Chapter XIII: Unholy Grail

The bloodspring was a welcome sight to his eyes, which craved blood just as much as his dead flesh did. Six days had gone by since he had fed. He couldn't resist the impulse now. The temporary life which had been absorbed from the miner Babette had given him had faded a while past, and now he craved new blood. The dark energies coalescing with his body were too strong now, after all that time. This once, the only different thing was that he was still present to the overwhelming sensation. He didn't resist it, but merely observed it. It had been his resistance to have ravaged his mind on the way to Dawnstar, and that wasn't something he was willing to experience twice.

The shallow lake which surrounded the spring was black as tar, the surface reflecting the light in an unnatural way. The motions induced by the upwelling itself bent the surface strangely, as if it was more viscous than normal water. Two small stone bridges connected opposite sides of the small pond to the center, where the crimson substance emerged. Below the surface of the water, the spring was contained by concentric barriers made of the same stone stabs used for the bridges. Thanks to those, the water gushed a few inches from the water's surface. Its color was red and only slightly less dense than the rest of the lake. It does look like a spring, Azrael thought, kneeling down low, but it surely isn't normal water.

He firmly grasped the Bloodstone Chalice into his right hand and sank it into the reddish substance. Concurrently, he lowered the hood with his left and submerged his whole face into the bloodspring. Despite what Babette had told him, he could not bring himself to touch the blood of a living being yet. Most of his hair fell in as well, but he didn't care. He didn't even care about the bloodied skeleton floating in the red substance near him. There was something immensely alleviating and terrifying in drinking blood, because for the duration of the act every other function was on hold. He couldn't think, he couldn't feel, nothing at all managed to surpass the sensation itself. He had considered that it might have become different over time, but that was a conjecture. What he knew was just that.

The taste of blood, he had already realized, could not be fully described using mortal equivalents. Aside from the fact that it unexplainably spread across multiple senses, it was a flavor that grouped all others into one. The closest thing he had ever experienced was when he had eaten or drunk something he was in desperate need of. After days without water, even the muddy one flowing down the nearest stream tastes better than the meal served in some nobleman's palace. Perhaps it wasn't even the substance itself to have those flavors and it was the person's memory that added them to explain itself why it had tasted so delicious. Azrael had understood something important about vampires thanks to that simple connection. Their desire for blood wasn't restricted to itself, but was an expression of their very nature. They didn't get tired of it, whereas a human tires of eating. A mortal fights for survival, whereas a vampire is beyond that. He fights for a desire, an endless craving and unquenchable thirst. It was another way of being altogether.

It was rather hard to understand how much time had gone by when he pulled his face out of the red water. A second or an hour could have felt the same. There was something strange, he thought, noticing a strong blur in his peripheral vision. Well, this wasn't normal blood. The thug before said as much. They all seem to place quite a bit of value on this gruesome thing. He raised his head further, feeling the weight of the soaked hair keeping him down. The red water was flowing through his body and making it quake. The blood vessels were seemingly vibrating, the heart beating faintly and slowly. He pulled out the hand gripping the Chalice out of the fountain, spilling some of the red water inside the stone goblet back into the bloodspring. Concurrently, he pulled his hood back on his head, leaving the soaked locks out.

Inadvertently, he had drawn a deep breath. The cold air feels great. Serana was right on that. He let his body fall backwards and he remained still for a long moment, kneeling, sitting on his own ankles. He exhaled, slowly and calmly, tasting the air as it flowed away, unused. Despite everything, he was feeling incredibly calm in that moment. The surge of energy was still storming in his body and giving him a sense of inner strength that allowed him to stay there, with a sense of control. The Void knows I have missed it. If drinking blood gives me back some clarity, then it won't be long before I start thinking of it as good thing. Unless I can find a way to rid myself of the curse, which is unlikely. There were so many questions and so many things left unanswered, but one thing hadn't changed: his apathy towards a solution. In the journey he had discovered something, which he had not been able to open. It's as if I found a door but not the key to open it. I suppose it's better than not seeing the door at all.

'Look at him.'

Azrael's head leapt upwards way faster than he could have anticipated. He looked forward, motionless, feeling his own gaze penetrating the darkness. The end of the room he was looking towards was brightened up. Blinded by the bloodthirst, he hadn't observed everything around with his usual care. He had missed the lit candle at the other end of the room, which almost certainly signaled more thralls or vampires ahead. However, the voice had come from one of the two silhouettes who were standing between him and the light of the candle.

The voice was a woman's. 'Bent and driven mad,' she continued, her voice markedly mocking, 'trying to pursue his empty goals. He continues to behave like a mortal even after having been wrongfully given our mantle.'

'Yeah, too bad.' This time the voice came from the figure next to the one who had spoken. It was a man's, with a deep and rich note to it. 'Lord Harkon's new tool, dead so soon. He wasn't even fit to carry the very blood of his family inside of him.'

The Dragonborn looked at both of them. The man was tall, lean, covered in a grey and tattered version of the vampires' traditional suit of armor. Thick, unkempt hair covered his head and the nape of his neck. The face was covered by an equally bushy and just as untidy beard. There were livid rings under his bloodshot eyes and the nose was crooked. Thin veins emerged on his neck, light blue against the yellowish skin. Everything suggests a quarter-breed. He wasn't an unknown face. Azrael remembered him from the first time he had set foot in the castle.

The woman was familiar too. He remembered her from the same occasion, sitting in the place right next to the one left vacant by the Altmer that had met them at the castle's entrance. Vingalmo. Her dark hair were combed in a simple bun, which only marked the thin and sharp cheekbones. The eyes were shadowed, the nose compressed and the lips deformed in the cross-shaped way that most characterized them. The robe she wore was cleaner and less ragged than her companion's. The boots were also different, more similar to Serana's. They were a quite normal battle footwear, reinforced with steel near the tip.

'With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?' Azrael said, slowly. There was a faint sarcastic note in his tone. He didn't move a single muscle.

The woman scoffed disdainfully. A disdain that was prescribed rather than felt. 'The weakling still has a sense of humor.' Her voice sounded curious, and her face betrayed a trace of surprise. 'Well, you deserve some explanation before your ultimate demise. Harkon was foolish to let you live, even more so to send you here. My companion is Stalf. I am Salonia,' she said, putting a hand on her belly and bending forward a gesture that looked like a very old-fashioned bow. 'I'm the one who will return the Chalice to Vingalmo, so that we'll be sure the Lord gets it back. From the right hands.'

Azrael had started thinking of a way to extract more out of her a while before she finished, but let go of the thought as soon as she stopped speaking. Stalf, the man, had turned abruptly in her direction. His eyebrows were pinched and the thin skin of the forehead was tense on the skull bone. 'Wait, what?' he asked. Salonia turned towards him, inexpressive. 'That's not what we agreed,' he continued. 'We take it back together. Those were the conditions under which we left the castle.'

'You both think Lord Harkon a fool,' Azrael intervened, impassively. His voice was deeper and more sonorous than both of theirs, so they heard him easily. He patiently waited, but both of the quarter-breeds turned quickly in his directions. 'The very fact we're here, however,' he said, 'disproves it. He probably knew it would end up like this. This can end badly for everyone here, or we can reach an agreement.' He knew only the surface level of Castle Volkihar's politics, that which Garan had told him while fetching the Chalice. I'm not very hopeful this will work. I don't even know if I care. 'We all walk away, bringing the Chalice back as a team. The day of reckoning will come yet, and you'll live to fight in it.'

The two vampires were silent for a moment. The Dragonborn didn't know what exactly was going on in their heads, what their plans were or to what extent his words had managed to sway them. They aren't bluffing that disagreement. I'm positive. Stalf was really surprised and she had truly betrayed him. The question was if the man had betrayed her back or not. Politics is often compared to a game, but Azrael had always found it best described as a calculation. The numbers changed, but there were a limited number of operations. According to that computation, it was more than probable that Stalf also had been ordered to dispatch of her.

However, whether a game or a calculation, Azrael didn't find the wish to take part in it. He didn't want to play it or solve it, whatever the metaphor. The thought of extending his hand to his back and grabbing the hilt of the sword felt as useless as any other action. He didn't stand, he didn't move. He waited for the two vampires to react, and if they would chose to put and end to him he would have probably done nothing. I'm too tired. The prospect of his earthly remains resting in that gruesome, tainted place didn't bother him in the slightest. Babette may be right, but she's not me. I don't want to fight. Alduin is dead. My work here is done. It might be time to leave this place.

'Idiots.' Salonia's voice tore him away from his thinking. 'Both of you. You wouldn't have left this place alive, whatever the case,' she said, raising her chin in the Dragonborn's direction. Afterwards, she turned towards the man. 'And you, Stalf. You didn't really think I'd let you walk out of here, did you? If you did, you're more stupid than I thought.'

'Well, that's just fine.' It was unclear whether she could see him or not, but his hand crept down his side, ever closer to the axe that dangled from the belt. 'Orthjolf told me to finish off anyone who got in the way.'

The man was strong, there was no doubt about it. One motion and that cleaver might have cut down his fellow for good. But that's not going to happen, Azrael thought, now in possession of the last clues which pointed at that being the less likely outcome. Salonia was one step ahead of her companion. Her composure, her obstinacy and the tone all suggested a seasoned attitude, which has its own unique traits if the environment is the one of a court. She was alert and wary, and had probably studied Stalf's moves for some time. Even now, her poise in the face of an incoming struggle could only point at a premeditated action. Her hands… She's going to attack him first, not me. That's probably a result of my interruption.

The woman's hand struck sharply at the man's side. Stalf wore no gloves, and the claws of the woman carved two deep wounds in the back of his hand. Whatever pain he felt, it delayed him from grabbing the weapon he was reaching for. Salonia grabbed her blade, a shortsword with a lining and a section that the Dragonborn wasn't familiar with, with her other hand and thrust it towards the man's throat in one movement of stunning speed.

Stalf reacted just quick enough. He momentarily ignored the axe by his side and moved his other hand in front of his neck, grabbing the tip of the woman's blade with his closed fist. A bit of blood coated the edges of the blade, but the fleeting pause was a trick. Salonia waited for his companion's movement to end, so that he wouldn't know her blade out of its trajectory. When Stalf's hand stopped quaking, she continued the thrust she had initiated. The tip of the shortsword cut through the man's hands and penetrated his neck right under the chin. The sound of flesh being pierced was followed by a faint, cracking one.

That was a clever move, Azrael thought. Stalf let out a short groan, but then the nightmarish light in his eyes faded away quickly. A stab in the throat would have probably not killed him. It would have been a flesh wound. That strike managed to crack the skull, however. The woman retracted the sword from the man's chin, still rigid and ready for another strike. There wasn't the need for one, though. Stalf's head fell limply on his chest just before he dropped on his knees. He bent to the right, probably because of the axe's weight, and he collapsed lifelessly on the floor. That lady, Azrael said to himself looking up at Salonia, surely knows how to kill a vampire. I wonder how long she's done it.

'I pity you, fool,' she whispered, bringing the blade to her side and looking down at Stalf. 'You were on the wrong side all along. Perhaps you have come to realize that, before you died.' She turned her head to her left, looking directly at Azrael with her bloodied eyes. The red of the irises was pulsing, a normal thing for a vampire who is fighting. 'As for you,' she continued, 'I pity you too. I was expecting you to stab me in the back, but you didn't. It doesn't seem you've got the strength.'

'No. I have it.' He let his head lower, until he was gazing at the bloodspring. He felt death approaching in his very bones, but there was something else arising. Along with those sensations, a forgotten desire to be sincere was having the better of him. 'What I lack is the will. I didn't have much before, and your blood has stripped away what little remained.'

He had noticed, back in Dawnstar, how he could feel the presence of another vampire. What he hadn't guessed then was that he could know more than its mere presence by that sense. There are some animals that are said to smell fear and are more prone to attack targets who are afraid. Something similar seemed to be true with him as well. In a parallel to the sense of smell, she smells salty. Babette had felt rather different. It's telling me something. What if there is a connection between the feeling and the state of the other vampire? That left some room for interpretation, but it could be given for granted that a sweet smell would be the one of fear. It was supposed to be pleasurable. Something that's not sweet, but similar.

The Dragonborn gazed upwards, without moving his head, barely able to see what the woman was doing. She had turned towards him and was facing him, motionless, shortsword in hand. Her eyes were fixed on him, and the bloodthirsty light was fading from them. True to her previous composure, her face looked inexpressive at first. There were tiny details who suggested her reaction, however. The eyebrows were slowly moving, perhaps a sign that she pinched them, and the jaw was clenched. She's confused, Azrael thought, putting everything together. She is nervous and confused. Of course she is. She expected a fight. She might be thinking I'm trying to trick her. That wasn't so unsound. After all, it was what he had done the first time.

'You would really surrender your life and the Chalice to me? Without a fight?' Her voice was firm and controlled, there wasn't any trace of the bewilderment that her expression and scent had betrayed. 'I must say, you still have some dignity. You're foolish like that other one,' she said, with a mocking gesture towards Stalf's corpse, 'but you still have some dignity.'

Azrael didn't have to wait long before she moved her first step towards the bridge that connected the opposite side of the pond to the bloodspring. He lowered his gaze and merely listened to the sound. Each footstep was soft and barely hearable, with something immensely sweet about it. The sentimental parts of his mind that had awakened during his journey to Dawnstar were giving him ideas of what would happen that were more poetic than he could stomach. There was nothing remotely special about that thing. The person who would put him down was just a puppet, someone who had been used. The chances of her having understood it completely were slim. From what he knew, Vingalmo was no idiot. He probably knew there was a chance she would die. She probably did too. There was truly nothing romantic about it, quite the contrary. Manipulation, influence and status. Arguably the rotten core of existence.

In his daydreams, Azrael had thought time and time again about death. It was always so close to him. It had marked him. He had never seen it but he had an idea. The people he killed didn't get the chance to confront with it, most of the time. They died thinking about what they were leaving behind, not worrying what was going to come. He was different. He had nothing left behind that mattered to him enough. What was important was the sense of curiosity of what lied beyond, if there was anything at all. Maybe the cold embrace of the Void. Maybe the Mother of Rose would summon him to Moonshadow. Maybe Sovngarde would somehow wrestle him away from his dark masters. Maybe there was something, a place where he might have found something new. In his dreams, the person sending him to that new place was always someone special. One time he had seen Laila coming to lead him away.

It was queer how long he had indulged in the thought of death. But now, when the dream was about to become true, he couldn't let himself go. The steps drew closer, the sound of the metallic tip of Salonia's boot was now clearly hitting the rock of the bridge. The closer she got, the more the Dragonborn felt his body becoming restless and agitated. The energies that had been put to rest by feeding were rising again. That sinister force was seeping into his muscles, flesh and bones. The fibers of his body were quaking, filled with an amount of vigor he could not discharge nor ignore. They're confused too, he realized. That dark, otherworldly energies was rebelling again. They do have a purpose left in this plane. To seek pleasure. Only a purely rational level, it went back to the feeling of thirst. A vampire's one is eternal, a mortal's one if finite. That was how they could live for eternity without going insane.

His arms began to tremble, unable to contain their strength anymore. His neck tensed and the tension crept up to his jaw, making the fangs snap behind his closed lips. The shoulders flexed and relaxed irregularly over the course of mere moments, almost as if they were readying for the Vampire Lord's wings to sprout out of his back. The sense of touch came back to his fangs together with the overwhelming craving to tear something away with his teeth. The hand which was holding the Chalice, which had not moved until that point, gripped the base of the object so hard it almost damaged the metal palm. A flare of energy rose to his eyes, as the world disappeared and reappeared in a vermillion blaze.

'I know it's hard, containing—'

She's obedient and experienced, but stupid. She doesn't know how to understand new situations, Azrael thought, and it was the last coherent thing he could consciously elaborate. Afterwards, his mind fused with the will of his body and he didn't resist it. His gaze rose above, looking at the woman as she loomed over him with the shortsword raised.

His left hand darted ahead, aimed for her groin. The fingers closed on her inner left thigh, tearing through the leather and grasping strongly. Still holding the Chalice, he enveloped her knee with his right arm. The surge of energy that rushed through his upper body was destabilizing, and he put all of that force into a mighty pull with the whole right side of his body. Desperate to release the remaining vigor, he opened his mouth and growled viciously, intensifying the pull on her left leg.

Abruptly, the resistance ceased completely. There was the sound of the leather being torn, the disgusting one of flesh being rent and the crack of a bone breaking apart. But that wasn't the intended end. A scream came from the woman's mouth, something that was beyond and beneath human. A sadistic heave of new strength aided him in the movement of his left arm, which moved upwards to grab her elbow. With his right hand, now free, he gripped the Chalice. He pulled himself up with his left, hearing another crack of more bones being broken. He felt her arm twisting in an unnatural way, but he was where he wanted.

He was now half-standing, with his knees still slightly bent, and with all the strength he needed. There was no pain, no tension, no need to tighten the muscles before a strike. Everything that had plagued him in every struggle he had ever fought meant nothing. He moved his right shoulder, baring his teeth and feeling a new, overwhelming wave of energy which dispersed into his body. His right arm traced a wide swing into the air, the blood red water of the spring flying out of the Chalice as it traveled through the air. Salonia probably tried to move, but it was far too late. The rim of the Chalice's bowl crashed against her temple, producing yet another disgusting sound and tearing through skin, bone and brain.

The woman fell down powerfully in the black pond, raising a splash of the viscous substance. The drops fell on both bridges, on the sides of the pond and some even on Azrael's armor. After the wallow, a semblance of silence came over the place. The Dragonborn's flaring eyes were fixed on the corpse, floating on the dark surface, the arm with the broken elbow bent and stuck around the back. The head and face were disfigured. The jaw was broken and bent, the temple completely torn and open. On the other side of the bloodspring, her ripped leg floated freely in the fountain's current. The femur was snapped diagonally, the flesh split at the same height as the leggings' leather. The waves created by the two distinct pieces of the woman's body dashed against the sides of the grim mere. The bloodied skeletons floating in the black water went up and down, following the movement of the waves' crests.

Azrael started to get some semblance of control only then. He was feeling the energy in his limbs starting to slowly dissipate, now largely unneeded. However, the only place where the change was more tangible was his right hand. The grip on the Chalice's stem decreased, which made him realize how strong he was grasping it. As he let go of the tension, thoughts started brimming in his mind. First and foremost, the instructions of Garan Marethi. He said that after filling the Chalice at the bloodspring, the blood of a powerful vampire was to be added. I suppose both him and I thought to add it once it was safely back at the castle. But there was another way now. From the look of it, both vampires had fed recently. Thus, they could be of use to that purpose. Surrendering to the lack of energy in his legs, Azrael kneeled down once again. He passed the Chalice from his right hand to his left and extended the former, grabbing Salonia's torn leg.

The vampire's blood was of a slightly darker color than the bloodspring itself. He brought the ripped limb as near as he could and then dipped the Chalice once again into the reddish water. He noticed only now that the bowl was damaged. The flowing incisions that decorated the rim was scraped away and one of the spikes adorning the lower portion wasn't there anymore. He turned his head slowly to the other side, looking at Salonia's body floating in the black substance. The temple he had struck was on the side that was hidden to him. The spike must be stuck there. Her felt the Chalice getting heavier and he knew it had filled. He turned his head again to the water underneath him, where the mix of reddish liquid and blood was coalescing into the Chalice. I wonder if a quarter-breed's blood will suffice.

He pulled the artifact out of the spring, balancing it to keep the content from being spilled. He put it down on one of the circular series of slabs that contained the fountain and drew the torn leg nearer, grabbing the dagger with his left. He put his fingers in between the flesh and the vampire's leggings, cutting a round piece of hardened leather with the blade. That should suffice. There wasn't anything resembling a string or a wool thread near him, so he needed to tie the leather together. I might have thought about this, but then again, I wasn't in my best conditions when I left the castle. Grabbing the piece of leather with both hands, he stretched it on top of the Chalice and drew it down. Now to make this impermeable… A spell will do for a while but I'll need an enchanting altar. However, speaking of best conditions, what in Oblivion just happened to me?

He could trace a very clear line that separated the moment when he was in control of his actions to the one, immediately after, when he wasn't. He remembered his last intentional thought, which had been a last read of her behavior. That reinforcing clue that she didn't know what to expect had sparked his instinctual response, which had felt in some way safer to act of its own accord. That means that they're not in competition, he thought while distractedly channeling a small amount of magicka and putting his right hand over the leather piece. Even that new part of me isn't completely erratic. That was an important point, one he had reflected on for quite some time, and knowing that option was true among all the others calmed him somewhat. Maybe, at the end of the line, there was a solution that wasn't radical. Speaking of which…

Now at the peak of his strength, having fed and having his mind clear once again, he had not the wish nor the will to deny that he had ignored what Babette had told him. He had fallen again into the trap of feeling that nothing was ever important, and just like the previous time he had searched for an extreme solution. As much as I hate the vampire part of me, it's undeniable that it saved me. It had fought with all its energy until he hadn't the strength to struggle anymore. So much strength, and it's out of my reach. It's working against me at times, no less. He halted the thoughts for a moment, focusing on extracting some more blood from Salonia's leg. He coated the edges of the piece of leather, the part that touched the bottom of the Chalice. Summoning some more magicka, he cupped the artifact's base with his hand and modeled the ethereal energy. A freezing cold irradiated from his palms, freezing the vampire's life lymph and gluing the leather onto the base. I'll undo it as soon as I find some resin. It would have served its purpose for the time being.

He rose gradually, straightening his back and neck with caution. He felt relatively calm now. He was never free by the harrowing feelings storming incessantly in the back of his head, but they were quieter than before. He sensed his equilibrium. His legs felt strong and his balance on the ground was solid. How strange that killing someone always gives me this surge of purpose and clarity. It had been a constant ever since he had joined the Brotherhood. Stalking the prey created the tension, the intense moment of the fight or the mere assassination released that tension and granted him a moment of strength and intensity. In a way, biting someone for blood does seem similar. He pulled the rim of the hood a little more over his forehead and rolled both shoulders back, adjusting the cloak.

'I was right to assume this trail of corpses would end with you.'

The Dragonborn was too absorbed in his thinking to hear her coming, but he didn't even need to control himself. The tone, the sound and everything about that voice was familiar. Now, this is a good riddle, he thought, evaluating the situation. Did she follow me in here because she was too curious, or because she was worried? Babette would surely choose the latter. The request I sent could have seemed unusual, too. He turned around slowly, piercing the darkness that shrouded the way to the next room with his vision and searching. I guess we'll find out shortly enough.

'How did you figure?' he asked inexpressively, crossing his arms on his chest and waiting.

Karliah was still walking through the threshold, through the pitch black. No mortal, however keenly observant, could have seen her without the aid of a potion or a strong spell. Azrael, however, could make out her outlines rather clearly. The shape of the headpiece was somewhat bigger than he was used to, which meant she wasn't wearing the hood of the Nightingales. The scrutiny was easier after that assumption. The simple and thin pauldrons of the armor and the few pockets and belts that made the shape of her cuirass irregular made it even clearer that she was wearing the standard issue set of guild armor. Which means she comes directly from the Guild. And there's no one with her. That's interesting. It could have meant a few things. Even from those very few moments, her visit was getting interesting.

'The impeccable style,' she said softly. The conversations with her often resulted in endless exchanges of antiphrastic or ironic questions and sentences, a game which was rarely broken if there was nothing overly important to talk about. 'Those who were alone were graced with the cut of the throat, but those who were in groups were reserved a death by suffocation. There were only two things which I didn't understand. Why did those women with deformed faces have their bones broken? And the pile of ashes in the last room?'

'Vampires,' he said simply. Karliah didn't flinch or say anything. She had probably suspected it and was most likely waiting for clarification. Which he, for once, was willing to give. 'The pile of ashes is what remains of their leader. I shot him an arrow coated with a flammable liquid. I didn't have a clear shot on the two women, so that was the last resort. No vampire dies immediately from a cut to the throat.'

'Masterful, but…' She had almost managed to keep her calm tone initially, but in the end her voice had betrayed her surprise. She was almost coming into the light, but she had slowed down her steps. 'Azrael… Why are your eyes glowing?'

So it can be seen… he thought. The fact that something that obvious had given it away so soon was an annoyance, but not a big one. I can probably be honest with her. Nevertheless, he moved his head slightly to the side on an impulse. There was something resembling shame that was making him sink into his own bowels, it felt like. Even under the hood, he reflected. There's probably no way to hide it. The cowl he wore had been crafted with extreme care and using an obscuring enchantment that managed to neutralize the vast majority of the light that would hit his face. But there's no light illuminating my eyes, they're bright on their own. Regardless, it wouldn't have probably been a recurrent problem. Not only I'm heightening my sight, but I've also just ended fighting. Those two things made Serana's eyes glow the brightest.

He had turned his head away enough to cover up his own eyes as best as he could, but he still had a small spiral where she could clearly see her stepping into the lit area of the room. She was indeed wearing the suit of armor characteristic of the guild, but she had a darker and better-crafted variant that Azrael had ordered crafted specifically for her. Azrael, on second thought, imagined that she must had donned it frequently during those months running the Guild with Brynjolf. In the Dragonborn's absence, the two of them stood for him perfectly. Brynjolf handled people, their human issues and social problems. His ability in helping and cheering up others was unparalleled. Karliah, on the other hand, handled projects. To her own surprise, she had found a new talent. The rational mind of the Dunmer and the number of years she had spent living as an exile had taught her the importance of amounts and quantities. The numbers were her responsibility, and it was her duty to keep every record up to date and to plan the next move of the Guild, always with a personal touch of her Dunmeri cunning. She always knew what to do, where to strike, and what amount of cash the operation would provide them. She made the plans, and Brynjolf kept the personnel ready for it. They worked in perfect harmony and respected the work of the other. They made quite the pair. However, there was something else in that picture. Azrael himself had brought about the idea of the Guild being a family, and inside that family he was the patriarch, the father. Karliah, the only one being on his same level, functioned as the Guild's aunt, in a way, which made her the Dragonborn's figurative sister. They both liked that and felt it very true.

That, together with the slight positive preconception he had always had towards other Dark Elves, made him decide to trust her. But that wasn't the right moment. 'Can you see it even if I'm in the light?' he asked, curious about that one last little detail.

'Yes,' she said, stepping closer and stopping at a couple of yards away from him. She wasn't afraid of him in any way, and she was perhaps showing it willingly. Azrael noticed her violet eyes looking in his own. 'It's not very clear,' she continued, 'and they have become less bright since I noticed, but yes. It's an igneous glow. It changes between yellow and red.'

Azrael breathed out some fresh air. As long as the blood of the spring kept his life functions awake, he wouldn't deny himself the pleasure. 'Fine.' He brought his hands down to the height of his belt, undoing the knot. 'Let's go, we'll talk on the way.' He put the Chalice beside the belt and tied it to his side. His gaze rose and met Karliah's one, which was inquisitive. He simply gave her a nod, indicating he would explain in time.

He stepped in her direction, while she was busy taking in her surroundings. She looked at him as he stopped in front of her, towering over her with his full hand-width of advantage in height. A smile touched the corners of her lips. 'This place is quite grim,' she said.

'It is.' He motioned towards the other side of the room with his head. 'Let's go.'

They walked around the black mire, remaining close to its edge. Karliah kept looking suspiciously at the pond, her gaze moving from the bloodspring to the rims, stopping on Salonia's corpse along the way. Azrael looked at her sideways, merely wanting to observe her. Her huge violet eyes, even for a Mer, kept wandering on the room. There always seemed to be a timid and frightened look in them. A lock of dark brown hair fell out of the hood on her left shoulder. She had let them grow ever since they had killed Mercer, and now they were noticeably longer than when he had first met her. He had always found her frail appearance strange, contrasted to how strong she had proven to be.

Reaching the other side of the pool, she also cast a brief glance at Stalf's body. The man was down on the ground, prone, the legs barely spread and the arms stretched out. The axe by his side had never been pulled from the belt. His left hand, the one he had used to grab Salonia's blade, was marked by the bloodied cut on the palm. The wound under the chin was hidden from them at the moment, but Karliah had surely seen it before. 'Was that your doing?' she asked.

'No.' Azrael glimpsed at the corpse and then brought his gaze ahead once again, looking towards the exit. 'The one in the water is the perpetrator. Her death is my doing, though.'

'Her death? Her dismantling, more like. The whole situation looks complicated,' she commented. 'This whole place was quite the mystery to me. A drug hotspot, but not one we've heard of at the Guild. I thought we were aware of all illegal activities in the province, by now. The dealers and the doorman weren't known faces.'

'Those two,' he said, gesturing to the corpses over his shoulders, 'weren't part of this operation. It's something even more complicated.'

'Do you think we should get a hold on this place, now that everyone here is dead?' She looked at him, and Azrael met her gaze for a moment. He saw a bit of his own teachings in that focused attitude she had, always looking for opportunities. 'I mean, if no one will use this place other people will occupy it sooner or later.'

The Dragonborn had actually thought about it on the way through the boilers and the stores. 'I don't think we can afford it, in the format you're thinking of. We would need armed men here, and we don't have any to spare. What we can do is use this place as leverage in our deals with the Khajiits. We can give them this place, in exchange for a larger fraction of their profits. And try to force them to reduce their independent smuggling, too. They make more than enough money working for us.'

'That would be clever,' she agreed, nodding pensively. She brought a hand to her side, specifically to a round, brown linen bag. The circular shape and the way it bent at one point made the nature of the item very clear, which threw Azrael back in a series of thoughts he had no real wish to go through again. 'While we're on it,' she added, lifting the bag so that he could see it, 'this is what you asked in your message. Mainframe of silver, the inner lining and the middle band in pure malachite and a refined emerald as decoration on the front. I hope everything is fine.'

Azrael felt his teeth grinding together for a short moment. He extended his arm and resisted the trembling as he could. 'Thanks,' he simply said, taking it from her hand and bringing it on the side of his belt opposite to the Chalice.

'Is it intended for someone in particular?'

Azrael tied the leather strips together and looked in front of him, avoiding her gaze. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

She didn't reply in any way. Azrael stepped ahead faster than her for a moment. They had arrived to the end of the room, behind the pillar that hid the candles behind. There were solidified drops of wax just below them. In front of them stood a heavy metal door that was common in Nordic crypts. The Dragonborn had noticed how part of the underground tunnels were in fact a sectioned off part of one such vault. The main entrance was probably somewhere else or had sank below the earth a while before. Those portals were heavy and hard to open, but this one appeared to have been used more frequently than others.

He put one hand on each of the two wings and pushed. A squeaking sound came from the hinges, but the door opened very quickly. Azrael, in truth, had expected it to be much harder. Those doors usually required all of his strength to open and it often left him breathless for a moment. But while not breathing and with the strength to tear limbs off, these are a joke. It was partly due to Karliah, probably. Since she was familiar, he had interpreted everything around them as familiar and that strength was still unfamiliar to him. In fact, the gate had opened so fast that Karliah seemed curious again. I guess at some point I'll have to explain. And if not now, then when?

'Bryn must have told you about my intentions the last time I came by the Guild,' he said, without any unnecessary preambles. Neither of the two Dunmer needed one. 'They gave me a lead I could pursue and I did. The events that follow are quite convoluted, but they led me to the vampires' lair. It was there, after my plans didn't work out as intended, that I became one of them. This pack at my side is something I have t bring back to them.' He stopped to look around the room they had just entered. It was a relatively small chamber containing at least a dozen upright sarcophagi. Clearly a part of the older ruin. There didn't seem to be an exit.

Karliah followed him in close behind. She cast an absent glance at the coffins. 'So you're working for them now?'

Azrael stopped for a moment. Is she assuming I have completely changed side? She sounded calm, even accepting that idea. She probably thinks the vampires are just growing in number, while I think there's a bigger machination going on. But that was merely an assumption, and he knew it well. He focused on the room once again. There was clear evidence that someone had been there recently. Maybe that was where Stalf and Salonia were hiding. The coffins were mostly open and the Draugrs had been removed. On the bottom of the upright sarcophagi there were lit candles, which was further proof of someone's recent presence. He focused away for a moment, realizing in had been a few seconds since Karliah had posed her question. 'No,' he answered, taking another pause to think. 'There's not really a word to describe me in that situation. I'm not a double agent, because I'm not working for anyone else, just for myself. I'm waiting for a moment to strike. I'm an assassin, in the end.'

'I understand,' Karliah said. 'It certainly seems a strange situation to be in… What are you looking for?'

Just as she said it, Azrael spied a chain hanging from the pillar he was inspecting. He extended a hand and pulled down, making the iron rings squeak. 'This,' he replied. A moment later, the wall on the opposite side of the door shook weakly, releasing a small and dense cloud of dust and splinters. Slowly, it sank into the ground with a screeching, sharp noise until it was almost completely dug in the ground, making a deeper sound. Azrael turned once again towards her. 'You were saying?'

'I was thinking aloud,' she said, following him as he stepped towards the opened passage. 'I don't understand why you needed me, though. I have never dealt with a vampire in my life.'

You are doing it now, Azrael said to himself. The passage was dark and poorly lit, but it was not a problem for him. There was nothing strange in there, perhaps expect for three immense cisterns. 'I know,' he said, as he walked towards one of them. He hit it with a finger. By the sound they produced, they seemed empty. 'I needed your help on another matter which concerns a parallel problem,' he continued. 'I have not been very lucid as of late, but both me and Babette think that vampirism isn't the only answer. She claims there is a moment when I started acting strangely, but I haven't been able to pinpoint it precisely.'

Karliah hummed briefly as he finished the sentence, as if amused or interested by something. Azrael walked ahead, eyeing the next door and waiting. 'Actually,' she said, softly, 'I meant to tell you about this for quite some time.'

The Dragonborn felt two motions in his body and mind. He still couldn't understand how, but ever since the transformation the emotional and instinctual impulses had increased heavily in intensity. The two waves of energy were very easily recognizable as a mixture of relief, perhaps because of her being able to understand, and euphoria, because the way she had said it indicated that she had quite a lot to say. Every kind of knowledge caused a brief sense of elation in him. There was nothing strange in the patterns, per se, but the strength with which they appeared was different. Very different. Whereas before he had troubles sensing them, now they were impossible to ignore. He felt them come and go, just passing by and leaving a trail of thrill, which he readily suppressed. It blinded his mind and clouded his clarity.

'A while ago,' the she-Elf told, 'I even pieced together a record of the places you had been before I noticed this. After you came down from the Throat of the World and announced the death of that Dragon of yours, you participated in the festivities at Whiterun. Then, you disappeared with Elisif for a few days. That we know. Immediately afterwards, you first appeared at the Sanctuary. That I know from a mention made by Laegiine while she was working with us on our second combined operation. She told that you seemed tired and exhausted, which wasn't strange to anyone. Your wounds still needed to heal and you'd been through a lot. You came by the Guild next and we arranged everything for the winter. We planned together the moves against Maven and the reconstruction of the network in Riften. Do you remember?'

Azrael directed his gaze towards her, ignoring the details of the storeroom they were traversing. If the map he had built in his mind while he went through the place was correct, they were close to the exit. However, that interested him less than Karliah's question. That isn't unintentional. She never says anything like that. 'Why shouldn't I?'

'I'll tell you.' Most people were quite thrown off when their question was answered by another question, but not her. 'After you planned everything and thought everything out, the implicit agreement was that you would stay still for the winter. You did something else entirely. We calculated every move with the assumption that you would have rested. We thought you deserved it and you never argued with it.' She stopped for a moment. Azrael couldn't guess why, as the reasons might have been many. 'Right after, you went to the Sanctuary. We all thought you'd spend the winter there. Instead, after just a couple of days from what I could gather, you threw yourself into another thing. It was as if you couldn't stay still. Bryn was the one who confirmed my suspicion when you came here the second time. You were even more reclusive than normal and you were constantly in search of something to do. You journeyed from one end of Skyrim to the other helping the College, completing contracts, doing missions for us, and Nocturnal knows what else. It wasn't like you.'

Azrael opened the door made of iron bars that separated the dealer's small counter from the larger part of the room. They were indeed near the entrance, where the massacre had began. He had little wish to remember that moment. He had even tried to drink the blood of one of the addicts, but it tasted of skooma and he had spit in on the floor. The rest of them had been culled down, but the cuts left by his dagger were still precise and thin. If anything, I can say that fighting comes really natural now. I hardly could control myself, and yet every kill is clean and efficient. That was more of a side-thought, however, as there was a much more complex reasoning going on in that moment.

What Karliah had said was definitely interesting, so much so that some singular things he might have even labeled as revealing. However, what she had said after the start was largely unrelated to his question. She has drawn me really well into that trap halfway through. I genuinely don't remember my intention of settling for the winter. It was much more specific than what Babette had told him, but there was nothing new. However, she had started her story from a specific point in time. The fall of the World Eater. That tied in an element of the picture he had never considered, because it seem the complete opposite of everything he was dealing with. He needed nothing more, now. He knew what to do, even if his saw no reason to do it. I'm dragging myself forward with sheer willpower, but how long is it going to last? Nevertheless, he had his answer.

Karliah closed the iron door behind her while he was already in the middle of the room. 'I can hear your mind sizzling from all the way over here,' she said, chuckling. 'Was that helpful?'

'It was.' More than you probably can realize. Just by doing a momentary analysis of his mind, he understood that everything was clearer now more than ever if taking the time since he had been turned into account. It was miles away from the cold, still and awaken concentration that he felt before, but it was a start. I see now why some people crave or willingly accept vampirism. The body doesn't weight you down anymore, nor does your mortality. And if you're like me and there seems to be any reason to live, you are given one. What he had done, thus far, was a barter. His mental clarity in exchange more strength and nimbleness. The possibility to work in the bright daylight in exchange for even more capabilities during the night.

However, as his dealings in the organizations he led demonstrated, he wasn't one who took a barter like that. He was infamous for getting something in exchange for practically nothing. That's what I'm trying to do, he thought. It had been his idea since leaving the Sanctuary, almost a week before. He had the intention to keep his new gifts, but he wasn't willing to permanently sacrifice any of the things he had lost in that deal. And speaking of deals…

'If you've nothing to add, let's talk business,' he said, looking over his shoulders. Karliah quickened her pace to get by his side and listened, without uttering a word. They took the stairs leading upwards, to the exit, leaving behind that hall filled with corpses. 'Tell me about the two noblemen we dealt with when I last came by.'

'They returned to Solitude and they set everything up.' She stopped, as if choosing her words cautionsly. 'I can't know what was on their mind, but they seem to be out of their element. I think their only motive for doing that was the thought of easy gold, but there is more involved. Brynjolf has ordered Rune to reposition to Solitude for the time necessary to get them accustomed. I've arranged a couple of jobs and an operation overview for him while he's there.'

'They did look somewhat lost. After they've gone through this first period, reduce the percentage they owe us.'

'As you wish.' She cast a glance at the doorman, dead and throw to the side The bruises on the neck and the thin graze on the collarbone suggested suffocation. 'They look to be a steady source of income, once they get used to their new life,' she said, shifting her gaze. 'They also don't seem to be in a dangerous position right now, and Erikur has agreed to cover them. Everything they're doing seems legal commerce if looking at the records, after Sapphire has tweaked them.'

'Even if they do slip once, it doesn't matter. I can pull a few strings in Solitude.' He walked up the stairs, bracing. The Sun was still low on the horizon, but the feeling was never pleasant. He focused back on what Karliah had told as soon as he could, because there was something that interested him. 'You mentioned Sapphire has gone to Solitude.'

'She did, to create the first connection with the merchants and to adjust the registers. A standard job. Why do you ask?'

'I wanted to know which way the wind blows in the Capital.'

'It doesn't look good. The truce you negotiated isn't considered any longer because the Dragons have been defeated. Some are even starting to whispered that there was never such a thing as an armistice and that the two warring parties stopped just because of the cold season. Either way, the Legion is dispatching couriers all over the land and relocation its detachments to the advanced camps. There was a squad of scouts sent out by Tullius on the mountains east of Whiterun that was expected to send a report three days before Sapphire left, but nothing had yet arrived. Word in the streets was that it had been the Stormcloaks. All around, signs of the approaching war are many. Some merchants aren't moving any longer. Even we at the Guild are having trouble finding someone who's willing to deliver messages and men from the Rift to Windhelm.'

'The Rift has more strategic value to the Empire than it does to Ulfric,' the Dragonborn said. The Stormcloaks never had a good hold on the southern part of the province. 'What is interesting for us is Markarth. The Empire can't renounce the income it was receining from that region. They'll try to retake it, and the city won't be able to hold an imperial siege for too long.'

'But that's good for us, isn't it?'

'Partly. The Stormcloaks won't be able to sent reinforcements over there, which makes the outcome inevitable. Once the city is once again in Imperial hands, then yes. It will be good. But while the siege is occurring, commerce will be utterly blocked.' Azrael looked back, straight into her eyes. The plan was clear in his head, he just needed her to understand. Her gaze was focused, which could only mean that she had picked up on everything. 'If that siege takes place, we need to shorten it.

'And how do we do it?'

'There are tunnels beneath Markarth, which connect the inside to the outside of the city. Contact Wildach at the Sanctuary, he'll provide you with maps of the abandoned mines. Once you have them, sell them to the lowest ranking official you can find for as much gold as you can get.'

'We will do as you say,' she replied. She was facing away from him, looking in front of her and probably lost in her own thinking. 'Back when Gallus led us, I'd never imagine we would interfere with politics and wars.' There was a chuckling note in her voice, a subtle and almost sorrowful irony. 'We have come a long way.'

'Gallus was an orthodox leader,' Azrael replied. It wasn't the first time they had that conversation. 'He saw the Guild for what it was and accepted it. I won't. Our association has the potential to do incredible things and I won't settle for anything less.'

The Dragonborn stepped out of the door, remaining for a split second in the stark sunlight. His undead flesh contracted in pain and he felt it heating. The warmth seeped through the skin and touched the softer parts of his body, making the ingested blood boil and scorching him from within. And to think I just fed, he thought, his eyes moving frantically around in search for the nearest place covered by a pine-tree's shade. It was a few meters away, and he immediately treaded in that direction. It's hard to even understand the nature of the pain. He was noticing something for the first time. It's simple presence eats away at my lucidity. My mind gets restless and uses energy to search a spot not reached by sunlight. By putting several pieces of information together, he was coming to realize that even his moments of insanity hadn't been caused by one thing only, but by the coexistence of several factors. Factors that can probably be taken care of separately.

Upon reaching the tree's shadow, he immediately felt less tense. He had spied that conifer upon entering the Den. The broadleaves which covered the vast majority of the Rift still carried buds that hadn't bloomed, and the shadows they cast were insignificant. A pine-tree or a fir was a luxury, but one he had to rely on in those times. As long as he was on horseback he could tolerate the weakness that spread throughout him, but not while standing on the ground with his own feet. He could hardly stand, and his legs were constantly threatening of failing him. While not directly struck by the light though, he felt much better.

Azrael turned around and leaned against the trunk and directed his gaze to Karliah once again. He caught a few glimpses of the scenery behind her, gathering only fragments of it. His lips thinned as thought traversed his mind. Ambition on her side, which I lost, he thought while eyeing Karliah, and appreciation of the world around me, which I also lost. In those last days, almost two weeks by that time, he had found himself absorbed by pointless thinking. He didn't feel the calm and the composure that allowed him to admire what lied around him, because what went on in his mind frightened him. However, he knew that it wasn't by trying to start doing those things again that he would conquer his problems.

The solution still awaited for him. But before, there were two last things he needed to settle. He looked at her and crossed his arms. 'Did Laegiine deliver my directions?'

'She did,' the she-Dunmer answered readily. 'We were more careful with out next delivery. We paid a joining member a small amount to give a closed package to Isran himself. We knew he welcomes new recruits personally, so there were no risks of it being taken by someone else.' Her tone was more energetic than normal. Azrael found it strange, but their racial affinity aided him in understanding her feelings. Financing the Dawnguard had been one of the first things she had decided to do that aligned with Azrael's views of expanding the Guild's influence outside of their previous range. She was quite clearly proud of what she had done. 'We also,' she added, 'left a note in the money explaining where the rest had gone.'

Azrael nodded slowly. 'Good. Schedule the delivery of next sum as you like, but not sooner than a full week.' He waited for a moment, making sure she had understood the information and hadn't any questions that wouldn't be answered by his explanation. 'Within that time, new orders might come from me to annul it. Otherwise, continue until you consider it necessary. Clear?'

She looked back at him hesitantly. 'Yes,' she murmured faintly.

'Another thing.' Thankfully, she hadn't asked for any explanation. 'A while back, I asked the mages in Winterhold to contribute in counteracting the vampire threat. Any signs?'

'Yes indeed,' she said, her eyes brightening up. 'I knew it was you,' she whispered under her breath, 'they didn't mention anything but I could have bet it was you. They have written letters and contacted every mage in the province. Word on the streets is that they're coordinating them to fight the vampire threat. Brynjolf says it's quite an event and they haven't poked their noses out of their College ever since Red Mountain erupted.'

As always, the shard of satisfaction he felt filled his body strongly, as if intensified. 'Good,' he said, emotionlessly.

'I imagine you're going somewhere, but I don't understand where.'

The swiftness of her words surprised him, and she wasn't someone who talked before having thought about what to say. The only option was that she had been thinking about that phrase, that sentence hiding a question he wasn't willing to answer, for a long time. Azrael focused his gaze back on her hooded face. He had drifted away for a moment, peering into the limitless landscape of his own mind, but now he looked straight into her pupils, sometimes moving to her large, violet irises. 'A place my return from which isn't guaranteed.'

Karliah's features, unexplainably, seemed to relax. 'You already went to such a place once,' she said. 'And you came back in one piece. You will return once again.'

Azrael felt something deep stirring, somewhere that Babette had managed to move a few days before, but not to that level. They trust me, he thought. They believe in me. Blindly. On the one hand, he still found it incredible. On the other, he couldn't fathom why he had never even considered it until that moment. If I trusted myself as much as they do in me, much of my problems would be inexistent. I don't feel anywhere as strong as I appear, from what I can see.

'We shall see.' Azrael turned his gaze away slightly. 'Farewell, Karliah.'

She was imperceptively stiff. 'Farewell, Azrael. Eyes open, and walk with the shadows.'

Azrael could read many things in her eyes as she turned away, headed towards the back of the dilapidated house that acted as entrance to Redwater Den. There were questions lingering in her eyes. She wanted to know where he was going. And, somehow, she realized I wasn't well. She wanted to know why I was suffering. Those were hard answers. During the last moments with her, the mere act of speaking felt as is it inflicted physical pain. She probably wanted to help. But how? She could cure the symptoms, but I want the disease eradicated. That's just the problem with everyone I meet across this gods-forsaken plane. Everybody is good at curing symptoms, but the ones like me who cure diseases is small. Unbelievably small. I have always been my own healer.

He looked West, where his next destination was. Babette was right. My egocentrism is my saving grace. There had been people who were strong, but most of them probably felt as he did. They didn't feel as strong within as everyone seemed to believe they were. In time, they accepted the reality of other as their own and they bowed and bent, offering their lives to the people they were acclaimed by. The strong become the prisoners, if they're not careful. They served the ones who were just as strong as them but that had not found the courage to be. Most heroes are fools. Good-natured, pleasant ones, but fools all the same. At length, they come to live for the ones they defend. I'm not. I live for myself and only myself. That's my saving grace, but it's also what makes being me so difficult. It's my burden to bear, and I bear it gladly. However, the moment had come when he would need someone's help, someone who could share that weight in order for him to stand straight once more.

'Od Ah Viing!'

A/N: If you're wondering about that "waterproof" part, I twisted the concept behind the enchantment "Water-breathing" and imagined that it could also function to block the water of the helmets. It's probably a long shot, but not a huge one.

After reading it back through to check for spelling and the like, I realized how much clues there are to secondary storylines in this chapter. There's enough to drown in them. If I spotted them all, then they will be all addressed at some point, but I might have missed some that I have no intention of exploring. However, generally, the timespan between the end of Godsplitter and Day Keeper, Night Reaper will be cleared as we go on, along with the essential references to The Assassin for those who haven't read it. Also, consider the fight with Salonia a teaser of future fights to come.

Lastly, thanks to you, AbnormalNormality, for reviewing. I don't have anything to add. I'm just glad you like DKNR.

As always, I'll see you in the next one.