After giving Dale Perdeti the contract for the mage in Winterhold Sayma had waited, deep in thought, until she was certain he was well under way. Seeing the young man who looked so much like Andante had been, to say the least, unsettling. She’d almost not wanted to believe Brynjolf about him but there was no argument to be had that he was Andante’s son.
Finally, she turned to Nazir again.
“I’m going to go speak to the Night Mother, Nazir.”
“Very well, Listener. I’ll keep the others away.” He paused. “Perhaps you should be the one to speak to Cicero.”
She chuckled. It didn’t matter how many years went by; Nazir was never going to like Cicero.
“Is there… something the matter?” Nazir asked quietly.
“Oh, nothing overwhelming, Nazir. Thanks for asking. It’s just my…”
“Your husband, again, I take it,” he said dryly.
Sayma heaved a sigh. “Yes. Again. The man has no self-confidence, even though you’d never be able to tell by just talking to him. Every time I think we’ve finally worked everything out between us something else happens to dredge up issues from the past. The worst of it is that we’ve been very happy. For a long time. That’s part of the reason you haven’t seen me as often as you might have.”
“Indeed.”
Oh, he’s good. I know he’s never approved of having a married Listener. To say nothing of Bryn knowing where and what the Sanctuary is. And he’s never said a single thing to me that wasn’t completely respectful, even though I know Astrid was where his loyalties lay, at least until the very end.
But what did he expect? After all, Andante was…
She tsk’d at herself.
Andante was. And that’s bad enough all by itself. To think that his son is here as well!
Well, I’ve been putting it off long enough. Time to go.
She turned back to the staircase and made her way slowly up it, stopping to look back over the main hall. She smiled, remembering what it had looked like when the stained glass marking the Sanctuary’s secret entrance had been merely broken shards opening into a freezing cold tunnel that included a troll’s den. Since she’d opened the Sanctuary back up, that tunnel was regularly patrolled and its entrance beyond Dawnstar’s western gate carefully watched. Nobody got in or out without her say-so, or Nazir’s, or Babette’s. She sighed, wondering how long she’d be looking at the space. It could be an hour. It could be a day. It could be the rest of her life.
Or some combination of those things.
Well, I’m stalling. I need to stop stalling.
She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Brynjolf this trip had been in the works for some time. She’d been running the conversation through her mind, over and over, for months now. It was every bit as fraught as the first one with the Night Mother had been, and she’d been putting it off as often as she’d thought it over.
Sayma stood near the top of the stairs, staring at the ornate coffin and the equally, if improbably, ornate man dancing around in front of it. She approached him carefully, clearing her throat to alert him that there was someone behind him. He hadn’t stabbed anyone in all these years, not since nearly gutting Astrid’s husband Arnbjorn at the doorway of the Sanctuary. It would not do, though, to inadvertently find out that he was currently carrying a dagger.
“Cicero, I need to speak to our Lady. Alone. Could you be a good Keeper and go see how things are downstairs? Check on supplies, that sort of thing?”
Cicero turned and beamed at her, as he always did. “Of course, Listener! I am always willing to serve, Listener.” He immediately trotted away, bouncing down over the stairs. She heard a low murmur followed by a loud giggle.
“Don’t test me, jester,” Nazir growled loudly. That was, she knew, his way of letting her know that Cicero still bothered him.
Well I do suppose the Keeper’s a bit trying. And if you have to be here with him all the time… At least I’ve been off in Riften. Noisy children are bad enough but I’ve had at least the semblance of a peaceful life.
She turned her attention back to the ancient corpse that Cicero tended so well. Approaching the dais on which the coffin sat, she dropped to her knees as if in prayer. She’d never understood how it worked, exactly, but she was able to communicate with the Night Mother using her mind alone, and she did so now.
Mother, I’ve come to ask something of you. I know it’s not my place. You are the one who speaks and I listen. But something weighs on me, terribly.
A long moment passed before Sayma heard – or felt – the Night Mother’s presence in her consciousness.
What is it that you seek, my child?
Sayma hesitated once more. Once the words were said they could not be unsaid. Once the deed was done…
Mother, I don’t know whether I can do this any longer.
But you are the Listener.
Sayma nodded. Yes, I know I am. And I have been your Listener for a very long time now. I’ve done as you asked, every step of the way, since that first moment in the Falkreath sanctuary.
The Night Mother was silent.
Haven’t I?
Yes, the dry whisper answered her. But you are the Listener.
Sayma swallowed, trying to keep her stomach where it was meant to be, fighting against its rebellion by sheer force of will.
I don’t think I can do this any longer. I have… lost the desire to kill. I just want to tend my garden, and cook, and perhaps be a grandmother some day. Maybe do a job or two here and there for…
For your husband. For Brynjolf.
She nodded. Yes. If he’ll have me.
There was another long pause.
And if my answer is no?
Sayma took a long, shuddering breath. Once said it could not be unsaid. Once done, it could not be undone.
If your answer is no I will find it necessary to remove myself from the picture. Entirely.
You would end yourself?
If I have to, Mother. Yes. I know it would hurt a great many people, but I’ve hurt people before and I can do it again.
There, she thought. Now it’s done. The ultimatum has been given.
She’d been thinking about this for months on end, ever since she had realized that coming to Dawnstar and doling out death gave her no pleasure any longer. As soon as she understood that to be the case, she’d been working hard to figure out how she could deal with it. She’d had a good life, for the past two decades. She’d done things most women couldn’t even imagine, much less do themselves. She’d also had two wonderful children by a wonderful, giving man, and had raised them to young adults; there was no question that they could survive anything, whether she was there with them or not.
But she couldn’t do this any longer.
I want to continue creating life, she had thought so many times. Not ending it. The bloodlust is gone. I want all of it to stop.
The silence felt painfully long, though the reality of it was probably very brief. She wanted to speak again, to reassure the Night Mother that she couldn’t possibly betray this Sanctuary that she’d given so much of her life to. The people here were people who had believed in her, and given her support – more support, actually, than the Guild had given her when she led them so briefly. She knew that the Brotherhood performed a valuable service. But she was tired, and her life was elsewhere.
So she clamped her thoughts down, and bit her tongue, and waited. Finally there was a long, slow hiss, as though the ancient bones sighed.
Not now, my daughter.
Sayma cried out in dismay and rose to her feet, ready to pull the dagger from her boot and do what she had said she would do.
Not now. But soon. There is another. The new Listener will arrive. Soon. But for now, you must wait, and listen.
Great waves of uncertainty roiled through Sayma’s mind, and the claws of anxiety squeezed her chest. She wasn’t sure whether to weep – or to cheer.
Very well, Mother. I shall listen.
Good, child.
Brynjolf sat alone in the room they used as a laboratory, his eyes only half-open, staring blankly at the light reflecting off the water pipe on the table in front of him. Coyle liked smoking their product. He preferred to test the wares in their liquid form, as Andante had done; but the light playing on the hookah was fascinating if a person stared at it through eyes so blurred he could barely see. The regular, repetitive whooshing of the swinging blades down the hall from this room only added to the hypnotic state he was in.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Shor’s bones that was a strong batch.
The only thing he could compare it with – and not through personal experience – was the batch from which Andante had consumed a dose just before their accident with the mage Falion, out in Morthal. Andante had been practically blinded by it and had struck at Falion thinking him one of the vampires they were helping to exterminate.
That was why Brynjolf had needed to go to Oblivion to find bloodgrass for the potion to cure him of vampirism – because Falion had died. It had also been the reason he’d needed to literally consume Vitus – or what was left of him – as part of that potion. All of it because Andante was nearly incapacitated by his addiction.
He sighed. Just thinking about that incident and its repercussions had him feeling downright maudlin. And yet envisioning the reaction Andante might have had to this particular batch as a product made him want to break out into fits of gleeful laughter.
By the Eight. What is wrong with me? I need to get hold of myself. He’s not coming back, she may or may not be coming back, and I still need to make a living for myself and for the Guild. And for Ulfric and the rest of the extended family.
He heard an out-of-tune whistle and the tapping of footfalls from the same general direction as the swinging blades, and laughed to himself. Coyle had a good voice, if a raspy one. He was a very musical soul; Brynjolf knew this not just from listening but from stories he’d heard from Dagnell, when she was still Dagnell.
But he surely cannot carry a tune when he whistles. I wonder how that’s even possible.
“Whoops!” the raspy voice yelped.
There was a moment of quiet, yet the regular back-and-forth of the blades didn’t stop, or alter their rhythm in any way.
“That was too close for comfort,” Coyle grumbled from just down the hall. “Oh! Hey boss!” he exclaimed, coming through the doorway.
Brynjolf swiveled his head a bit, but couldn’t quite manage to turn all the way. “Hello, lad,” he said.
“So what are we up to this evening, as if I couldn’t guess?” Coyle asked him. “From the looks of you I’d say either no good, or very good depending on your point of view.”
Brynjolf chuckled. In spite of the situation he liked Coyle a great deal, and couldn’t fault Sayma for having been with him in her youth – or missing him when she had thought he was gone.
“Yes,” he said, laughing. “Right again.”
Coyle snickered. “Well, I’m here for the same reason. Or, at least to make more of the same reason. You know what I mean. Must strike while the iron is hot, and I’m wide awake and clear-headed for once. Hot iron, don’t you know.”
“Aye,” Brynjolf said, rubbing at his eyes. “Clear is not how my head is, though. I learned my lessons well, it would seem.”
“Hmm,” Coyle said. “So let me ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Is she back yet?”
In spite of everything Brynjolf felt a surge of jealousy shoot through him. They both knew who “she” was, and no matter how hard he thought about it and tried to rationalize it he was still disturbed at the idea that this man had known her first.
Even Roggi knew her before I did.
I care for Roggi like a brother. So why does it bother me so much…
He frowned. It bothered him so much because this man had been the one who had her running from her past. Roggi had been with her, but for different and much briefer reasons.
“No. She’s not back yet.”
“Hmph,” Coyle snorted. “Hard to make up from a fight if she’s just not here.”
Brynjolf met Coyle’s gaze for a moment, startled. That phrase. It had him back at Honeyside, lounging in the warmth of the smelter-heated bath with Andante beside him.
‘She’s just not here.’ That’s what I said. That’s when I lost my temper. That was the moment when I finally decided there was no backing out, and pulled Andante closer, and…
Shor’s beard. What is wrong with me?
“She’ll be back,” he said, trying to shake himself back into the present. “I’m sure of it. The lass is just taking care of some business up north. We’ve had tiffs like this before.”
Coyle crossed his arms and snorted, tapping his foot on the floor. “Sure about that? You’ve been pretty down.” He leaned over and peered at Brynjolf, pointing at his own eyes. “See those? You don’t want to end up like me, Bryn. Trust me on this. You need to take it easy.”
Brynjolf felt a whoosh of red-hot anger. He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth together, and breathed deeply for a moment. There was no point whatsoever in getting angry at Coyle. He was just trying to be helpful. And that was one of the most irritating things about the entire situation. He was, genuinely, just trying to help, not to come between Brynjolf and Sayma or to take power somehow. Brynjolf was half convinced the man didn’t have the guile in him to even think about such things.
But only half convinced. He’s survived all this time and he has to have quick wits and a strong constitution to have done that.
“Tell you what, lad,” he finally managed to say. “You keep making our product and I’ll worry about Sayma and about me. Fair enough?”
Coyle chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”
Brynjolf dropped his head down and laughed into his hands for a moment. “Fair enough.” He pushed himself up from the chair, catching his balance on the table before stretching his back out with a groan of satisfaction. “And on that note – not the one you were whistling on your way in, by the way – I think I’ll be off. We have a pretty good supply in the chest but if you can add to it before morning I’ll see there’s a little something extra for you in the coin pouch when we sell it.”
“Aye-aye, boss,” Coyle said. “Be careful getting back home.”
Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. “Always am.” He waved goodnight and left the room, hopping down through the exit hatch to make his way out through the Ragged Flagon. He didn’t stop to say hello to Vex, or Dirge, or anyone else. Particularly not Delvin. He didn’t need Delvin’s sharp eyes giving him the same kind of perusal that Coyle just had.
I don’t know why they can’t leave things alone. I don’t know why they can’t leave me be.
I don’t know why I’m so upset.
A few hours later, Coyle headed down the same stairs, toward the same exit. Normally, he’d have been leaving work in a good mood, joking and laughing. On this evening, though, there was nothing vaguely resembling a smile on his face. His brows were furrowed and his expression serious.
“You’d better get yourself back here, Sayma,” he muttered to the air. “Or we’re going to have big trouble.”
Dale stood up to stretch his back and watch the dwindling light play over the waters. The large island just to Ivarstead’s east, the one that caused the river to branch around it, seemed to have a tomb or barrow or something nestled amongst its trees, but he wasn’t certain of that. He’d been peering at it for some time, wondering whether it was worth investigating.
The problem is that it’s too close to the other barrow, here. That one went a long way down, and spread out a long way as well. It doesn’t seem likely that an entire city could be under that island, close as it is.
Besides, I’m tired and I don’t know why I expected a Nordic barrow to have a vampire city at its bottom. It makes no sense.
He sat back down, watching the road coming in from the south for any sign of life that wasn’t one of the guards. Wilhelm had been very certain that the stranger had been around town at night, on the weekends. He would wait the entire night if he needed to. And so he waited.
And waited.
It was full dark by the time he heaved a sigh and rose to his feet again. It didn’t seem likely that he was going to discover anything useful on this night. Maybe the next. The inn was warm, and he was not; it also had drinks, and he did not.
Then he saw it. The barest motion across the deep shadows that he’d been staring at for several hours caught his attention. Something was approaching the bridge from the south, still too far away for him to know what it was. He turned and crept down the stairs to the ground level of the tower, keeping himself hidden just inside its structure and waiting for whatever was approaching to pass by.
This is foolish. If I can sense something moving half a league down the road, another vampire can sense me.
He felt the heat of the Nord guards passing by from the north to the south, and then back. On their second pass, he felt something else and caught the faintest whiff of decay, as well. He peered out from the watchtower and thought he saw a glimmer of amber.
He’s going to know I’m near but I need to find out if this is the one Wilhelm was talking about. I’m not likely to be attacked here in the middle of town.
Once he slipped out onto the road and out from under the lanterns, Dale’s sharp night vision allowed him to spot the stranger almost immediately. It wasn’t hard. The padded cloth sleeves of the man’s outfit caught the dim light and reflected it back for sharp eyes as clearly as if they were lanterns themselves. Dale followed him, at a distance, quickly circling around through the farm so as to intercept him at the north end of town and keep him from disappearing.
The troll that Dale and the guards had killed earlier hadn’t been removed yet. The stranger reached it and knelt down, perhaps taking a sample of valuable troll fat, or perhaps just investigating.
Well, let’s see whether our man here is what I think he is.
Dale approached him, making no attempt to be quiet. “Lovely creature isn’t it?” he asked in as cheerful a voice as he could. “It followed me into town earlier. I’m not quite sure why its corpse hasn’t been removed.”
The man rose to his feet to face Dale. “Hmm?”
His eyes were bright, glowing amber. Dale had to fight his own instincts to grin broadly. This was, if nothing else, a lead – the first vampire he’d encountered aside from the Volkihar and the feral in Rannveig’s Fast.
“Just making an observation. I wouldn’t have thought Ivarstead was busy enough that people would just want to leave a rotting corpse out in the open.”
The man looked wary at best and dangerous at worst. Dale kept talking. It was the only way he was going to glean any information.
“So what brings you to town on such a fine evening?”
The man growled. “Probably the same thing that has brought you. I know what you are, and I know how long you’ve been watching and following. Listen. We’re kin, so I won’t kill you, but you need to mind your own business. Leave Ivarstead and leave me to my own affairs.”
Talk fast, Dale. Talk fast.
“You’re correct in your assessment, sir, which doesn’t surprise me given that I’ve allowed my illusion spell to lapse. I most assuredly will do exactly that – leave Ivarstead – but I heard a rumor that has me intrigued, and, well, you’re the most likely person I’ve encountered to ask about it, so I hope you’ll indulge me for just a moment longer.”
The vampire sighed. “What is it, then? Get to the point.”
Dale dropped his voice so as not to be overheard by the guard passing just behind the other vampire. “Do you know anything about a vampire…city? Somewhere nearby?”
The other man growled again. “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. I have things that I need to do, scores that must be settled. Leave. Me. Be,” he added, pausing after each word to emphasize how serious he was about things. “Forget anything you may have heard. It’s none of your concern.” And with that, he turned and began trotting back to the south, fading into the night the way only a vampire could.
Scores to be settled, eh? Even more intriguing! I’d best follow.
He waited for just a moment before dropping into his own stealthy crouch to trail along behind the vampire. Past the nearer of the guards, the lantern outside the farmhouse blinded him for a moment. He saw movement at the top of the slope just before the inn and hurried to chase it, only to realize with dismay that it was only the second guard.
Damn, have I lost him?
He rose to his full height and sprinted up the road. The other vampire was nowhere in sight; but this wasn’t a huge surprise given the third guard, presumably put on patrol overnight because of the recent rash of killings. Dale kept running, but he couldn’t see the other vampire, nor could he sense a presence anywhere nearby.
He crossed the bridge at full tilt, desperately hoping to find his target somewhere ahead on the road. It wasn’t a surprise that the man had disappeared. He was clearly a much older vampire than Dale and with age came power and speed; but it still made Dale livid that he’d managed to let the only real lead he’d had slip away so easily.
Then he had a lucky break.
A wolf came out of the undergrowth, snarling and snapping. A dark figure with light-colored sleeves shimmered into visibility, a cloak of glowing magicka hugging him and the red light of vampiric blood magic pinpointing his hands. The vampire made short work of his attacker, growling as he kicked the wolf and drained it of its energy. A second wolf came out of the darkness, hurling itself at the vampire. Its end was as swift as its pack mate’s had been.
There! Thank you, wolf! I’m saved!
He watched the man step over the carcasses and then kneel at the side of the road for a moment. Dale dropped off the road into the tall grasses beside it, and eased himself forward far enough to watch as the vampire skinned the rabbit carcass that the wolves had been guarding. Why a rabbit? He doesn’t need to eat meat. Maybe he intends to sell it. Who knows?
Dale was deep enough in thought that it took him a moment or two to register that the other vampire was on his way again. This time he wasn’t trying to be stealthy. He clearly knew Dale was following him. The sound of his footfalls roused Dale into action, and he ran down the road hoping not to lose the trail.
The vampire turned right at the intersection of roadways, heading along the road that led to the pass Dale had avoided on his way to Ivarstead. It was still an outstanding place for an ambush, even here beyond the snow. Dale hung back just a bit, keeping himself in the shrubbery beside the road, hoping that he wasn’t going to have a much older and stronger vampire suddenly turn back to attack him. When he emerged from behind one of the bushes he had a moment of sheer disbelief, as he’d lost sight of the vampire. But then the man’s boot scuffed the ground, and he turned off the roadway himself, his light sleeves once more serving as a beacon to sharp eyes.
Dale once more hesitated just a moment. The man had headed up the side of the mountain and would again be in a perfect position to attack the younger man following him. Dale stepped behind a tree and listened. A moment later he broke cover and was dismayed to find that he’d completely lost track of his target once again. He saw nothing but falling aspen leaves catching the starlight.
“Damn!” he muttered aloud. “How could I be so stupid?”
What he heard in response was the unmistakable growl of a bear. He sighed. There was, in fact, a bear den in the hill he’d just passed, with occupants he’d just barely avoided on his previous visit to Ivarstead. He didn’t want to tangle with a bear at night. But the other vampire had utterly disappeared into the trees on the mountainside.
Dale sighed. Well, if I hurry and am very lucky I might find a trace of the man. But I have to move. Now!
The flora on the mountainside gave way almost immediately to hard-packed snow and stone. There really didn’t seem to be a trail there. What there was, however, was a mostly-flat overhang of mountain that might serve as a decent lookout post from which he could scan the area; so he kept heading upward and hopped up onto the eastward-facing stones.
It was definitely a panoramic view, from up on the farthest extent of the rocks. He could see Ivarstead and the motion of the guards. He could see a squat shape below that was undoubtedly the bear returning to its favorite slumbering spot. What he didn’t see was another vampire.
He sighed and turned to leave, and nearly fell over in surprise. Behind him on the slope, well hidden from roadway-level view by several large pines, was a steep staircase leading up to a metal door topped by something glowing red.
“I’ll be gods-damned. There it is.”
He scurried down from his rocky perch and across to the foot of the stairs, where he found the corpse of a freshly-drained Imperial man, carelessly dumped where he’d died. He couldn’t quite make out what was glowing atop the doorway but it looked suspiciously like a shrine to Molag Bal. Why it was glowing – a beacon to anyone passing who might know what it was – was anyone’s guess, as far as Dale was concerned. It was a bit surprising that Agryn and Vyctyna hadn’t discovered its existence long before.
But what do I know? Perhaps they never thought to look in a place that has no obvious path up to it. I’m sure I wouldn’t have.
He walked up to the doors and pushed them open. Inside was a round chamber, carved with Nordic ridged stone in places so as to look much like any barrow. Next to the door was an odd feature: a statue in the style of a shrine to Auriel. He blinked. It was beyond odd to see the chiefest of elven gods represented in a place that had a statue of Molag Bal above its entry. Dale stared at it for a moment before nodding. Statues to Auriel held a sunburst in the center. This one was darkened.
That’s not just cold metal. It’s a darkened sun, darker than the statue that holds it. It’s dark outside. I’ll wager this lights up during the day as a warning to vampires who aren’t prepared.
There was a brightly-colored woven rug in the center of the room, but Dale looked at the metalwork peeking out from underneath its edges and the split down its middle, and guessed that there was a trapdoor there. Of greater interest was the shrine to Molag Bal at the back of the chamber. Light fixtures adorned the wall on either side of it; torches, but emitting the blue flames of Coldharbour.
“Well,” he said to nobody, “if this isn’t a vampire shrine I don’t know what is. Now what’s under the carpet?”
He knelt down and ran his fingers along the split in the center of the rug until they felt the hard obstruction of a latch. When he pressed the latch, the trapdoor he’d known was there sprang open, revealing a very deep circular stair.
“Guess I’m going to be going down for awhile,” he murmured.