman exclaimed.
Dale shook his head. “I’m sorry to contradict. I know that various specimens of my gender are altogether too eager to second-guess a woman. But the fact is that I’m delighted to be here at the moment. It means there will be one less stinking necromancer in the world to disrupt souls at rest!”
He was snarling by the time he finished speaking, and so was the gargoyle that he conjured just between himself and the mage. He could feel his illusion fading even as he growled, and thought Good. Let’s give her a bit of a fright before she joins the legions of those she’s tortured.
The gargoyle leapt toward her and was struck full-on by the mage’s very powerful frost spell. Dale laughed. Frost wasn’t going to do much more than make him uncomfortable for a moment, and the gargoyle certainly didn’t care. Two skeletons rose from their heaps near the standing stone; Dale rushed around the outer edge of the platform taking each of them down with a couple of quick slashes and a bit of vampiric draining magic.
The necromancer was attempting to raise something else – while still shouting at the gargoyle that she would see it burn – when Dale stepped up beside her and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and had just enough time for her eyes to register terror at the sight of an angry vampire with fangs bared, before those fangs ripped into her throat.
Dale drained the woman. Whatever she had been recalling from death fell back to the ground as a pile of ash, and he dropped her onto the stones beside it. The gargoyle gave a roar of satisfaction and dissipated.
Dale chuckled. “Thank you, my friend. Once more you’ve done an admirable job. And as for you,” he hissed, looking down at the necromancer’s body, “I hope your soul is never at rest. You sicken me.”
He took her few coins. While he couldn’t tell for certain, he was reasonably sure the standing stone she’d been guarding had properties to do with necromancy. He wanted nothing more to do with it.
If not for the fact that I respect the achievements of days gone by I would topple the damned thing so that nobody could ever use its magic again. But the old magicks are to be given a wide berth and a degree of honor. I would not wish to be the one who ran afoul of it.
The trailhead he had been looking for was well-marked by a pair of stone cairns, but just a few paces up the hill the trail itself became nothing more than a shallow indentation in the grass. Because alpine grass was a tender thing – this he knew from helping his mother try to keep flora alive on the more exposed slopes of their home – its presence here meant that most folk were keeping to the established road these days.
I wonder what is up here in the hills, then. I’m sure to find out, whatever it is.
The trail was a series of switchbacks across this north-facing slope, a vigorous climb even for someone with a vampire’s strength. Not too far up, the terrain changed from alpine tundra to snow-covered. It was slippery and very cold, even for him. He was happy to stop for a breath and listen to hawks warning the wildlife of his presence as he neared the top. Looking back across the tundra he gazed in awe at the sheer size of Dragon’s Reach, dominating the countryside from its rocky perch. He could also see the circle of stones where he’d just dispatched the necromancer. He stared at it for a moment, shaking his head.
I don’t understand why necromancers make me so angry, but they do. There was just something about those ghosts telling me they were being used against their will.
I know I’m not supposed to have a soul any longer, now that I’m undead myself. But I’d like to think that when I finally lay it down whatever is left of me won’t be forced to fight for someone just for the sake of her own entertainment.
Having caught his breath, Dale continued. The trail snaked back and forth several more times until at last it turned southeast, through a steep cleft in the mountainside. This passage made him nervous in the same way the pass east of Helgen made him nervous. It would be entirely too easy for someone to mount an ambush here by hiding behind boulders or on a ledge above the path, the sound of any movements drowned out by the cold rush of wind through its narrow walls. There was no place to go, not even for someone who could leap twice as high as an average man could.
Dale didn’t like being nervous and he liked surprises even less; there was no help for it, though. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the narrow pass. It was a place fit only for mountain goats, he thought, just before encountering a group of four goats scrambling over the rocks ahead of him.
And then, almost as abruptly as the grasslands had given way to snow, the trail dropped from its height, over the snowy crest and out, down into green grass and trees. The air became warmer and moister. The howling of the mountain winds gave way to a quieter breeze, carrying birdsong and the call of loons from a pool somewhere below.
Dale found himself taking a huge, shuddering breath.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Nobody knows who I am. Nobody connects me to the father I’ve never seen, the man Agryn assures me was not widely known. Nobody got the drop on me. I’m fine.
I guess I was expecting to meet whatever has kept people off this mountainside. But all there is up there is horrid weather and treacherous terrain. I guess if you’re mortal that’s a good enough reason to avoid this shortcut, all by itself.
The trail wound through a stretch of heavy undergrowth and then met another trail, far heavier trodden, devoid of grasses and deeply indented into the ground. It passed a long-abandoned gateway, topped another rise, and then descended to the narrow western fork of the Darkwater River rushing headlong through the stony gap near Ivarstead and flinging itself over the cliff on its way to Darkwater Crossing.
He picked his way across the shallow river, rock-hopping and trying not to slip on any of them. Even as strong as he was it would take very little for the rushing waters to drag him over the massive drop at the cliff’s edge, and he didn’t know exactly what was below. He was certain whatever it was, it would be hard and painful to land on, and he couldn’t afford an injury on a day as bright as this one was.
He made it safely to the far shore, only to catch the scent of death. He frowned, following his nose upriver to a dugout under the river’s embankment. A troll’s den, it was, containing a recently-killed and partially consumed deer carcass. That wasn’t the source of the worst odors, though. On either end of the cave was a dead Stormcloak soldier, between them a pile of well-gnawed bones in various states of decomposition.
Even as accustomed to death as he was, Dale was put off by the pungent odors. He did kneel, however, to check the soldiers. Perhaps he could report their deaths to ingratiate himself with the local authorities. The first man had only a few coins and a bit of food, his weapons having been scattered. The second, though, carried a blood-spattered note ordering them to investigate a series of deaths in the area – with an observation from their captain that it was likely just wolves.
“Sorry, my fine fellow,” Dale murmured, rising back to his feet. “The two of you weren’t expecting a troll. I hope your demise was quick and painless.” He wrinkled his nose. There’s nothing as bad as troll. Just nothing. I can’t even entertain the idea of taking these men’s blood for an emergency.
The trail led him upward past Ivarstead’s northern watchtower next to a stone bridge, and then became the town’s main street. He glanced across to the far side of the bridge and noted a long, winding path with embedded, ancient-looking stone steps, leading up the side of the great mountain. He’d heard of this place on his previous trip through Ivarstead but hadn’t investigated it. He’d been here in the dark, on a mission, and had found his desire to explore blunted by the encounter with Qaralana.
It must be the path up to High Hrothgar. I can’t imagine why else someone would build that permanent a trail in that spot.
He stared for a few minutes, getting a sense of the place. Ivarstead looked much different in daylight than it had at night, coming in from the opposite direction. Then he shook himself back into alertness. He was here to look for information, not to see the sights.
The sound of someone chopping firewood caught his attention. Dale walked the perimeter of the nearby fence until he was able to let himself inside the lumberyard, and approached the person doing the chopping – a Bosmer, he noted once he could see the mer’s ears. He suddenly remembered the Bosmer who had nearly run over him and Qaralana in the Vilemyr Inn. This had to be the same person, but for the life of him he could not recall the name he’d been given.
The divine Miss Qaralana seems to have addled my wits on that visit more than I thought. I wonder when I might see her again. I don’t mind having my wits addled.
Well, I need to find rumors. May as well start here.
“Hello, my good man. Might I have a moment of your time?” he asked, approaching the Bosmer.
“Hello, friend! Good to see you again!” the mer answered with a broad smile. “What can I do for you on such a fine day?”
Dale tried not to wince as he looked up at the sky for appearance’s sake, and to cover the fact that he was trying desperately to remember a name that simply had gone in one ear and out the other. It was a lovely day. It was also very bright, and very hot if one was a vampire.
“It is a fine day, indeed. And you seem most happy to be outside in it.”
The Bosmer smiled. “My father taught me an important lesson many years ago. He said ‘Gwilin, you have the whole world before you. Go out and experience it! Be whatever you want to be.’ So I took his advice, and here I am! This life might not look like much to you, but I’m content. And isn’t that all that matters?”
Dale found himself unable to formulate any sort of reply, for just a moment. He was struck dumb by a combination of sadness and a weird sort of envy.
Contentment. I don’t know whether I’ve experienced that since I was just a small child helping my mother around the cottage. As to having a father to give me advice and support…
Well I’m sure I don’t know what that is like, and I don’t know why it should suddenly bother me.
But now I have his name again. Gwilin.
He was finally able to form his expression into something like a smile. “I can see that you’re content. It shows on your face and even in your movements. Thank you for sharing some of that with me.” He felt confident that he was not going to learn anything about vampires from this bright ray of sunshine, so he gave Gwilin a slight bow and moved past him, through the lumberyard and behind a nearby chicken coop to re-cast his illusion spell before continuing up the road.
A mother and her daughter working in the farmyard weren’t likely to know anything about a vampire city. He made a sour face. He could ask the guards, but such a blunt inquiry from a stranger might raise more questions than it answered. He wandered up the rise to the center of Ivarstead and was considering popping into the inn – if for no other reason than to get out of the sun – when he heard a commotion back near the lumber mill.
An opportunity to be helpful. I can use this.
He dashed back down the hill right behind the two guards, who were drawing their weapons. Gwilin was running away, toward the center of town, and so was a burly Nord Dale hadn’t met. The mother and daughter duo had vanished. Dale frowned, not seeing what the guards were seeing. Then a distinctive sound – and even more memorable odor – reached him.
Well I’ll be damned, there he is. He must have been hunting elsewhere when I rifled through his den.
A troll, the very shade of reddish-brown that would serve as camouflage nearly anywhere in the Rift, came barreling across the stone bridge. By the amount of blood on its fur it must have fed very recently; Dale caught a quick glimpse of a shape on the bottom-most of the Seven Thousand Steps and hoped it wasn’t the troll’s most recent meal.
He hesitated for a moment. There was only so much he could do to help. Alone, he could have taken the troll down easily and quickly. The two guards, however, were absolutely in the way, one of them swinging an enormous greatsword in a mostly uncontrolled arc that had the potential for disaster. So he took a step or two toward the battle, aimed, and summoned his gargoyle to intercept the troll’s travel. It roared and took several wide swipes at the troll; the guards backed up, one of them continuing to fire arrows and the other missing the beast with a gargantuan, wild swing of the greatsword. Dale slipped into the midst once the sword was clear of the battle, to finish off the troll with a quick application of his shortsword.
There. Observed being helpful. I will take that. I’d report the dead guards downstream, but they’ll be found soon enough and I don’t want to make a connection between myself and dead bodies if I can help it. I’m looking for vampires. Nobody needs to suspect that I’m one as well.
He took a moment to slip into the chill waters of the river, to wash some of the spattered troll blood off his clothing and to check for signs of vampire-damaged corpses along the banks. There was a broken-down house nestled snugly against the roots of the mountain, across the river from the main town, but its damage was clearly the result of fire, not vampires. He shook his head. It was time to search out more fertile ground for information: the inn.
Gwilin and the Nord he’d seen running away from the troll were both headed into the inn, so he followed them. It would look like the most natural thing possible: the near-escapees of a death by troll could all use a good, stiff drink. He pushed the door open and entered.
“Welcome to the Vilemyr Inn. If there’s anything I can get you, just let me know.”
Wilhelm, if I remember correctly. He thought we really were going to share a room.
He smiled, remembering Qaralana’s awkward phrasing when she asked if he would like to share her evening. She’d intended to say that she was planning on renting a room after the meal, but that’s not what Wilhelm had heard.
The auburn-haired man he’d seen on his last visit sat in the middle of the room. Dale didn’t particularly want to speak to him but Agryn would be irate if he somehow managed to miss the one clue that was important, so he stepped up beside the man and cleared his throat.
“Hello there. I’m sure you don’t recall our previous meeting, but…”
The man sneered at him. “No, I don’t. And even if we have met before, is it absolutely necessary for you to bother me right now?”
Dale felt his jaw muscles clench as he tried to control the burst of red-hot anger that struck him. “Not for long, my good sir. I’m just looking for the source of some rumors of, well,” he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “vampires. Have you heard of such a thing?”
The man sniffed disdainfully. “Ask Wilhelm. He’s the keeper of the rumors, as well as the inn. And do go away, would you?”
I’d best do just that before the rumors of vampire attacks become more than just rumors.
He nodded curtly and stepped up to the bar. The old Nord started speaking, and Dale realized that he’d heard this spiel before. The man wasn’t even looking directly at him.
“If I were you, I’d keep away from the barrow on the east side of town. It’s haunted.”
“This again, Wilhelm?” That was the obnoxious redhead behind Dale. “You’ve been going on like this for … twenty years or more and nobody has ever found a ghost in that barrow.”
“I’ve seen one of the spirits with my very own eyes!” Wilhelm protested. “When it glared at me I swear it burned right through my soul!”
“Well your soul has seemed intact enough to me, all this time,” the man snorted. “Surely you’d have been dead long ago if it was actually an evil spirit of some sort.”
Dale grinned. “Do the spirits haunt Ivarstead as well?” he asked, wondering whether the rumors about Ivarstead and vampires might be connected in some way to this.
“Fortunately they seem to be sticking to the barrow. I think they’re guarding it.” He frowned. “Certainly isn’t helping my business any. Who’d want to rent a room anywhere near a haunted barrow?”
“That’s a good point,” Dale said, realizing that Wilhelm clearly didn’t remember him. Wilhelm was also clearly hoping he would go investigate. In fact, he thought, he’s undoubtedly been trying to get some brave adventurer to investigate for years if my friend back there is giving him a hard time about it.
But Dale didn’t much feel like poking around in a barrow, especially not when his sire was anxiously awaiting some report from him. He changed the subject.
“Have you heard any rumors lately?” he asked. If Wilhelm was in fact the local gossip-monger, he’d have heard something.
Wilhelm gave him a sly look. “Have you seen that shrine of Azura? They say the dark elves built it after they fled from Morrowind. Sight to see!”
Dale once more found himself fighting to keep a fake smile plastered across his face. “Yes I have seen it. It’s quite visible. And very impressive.”
I’m not getting anything out of this man without doing him a favor. Well – I survived Potema; there’s not going to be anything in that barrow that can harm me. I’d best just do it and be done with it.
He nodded to Wilhelm, turned, and left the Inn, hoping that he could get an answer for Wilhelm. Then maybe he could get an answer for himself.