Returning to Dayspring Canyon, I was in such a distracted state with my thoughts that I nearly collided with the nervous young man loitering at the entrance.

He was barely an adult; a blonde Nord wearing farmer's clothes and leather bracers on his wrists as his only armor. His chin had a few sparse blond hairs, and I pegged him as somewhere between eighteen and twenty-one by his shy, young voice.

"Oh, hey there! Are you here to join the Dawnguard, too?" he asked, but nerves had him babbling on before I could respond. "Truth is, I'm a little nervous. I've never done anything like this before. I hope you don't mind if I walk up with you?"

I smiled reassuringly at him, "I don't mind. But no, I'm not here to join; I'm already a full-fledged member."

He immediately flushed, "Oh... I see… Hey, uh, please don't tell Isran I was afraid to meet him by myself. Not the best first impression for a new vampire hunter, I guess."

"It's perfectly fine, mister…"

He blushed again, "A-Agmaer, miss."

"I'm Lasirah, Warden of Dawn. It's good to meet you. What brings you to join us today?" I clasped his forearm warmly before we turned to walk along the path to the fort.

"I've heard the rumors around Skyrim. I know something's going on. And I've seen the vampire bodies after the guards fought them off. I felt I had two choices: I could either live in fear of the night, or I could do something to help protect my people."

At my reassuring nod, Agmaer continued. "Isran's men have been visiting all the cities and towns, inviting recruits to join. So here I am." He paused and then said, "You've probably killed lots of vampires, huh? Not sure he'll take me. I hope so."

We came to a stop at a newly erected wooden wall, sealed by a sturdy gate. Fort Dawnguard loomed beyond it.

Agmaer paused and gazed up at the towering gray stone edifice beyond the gate. "So… that must be it. Fort Dawnguard... Wow. Bigger than I expected. Where is everybody? This place looks almost deserted."

"Appearances can be deceiving," I said with a smile, then raised my voice. "Hey Celann, are you on guard duty or butt-warming duty by the fire?"

Agmaer jumped when the figure of the Breton vampire hunter seemed to melt out of the shadows at the top of the gate. "Guard duty, you mouthy Redguard witch," he sniped back, and then laughed heartily. "Get in here! Isran's been getting antsy about how long you were taking. Been harping like a mother hen whose chick got lost."

The gate creaked open and my own chick followed in my wake as I led him past several campsites. I waved a greeting to several members on the way to the front door, and received welcoming calls in return.

"I… I guess this is it. Wish me luck." Agmaer took a steadying breath as I pushed one of the double doors open.

"You don't need it, son," I soothed. "Anyone willing to risk their lives fighting vampires is welcome here, even those who have never lifted a weapon before."

I found Isran perusing the map, where a few new flags had been set. His eyes rose to meet mine, and I saw relief wash through them before his face shifted back to its usual dour expression. "You're alive," he said gruffly. "Good. I was starting to think I had sent you off to your death. Not a good start to a fight with the damned bloodsuckers."

"Your heart is made of mush, Isran," I said with a small smile.

He fixed me with a scowl that curdled the blood of the poor recruit behind me. He made a meek sound in the back of his throat and tried to slide sideways to hide behind me.

Unfortunately for him, the movement attracted Isran's attention. He barked, "You there. Boy. Stop skulking in the shadows and step up here. What's your name?"

"I'm, uh... my name is Agmaer, sir," he squeaked.

Isran snorted, "Do I look like a 'sir' to you, boy? I'm not a soldier, and you're not joining the army."

"Yes, sir... uh, Isran."

"Didn't I tell you to step forward?" Agmaer came cautiously forward to face the stern vampire hunter. "Hmm... Farm boy, eh? What's your weapon?"

"Uh, my weapon? I mostly just use my pa's axe, when wolves are attacking the goats or something."

Isran laughed a little, "'My pa's axe,' Stendarr preserve us." Then his voice gentled a little, "Don't worry, I think we can make a Dawnguard out of you. Here, take this crossbow, and let's see how you shoot."

I watched with mild interest as Isran handed the boy a weapon that I had only ever seen schematics of.

"Uh, crossbow? I've never…" he fumbled a little as he took it, having no idea which end to hold.

"Yes, a crossbow. The best thing for killing vampires without getting yourself bitten and infected. Just take a few shots at those crates over there." Isran guided Agmaer into holding the weapon properly and pointed to a stack of crates against the wall. "Take this. It's called a bolt. You snap it in here, and squeeze here to fire it."

Agmaer squeezed the trigger, and staggered a little as the bolt burst out the far end and embedded itself with a thunk into the wood.

"Watch the recoil," Isran instructed. "It takes some getting used to. Place your legs like this. That's right. Now take a deep breath and let it out as you fire. That's it. You'll get the hang of it."

Once Agmaer got the rhythm down, Isran walked over to where I waited so we could talk while he kept an eye on the newbie. "So, you're back, which means we need to debrief. I bet you're hungry."

My stomach growled, and the other Redguard laughed, waving me to the kitchen to grab some food before returning to talk.

Isran started right in, so I answered him between bites. "So, any luck? Was Tolan right about the vampires being interested in Dimhollow Crypt?"

I grimaced and told him the whole trip from beginning to end. I told him about Tolan's death, and described the death hounds in detail. And the gargoyles. Isran looked discomfited by the idea that vampires were creating new monsters. I explained about the sick little mechanism that had revealed Serana, a vampire who happened to be the daughter of a vampire lord. I told him about us freeing Helskr, who should be arriving soon. I told him about the Elder Scroll and about Harkon and his castle.

Isran half leaped to his feet, both hands braced against the table. "They have a what?! And you didn't stop them? You didn't secure the scroll?"

"Isran," I met his eyes so there would be no doubt about the gravity of my words, "I am used to working alone. The upside is that it's easy for me to get on with killing without having to worry about companions stepping in front of an arrow or sword swing. But keep in mind that one of the downsides of this is that I'm limited in my ability to do certain things. Taking an Elder Scroll from a powerful vampire is a short path to an even shorter life."

Isran buried his face in his hands for a moment. "Right. Sorry for snapping at you. So they have this… Serana woman, and an Elder Scroll. They have everything they wanted, and we're left with nothing. I suppose you're lucky you're not dead. Or worse, one of them." He scowled down at his map.

"There's more."

"Of course, there's more," the man groaned. "Fine. Hit me with it."

"Serana and the vampire lord are… different… from other vampires." I explained how Serana and Harkon could almost pass as humans, and about Harkon's transformation into the winged horror.

"By the Divines, this couldn't get much worse. This is more than we can handle." Isran paced agitatedly in front of the fireplace.

I watched him for a moment then said, "Look, I left some of my books here when I left. They're stores of information about vampires. I need to rest from my trip, and I figured I could dig through them. I'm hoping that I can pinpoint possible weaknesses that we can exploit. The vampires are going to start getting stirred up as it is."

Isran nodded, "We found them. They're on the bookshelves over by the enchanting table."

Finding a chair to sit on next to the shelving, I pulled my old copy of Immortal Blood from the shelf and flipped it open. It was written by an anonymous author, detailing a young and living Movarth Piquine. Back then, he had been obsessed with hunting vampires and knowing everything he could glean about them. At the end of the book, the anonymous author confessed to Movarth that he was a vampire as well. Before Movarth could react, the author attacked him, turning him into the undead fiend that I had slain a few short weeks ago.

I drummed my fingers thoughtfully on the table, then began to scribble out notes.

The anonymous author detailed how the Volkihar Clan was paranoid and cruel. It was said that their very breath could freeze their victims' blood in their veins. I hadn't experienced this skill, but it was an interesting thing to note, especially with the death hounds having frost magic in their bite. Volkihar tended to make their lairs in, or very close to icy and remote bodies of water, such as lakes. Castle Volkihar was on an island surrounded by the ice-encrusted Sea of Ghosts, so that was relevant enough. They also tended to be isolationists; venturing into the world of men only to gather up thralls and victims who would not be missed if taken. Volkihar vampires also could reach through the ice of their lakes without breaking it. This created the nasty surprise of being grabbed from below without any warning.

The author of the book was a type of vampire from Cyrodiil, and had confessed that they were a powerful clan who had ousted all their competitors. They were experts at concealment. If they kept themselves well-fed, they were indistinguishable from living persons. Their vampiric qualities only became visible when they were starving. They were cultured; more civilized than the vampires of the provinces. They preferred to feed on victims while they were asleep and unaware. The author himself had confessed that he didn't know their true name, and that it had been lost in history.

Remembering Movarth's emaciated figure, I tried to imagine how he would have looked if he had succeeded in taking the town. A cold shiver went down my spine at the thought of an entire town of vampires that were almost impossible to identify, surrounded by loyal thralls. The town of Morthal had been lucky that I had been nosy enough to poke around in the ashes of a destroyed home, looking for clues.

I sat back and reviewed my notes. There was good information here, but not enough.

Fort Dawnguard had been built sometime around the Second Era, only a few thousand years after Serana's living days. Supposedly, it had been made for the sole purpose of containing the son of a Jarl, who had become a vampire. Then later, it served as the headquarters for the ancient faction of the original Dawnguard. If any place could contain manuscripts about vampire knowledge, this would be the place.

Isran was no fool; if he or the rest of the Dawnguard had found something, anything at all, they would have collected it for use. Anything and everything that could be a weapon, even knowledge, would be here. The only question was; what condition would they be in after thousands of years of neglect?

I poured over the rest of the books on the shelving, and finally found an ancient-looking book with a faded title: Noxiphilic Sanguivoria. My childhood lessons in Old Cyrodilic made it possible to translate the title; "Night Loving Blood Drinkers." Pretty damn eye-catching.

I had to handle the book with incredible gentleness to avoid making it crumble. It had been transcribed and re-transcribed over the ages. Perhaps one day soon I would have to see to it that the book was renewed and published yet again.

The book detailed an ancient strain of vampirism that did not weaken its victims to sunlight as in other strains of vampirism. They were, instead, strengthened during the nighttime hours. When the sun went down, they gained a very high tolerance to pain and had a powerful healing ability. In exchange had to drink blood to maintain their appearance.

Claims from captured vampires detailed that in order to contract the disease, one had to be bitten and exsanguinated by a vampire, and then receive the gift of their blood in return. There were mentions of a dreamlike passage of time and a ritual chamber where the bitten victim was bathed in a pool of black blood, and rose as a vampire.

I put down my quill and thought long and hard. Sanguinare Vampiris, translated, meant "to become a vampire through blood" which made sense, as people became infected by contact through bodily fluids, usually via a bite or a scratch, though there were... other ways of becoming infected too. It was the most recent strain in Skyrim, and there was a ten percent chance of becoming infected every time an injury from a vampire drew blood. They then had three days to buy a cure, be blessed by a priest, or pray at an altar. This was why Potions of Cure Disease were a necessary part of any vampire hunter's supplies.

The older strain was far less virulent and could not happen by accident, but Serana had more similarities with the older strain than the newer. If the ancient strain had been mutating around the time Serana had been infected, that would explain how she could wander around during the day.

But why the transformation into that… that bat-like monstrosity? What was missing? I was positive that Harkon's transformation was more than dramatic enough to have made it into the lore books on vampirism if anyone had seen it and lived to tell about it. I very firmly did NOT dwell on the possibility of being the only one to do so in millennia. Harkon and, by extension, Serana and her mother, appeared to be unique. I didn't know how this played into their particular strain, but perhaps time would tell.

Speaking of time… I fought a massive yawn and looked around.

Spotting a timepiece on the wall, I realized that I had been scratching notes for the better part of the night. If I wanted to function at all once the sun rose, I needed to get what little sleep I had left to me. I put the book away and found a bed to fall into.