[A/N]: And into Act 2 we rumble! Let's start things off with a bang and a new major character to the cast...
-ACT TWO-
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
~A THRUST IS ELEGANT, AND A CUT IS POWERFUL... ~
The vampires were retreating – or trying to, anyway. Irileth would give them no quarter. Her crossbow cracked, near tugging itself from her grasp, as she launched another bolt into a fledgling's spine. "Perish like the vermin you are!" she spat, reloading her weapon in one swift movement. "Scatter, roaches! Give me a challenge worth sending your rotten souls to Azura!"
Redwater Den was what the shambled cottage was called; some kind of tainted skooma front, full of desperate, pleasure-seeking scum. Beneath the veil lay a crumbled Nordic ruin stuffed to the seams with young vampires and their thralls, mortals whose wills had been stolen by their vampiric masters. They thought that the six Dawnguard that packed the narrow corridors and stormed the musty caverns would be overwhelmed. They were wrong. Irileth had chosen only the best the Dawnguard had, and it showed.
The last wave of vampires in Redwater Den recoiled from the Dawnguard advance; they spilled into another large chamber, roomy, full of stone columns, echoing dimly with the sound of gurgling water. They turned back with overbright eyes and fangs bared, rallying to attack again.
"Light them up," Irileth ordered, as she and the rest set their crossbows to their shoulders. Illia's hands blazed as she conjured a fireball, and launched it straight at the feet of the nearest. It went off in a conflagration of magefire and screams as the vampires' clothes and paper-dry skin ignited.
Irileth, Agmaer and Vori fired their crossbows together in a pitiless volley. Three vampires went down. A thrall, incensed to madness, rushed them with greatsword upraised. Mogrul swiftly intercepted, near cutting the man in half on the edge of his battleaxe. One of the vampires turned to flee – Kjennar's hands were faster. Two knives flashed through the air, and the vampire collapsed, flesh crumbling to ash where the silver blades had sunk between its ribs.
"Two getting away," Agmaer warned, as he reloaded.
Vori was a deadly quick shot. Her crossbow was up against her shoulder before Irileth had finished winding back the stock. A moment's pause, a sharp crack, and one of the distant shapes went down. "Kjennar, Mogrul, after the last one," Irileth ordered, and the two were away across the chamber. "Illia, Agmaer, take the left side. Vori, with me on the right."
They spread out to scope the latest cavern, but any lingering fear of ambush was gradually dispelled. Though dim, the cavern had little shadow, and beyond the pillars supporting the sagging ceiling, little cover. The sound of rushing water gradually grew louder as they approached the middle of the cavern, which glowed with a sickly golden, flickering glow.
"By the Nine," Vori gasped, as they drew upon the sound's source.
An immense pool of greasy bloodred liquid filled the centre of the cavern, the heart of which gurgled with a foamy crimson geyser. It was ringed with paved stone and a pair of footbridges, and the whole thing sharply illuminated by a pair of fiery braziers suspended from the ceiling above. Corpses reduced to shrivelled, bloody skeletons littered the gurgling currents. The smell was incredible – it cloyed in their noses and gagged in their throats with a hideous metallic aftertaste. "Gods," Illia whispered, "I think I might be sick."
"That's not...?" Agmaer went white. "Blood. A fountain of blood."
"Not a fountain," Irileth murmured, "a spring." The name of Redwater Den suddenly made sense. "Mephala's eyes, no wonder the curs are drawn here."
From within the ruins across the evil pool, they heard a vampire's shrill death-shriek. "Sounds like they got 'im," said Vori. "Those were the last ones, aye?"
"For now. Don't lower your guard. More may be on their way."
Irileth had taken every precaution against such an eventuality though. Be thorough. Well, being thorough was her nature. Every alcove searched, every body burned, every corridor accounted for, no one spared. The caves and ruins of Redwater Den were a charred slaughterhouse.
Now, what to do with this gurgling pit. Irileth's stomach was rarely turned, but it was definitely churning as she stared at this throbbing red fountain. How did something like this even come about? How was it made? How many had died to make it?
And why had Harkon's catspaw come here specifically? Irileth knelt by the bloodwater, drew her broken blade, dabbed the tip of it in the ghoulish slime. It was blood in texture, smell and hue – she'd bypass the taste test – but beyond its presentation, nothing else remarkable about it. "Agmaer," she called, "your vial – your empty one."
Agmaer withdrew his emptied vial of cure-disease and tossed it Irileth's way. She caught it and filled it with a sample of the sickly stuff. There were no alchemists in the Dawnguard yet – Illia's skill at herblore was barely rudimentary – but perhaps Isran or another former Vigilant – there were a handful of those in the ranks, now – might be able to divine something from it.
"Irileth!" Vori called. "Over here!"
In one swift move Irileth pocketed the bloodwater sample and stepped around the spring towards the Nordic ruins on the other side. Vori stood over a pair of vampire corpses.
"Found them like this," Vori explained, as Irileth examined them. It was difficult to tell with vampires whether they were freshly dead or not, since they didn't rot; but it was easy to see from the nature of their wounds that no Dawnguard had killed them, and that they weren't of the same lesser and fledgling stock they'd dispatched of throughout the den. These ones wore finely tailored leather with decorative gilded steel, curved and flared at every cut of cloth to emulate the wings of bats, complete with their own half-capes pinned to the raiment with a sharp-edged brooch engraved with a skull.
No – that was no ordinary skull. Two ribbed horns curved sharply round a lipless mouth of pointed fangs. Spikes pulled the dome of the skull into a bestial crown. Irileth twisted the brooch off the slain vampire and scowled down at it. Molag Bal. Lord of Domination, father of vampires. "The symbol of the Volkihar court?" Vori guessed.
"As good as." Irileth slapped it into her palm. "I'd wager these two were part of Harkon's court."
"How can you tell, Housecarl?"
"Feel that steel. Immaculate. That isn't some clan symbol chiselled onto a hunk of metal folded on a campfire. Besides – not many dare to openly wear the mark of a Daedric Prince. Especially not that one."
Vori pocketed the brooch. "Your people venerate the Princes, don't they?"
Irileth curled her lip. "Not that one. Never that one." Molag Bal belonged to the House of Troubles, alongside Mehrunes Dagon, Malacath and the Madgod. The Bad Daedra, better left alone.
"Who d'you think killed these two, Irileth?"
The dead vampires were a man and a woman, and by the look of them, once Nords. The bladestrokes on their bodies were clean, precise. Deftly placed. The quantity of wounds lashed through the vampires' garments indicated no surprise attack, but a brutal show of skill, force, and savagery.
"The same fetcher who killed our own in Dimhollow." Irileth straightened up and scowled down at the bodies. "No mistaking that bladework."
"Isn't he a vampire? One of them?" Vori scratched her head. "Why'd he kill his own?"
"Half a dozen reasons," Irileth answered. "Jealousy. Greed. Spite. Fear. A rung in the ladder. Who knows the whims of a vampire's court. We're not dealing with some cringing coven, Vori. Vampire lords are a breed apart. Whatever their reasons, these two went against one and failed. And these two were no lesser creatures."
She nudged the corpses. "No more questions, Vori. Get these two burned."
"Aye, Housecarl."
Housecarl. What the Dawnguard called her, when not by name. They spoke it deferentially, with respect. To swear the Housecarl's oath was recognized across Skyrim as the most noble of oaths to swear. The Housecarl pledged themselves to a lifetime of servitude. Their lives were lived and laid down for another. Few took mates, fewer had families. Vigilance and loyalty were their watchwords. Rarely were they released from their oaths. The only glory they ever earned was defending the honour, the treasures, and the life of their liege.
To Irileth, every time she heard it was a reminder of the oath she had failed. It returned her to that night when the guardsman's shout had awoken her. When she'd seized her blade and run to Balgruuf's chamber, and found the vampire in the doorway, smiling a bloody grin. When she'd struck, and he'd seized her sword mid-swing, and splintered it like ice in his clawed hand. When she and the guards around her had been thrown into walls and windows like straw dollies, bones breaking, cries knocked from lungs. When Orthjolf hurled himself from the western balcony and vanished into the night in a swarm of bats.
When she'd found Balgruuf cold in his bed, his throat ripped open like a parcel at New Life.
Housecarl. Irileth's identity and her shame. That she should breathe when her liege lord did not. When her friend did not. The title was a brand on her skin.
But Dunmer did not burn easily.
Thudding footsteps roused her to the present. Irileth counted three sets. She reached for her crossbow as Mogrul and Kjennar returned, with a stranger in tow. "What delayed you two?" she demanded. "Who is this?"
"The reason we delayed." Mogrul jerked a thumb at the follower. "Says he's a priest."
Another one? Irileth cast a metered eye over the Imperial man in the plain brown robe of priesthood, steel plated gauntlets and boots just visible under the tattered hem and baggy sleeves. Certainly didn't look like a Vigilant, who favoured robes of tan and blue, their Stendarr pendants loud and proud. This one wore Arkay's sun around his neck. At least, Irileth thought it was a sun. She didn't pay overmuch attention to the symbology of the Divines. Still, he looked harmless enough. She lowered her crossbow marginally. "State your business here, priest."
The priest's eyes flicked over Irileth's shoulder to the gurgling blood-spring. "Ahh. I think I found it. Although I do wish Arkay had given me more warning. This is unspeakably and offensively evil." Without further ado he brushed past Irileth and proceeded to the pool's edge.
"He's been jabberin' like that since we met him," Kjennar shrugged. "Arkay this, Arkay that."
"Did you get his name, at least?" Irileth asked.
"Florentius Baenius," said the priest, considering the pool. "Arkay also wants to extend His thanks for doing such fine work clearing out this evil pit. Now we can get to work."
"Work?" Irileth repeated.
"This gruesome insult to Arkay must be destroyed, of course. It's what led me here, just like you."
"We're the Dawnguard," Irileth said. "Vampires led us here."
"Well, vampires are just as repugnant to Arkay as any undead." Florentius seemed to detach from present company for a moment to hold a conversation with himself. "Really? You can't be... You're quite sure? Oh, no I never... Of course." He refocused on Irileth. "Arkay says you can help with the cleansing ritual. He says you Dawnguard type are very thorough."
The Dawnguard listened to the speech with varying degrees of astonishment. Kjennar sniggered. "Those vampires didn't hit you too hard, did they?"
Florentius's tone turned waspish. "I'm perfectly fine. Arkay protects me. Now are you going to help or not?"
Irileth shook her head. Touched by the Madgod, that one, no matter how many times he invokes that Divine. "All right," she said, "how are you going to destroy this thing?"
"Hm. Arkay, how do they help? ...Ah! Of course. You burned the vampires' bodies, didn't you? Arkay appreciates the offering, by the way. Take a fistful of vampire ashes and stand equilateral around the pool. Be ready to throw it in at Arkay's signal."
It was getting to a point where the Dawnguard sniggered every time Arkay was mentioned. Irileth silenced the snickers with a frosty glare and jerked her chin at them. "Agmaer, Kjennar, keep watch. The rest of you, do as the priest says. Go on."
Within a few minutes they stood as directed around the evil, seething pool, ashy vampire remains clutched tight in their fists. Florentius raised his steel-clad hands and closed his eyes, invoking some sort of prayer.
"Arkay, Lord of the Wheel of Life, God of Life and Death, fill your vessel. I am your hands, I am your tongue. In this stagnant hole of corruption, reach through me and speak your Cycle into the world anew..."
Irileth lost attention after a while. Listening to Divine sermons had never been a comfortable experience, especially when the Imperials didn't even seem to know how many of their precious Divines there were. The whole Talos debacle had been something Balgruuf felt passionate about, and she could respect that. Talos had actually left a tangible legacy across Tamriel, whether He became a god or not. The other Eight Divines? Not so much. Perhaps because the Aedra were not recognized as Dunmeri god-ancestors, and there'd always be a part of her that reviewed them with detachment and scorn. Perhaps because unlike the Daedra, who had innumerable instances of direct contact with mortals, the Aedra had almost none. Except maybe with this lunatic.
She emerged from her thoughts as Florentius's hands ignited in halos of silver light. "Now, faithful! Cast the dust into the pool! Arkay will take care of the rest!"
Faithful my arse. But Irileth did as she was bidden. To her great surprise, the vampire dust ignited into silver flame the instant it touched the bloody waters. In a flash the blood-pool was one seething bowl of grey fire, which didn't so much roar like a normal inferno as gush like a torrent of stormwater. Some of the Dawnguard flinched back in fright.
"Brace yourselves!" called Florentius. "This could get lou –"
The light abruptly swelled into a bright pulse, which flooded in an ever-expanding ring outward, gushing through the ruins in a silvery tide. Irileth felt a cold rush flow over her like an icy breeze. Then it was gone. The chamber assumed a still silence. The gurgling blood pool was gone, transformed to cold stone.
"There," said Florentius, sounding quite winded. "Phew. That took more out of me than I thought. But Arkay never asks any more than He knows I can take. He's quite pleased with all of you, by the way. Did I mention?"
"Er, thanks?" said Agmaer awkwardly.
"You're not... really talking to a god, are you?" Illia asked warily.
Florentius stared at her, incredulous and annoyed. "You don't believe me? Even after witnessing His power at work? I might rescind Arkay's compliments. Well, I can't really rescind His, but I can rescind mine!"
"Calm down," said Irileth shortly, stamping around the petrified pool. "Look, whoever you are, you're clearly no friend of the vampires."
"I should think not! Arkay despises –"
"Yeah, yeah, we get it. Come back with us to Fort Dawnguard. You'll be safe there, priest, and Isran can find a –"
"Isran?" exclaimed Florentius, and his hands clenched into angry fists. "Isran? Is this some kind of a joke? Did Arkay put you up to this?"
"Oh, brother," Mogrul muttered, burying his face in his hand.
"Isran's done nothing but mock me! He's never given me the respect I deserve! I bet he knew I was coming here and he sent you all to make a fool of me!"
"No," said Irileth, through gritted teeth, "he sent us here to clean out the den and investigate why the Volkihar clan showed interest. Trust me, we had no fetching idea you'd be here." But she had to admit to herself it was a good thing he was – she wasn't sure how they would've otherwise cleansed the den of the vile spring. "But whatever salted scrib you have with Isran, put it aside. We all have bigger problems."
Florentius folded his arms. "Arkay and I find it very hard to believe that Isran wants anything to do with anyone besides himself."
"I know Isran's a bit of a hardhead," said Illia placatingly, "but he did pull the Dawnguard together. He gave all of us outsiders a chance and a purpose." She indicated her fellow Dawnguard; Agmaer, a humble farmer's son, anxious to defend his homeland; Mogrul, son of chieftains, determined to avenge his slain family; Vori, a brigand from the wilds who'd found her new clan; Kjennar, a Haafingar convict who'd turned from failed thief to deadly scout. To say nothing of Illia herself, a witch who'd turned on her own coven, sisters and mother dead by her hand.
"Don't tell me you're even afraid to visit," Mogrul grunted.
"Afraid?" Florentius scoffed. "Of Isran? Don't be abs – what? What's that? No, that's not what I... yes, but..." He frowned. "Are you sure? Really? Bah, fine." He faced Irileth with a resigned expression. "Arkay says it's a good idea for me to go. I don't agree, but He's not the sort of fellow you can just ignore."
It took every ounce of willpower Irileth had not to roll her eyes. "Right. Since you didn't come in the front door like the rest of us, I'll assume you found a back exit. Show us out. We'll comb the ruins for any last bloodsuckers along the way."
It was a short stone passage that brought them from the blood-spring cavern to the cellars of the skooma front. Florentius had found a direct way in behind the counter. Irileth had Illia and Agmaer linger to torch the stinking skooma vats in the cavernous chamber beneath the drug den, then the rest of them climbed up into daylight. A decent day's work; they'd gone in at the break of dawn, and now a soft pink dusk settled over a sky still lazy with summer heat. "Make camp here," Irileth ordered, nodding at the cottage ruins. "Get food and rest. We'll be riding at midnight. Damned good work today, all of you."
Amid a scattering of "As you say"s and "Aye, Housecarl"s the Dawnguard cleared out the bodies of the watch-thralls and commandeered the remains of their topside camp. Agmaer and Illia joined them a few minutes after Kjennar had revived the fire, and they rammed and locked the trapdoor that led down into the repulsive pit. A good-natured easy cheer descended over the camp as the Dawnguard reminisced on their day's victories. Irileth stood apart on guard, watching them. They'd all made a decent account of themselves that day. No casualties, no injuries. The Dawnguard's first real victory. It tasted sweet.
Florentius sidled up to her and Irileth felt her brief good mood setting with the sun. "What is it, priest?"
"We're not heading straight back to Fort Dawnguard, are we?"
"Of course."
"Ah. Then Arkay and I can't come with you, not yet. You see, we have some business to attend to in Riften first."
Well, it was on the way enough not to warrant a massive detour. Irileth faced the priest. "All right. What kind of business?"
Florentius paused with that ridiculous unfocused expression that Irileth had come to associate with his 'communions'. "Oh, yes," he murmured, "yes, I see... Really? Tsk. All right. I'll tell her. Irileth, Arkay thinks you should come with me."
Irileth disagreed. Riften was a scumhole, detestable and crawling with vermin. She didn't deny there was corruption, but it was the sort that turned priests away, not drew them to it. A city ruled by greed. "And why would Arkay think that?"
"Well, you see, Arkay insists that there is trouble in Riften –"
"When isn't there trouble with Riften? The Black-Briar clan? The Thieves Guild? You'll have a knife in your ribs and your purse missing as soon as you step through those gates."
"Yes, well, that's also why Arkay thinks you should come with me, but also because of the vampire."
"Vampire?"
"Yes, Arkay insists. A malicious one, who intends some kind of harm for the city Jarl."
Considering the city's Jarl was Maven Black-Briar, a vile woman with well-publicized ties to the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood (when it had still existed), Irileth almost found herself rooting for the vampire. She didn't, of course, because while she didn't care for Black-Briar, a vampire in control of a city – even a scumhole city – was an even worse idea.
Besides – here was another opportunity to find Orthjolf. Provided Florentius' lead was anything accurate. Which Irileth doubted, but her hand was tight around the hilt of her broken sword. She wanted it to be real. Very much.
"Fine," Irileth said. "We'll go to Riften."
Florentius smiled in relief. "Arkay assures me you won't regret it, Housecarl."