Dale wrestled his thoughts all the way back to his mausoleum. Potema’s piles of dead deep under the mountains filled his mind, even while he slept, and later, as he made his way toward Dawnstar to report to Nazir.
The wonder is that it bothers me at all. By all the gods, I’m a vampire. Undead should not be an issue for me.
Between that and wondering why this particular endeavor was so important my mind won’t rest. Well, I suppose I shall find out soon enough, at least about Solitude.
Cicero seemed a bit more agitated than usual. Dale could hear him singing as soon as he stepped through the Black Door.
“She is the Listener, she is the Listener…”
Dale shook his head. Why Cicero was so vocal on any particular day was anyone’s guess. As he approached the stairs, Cicero looked over his shoulder and grinned.
“Hello, hello, Just Dale! I’m certain Nazir will be happy to see you,” the jester called out, and then giggled.
“I hope so,” Dale replied, with an answering grin. He trotted down to the main room, listening to Cicero’s song begin again. He was chuckling in amusement as he approached the aging Redguard.
I wonder how old Nazir is, really. With that turban on it’s impossible to see whether he is gray on top or not. For all I know he may have no hair at all under there.
“Greetings,” Nazir said, looking up at him. “And how goes the slay?”
“Well,” Dale told him. “Well indeed. Captain Safia is having… a very, very long nap below deck. It may be some time before she awakens. If ever.” He couldn’t keep the small grin from his face, no matter how hard he tried. “I also completed the Night Mother’s job in Solitude, so I’m utterly at your disposal.”
“By Sithis!” Nazir said, his eyebrows raised. “I am truly impressed. To kill a pirate captain, on her own ship no less! Simply masterful. You’ve not only earned my payment, but my respect as well – and believe me, that does not come easily.”
“Well thank you, my friend,” Dale said, reaching out to take the hefty sack of coins Nazir offered him. “I have to say that means a great…” He trailed off into silence as he saw Nazir’s gaze shift to something past and behind him.
“Greetings, Listener,” Nazir said with a tone of respect and deference Dale had never heard from him before. “The newest initiates are working out well. Eager, dedicated, and not afraid to get their hands wet. Speaking of which, I don’t believe you’ve met Ondale yet.”
“No, I haven’t,” a low and raspy voice responded as Dale turned to see its owner.
She was a vision of darkness, dressed entirely in a sweeping black robe, gloves and boots, and a hood that shaded her eyes. She was dark-skinned, as well – a Redguard, most likely, Dale thought. The overall effect was that of a shadow whispering through the room.
Dale did as his mother had taught him to do when meeting someone of a superior standing. He gave a courtly half-bow while averting his eyes. “It is a pleasure, Listener,” he said quietly.
“Let me take a look at you,” the woman said, making a half-turn to face him more directly. Dale straightened and watched her. He couldn’t see her reactions, for her eyes were deep beneath the rim of her hood, but he heard a sharp intake of breath.
Let me guess. I suppose I am about to be told once more that –
“My gosh, it’s true.” She shook her head. “Your hair is different, but… If I hadn’t been here the day he died I would call you Andante and ask why you’d been avoiding your duties,” she said. “It’s remarkable.”
Dale sighed. “So I hear. There’s nothing wrong with being told I resemble my late father, mind you. Not at all. It’s just unsettling to me, given that I neither knew him nor ever saw him myself.”
The Listener nodded. “I can appreciate that. In any case I’m happy to finally meet you, Ondale.”
“Just Dale!” Cicero called down from the Night Mother’s casket on the landing above. “His name is Just Dale, Listener.”
Both the Listener and Nazir laughed, and Dale couldn’t help letting himself chuckle, as well. It certainly wasn’t the worst pet name he’d ever heard, or been called.
“Were you eavesdropping on us, Cicero?” the Listener called back.
“Of course, Listener! I mean… no! Of course not, Listener! Dear, lonely Cicero would never eavesdrop on a conversation.” Dale heard a loud giggle. “Unless it was important, of course. But never again! He will just go back to tending our Mother.”
A moment later they heard the sounds of something that might be called singing. “Ho ho ho, and hee hee hee, break that lute across my knee.”
“I see this is not one of his better days,” the Listener said, sounding resigned.
Nazir shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how much time passes. I will never understand…”
“Why I let him live. I know, Nazir. But you have to admit that this isn’t always the most cheerful place. He livens it up a bit.”
“Has he always been like this?” Dale asked.
“Yes,” Nazir said flatly. “From the moment we met him. Singing and dancing. I can’t abide the dancing.”
The Listener tsk’d. “No, Nazir. Well, I suppose yes, he’s always been like this since he came to Skyrim. Some days better, some not. But before the Falkreath sanctuary burned I had the opportunity to read his journals. At Astrid’s direction,” she added when one of Nazir’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t give me that look. At any rate, the first one or two volumes were perfectly lucid and match the tales I was given of him, later on. Apparently he was quite an accomplished member of the Brotherhood, and for that – and the fact that he single-handedly brought the Night Mother here all the way from Cyrodiil, in an attempt to keep this organization alive – well, I think he deserves our respect. Or at very least our tolerance.”
Nazir nodded. He said nothing more, but he was clearly feeling chastened.
She turned back to Dale. “Now then. What are you up to at the moment?”
What am I up to? How do I answer that? What is the right answer here?
“Well,” he said slowly, “I needed to check in with Nazir and let him know that I’d completed my assignments. Including one that came from you, Listener. Now I’m hoping for new ones. I do have some personal business to attend to in the south, but I of course am at your disposal. Either or both of you.”
Nazir shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ve exhausted all the contracts I had available for you. But I’m sure there’s something to keep you busy, hmm?”
The Listener chuckled. “As it happens, I do have a contract that needs doing, Dale. I was going to take care of it myself, but if you would be kind enough that will give me an opportunity to talk to the Night Mother about other things.”
Dale nodded, slowly. Talk to the Night Mother. Of course. Because everyone talks to corpses here, even Cicero. Who am I to question it, though? I’ll do the job, and earn some coins on my way back to Riften.
“Of course. Give me the details.”
The woman in black handed him a pouch of coins. “I’ve already contacted the client. Here’s what you need to know.”
There was a mage, unsurprisingly situated in Winterhold, who had become a thorn in several people’s sides. One of these had become particularly fed up with the man, who was reckless with his magic. She shared everything she knew about the target with Dale, including his size and appearance.
“Why the new Archmage didn’t take care of it I don’t know. But that’s the target. You’ll need to be especially careful there. I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous mages can be.” She shuddered.
“The ‘new’ Archmage, Listener? He’s been there for over a decade now,” Nazir said.
The Listener shrugged. “At some point all the days are the same, Nazir. All I know is that he’s not the former Archmage, and that’s all that matters to me.”
The former Archmage? Does she mean Edwyn Wickham, who Agryn told me about? I’d best keep my connections with that particular set of information to myself.
Dale nodded. “If that’s all, I’ll take my leave, then. Thank you Nazir and you as well, Listener. I’ll have the task complete as soon as possible.”
The mouth he could just barely see beneath the dark hood smiled. “I know. Or rather, I will know. I’m not certain I understand how it works, even after all this time, but yes – I’ll know.”
Dale turned and scurried up the stairs and out the door. He looked around for prying eyes and then clambered over the rocks at the end of the shoreline. Once over them and safely out of sight of Dawnstar, he would take on his winged form for the trip to Winterhold.
This should be easy. But my, what a small world it is, here in Skyrim!
It was exceptionally dark and foggy when he finally trudged up the broken slope beneath the College of Winterhold’s precarious bridge and into the town itself. It would be perfect weather for dispatching his target and making an unobtrusive escape.
It was also an easy place in which to locate anyone who wasn’t a part of the College; the sum total of Winterhold was comprised of the Jarl’s longhouse, a ramshackle general store, a couple of private residences, and the inn. Dale slipped into the inn as quietly as he could, thankful for the warmth of the roaring fires but keeping to the shadows.
“This. This is why people have a problem with your college, Nelacar.” The innkeeper was speaking to an Altmer mage standing in the doorway of one of the inn’s rooms.
“It was a minor miscalculation. I’ve already corrected it for future experiments. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s very late and I must rest.” He turned his back on the innkeeper and vanished into his quarters.
That’s not the one. He and the innkeeper wouldn’t be trading friendly barbs like that if he were the source of enough irritation to call on the Brotherhood.
There were a few people still up and about here at the Frozen Hearth, even as late as it was. Dale glanced at each of them in turn – a serving girl, one of the locals passed out and snoring on a bedroll across the room, and a man in ragged clothing enjoying the contents of a tankard. Seated beside that man was another, in full armor, balding and gray. Dale gazed at him and frowned. That man matched the physical description the Listener had given him.
I’ve never seen a mage wearing anything other than robes, though. At least not anyone who considered himself a real mage.
He looked to the table nearest him. There was an Altmer seated there, his full attention on the bread and ale before him. This mer wore mage’s robes. His skin was the color of roasting chestnuts rather than the golden hues of most Altmer. His hair was curly and had an interesting color, not quite steely-gray and not quite lavender.
Well it’s not as though there’s a shortage of mages here in Winterhold.
But he can’t be the man I was sent to kill. This one across the way. He matches the description. Odd choice of garb for a mage – but I suppose that if I were trying to be inconspicuous I might choose that as well.
Dale pulled the shadows in around himself and crept silently across the room, taking up a position just behind one of the great roof supports but close enough to the target to reach him. The table’s other occupant – the man in ragged miner’s clothing – rose, stretched, and headed for the inn’s door. Dale chose that moment to lean forward and drain the armored mage of his life. The man slumped over, spreading across the bench like someone who’d indulged in far too many tankards of mead. Dale crossed the room once more to stand near the dark Altmer and shimmered back into visibility.
The serving girl shrieked. “Dagur! Help!”
The innkeeper scurried out from behind the bar. “What is it?”
“That awful mage – I think he’s dead!”
Dale crossed the room to where his handiwork lay in full display, and looked down at him hoping that he had masked his grin adequately. He gasped.
“This is just awful! Someone should tell the authorities!”
There was a rustling from across the room, followed by a calm, measured voice.
“I shall alert the guard. It is time for me to retire, so it is on my way.”
Dale turned back toward the door. As he had expected, it was the Altmer mage who had spoken. He seemed in no rush as he left the inn. Perhaps, Dale thought in amusement, people falling over dead was a commonplace occurrence here in the frozen north.
Dagur comforted the server and poured her a flagon of mead, then returned to Dale’s side, exchanging a glance with him. Dale inclined his head toward the door.
“Who was that gentleman, anyway?”
“That’s Archmage Jorus. Kalaman Jorus. He’s been here oh, maybe a dozen years or so, since before he was Archmage. Decent fellow. He comes down here to sit and listen every so often. Thinks he’s being all sly by taking off his Archmage robes but… just look at him. If there was ever anyone to fail at blending into a crowd, it’s him!”
Dale chuckled. “Yes. I noticed him as soon as I arrived.”
Dagur pointed at the dead man. “Now that one. I doubt anyone will miss him. Annoying piece of work he was. Thought he was clever because he didn’t wear mage robes, and was forever practicing spells that – well – changed people. Turned them into animals. Fortunately he wasn’t very good at it, so the spells never lasted very long. Imagine finding yourself a cow. Udder and all.” He shook his head and peered again at Dale. “Can I get you something?”
“No, I need to be off. I just slipped in to warm myself a bit from the road. I seem to have picked an inopportune moment to arrive.” Dale smiled. “I’ll be certain to stop in again on the return trip, and enjoy the hospitality.”
“Suit yourself,” the innkeeper said, turning again to look at the dead man. He tsk’d and then muttered to himself. “I hope there’s more than one guard coming. Or maybe Nelacar can magick the body out of here. What a mess.”
Dale smiled to himself and left the inn, happy enough to be back on the road to Riften.
“Well, Ondale? Did you follow up with Falk Firebeard?” Agryn Gernic took a sip from his tankard without breaking eye contact with Dale.
Dale shuddered internally. I don’t really know why I thought Agryn was such a “nice” person. He certainly isn’t a terrible one, as far as I can tell, but by the Eight he has steel hidden in that voice. There’s a great deal more to him than I suspected. I don’t believe I want to know what it is.
“I did, sir. And it was quite the adventure. It seems that Potema escaped the cave – you’ll recall that I told you about interrupting a summoning spell.”
“But she was already summoned? Is that it?” Vyctyna stared up at him, looking every bit as imposing as her partner at that moment. “That’s pretty much awful.”
“That’s what seems to have happened, yes. She was working on becoming corporeal again. I’m not exactly sure how. What I do know is that she was deep underground in the mountain behind Castle Dour, in a huge old complex I entered via the Temple of the Divines. She had draugr, and vampires, and so many corpses and skeletons that I lost count, and –“
“Vampires?” Agryn interrupted, leaning forward with an expression of interest, maybe even excitement. “Tell me. Did there appear to be some kind of vampire – establishment – down there? A city?”
Dale peered at him in confusion. “Not that I saw. It was more like a few vampires mingled in amongst the dead. She was raising them. The dead, I mean. I was grateful to you for my wings and claws, truthfully.”
Vyctyna nodded. “Yes. She was just about the best necromancer ever, according to all the old stories.”
Agryn’s expression fell flat. “Damn. I really thought we’d found it this time.”
Dale couldn’t help frowning in confusion. “I don’t understand. The complex was just that: chambers that looked like they may once have been part of the castle, but had been closed off for eons. What did you think I would find?”
Agryn sighed.
“I thought,” he said, “that you were going to find the old city where the Volkihar used to live. Reportedly, at any rate. It was long enough ago that I only heard of it as rumors and legends. Edwyn Wickham told me of it, and mind you the legends were from, well…”
“Hundreds of years ago, Dale. Edwyn was pretty old.” Vyctyna frowned. “And a pig, to boot.”
Agryn reached out to grasp Vyctyna’s hand and squeeze it, smiling at her. There he is, Dale thought. That’s the man I met in Cyrodiil. The pleasant one who smiles and cares for others.
“I’ve been looking for a good spot to establish a new base,” he said, his gaze returning to meet Dale’s. “From which we can establish trade of various sorts while we work to consolidate power. Clearly we can’t use this place as a headquarters for anyone but ourselves, much less for the entirety of our kind. The Volkihar were once exclusively subterranean.”
“Yeah,” Vyctyna said. “They lived under the ice. Under it. In the lakes. No thank you.”
Dale couldn’t help but chuckle. “But not for a long time now, yes? They’re headquartered in the castle up near the border, aren’t they?”
Agryn nodded. “And have been, for eons.” He closed his eyes and smiled for a moment. “Which has always suited me. I love the sun, strange though that may seem for a vampire to say.” He opened his eyes again and shrugged. “Our former Lord, Harkon, thought that Castle Volkihar was a sufficiently safe haven for the clan. And it is enormous and separated from the mainland by a stretch of water.”
“And usually covered in fog,” Vyctyna added.”
“So…” Dale was still confused. If they were Volkihar – and they were – why were Agryn and Vyctyna here, in a tiny cave nearly in Morrowind? “It’s not sufficient? Even if it’s huge and isolated?”
“It isn’t. Not for years. The resurgence of the Dawnguard was proof enough of that, to say nothing of the Vigilants of Stendarr finding Serana’s hiding place after literal eons. All of them had been alerted to the Castle. To hear Serana and Brynjolf tell it, there was a period of regular attacks by the Dawnguard.” Agryn grimaced. “But Harkon was far too distracted by the temptation of Auriel’s Bow to notice how compromised the castle was. And Edwyn was utterly consumed with the idea of fulfilling Harkon’s goal of uniting all the vampire clans under him.”
“Eddy was nuts.” Vyctyna’s voice positively dripped venom. “That’s why he was only in charge for a few months.”
Dale looked back and forth between the two of them. “And you don’t think it’s safe even now, I take it.”
Agryn shook his head. “No, I don’t, for a number of reasons.” He turned to Vyctyna; the two of them exchanged a long look. To Dale’s eye they were wordlessly reviewing a discussion he hadn’t heard. After a few moments Agryn nodded.
“I think, Ondale,” he said, turning back to face Dale, “that it is time for you to meet the castle’s residents.”
Oh? I was wondering when this would happen.
“We’re heading west?”
“Yes,” Vyctyna told him. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen Serana, too. This should be interesting.”
“It certainly has been interesting thus far,” Dale murmured as they approached the stairwell.
“I told you,” Agryn answered, grinning at him. “I’m never quite sure what to expect here.”
It had been an odd feeling, gliding up the long incline to the castle’s entrance. By some definitions this should be his home. And yet his benefactors’ tension poured from them in palpable waves. Dale wasn’t, generally speaking, a nervous sort of person. Even so, meeting Orthjolf, Garan Marethi and the others had him on edge.
Marethi had pointed them toward the “master’s chambers” to find Serana. Vyctyna left them immediately, heading toward an elegant stair at the back of the castle, while Agryn led Dale down to the great hall and through to a chamber to one side. There Agryn introduced Dale to Rargal Thrallmaster, and to the vampire cattle held in the cages below. Dale followed his sire out of the basement feeling much refreshed.
All of the Volkihar had been pleasant enough. Behind their polite smiles, however, Dale had sensed the same unsettled reaction he had from nearly everyone he’d met in Skyrim. Nobody had said anything, but he knew what they’d been thinking.
No, I’m not Vitus. I will never be Vitus. The fact that we both chose much the same paths through our lives is … strange, to be sure … and yet I am an entirely different person.
“For example,” Agryn continued, “it’s a surprise to me that Serana is in her father’s former rooms. She used to insist that they belonged to Brynjolf.”
Dale shook his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that. He’s not a vampire.”
“He hasn’t been, for almost as long as I’ve known him. But he was, once. Or rather, twice. I’d advise against mentioning him in Serana’s presence. They have an odd relationship.” Agryn sighed. “And the fact that Serana is in her father’s chambers makes me wonder whether she misses him, or has at last decided to accept the obvious fact that she’s the head of the Volkihar. Either possibility makes me uneasy.”
Dale frowned. It was an exercise in concentration trying to keep all of these people straight in his mind. “Misses… who? Brynjolf? Or…”
“Harkon.” Agryn frowned. “Serana’s birth father. My sire’s sire and the head of the clan for a very long time until Brynjolf and – well…”
Dale couldn’t help grinding his teeth again. “My father. Just go ahead and say it. I’m beginning to understand that I can’t escape him. I can’t tell you how intensely irritating it is being so firmly in the wake of someone I never knew.”
They reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the warmth of a crackling fire. Vyctyna was perched on the chair closer to the door; next to her, in an ornately-decorated throne, was a woman who would have caught Dale’s eye even if he hadn’t already known who she was. She was statuesque, with black hair and crimson eyes, wearing the armor of Volkihar royalty also favored by Agryn.
“Lady Serana,” Agryn greeted her, smiling. “It’s been some time. I’ve brought someone to meet you.”
“So I hear,” Serana said, rising to her feet and facing Dale with a posture that positively oozed defiance, at least to his eyes. “Vyctyna’s been filling me in.” She looked him over, coldly.
Dale gave her the same half-bow that he would have given to anyone of higher status. “Lady Serana,” he said quietly. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
Serana harrumphed. “I see the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. He greeted me the same way, but only after he understood who I am.” Dale felt his mouth opening in dismay, but before he could formulate a response, much less give it voice, she cut him off. “Don’t expect me to call you Lord Perdeti. You’re neither my father – nor yours. Even Sir Agryn here has a better claim to the throne than you do.”
I wonder what I did to deserve this sort of treatment. Just being a Perdeti is enough? I see.
“I assure you, Lady Serana, that I will make no such claim. Nor would I wish to, having received such a warm welcome from nearly everyone here.” He couldn’t suppress a smirk. “I’m very young, in vampire terms, and have a great deal to learn. Thus I am continually grateful for Agryn and Vyctyna and their guidance.”
Vyctyna coughed. Dale looked her way and saw her glaring daggers at him. In spite of what should have been his better judgment he grinned back. Yes, I realize I’m treading very close to the line here. But I suppose you’re right – there’s nothing to be gained by making things worse.
“Now then, Serana,” Agryn interrupted smoothly. “We came to ask your advice on the matter of locating a safer home. We’ve spoken of this before.”
That was deftly done, Agryn. And don’t think I don’t realize that you just rescued me from an untenable situation.
“Yes, I know we have, Agryn,” Serana said, turning to him. “And I’m telling you, the castle is safe and has only two entrances, easily defended. It’s huge. Feel free to inspect it. You’ll find entire empty wings, but we maintain all of it now. It could easily house all of the Volkihar, no matter how far-flung they may be at the moment.” She sighed, then, her demeanor losing its sharp edges. “Look. I know you’re just trying to do what Eddy wanted – which is what he thought Father wanted. But you know he was mad at the end.”
“That’s true, Serana. But he wasn’t mad during all those years we spent working toward Harkon’s goals. All that research? I still think he was on to something.”
“Well,” Serana said slowly, “I have heard rumors from out in the Rift. The thing is that Brynjolf and… Andante… already investigated the Blood spring. It was the remnants of an old temple of Arkay from the First Era, buried in an earthquake sometime in the Second. They found the journal of the vampire who converted the place to a skooma den. It was being used as a headquarters by a few vampires, but it wasn’t a city.”
“And Dale checked out the complex under Castle Dour, Serana,” Vyctyna added. “Dead and undead, but there’s no city in Haafingar.”
“Check around Ivarstead, maybe. That’s the best I can suggest. It’s the only other place of any size in the Rift.” Serana peered at Dale again and sighed. “Listen, I’m sorry for the harsh reception. It’s just that I didn’t like your father very much. Or, rather… I liked him but…” She tsk’d. “It’s complicated.”
Ahh, Dale thought. I see how it is. He turned you down cold, did he? That would square with what my mother told me about his appetites.
“Don’t be concerned, Lady Serana. I wouldn’t dream of following in my father’s footsteps. I prefer younger women.” He felt, rather than saw, Vyctyna’s startled reaction from beside him. “What I mean is that I actually have someone in mind. You needn’t worry about me.” He inclined his head rather than bowing.
Serana had exactly the reaction he’d hoped she would. She huffed, squared her shoulders, and stomped from the room. He listened to her angry footsteps as she descended the stairs. Impressive. I’m sure those boots are usually fully muffled.
Vyctyna rose from her chair to stare at Dale. “That was really stupid,” she said in her usual blunt fashion. “And rude, and uncalled for.”
Dale chuckled. “Yes, I know it was. But I don’t like her. I don’t like her, I’m not required to like her, and I don’t care what her relationship with my late unlamented father may have been.”
“You ought to,” came a dry rumble from beside him. “You’ve ensured that she doesn’t like you, either. It’s not wise to insult the head of our clan.”
“From what I observed, the members have no issue with insulting each other.”
“That’s true,” Agryn admitted. “And now you can see why I’m uncertain about the stability of this place. It’s not just a matter of how close it is to the mainland.”
“Indeed. It would be hard to feel safe here.”
“Do you feel as though you have a good grasp of the situation?” Agryn asked.
“I think so,” Dale answered slowly. “You’d like me to continue the search. To follow up on the rumors.”
“Exactly,” Agryn said. “If anyone can pass unnoticed, it’s you.”
“Even though I look exactly like a man everyone knew?”
“Don’t be fooled. There’s a close circle of people who knew of him. Fewer knew what he looked like – Vyctyna and I certainly didn’t. Outside that circle? He was a nobody. A cipher. You’ll be fine.”
Dale left the castle feeling conflicted. It was good that they trusted him. It felt like a lifetime ago, though, that he’d first allowed Agryn access to his neck, deciding that becoming a vampire would be useful and that Agryn was the experienced, upstanding man to help him adjust.
I thought I was fully adult. I was fully adult. But in many ways I was a child, still wet behind the ears, particularly compared to these ancient beings in the castle.
Agryn trusts me to do his bidding. I just don’t know whether I truly trust him.