Chapter IX

Call of Magic

Two days after Veryn had passed the Nightgate Inn and the now newly repaired road the weather turned around. Before it had been chilly and dry, but overnight the temperature dropped several degrees. When he tried to head outside his tent the next morning the world was gone, replaced by a uniform layer of thick snow. The sky was so darkened with falling flakes it might have been night for all he knew. He could barely see a thing, even if he used the Staff of Magnus to conjure the brightest magelight he had ever seen. Hiding in his cloak, hood drawn far over his face and scarf pulled up high over his nose, Veryn rode off, following the stone cairns with tattered strips of cloth the Nords used to mark the road. Riding went on a snails pace for hours, until the cairns brought him up high in the mountains. Veryn halted his mare, squinting into the distance, but all he saw was endless grey dotted with white. The wind was picking up and chased the snow past him, piling it up in high banks. He had taken a wrong turn somewhere. This was not the road to Winterhold at all. He cursed, flexing his toes and fingers in a vain effort to get some feeling back. Even with the Staff of Magnus he couldn't go against a snowstorm. It was quite possible that this particular road led to one of the many small fishing villages that dotted the coast between Dawnstar and Winterhold. At least that would mean a roof above his head and a warm fire. If he stopped here, he would probably snow in in his tent, or freeze to death while asleep. Neither looked like an attractive prospect. When night fell he kept going on, guiding his horse past the snow banks and deep ditches at the side of the road, cursing the ever growing pulses of pain piercing his skull. The storm lessened slightly and in the distance he saw small lights flicker on and off. When Veryn neared them, he saw they were small fires. Behind them, something large and dark rose up from the mountains, becoming greater and greater the closer he came. Only once a series of stone platforms became vaguely visible he realized he had stumbled upon the shrine of Azura. He shivered. Had the Daedra been planning anything?

"Veryn."

He looked over his shoulder immediately when his name was called out, readying magic to defend himself. A Dunmer woman stood in the opening of a nearby yurt, her red eyes glowing in the dark.

"I am glad to see you have returned here," she said.

Veryn dismounted, leading his horse closer.

"I got lost in the storm. I didn't intend to come here."

He had visited the shrine on occasion during the time he had spent at Winterhold. The woman who now stood at her yurt was called Aranea and she had been tending to the shrine ever since the Red Year. He had not paid the shrine a second thought when he had returned to Winterhold a few months ago. If Azura had ignored him at Northwatch keep, why would she answer his questions now? He rubbed his head. Gods, he missed having moon sugar nearby to dull the constant ache.

"I am sorry to hear what happened to you," Aranea said. "Still, you should come in and spend the remainder of the night here. This is no weather to be outside."

How did she know, he wondered as he led his horse to a dry part of the stairs, taking off her saddle and reins. Inside the yurt, a large fire burned. Thankful, Veryn stripped off his wet cloak and boots and huddled near the flames. Aranea walked to a large silver scrying bowl, with Daedric runes etched into it and slowly rotated it, looking at the moving water.

"Do you seek the counsel of Azura?"

Veryn shook his head, staring moodily at the flames. "No. She hasn't spoken to me since last year. Perhaps she still holds a grudge about something, I don't know. It's disheartening." He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Aranea. "Considering everything I have done in her service, it would have been nice if she helped me out."

"Sometimes, the Daedra work in ways a mortal cannot see," she answered. "I am sure that despite your trials, She still watches over you."

Veryn closed his eyes. "Nice words, but I haven't noticed much of it lately." He heard her move behind him and tensed up involuntary, but all Aranea did was lay a blanket across his shoulders. His fingers were tingling as the fire warmed them up and he could feel a faint throbbing in the bones. It was a pity he didn't have any moon sugar to fall asleep with. Aranea reached out and touched the back of his head. He winced, trying to pull away, but the only thing she did was cast a spell. The persistent headache disappeared, suddenly leaving his head clear.

"I wish I could do more," she said as she sat down next to him. "This should give you a few days respite."

Ancano.

"A few days should be enough, if the weather clears up. If I head down to Winterhold as soon as possible, it won't be long until I can finally claim the Eye."

Gaining control of the great artefact did not seem as important any more, not to the extent of killing Ancano and ridding the College of the Thalmor. With Ancano gone, he could almost pretend it was home again.

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Three days later, when he walked into the Frozen Hearth, Winterhold's one and only inn, he realized for the first time just how badly the town had taken the fall of the College. The streets looked depopulated without the many wizards around and the innkeeper complained loudly about the lack of traders ever since the news had spread. Tolfdir and some of his other friends were sitting in a corner, looking completely exhausted. They were the only ones left. Even the mages that hung around in Winterhold but weren't a part of the College proper were gone, headed off to other countries to try their luck. Veryn kept his hood cast over his face when he walked close to the table. He tapped Tolfdir on the shoulder, waiting for the old man to look up.

"Don't pull too much attention to me," Veryn whispered. "I don't need the entire town to know I am here."

Tolfdirs eyes turned as big as saucers.

"You – but we saw you die," he said, his throat hoarse.

"No," Veryn answered. "You saw me get stabbed." Together with Aranea he had plotted throughout the night, trying to decide on the best course of action. "I survived, as was the plan all along." He looked at the people sitting at the table that were now openly staring at him, whispering as they recognized the damned scarring on his face. He looked at each of them and then sat down, frowning. "Where is Mirabelle?"

Tolfdirs face dropped and the others fell silent.

"She didn't make it," Arniel said at last. "She went back into the College to confront Ancano, alone and did not come back out."

"Damn it." Veryn sighed, resting his forehead on his knuckles. While Mirabelle had not been a close friend of him, she had been a likeable woman. The College had been her everything and he felt saddened to hear of her death. After raising a glass to her memory, the group of mages swamped Veryn with questions. He tried to answer them as well as he could, sticking to the story that his faked death had been planned along between him and Bricca. In the end, they bought it, albeit some more than the others and eventually only Tolfdir was looking at him sceptically. The old man knew him too well, but at least he didn't challenge the lies. Then Veryn placed his staff on the table, holding on to it protectively. It was time.

"I retrieved the Staff of Magnus."

"Where did you find it?" Tolfdir looked at him impressed.

"Deep in Labyrinthian. I paid the assassin to come with me. A good thing I did, because we faced a dragon priest."

"They're supposed to be dead," Arniel Gale interjected. "Unless they are coming back, just like the dragons themselves?"

"He was a lich. I don't think he ever really died. He must have been waiting in Labyrinthian for ages." Veryn left out that Savos Aren had been there before and had been responsible for leaving behind two of his friends, magically bound to trap the lich for eternity. Through the years, Aren must have suffered enough from his mistakes. It wasn't necessary to besmirch his memory too. "I need you to have my back," he said, holding up the staff. "I'm going into the College tomorrow."

The next morning, even before dawn, they were there. All seven of the remaining mages, armed with staves and knives, looking grim. Veryn had not slept that night. Instead he had sat in the room he had rented, holding the staff in his hands and kept wondering what could happen if he failed. Aranea had tried to reassure him that he wouldn't. Like she would know. Despite burning his magicka with the staff to stay awake he felt like a wreck. Some mages were versed so well in it that they had no need for sleep anymore, but Veryn just felt tired and drained. His thoughts had been haunted by Northwatch Keep again. He had to win or die, as going back there was no option.

A large ward blocked off the entrance to the College. It encompassed every building, but the Staff broke through it like a knife through butter. When Veryn neared the Hall of the Elements he could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. The place was deserted but for the Eye and Ancano. The sight of the Thalmor's grey coat caused his breath to catch in his throat. He waited in the door opening for a few minutes, observing Ancano unnoticed and trying to gather his wits. The Altmer was channelling magicka at the Eye, enraptured by its effects and completely oblivious to anything around him. You've done this before, he told himself, gritting his teeth. He walked forward, nearly freezing when Ancano noticed him. The Thalmor smelled. He looked like he had not washed himself in weeks, with dirty and tangled hair. He paled noticeably when he saw Veryn and stepped back, never once stopping with his spells.

"You. You should be dead. I had you killed."

Veryn strengthened his grip on the Staff, making sure to feel the usual pain flare up through his fingers. He grinned at Ancano, baring his teeth.

"I came back."

He drew on his magicka and focused it at Ancano, blasting the Thalmor with fire. To his surprise, Ancano merely laughed and shrugged it off.

"Your magic can not harm me." Ancano smirked. "You think you can stop me? The power to unmake the world is at my fingertips."

The Eye of Magnus shattered, bursting open in a dazzling explosion of bright blue light. The outer shell of the metal surrounding it was pulled apart by Ancano's magic. With one hand, he controlled the Eye and with the other he sent a jolt of lightning at Veryn. Veryn could hear himself scream as he was knocked to the ground. The magic seared through his body, leaving excruciating pain in its wake. Not again. Azura, please! The pain blinded him and in the distance he heard Tolfdir shout.

"The Eye! Use the Staff on the Eye!"

Veryn could feel the Eye near him. It pulsed with magicka and the Staff in his hand was reacting to it, heating up as he pointed it in the direction of the Eye. He forced his magicka through it, willing the Eye to listen to him. All of a sudden the lightning and pain ceased. Behind him, Tolfdir and some of the others had cast a ward, shutting Ancano out, at least temporarily. He could feel Ancano's pull on the Eye too and furthered his efforts, burning every bit of magicka he had. The staff burned in his hands, now uncomfortably hot.

Then the Eye closed, the metal shell snapping together. Veryn felt something tug at him, coming from deep inside the Eye. He was too weak to struggle against it and left the connection between the Staff and the Eye intact, letting himself drift along it. His vision shifted and he saw double for a moment. Then, he could see inside the Eye. From the corner of his sight he could see normally, but when he looked in front of him, everything was different. The inside of the Eye was made of clockwork, with tiny gears and pistons moving up and down, round and round, recreating the entirety of Nirn, centred around the White-Gold Tower. The Imperial City looked like a wheel when seeing it from above and then Veryn realized that it was a wheel, a cog that turned around so slowly he could hear each click of the teeth. He looked over the clockwork world in amazement, seeing the continent of Akavir off to the east, the islands of Pyandonea and the sunken remains of the home of the Redguard, everything surrounded by spiked waters. Everything was inscribed with the same flowing script that was on the outside of the Eye as well. The letters morphed before Veryns eyes, turning into the Imperial language. They contained the blueprints of the world. The means to build it, to destroy it. One nudge, here in the Eye, to the White-Gold Tower and it would be over. The letters kept coming, forming words and bringing ever more knowledge, but he couldn't comprehend it. It was too much and to truly get their meaning they needed to tell him how to become a god.

"Behind you!"

The sound came from outside, shouted by Arniel. Veryn shifted his vision and then saw Ancano behind him in the dull reflection of the Eye, ready to kill. Veryn jerked the Staff of Magnus back, shattering the connection and warded himself, turning on Ancano once again. Like the cowards the Thalmor were, Ancano broke into a run when his spell was blocked. Veryn followed him, running up the stairs to the Archmage's quarters, spells bounding off the walls, back and forth. He tried to dodge and block them, getting caught a few times, blasted Ancano in turn. Nobody came behind him anymore, turned away by the infernal storm that cascaded downwards. Once he reached the top of the stairs, Ancano seemed to realize he was trapped and blasted open the door leading to the roof of the College. Veryn breathed in the cold air as he followed outside. The sky was clear, allowing him to see as far as possible over the mountains, the statue of Azura rising up to the south. Ancano was circling him, watching the Staff of Magnus with pale, greedy eyes. Then he lunged forward, a hidden dagger in one hand and grabbing the Staff with the other. Veryn turned his head away, a split-second before the dagger would have sliced his left eye, grazing his temple instead. He tried to wrench the staff from Ancano to get it back, meeting the Thalmor's eyes.

"We know who you really are," the Thalmor snarled. "And you keep being a disappointment."

Veryn growled in pain when Ancano twisted the staff to the side, trying to break Veryns grip on it.

"I am Dragonborn."

His instinct took over. The words came immediately and at full force, with no need to ponder or meditate about them.

"FUS RO DAH!" he Shouted.

The unrelenting force threw Ancano backwards, snapping some of his bones as he was thrown against the low stone wall surrounding the roof and then he toppled over, falling slowly at first and then disappeared from sight, screaming. Veryn heard a sickening crack when he climbed on top of the battlements and when he looked down he saw Ancano impaled on the hand of the statue of Shalidor down in the courtyard. This was it then. Revenge. Veryn felt like he should have been shouting in triumph, but the only thing he felt was apathy. He kept looking down at the grisly sight below until Tolfdir came forward from the stairs.

"We should head down, back to the Eye," the elderly man said.

Veryn felt like a Dwemer automaton when he walked down the stairs, barely registering what was going on around him. With Ancano dead and the Eye of Magnus his, why wasn't he relieved? Probably because this relative peace would last only a few days, a week at most. Once the Thalmor noticed that Ancano had suddenly ceased contact they would be swarming all of the College. Perhaps he should head off to the Sanctuary again, keep a low profile for the time being.

"We knew you would succeed." At the entrance to the Hall Quaranir was waiting, looking at the Staff of Magnus appreciatively. "You have done well."

Veryn tried to smile at him, but ended up with a tired smirk. "So you say." He looked over Quaranirs shoulder. "You brought some friends?" Around the Eye, three others were clustered, all wearing the Psijic robes.

Quaranir nodded. "We have come to take the Eye with us. The events of the last few months have shown that our world is not ready for it. If it stayed here, it ultimately would destroy the College and drive you beyond madness."

"Do you want the staff too, then?"

"No." Quaranir shook his head. "Even for the Psijic Order, that combination is too powerful, too dangerous. Keep the artefact. You have earned it. It's yours. For the time being, this will be the last time we meet each other. I wish you good luck in your future endeavours... Dragonborn."

"You as well," Veryn said, unable to shake off the faint sense of unease the Psijics always brought with them. He watched Quaranir walk away, first speaking with Tolfdir for a short while and then casting a spell at the Eye together with the other Psijics. He air around them rippled and then both the Psijics and the Eye were gone.

The next morning Veryn woke up nauseous and light headed. Too much moon sugar. He hadn't taken any for the past month-and-a-half, not since they arrived at the Nightgate Inn. Clearly, he had to get used to it again. Slowly he made his way up to the Archmage's tower, trying not to fall down the stairs. Tolfdir was waiting already, pouring two glasses of ale. Veryn sat down, politely declining the glass.

"Are you feeling better today?"

Veryn winced slightly at the concern in the old man's voice. "I'm doing just fine."

Tolfdir smiled. "That is good to hear. You should know that all of us here are very grateful that you have saved the College. I do not know how exactly you survived that assassination and I am not sure if I want to know all the details either." He smiled shrewdly. "The issue I want to bring to the table is a different one though. As you know, the College is currently without an Archmage. We have talked extensively about this yesterday night, while you slept and as the rector of the College of Winterhold, I would like to offer the position to you." He smiled expectantly.

Veryn stared at Tolfdir in a faint haze. "You are asking me to - no." Tolfdirs face fell. "No. I'm very honoured by your offer, Tolfdir, but I don't want to lead the College." He rubbed his head. The remains of the moon sugar numbed his thoughts, making talking easy. "You shouldn't want me to lead it either, unless you want the Thalmor to attempt another hostile takeover. They will come after the College to find out what happened to Ancano and I am not going to risk anything with them, let alone risk the people here."

Tolfdir looked at him sadly, speechless for a few seconds. "You may be right, but that does not mean I do not regret your choice."

Veryn grunted. "Things changed in the last year, Tolfdir. Even without the threat of the Thalmor, I'm not your best choice. I barely sleep any more these days and if I do sleep I wake up screaming half the time because my mind is back at Northwatch Keep. I cannot handle the responsibilities that position entails, not when I am already struggling to stay sane each day." He folded his hands together. "In fact, if anyone should lead this place, it's you. I'm sure the others agree."

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Meanwhile, miles away, in the south-east of Skyrim, Bricca hurried her way back to the Sanctuary, trying to reach the place before the sun rose. It wasn't as if the sun would hurt her, but it certainly annoyed her. Whenever she travelled on her own she made sure she went outside only during the night or cloudy weather. She smirked when she passed the black door, wondering what Astrid was going to do now Bricca had already visited Volunruud. The matron was sitting in the entry hall, studying a large map of Skyrim. It was an old one, filled with new marks and additions written on it later. She noticed Bricca immediately.

"You're back." Astrid smiled. "You've taken your fair time, haven't your? And what are those rumours about the Dragonborn being assassinated? You seem to have left a big mess." The smile disappeared as soon as it had come, replaced by an angry frown.

Bricca crossed her arms, deciding to barge right into the argument. "As matron of the Sanctuary you should have known that Veryn was in bloody Winterhold. But you didn't and that left me to deal with that Thalmor who wanted him dead. And guess what? I solved it, left your precious Dragonborn alive and got the payment too. There's no harm done to the Brotherhood at all." She reached for the pouch with coins, setting it on the table. "Two hundred and fifty."

"Septims?" Astrid opened the pouch and started to count out the gold.

"As you can see, it was well worth the time in the end." Bricca sat down on the edge of the table, tossing up one of the septims on the palm of her hand.

"That's great, Bricca." The smile was back again. "While you were gone, I have been thinking. Clearly, there is something going on with the Night Mother and all that and if She really did talk to you, well, it would be foolish to ignore it. Take a couple of days rest and head for Volunruud. Let's see where this all leads, hm?"

Bricca cocked her head slightly. "Yeah, about that... I took a detour on the way home. I've been there already."

Astrid blinked a few times in surprise, dumbstruck for a few seconds, but she recomposed herself again quickly. "I could have known. Who was this Motierre you met there and what did he want?"

"His family holds a seat in the Elder Council. He wants us to kill the Emperor."

"You're joking." Astrid's jaw dropped as she stared at Bricca incredulously.

"Most certainly not." Bricca tossed the coin at the table. It landed near Falkreath, standing on its side. "I have a letter from him. It probably explains more. That and an expensive amulet." She hopped to the ground, searching through her shoulder bag and putting the scroll and wrapped amulet in front of Astrid's nose. Bricca had opened the letter already, resealing it carefully after she had read it. Motierre was staying in Whiterun and the first task in his series of events appeared to involve a wedding. Astrid broke the seal and read the letter.

"Sithis." The matron put the parchment down. "This... the Emperor of Tamriel. We have not done this since Pelagius and nobody has even dared to lay a hand on him since the Oblivion Crisis!" Astrid's blue eyes glittered with enthusiasm. "Damn right we'll take on this contract. Together, you and me will show the world that the Dark Brotherhood is a force to be reckoned with!"