{"id":48,"date":"2020-10-09T15:36:46","date_gmt":"2020-10-09T21:36:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/baakay.com\/Snow\/?page_id=48"},"modified":"2020-10-19T12:23:53","modified_gmt":"2020-10-19T18:23:53","slug":"chapter-1-prologue","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/baakay.com\/Snow\/volume-1\/part-1-moonlight\/chapter-1-prologue\/","title":{"rendered":"Chapter 1 – Prologue"},"content":{"rendered":"
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 <\/p>\n

4E 220<\/em><\/p>\n

It was a cold night here at the top of the mountain. Bitterly cold, without so much as a stray cloud to insulate the land beneath. If he\u2019d had a mind to do so, a man could have sat and counted every star in the black skies above. But the tall Nord trudging uphill from the gates of Bruma was not of a mind to count the stars. He\u2019d seen them all, and for far too many years to worry about counting them now.\u00a0 No, what he wanted was a belly full of hot, spiced mead, and a few hours of sleep before he continued down the road to the capital city and onward toward Bravil the next day.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

At this late hour the streets were empty save for the occasional guard patrolling. But it was too cold, and not the appropriate hour, for people to be wandering the city.<\/p>\n

The Imperials are all inside, hunkered down by their fires right now. I\u2019m a Nord, and I\u2019m still cold. Not even a self-respecting vampire would be out right now. That\u2019s what I get for waiting so late in the day to get a start on the journey.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m getting too old for this,\u201d he mumbled aloud as he mounted the steps to the Jerall View Inn and pushed open the doors. That wasn\u2019t true, of course, and he knew it. The truth of the matter was that he was in almost infuriatingly good, robust health in spite of being roughly sixty winters old. He didn\u2019t even have any aches or pains he could complain about like a proper old man. It was his own fault, and he knew it.<\/p>\n

To his surprise, the innkeeper Stantus Faleria was on duty even at this late hour. There was an Imperial man dressed in fine robes at one of the small tables near the doors, and the sound of implements clanking against dishes from an alcove near the stairs said that there was at least one other patron up and about, if not more.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

He brushed the traces of snow off his pant legs and looked up to find Stantus nodding at him. Stantus knew him well. He\u2019d been making more or less regular trips back and forth from Skyrim to the south for at least fifteen years now, ever since he and Ulfric Stormcloak had reached their mostly unspoken agreement to split the proceeds of his highly lucrative side business in exchange for Ulfric\u2019s strategic inability to notice a certain degree of slightly illegal activities in Skyrim.\u00a0 After all, the extensive repairs to all of the province\u2019s holds had been expensive. That extra padding to the royal coffers had been both vital and appreciated. It had required travel, diplomacy, and a lot of persuasion; and that meant that there had been many occasions to enjoy a tankard of spiced mead in Bruma over the years.<\/p>\n

\u201cGetting in late this time, eh, Brunulvr?\u201d Stantus said. \u201cCan I get you something?\u201d<\/p>\n

He grinned at the bartender. \u201cSpiced mead, if ye would,\u201d he said. \u201cWarm. Outside\u2019s cold as a witch\u2019s\u2026 well, ye know what I\u2019m gettin\u2019 at. And I\u2019ll take a room afterwards, for a few hours at least. The usual.\u201d<\/p>\n

Stantus laughed and made himself busy pulling together the order, while the Nord settled on a barstool and flexed his shoulders to get blood flowing back into them.\u00a0 He slid coins across the bar toward Stantus and took the tankard from him.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you ever going to age, Brunulvr?\u201d Stantus joked. \u201cI\u2019ve known you for what, fifteen years now? I swear you don\u2019t look any different.\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughed. \u201cOh sure I do, Stantus. Look at me. Got lines in me face and this hair\u2026\u201d He waved at his faded red locks and grinned.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, maybe. But it seems to me most men your age have a lot more gray going on than you do. Ah, but it doesn\u2019t matter. Enjoy your mead. You know where the room is.\u201d He wandered off toward the back room where the food stores were kept.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

The Nord wrapped his cold hands around the warm metal and then set about enjoying the feeling of the warm mead slipping down his throat. He sighed in appreciation and then relaxed.<\/p>\n

Brunulvr. I wonder if the old bastard is still alive. What would he be, now, eighty? Or nearly so? I wonder if he ever thinks about me. Not that it matters much. I\u2019m still glad to use his name as a cover. It wouldn\u2019t do for Bruma to recognize the name Brynjolf, to say nothing of the Imperial City or Bravil. And Stantus is kind but I do look older. It\u2019s a wonder Sayma still calls me \u201cRed\u201d after all these years.<\/em><\/p>\n

He smiled to himself. His mind drifted back, as it always seemed to when he stopped to rest here; to the first time he\u2019d made this trip for this specific purpose. It had been only a few months after Ulfric had been crowned \u2013 a few months after he\u2019d regained his own humanity. He\u2019d needed to go south, to make contacts, to put things in motion so that he need never again depend on someone else\u2019s connections to thrive.<\/p>\n

That was really something, that first trip. I needed to make it, for all sorts of reasons.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

4E 205<\/em><\/p>\n

Brynjolf stood on the hillside and looked down over the valley toward the Imperial City, peeking out through the morning fog clinging to the lowlands. He sighed, remembering the last time he\u2019d been there. The recollection of it was as vivid as though it had been just a few days before, rather than a matter of months.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Andante. He would always remember those days as having been spent with Andante, the colorful, funny, loving man he remembered, not Vitus Perdeti, the cold-hearted assassin known to the rest of the world as the Man in the Mask. Vitus never would have done what Andante had done when he\u2019d seen the place. Vitus wouldn\u2019t have cared. But Andante had.<\/p>\n

They\u2019d come down through the switchbacks, out from the heavily-forested, snow-covered, narrow canyon and neared the Sentinel, the statue that had watched over this side of the Pale Pass for who knew how many years.\u00a0 Brynjolf had known where they were, and where they were headed; but he\u2019d purposefully not admitted that to Andante.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just don\u2019t remember, Bryn,\u201d Andante had protested that day, as he had on so many occasions.<\/p>\n

But I knew he did. It was coming back to him, the past he\u2019d lost. I knew he had to be from the south, with the accent he had; and I knew that when he saw it, something would happen. Maybe he wouldn\u2019t remember all of it \u2013 but he would certainly remember the White-Gold Tower when he saw it.<\/em><\/p>\n

And he did.<\/em><\/p>\n

No, Vitus Perdeti probably wouldn\u2019t have reacted to seeing Cyrodiil. But for Andante, seeing the lush green of the lowlands had opened a door to memories that meant something \u2013 memories of a place called home. Andante had fallen apart in his arms, clinging to him and sobbing like a child. Brynjolf could still feel the weight of the man in his arms and the weight of the trust he\u2019d been given, that he would witness the tears of a cold-blooded killer. It was the same trust he himself had placed in Roggi Knot-Beard, his brother-in-law and friend, when he\u2019d allowed himself to weep on the man\u2019s shoulders, not knowing the weight of Roggi\u2019s own burdens but knowing, somehow, that he could handle a bit more and would do so gladly.<\/p>\n

It was a child crying in my arms that day, if the truth be told. It was the young Vitus, the one who never had someone to hold him, or love him, or tell him that he was special.\u00a0 That\u2019s who was crying. He never had those things in his younger life but he still had a place that was home, the place to which a person\u2019s heart always returns.\u00a0 <\/em><\/p>\n

He smiled, looking out over the foothills and down to the Imperial City.\u00a0 Far, far in the distance he could see the hazy blue line that marked the lower end of the Niben River, the lake known as Niben Bay.\u00a0 That\u2019s where Andante \u2013 no, Vitus \u2013 was from:\u00a0 Bravil, the city on the west banks of the bay.\u00a0 Books called Bravil \u201cone of the most charming towns in Cyrodiil, sparkling in her simple beauty,\u201d but that had to have been written long before Bravil became what it was in recent times: home to the skooma trade and some of the nastiest faction wars of recent decades.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s where Brynjolf was headed. He intended to make himself and his connections known to the remnants of Vitus\u2019 \u201cfamily,\u201d and to see what business they could do together. He had in his pack samples of what Vitus had taught him how to make. He was certain they could help each other\u2019s businesses thrive.<\/p>\n

No wonder he grew so fond of Riften. It wasn\u2019t just because we were there together. It was because Riften is so much like Bravil: rough, built over water, home to some shady people and shifty groups and, in every way, very much alive. Dead fish smell like dead fish no matter what province they\u2019re in, and the leaves on the trees still rustle, and the people live full, passionate lives even if their surroundings are bleak. There\u2019s only ever one home, though; and that was his.<\/em><\/p>\n

He looked down at his hand and rubbed his thumb over the fiery ruby set into the second of the two rings he always wore. It was a ring Vitus had made for him, only days before his death, and events following had suggested that some small part of his soul was in that ring. Brynjolf had been tempted, briefly, by the idea of leaving it there in Bravil once he got there, to finally take Vitus home \u2013 to lay him to rest properly in the place that he loved.<\/p>\n

Vitus was a part of him, now, literally as well as emotionally. His ashes had been used to make the powerful potion that cured Brynjolf\u2019s vampirism when nothing else could. Brynjolf could never leave behind that part of Vitus that lived in him now. He could, he\u2019d thought briefly, leave behind that small fraction of Vitus that he had imbued in Brynjolf\u2019s ruby ring while enchanting it. But in the end Brynjolf couldn\u2019t bear the thought of parting with the ring. Instead, he\u2019d brought the Daedric axe his lover had used for so long.\u00a0 This axe had so much of Andante\u2019s energy in it; even now he could feel the whisper of it: the laughter, the arrogance, the calculation of the killer\u2019s confidence that had been so much a part of him.<\/p>\n

This axe will do.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t know exactly why it seemed so important to do this, after all this time. He\u2019d come south, taking advantage of the changing times primarily to meet with his Thieves Guild counterparts in the Imperial province, to re-establish connections now that the war in the north was over and Ulfric on the throne and there were more opportunities to siphon wealth from those who had no real need of all they owned. It was the real reason he was trudging down from the Jerall Mountains, remembering with a fair amount of regret the days when he could have outrun the fleetest of the paint horses sold in Bruma. But bringing the axe had felt important, too.<\/p>\n

He thought about his family. Chip – Brynjolf the Younger \u2013 was beginning to stretch upward. He\u2019d never be as tall as his father; in fact, except for the auburn hair he more closely resembled his uncle Dardeh than anything else and would probably end up short and bulky like him as well. His daughter Qaralana was a delightful child, young as she was still. Even as she began to pass from infancy to toddlerhood she was mischievous and clever, with his wife Sayma\u2019s eerie, pale eyes and with his red hair.<\/p>\n

And then there was Sayma. She\u2019d been beyond delighted to have him back with her. They never really spoke of that brief time when he\u2019d tried to protect them all by becoming a vampire once more. She\u2019d made her own errors in judgment over the years, after all; she\u2019d spent more time apart from him because of those errors than because of the mistakes he\u2019d made. They simply put all of that time behind them, in an unspoken but clearly understood mutual agreement. What was past was past. They were going to be very busy, for a great many years, raising two children and taking care of two guilds from the shadows.<\/p>\n

The air grew warmer as he traveled downhill, and the trees changed from pine and spruce to the beautiful, lush green he remembered from his previous trips through Cyrodiil.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t stop in Bruma; rather, he found his way to the grove where he and Andante had spent one of their last nights together and set his bedroll down on the ground and then lay there staring up at the stars and listening to the chirping of crickets and the quiet burbling of the stream nearby. That had been a beautiful day.<\/p>\n

I think about him so often. It\u2019s not that I wish he were still alive; he was right when he told me that it was best that his time ended when it did. But I think I\u2019m able to love my family better because of that time I had with him. He knew I was married. He knew I had been so lost at being without Dag that I barely could function and yet, he didn\u2019t care. He just took me as I was, even after he realized I was just using him. And we grew together, didn\u2019t we. <\/em><\/p>\n

He showed me what it was to be alive.<\/em><\/p>\n

And if he hadn\u2019t done that, I wouldn\u2019t have realized that it was time to forgive, and let go of the past. It was time to love the young ones so that they can make the future. It doesn\u2019t really matter what they do. Shor\u2019s bones, they could all end up thieves and miscreants like we are but what counts is that they feel alive, that they have joy in their time, and friends, and family.<\/em><\/p>\n

He smiled up at the sky before closing his eyes.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Thank you Vitus, for the hundredth time. Thank you, my dearest friend. You changed all of our lives. <\/em><\/p>\n

It took him another two days to make his way down the slopes to and through the Imperial City \u2013 where he stopped to make the acquaintance of his counterpart, the Guildmaster who lived down on the waterfront, right under the noses of the inept guards \u2013 and south to Bravil. He\u2019d only ever been there one other time but it was as he remembered it, if a bit poorer. The war had taken its toll on everyone, in every part of Tamriel, but these smaller, poorer towns had been taxed far too heavily in order to support the war and it showed. People were thin, and unhappy, and angry looking.\u00a0 The capital, though, had looked fat and prosperous as it ever had, at least in the higher-profile districts, and that made him frown.<\/p>\n

Back in the old days, he thought, the Guild made a point of redistributing wealth as well as taking some of it for itself. If Bravil is looking this shabby I can only picture what Skingrad\u2019s like.\u00a0 Maybe the ports are doing well but ports usually do well.<\/p>\n

Maybe, if Delvin\u2019s network is still strong enough, and my meetings go well enough, we can help with a bit of rearranging. I\u2019m willing to send muscle. We certainly came out of the war well enough ourselves. And who knows what Sayma might be able to arrange now that her outfit is doing better. And we\u2019ll be generating new funds with our mutual side business.<\/em><\/p>\n

Then he listened, and waited, and nosed about the run-down place until that part of him that was made up of Vitus led him to the remnants of a shack on Bravil\u2019s southwest island.\u00a0 Brynjolf cased the area carefully, and determined that nobody lived there now and that it wasn\u2019t a solid structure any longer. The gang wars of years prior had taken their toll on the city, and what had passed for the Perdeti family home had not fared well.<\/p>\n

He waited until the dead of night \u2013 the time when they\u2019d most enjoyed being together in the world \u2013 and made his way to the shack.\u00a0 There was an opening at the back, beneath what had apparently once been a boardwalk around the home and out onto the water; and in this area Brynjolf dug a shallow trench.\u00a0 He took the Daedric axe from his pack and admired it one last time, running a hand along its length and at last laying it down in the trench before covering it up with the wet soil of Bravil.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere you go, lad,\u201d he whispered to the night. \u201cRest well. You\u2019re home again.\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019d stopped in Bruma on his way back from concluding his business. That was when \u201cBrunulvr\u201d had officially made the acquaintance of Stantus, innkeeper of the Jerall View.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

4E 220<\/em><\/p>\n

Brynjolf took a last sip out of his tankard and shook his head ruefully, examining the bottom of the tankard.\u00a0 He pondered buying another.<\/p>\n

Best not. I need to be on my way early.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cGet you another, Brunulvr?\u201d Stantus asked, coming out of the back room as another figure wearing heavy furs and a black hood slipped onto the stool at the far end of the bar from Brynjolf.\u00a0 Stantus leaned over and whispered, \u201cIt\u2019s on the house. I don\u2019t see you that often and this youngster here has been pretty spendy tonight. It won\u2019t matter to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brynjolf grinned at him. \u201cIn that case, yer on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFetch another one for me as well, Stantus,\u201d the man at the far end called out. \u201cI\u2019ve got a powerful thirst tonight and nothing seems to cut it. And I need to get on the road soon.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Brynjolf cocked his head. It was a familiar voice: but then Imperial voices often sounded like Andante to him. It wouldn\u2019t matter how many decades passed, though; he still was going to jump just a bit when he heard those sounds.<\/p>\n

And the time had definitely passed. Business had boomed, as he\u2019d hoped it would. The population had grown as men and women, grateful to have the hostilities of the Civil War at an end, had done what grateful men and women always did at the end of a war.<\/p>\n

Frina, Ulfric\u2019s Queen, had spearheaded reconstruction and beautification efforts all over Skyrim. It had been at first a necessity; the war had done so much damage to so many different places that getting life back to normal required the work. After that, though \u2013 well, Brynjolf was convinced that part of the reason there had been so very many projects was that Frina needed something to focus on.\u00a0 She and Ulfric had had their son, Harald.\u00a0 But no matter how hard they\u2019d tried for another, it had not happened.<\/p>\n

Roggi and Dardeh\u2019s two adopted girls were grown and gone now, leaving the two men \u201crattling around Mammoth Manor,\u201d as they put it. Both Qaralana and Harald Stormcloak were fifteen winters old this year, and Brynjolf wondered whether or not there might be something between them in the making. They\u2019d certainly spent enough time as playmates, growing up, whenever the families got together. Chip had left home a year or so before, restless with his life in Riften, pacing the streets like a caged animal. They\u2019d built him a cottage up in the hills, a place from which he could hunt and fish in the solitude he preferred.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t much like it that he couldn\u2019t just do what I wanted him to. But I\u2019m not about to beat him for it the way\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n

He shook his head.<\/p>\n

No, there\u2019s no point in going over all that again. It\u2019s been a lifetime since I was a boy, and I\u2019ll never know why Brunulvr thought he needed to beat me for being myself. Chip may not agree with me, most of the time, but I hope I\u2019ve never given him a reason to fear me. Or hate me.<\/em><\/p>\n

Between Chip\u2019s leaving home and their project to replace the old fishing shack outside Honeyside with a more permanent cabin for Qara, Brynjolf and Sayma were doing a fair amount of rattling on their own, in the big house in Riftvale. They\u2019d been happy enough to have that secluded place, though, moving the bulk of the Guild\u2019s treasure to its secret basement on several occasions when it had looked like events threatened. They were happy there, in spite of it being empty. That was the same thing Roggi and Dardeh said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m an old man, Bryn. I have to have something to keep me moving,\u201d Roggi had told him the last time they\u2019d seen each other. \u201cBesides, if Lydia came to visit and the place was a wreck she\u2019d\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCut your hair,\u201d Dardeh had finished, grinning at him between swings of his woodcutter\u2019s axe.<\/p>\n

All of them had aged in fifteen years. None of them was weak, in spite of Roggi\u2019s complaints. But Brynjolf had aged least of all.\u00a0 It was either a curse or a blessing, depending on how he looked at it.<\/p>\n

He was roused from his reverie by the barstool at the far end scraping back along the floor.\u00a0 The man in heavy black and gray furs sighed heavily.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019m still thirsty, but I have to get going.\u00a0 I hope this\u2019ll cover it, Stantus,\u201d he said, plopping a fat coin purse onto the counter.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere you heading?\u201d Stantus asked, picking the purse up and bouncing it in his hand once or twice to judge its weight before nodding.<\/p>\n

\u201cSkyrim. I\u2019m going to go see whether the pickings are any better there than they are down south.\u201d He turned to make his way across the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cTake care, Ondale,\u201d Stantus called as the man opened the door to leave. \u201cHope to see you again.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man in furs waved backward with one hand as he slipped out.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s a brave one, heading out in this kind of cold,\u201d Brynjolf muttered. He drained his tankard and pushed his own stool back from the bar. \u201cI, on the other hand, am fer a nice warm bed fer a bit before I face the world again. Night, Stantus.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTake it easy, Brunulvr,\u201d the innkeeper said, gathering up the dirty tankards. \u201cI think I\u2019ll catch a few winks myself.”<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Brynjolf left the inn the next morning, just as the sun peeked out behind the Jeralls.\u00a0 He stood and stared at it for a few moments before starting down the stairs.\u00a0 It was a long haul to Bravil; and he had business to conduct before returning home to his wife.<\/p>\n

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Home Next   4E 220 It was a cold night here at the top of the mountain. Bitterly cold, without so much as a stray cloud to insulate the land beneath. If he\u2019d had a mind to do so, a man could have sat and counted every star in the black skies above. But the … <\/p>\n

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