Falion clawed at his throat, trying in vain to ease the pressure on his airway. His face darkened as the blood rose in his cheeks. He gasped, “Please… I don’t understand…” He looked into Gaeolin’s face. “Have mercy…”
Gaeolin’s expression stayed firm. “Why should I? Who’s going to stop me?” He glowered at the man who had promised him everything. This man had told him he could cure him, give him back his life. Now it turns out he could not deliver on his promise. He was about to pull him in for the kill.
A sharp object touched between his shoulder blades. He turned his head, expression turning to surprise. Inigo stood behind him with Dawnbreaker ready to plunge. The golden blade danced with holy light which lit his face. “I will, if you force me.” There was sadness on his features, the scars reflecting the sword’s shine. “This is not you, my friend. Gaeolin of Woodhearth would never be this cruel, not to someone who tried to help him. You are tired. You feel hopeless.” He shook his head. “Do not lose what is left of yourself, and make me destroy what you have become.”
There was a thud, Falion panting as he struck the ground. Bai’lira rushed to him to help. Auroth let out his breath in relief. He looked to Gaeolin in what seemed a silent thank you. The vampire sank to the ground, expression blank as he shook.
Inigo sheathed his blade, turning his attention to Falion. He marched over, dragging the wizard to his feet. “But do not think that you are spared my anger.” He hissed. “Why did the ritual not work? You said that you had heard of this cure before. From where, or were you in fact leading us on in the hopes that we would pay handsomely in spite of your lack of delivery?”
Bai’lira interjected her thoughts. “This one has a theory about that.” The group turned to her. She held up the book she had been reading earlier. “In answer to the abrasive High Elf’s question last night, Bai’lira thinks that the dreams have quite a lot to do with the situation. Gaeolin shared some of them with her while we rested in the Necromancer fortress. They made her think of legends she had heard in Cyrodiil.” She motioned for the group to follow. “Come, there is too much to say. Daylight would be unpleasant at the moment, yes?”
Falion, disheveled already, bid them goodnight. He headed for his house with his hand massaging his throat. Gaeolin couldn’t bring himself to ask for the man’s forgiveness right now. He found his way to the fireside once they reached the shop, staring into the flames as Bai’lira did her research.
Auroth stood by the door, looking from one person to the next. His eyes settled on Inigo. “Would you have actually done it?”
The khajiit shrugged. “Who knows? I am just glad that I did not have to find out.” He grimaced. “For a second, I thought you wouldn’t listen to me.” He waited for Gaeolin to respond.
“I don’t know what came over me… I guess I’d just had enough.” He looked truly exhausted. His gaunt features were like ash, his eyes now dim red, half closed in contemplation. He didn’t continue, letting the room grow still again.
“Ah ha! Bai’lira knew she had seen this before!” She strode to Gaeolin’s side, reaching down to yank a tuft of hair from his head.
He yelped instinctually, clamping his skull where she had robbed him. “What was that for?”
“Do not mew like a cub. You are dead. You have no need for these.”
He rubbed the patch of now thinner strands in an offended way. “You could have asked me at least…”
She ignored him, lighting a fire under her alembic. Auroth watched over her shoulder as she ground the hairs into a fine powder. She reached over to pull a bottle of A pulsating fluid toward her station. The altmer nodded, impressed. “Essence of Minotaur horn?”
She smiled. “Indeed. This one uses it in many of her experiments.”
“It’s not cheap. How did you manage to afford such a large supply?”
She looked at him in confusion. “What makes you think she paid for it?” She ignored his faltering grin, instead working with ever more concentration. She mixed the paste in her mortar, scooping it into the alembic before turning back to them. “We will need to wait until the reagents finish altering the elixir. It will prove whether Bai’lira is correct.”
“About what exactly?” Inigo leaned against the counter. His face contorted into a look of silent agony as his spine crackled. He was frozen in that position for a few moments before he whimpered and sat on the floor.
“Bai’lira believes that the reason the cure did not work was not Falion’s fault, but rather because Gaeolin’s disease is not Sanguinare Vampiris.”
Gaeolin raised an eyebrow. “There are more causes of Vampirism?”
“Yes, but the other causes are extremely rare.” Auroth chimed in. “What do you hope to learn from this test?”
Bai’lira smirked. “We will see if this one is correct, and Gaeolin turned as a result of Polyphoric Hemophilia.”
Auroth shook his head. “Impossible. The mages guild cured that strain shortly after the Oblivion Crisis. How could he have come into contact with it?”
“Galeron’s Guild was pretentious. even the archmage of that time, progressive as he was, was arrogant like all mages.” She directed her question to Gaeolin. “Where did you fight the vampire you gained this curse from?”
“Potema’s Catacombs, in Solitude.”
She nodded. “Indeed. Somewhere even the mighty Mages Guild would not have thought to tread. Bai’lira suspects the vampire was ancient, even by the standards of their kind. Old enough to have been a carrier of the older strain.”
She turned back to the potion lab, plucking the vial from beneath the alembic. With a few muttered words and a light swirl of the contents, the fluid began to turn a pale rose color. She handed the jar to Auroth waiting for his approval. He held it with a lost expression.
“And this means?”
“Bai’lira was correct. And this also means that she knows what we must do to cure our friend. An ancient recipe survived through the records of the Count of Skingrad. Fourth era 434, if memory serves.” She motioned for Inigo to hand her a book on the counter. She skimmed the pages before stopping at the halfway point of the tome. “Yes. Six cloves of garlic, five leaves of Nightshade, nine ounces of Argonian blood…” She paused. “Oh dear…”
Gaeolin propped his head up with a hand. “What now?” He was beginning to grow used to things falling through.
“The last two ingredients are rare. More so than this one can even describe. Two bloodgrass shoots, and the ashes of a powerful vampire.”
Auroth closed his eyes, straining to remember his old lessons. “Doesn’t bloodgrass only grow on the planes of Oblivion?”
“And in certain parts of Cyrodiil, where the gates were most prevalent. Bai’lira knows those who can sell it to her, but for this we will need much coin.”
Gaeolin sighed. “How much are we talking about?”
“At least two hundred Septims, not counting the shipment fees.” She pinned her ears back. “The Synod are quite heavy handed with their prices.”
Gaeolin wondered where they would get that much gold on short notice. With a pat on his purse, he knew he was far short of the amount right now. He was about to say as much when Inigo tossed a sack of coins to her. “This should cover it.” The bosmer made to protest, being cut off by Inigo. “I can afford it, my friend. Let me help you with this. After all, we still have to find out where to find the vampire dust as well. Not exactly leaving a lot of time for us to do odd jobs.”
Auroth set the vial down, realizing that he was no longer required to carry it. “Shouldn’t we wait to find the dust until we get the rest of the ingredients together? Vampire dust doesn’t keep very well. Even the slightest amount of moisture starts to strip the properties.”
Bai’lira nodded. “Agreed. Besides, Falion would have better ideas about this. Bai’lira will put in her order.” She drew a small pouch of some powdery substance out of her robes. She sprinkled it in a runic shape on the floor, stepping back before snapping her fingers sharply.
A Dremora appeared in a sphere of purple flames. It snarled at the alchemist as she scribbled on a piece of paper. “No one escapes!” The Dremora announced, wielding it’s blade. Bai’lira snapped her claws again, pulling the sword from the demon’s hands. It now rested in hers, an unsettling grin on her face.
“Yes. No one escapes.”
The Dremora, realizing it’s dilemma, dropped to its knees, a grudging look of respect having wrestled onto it’s features. “Master…”
“Please deliver this to the Lustratorium of the Synod, in the Imperial City. Have them deliver the ingredients to Solitude as soon as possible. Preferably by boat, as the ship should arrive before we do.” A wicked look passed over her face. “And do not try to deny this one again. She won your service fairly, and is not above banishing you back to your previous master for more suffering.” The creature bowed to her, vanishing in a whirlwind of fire. Auroth looked at her with a new level of respect.
“It takes a strong will to bring a Dremora to its knees.” He gave her a rare smile. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”
She nodded her thanks for the compliments. “He is always giving Bai’lira grief. One would have thought serving this one would be more pleasurable than Mehrunes Dagon.”
All three of them stared at her in alarm.
“THE Mehrunes Dagon?” Inigo spoke.
“As in, Martin Septim, Oblivion Crisis, Prince of Destruction Mehrunes Dagon?” Gaeolin echoed.
She shrugged. “As with any servant, the right price can purchase them. Having a cruel lord seems to have taught him nothing.” She shook her head, ignorant to the fearful looks she was attracting. “As much as Bai’lira likes your company, Lami does not have the room for all of you in this hut. The inn has enough beds for you all. We should rest, and leave tonight for Solitude.”
That night, the townsfolk of Morthal whispered amongst themselves, all watching from their doors as a group of four climbed up to the road out of town. They were all armed to the teeth. Hammer, swords, an axe, a bow and a crossbow.The guards had their hands on their weapons as if daring an altercation. None was to come however as the party passed through the cliffs onto the main thoroughfare.
The Winking Skeever was starting to calm down for the night. Sorex was leading a staggering Octive toward the door.
“Come on… Just one more drink…”
Sorex chuckled. “Not tonight, Octive. Evette is already going to flog us for letting you get like this.” He looked up, hearing the door swing open. His gaze was met by no less than four travelers, all looking as though they were ready to drop in exhaustion. “Welcome to the Winking Skeever. Please, let yourselves in and pull up a seat. A bit late to be rolling into town, huh?”
Inigo landed onto a stool with a resounding thump. “Thank the Gods…” Bai’lira spared him a tired smirk before finding a table over near the fireplace. Auroth sought a darker corner than she, his face one of irritation as well as tiredness. Gaeolin stepped over Inigo’s sprawling legs, sitting across from the fireplace.
Corpulus walked up to the table, setting a mug in front of him. “What would you like to drink, sir?”
“I have my own drink, thank you. But I will take some bread.” Gaeolin made sure to keep his hood drawn. The bartender didn’t seem in the mood to ask questions. After setting the loaf of bread down, he left to resume counting the coins at the bar.
Bai’lira watched as he nibbled at the food. He pulled a bottle of blood out of his bag. She cocked her head as the smell assaulted her senses. “Do you need to eat food? Bai’lira doesn’t understand.”
He shook his head. “No, but I….” He looked at the loaf, the smell wafting up from it making him feel slightly depressed. “I miss the taste. Also, it seemed a good idea to order something. Politeness has a way of smoothing out any annoying questions.”
She sat with him, webbing her fingers together. “It has been a long three nights, but I promise you this one’s contacts are efficient. The shipment should be here by now. It was simple ill fortune that we arrived too late to speak with the harbormaster.”
Gaeolin nodded. “I know. It won’t kill us to stay the night here. You three need rest. I’m ready for a break too. Traveling tends to wear on the nerves after so long. Especially when you can’t travel during the day.”
“For now, let us speak of other things.” Bai’lira set her own bottle of liquor on the table. When she uncorked it, Gaeolin was hit by an olfactory overload. It was fruity, yet harsh like a strong whiskey. Subtle minty scents tickled in the wake of the initial exposure, making him squint at the label.
“What in the name of Kynareth is that?”
She looked confused, following his gaze to the bottle. “Oh this? Sorry if it is pungent. Bai’lira never knows how it will smell to others. She has taken to calling it ‘kha’jay da’khe’. She brews it herself using fruits and herbs she doesn’t want to waste.” She poured the drink into a glass, the liquid having a shimmering not unlike a rainbow at the base of a waterfall. “Lami said she quite enjoys it. Though she finds it tastes much of strawberry.” She drank, eyes closing in content as the alcohol passed her lips. “Ah, it reminds Bai’lira of her home in Elyswere. The tropical fruits were so sweet.”
“It tastes different for everyone?” Gaeolin tried to sniff quietly, hoping to guess what it might resemble to him.
“Try some, friend. This one promises it will do no harm.” She pushed the bottle to him, the action stirring the settled particles at the bottom. The potion glowed slightly in response to being disturbed.
Gaeolin held up a hand. “I would hate to waste it on myself. It won’t do anything for me.”
“Nonsense. This one insists.” She went to the bar, grabbing a new mug from Corpulus without so much as a thank you. “Here, drink.” She placed the cup in front of him, watching with no attempt to temper her expectations.
Seeing no escape, Gaeolin took the mug. He swirled it around to try and identify a few of the components. With a final moment of hesitation, he sipped.
It was heaven. As soon as it touched his tongue, his heart twinged in recognition. The tart, yet sweet breath of the Skingrad wineries kissed his soul, fading into a warm honeyed apple as he let it flow in his mouth. He was reminded of his early thirties again, playing lute at the Wawnet Inn. Old lady Nerussa would have killed for a bottle of this. She had been ancient for even an Altmer, but especially kind to him when he was staying there. He looked to Bai’lira. “Please tell me you wrote down the recipe.”
She nodded with joy. “Of course. You like?”
He answered by draining the mug, giving her the largest smile she had ever seen from him. “If she’s still alive, I’d like to send a bottle to someone I knew when I was younger. She lived in a little Inn outside the Imperial city. It was a miracle it didn’t get destroyed in the war. Little thatched roof, farm style house converted into an Inn. She’s been collecting wine for centuries.”
She shied away from him with embarrassment. “Afa, ahziss trevan, you do Bai’lira too much honor to call this wine. She is an alchemist, not a vinter. Call it a potion, or even a tonic, but not wine.”
“No, it really is delicious.” Gaeolin sent her a warm expression. “Don’t underplay your skill. I would pay for that. It’s better than anything I’ve tasted in years.”
“Would you like the recipe? I can copy it for you.”
He drained the last of it, spitting a small stone out afterward. He considered the object for a second before saying, “Actually, I’d rather not spoil it for myself. I may just ask you to make some from time to time.”
Bai’lira took the pebble, chuckling to herself. “Oh this is nothing to worry about. It is an Imp gal stone. Helps boost the intellect for study sessions.”
Gaeolin shook his head. “Yeah, just don’t tell me anything else that’s in it. I like it, and if you keep going I might regret it.”
Inigo joined them, partaking of the Kha’jey Dah’ke with a great deal of enthusiasm. They talked for a few hours, enjoying the chance to unwind to the fullest.
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