Searching for Memories 11

Help from Divine and Daedra

After all the trouble to get the soul gem, the ritual to cure Sorscha's vampirism had been so simple, it was almost disappointing; but it had given the term, "I feel like a human being again," a whole new meaning. She felt normal, good, and hungry. For cheese. There was still the matter of finding her identity, and with her renewed humanity, she was looking forward to resuming her search.

She couldn't help feeling guilty, however. A necromancer attempting to kill her had generously provided his soul for the gem that would be used to cure her vampirism, and she didn't feel guilty about that. But getting the gem from Enthir to begin with, finding and killing the necromancers, and then making her way to Morthal had taken days; and she'd had to feed. Funny how stealing didn't bother her, but she found taking a victim's blood abominable. They were so helpless, lying there asleep while she drained the life from their bodies. Even Rolff, the ass in Windhelm who had nothing better to do than harass the dark elves, didn't deserve being molested like that. She had to find a way to make up for it, to give something back. Fortunately, she had a project on her to-do list that would help in that regard.

Sorscha had recently done a few jobs for Dinya Balu, a priestess of Mara at the temple in Riften. It was her mission to unite lovers who were having trouble getting together on their own, and Sorscha had been assisting her in that quest. She had already helped Klimmek, a friend of hers from Ivarstead, find the courage to keep his love from marrying another; and Calcelmo, the crotchety court mage in Markarth, who was in love with the jarl's housecarl. It was an odd match, but it worked, and now they were happy. She guessed Calcelmo wasn't as crotchety these days. The latest job Dinya had given her was a little different. Two spirits roamed the tundra of Whiterun near Gjukar's Monument, bound to this world while searching for each other. Sorscha was sent to help bring them together so they could go to their rest. Thus, she donned an amulet of Mara that Dinya had given her so she could see the ghosts and set out for Whiterun Hold.

Gjukar's Monument consisted of a towering pillar topped with the head of an eagle and surrounded by five smaller pillars. The whole configuration was tucked into a crescent of massive boulders in the center of a wide valley. From a distance, Sorscha could see a bluish mist floating around the base of the monument, and as she approached, the specter coalesced into the shape of a woman. The spirit of Ruki roamed throughout the crescent of boulders, calling for her husband Fenrig, who had reportedly been killed on the battlefield. When she spotted Sorscha, she pleaded for help.

"He must be here somewhere," she said in an eerie, ethereal voice as she searched the bodies for her mate.

"Of course, I'll help you," Sorscha replied, although she didn't see any bodies. Then again, she wasn't looking for a body anyway; she was looking for a ghost. She explored the immediate area and found nothing, so she started wandering out on the tundra. A nearby shrine to Zenithar which was built into a toppled fort proved empty. From there, however, she could see another shrine, two columns jutting toward the sky at the base of a foothill, practically screaming for her attention. On closer inspection, Sorscha found that the shrine was to Stendarr, the god of mercy, although his priests didn't seem to know the meaning of the word. She just couldn't follow a religion whose priests used the catch phrase, "Walk always in the light or we will drag you to it." Still, a shrine seemed like a good place to find a spirit, so Sorscha investigated the grounds around it. As the sun set, she felt compelled to search around the base of the small mountain. On the other side was another valley, at the center of which rested a crystal-clear lake that was the source of a river that ran north through Haafingar and eventually spilled into the Sea of Ghosts. There was also a dragon.

She drew her bow and shot at the scaly monstrosity as it Shouted, raining fire over Sorscha and making her scream in pain and rage. She was thankful she wasn't a vampire anymore, because such a blast would have killed her. "You're gonna have to do better than that, you overgrown chicken!"

"You will die for that!" the dragon shouted in the Nordic language, and he dropped to the ground a hundred yards away.

Sorscha dropped her bow, drew her swords—the newest one being Dragonbane, borrowed from the Blades and specially enchanted to kill dragons—and darted toward the wyrm. He spit fire again as she approached, and she managed to dodge the blaze and only get a bit singed. She ducked under a wing and sliced at his ribs with one blade, then jabbed the other deeply into its belly. The dragon screamed and swung around, snapping at her, but she was too far back. As he turned, she moved with him, worrying at the wound she had already made as the dragon struggled to reach her.

He slapped at her with a wing, and Sorscha fell and dropped her flaming sword, giving the beast time to turn and snap at her again. His teeth missed, but he stepped on the sword, leaving her only with Dragonbane. That was okay. She'd killed dragons with one blade before, and this one was already near death. As he struggled to turn again, Sorscha slipped back under his wing and made one final thrust into his abdomen. He cried his last and collapsed, and Sorscha had to scramble out of the way to avoid being crushed.

While the dragon disintegrated, Sorscha took stock. Her armor was shredded, and her arms and torso stung as angry blisters rose where the dragon had burned her. Unfortunately, the armor would have to wait until she got to town, but she could do something about the burns now. She barely noticed the warmth and presence of the soul as it entered her body; she was too busy digging in her pack for a healing potion. She drank the potion, retrieved her weapons, and pulled a bone and scale from the dragon's body, as well as nearly 100 gold pieces. This dragon had eaten someone with money.

She set out again, following her instincts—or maybe it was the Divines—which told her to continue around the edge of the lake. She found the ghost in an inlet on the other side, the lights of Dragonsreach gleaming far in the distance. He stood at the edge of the water, watching the dragonflies flit about on the surface. Sorscha wondered how many hundreds of dragonflies he'd seen over the years.

"Fenrig?" she said softly.

The misty figure looked up at her. "How do you know me?"

"I was sent by Ruki. She's searching for you nearby."

"Why? Is something wrong? Why would she come here?"

It was evident that Fenrig didn't realize he was dead, and Sorscha didn't tell him. She simply bid him to follow her, and she led him back to the monument where Ruki waited. Sorscha was all but forgotten as they embraced and their spirits ascended into the sky. They looked around in confusion for a moment but then simply rejoiced at their reunion.

Sorscha missed Farkas more than ever as she watched Ruki and Fenrig hold each other. Acting as an agent of Mara was difficult when one didn't have love of their own. All this joy, all these lovers united, and Sorscha was alone. Whiterun was close, and she considered stopping in. She wouldn't even have to speak to Farkas; it was nighttime and she could hide at the Skyforge in the hope that he would be out in the courtyard.

No. She had made her choice, and seeing Farkas—or going and not getting to see him—would only make things worse. Better to head back to Riften and try to get over it. Brynjolf had made it pretty clear that he wanted her, although she didn't know the extent of his feelings. From what she had seen, he slept around a lot, and she couldn't discount the possibility that, even though they were friends, she would be just another notch in his bedpost. Then again, that might not be such a bad thing, as long as she kept her eyes open.

Sorscha took the south road through Falkreath. The road passed through Helgen, but she wasn't ready to see the village where she had come so close to death, so she went into the woods to skirt around it. The first part of the trip was easy—no bandits, no wild animals, no dragons. She was grateful, because she didn't think her armor would hold up to another attack. In the wee hours of the morning, however, just after she entered The Rift, she was accosted by two vampires.

It was odd that they were on the road like that; she had never encountered vampires out in the open. They holed up in caves, and if they were out and about, they were doing their best to pass for human. These two were in the most advanced stage of the disease, red eyed and fangs bared, not making any attempt to hide what they were. A beautiful, statuesque Nord in armor Sorscha had never seen before waved the dreaded handful of red light at her, but Sorscha drew an arrow and shot her between the eyes before she had a chance to release the sanguinare vampiris disease. The other, a tiny Breton wearing similar clothing, stepped in too close to get off a good shot and swung a greatsword at her. The sword was almost as big as the vampire, but she managed it admirably. Sorscha dropped her bow and ducked out of the way, but the blade sliced across her side. It barely cut her skin, but it left a huge tear in her already weak armor. Sorscha brought her leg up and threw a kick at the vampire's abdomen, making her double over with a painful cry and giving Sorscha the second she needed to draw the flaming sword.

The vampire straightened back up and stretched out her hand. "Hold still, pretty girl," she purred.

"Oh, no!" said Sorscha. "Don't even think about it."

She stopped, taken aback, then lowered her hand and gave Sorscha an amused smile.

"Look, I just got cured of the damned disease, and I don't want it again, so just go on and kill me instead, all right?"

"Very well." The vampire raised her greatsword, but before she had the chance to bring it down, Sorscha thrust the blade between her ribs. Flames spread across her body, and blood spewed from her mouth as she regarded Sorscha with confusion. Then the red light left her eyes and she dropped to the ground.

The first thing Sorscha did was reach into her pack for a potion that would cure disease and down it in several large gulps. She didn't think they had given her the virus, but she wasn't going to take any chances. Afterward, she set about looting the bodies. She hadn't stolen an enemy's clothes in quite a while; seeing Kodlak stripped of his armor had broken her of that habit. But she needed it now, and the tall Nord seemed to be about her size. The armor was beautiful. It was form-fitting red leather with a kind of spider-web design sewn into the front panel. The top worked into a high neck and scale-type shoulder protection. The belt, skirt, and bracers were also red leather, but the sleeves and slacks were black. The only drawback was that the bustier top left the torso exposed, but Sorscha was very good a guarding her front, so it was a small consideration. She wasted no time stripping the vampire's armor and putting it on. She stuffed the Nightingale armor in her pack in the hope that it could be salvaged. If not, maybe the shrine in Nightingale Hall would cough up another set for her.

The Breton had a messenger's pack. They had evidently killed a courier and taken all of his possessions, including people's valuable letters. With the pack, Sorscha saw another opportunity to give back. There were five letters in the pouch, and she resolved to get them to their owners. When she looked at the addresses, she smiled. It seemed the Divines were still helping her out. Or maybe Nocturnal, because finding these vampires with this pack was exceptionally lucky. Three of the letters were for Falkreath and one was for Riverwood, which she had already passed, but it would be no trouble to stop there the next time she headed west. One, however, was for Riften. Specifically, it was for Rune.

Sorscha couldn't resist the urge to open the letter. Better to apologize than ask permission, she thought as she broke the seal and read the neatly penned script.

Rune,

I am happy to say this letter brings good news. During my search in Cyrodiil, I discovered a book of ancient languages, in which I found the runes inscribed on your stone. Using the simple replacement alphabet, I translated them to mean "TORRIUS."

I discussed the book with the librarian, who told me the language had once been used by the Dark Brotherhood and Thieves' Guild in Cyrodiil to send encoded messages. It is unclear whether Torrius is a given name or a surname, but I now have a new direction in which to look.

If the name is associated with the Dark Brotherhood, this may be another dead end. As you know, the Dark Brotherhood no longer exists in Cyrodiil. However, the Thieves' Guild, however does still operate, so I will begin there and keep you informed of any further progress I make.

Athel Newberry

Sorscha fairly squealed with glee. Maybe it was Nocturnal who guided her. With her spirits boosted, she stuffed Rune's letter, along with the others, into her pack, finished looting the vampires' bodies, and got back on the road to Riften.

She got into town the next afternoon. She stopped at Honeyside to unload the dragon bone and scale and pick up the void salts Balimund would need to repair the tattered Nightingale armor, slipped into a dress, and then headed for the market district.

"What did you do?" the smith asked, looking over the damaged armor critically.

"It wasn't me. It was a dragon and a couple of vampires."

Balimund looked up at her curiously. "Vampires, eh? Interesting."

Sorscha would have thought he'd find the dragon more interesting. "Can you fix this?"

"Do you have void salts?" She handed over a small burlap sack filled with the magical powder, and he said, "Fixing this type of armor is not my strength, but I'll do my best."

"You're the best, Balimund." She placed a kiss on his ruddy cheek and turned away from the forge. Brynjolf was leaning on his counter in the circular marketplace, chatting up a pretty adventurer, and Sorscha started to walk by, but when he saw her, he waved her over. The woman glared at Sorscha and wandered away.

"Sorry about that," Sorscha said.

"She'll be back. I'm glad to see you're looking human again."

"Thank the gods."

"No trouble, then?"

"Bryn, there's always trouble. You know that. But I'm in one piece."

Brynjolf started to say something but closed his mouth.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

"Wrong?" Brynjolf shrugged. "I'll let you decide if it's wrong. But first, I need to tell you something, and this isn't easy for me to say, so be kind. A while back, you said I was your best friend."

"Aye," Sorscha said slowly, wondering where the conversation was going.

"Just know that you're mine, too," he said awkwardly, "and that will not change. Even with what happened between us—or what might have happened—there will be no hard feelings. Ever."

The words were coming out of Brynjolf's mouth, but they didn't sound like him. They were anxious, uncertain, and rehearsed. He had struggled with what he was going to say, and he still did a poor job of it. "Okay, Bryn, you're scaring me. What is going on?"

"There's a surprise waiting for you in the Flagon."

"A surprise? What is it?"

"It's a surprise," he said with a raised eyebrow.

"All right, I'll head downstairs, then." She crossed the marketplace, exchanged sneers with Grelka, Skyrim's bitchiest merchant, and descended the stairs to Riften's lower level and the Ratway.

What in Oblivion had gotten Brynjolf so worked up? This silver-tongued master thief, who'd never been at a loss for words in his life, had trouble expressing himself. And he didn't know if she would think something was wrong? How could it not be wrong? Whatever the surprise was, it was so significant that it had thrown Bryn for a loop. That fact alone made Sorscha hesitate at the door to the Ragged Flagon.

She finally found the nerve to push the door open and stepped into the big, round hall, which stood directly below the marketplace. Four bays on the west end of the circle stood empty, waiting for the day the Flagon would have enough traffic to support businesses again. Across a runoff tank full of surprisingly clean water stood the Ragged Flagon, the tavern that was home to the Thieves' Guild. The Flagon had seen better days, and it was rare to see anyone there who wasn't in the Guild. From the door, she could see Tonilia, an attractive Redguard who was the Guild's fence, sitting in her regular spot on a deck out over the tank, along with a robed individual who was unfamiliar. The bouncer, a dour, hard-faced Imperial who went by the name of Dirge, stood at the entrance. Otherwise, Sorscha couldn't recognize any of the half-dozen figures milling around the dimly lit pub. She approached Dirge, who glared down at her and actually growled.

"Did you just growl at me?" she asked him. Then she noticed. The left side of the bouncer's face was covered with an angry bruise. "What happened to you?"

Dirge pointed a thumb at the room behind him. "He happened. He's been here for three days, said he wouldn't leave 'til he talked to you. When I tried to throw him out, he attacked me. Only reason he's still breathin' is 'cause Bryn wouldn't let me kill him."

Sorscha looked past Dirge to see an armored Nord sitting at the bar, playing a dice game with Delvin. She gasped, her heart soaring at the sight of him. It was Farkas.

"Oh, sweet Mara," she said as she ran to the bar. When he saw her, Farkas slid off the stool. He placed his hands on her waist, and she rested hers on his shoulders. "Wolf, what are you doing here?" she asked.

He gazed at her with those earnest, forthright, pale-blue eyes which, in the torchlight of the Flagon, looked almost transparent, and said, "I came for you."

It wasn't right. She didn't deserve him. Her life was too dangerous for romance. If they entered into a relationship and she was killed by a dragon or some such, he would be devastated. She still didn't know who she was. Blah, blah, blah.

Screw it.

With tears welling in her eyes, Sorscha took Farkas's face in her hands and covered it with kisses. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vekel hand Delvin a small pile of gold.

"Told you," Del said smugly.

Lovely. They had been betting on how she would react when she came in and found Farkas waiting for her. Sorscha would deal with them later. For now, she didn't care.

Characters and settings c. 2011 Bethesda Softworks LLC

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