IX
Years ago, Whiterun had been the site for one of the bloodiest battles of the Stormcloak Rebellion. Nearly half its guard had died, along with many soldiers on both sides. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater had been deposed, and Vignar Gray-Mane, patriarch to that influential clan, had taken his place.
All this Vinye knew. But she had never visited Whiterun before since crossing the border into Skyrim, and therefore had felt a moment of despair when she saw the ruined fortifications of the city. Only when the carriage driver had reminded her that the city had yet to fully recover from the effects of the rebellion did she manage to calm herself.
I'm not too late after all, she had thought, thanking the gods. I can still stop this!
She had gone to the Bannered Mare, and rented one of their rooms for several days. And then, Vinye had simply waited for the contingent of Stormcloaks that made up the new town guard to let her know when a certain dark elf made her way up to the city.
Now, barely twenty-four hours later, as she saw that certain dark elf make her way inside the city limits, the Altmer reviewed the contents of the letter Urag had given her one more time.
Vinye did not like being lied to. But it was good to finally put a face to that lie—to the hatred she felt for being played like a child.
"Vinye?" she heard the Dunmer say in surprise and anger—having a lightning bolt missing someone by inches tended to produce those emotions in people. "You'd better have a good reason … for … "
Vinye ignored the agitated shouts of the Stormcloaks nearby as she marched up to Malys, her face stony.
"You have not been honest with me, Malys Aryon of House Hlaalu," the Altmer spat, preparing another lightning bolt. "You lied to me. Now tell me the truth right now—or I will kill you where you stand."
To her slight surprise, Malys wilted a little in the face of her aggression. "Not here," she said softly; Vinye had to strain to hear her words. The Dunmer looked around furtively at the guards and the growing crowd. "Let's go somewhere else. I've already started one riot in my time—once was enough."
And she pushed herself away from Vinye, who was left to mutter some nonsense about College business and where the passersby could shove their collective nose regarding that business before walking along in her wake, eventually overtaking her and leading Malys to the Bannered Mare.
The inn was quiet, but the sun had set, and soon they would be getting the usual influx of business that came with the nightlife of any city. Only half a dozen people, not including Hulda the bartender, occupied the space around the fire, while a pretty young bard with blonde hair stroked the opening bars of "Tale of the Tongues" on her lute.
Only when Vinye had taken Malys to her room overlooking the bar, and closed the door, did she deem it necessary to resume their conversation. "So," she said tonelessly. "Are you going to tell me your real name now, or should I just send for the guard, have you arrested, and save us both some trouble on the process?"
The Dunmer frowned. "My name is Malys," she said stubbornly, as if it was the simplest fact in the world.
Vinye growled under her breath, and produced the letter Urag had given her. "Read it to me," she said coldly.
Malys took the letter, and repeated the thin, spidery handwriting on the parchment:
Urag,
Before I begin, I want you to know how difficult it was to get this information. Indeed, were it not for Brelyna's apprenticeship under Master Neloth, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Even then … Neloth is many things, but how he is still alive—let alone still a member of House Telvanni—is beyond my skill to comprehend. At any rate, after Brelyna cleaned up one of his "experiments gone wrong", as he so callously referred to her, he became more willing, albeit grudgingly, to aid me with this task.
For all his faults, Neloth is a far more accomplished mystic than I; where my scryes could only reach the recent past and near future, his capacity for divination spans entire centuries, going back to the time of the Red Year. With this, he was able to contact the ancestor spirits of the Dunmer per your request, and what he told me is most disturbing.
Firstly, the matter of this Malys Aryon: There was an elf with that name who did indeed belong to House Hlaalu; however, she was last sighted in Blacklight two hundred years ago, fleeing the eruption of Vvardenfell. I would advise you and the rest of the staff to keep a close eye on her at all times, as I suspect this name may be an alias.
Secondly, the matter of this wizard called Solyn—
Vinye snatched the paper away from Malys before she could read any further. Now wasn't the time for that.
The Dunmer made as if to protest, but the crackling arcs of lightning around Vinye's fingers silenced her quickly, and she sat back down in her seat.
"Two hundred years," Vinye repeated, in a voice that could dissolve ebony. She did not lower her electrified hand. "And yet you don't look a day over twenty. Even high elves don't get so lucky to look so young."
She grabbed Malys by the hand, and flinched almost as soon as she touched the flesh. "You're cold," she said in a hushed voice. "Very cold—a fool might even say you were as cold as the grave."
She saw Malys swallow visibly at her choice of words, and as she concealed a smirk, Vinye played her last card.
"So, Malys Aryon … how long have you been a vampire?"
Malys' eyes widened, but only a little, and the tips of her mouth curled in a wry smile. "Well, one of you lot had to figure it out sooner or later," she said, and then she grinned. "I'm just glad you were the one I had to beat to it."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Vinye said smugly. "I had my suspicions about you even before that priest found us at Rkund. I knew something was off ever since that lesson with Tolfdir—the night we first met, when you told me your name. But I never had the evidence to prove it—until I got this letter."
The façade broke for only an instant, and then Malys was as unflappable as ever, but Vinye knew she'd hit a nerve, and so she continued, "After the Oblivion Crisis, House Hlaalu fell out of favor with the other Great Houses of Morrowind. Then, after the Red Year and the Argonian invasion, the other Houses hated them so much that they lost their rank, their standing, and all it implied—including their seat at the Grand Council. No self-respecting Dunmer would ever call herself a part of House Hlaalu after all that—unless."
Vinye paused. She had enjoyed watching the effects of her words dissect Malys with a savage pleasure—watching her carefully constructed disguise fall to pieces at the onslaught of her research—of cold, hard facts, of truth. But the longer she looked at the Dunmer, the more she noticed how confused Malys looked. There wasn't a trace of fear to be found; instead, there was—was it confusion, relief? Vinye couldn't be sure. And there was something else …
"—unless you genuinely didn't know," she finished, her voice trailing off. Now Vinye was the one feeling confused; even as she finished speaking, she already knew that hypothesis couldn't possibly make sense. How could someone forget the moment they crossed over from the realm of the living to that of the dead?
Malys sighed. "There's a lot I don't know," she replied. "But I'm trying to piece everything back together as best I can. I might tell you about it later on, if I think you've earned the right—I can tell you the process wasn't quick or painless. And there's one other thing I think you ought to know about me."
She rose from her seat, and even though Vinye was still a head taller than she was, the Altmer couldn't help but feel intimidated by Malys' glowing red eyes.
"I didn't get only the one bite," Malys smirked. The air in the room felt like it was growing colder with every word she spoke. "I was bitten twice—by completely different vampires. Their infections battled inside my body—and it nearly tore me apart. I had to sleep for a long time, but it was risky—two hundred years, I had plenty of chances to just give up and die. But I didn't—and look at what it's made me into."
Malys showed her newly pointed teeth in a wide smile, and Vinye tried not to look at them, instead staring back into those infernal glowing eyes while she mulled those words uneasily. Two vampires? Two attacks?
"Look at me, Vinye," Malys repeated. "I'm a completely new generation of vampire—the likes of which Tamriel has never seen before." Her smile grew wider. "And right now, I'm feeling hungry."
Lightning wrapped around both of Vinye's hands now, and she thrust them both at Malys, prepared to open fire. She had already witnessed the destruction of one city in her lifetime—Vinye was not about to stand by and allow another town to die, not after she'd come so far that she was staring the source of all that potential ruin in the face.
But to her surprise, though, Malys hadn't even batted an eye, merely watching her reaction with a casual, detached amusement. "That's it," she smirked. "Show me that fear. Like a skeever with nowhere to run and hide."
Vinye growled softly as Malys walked up to her, and her hands tensed further, ready to blast this creature apart with an entire storm's worth of lightning if need be.
Malys was now so close to her that her forehead was very nearly touching Vinye's sizzling palm. "You hate me, don't you, Vinye? People fear what they don't understand, and they despise it—they deny it exists for as long as they can. But I know you're better than that … you know that denial's only the first step to something better."
Her voice became softer, and Malys now whispered to Vinye as if to a lover. "You once told me you'd give your life to show Tamriel the truth," she said calmly. "But you never told me if you were prepared to do just that."
And Malys—her eyes reflecting the sparks dancing on Vinye's arms—relaxed. Her smile was now as warm as her undead body was cold. "Well, the truth's out now, Vinye—it's up to you to spread the word. Tell the world what I am, what I could be. Maybe when this is all said and done, you can even publish a book on me."
She took Vinye's hand, still writhing with energy, and placed it gently on her brow. "All you have to do is kill me."
Those eight little words hit the high elf like a kick to the stomach. Malys' monologue had started a chain of images in Vinye's mind, and now she could see herself standing triumphant, resolute of this vampire's broken, smoldering body; she saw the combined assemblage of the Synod and the College of Whispers, united after two centuries within the Arcane University at her request, as she told them of her findings in Raldbthar, of the long-lost Falmer and their new culture under the mountains of Skyrim.
And then Vinye saw herself talking about the one vampire she had killed; the shifting, faceless masses in her mind—once merely showing interest—were now outright ecstatic; they bombarded her with questions about this new breed of vampire: how strong was she, what were her capabilities, and on and on and on—
… And it sickened her.
Do it, a little voice whispered in her head. Tamriel will be all the safer, and they'll have you to thank for it.
I trusted her, Vinye thought angrily. I called her my friend!
She's a threat! hissed the voice. If the Synod or the College knew you'd let this one chance get away, they'd never let you back in again.
But was it worth it to go back now?
Vinye looked at Malys again; the Dunmer had closed her eyes, though had not squeezed them shut. She actually looked quite peaceful, the Altmer thought. If she unfocused her eyes, she could almost believe Malys wasn't a vampire right now.
And then, a familiar voice echoed in her mind, speaking words that had only been spoken a short time ago, but the cap between then and now felt like an eternity: "The day the truth you've been following finally comes out … is the day when scholars like you won't have any place in Tamriel anymore … "
That was enough to sway Vinye.
She unclenched her fingers, and the blue glow of lightning slowly faded from her hands.
Malys slowly opened her eyes as the sizzling noise died, and smiled at Vinye's expression. "Good girl," she said.
Vinye sensed the veil in the compliment—and suspected Malys had played her yet again—but did not comment on either. "Being good had nothing to do with it, Malys," she said bluntly. "I've told you about the people I had to deal with when I studied magic in Cyrodiil—their double-crossing, their fabrications and lies. If I'd killed you, I'd have murdered a colleague—danger to the world be damned. And I wouldn't be any better then them."
She sighed. "And there's one other thing. I remember what you told me, that night in the Arcaneum—and you're wrong. Tamriel will always need scholars, Malys—even after all the secrets in the world are nothing more than common knowledge. After all, someone has to make sure we don't forget the truth—that elves and men alike can learn from their mistakes."
She perched herself on the bedspread. The words were floating up her throat now, and she felt a heavy weight lift from her shoulders as she mentally steeled herself. Malys had just revealed herself as a vampire; it was only fair that Vinye told her about her brief life as a justiciar. "And while we're on the subject of the truth," she said, after taking a long breath, "I should probably say I haven't been entirely honest about myself, either."
Malys looked only slightly intrigued as she sat back down, ready to hear Vinye's confession—when suddenly the noises from the bar down below intensified slightly in volume.
Malys heard the change in tone as well, and frowned. "Voices," she said. "They sound angry, too."
"Maybe Cosette's here," Vinye remarked—but only in jest. None of the voices sounded like they belonged to the tiny Breton girl. Given what Vinye had seen of Cosette's temper, however … "We should probably go downstairs."
She pointed a slim finger at Malys. "But don't think we're done talking," she said menacingly. "That's the only warning I'm ever going to give you, Malys. If you give me even one little reason to believe you're a danger to anyone, then I will make you wish that priest of Meridia had killed you when he had the chance."
And she opened the door, indicating Malys ought to leave first; Vinye would follow, and keep an eye on her from a safe point. While the high elf was inwardly breathing a sigh of relief that the danger appeared to have passed, she still wasn't going to take any chances. There wouldn't be any mead for her tonight—if she had to sleep with one eye open tonight, she would keep this vampire under a tight watch.
When the two mages made their way down, however, they were surprised to see Cosette was nowhere in sight. The cause of the commotion had instead come from three strange men—clad head-to-toe in dirty brown armor that Vinye had never seen before. One of them was arguing with Hulda, whose face was brick red and livid with fury.
"What gives you the right to barge in my inn?!" the bartender shouted at the tallest of the trio, who Vinye assumed was the leader.
"We have authority that even your High King cannot dispute," said the tall man. Vinye caught the rough accent of a dark elf, and saw something clutched in his hand. "We're looking for someone, and we know she's here."
Vinye noticed someone sidle behind her. She turned her head, and saw Malys behind and to her right; her eyes looked fearful, and Vinye couldn't blame her—this looked like it was about to turn nasty.
"I don't care who you're looking for," Hulda snarled at them. "You're not in Morrowind anymore. This is Skyrim—and we know how to deal with outsiders who don't respect our laws."
Suddenly, Vinye caught a shift of movement out of the corner of her eye, this time off to her left. The pretty young bard was edging toward them, clutching her lute so tightly that the Altmer could see her fingernails leaving marks in the wood. A cowl covered her eyes, and though Vinye couldn't see them, she guessed they betrayed just as much fear as Malys was. She nodded to the Dunmer, indicating the bard. Wordlessly, they slowly moved toward her.
The tall elf grunted harshly, and suddenly all three men were bristling with elven weaponry. At once, everyone else inside the bar leapt to their feet, unsheathing swords and axes with a clamor of steel and angry oaths.
"Find her!" said the elf, above all the commotion. The two elves either side of him moved away, fanning out across the inn.
And then quite a few things happened. First, Vinye felt a small whiff of air close by her left ear. A second later, the armored figure nearest them coughed slightly, and pulled something small out of his chest.
One second after that, he toppled to the floor of the bar, dead.
The patrons of the inn fell silent at this, and Vinye noticed—with an increasingly unsettling feeling in her stomach—that they were all looking at her.
"Um," she said her mouth suddenly feeling very dry.
"There she is!" cried the elf, pointing at the mages. "Take her!"
In the ensuing commotion, Vinye wildly thought What did I do?! while charging up her lightning and preparing for a fight. But at the same time, the bard had shoved them aside and leapt into the fray, brandishing her lute like a—
Wait.
Vinye closed her eyes, and opened them again. No, she wasn't seeing things—the lute wasn't a lute anymore. The two struts on both sides of the bridge had been pulled forwards and outwards, spread like wings, and the Altmer saw a short, thick cord connecting the two ends at a near-right angle. The bard hefted this strange object with the headstock resting on her shoulder, her fingers resting between the strings.
Malys was completely nonplussed. "Is … that a crossbow?"
The bard's fingers twitched, and the thick cord jumped. Vinye saw a small, thin projectile resting on the neck of the lute for only a moment. Then it was gone, and a second armored assailant screamed, clutching at his chest as he too collapsed against the counter, rapidly surrounded in a growing pool of his own blood.
The tall elf growled in annoyance as he saw his comrades lying around him, dead as doornails. "Damn it!" he snarled at the bard. "I'll split you like—"
The Dunmer never got to say exactly what he was going to split the maiden like: in the time it took for him to make that threat, the bard had nocked another bolt on her crossbow, pointed it at the elf, and let fly with a loud twang. The bolt lodged itself in his throat, and his last curse ended in a pathetic noise that sounded a bit like "gahkk."
Silence fell over the Bannered Mare as the elf finally expired. No one dared to speak or make a sound as the bard lowered her makeshift weapon, crossed the length of the bar, and pulled out a large coin purse. She scribbled something on the bulging sack, and passed it to Hulda. The bartender picked up the purse, frowned as she peered inside it, before eventually placing it inside her apron with a grunt.
Hulda glared at her speechless customers. "Well, what are you staring at?" she growled icily. "Someone find Andurs and tell him we got three more for Arkay. Uthgerd, take the trash out back. I just had this place cleaned up, and I don't want it stunk up again 'cause of a few bodies. Come on, then—get them out of my sight!"
A burly female clad in plate armor rose from her seat with a grunt, and heaved all three bodies over her shoulder like sacks of flour as she made for the door—but not before Malys had sorted through their belongings and found a sealed scroll on the one elf. She opened it up, and what little color remained in her waxy face drained.
She read out loud, "'Honorable Writ of Execution: Rolega the Quiet.
'The slain personage before you has been marked for execution as a member of an unlawful guild … blah blah blah … of the Morag Tong?!" Malys' voice rose in incredulity as she finished reading the document. "The Bearer of this non-disputable document has official sanctioned license to kill the afore-mentioned personage.'"
At the words "Morag Tong," a collective shiver had gone around the bar, and Vinye felt her spine prickle as she recalled where she'd heard the words before. The Morag Tong … the war in Riften … Maven Black-Briar …
Hulda groaned. "That does it," she groused. "First those mercenaries from Hammerfell, then that stuffed-shirt Imperial, and now a bunch of assassins from Morrowind! I'll have Sinmir's head for this—he knows what it's like in here; drunkards, brawls, and fights, and still he won't listen to me! If I have to go straight to Jarl Vignar … "
While Hulda continued her ranting and raving, the other patrons of the inn had gradually resumed their business. Malys and Vinye, meanwhile, sat down at a relatively secluded table to try and calm their racing hearts. Neither of them had been to a bar before, never mind a bar fight, and so neither of them had anything to say at first—instead choosing to slump in their seats in relief, as if to say, "Well—that just happened."
A dainty hand thumped down between them, clutching a cowl, a wad of parchment, and a mass of blonde hair. The two mages turned around to see the bard with the deadly lute sitting down in the chair between them. The blonde hair was nothing more than a wig, and had concealed a considerable amount of shiny black hair.
Now that Vinye had a closer look at her, the bard didn't look so pretty. She was a Nord, with a face was almost as well maintained as her hair, but it was also very pale and gaunt—like it had been carved from weathered white marble. Her body looked smooth, her skin soft but taut over deceptively spindly arms. It was the eyes, however, that made Vinye feel especially anxious. They were deep-set above her high cheekbones, and caked in thick black makeup. By some unknown jest of nature, the eyes themselves were also black as night; Vinye had the impression she was staring back at a skull.
Again, she pardoned her Cyrodiilic—but this was the creepiest Nord she'd ever laid eyes upon.
The would-be bard now clutched a quill, its tip wet with ink. She scrawled something on the parchment before her, and tapped it with her quill—indicating they should both read it.
Sorry for trouble, it said in an untidy cursive. Damn Tong never forget face—years, chasing me.
Malys cocked an eyebrow as she deciphered the writing. "So you're Rolega the Quiet, then?"
A nod. "Why do they call you that?" Vinye asked inquisitively. The Nords loved their monikers and nicknames, it was true—but they were anything but quiet.
Rolega put quill to parchment again. Wolf attack. Falkreath, she scrawled. Little girl. She inclined her head slightly, and both mages winced as they saw the horrible scar that slashed across her neck at a diagonal.
Not so bad, Rolega continued writing with a shrug. Can talk still. Painful. Only whisper. She paused briefly to dip her quill in an inkwell. Voices quicker, but change. Quill, ink better. Writing forever. Reliable. Better business.
It was very difficult for Vinye to read the terse, fragmented tone of the writing. From what she could understand, Rolega believed in the power of the written word; stories told through oral tradition were subject to change, Vinye knew, and thus the truth could be lost forever if the records were ill-maintained. Stories printed as books, on the other hand, could be preserved for potentially all of eternity—and when the time came to copy the text from an old, ruined manuscript into a much newer tome—all it took was ink and paper, rather than a need to remember the spoken word with perfect recall.
Rolega made a wavering gesture with her free hand when Vinye mentioned this to her, which the Altmer took to mean as "not quite." Still, she felt her respect for the mute Nord rise. "I like to read myself," Vinye told her. "I might even write a book one day—I've not been in Skyrim long, but I've learned a lot already."
"What about the Tong?" Malys wanted to know. "Why would they come out all this far just to kill a bard?"
Rolega gave the Dunmer an odd look, and began scribbling furiously on a new sheet of parchment. Not bard; once, with Guild in Riften. She pointed to herself with a hint of pride, and then added, think me bard? Think elves normal for mages peeking in dwarven cities. She shot another look at Malys, and cracked an impish grin.
Malys and Vinye exchanged glances at the writing on the parchment. "You're with the Thieves Guild?" Malys asked, at exactly the same time Vinye inquired, "What do you know about the Dwemer?"
Rolega looked at them with some amusement before pointing to Vinye, then rummaging in her own satchel. To the elves' complete astonishment, the Nord pulled out a blue, glowing crystal whose half-moon shape looked a little too familiar to Vinye.
She quickly rummaged in her satchel, and her surprise rapidly changed to horror when she noticed that the strange crystalline object she'd found in Raldbthar wasn't anywhere to be found.
It took her a moment to put two and two together. "Hey!" she cried out indignantly, and made a swipe for the artifact. Rolega didn't resist, and relinquished the crystal to her with another mischievous smile.
Vinye wasn't pleased. "You ought to learn to keep your hands to yourself," she warned threateningly as she pocketed it in her bag—taking extra care to seal the lining this time.
Rolega shrugged. Thief, she wrote. Old habits never die. She turned to Malys. Joined with Guild when weak. Fellow thief made crossbow. Good with hands, not so with feet. Markarth: caught by guard, dead. Now, Guild strong in Markarth, all over Skyrim, beyond, but left at peak. She pointed to herself before resuming her writing. Left before Black-Briar.
"Can you tell us anything about that?" Malys asked when she saw the name. "We heard something in Riften—that someone contacted the Morag Tong to kill Maven Black-Briar. It sounded like the Guild was involved, too—maybe even the Dark Brotherhood."
Rolega made a noise for the first time—a horrible, gurgling sound from her ruined throat as she voiced her disagreement. Rogue Tong killed Maven, she scribbled, nearly upsetting her inkwell in her silent anger. Writ not sanctioned. Guild, Brotherhood framed. Hunted. Brotherhood quiet, closed off. No side, no word. Guild fight Tong, bloody. Under Tamriel, war now. War in shadow—none know.
Vinye didn't like the sound of that. An underground war—potentially being fought right under their noses—between the Thieves Guild of Skyrim and the Morag Tong of Morrowind? No wonder Riften's closed off to the outside—it's right in the thick of the battleground. And then there was the Dark Brotherhood; Vinye had to assume "no side, no word" meant the Brotherhood was not taking sides in this so-called war. She wasn't sure how to feel about that; frankly, one resurgent assassins' guild in Tamriel was enough.
She didn't notice Rolega's next message until the Nord prodded her hand with the tip of her quill. Peering down at the parchment, she read, Once, Dwemer treasure illegal; hold and sell on pain of death. Needed writ of Emperor. Now, no more Emperor, artifacts worth many septims—many buyers come, many collectors of Dwemer trinkets, many bidders. Rolega tipped her quill at this last bit, underscoring its message even further.
And suddenly Vinye understood. "You're looking for Dwemer artifacts, too?" she said, loud enough for Malys to hear. The Altmer pulled her pack a little tighter around her robe, and Malys looked at Rolega suspiciously.
If paying. Rolega looked at both mages in a very meaningful way, and rubbed her thumb and index fingers together to drive her point home. Not alone. Others in Skyrim, others search. Willing to steal. Willing to kill.
Vinye felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as the words sank in. This could only mean one thing, perhaps two. Firstly, Rolega knew about Solyn in some way, potentially even as much as Drevis Neloren, Urag, and—as of a few days ago, Vinye—now knew. Even if she was no longer with the Guild, Rolega must still be privy to underworld channels; if that was the case, it would be easy for anyone with ties to the Thieves Guild to hear something in passing, no matter how cleverly the information was transmitted from one place to the other.
Secondly—and this was much more disturbing—there were others searching for Dwemer relics as well. And if Rolega's handwriting was to be believed, they were in Skyrim—and they would go to whatever end to take as many relics of the dwarves as they could. They would be willing to steal and murder and lie—and the consumer would be none the wiser … or, if he felt particularly unscrupulous, he would conveniently look the other way.
And in a way, this proved what Drevis had said about Solyn in his letter to Urag—but Vinye was not ready to disclose those details yet. It was definitely something the Arch-Mage needed to be informed of, and if Urag was half as smart as Vinye hoped, he'd have told Grimnir already. Malys and Cosette … probably, she thought, but Vinye would have to choose her words carefully. Best if I keep this as quiet as possible.
"The sooner Cosette comes to Whiterun, the better," she told Malys in a hushed voice after summarizing Rolega's message. "She needs to know what's going on here. We may be facing some competition—we need to be ready."
Rolega scrawled on the parchment. One more word—one more artifact. None know, none can find, not me.
Vinye felt her heart rise a little; information was always useful—always assuming, of course, that it was true. "What kind of artifact?" she asked.
The Nord inscribed a single word, and showed it to the two mages. Malys pursed her lips, but Vinye arched her eyebrows; both caught the other's expression, and instinctively knew they'd heard the word before.
"Can you tell us where to find this?" Vinye asked eagerly.
Rolega shook her head, and tapped her thumb and forefinger again. Vinye understood the message well enough, and grunted in annoyance. "No, thanks." I spent enough gold on that carriage ride, she thought bitterly. I went on a wild-goose chase for nothing.
Rolega heaved herself up from her stool at that moment, holding a hand up to her mouth in a silent yawn, and began gathering her many scraps of parchment.
"Wait," Malys said. "One more thing. You told us there's going to be more people out there, all of them searching for dwarven treasure, right?"
Rolega nodded.
Malys crossed her arms. "So what's stopping you from telling them about us?"
The thief put a finger to her chin in thought, and scribbled more furiously than ever on her sheaf of parchment. Push. All need push. Only questions: who to push, when to push, how far to push.
And with that, the thief turned on her heel, tossing the used scraps of parchment into the fireplace of the bar, where they curled and shriveled in the flames. Rolega the Quiet clutched her crossbow (now folded back into its lute shape) and made her way upstairs without any sign of goodbye.
Malys watched her go with a bemused look that did not suit the vampire's face at all. "What'd she mean by that?"
"I'm not sure," Vinye replied. "It's probably simpler than we're thinking, though. She did say she was a thief, Malys. All she cares about is money; she doesn't care what's being sold—or who's being sold out."
"A mercenary," Malys said. "I had to hire one to help me while I was combing the Velothi range." Her face fell. "If it wasn't for him, I don't think I'd be sitting here right now."
"Did you find anything?"
Malys pulled back the sleeve of her robe, and Vinye's heart jumped when she caught a glimpse of an armored gauntlet before Malys replaced it over her forearm. "Is that—?"
"Wraithguard," Malys nodded, keeping her voice at a whisper. Her eyes shifted left and right at the people in the inn, as if she were expecting Rolega to leap out any minute now and try to rob them of their treasure—and Vinye couldn't blame her. "I wish I didn't know there were other people hunting for dwarven treasure at the same time," she sighed. "I've already got one bulls-eye painted on my chest now that I'm a vampire—no harm in adding another one, right?"
Vinye smiled wryly as she pulled out a mass of wrapped linen from her satchel. "You think you've got a bulls-eye? You should see what I found in this ruin east of Windhelm." She held it out of sight of the rest of the crowd inside the Bannered Mare, but Malys could see the package just fine if she leaned over.
When Malys did see it, she leapt back so quickly that several Nords nearby looked at her suspiciously before shrugging and returning to their mead. "Sunder?!" mouthed the Dunmer, and Vinye noted with some concern that Malys looked faintly sick all of a sudden.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," Malys said, swallowing. "I was hoping we wouldn't find all three of Kagrenac's Tools. Part of me was hoping they'd all been destroyed in the Red Year."
"All three?" Vinye frowned. "Are you saying you"—she lowered her voice conspiratorially—"found Keening?"
Malys shook her head. "Not exactly. The Arch-Mage had Keening," she said, and Vinye's eyes widened. "I tried to sneak into his room after we came back from Rkund—that's why I didn't meet you and Cosette in the Arcaneum until a lot later—and I found it hanging on his wall."
Vinye was stunned. "How in Oblivion did he come by Keening?"
She listened as the Dunmer told her about nearly missing a severe punishment when the Arch-Mage himself had caught Malys, of how Keening had been recovered after more than two hundred years, and the ghost of Arniel Gane and his failed experiment. That certainly explained why Malys had looked the way she did that night in the Arcaneum, she thought. She felt a brief surge of vindictive pleasure at the anecdote. Serves her right.
"I don't know what he did with Keening," Malys finished, "but the Arch-Mage said he would help me only that one time, so I'm guessing he's already delivered it to Solyn."
Vinye pounded the table with a fist. "Damn it." That was not the news she'd wanted to hear.
Malys looked at her strangely. "Vinye, what is it about that wizard that's got you so worried?" she asked. "Does it have something to do with that letter you showed me?"
"Something like that," Vinye said hesitantly. "I don't want to say anything until Cosette shows up—she deserves to know, too. There's too many people here, and I don't trust any of them."
"Do you trust me?"
Vinye saw the pleading look on Malys' face—and for one fleeting moment, she was almost persuaded. "No. No, I don't," she said simply. "Trust isn't that easy to win back, Malys. I'm willing to give you a chance—but if you want to get back into my good graces, then you've got a lot of work to do."
The Dunmer looked surprisingly relieved to hear that. "I wasn't expecting anything less from you, all things considered," she said grudgingly. "But you can't be on your own forever, Vinye. If we're going to make this work—if I'm going to make this work—then you need to promise me that much."
Vinye hesitated. She was more than capable of pulling her own weight, and she'd already done so much on her own—discovered cultures and worlds both seen and unseen, stretched the limits of her magickal abilities further than she'd ever thought possible.
And up until one day ago, she didn't think that would change one bit.
But everything had changed now. What had started as a way to give the College a much-needed boost in finances, recognition—and who knew what else—had now become a twisting labyrinth of lies and deceit. And whether they liked it or not, she, Cosette, and Malys were all in this together.
She sighed, and gradually nodded. "All right," she said softly. "Together."
She reached her hand out to Malys, and the Dunmer did the same. As warm hand shook cold hand, Vinye felt the tension of the past twenty-four hours lift from her shoulders. She slumped in her chair and sighed.
"By the way, Vinye," Malys piped up, "do you know anything about that crystal Rolega swiped from you?"
Vinye frowned. "I can't say I do," she replied. "Maybe I've got a book on it somewhere, but I don't really feel like turning my bags inside out just to look for one book." She blinked. "I think I really need to get some rest," she added, "because I don't know any other reason I'd say something like that."
Malys was rummaging in her pack. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Because Wraithguard wasn't all I found. I also found this in some kind of storeroom near Mzulft. I don't know how J'zargo missed it when he was there."
Vinye stared in complete shock as Malys pulled another glowing blue half-moon from her satchel. Except for the indentations in the center, it looked virtually identical to the crystal Vinye had found in Raldbthar.
"I have no idea," the Altmer said softly, as she continued to marvel at the object. "I have no idea at all … "
After that, there had not been much reason for Vinye and Malys to stay awake any further. The tension of the past few days had taken its toll on both of them, and recent events had, if anything, made matters worse. And so they elected to turn in for the night; Vinye had rented out a room for the week, and shilled out a few more septims so Malys could have her own place to sleep—right where the Altmer could keep an eye on her.
The night that followed was one of the worst, most sleepless nights of Vinye's life. Even those first few weeks she'd been on the run from Falinesti hadn't caused so much paranoia as the vampire sleeping in the bedroll five feet away from her. Rolega's revelations of competition were no help—when Vinye wasn't anticipating Malys to leap up and drink her dry, she was anticipating their door to be kicked down by a dozen thieves, sellswords, and mercenaries. And then, to round off the horrible night, the steady pitter-patter of rain was beginning to beat on the windowsill, punctuated with the occasional rumble of thunder.
Eventually, the Altmer grew tired of the constant noise, and rose from the bed. A small pick-me-up might be able to help calm her nerves, she decided, and so she descended the stairs to the bar. Only a smattering of people were here as opposed to the small crowd earlier in the night; Rolega the thief was not among them.
Hulda appeared almost as soon as she'd sat down at the counter. "What can I get you?" she asked, her demeanor noticeably more cheerful than it had been after last night's altercation.
"Alto wine," Vinye replied. "Something with a little spice to it, if you have any—last night was rougher on me than I thought," she added sheepishly.
Hulda clucked her tongue sympathetically. "Aye." She disappeared in the back of the bar for a minute, and returned with a bright green bottle. "That'll be fifteen septims."
Once Vinye had paid the bartender, she uncorked the bottle and took a small draught, feeling the slightly fiery taste of the liquor warming her insides. Slowly but surely, she felt her troubled mind relax, and all thoughts of Malys and treasure hunters sank out of sight.
She dug into her satchel as she took another drink, and thumbed through the tomes she'd brought with her. Tamrielic Lore was there; she would have to cross-reference that with Rolega's claims later on, Vinye thought. Then her fingers brushed across a much newer book.
Vinye had completely forgotten about Urag giving her a copy of The Aetherium Wars. Aetherium … that almost sounded like it could be the name of a substance, thought the Altmer. Perhaps that was what the dwarves called that miraculous metal found all over the ruined cities they'd left behind. Or perhaps it was … Her thoughts went to the crystal shard sitting in her satchel, and she finally pried open the book after taking another sip of wine:
Dedicated to Katria, my Friend and Colleague
…
For centuries, scholars have marveled at the sudden collapse of the Dwemer city-states. Even the Nords seem to have been taken by surprise, though their chroniclers were quick to ascribe their success to King Gellir's inspired tactics and the blessings of Shor.
My research suggests a much different cause, however. In the decades preceding their fall, the dwarven cities of Skyrim had been decimated by internal disputes and infighting over a most surprising cause: Aetherium.
Modern scholars know Aetherium as a rare, luminescent blue crystal found in some Dwemer ruins. Most consider it little more than a curiosity, as it has proven all but impossible to work with: while it has a strong magical aura, it is alchemicially inert, and no known process can enchant, smelt, mold, bind, or break it.
To the dwarves, of course, such problems were merely a challenge. In the years following King Harald's reign, the Dwemer discovered a considerable source of Aetherium in their deepest delvings. An alliance of four cities, led by Arkngthamz, the great research center in the southern Reach, was formed to oversee its extraction, processing, and study, and a new 'Aetherium Forge' constructed to smelt it under precisely controlled conditions.
If the inscriptions I discovered are to be believed, the results were nothing short of spectacular: the items produced by the Forge were artifacts of immense power, imbued from the moment of their creation with powerful enchantments. The dwarven alliance shattered almost immediately, as the four city-states and their rivals attempted to claim the Forge.
…
But nothing like the Aetherium Forge described in the inscriptions has ever been found within the borders of Skyrim. It may have been destroyed long ago, by the Nord invaders or the Dwemer themselves. Or perhaps it, like the secrets of Aetherium itself, still remains to be discovered.
Vinye closed the book and pocketed it with some difficulty, as her fingers were trembling slightly. Aetherium … She brushed the cool surface of the blue crystal shard, nestled comfortably in her bag. She dared not take it out now; in some ways, Vinye regretted that she'd discovered this information. Now that she knew what it was called, and the power it was capable of, the Altmer's mind was clanging with dozens of alarm bells.
This little blue crystal was one big bulls-eye.
And Malys had found some of that Aetherium as well … Vinye suddenly felt sick.
Many buyers come, many collectors of Dwemer trinkets, many bidders …
Suddenly the front door of the Bannered Mare banged open with enough force to rattle the candles on the tables. Vinye, shaken from her thoughts, turned to look for the commotion, and her heart rose when she saw who was at the front door.
Cosette Ionsaithe was soaked head-to-toe in the rain shower, and looked in a very bad mood indeed. Even when she noticed Vinye sitting down at the counter, she did not give any sign of recognition—instead crossing the length of the inn, and planting herself on the stool next to her.
"Firebrand. Now," she growled at Hulda the minute she'd sat down, and slammed a fistful of septims on the rude wood of the counter. "I've had a bad week."
Hulda backed away slightly from the hostile tone in the tiny Breton's voice, and she set about checking her cellar for the drink in question. An uncomfortable silence hung between the two mages like an axe on a thread.
"So … how was your trip?" Vinye finally ventured, attempting an awkward smile.
Silence.
Okay—probably not talking about the Dwemer, Vinye thought with a quirked eyebrow. She searched for another topic of conversation, and she felt her eyes drawn to the not one, but two crude swords strapped over Cosette's robe in an X.
"I like the new sword," lied the Altmer through her teeth. "Where did you find it?"
Cosette didn't even look in her direction. "Not in the mood," she spoke through clenched teeth. Hulda reappeared with a red-labeled glass bottle in her hand, filled with something bright red and smelling slightly of smoke. The Breton wasted no time in tipping back the flask into her mouth and taking a deep drink.
"Ugh—watered down," she grumbled, banging the now half-full bottle on the counter. She finally turned to look at Vinye, and the high elf did a double take at the look in Cosette's face. It was ruddy and flushed, especially near the eyes—which themselves were quite red as well. Moreover, some of the wetness on her face didn't look like it had been caused by rain; suddenly, Vinye was starting to believe that the rain had nothing to do with Cosette's mood.
"Cosette … have you been crying?"
"I said I'm not in the mood!" Cosette snapped—so loudly her voice cracked—and Vinye recoiled at the harsh tone of voice.
Just as quickly, however, Cosette had slumped in her stool with a groan. "I got the Spellbreaker," she said. Vinye was surprised to hear this, and immediately gestured at Cosette to keep her voice down.
But the Breton continued unabated. "Met the family," she continued belligerently, her eyes misting over in what Vinye thought might have been either wistful nostalgia—or perhaps a sense of regret—compounded with what the Altmer guessed was some very potent liquor. "Had some time to spare, so I killed some Forsworn, got a new blade out of it.
"What about you?" Vinye could hear the derision in Cosette's question. "I'm guessing you were all fine and dandy this past week, huh? Found an artifact every other day?"
Vinye stood up so abruptly she kicked aside her stool, and it clattered to the floor—but she didn't hear it, and neither did she care.
"All right—what is your problem?" the Altmer shouted at the top of her lungs, not even caring that other patrons were beginning to stop and stare. "Did you think this was some kind of insignificant game, Cosette? Are Dwemer relics just sticks and stones and pretty shiny things to you?! Are you that much of a child?!"
Cosette drew herself to her full height—which wasn't much next to Vinye, but the fire in her eyes was burning so brightly it was almost palpable. "You've got a lot of nerve calling me a child," she growled at the Altmer; Vinye could smell the smokiness of the wine Cosette had drunk, and suppressed the urge to cough.
"My family and I have survived in the Reach by the skin of our teeth for longer than I can remember," Cosette continued to rave. Her face was growing redder by the second. "What about you, Vinye? Huh?! I bet life was good in the Dominion for you, wasn't it? All pampered and spoiled? Were you were crying for mommy and daddy the first night you came to the College?"
At that moment, Vinye didn't care that Cosette had probably drunk far more liquor than her small body could handle, and probably did not mean the words coming out of her mouth. All she remembered was a surge of fury rearing up like a bear on its hind legs. The next thing she knew, she was lashing out with her open hand, and there was a sharp flare-up of pain as her palm connected squarely with Cosette's red cheek.
But Vinye did not stop there. "My father was a fool who was slaughtered by his own massacre!" she stormed at the Breton. "I can never face my mother again because of what he did; I can't ever go back to the Summerset Isle. At least you still have a family," she raged. "At least you can come home to a mother and father who still love you!"
Cosette didn't even seem to move. For one second, her left arm was a blur—and suddenly Vinye felt the breath knocked hard out of her stomach as Cosette's fist drove into her chest, knocking her against the counter.
"You don't get to talk about my family!" Cosette snarled. "You haven't earned the right!" Her fist pulled back. She was aiming squarely for Vinye's head—and the Altmer was still too winded to dodge the inevitable punch.
The next thing she knew, though, a powerful force had seized her by the scruff of her robe and yanked her forward.
WHACK.
Stars danced in front of Vinye's eyes as she stumbled back, stunned by the unexpected blow to her forehead. Her forehead felt like it was about to split open, it was hurting so bad, but as Vinye pried open an eye, she noticed—with some degree of satisfaction—that the Breton was also massaging her forehead, groaning in pain and swearing nonstop under her breath.
"That's enough out of you both!"
Only then did Vinye notice Hulda the bartender backing away from them both and back behind the counter. "It's too early in the morning for that kind of rabble-rousing!" groused the Nord as she wiped her hands on a slightly dirty cloth. "Now put a lid on it before I decide to knock your heads one more time, hear?
"And that goes for the rest of you lot!" she bellowed at the few customers inside the bar. "I'll be having no more fights under my roof! We'll see how much you louts want to settle a fight with the town guard!"
Only a few groans and grumbles met Hulda's ire. The publican growled under her breath, and returned to her duties as though she had not just butted the skulls of two mages together with her bare hands.
The two mages in question now slumped on their adjacent stools, still rubbing their temples and grumbling.
"Unnh." Cosette was first to speak. "Those headbutts have a way of clearing your head," she groaned. "That was my third bottle of firebrand wine in two days—I guess that's my limit."
She noticed Vinye giving her an odd look. "And I'm fine, thanks for asking."
The Altmer was not convinced. "Are you sure?" she said delicately. "I'm guessing since you got Spellbreaker, you were able to summon Peryite without too much trouble." She paused, noticing Cosette's face grow dark all of a sudden. "I hope … "
The Breton's fists tightened for a tense few seconds, and then they relaxed. "I'm not really ready to talk about it right now," Cosette said lamely—like all the fire had gone out of her after being manhandled by the bartender. "I got a lot more than I bargained for, and I paid the price—and all the Dwemer artifacts in Tamriel aren't going to make a dent in that."
There was no hostility behind the words—no promise of dying a horrible death—but nonetheless, Vinye decided not to pry into the subject any further.
A familiar yawn came from behind them, and Vinye turned to see Malys walking towards them. "I thought I heard your lovely voice, Cozy," the Dunmer mumbled, ruffling her messy hair in a feeble attempt to make it straight.
"Someone looks like they've been burning the candle at both ends," Cosette remarked. "No, seriously, Malys—what in Oblivion happened to your face?"
Malys and Vinye exchanged looks, the Dunmer feeling her ridged brow and cleft lips, as if she'd just noticed they were there. "Ran into some trouble in the Rift," Malys said, a little too innocently. "I didn't cast my healing spell right, and I'm not too sure if the damage is reversible at this point in time."
Cosette's expression was completely unreadable. " … Uh-huh," she eventually settled on. "You do realize I'm not going to let this one go any time soon, Malys? Cheating at conjuration is one thing"—she gave Vinye a look—"but failing to cast a simple healing spell? That's just a whole new level of pathetic."
Malys didn't appear all that bothered by the insult. "If I'm honest," she said in a cheery voice that made Vinye uneasy, "I don't really mind the new look. You could say I'm proud of it—like how Nords always boast about their war wounds and battle scars—or like you and your arm, even," she added, pointing to the Breton's scarred hand.
Cosette spent an uncomfortably long time mulling this over in her head before she finally shrugged. "Uf … fine," she said. She didn't sound too convinced by Malys' words, but neither did she apparently care enough to notice the two elves breathe a mutual sigh of relief.
"All right," Vinye said, before anyone could get further distracted—making sure to keep out of earshot of Hulda the bartender. "We should bring each other up to snuff now that we all know we're alive and well." Mostly, she mentally amended, casting a sideways glance at Malys.
"Malys and I have already caught up with one another. I recovered the hammer Sunder in a ruin called Raldbthar, a long way to the northeast from here. Yes, that Sunder," she said, noting Cosette's brief look of recognition. "What's more, Malys tells me she recovered Wraithguard from deep under the Velothi Mountains—and that Keening has apparently been in the possession of the Arch-Mage himself for some time. Bit of a tale, so I'm told. So, as it stands, we have unofficially recovered all of Kagrenac's tools. I say unofficially because … well, I'll get to that later.
"Furthermore, we have a lead on another possible dwarven artifact. I can't say I completely trust the veracity of the source, so I'll be looking into this in greater detail once we're back in Winterhold. All I was given was one word: Volendrung." She waved the piece of parchment Rolega had inscribed with that word. "And Malys, you'll be glad to know that Cosette was able to recover the Spellbreaker at great risk of life and limb—"
Cosette muttered something that sounded roughly like, "If you only knew, you damnable little—"
Vinye ignored her. "Lastly, Malys and I each recovered a carved bluish crystal during our expeditions. I did some reading, and it would appear this crystal has a name: Aetherium. It was used to make some very powerful artifacts, supposedly, and I think there might be a chance some of them might have survived. There might be some ruins worth looking into as well that could offer—"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Cosette interrupted. "This bluish crystal—Aetherium, did you call it? Was it cut in a … half-circle shape, by any chance?"
Vinye felt the sensation of a bucketful of ice pouring into her stomach. " … Yes," she said uneasily. "Why?"
And to her shock and horror, the Breton casually reached into her satchel and pulled out yet another glowing blue crystal, almost identical to the ones carried by herself and Malys.
Before she even knew she was doing it, Vinye was reaching over the table and shoving the Aetherium shard back into Cosette's bag. "What are you doing?!" she hissed. "Put it back—before anyone sees—!"
Cosette hastily obeyed. "What's gotten into you?"
"Whatever this Aetherium is, it's dangerous," Vinye said warningly. "Very dangerous, and very powerful—so much so that the Dwemer nearly destroyed themselves because they wanted it so badly."
"Well, what are we waiting for, then?" Cosette asked. "Let's find a courier or three, and get all these artifacts delivered to Solyn on the double. You said it yourself, Vinye—this stuff is dangerous. And Solyn wants to make sure no one runs afoul of their relics any more, right?"
She caught the look on Vinye's face, and her hopeful expression faltered. " … Right?"
Vinye sighed. "Which is why I've decided we're heading back to Winterhold."
Cosette stared blankly at her. "What."
"No couriers," Vinye said sharply. "No deliveries—not even a sliver of metal is to be delivered to Solyn." She looked at Malys—who merely appeared slightly bewildered—to Cosette, who looked absolutely flabbergasted. "I've learned a lot these past few days," the Altmer explained to them, "and I'm not all that comfortable with explaining the details where we are now.
"We'll be leaving town at the break of dawn," Vinye said, "so I suggest you get yourselves straightened out. We make for the College on foot from here—no carriages. I promise you—I'll explain everything on the way."
Malys and Cosette looked as if they wanted to do everything but agree—but in the end, they had no other option but to do so.
Into the Pale
Several hours later
The ground was slowly changing from hues of browns and greens to grays and whites, and Whiterun was slowly shrinking in the distance behind them. Only when they passed a small, overgrown sign—informing the mages that they had just left Whiterun Hold—did Vinye finally break the news.
"Solyn is lying to us," she said. "He's got his own agenda, and somehow I don't think it involves sealing away powerful relics for all eternity."
Malys' malformed face—mostly hidden by her black hood—contorted further still in shock and confusion. Cosette, meanwhile, was so surprised by this news that she forgot about her sour mood completely, if only for a moment.
"What? What makes you say that?" she cried.
Vinye pulled out the letter from Urag, and continued reciting the letter where Malys had left off the other night:
—Secondly, the matter of this wizard called Solyn: As I said previously, Master Neloth excels at divination, and can successfully trace the past five generations of any given Dunmer, regardless of whether or not they are in physical contact, or even alive. Given our potential for long life, this can span at least a thousand years' worth of Dunmer.
Urag, not only is there no record of Savos Aren ever bearing any children, but there is no evidence that anyone with the name Solyn ever existed within the last thousand years. Neloth claims he has even spoken with the spirit of Divayth Fyr himself, who lived to see the disappearance of the Dwemer in the First Era, and even that most vaunted sorcerer has never heard of such a name.
Irrespective of Neloth's penchant for boasting, Urag, this is a very grave situation the College has become involved with. I advise you to speak to Arch-Mage Grimnir immediately on the matter. Ask him—implore him, if need be—to cancel whatever deal you have made with this Solyn. I am almost certain he is not who he appears to be.
As for the mages tasked with this burden, I cannot presume myself to have authority over them, but I pray to Azura that they will find it in themselves to do the right thing.
Drevis Neloren
Vinye pocketed the letter grimly. Malys and Cosette traded uneasy looks with one another.
"So there you have it," Vinye said. "Solyn is not the son of Savos Aren. Until we get some better answers than that, I am not setting foot anywhere near Rkund again—and I'm not letting any of these artifacts out of my sight until then. Because it isn't just Solyn I'm worried about—I have reason to believe that there's other people looking for Dwemer artifacts as well. If we aren't careful, they could come for us—and they will kill us if it means they find what they're looking for."
Malys looked worried. "Maybe you haven't seen exactly what these artifacts are?" she said to Vinye, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "You and I each have one of the most powerful tools ever created by the dwarves. Cosette has a shield that dates back to the First Era—maybe even older—and has the favor of a sodding Daedric Prince! We are a prime target for half of Tamriel—and they will stop at nothing to get what they think is rightfully theirs. They will kill us if we have to!"
"I know that," said Vinye stubbornly. "Which is exactly why we're walking to Winterhold instead of taking a carriage. There are carriage drivers all over Skyrim, drivers that probably carry their own fair share of adventurers and sellswords as well. Who's to stop them from mouthing off to each other? If they somehow found out about us, we'd be at risk of putting the College in danger."
Malys said nothing, but the resigned expression on her face suggested she wasn't about to argue with Vinye. Cosette, however, wasn't about to give up so easily. "Have you always been so paranoid?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "You keep acting like someone's going to jump out from behind every other tree we walk by."
Vinye shot a look at her. "If I wasn't paranoid, I'd be dead by now," she said bluntly. "Maybe you ought to try living with an axe over your head for a change. See how long it takes before you look up and wonder when it's going to fall."
Cosette grumbled under her breath, but said nothing.
"She has a point, Vinye," Malys said calmly. "We're sitting ducks on foot. We can get to Winterhold much quicker by carriage." She pointed a thumb at Cosette. "If the driver knows too much, Cozy can just kill him and be done with it, can't she?"
Cosette tried to act offended, but Vinye noticed her face brighten for just that one instant. "Now that doesn't sound like the Malys I know," she said in a falsely sweet voice.
Malys said nothing. Vinye couldn't blame her at all for holding her tongue; Cosette was volatile enough as it was. If she were to find out Malys was a vampire … Vinye repressed a shudder. That was a mess she didn't want to think about at all. It would be best to break that particular news gently—assuming, of course, that the time ever came.
Unfortunately, fate had other ideas in store for them.
Some time later, after they'd found the route to Winterhold, the mages noticed a lone figure walking towards them. Snow was beginning to fall, and the glare of the sunlight, made it hard for Vinye to focus her eyes. But Malys—presumably because of her vampiric nature—could see the figure just fine, as she immediately stiffened. The Dunmer abruptly raised an arm, signaling for the mages to stop.
"Malys, what—"
"Both of you stay back." Malys' voice was unusually tense, and her mouth was the only part of her body that moved. "Whatever happens from here on out, you will not get in the way. If the worst should happen to me, then take what you can, and don't you dare look back."
"If the worst should—?" Vinye was about to say—and then she saw the figure in better detail. She knew who he was; the Altmer remembered that shade of golden-brown on the figure's robe like it was yesterday, and she especially remembered the scintillating blade that hung from its scabbard—a white-hot needle that could pierce a vampire's cold flesh with impunity. And she most definitely recognized the man wearing them both.
Auri-El, give me strength, she thought with a gulp.
It was Lucius Anglinius.
Next chapter: How did an enemy of the Daedra become the champion of a Daedra Lord? Meanwhile, good news and bad news abounds in Winterhold—including the College's first look at "competition."
A/N: Whew. I had to revise this chapter so many times that it's not even funny anymore. Between that and whole days of just mucking about, nothing to do—for a while, I was debating just holding out till the end of the month and releasing this update then. But I doubt that would've been fair to you, so voilà. I hope it is acceptable to you.
I'll try my hardest to get one more chapter up by the end of the month, but I can't make any promises. School will be starting up in less than a week for me, and I don't know how much longer I can keep this current pace of mine up. Fortunately, I might have enough space in my class schedule to where I can maybe release one update every month. Rest assured, I'll do my best to keep my updates as regular as I can.
That's me done for now, then. As always, feel free to rate, review, and recommend, and I hope you enjoy! - K