Chapter 20

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They camped a few hundred feet away from Haemar's Shame. Tariq, Argis, and Lydia would investigate it starting tomorrow's dawn. Rodina volunteered the watch from midnight until morning. For the evening, Argis and Lydia would split the shift. Tariq meditated. Argis had approached the Stormcloak camp to talk to them about activity around the cave. The Stormcloaks were suspicious of them, and they thought their group fools to go into that accursed cave. Yet, if they succeeded, it made their watch on Legion activities easier and relatively safer, so they gave Argis some hint of numbers and how frequently vampires and thralls left the cave. They didn't know anything about a talking dog.

Argis's report of his Stormcloak interaction nagged at Tariq, causing him to reflect on past conversations with Jarl Balgruuf. These Stormcloak soldiers, their hate and rage against the Empire, were almost incoherent. Passion without reason. And they had been at Helgen, had been ones to be executed, and yet they blamed the Empire and the Thalmor as being responsible that a dragon — a harbinger of the End Times — that it was their fault the dragons were returning. Argis had wisely kept silent that he had also been at Helgen when it was destroyed.

Cairo pranced restlessly. Tariq had set him "on-guard." It could be wolves and bears making the stallion angry, or it could be watching Stormcloaks.

… … …

Balgruuf had honored Tariq twice more with private lunches where they discussed his experiences with the Dominion in Hammerfell. They agreed that the ban of Talos worship was not an exclusive strike at Skyrim but a tactic aimed at demoralizing the Legion because it was the Legion that revered the name of Tiber Septim over Akatosh. The ban forced the Legion to defile their own patron deity, for Tiber Septim had become Emperor by Legion election, not aristocratic birth. He was a soldier. Titus Mede I had used that precedent in his own rise from soldier to warlord to emperor. But he wasn't "Dragonborn;" he lacked the religious recognition factor. Opponents cited that as the reason his reign was illegitimate.

He also failed to recognize Skyrim as a co-power, insisting on treating it as a lesser provincial subject of the empire. Mede treated Skyrim like the Septims treated Morrowind as a subordinate nation with resources to plunder. His successor, Titus Mede II, had a little more sense and was on his way to making amends with Skyrim's offended jarls, but then the Great War happened.

Tariq asked Balgruuf what his personal opinion was of Titus Mede II. Balgruuf thought the second Mede emperor — not the original Mede's son, who went missing after the incident involving a floating island, but a man selected from a pool of young nephews and cousins — was making earnest efforts to continue the restoration of the Empire. However, he was painfully aware the Mede Emperors didn't have the blessings of the religious history of the Dragonborn Emperors, and what his predecessor had conquered was an empire with an empty treasury and deficits that would take yet more decades to break even.

"The first Titus Mede hadn't realized the treasury was empty from all the mismanagement of the temporary, would-be emperors. After all, there were so many wealthy families in the Imperial City. So he replenished it the fastest way he knew, which was to sell Elder Council seats to the highest bidders with the most disposable wealth. Political prominence and leadership, scholarly wisdom, exceptional talents in finance, trade, agriculture, jurisprudence — these were thrown aside in favor of immediate gratification. Only money mattered. And it was a quick sale, too. No one outside the Imperial City or lands knew this was happening. By the time we heard of it, all the seats were sold.

"Even if Skyrim knew, even our High King Gudmund at the time would need some months to consolidate his wealth into gold." Balgruuf shrugged. "Our wealth is in our lands, our cattle, our people, not hard coin. To get that coin, would we not have to sell our assets? Mede was not going to wait months — he wanted immediate satisfaction. And so we have our Elder Council, all Imperial City locals, who see all other countries as resources they've bought, only fit to be mined until empty.

"And the expertise I mentioned? The reasoning was that the Councilors could always pay for such consultants. The problem is, no one wants to spend that kind of money on people who fail to produce immediate investment results, who tell them that to improve something, they have to donate their gold for the general good without expecting any personal profit. Titus Mede sold power and advantage. The ones buying had no time for public works. It's not good business, you see. Long-term investments should only be made after exclusive ownership of results could be claimed. If not, there were no funds to waste on provinces falling to starvation, disease, crimes, or other disasters.

"But we have some blame, too. We jarls — we had gotten complacent. The battles for imperial succession were on the other side of the Jerrall mountains; we had relative peace in our lands and any disputes we were handling on our own. In a pervasive streak of naivety, we believed the Imperials would remember that Skyrim were equals in the Empire. After all, do not our people form almost half of the Legion? Didn't Nord blood run in the blood of the true Emperors? Were we not their allies when they destroyed their Ayleid overlords?

"When we finally realized it was no longer so, we were forced to acknowledge that our solidarity was an illusion. Not a good one either. It was always in plain sight. We had a high king that could be killed by any claimant who had enough supporters and was willing to personally challenge the king to a fight to the death if we applied the old ways. Ulfric reminded us of that. But the Imperial Throne doesn't like that because it is inconvenient, and it wants one controlling point. One puppet.

"Take Morrowind, for example. The Empire created a king where there was none before. They dismissed the significance of the Houses and Clans, appointed a king, and refused to acknowledge or deal with factions, even to the gods of Morrowind. The Tribunal was supposed to adhere to artificial protocols and speak through this king and not directly to the emperor.

"The high king was our unification point. With his death, we are pointedly reminded that we jarls are kings of our own hold. We had gotten used to the Imperial way of thinking that the high king was all of Skyrim, not just the elected speaker of a group. Also, not all of our group were strong enough to, hm, 'hold' their own."

"Why do you not take the High King's crown for yourself?" asked Tariq.

"I don't want it. I have enough problems just managing my own hold without taking on responsibilities to all the others. Whiterun's economy is based on crops, cattle, and the trade that passes through my hold. We'd sacrificed the bulk of our military might — our warriors and our horses — in the Great War. We haven't recovered yet what we have lost. It will take more than one generation to get it all back. If we don't face more wars, like this war that Ulfric recklessly wages.

"And as I've said, we've gotten used to the Imperial ways. If I wanted to take the throne of the High King without the Moot, then I would be doing as Ulfric does — I must wage war upon the holds that deny me and conquer them. But it would not be just the hold and their allies I would face. I would also have to face the Legion charged with maintaining the current order. Then there's them."

Tariq nodded. Discounting the Companions, he'd observed Whiterun's cavalry and hold units. They were respectable in their discipline and strength … so long as they were defending against an external enemy. If the Companions had Stormcloak sympathizers within the company, Whiterun's military would have those too. "And what is the High Queen's, Jarl Elisif's advantage?"

"The Legion, the Dominion, and the fact that most of Skyrim's young nobility are in Solitude, in Cyrodiil, in many foreign major cities enjoying the more cosmopolitan pleasures. They are easy captures for ransom. Some the Dominion will torture and break for information or be puppets for their Thalmor handlers."

Tariq's eyes narrowed. "I have heard that Jarl Elisif is also young and raised as a proper Cyrodiil lady. That she is unlikely to defy the will of her Imperial overlord."

Balgruuf merely took another deep drink from his tankard, declining to comment.

"Allies? Surely you know holds that would support you," said Tariq.

"Hjaalmarch, I think, would support me. But they are the poorest of the holds, and Jarl Idgrod is older than I. Her position is imperiled because most think her half-mad. Her daughter keeps to herself and has no strong friends outside of Morthal. She would do well to marry a man of strength and purpose, could she but attract one. But without any great beauty or wealth, that is not likely. Her lack of battle prowess marks her ascension as too weak to hold against a challenger, but who wants a beggared hold? Idgrod's son is not yet 8 and is already considered as mad as his mother. They claim to see things others cannot. At the moment, even Siddgeir could take them, but he's too lazy, and there's nothing in Hjaalmarch he considers to be worth the expense."

"Do you think Hjaalmarch has any redeeming assets?" asked Tariq.

"In the time of the Dragon Cult, their largest, mightiest city was once there. The ruins remain, but people avoid it because they fear the magic and monsters within." Another refill of his tankard and a large swallow. "If one has magic and ambition, Hjaalmarch has many such treasures. We are fortunate, so far, that the Thalmor considers the place not worth their time. Their scorn of ancient Atmoran magic works to our advantage for now."

Tariq nodded. He would have to make time to explore there in the future.

… … …

Rodina had spotted what looked to be an entrance high above the road. Its proximity to the entrance of Haemar's Shame guaranteed that this was another route in. Lydia climbed up the cliff face to verify this. When she returned, she said there were iron bars preventing further passage. But what she could see was some sort of temple. The idol's back was facing her so she couldn't see what god was being worshiped, but it seemed human-shaped and male.

And waiting until daylight to attack was the right choice. The vampires she saw in there were sluggish and didn't know she was so close despite their superior sense skills and being thin from hunger.

Thin? That didn't seem right. These woods were thick with bandits and rebels. There was no reason these vampires should be starving themselves.

Not his concern. They were dead meat anyway and worth only weapons practice. There was no real threat inside. Argis and Lydia handled the bulk of the fighting. Tariq only lent his aid when they came upon magic-wielding vampires. The vampires were a surprisingly weak bunch. They fought back as fiercely as any cornered beast but were eventually cut down.

*Well done! Since you've helped me grant the final wish of my last worshipers — they were suffering so from vampirism and begged me for a cure — then you came in and ended their misery! I couldn't have planned it better myself. So, what's your heart's desire? What kind of deal can we strike?*

Tariq's shoulders drew back in disgust at hearing this daedra's smug voice in his mind. Light-hearted and casual cruelty in every lilting note.

"No deal, daedra." As he walked away, his foot kicked the arm of the vampire master. For a moment, he felt sympathy. He didn't recognize this statue. It looked like a comely young man holding up a two-horned mask. Well, he could have been fair if his expression wasn't so malicious and gleeful. The memory of the voice in his head tainted the image as he recalled it to mind — gloating, smug, and sharp as he'd asked, "What kind of deal can we strike?" The poor fools probably fell for the usual lures of power and long lives that would allow them to enjoy the wealth their future powers would bring. Their initial sacrifice was likely something trivial in their minds. And when they'd become afflicted with vampirism, they prayed for salvation to the one they didn't realize had caused their downfall; and who was reveling in their misery of a bad bargain.

Thin and starved — so, they had a pittance of humanity left and refused to totally surrender to the demonic nature of the vampire and go on a feeding frenzy. The thralls were likely all bandits who'd entered the cave on their own to make it their base, giving the vampires had some scraps of food, just barely enough to keep from going mad. If their god had been Molag Bal, that one would have over-ridden their reason and sent them out to spread the disease. This god, however, hadn't been interested in that. This evil just wanted to have fun.

"That has to be Clavicus Vile," pronounced Rodina after Tariq described the statue and repeated the words the daedra had said to him. "Yes, you don't ever want to make any bargains with that one. Nothing good will ever come from it."

"You sound uncertain of this daedra's identity," said Tariq.

"Well, Vile usually is represented with a dog companion named Barbas. This demon is the god's loyal companion. Think of Vile as alcohol. Um, in Leyawin, a seacoast town south of the Imperial City, they say the 'demon rum' has you. Rum is a drink made from sweet syrups like a stronger cousin to honey mead."

"I see, I see," said Tariq. "You speak addiction."

"Very much so. In Leyawin, they also say the cure is 'the hair of the dog that bit you,' which is to say that when one wakes with the hangover, drink more alcohol."

"Which is foolish. A good hot soup is better, or even just a large jug of water," said Tariq. "Ah, that story Delia told us of a talking dog."

"A manifestation of the Barbas demon? It's likely not just tales from drunks stumbling home after visiting the tavern, then." Rodina nodded. "The Barbas demon is as dangerous as its master. Lore says it can be friendly and charming like a puppy, but never forget it is loyal to its master and, ultimately, a supporter, protector, and enabler. In its own way, it's as dangerous as a vampire's hellhound."

"This demon dog near Falkreath was said to be seeking someone to help him find his master. Curious. Have the pair become separated?"

"Not something I want to be involved in," said Rodina. "But if it's so, then Clavicus Vile is weakened and stuck in that cave for now. He's a cripple without his demon pet to lean against, clear his way, fetch him things he needs. If they're separated, I say let them stay separated."

They continued on towards Ivarstead. A Thalmor patrol stopped them, demanding to know their business.

"I am on a pilgrimage to High Hrothgar," said Rodina, riding forward and pulling down her hood and displaying her jewelry and silk scarves woven in her hair, showing she was a fine lady with her bodyguards.

"Talos worship —"

"Is prohibited, I know, justiciar. However, High Hrothgar existed before long before Tiber Septim."

"Where do you come from? What is your name?"

"I am Rodina, the court bard of Whiterun. After Helgen, the voice of the Greybeards was heard thundering down from High Hrothgar. I am tasked by my jarl with making this pilgrimage to offer Whiterun's respects and ask if there is anything we can —"

"I am not interested in your primitive superstitions, bard. Be on your way!"

"Then the Divines guide your path, justiciar."

"Nicely done, Rodina," said Tariq after the mer were out of earshot.

"Thank you, Tariq. On a happier note, we're not far from Dathak's hut. I hope he's at home and not out doing more fieldwork."

"Who?"

"Dathak. He's a Dunmer alchemist who's been studying Skyrim herbals for the past decade. I keep telling him he should use the book crafters in Whiterun rather than Riften, but he says it's cheaper in Riften. And since he has to update information every other year, the costs of republishing add up faster than the income from book sales."

They came to a one-room house with a fenced garden of plants used in alchemy. An alchemy table was in the garden. To Rodina's disappointment, the Dunmer was not there. She left him a little note on a piece of birch bark and they went on. Lydia said there was a dragon burial mound southeast of where they were, past surface remnants of a Dwemer ruin. She commented there were a number of ruins south of Ivarstead, an old Second Era fort known as Autumnwatch. That one, if Tariq was interested, had a dragon word wall like at Shearpoint. And higher in the mountains were old ruins from the dragon cult. The place was called Arcwind Point. She didn't know if there was a word wall there, but she'd bet on it.

"I see we will have two places to visit after we meet the Greybeards," said Tariq. "If we have time."

"What do you mean, my thane?" asked Argis.

"Before they declare me a hero, there's usually some sort of quest involved. All tales I know about such heroes means proving oneself worthy."

"That's so," said Rodina. "They can't deny that you are able to use the voice, you have to prove you're worth teaching." After a few moments. She added, "I wonder what test they gave Tiber Septim?"

He rode ahead a little, saying that Cairo was getting bored with walking and needed a little run.

He was thinking of vampires.

… … …

He'd met with that Orsimer that Vilkas had mentioned. Durak was his name. He was recruiting for a group that called itself the Dawnguard, a group dedicated to fighting what they called "the growing vampire menace." They would also take down lycanthropes and necromancers, but vampires were their primary targets. They had a fort near the Stonefalls border, not too far from Stendarr's Beacon or the dragon cult ruins of Forelhost. Durak's own story was that he'd joined to avenge the loss of his two wives. He and his first wife had met in the Legion. They both earned and saved enough to buy land and pay the bride price for his wife's younger sister. His wives were clearing land, and he was away buying building supplies. Came back. The body of his younger wife was drained of blood before being torn apart. The bite marks were not those of lycanthropes or bears. The body of his first wife, his pregnant wife, was missing.

He didn't need to go into detail. Tariq had thumped his shoulder bought him the next round of drinks. He asked instead who was leading the Dawnguard? How were they getting their operating funds? What was the pay, or was this a volunteer organization?

The pay, Durak, admitted, was crap. They cleared out vampire nests, picked their pay from the bodies, and petitioned the local nobility or the territory's jarl for a reward. But if there hadn't been a bounty issued first, the amount often wasn't much. Most of the current crew had suffered personal losses of family and/or friends. Their leader was a Redguard who had once been with the Vigilants of Stendarr but had a falling out. He'd thought the Vigilants had gotten too soft and too unfocused in their purpose — going for the low-hanging fruit of harassing every daedra worshiper, even the peaceful ones.

Durak had grinned at that. He proudly worshiped Malacath. Were there any Stendarr Vigilants stupid enough to attack him for that?

"Apparently not," Tariq commented.

Durak then pulled out the latest fast-selling book in Whiterun. "What about you, sword-singer? I've heard you're an old-fashion guy — you hate all daedra-worshipers and mers. That should include my kind on both counts, the ones your people had to beat to take Hammerfell."

"I just bought you a drink," said Tariq calmly. "And…" he added, reaching out to take the book, "…that was a long time ago. So was the scholar who wrote that for the Imperial Library. I was advised by a blacksmith who is very precise in creating blades to inform people that if they wanted to know this sword-singer's thoughts, they should ask me directly. To answer your question, yes, on both counts. But I can and do make exceptions. And I have been accused of mistaking the Companions for the Vigilants of Stendarr."

"Really." Durak signaled to the Bosmer innkeeper for another drink. The Bosmer put down the bow he'd been polishing and picked up a jug of beer to bring to them. "And here I thought Isran pretty rigid in his views." His eyes narrowed. "I hope you're learning there are some daedra-worshipers that have lines they won't cross. Vampires are one of them. Life's hard enough, and even the most glorious life ends in ashes. Forcing a soul from its rest is not just unnatural; it's disrespectful. Vampires are usually pitiful creatures. Most commonly, they're feral and half-mad because most are confused and can't deal with the fact that they're walking corpses. Too many are just leftovers that a reckless vampire didn't fully drain. Putting them down is just mercy-killing. But some go mad in that special way that makes them sane and unable to relate to their victims. And they don't have to be Molag Bal worshipers either. Although, those that do worship Molag Bal seem to have stronger powers. Vampire lord versus regular vampire sires. That's the working theory anyway. But since I usually just kill vampires instead of trying to hold a conversation with them, I guess I'll never really know."

The Dawnguard had sounded interesting. But one commitment at a time. For now, he was with the Companions. Durak wouldn't tell him much about this Isran fellow. Or maybe he couldn't because he didn't know the man's history. Was he a Forebear or a Crown? He likely wasn't Ash'abah because Durak could not recall the man using the rituals. He used magic, the type commonly used by the Vigilants.

And though he used their techniques, he wasn't changing his status and goal of Ansei to become one of the Ash'abah, the pariahs who hunt the undead.

"Isran mentioned the 'Ashbah,'" said Durak, pouncing on the word once Tariq had said it. "He said back in Hammerfell you considered them pariahs. Not that it bothers me to be called that. Orsimers have been called that since we were created. But tell me why it's considered dishonorable for those who fight what's already an abomination?"

"It does have a bad meaning. But the fact is, once one begins to fight the undead, one becomes the bait that attracts the attention of those that practice that foul magic. You attract danger, and those around you may suffer if you stay too long among them. You may have the knowledge and weapons to fight a plague of undead, but do your neighbors? Would you set up your Dawnguard headquarters in the middle of a city or within a stone's throw of one knowing that any dark night an enemy's horde of undead may come for you, killing anybody and anything in their path?"

Durak grinned and barked amusement. "You got me. Yeah, anybody with sense would drive out even a diligent protector if he kept attracting that attention to your hometown." He took another drink, and his eyes glinted above the rim of the tankard. "So, what about a hero who'll probably attract a dragon to their town? Nah, of course, that's different. Dragons as natural disasters, unlike walking corpses."

"That's the practical aspect," said Tariq. "I won't go into the ancient religious and cultural reasons, since in modern times many of my countrymen are confused about their religion thanks to the efforts of Imperial Cult making their way into our lands. Easy salvation," he muttered. "Die, and it's automatic transport to the realm of your gods. No long, lonely walk to the Far Shores."

"That belief. So, if someone calls you back, you have to start from scratch because you've lost every skill you've honed, every advantage and favor you worked for in life, your carefully collected and packed supplies and tools and weapons," concluded Durak. "Get yanked back by necromancy, and you lose all that. You had one shot. If you're lucky, you get to start all over again with a clean slate. If not…"

"You understand ancient Yokudan beliefs more than most of my countrymen," Tariq conceded sourly.

"Millenniums of honorable service can be easily undone by someone's lies and misrepresentations. Story of my people and my god."

… … …

Ivarstead. It seemed unnaturally busy for such a small town. Tourists, Rodina explained when she returned to their camp atop a hill across the river. The single inn was full-up, and other campsites dotted the area.

"Ever since the dragons have come back, everyone who fancies themselves the Dragonborn comes here. Then others want the Greybeards to do something about the ban on Talos worship, some action or holy proclamation, as if doing that wouldn't bring the Thalmor charging up the mountain, that is, if the Thalmor could force Legion to protect them in a Stormcloak hold." Rodina tossed her head back and rolled her eyes in disgust.

She smiled wryly at Tariq. "You may want to avoid going into town during the day," she advised. "Word's already out that the hero of Whiterun, the Whiterun Dragonborn, is a Redguard. Of course, you don't look like the typical Redguards we see. You could pass as a Nord if we put you in different clothes and weapons. Or not," she added at Tariq's scowl. "And I'm thinking we might want to relax a bit before heading up. From what I've heard, three large parties went up this past week, and they haven't come down yet."

"We'll need proper supplies for the climb," said Lydia. "It's early summer now, but that just means the snow up there has turned to ice." She eyed Tariq and Argis. "Either of you experienced camping and fighting in snow and ice? No? Oh, yes, you haven't yet experienced winter in the northern plains. Well, the climb up should give you a good introduction to a typical winter. Without the snowstorms at least," she muttered, looking upward. Only a tip of the mountain was not visible, crowned with a slowly swirling cloud that gathered the day High Hrothgar was built and has never dispersed since then. "I can go tomorrow and buy the supplies." She pointed to an island in Lake Geirmund. "I've fished before on that island. Easy enough to pole fish, if that's not too boring for you. Bass, catfish, trout, histcarp, and betties. All tasty. And, as I've said…" she pointed southward, "…you could always go that way and explore around the dragon mound, Dwemer ruin, and Autumnwatch ruin. Also, the Legion camp is that way. Trade some of the armor pieces and weapons we picked off the vampires.

"Oh, and if you go fishing, don't explore the cave that's on that island. It's the entrance to old ruins under the lake. The locals say it's an accursed crypt. Some ancient warlord, but nobody can remember his name."

"And who is Geirmund?" asked Tariq. "Is there any history on that name? Perhaps it's this warlord?" He looked at Rodina.

"No name I can recall," she replied. "All my studies were what I picked up at the Bards College and the library at Dragonsreach. But if it's older than Ivarstead, the only place that might have records is either Windhelm or… No, Windhelm. I was going to say Winterhold, but that town is half dead. The royal library was lost in the sea along with the city. The jarls up there have been too busy just surviving to think of the labor and expense of traveling about to recover copies of historical tomes. And I sincerely doubt the mage's college up there keeps any collection of the mundane histories of another hold. And by historical collection, I don't mean stuff written by scholars years, decades, or centuries after the fact. I also mean political records of the time."

"I see. Of course," Tariq agreed. "I suppose it will forever remain a mystery."

"How do they know it's a crypt if no one every comes out?" asked Argis.

"Oh, think about it," said Lydia. "They might lower someone down with ropes. Someone goes in, explores a bit, and if they're still alive, might come back to be pulled up so they can report. And again, till the person or group exploring doesn't come back. People generally don't keep doing that if the explorers don't pull up some fantastic treasure. The thrill of exploration doesn't mean having a death wish."

"Right, right," Argis agreed. "Fishing might be nice. I used to like doing that as a kid in the river running through the city. But, with the mining and crowding, the river inside got clogged with garbage and sewage. The carp that survive in that don't taste good. Unless, my thane, you have somewhere else you want to go?"

"Go fish, Argis. And catch us a good dinner. I'll be fine on my own with Cairo."

"May I come with you, Tariq?" asked Rodina. "You want to see if there is a word wall?"

He grinned. "Are you hoping for a dragon?"

"Oh, Talos, no! What I'm hoping for is to get a peek inside High Hrothgar, maybe even talk to a Greybeard. I do not need to see a dragon up close. I was outside shopping for material for a new dress and coat, and I was heading over to watch the herd dog competitions when that green monster came swooping down. Besides, if there was a dragon, I would certainly have heard of it while I was in town."

… … …

They were at the Legion camp selling the equipment they'd taken from the vampire's den in Haemar's Shame when the air shook. Not the Greybeards, not a chorus of voices. Two mighty voices thundered from above the cloud over High Hrothgar. A black shape Tariq recognized glided down the mountain and passed overhead toward the area of Autumnwatch ruins. They heard another thunder of words, then the earth shook.

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