Chapter 120: A path no-one wants

I was sure of my path. I was almost convinced that what awaited me in the Ilunibi sea-caverns was the same scene of grisly, horrific death and corruption I had found in Telasero and Falasmaryon. If my suspicions were confirmed, I would destroy those responsible - and I would do what I could to save any of those poor Dreamers I might find; if they were not too far gone.

Yes: for once, I was sure that I should follow Caius' orders - but Sirilonwe was not.

"Are you serious?" She asked after we had left Fort Buckmoth and teleported back to the castle. "After what she told us about that poor, diseased trooper; how can you think of going there?"

She was afraid of the disease. This was not something to be ashamed of: Corprus was a scary thing. I was about to remind her that it had been I that had, in the first place, argued against her coming with me on the mission - but thought better of it. It was beside the point.

"I am a vampire." I said with a shrug. "I cannot become diseased. And besides, from what Raesa said, I think I've been in places like it before - before I was a vampire, too. I've told you about Telasero." I reminded her quietly. "I must go."

But my partner was not to be discouraged.

"You only have that... Dhaunayne's word that disease won't affect you. Do you want to end up like that soldier? Think about it seriously." She paused, hoping to let her point sink in, I think. "We need more information."

I turned from her, unrolling my map of Vvardenfell and directing my attention to the Bitter Coast region. Raesa Pullia did not know exactly where this Sixth House base was: only that it was somewhere near the fishing village of Gnaar Mok.

"I don't think -" I said as I ran my finger up the island's south-western coastline - "that we'll do much better than an account from a trooper who saw the inside of the place." My finger stopped in place as something occurred to me. "Although..."

Studying the Bitter Coast section of the map had reminded me of my excursion through that area during the early weeks of my time on Vvardenfell. It was then that I had met that strangely sardonic spirit: Thynim Velos was his name... wasn't it? The surname 'Velos' was right, in any case: as looking closely at my map, I could see the place where I had marked on it the words 'Velos Ancestral Tomb'.

The spirit of Velos was the guardian of the 'Amulet of Scrye': a magical item that supposedly allowed the bearer to call upon any spirits that might be nearby, and talk to them. Previously, I had been too scared and distrustful of the amulet to even think of returning to the Velos family tomb and attempting to claim it - but maybe I could use the thing to speak with the spirit of that recently deceased trooper. If the amulet worked, that is.

Sirilonwe agreed to my idea; almost eagerly - reminding me of her studies into the 'minds' of spirits and the undead. We were already dressed for travel (with the possibility of battle) - Sirilonwe in what was now her volcanic glass armour, and I in my blackened Shadow Lord armour - so we went to see Folms right away. The Hlormaren Velothi stronghold was closest to the tomb, but after the Dunmer enchanter sent us there, we still had a fair stretch of swamp to traverse.


We were heading south towards Hla Oad (the Velos tomb was in the hills to the north-east of the village), picking our way between the pools of putrid water, when we were attacked. Three, alien-smelling vampires surged out of what had been (up until that point) perfectly still, stagnant water - surrounding us.

I had been careless. The vampires - two Imperial women and a Dunmer man - had obviously seen us coming: but I had not seen them. Vampires do not breathe, so it was easy for them to lie in wait under the water until we passed. These vampires were certainly had no friendly intentions towards me - and they were fast: as fast as me - if not faster.

Sirilonwe wrapped herself in magical flames, and used that (plus the occasional swipe with her Daedric wakizashi) to hold them off, but that was all she could do: she simply wasn't fast enough. It was the long reach of my elegant Daedric katana that won the fight: I cut at the other vampires until they had lost so much blood they could no longer stand - and then I finished them.

Panting, and letting the magical flames subside, Sirilonwe tapped her chest and said, with a re-affirming nod:

"I need this... 'disease'. They were too fast. If you weren't here..."

But she left the thought unfinished, and we carried on until we reached the Velos Ancestral Tomb.


The Amulet of Scrye was in exactly the same place as it had been when I first found it: sitting on a stone plinth in the centre of the tomb. The harsh, menacing whispering began the moment I picked the amulet up: voices begging me to look at them - to listen to them. The dusty book that had taught me the 'Scrye' spell was still there on the plinth too, and after reminding myself of the particulars of the spell, I went through the motions of casting it.

"VAMPIRE!" The glowing, big-eared spirit of Velos screamed at me; seeming to have appeared out of nowhere. "BEGONE, VILE... but wait - you're the silly little boy who claimed he wasn't a necromancer!" For an instant, and despite his initial outburst, I thought the spirit was going to be helpful. But then: "I sent you to kill an evil, foul vampire - and now look at you! It looks as if I had you pegged aright from the beginning."

A swelling, buzzing noise began to sound beneath the spirit's voice, and I noticed that he was starting to glow more brightly.

"What makes you think -" his voice boomed louder and louder with each word, his ghostly form inflating to a massive size, filling the whole chamber - "that I would traffic with a deviant SUCH AS YOU? LEAVE!"

And before I could utter even a word, the amulet was yanked from my grip and disappeared - along with Velos' spirit.

I realised Sirilonwe was squeezing my arm.

"Are you alright?" She asked. "You were staring at nothing there for a moment."

"You - you didn't see that?" I was surprised; the spirit had filled the whole chamber with its noise and light.

Sirilonwe shook her head.

"Oh. Well... he said no."


After hearing the news that we would not be receiving the aid of the Amulet of Scrye, I decided it was time to resume the original mission: find the Ilunibi sea-caverns, and destroy the Sixth House cultists there. I felt a sense of urgency: if I took too long, the Sixth House members would - after the attack by the Imperial Legion squad on their base - likely flee the caves and take up residence elsewhere. That, or they might summon reinforcements...

Folms was kind enough (considering we woke him up) to teleport us to the Andasreth stronghold, halfway up the western coast from the Velos Ancestral Tomb. Andasreth was only a little way north of Gnaar Mok: only some crumbling hills and coastal bluffs - and a small, marshy cove - separated them. Sirilonwe still accompanied me as I picked my way over the windblown bluffs - but she was not at all happy that I still intended to enter the Sixth House base, and remained silent until we reached Gnaar Mok; some time after midnight.

I was also in a bad mood after the encounter with Velos' spirit, so while Sirilonwe stood out in the village square shaking her head slowly to herself, I (deciding on a direct approach) magically unlocked the door on one of the shacks and went inside to ask the sleeping locals for directions.

"I'm looking for Ilunibi caves." I informed the terrified Dunmer man, who was shrinking back into the corner of the small room, his bed-covers pulled up to his neck. "Do you know where they are?"


Armed with directions to the sea-caverns, we left Gnaar Mok a few minutes later and carried on our way. The caves were actually located more-or-less back the way we had came; at the north-west tip of the promontory Gnaar Mok was built upon. Before long we found it.

A rotting, moss-covered wooden door hanging across a dark fissure in the low hill marked the entrance - and the faint smell of rotting flesh that seeped out marked it as exactly what I been expecting. Sirilonwe had remained silent up until then, but at the sight of the cave entrance, she renewed her efforts to dissuade me. She was beginning to sound desperate:

"Edward, please..." The expression on her face was almost enough to crack my resolve, and make me take her advice.

"I'll use magic." I assured her. "They won't get close enough to touch me. But... I have to go. And you have to stay here. Please, Siri: watch this entrance for me. Stop anyone coming in behind me. We'll meet back at the castle if anything goes wrong, alright?"

She refused to look at me as I pulled the door open and disappeared into that foul place; but I was glad she had stayed outside.

Inside the sea-caverns was worse than I had feared.

Chapter 119: Search and destroy

"What does that mean?" I asked, fighting to keep my temper down. "Surely if I was the Nerevarine - the physical reincarnation of Nerevar - surely I would feel something! I would know somehow."

The wise-woman Nibani Maesa folded her arms and straightened her back, in a light stretch.

"As I said, vampire Frost; you are not the Nerevarine. Not yet, might be what I should say. So even if the Incarnate does 'feel something' - it is to be expected that you do not." The wise-woman fixed me with her red, intense eyes. "You are a puzzle, vampire. I held the belief that you thought you were the Nerevarine. That is what brought you here, is it not?"

By her expression it was obvious that she had seen through my act. It was time to be honest, I decided:

"Yes, alright - you can obviously see that I don't personally believe that I could be the Incarnate." I admitted. "There... are people I know - who encouraged me to come here, and see you; and ask you if I could be the one..." I licked my lips absently. I had to play things carefully; if she suspected that the Imperial government was (to some degree) behind my visit... not only would she refuse to help me, Sirilonwe and I would likely have to leave the Urshilaku camp in an uncomfortable hurry.

"But no -" I continued; "I find it difficult to believe that I could be the one. I mean, how in the world could a man like myself - or a vampire like myself -" I added at a raised eyebrow from Nibani - "possibly hope to drive the Imperial Empire - its army and citizens - from Morrowind?"

But Nibani merely gave me an unfathomable look.

"I have one thing to say to that, vampire Frost. There are participants in prophecy who are not aware of the part they play - or have played - or will play. Just help me - fetch those lost prophecies, if they can be fetched - and then we shall see, you and I. We shall see where we stand."


We left after that, as the wise-woman refused to say anything further. It was quite late when we arrived back at the castle: an hour or so past midnight. For much of the rest of the night, Sirilonwe and I pored over the notes we had made that night, and some of the notes I had made during my earlier research for Caius: anything about Nerevar and the Nerevarine cult that we could lay our hands to.

It was a few hours of frustration. Nothing I had shed any more light on the matter, or provided some magical proof that I was not - and could not be - the Incarnate. Eventually Sirilonwe stumped up the stairs to bed, and I gathered our notes together and teleported across to Balmora in the last hour before sunrise.


"So you really could be him, eh?" Caius said, somehow appearing very bleary eyed and enthralled at the same time. "The Incarnate... amazing. Just amazing."

Not trusting myself to say anything civil, I remained silent.

"She wants you to ask the Dissident Priests about some 'lost prophecies', though - before she can be sure?"

"It was difficult to get Ms Maesa to... commit to anything like that. I think the only way any of us - myself, especially - can be sure that I'm the Nerevarine is if I start to do every little thing the Nerevarine is supposed to do. But yes: there are some prophecies she knows of, but hasn't actually heard. The 'Seven Curses of the Sharmat' was one she mentioned specifically. Do you think these 'Dissident Priests' would have something like that?"

The spymaster yawned and shrugged.

"I don't know. I'll try to get in contact with Mehra Milo - you remember her; she was the one who told you about the Dissident Priests - and see if she can find out for us. In the meantime, I actually have a very important mission for you. And don't look at me like that, Frost -" Caius said, stifling another yawn - "it is important: all this is. It is, however, also very early. You're lucky I didn't have you wait until morning."

Again, I bit my tongue and waited for the Imperial to continue.

"Yes - it is quite significant. We've found a Sixth House base. A real one." I raised my eyebrows, prompting Caius to say: "Yes, I know. I also thought the name 'The Sixth House' cropping up recently was just some petty smugglers or bandits who thought they were smarter than they really are... but this is genuine. The details I have are... a little sketchy, however."

I frowned.

"So you heard about this base from someone else, then? How do you know that this report is genuine?"

"I know -" Caius replied - "because the squad of Imperial Legionnaires who found the base were all killed." He paused for a moment to let that fact sink in. "The report I have says that Fort Buckmoth sent a patrol out to the area surrounding Gnaar Mok, up the coast from here. They were looking for smugglers who were said to have Sixth House connections, but they found an actual Sixth House base in some caves - 'Ilunibi caves', they're called by the locals. They found 'monsters', cultists, a shrine, and some Sixth House priest calling himself 'Dagoth Gares'. 'Dagoth', yes. That word alone would persuade me, if the deaths of those men did not."

The spymaster took a deep breath.

"This is all based on the report of the only trooper who escaped from the caves - and he died of Corprus disease shortly afterwards. Your mission -" Caius said, a note of anger beginning to creep into his voice, "is to go to those caves, and kill everything inside. Everything - and especially that priest, Dagoth Gares. Afterwards, take note of the contents and layout of the base, and bring me a full report on your 'excursion'."

I blinked. Was he serious?

"You're... sending me into a place that was the death of a whole squad of Legionnaires?"

Caius cupped a hand to his ear.

"Hark - what is this I hear? Are these words really coming from the same man who slaughtered an entire Dark Brotherhood Cell all by himself? Before he became a deadly vampire, I might add?" He became serious once more, and I realised that the anger had not left his voice. "I think you will have little trouble, vampire. In any case, go see Champion Raesa Pullia at Fort Buckmoth for the details. She's the one who sent the patrol. You know where Forth Buckmoth is, correct?"

I nodded.

"Good. Off you go, then. Oh, and Frost? I know about Sirilonwe - and I know that you took her along to see the Urshilaku." The spymaster's expression was unreadable. "Just make sure she stays quiet about us, and everything I have you do."


Sirilonwe (who had insisted on coming along, despite my wishes) and I arrived at the fort at dusk that evening. The journey had only taken a few minutes, as we had teleported from Wolfen Castle to the Balmora Mages Guild, and then on to the Ald'ruhn Guild. Fort Buckmoth was just outside Ald'ruhn, so a Divine Intervention spell cast there brought us directly to the doorstep of the building that housed the fort's Imperial Cult shrine.

In the centre of the walled yard we could see the smouldering remains of a great bonfire. Every trooper on duty was doing their best to avoid looking at it as they patrolled up and down. It had to be the remains of the funeral pyre for the soldier that escaped Ilunibi caverns.


"Yes, we had to burn his body." Raesa Pullia, the Imperial woman in command (I assumed) of the fort, said. "We could not risk spreading Corprus." She shook her head sorrowfully. "That disease... We do not even know who it was we put in that pyre! The disease was so... it had gone so far, that he was too disfigured for us to even recognise! But - I should tell you the whole story..."


Champion Raesa (who continued to eye me suspiciously, despite the signed note from Caius I had given her that vouched for my trustworthiness - and more to the point assured her that I would not try to kill her) recounted all she knew - based on the garbled, delirious speech of the now dead trooper:

"Apparently, the squad entered the caves and engaged a large number of disfigured 'man-beasts' - Corprus monsters, I think. The squad was driven deeper into the caves, where they found a shrine of some kind; and a 'half-man creature' named Dagoth Gares." Raesa swallowed, with some discomfort. "This 'priest' Dagoth Gares slew the... the entire squad, save for that one trooper. He told the trooper he was being spared, so he might tell others that 'The Sleeper Awakes,' and 'The Sixth House has risen', and 'Dagoth Ur is Lord, and I am his Priest', and 'All will be One with Him in the Flesh'."

The Imperial woman closed her eyes for a moment. The loss of a whole squad under her command obviously weighed heavily on her.

"I can remember his exact words," she continued, "because that poor trooper kept repeating himself over and over like a madman - until he died. He said he woke up outside Ilunibi and - and he had already begun to change; but he managed to get back here." Raesa's chin began to quiver subtly, her voice becoming choked. "He was crawling when he reached us - dragging his legs behind him: he couldn't move them anymore. I - I just can't imagine..." She closed her eyes again, and clenched her teeth.

I did not want to imagine it either. My skin crawled at the thought of the trooper dragging himself; his body - a body that was rapidly becoming - well, not his own, anymore - all the way from the Bitter Coast to Fort Buckmoth; so far inland. I desired a change of subject.

"Dagoth Ur, he said..." I repeated slowly, mostly to myself. That name again. I had half-wondered if he might come up. "Did he say anything else about the caves?"

"Yes - well, I don't know if it's important," the Legion Champion said, her voice more or less steady again; "but he kept saying 'red candles, red candles, blood candles'. And once he said something like 'red candles, blood candles, and the red whispering shrine'!"

A shock went through my body. Could it be? It sounded just like the horrific spaces I had found inside the Telasero and Falasmaryon strongholds; the red candles, the whispering shrines... Those sickening, ghastly places; full of death, corruption and decay - is that what the Sixth House was? Were they the ones responsible for the Dreamers - the innocent Dunmer enslaved by their dreams, and drawn to live in the horror of a place like Telasero?

I had to see for myself. If that was what the Sixth House cult were about, then Caius' search-and-destroy order would no longer seem so... suspect. I would do it gladly.

I would kill them all.

Chapter 118: Prophecy

Nibani Maesa, the surprisingly young-looking wise-woman of the Urshilaku Ashlander clan, did not seem to care at all that I was a vampire. In fact, she casually addressed me as 'vampire' - at the expense of my actual name! Still, I did not mind much; it was certainly better than the general distrust and outright fear that most people exhibited when in my presence.


Sirilonwe and I sat in the wise-woman's yurt and listened to her for the longest time. For an Ashlander wise-woman, recording history through memory and spoken stories is very important - it is one of their main roles in life, in fact. One of the reasons why the wise-women were so revered and protected by their clans was because these histories were never written down. All Ashlander knowledge was verbal - and most of it was kept by the wise-women of the clans.

So Nibani simply stared into the middle-distance and recited what she knew - what she had learned by heart - of the Nerevarine prophecies. I was forcibly reminded that she was the spiritual leader of the Nerevarine cult as well as the Urshilaku wise-woman; her knowledge of the prophecies was so extensive and intricate that both Sirilonwe and I had to take notes at a feverish pace, if we were to have any chance of remembering precisely what she said.

I will try to summarise for you - briefly - all she told us, because it is important - and interesting - even if I wasn't sure how much of it I actually believed.


According to Nibani, there were many Nerevarine prophecies, and each of them described things that the 'Incarnate' would do, or things that would identify him. The first she spoke of was called 'Aspect and uncertain parents' - and it was the prophecy that had apparently prompted Emperor Septim and his advisors to release me from prison and send me to Morrowind with the hopes that I might become an Imperial-controlled Nerevarine - or at least a 'persuasive impostor', as Caius had once put it. It was also a prophecy that I satisfied, as I was born 'on a certain day to uncertain parents', as the words of the prophecy went.

However, as the wise-woman bluntly put it, many people had the same birthday, and were not sure of their parentage. Onto the next one, then.

"'The moon-and-star'..." Nibani began; "it is an important symbol of Indoril Nerevar. Some say his family standard bore the design of a moon and a star. Some say he had a moon-and-star birthmark. Others say (and I believe) that he had a magic ring with this sign imprinted on it. Although I must say..." and at this, the wise-woman abruptly reached out and lifted my forelock so that she could see the glowing crescent-moon mark on my face - "it is interesting that you have this mark of the moon here. I might be inclined to believe that you are the Nerevarine - but there is no star to go with the moon on your face." It sounded quite unflattering when she put it like that.

She gave a light smile.

"You are not the Nerevarine."

For a moment, there was a feeling of lightness in my chest - I could stop pretending to believe that I was the incarnation of a figure of legend. It was a relief. But then:

"Listen though, vampire, to what I have to say - and to the request I will make. This might not be the end of the matter for you."

Without waiting for a reply, she continued her lecture. The next topic she spoke on was not a Nerevarine prophecy, but something related to them. 'Sleepers'. She mentioned the crazy 'Sleepers' appearing in the towns around Vvardenfell and claiming that Dagoth Ur had awoken and would 'drive the outlanders from Morrowind'. The word 'Sleepers' made me start, and Nibani linking them to the Nerevarine prophecies and to this mysterious Dagoth Ur made my mind race. It was seeming more and more likely that the Nerevarine cult, the Sixth House cult, and Dagoth Ur - the ancient enemy of the Tribunal Temple - were all related somehow.

Nibani said that the appearance of the Sleepers supported the Nerevarine prophecies, and was evidence that the time of the Nerevarine had come (in her words) - but that was all she had to say on the subject.

The next prophecies the wise-woman spoke on described how the Nerevarine would be identified by what he did. The one called 'The Stranger' was apparently the best-known of them all, and I will recount it here, so that you can see the kind of ambiguity I had to struggle with:


When earth is sundered, and skies choked black,
And sleepers serve the seven curses,
To the hearth there comes a stranger,
Journeyed far 'neath moon and star.

Though stark-born to sire uncertain
His aspect marks his certain fate.
Wicked stalk him, righteous curse him.
Prophets speak, but all deny.

Many trials make manifest
The stranger's fate, the curses' bane.
Many touchstones try the stranger.
Many fall, but one remains.


It was simply so vague that without more information, it could really apply to almost anyone. I was glad when Nibani went on to the next prophecy; the 'Seven Visions of Seven Trials of the Incarnate'. This one was a little more straightforward (but that's not saying much), in that it detailed a series of tasks the Nerevarine must complete - if he was indeed the Nerevarine, that is. Again, I will recount the verses of the prophecy here:


Seven trials.
What he puts his hand to, that shall be done.
What is left undone, that shall be done.

The First trial.
On a certain day to uncertain parents
Incarnate moon and star reborn.

The Second trial.
Neither blight nor age can harm him.
The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.

The Third trial.
In caverns dark Azura's eye sees
and makes to shine the moon and star.

The Fourth trial.
A stranger's voice unites the Houses.
Three Halls call him Hortator.

The Fifth trial.
A stranger's hand unites the Velothi.
Four Tribes call him Nerevarine.

The Sixth trial.
He honours blood of the tribe unmourned.
He eats their sin, and is reborn.

The Seventh trial.
His mercy frees the cursed false gods,
Binds the broken, redeems the mad.

One destiny.
He speaks the law for Veloth's people.
He speaks for their land, and names them great.


Nibani explained most of the verses to us, saying that she had spent much of her life thinking on their possible meanings:

"The 'Seven trials' verse says that the Incarnate will finish the great tasks that Indoril Nerevar began when he lived." She began - as Sirilonwe and I continued to scribble down notes. "It also means that he cannot fail; he shall succeed in all his endeavours. The 'First trial' verse, again, says that the Nerevarine will be born on a certain day to uncertain parents. The 'Second trial' verse... is one that I do not fully understand. Perhaps it means that the Incarnate will come to us as a spirit - unharmed by blight or age, as it were. Or..."

The Dunmer woman gave me a sly look.

"Or perhaps he will come to us as a vampire - an immortal." She shrugged. "In any case, I think that 'Curse-of-Flesh' refers to the blight disease Corprus - which as you should know, is incurable. Maybe the Nerevarine will be able to heal this disease? I just do not know."

Nibani shifted in her seat, as if uncomfortable. Not knowing the answer to something obviously displeased her.

"The 'Third trial' verse..." she continued, with a hesitant note in her voice - "there is a shrine to Azura called the 'Cavern of the Incarnate'. There are things I may not tell you about that cavern. Do not ask me." With that intriguing remark, she went on to the Fourth trial: "The 'Hortator' mentioned in this verse is a war-leader chosen by the Dunmer Great Houses on Vvardenfell. A Hortator must be chosen by all three Great Houses, and it has only ever happened when a threat becomes apparent that is significant enough to prompt the Houses to put aside their normal feuds and unite against a common enemy."

I was becoming more and more convinced that even the mere act of impersonating the Nerevarine would be an impossible task. The rivalry and political battles between the Great Houses of the Dunmer was well-known. How could anyone hope to persuade them all to agree on anything?

"The 'Velothi' mentioned in the 'Fifth trial' verse are the Ashlanders." Nibani went on. "It is another word for us. There are four major tribes on Vvardenfell - of which the Urshilaku are one. This verse says that the Nerevarine cannot truly earn that name until he has persuaded all the Ashlander tribes to call him by it. The Nerevarine is to the Ashlanders what the Hortator is to the Great Houses; and an agreement between the tribes on such a thing would be just as difficult to obtain."

Again, I began to dread the report I would have to make to Caius. He - or his ultimate master, the Emperor - would not be likely to release me from my duties to the Empire simply because impersonating the Nerevarine would be intensely difficult. I was no longer afraid of any one man; but earning the wrath of the Empire - and its Legion - by refusing the Emperor... that was something I did not want.

"The 'Sixth trial' verse," Nibani was saying, "is another puzzling one. The 'tribe unmourned' may refer to the Sixth House - House Dagoth." (There were those names - linked again). "The verse could also be referring to the Dwemer, though. It is hard to say. 'Eating sin' means to atone for another's sin - that part is easy to understand, at least. Now - finally, in the verse on the last trial, the 'cursed false gods' mentioned must be the Tribunal. Surely they are false gods: necromancers and evil sorcerers. They murdered Nerevar so that they might set themselves up as gods."

I chose not to argue with her on this point. She appeared to feel quite strongly about it. When Sirilonwe and I made no response other than to continue copying down all she said, Nibani continued - and mercifully, she was almost finished.

"At last we come to what you might do for me - for us, vampire Frost." The wise-woman's piercing red eyes were now fixed on mine. "I do not know all of the prophecies regarding the Nerevarine - and I do not think any Ashlander does. Some, like the 'Seven curses of the Sharmat' are known to us only by name - and there may be more that I have not heard of. If an old wise-woman forgets, or keeps it secret, or if a tribe is all killed, or if a prophecy is deliberately forgotten..." Again, Nibani shuffled uncomfortably. "We - the wise-women - are the memory of the Ashlanders; but it is a faulty memory. We age and die, and so does our knowledge and history. The books of the settled people, though; the words in those books do not die."

The wise-woman licked her lips as if in anticipation.

"I have heard of a group called the Dissident Priests, that collects history even if they are told not to by the Temple. I have heard that they study the Nerevarine prophecies. It could be that they have some of the lost prophecies in their books. You must go to them and ask for these books - and bring them to me."

Before I could object to her assumption that I was hers to command, she continued:

"You must do this because as I told you, your role in this matter may not be finished. You are not the Nerevarine - this is true. But you might be. You are one who might become the Incarnate."

Chapter 117: Rules, regulations - and ancient rites

The Urshilaku burial caverns were a thing of wonder. While not as deep as the sunken passages and forgotten ruins beneath Mournhold, just how extensive the natural caverns were was astonishing. The sheer presence I felt as I wound my way deeper and deeper was quite something, too. I felt like I was in a place heavy with the history of every person interred there - a place that was likely very rarely seen by 'outlanders' such as myself.

The feeling of sadness I mentioned - the emotion that the very walls seemed to exude - extended to the mummified bodies of the people laid to rest there. Almost every one was sitting with their legs drawn up to their chest, and had their head resting on their raised knees; as if curled up and crying. Some had a few belongings gathered around them, and were huddled, as if trying to shelter from the cold and damp, beneath what looked to be shells of the large, scuttling 'shalk' beetles of the Ashlands.

Sul-Matuul had intended that my visit to the caverns be a 'Harrowing', and I was set upon by many skeletal guardians and angry spirits during my search, but the atmosphere of sadness there was more distressing than the resistance I met along the way.


I eventually found a cavernous central chamber, much taller than it was round, which played host to a roughly monolithic pillar of stone in the centre. On the various small ledges and hollows that covered the monolithic stone were more of the mummified bodies of the Ashlanders. A great waterfall ran down the monolith, split into foaming rivulets by the uneven rock. Many of the shalk-shells had been carefully arranged to deflect this flow of water, and keep its mummified owner dry.

A path that had been hacked from the dirt and stone wound up the walls, opening at various places into more and more burial chambers for me to search. All I knew was that I was to find the 'Bonebiter' bonemold bow, and that it was guarded by the spirit of Sul-Matuul's father. The burial caverns were huge. Trading favours could become a bit of a trial, sometimes.

I eventually found the spirit of Sul-Senipul, though (at least I hoped it was him): a luminescent wraith whose skeletal hand shone brightly where it grasped a very real bonemold bow.

He - it - was banished by my otherworldly blade just as easily as every other spirit that roamed those caverns - and with the bonemold bow (which was enchanted to make its victims clumsy and easier to hit with an arrow) slung over my shoulder, I set about finding my way back to the surface.


By the time I emerged from that dark, sad place and rejoined Sirilonwe, the sun was about to crest the eastern horizon. I could see the glow down low in the sky, and I could smell the morning before it came. It was time for us to teleport home; we would have to return to the Urshilaku camp in the evening.

I fed from Sirilonwe as soon as we were back at the castle: I had been down in the burial caverns for most of the night, and I was starving. I made the comment that once she became a vampire herself, we would both need mortal blood to survive. My point was that we would need to get the blood from somewhere...

But Sirilonwe had been fairly quiet since becoming 'infected' with the vampiric disease - especially when it came to that very topic. She made a noncommittal reply and retired to bed. She was tired - she had been up all night.

I, on the other hand, did not need to sleep anymore; and matters relating to my recent surprise ascension to the rank of Arch-Mage required my attention that day.


It was all down to rules, regulations, and laws. I was only Arch-Mage because Trebonius' infatuation over Sirilonwe had driven him into such a paranoid and bullish state of mind that he had wanted me destroyed; and he had seen a legal duel as the best way to achieve that. It would be the path with the least consequence, at least; especially from a legal point of view. He might have just killed me outright and claimed that I had attacked him; and not suffer too much scrutiny by the Ordinators of Vivec - I was a vampire, after all. Regarded by most to be a simple monster.

However, the generally tolerant attitude the Mages Guild held towards vampires was well-known, and the by-laws of the guild specifically forbade the harm or murder of another guild-member. A legal duel would allow Trebonius to neatly sidestep that particular law - but in the end, of course, it had the result that I - being of Master-Wizard rank - was saddled with the position of Arch-Mage upon defeating Artorius in the duel.

It was all perfectly legal and by-the-book... the unusual factor was that I had not known it was coming. I was not really prepared to be Arch-Mage of Vvardenfell. At the same time, such power created too great an opportunity to overlook; so I was not about to abdicate my new position. No - what I needed was a number of assistants to take care of the everyday operations of the guild: the system that was already in place with the Stewards of the various halls, in other words. They could run the guild halls, and just come to me when any big decisions needed to be made.

It would hopefully not provide too great an inconvenience to me: I was in and out of the guild halls every day anyway. The matter of just who was going to be the Steward of the Vivec and Caldera halls needed some attention, though. The Sadrith Mora hall had Skink-in-Tree's-Shade; Balmora had Ranis Athrys, and Ald'ruhn had Edwinna Elbert. Vivec and Caldera, however...

Following the advice of several members of the guild, I had always steered clear of Trebonius and not paid much attention to the way he ran the guild, so I was not exactly sure why the Caldera hall did not have its own Steward... but it simply did not.

I spent quite some time with Folms in the Caldera guild hall that day (as besides Sirilonwe, he was about the only person in the guild I felt I could call a true friend), and he said that their lack of a Steward had never been properly explained, but it was generally assumed that it was because the Balmora hall was so close, and Ranis Athrys was overbearing enough to be Steward enough for both halls. This last part was obviously not voiced out loud when Ranis was in earshot. In any case, it was true that in an unofficial capacity, Ranis took care of Steward duties for both the Balmora and Caldera halls.

Thinking that the Caldera hall should really have its own Steward - and of course holding no great love for Ranis - I made Folms Steward of the Caldera Mages Guild. He was easily the most capable mage there, and I knew I could trust him, so the decision was simple. Who I should make Steward of the Vivec hall was more difficult. The hall had not needed a Steward for quite a while because Trebonius had spent most of his time there; but I certainly had no intention of doing that.

In the end, Folms suggested Sirilonwe, pointing out that (thanks to Ranis' promotion) she was the highest-ranking member there. I was glad (for obvious reasons) that Folms had been the one to put forth Sirilonwe as a candidate, and promise to go on record with his suggestion. For my part, I wanted Sirilonwe to be the Steward for the simple reason that I could trust her. My obvious self-interest in the matter made Folms' nomination of Sirilonwe very welcome indeed. I agreed and signed the appropriate papers to make her Steward. (I would tell her later: she could turn the position down, if she wanted).

She did accept, though (however distracted she may have been when we discussed it that evening - during the trip back to the Urshilaku camp), only expressing the concern that she may have to delegate many of her tasks if she was to continue travelling and working with me.


Sul-Matuul met us outside his yurt, and this time there was no nimbus of magical light surrounding him. He accepted the Bonebiter bow and proclaimed me a Clanfriend of the Ashlander people:

"These are serious words, vampire Frost; words of life and death. I can see that you are no ordinary monster of a vampire, and am proud to name you Clanfriend... But I want to speak plainly, now that you are a Clanfriend. I cannot believe that you are the Nerevarine. The prophecies say that the Nerevarine will drive out the outlanders - but you yourself are an outlander! The Great Houses stole our land. The outlanders steal our land - and our dignity. The Incarnate is the last hope of the Ashlanders. And if you were to take that away..." The wiry Ashlander shook his head gravely.

There was a note of warning in his voice, but he still showed us to the yurt of Nibani Maesa, the 'wise-woman'. I was burning with the desire to say that I agreed with him - that I thought the whole business was one great coincidence - but my desire to learn more about the cult and the prophecies was equally as powerful. Sirilonwe, too, had to bite her tongue, I think. She tended to agree with me that the notion that I was somehow possessed by the ages-dead spirit of an ancient Dunmer general was quite absurd.

Nibani Maesa, who I had actually glimpsed once before when I cut a hole in her yurt to steal a particular small stone (one of the propylon indices for Folms), was a relatively young-looking woman; despite what her title may have suggested. Sul-Matuul let the flap over the entrance to the yurt fall closed behind us, and we were left alone with the Dunmer woman - and her penetrating red eyes.

"Ah, the vampire who would be our saviour." The wise-woman said, her tone suggesting that she did not fancy my chances at becoming something so noble. "Sit. There; sit over there. Good - now, I will tell you your fate..."

Chapter 116: Tears for the ancestors

The Ashlander woman's cry of "vampire!" caused a ripple of movement through the camp; tent-flaps were thrown open and spewed out men and women armed with longbows - which were quickly trained on me. The woman who raised the alarm had been uncommonly sharp: I had not thought myself close enough to be recognisable as a vampire.

When I made no move beyond stepping in front of Sirilonwe (in the event that arrows began to fly), a few of the armed Ashlanders - who had fortunately not immediately released their taut bow-strings - began to relax their stance, lowering their weapons.

"What do you want, vampire?" One of them called out; a man with black tattoos around his eyes.

I was perhaps a little surprised that they did not attack me outright upon recognising me as a vampire; but then again, they were quite far removed from the 'civilised' Temple-going Dunmer of the native Vvardenfell towns. It was the Tribunal Temple that held a special hatred for vampires, I reminded myself: not the Dunmer race as a whole.

"I want to learn more about the Nerevarine prophecies." I replied. "I'm told that the leaders of the Nerevarine faithful are here, in the Urshilaku people." Having looked over my notes from my meeting with Hassour Zainsubani before leaving for the Urshilaku camp, I had refreshed my memory as to a couple of relevant names - and I felt it was time to use them. "Can Ashkhan Sul-Matuul and the wise-woman Nibani Maesa be found here?"

Dropping the names of (who I assumed to be) the most important people in the Urshilaku tribe - and the way in which I had moved to protect Sirilonwe - seemed to satisfy the armed Ashlanders that I could be trusted to enter the camp - albeit surrounded at a distance by a number of bowmen. I felt confident that, as long as I made no move that could be construed as threatening, I would not find myself pierced by a volley of arrows.


However, it was (of course) not quite as simple as that. Sirilonwe and I were left standing in the centre of the camp - a rough circle of yurts - with the armed men and women all around us.

"Vampire, you may not speak with our Ashkhan or the wise-woman just for virtue of asking for them by name." The same tattooed Dunmer said. "Wait here and I will bring the gulakhan."

I soon learned that the 'gulakhan' was an impressively-muscled Dunmer called Zabamund, and that his title marked him as the 'champion' of the tribe - and Sul-Matuul's second-in-command.

"So, vampire Frost," Zabamund said (upon learning my name), "you are here to talk of the Nerevarine, and the prophecies about him? You have questions?"

The large Dunmer was regarding me with an expression of great interest - curious to see what the 'oddly-civilised' vampire would do, perhaps. For my part, I was remembering Zainsubani's advice about the popularity of gift-giving with the Ashlander people.

"Yes, I am." I replied. "Though I think it would be ill-mannered of me to ask for such a favour without first offering something in return. I would like to present you with a gift... however I don't know what would best suit you, gulakhan."

"Ha!" Barked Zabamund, apparently well-amused. "Well said. I'll make it easy for you, then: among strangers, we honour our gift-giving custom with gold. A tribute of two-hundred coins, and you can speak to Sul-Matuul. He knows more about the prophecies than I do, in any case - and as well he should!"

That was easy for me. I counted out roughly two-hundred septims from my coin-pouch and tossed them over to the gulakhan.

"The Ashkhan may be angry with me for this, but -" the muscled Dunmer hefted the money happily in one hand - "I think I can bear that."

Zabamund vanished into one of the well-appointed yurts underneath a large secondary shade-cloth, to emerge a moment later followed by a wiry but quick-looking Dunmer, who I took to be Sul-Matuul, the Ashkhan. He was surrounded by a nimbus of magical light (a protection spell of some kind), and his hand rested upon the handle of an intricately-carved silver axe, hanging from his belt. He was obviously prepared for any duplicity on my part, and looked as if he was indeed not very impressed with his gulakhan.

"Vampire." He addressed me baldly, dislike etched into his features. "I don't care what Zabamund told you - I will not traffic with-"

In a flicker of movement barely perceptible to the mortal eyes around me, I dashed in close to Sul-Matuul and let my Charm spell leap from my fingers to his rigidly unwelcoming body - before returning to the exact spot I had been standing - next to Sirilonwe. There was a rustle of tense movement among the Ashlander bowmen that surrounded us: they had seen me move, but could not not tell where I had moved to - or what I had done. Sul-Matuul did not notice, but his manner changed abruptly, and in mid-sentence:

"... one who has not offered me an appropriate tribute."

I dutifully counted out another two-hundred septims and tossed them over. With a Charm spell and suitable bribe in place, the Ashkhan - his hand dropping from his axe - was in a much more helpful mood.


"You think that you are the Nerevarine?" Sul-Matuul, an incredulous look on his face, exclaimed after I explained my interest in the prophecies.

"It... seems that I might be." I replied, gritting my teeth. It galled me to put on such an absurd charade, but Caius had been specific... "At least -" I continued; "according to what I've heard of the prophecies, it seems that I... fit the description."

The Ashkhan shook his head, perplexed.

"It's ridiculous, but... if what you say about your birth is true..."Sul-Matuul appeared thoughtful for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision. "It is not really my place to decide such things. Far be it from me to judge, when wise-woman Nibani is the one who should test you. She will not help one who is not a member of the Nerevarine cult, though. She is stubborn. Although... if you were a Clanfriend - an adopted member of the Ashlander tribes - " he explained; "then she might be willing."

Sul-Matuul became businesslike, as if the bizarre backdrop of a circle of armed tribesmen training their arrows on a vampire and his mortal companion was nothing unusual.

"An initiation rite is required for someone to join the tribes as a Clanfriend; and I have one in mind. A harrowing. You must be judged worthy by our -" he indicated the Urshilaku people around him - "ancestors and spirits..."


The Ashkhan sent us on our way, bound for the nearby burial caverns of the Urshilaku. He wanted me to fetch an old bonemold longbow; a family heirloom of sorts. It was called 'Bonebiter' (leading me to assume that it was enchanted, as it was customary to give enchanted items a name of some kind), and was apparently still guarded by the spirit of Sul-Matuul's father, Sul-Senipul - somewhere in the burial caverns.

Sirilonwe and I found the rock cairn Sul-Matuul had told us to look for - on the northern shore a little way east of the Urshilaku camp - and from there we struck out south for a way (again, as directed), until we came across the entrance to the caverns. I left Sirilonwe by the simple wooden door that capped the dark tunnels, as the Ashkhan had insisted that I undergo the harrowing on my own. He had gone so far as to say that we would be watched, so I thought it best to comply. Sirilonwe was not keen on the idea, but was persuaded in the end. She sat herself down on a nearby ashen slope and began to practice some complicated-looking spells, as I pushed my way into the burial caverns.


A feeling of deep sadness pervaded the caverns. Not hopeless despair or despondency: just simple sadness for those interred within. Even the rocks seemed to weep, for there was water everywhere: running down the walls, flowing through the lower parts of the caverns, even falling in great torrents from fissures in the walls. Where so much water could have come from was a mystery: the Ashlands were a desert, after all. I waded out into the icy water, feeling the pressure of a thousand mourned souls upon me.

The caverns of sadness were deep, and it was a long time before I came out again.

Chapter 115: Passage of time

"It is done - I can feel it." Sirilonwe said, a light tremor in her voice.

I released her hand, and sent a light healing spell into it; the wound vanishing instantly. The cut in my own palm healed more slowly, but of its own accord: evidence that what Dhaunayne Aundae had told me about vampires' 'regeneration' was true.

So - it was done; as Sirilonwe said. The 'disease' I carried in my blood had been passed into hers - and now there was only the wait until the 'change' to be endured. The burden of doubt was mostly hers, of course. For my part, I was relieved that she had chosen this path. My feelings for her had only intensified in the time we had been together, and if she shared the same 'everyday trials' as I did (in terms of being a vampire), then I would have to worry considerably less about her objecting to some of my perhaps less-than-savoury actions: the ones I had deemed necessary to preserve my immortal existence.

Rather than spend some time in the sun, Sirilonwe decided that she wanted to stay with me during the three days she had left as a mortal being.

"Trust me, Edward; I have seen enough days of sunshine to last me." Her arm was around my shoulder. "I have been in this world for a long time already, remember." She gave a small smile. "And as you can imagine, you are really the only one I can trust to look after me properly when... it happens."

I was happy to oblige. I would most likely have not been able to concentrate on anything with her away from my side in such a state, in any case.


There was more on my mind than Sirilonwe's surprising request and imminent change. Arch-Mage. I was now the highest-ranked mage in the province of Morrowind - at least in the eyes of the Empire. It would be incorrect to say that the title was unwanted; I was too much of a realist to turn down such a position of power over my displeasure at being manipulated into it by Ranis Athrys. She would be under my thumb from then on, at any rate - though I would have to watch her closely. She was too clever to have placed me in a position of power over her and not have a secondary plan in mind, should her scheme of exploiting my debt to her fail - as it had.

Issues concerning my new position could wait until the morning, though; for there was still another matter on my mind: I had decided to go back to Blades Spymaster Caius Cosades.

I had not spoken once with the old Imperial since his revelation that the Emperor himself (allegedly) thought that I might be the prophesied Nerevarine: the reincarnation of the near-legendary Dunmer general Indoril Nerevar. I had not changed my mind regarding this: I did not believe in reincarnation - it was as simple as that.

However, I found that I was still curious to learn more about the Nerevarine and Sixth House cults. The things I had learned previously researching the cults for Caius had been fascinating, and the matter of the schism in the Tribunal Temple and the subsequent accusations levelled against the Temple and the Tribunal gods by the Dissident Priests was intriguing, to say the least. Could Vivec, Almalexia and Sotha Sil really be nothing more than powerful sorcerers, rather than divine immortals?

I have said before that curiosity is a driving force for me; and it is certainly what drove me back to Caius. My new power as a vampire also served to alleviate the concerns I had previously felt over approaching the proud and dangerous Ashlander people with the proposition that I, an 'ignorant outlander' might be the reincarnation of their greatest hero. If I could work with the Tribunal Temple - a faith that despises vampires - then I could handle the possible conflicts that might occur with the Ashlanders. My Illusion magic would get me through, if all else failed.

I persuaded Sirilonwe to stay behind, since the relationship between Caius and I revolved around secrecy: I was supposed to be a spy for him, after all. It was possible that he might be rattled enough by seeing me as a vampire that I would not want to add to the strain by bringing a guest along to one of our supposedly secret meetings.


As it turned out, Caius was not rattled - or surprised - by my new vampiric nature; but he was not pleased with me, either.

"You've really put me through the wringer, Frost." Caius muttered - without preamble - as he ushered me into his shack and closed the door behind me. "Can you imagine the questions I've had from my superiors? 'Where has your man gone?' they'd say. 'Oh' - I'd reply; 'he's disappeared up into Solstheim - no idea when or if he'll be back - and wait; now he's a bloody vampire!'"

Caius threw himself into a chair, massaging his temples. He did not seem at all concerned at being in close quarters with a vampire. I noted again the powerful muscles moving beneath his clothes, and remembered the stories I had heard about the mysterious disappearance of any who trifled with him. Though an old man, I thought, he was not someone I should underestimate.

"You know the reasons for those things, Caius." I said. "You know why I did it all... or you would not be worthy of your title of Spymaster."

This only seemed to further incense the old Imperial.

"Oh yes - since you mention titles... Arch-Mage! You just had to kill old Trebonius did you? In a duel in the Arena, no less? And now you're the vampire Arch-Mage of Vvardenfell - and starting tomorrow, the gossip on everyone's lips! Do you even know the meaning of the phrase 'to keep a low profile'? It's only I swear that I mentioned at some stage that you are a spy in my employ!"

I just waited while Caius vented his frustrations, my manner impassive. The problems with his superiors were not my concern - I did not care in the least about his troubles. Continuing our research into those cults was all that interested me.

After a moment's silence, the spymaster continued:

"So what do you want from me, Frost? Why have you shown your fresh-vampire-face here?"

"I'm ready to talk to the Urshilaku Ashlanders about the Nerevarine prophecies." I said simply. "Though I should clarify that I still do not believe that I could be the Nerevarine. I'm curious about them - and the Sixth House cult - that's all."

Caius seemed pleasantly surprised, though still mildly suspicious.

"Well - at least no-one has connected you to me - or to the Blades. Though I suspect that's due to your having not performed your duties or reported to me for such a long time, more than anything."

Despite his obvious irritation with me, the spymaster went over my previous orders again. I was to make contact with the Urshilaku Ashlander clan; with the intention of questioning their 'wise-woman' and 'Ashkhan' (their leader) regarding the Nerevarine prophecies. I was also to have them test me against the 'requirements' of the prophecy, to see if I could be the 'one'.

"Yes, it's still important, Frost - and it is part of our orders." Caius paused. "Look, perhaps I should have made it more clear that we think you may have the appearance of satisfying the prophecies - even if in reality you are not the Nerevarine. Personally, I'm not convinced one way or the other."

In my memory of our last conversation, the old Imperial had sounded fairly convinced to me - but I remained silent on that point.

"And Frost?" Caius was saying; "I'll expect to see you back here within a few days - rather than a few weeks or months. I know how quickly you can move around - and it's past time we dealt with this issue seriously."

I merely smiled and slipped the Wolfen ring on, teleporting home.


Sirilonwe and I arrived at the outskirts of the Urshilaku camp around an hour later. I had visited the camp before, during my search for the propylon indices for Folms - so locating it again was not difficult. The time had not come for the nomadic clan to move their yurts to another site.

The current site was quite remote from any major towns or villages, but was not too far from the Valenvaryon Velothi stronghold, with its propylon chamber. Because of this fortunate coincidence, most of our journey was over in an instant, when Folms teleported us across to the propylon chamber.

Just outside the camp was a Dunmeri Ashlander woman, beating the dust and ash from a woven mat. Looking up from her task, she studied Sirilonwe's face, and then my own.

Without hesitation, the woman turned and shouted across the entire camp:

"Vampire!"

Chapter 114: Initiation

"Even after all my studies - all that training, to have someone like him -" Sirilonwe almost spat the word at Trebonius Artorius' body - "just... render me helpless like that. He was yet to be born when I... Gah!" She exclaimed in frustration - before continuing in a more sombre tone: "To be trapped like that by him... After all this time..."

She shook her head slowly, those large eyes of hers fixed on mine. Other Mages Guild members, informed of Trebonius' actions by Sirilonwe before her departure for the Arena, were arriving and grouping around the late Arch-Mage's body - a little way from us. Everything had happened so quickly - and no-one in the guild (save for Sirilonwe and I) knew of the duel until it was underway - so I think there were some suspicions as to the exact circumstances of Trebonius' death.

I was not surprised to see Ranis Athrys among them; even though her position as Steward of the Balmora guild hall (physically a long way from Vivec) made her fast appearance at the scene somewhat suspicious. I suspected that she had in fact hoped that I would kill Trebonius - and that pushing he and I into a confrontation was the reason for my rapid series of promotions. Before I could consider the ramifications and reasons for all this, however, Sirilonwe broke her momentary silence:

"After all this time..." She repeated. "I am old, Edward... though I may not look it. Any longer and it will show, I think. Oh, you look so shocked! But why do you think I have all those books on magically extending one's life? Why do you think I study vampires so closely? Why do you think I am still by your side? Why do you think I am willing to share a bed with a vampire?"

I just stared at her. I have mentioned before that I had no idea how old Sirilonwe was - I was like that with most elves (some lived for hundreds of years, after all) - but I had never imagined her to be a truly old woman - not as old as she was insinuating.

"I have used those books: I have extended my life through magic - for a long time now. It will not last any longer. The thought of dying - of aging, even... it terrifies me." Sirilonwe's expressive eyes portrayed this fear eloquently. "Without magic I am weak - and old. I want to be with you - and I want to be strong - and I want to live forever."

I finally found my voice:

"Siri, I... I just thought... I thought you didn't like what I've become... I had no idea..."

"I am sorry I put you through so much over... the necessary aspects of being a vampire." Sirilonwe said ruefully. "It was... to see such things, right before my eyes - and to think that that was what my future held, should I manage the... the change... I was afraid." She shook her head again. "But you, Edward: when you decided, you just left... and then you came back, a vampire. How did you make yourself do it?"

"I was able to do it without hesitation for the same reason I think you are able to ask me for it now." I replied. "A greater fear - the same fear that compels you now - spurred me on."

At that moment, Steward Ranis approached, with some interesting news:

"Based on Sirilonwe and Janand's testimonies, it has been decided that the... skirmish between you and the late Arch-Mage Trebonius Artorius constitutes an official and legally binding duel. Congratulations, Frost." Ranis smiled, a cunning look in her eyes.

I clasped her hand for a moment - stiffly. I had not forgotten the questionable, self-serving things she had once ordered me to do in the name of the guild.

"Thankyou, Ranis. It is a relief to know that I will not be held responsible for his death."

There was a pregnant pause. Ranis gave me a strange look, then grinned abruptly; never-mind the still-cooling body of the late Arch-Mage just behind her.

"You don't realise what it means, do you? There are only a few ways the Arch-Mage of a province may be replaced. The Mages Council in Cyrodiil must vote in favour of making a replacement, or a current Arch-Mage must choose a successor - again usually in consultation with the Council. The other way - an old law, but still a valid one - is through a duel. Both parties must agree to the challenge - so obviously it is quite unusual for an Arch-Mage to accept a challenge to a duel, let alone be the one to issue the challenge himself..."

I thought I understood then why Ranis had manoeuvred Artorius and I into that fight: she wanted him removed from power, and saw (through me) a way to achieve that.

"In any case, Arch-Mage Frost," Ranis continued, "this means you have a new office to call your own."


My initiation ceremony took place later in the day: after a service in honour of Trebonius Artorius (not the actual funeral; just a Mages Guild ritual). I (and Sirilonwe too, I'm sure) had no good memories of the late Arch-Mage, so I spent the duration of the service studying the skull-and-dagger amulet (which I later learned to be called the 'Amulet of the Necromancer'). No-one was aware of this, as all I had to do was grasp the amulet in my hand and concentrate on the magical effects emanating from it.

It was an item of extraordinary power. Just by holding it, I could feel my mental faculties expanding: everything suddenly seemed so clear and simple - as if I could solve any problem with but a moment's consideration. On top of that, the amulet projected an invisible, intangible shell around me; there was a great possibility that any offensive spell sent my way would be caught by this shell before it hit me, its energies transformed harmlessly into magicka that I could then make use of for my own spells. If that was not enough, when the amulet was in contact with my skin, I felt as if any weapon - save for one made of some supernatural material - would barely scratch me.

Needless to say, perhaps, I decided to wear it from that day onwards. Once I had finished my analysis, I glanced sideways at Sirilonwe. She had remained silent since her revelations in the Arena; and she was still staring into the middle-distance, quite pre-occupied.


There was a period of general speech-giving at the end of my initiation, though most of the addresses were vague and garbled. I think that from the point of view of the other members of the guild, everything seemed to be taking place behind a veneer of shock and uncertainty. Ranis was the exception, and her speech was cleverly worded so as to assure everyone present of the legality of my advancement to Arch-Mage; while at the same time making it seem as if that was not the focus of the speech at all. After her conclusion, she added:

"... So Frost: don't forget those who got you there, now." Ranis said, to a round of subdued laughter. Everyone assembled had taken it as a joke - as Ranis had no doubt intended them to - but I caught the deeper meaning behind her words: a message meant for my ears alone.

She wanted to remind me of the (admittedly very generous) aid she had given me when my fragile self had just recently stepped off the prison boat. She thought that I would feel indebted to her. She was, no doubt, looking forward to having the ear of the Arch-Mage of Vvardenfell.

"I have not forgotten, Ranis." I replied, and everyone fell silent. "I will not remove you - or anyone else, for that matter - from your position." There were a number of satisfied nods from the other members. "However, Ranis; the only reason you will continue to be a part of this guild is because of the kindness you showed me when I first joined. If I am truly to be the Arch-Mage, then your behaviour to date, Ranis - the behaviour I witnessed working under you - will not be tolerated. You know of what I speak. If I become aware of any such conduct from you again, I will remove you from the guild." Everyone looked uncomfortable at my emphasis on the word 'remove'. "This will be your only warning." I added.

Ranis' luminous red eyes flared brightly, but she made no reply. There was no need, either: her expression made her displeasure plain to see.


As soon as we possibly could, Sirilonwe and I made our excuses and left the hall, teleporting back to Wolfen castle. In search of some privacy, we proceeded directly to my chambers.

"Are you sure you want this?" I asked her, taking her hands in mine.

Sirilonwe swallowed fearfully, but replied:

"Yes."

With a small dagger, I made a cut in my palm, and then in hers, before pressing the wounds together.

I held her hand until it was over.

Chapter 113: To death

I had resolved to leave Sirilonwe alone for a while, to give her time to get past her misgivings regarding those vials of blood... She had come to tolerate most other aspects of my vampiric nature - or perhaps it would be better to say that she had come to look past them to see that I was still myself; the same as I had been before my 'change'. Surely it was only a matter of time...

However, by mid-morning my resolve had crumbled and I was on my way to the Vivec Mages Guild to try to explain my position to her. I had become accustomed to her being near, and I wanted her back at my side.

The door to Sirilonwe's chambers was ajar, and she was not inside. Her scent was strong in the room, and my heightened vampiric senses told me that she had only just left. Her scent was different though... wrong, somehow. She was afraid. A vague dread stirred in my stomach - in the time I had known her, she had never before smelled that way. I followed her scent from the room and through the hall to the entrance chamber, where Janand Maulinie, the enchanter, was casting worried glances at the front door.

When I pressed her, she admitted that Sirilonwe had just left, with Arch-Mage Trebonius Artorius following her. By Janand's tone, it was obvious that she assigned some dark significance to this fact.

"I don't think she really wanted to speak with him..." Janand was saying - but I was already half out the door.

Sirilonwe's trail led out into the Foreign Quarter Plaza, sprawled out beneath the great domed ceiling of the canton. Even with the crowds of people milling about, I had little trouble distinguishing Sirilonwe's scent from the myriad others; the fear it spoke of grew stronger and stronger. As I had been afraid of, the trail took me outside; through the great eastern plaza doors and into the sunlight.

... Almost into the sunlight. The stone eaves above the great doors served to shade me from the burning light - but it did me little good, in the end. Artorius and Sirilonwe were out at the edge of the terrace, bathed in the bright morning light. The Arch-Mage had his back to me, his heavily-built frame mostly obscuring my view of Sirilonwe, who was backed up against the balustrade. It could not be plainer to me that Artorius was intimidating her. His hand tightly gripped her wrist, and when I caught a glimpse of her face, I could see that she was not at all happy about it.

I could not hear what he was saying: not because they were too far away to be heard, but because my fury at the sight of the Arch-Mage's threatening manner towards Sirilonwe had completely deafened me. At the moment when Artorius raised his hand as if to strike her, all reason left me and I was out in the burning sunlight, charging towards the Arch-Mage. Sirilonwe's eyes widened as she caught sight of me over Trebonius' shoulder, a pale figure of flames and smoke racing across the open terrace. Artorius turned to see what she was looking at, releasing Sirilonwe from his grasp. Sirilonwe slipped out from behind the Arch-Mage - and just in time.

I slammed into Artorius, sending him flying in a low arc over the balustrade - and down, down to the waters of the bay far below. Without waiting to see the outcome of his fall, I gripped a shocked Sirilonwe by the wrist and hauled her back into the shade of the stone eaves.

"Are you alright?" I asked, as the flames licking at my body died away. I was burned all over.

Sirilonwe said nothing, merely staring at her wrist - where both Trebonius and I had grabbed her. The skin was reddened and raw: my flaming hand had burned her.

"Sorry." I muttered, reaching out and sending a healing spell into the burn - which vanished in an instant. "What did he - what was he..." I floundered, still trying to master my anger. The reality of my attack on the Arch-Mage of Vvardenfell had not yet quite settled in my mind.

"You did not know?" Sirilonwe murmured, still looking shocked and staring at the balustrade over which I had pitched Artorius. "He has pursued my affections for a long time, but I have never... there has always been something not right about him..."

I recalled, and suddenly understood, all the strange looks the Arch-Mage had directed our way whenever I was in Sirilonwe's company.

"What could he have been thinking?" Sirilonwe continued, finally turning to look at me. "He was holding me down. Magically, I mean; he was draining away my energy, my magicka. I think he thought I would not notice." Sirilonwe paused, rubbing her wrist. "He is a powerful mage, Edward: a Battlemage. He is the Arch-Mage for a reason."

"'He is', you say? I... threw him from the terrace." I spoke slowly. "I don't... I don't think -"

A man's voice sounded from behind me.

"I did not know that you were in the habit of attacking unarmed men from behind, Mister Frost." Artorius dismissed his levitation spell and alighted on the sun-scorched stone paving a little way from where we stood. "Or should I call you 'Master Wizard' Frost?"

I turned to face Trebonius squarely, hand on my blade. Really, I should not have expected anything as trivial as gravity to pose a real danger to someone with the title of 'Arch-Mage'.

"Yes, Master Wizard," Trebonius sneered. "I have been watching you, and your movements and motives are transparent to me. I know of Ranis' part in this, too. Did you really think that a rise through almost every rank in the guild from the bootlick you were a few short months ago would not attract suspicion?" The Imperial's voice was becoming husky with suppressed anger. "You come into my guild, enjoy the hospitality, bring the Dark Brotherhood into the halls, lust after my wom-"

"What?" Snapped Sirilonwe, interrupting him. "That sounded, Artorius, as if you think that I belong to you in some way -"

The Arch-Mage pointed a finger at Sirilonwe, whose mouth continued to move, but produced no sound. A silence spell. I drew my Daedric katana from its scabbard a fraction, taking a step towards the heavily-built Imperial. The movement of my clothes and armour against my burned and bloodied skin was agony. The shade provided by the stone eave ended just beyond the tip of my nose.

"This does not concern you now, Sirilonwe. And stay your weapon, vampire, if you have any honour at all. With Sirilonwe here as my witness, I hereby challenge you to a duel to the death." He spat the words out between clenched teeth. "I will put an end to your schemes. You will not take my title - nor my position - from me. Come to the Arena now or the coward I know you to be will be evident to all."

Trebonius waved a hand, and vanished.

I was furious at the Arch-Mage: for his treatment of Sirilonwe, and for having the nerve to accuse me of such things... So he wanted a duel? Moreover he wanted it to the death?

I would give him death.

With one glance at Sirilonwe, I unstoppered a vial of blood taken from my pouch, and drank it down in front of her. It was no time for concern over her attitude towards them; I was too angry. I needed it for what I was about to do. In a few short moments my burns had all-but vanished, the fresh blood from the vial empowering my body to heal itself.

Without another word (Sirilonwe was still to regain her voice, in any case), I dashed into the sunlight and leapt from the terrace, high into the air. My 'Touch the clouds' spell carried me across the considerable gap between the Foreign Quarter canton and the Arena canton; where I came to rest like a falling, flaming star in the shade of another set of stone eaves. Again I was burned and bloodied, and the pain was terrible. It may sound like an awfully rash thing to have done, but there was simply no other way for me to reach the Arena canton in the daylight; as Artorius of course knew.

After draining another couple of vials of blood, the pain was lessened enough for me to carry on, though the smell of my own burnt flesh lingered in my nostrils, filling me with the desire to retch.

Instead I burst through the large wooden doors that marked an upper entrance to the Arena; leading to the massive balcony that surrounded the fighting pit. Trebonius was already there in the pit, down on the sand-covered Arena floor: I could smell him. Somehow he sensed that I was there too, as he bellowed out:

"Come down and face me, vampire!"

Again I launched myself high into the air; over the market stalls being set up by their astonished owners, over the empty seats set aside for spectators, and over the barrier at the edge of the balcony. The floor dropped away beneath me, and there was Artorius far below, in the centre of the Arena, pointing a finger at me. A red-hot bolt of magical fire whipped past, missing me by the barest margin. As I sailed over his head at a great height, I sent my deadly new 'Acid Cloud' spell streaking down to impact the sand at his feet. The Arch-Mage was lost in an explosion of green, virulent acidic steam - and I came to ground a fair distance behind him.

Trebonius had the power of a great Battlemage, but not the skill of a warrior; or the speed of a vampire. He dispelled and cleared the blinding, poisonous cloud in an instant and span to face me, but he was still only just fast enough to see my blade being thrust through his neck. He was killed instantly.

When I pulled the blade free of his limp body, an amulet that had hung from his neck came with it. It was in the shape of a tiny skull with a dagger through it, and the magical force radiating from it was simply awesome. I had to pocket it for later examination, though, for at that moment Sirilonwe dropped down onto the sand next to me; obviously in full command of her magical abilities once more.

She barely acknowledged the bloody form of the late Arch-Mage, instead placing her full attention on me. Then, as she did so often, she said the very last thing I expected:

"Edward, I cannot go on like this. I need you to give me your blood. I need you to make me into a vampire."

Chapter 112: Machinations

It was still before midnight when I returned to the Ald'ruhn Mages Guild, and Edwinna and Sirilonwe were sitting together in silence, each reading something; waiting for my arrival.

"Ah, good." Edwinna stood up, dropping her book on her desk. She looked tired. "Is that the staff? Here, let me look at it."

She held out her hand, and I gave her the 'Wizard's Staff' I had taken from the necromancer Anirne. After weighing it in her hands for the briefest of moments, she gave it back.

"Yes, that is a Wizard's Staff... I trust Anirne presented little trouble, then?" I gave a nod, which Edwinna mirrored subtly before searching through the papers on her desk for something; that sheet of parchment headed with my name, as it turned out. "Well then Frost, this means that you are now officially a 'Wizard' in the Mages Guild." She made a note on the parchment and signed it. "Congratulations. Now... I'm off to bed." The Steward dropped her quill and stumped up the stairs, headed for the hall's private chambers.

It was not the most heartfelt promotion I had ever experienced.

"She was only staying up to see you because I asked her to." Sirilonwe explained, giving me a hug. "Congratulations."

After a moment she let go, and continued:

"She told me earlier what she wants us to do next. That excavation report we gave her mentions another ruin: Mzuleft - near Dagon Fel..."


It was the first of two evenings in which we were to comb through Dwemer ruins for Steward Edwinna, looking for ancient plans or blueprints of Dwemer origin. I was not at all surprised. Edwinna seemed little interested in anything that was not of Dwemer origin.

As Sirilonwe had mentioned, our first destination was Mzuleft, a ruin due north of the Rotheran Velothi stronghold. We set out immediately, as we were both already equipped for travel - Sirilonwe in the volcanic glass armour from my museum, and I in my 'Shadow Lord' armour. In addition to my usual equipment I had a number of the glass vials of Anirne's blood secreted away in a pouch on my belt, a strip of thick cloth woven through them to keep them from breaking or clinking against each other. They were intended for an emergency only; I preferred that Sirilonwe remain ignorant of their existence.

The Wizard's Staff I left at the castle: it contained a minor levitation enchantment, but besides the strength its construction from ebony afforded it, that was virtually all that distinguished it from a mundane staff. I had no practical need for it.

My friend Folms was still awake, and gladly teleported us across the island to the Rotheran propylon chamber. Mzuleft was a relatively short trek from the stronghold, and like Nchuleftingth, we found its approach to be guarded - however incidental this 'guard duty' was to the guardian in question. I think that the being of fire - whatever it was - really only attacked us because we came too close to its home; a smouldering pit of molten rock near the entrance to the Mzuleft ruin.

It rose from the pit and roared towards us with the sound of a forest-fire, lighting up the whole depression in which Mzuleft sat. My reaction was instinctive; sending out my new 'Blizzard' spell (that I had created with Yanika's help with the intention that it replace my vastly inferior 'Frostball' spell) to arrest the progress of the flaming figure. (Make no mistake - I am not referring here to a Flame Atronach: those creatures from Oblivion have a distinctly man-like shape, while this... thing had no shape other than its dancing, crackling flames.)

The powerful spell exploded in a frigid sphere of ice so cold that the nearby rocks caught in the blast cracked, flaked and shattered under its force. The being of fire, though, was diminished but not stopped; it flew straight at Sirilonwe. Before I could gather myself (after casting such a draining spell) to make another move, Sirilonwe had raised her hand... and the fiery creature vanished as it rushed into it.

I asked her (more than once) what exactly she did, but she would only smile and say:

"I did the same as you, I think - only less showy."


The insides of Mzuleft were just as dangerous as the outside: like the Arkngthand ruin where I retrieved the Dwemer puzzle box, Mzuleft was crawling with looters - only this time every single one was a musclebound Orc. Still, through our combined magics, not one of the aggressive thugs came close enough to land a blow.

In a metal strongbox, half-stuck to the bottom, we found what looked to be exactly what Edwinna wanted: a very old sheet of waxed parchment with indecipherable plans and text printed neatly on it. The Orcish looters had already scoured that particular room, but passed over the blueprints; obviously thinking them worthless. After carefully unsticking and removing the plans, we teleported directly home so as to lay the parchment down flat somewhere until we could deliver it to Edwinna.


The ruin the Ald'ruhn Steward sent us to the following night was a freshly uncovered (and completely underground) one: 'Bethamez'. Workers in the Gnisis egg-mine had discovered it when they dug through to a partially-collapsed metal chamber... but before any serious investigation could take place, the mine had been closed due to Blight disease infecting the kwama inside. Edwinna said that someone had described seeing something that looked like some blueprints down there before everyone was evacuated.

Again we were aided by Folms Mirel's 'Master Index' teleportation service, as he sent us on to the Berandas stronghold just south of Gnisis, across the River Samsi. The entrance to the mine, up on the hill overlooking the village, was guarded by an Imperial Legion trooper; and it soon became apparent that the assignment Edwinna had set us was perhaps not exactly an 'officially sanctioned' one: the trooper did not want to let us in. Sirilonwe was again doing the talking while I kept a respectable distance, and before I knew it she had magically Charmed the soldier - the result being he cheerfully let us in, and hardly blinked at my vampiric appearance as I passed.


We wound our way through the darkened caverns and tunnels, careful not to step on the head-sized kwama eggs littering the floor, until we found the broken wall opening onto the ruin. The strange, tubular glowing lights one finds in almost all Dwemer ruins were still working, but that was about all. Most of the metal passages were terminated by collapsed ceilings, and the scattered parts of long-cold Dwemer constructs were all that remained of any machinery the place might have contained.

I found the blueprints Edwinna had mentioned - this time on a metal shelf, half-obscured beneath a heavy, rotting book. Both were indecipherable, but both accompanied us back to the Ald'ruhn guild hall. We returned there directly, as it was still well before midnight. The search had not taken long at all.


Balmora Mages Guild Steward Ranis Athrys was with Edwinna when we returned. I had not spoken to Ranis since I had moved on to the Ald'ruhn guild hall (with the express intention of avoiding the Balmora guild Steward). Surprisingly, Ranis thought that both Sirilonwe and I deserved a promotion - never-mind that I had received one just two nights previously.

"I'm saying this, Edwinna, because as you said, you have simply run out of tasks to set these two." Ranis, sitting next to Edwinna behind her desk, motioned that Sirilonwe and I should sit down across from them. Edwinna, who had been looking grumpy at the Balmora Steward's obvious imposition, brightened up at the sight of the blueprints and the book.

"I mean, has that ever happened before?" Ranis continued. "You always have some trinket or mouldy book you want fetched. And when did you say you sent them out on this assignment? It was only an hour or so ago, was it not? And now they are back, with your task already completed. If these two -" she may have said 'two', but Ranis' eyes never left mine - "have fulfilled your every need and request, I think they deserve advancement. Frost here has certainly done enough for this guild to deserve the title of Master Wizard."

I was sure Ranis was up to something. I had never known her to do anything solely for another's benefit. I was apparently the only one there who really doubted her motives, as Sirilonwe was thrilled, and Edwinna was too distracted by the blueprints and the ancient book to care overly much.

"Yes, yes..." Edwinna said absently; "if you wish to take responsibility for this, Ranis, then by all means..."


And so it was done. I was advanced two ranks in as many days, to the level of 'Master Wizard'; the highest rank possible in the guild, save for Arch-Mage of the whole province. It was the same rank enjoyed by Ranis and Edwinna; though they were still considered my superiors by virtue of their positions as Stewards.

Sirilonwe was very happy: both for me, and for herself: she had been advanced to the rank of 'Warlock' - just one level below that of 'Wizard'. In fact, she was in such a 'good mood' that she insisted we go straight to my chambers at Wolfen castle...


Sirilonwe appeared frozen, her eyes wide in horror.

"Is that..." She began, softly.

She was staring at one of the vials of blood I had taken from Anirne, as it rolled gently back and forth in a fold on the bed-covers. It had fallen from the pouch as Sirilonwe made to strip me of my armour and equipment at the bedside.

"It's mine." I lied. "I bought them in Ashmelech, yes - but they are made to hold a vampire's own blood, for an emergency." This was of course true for some of the vials I owned; but - regrettably - not the one Sirilonwe discovered.

"I'm sorry, Edward." Sirilonwe recovered from her surprise, but looked somewhat... sad. "I... I think I'll sleep in my own chambers tonight. I feel the need for some sunlight tomorrow, so I'll need some sleep now..."

And with that, she touched one of her glittering rings and vanished.

Chapter 111: Three birds

Sirilonwe made no move to heed my instruction and get out of the way, instead turning to face the blue-black shades. Flames leapt up about her feet, curling up her legs and in an instant, enveloping her whole body. At first, to my dismay, I thought one of the shades had inflicted some horrible magic upon her; but then the flames coalesced around her fists: two gauntlets of fire.

I recognised it as being an offensive spell, not unlike my own Frostbite spell - but much more powerful. She swung her fist through one of the shades in a great, sweeping punch, the magical flames boiling the spirit's very 'substance' away.

By that time I had reached her, and launched myself at the second spirit. My Daedric katana, forged in the plane of Oblivion, reached across the barriers between life and death to carve bright, flashing furrows through the immaterial spirit. The shades flicked about, attacking either or both of us seemingly without reason or strategy. Their white, ghostly scythes rose and fell, the 'blades' passing right through us - armour, flesh and bone - but leaving gashes behind, on the surface of our bodies.

In a few frantic moments of frenzied action, the shades were defeated; slashed into rapidly dissolving, dissipating ribbons by my otherworldly blade, or boiled away by Sirilonwe's magic. We were lucky: the shades were much faster than either of us; and as it was, we were both seriously hurt - blood seeping out from between the joints of our armour.

For a long time afterwards Sirilonwe and I were locked in an embrace: I healed her with my magic, and she healed me with her blood. Fighting alongside her like that; the desperate imperative in my mind, blotting out all other concerns, to keep her from being hurt... and the realisation that the same thoughts were going through her mind - it changed how I felt about her. I felt closer to Sirilonwe than I ever had before.


Nchuleftingth was very close by, and we reached the well-preserved ruin without any further trouble. At first glance, Senilias Cadiusus and (for some reason) his adult daughter were the only people there, making for a fairly small expeditionary force. It was