There was no luck with the Vigilants the rest of that day or the next, so I spent the time doing what I could to whip my company into shape. Training with Jorman, jogging, a bit of archery, mundane first aid, calls and signals. We didn’t have much time, but I made the most of what there was. I’d give half the fortune I’d made for just another week to train up the soldiers I had, but that wasn’t the way of things.
The four new recruits didn’t want for enthusiasm, despite their groaning and moaning after the training. Lodor had fought them two on one, beating Thalin and Virgar bloody. Elsborn and Orryn gave him a run for his money, winning two bouts, losing two bouts, then the noble knocked Orryn out cold with an uppercut to the jaw. One on one, Elsborn was out matched. The guards and Stormcloaks got good entertainment out of our fights. Riga had taken a day off from the college, and put a bit of advanced healing magic to use. We were only using wooden weapons, but bruises were made, noses broken, teeth lost. Riga fixed us all up good as new.
The girl had seemed to be a natural student ever since the first time I’d gone to see her, and it was shining now. The ring was undeniably a great help, but she was talented her self. While Lodor had been fighting the newblood, she’d handed off the ring to me, and a book titled Bane of The Blood Feeders, A History of Vampire Slayers. It was part history, part biography, and part spell tome. There wasn’t much time for me to read through the historical aspects, but the spells mentioned within were exceptional. Some I knew of, others I didn’t, but they were all dangerous for the undead.
I had a choice to make when it came to learning the spells. It’d taken me days of practice to wrap my head around the simplest of spells, despite my quick grasp of actually using magic. With two days before our planned march, and the ring’s help, I could probably figure out one of them. There were a dozen spells I wanted to learn. Stendarr’s Aura would be powerful for any future barrow delves, where it would fill a corridor, but we’d be fighting in the open first. Vampire’s Bane was an excellent crowd control spell, the sunlight explosions would wipe out swaths of skeletons and lesser undead. Both were at the top of my list to learn next, but didn’t quite make the cut. It wasn’t a killing spell, or one of the combat blessings, but a mark. The spell wasn’t one I’d ever heard of, at least my memories didn’t call anything to mind.
Inquisitor’s Mark was a short ranged spell, requiring direct sight of a target. It would burn a golden sigil into the skin, and link the caster to the branded victim. Unless the sigil was wiped away with some pretty high tier banishment magic, the caster would be able to follow it across enormous distances. If the target tried to cut the sigil out, or otherwise destroy the mark, it would immolate them. Enduring Flames meant that it was incredibly unlikely that those I marked would survive trying to rid themselves of it.
My goal was to master the spell, and mark one of the necromancers during the attack. With a bit of luck, they’d scurry away to Yngdaril, where I could repeat the process with another. It was something I’d learned growing up, before I was ducking and diving between bombed out skyscrapers. Hunting feral pigs on a ranch, letting one live with a tracking collar, they were the Judas Pig. The pig would run away, wander about, and eventually join a new pack somewhere nearby. Sometimes the Judas pig died, but it was simple enough to bait and trap another. The hogs hadn’t been a problem after the second summer of that technique. Sure, sometimes a migrating pack would show up, but the infestation had been annihilated.
That memory had come back to me when I’d been in the bath, thinking of the best ways to find which barrow the Mer Kin had taken as their base of operations. Trying to search through dozens of barrows, even with my new sense of the undead, would take weeks or months. We’d take dozens, maybe even hundreds of casualties in the effort. It’d be a lot easier to just let one of the necromancers conveniently escape after we captured some. A sleeping guard, a poorly maintained lock, a lapse in the patrols, any number of circumstances could be arranged to make that happen. We’d even be traveling fairly close to a mountain pass on our way back to Winterhold.
Every moment I had spare I spent practicing the spell, trying to master it. For such a relatively simple purpose, it was a lot harder than I had expected. The book mentioned forming a sigil in my mind, and imbuing it with magic I’d channeled for the spell, but I didn’t know anything about magic sigils. Did the shape and geometry matter? Surely it did, otherwise there would have been at least one dick carved on the enchanted items we’d found. The book didn’t have any examples of powerful sigils, but it mentioned that each was unique to the mage who formed it. Riga promised to find me a book about it in the morning. It was a problem with trying to learn magic piecemeal. There were probably a hundred or more useful things that I didn’t know.
I was on the verge of throwing the book across my room in a fit when I heard running, clanking steps headed my way. It was Rolvar, partially out of breath. He’d been stationed at the gatehouse again today. The guard panted, held up a hand, and finally stood back up to his full height.
“What’s the rush?” I grinned, none of the other guards were scurrying about, blades drawn, so it couldn’t be anything bad.
“It’s…. The Vigilants. The senior, Adalvald, is making for the college, but one of his party is coming to meet with you. You specifically, not the Jarl.” Rolvar had to take a few more deep breaths, he hadn’t taken up the offer to jog along with my company, and now he was paying for it.
“That’s great news, I’ll be out in a moment!” I waved the guard off. I didn’t have any fine clothes, but my armor and vest had been cleaned. First impressions were important, and I hoped to make one that carried the word warrior. It’d help sell my plan for later, that was my hope at least. A suit of fantastic armor appearing in a golden flash probably didn’t need much other support.
I found the Vigilant sitting at one of the tables with Rolvar, and she was not what I expected. Jori, and my memories, suggested they were just another band of robed mystics, wandering the roads in search of trouble. The woman at the table wasn’t immediately evident as one, with her back to me. It wasn’t until I came around to sit beside Jori that I saw the feminine style of her breastplate. It was finely made, no simple soldier’s cuirass. A visored helmet was sat on the table in front of her, an equally well made longsword sat on her hip. None of it seemed to be in the nordic style, at least not one I recognized. Where the swirls and rune carvings should have been, there was blocky engravings in common across the collar.
By The Light Of Dawn, Stendarr’s Might Is Known
“I didn’t expect a knight to be with the Vigilants. Ranger Johannes, and you?” I sat down across from the woman. She nodded, and offered a brief salute, hand across her chest.
“I’m no knight, but my father thought it fit that I should be protected if I was going to run off on a damned fool errand, his words. Vigilant Hania, or Lady White Oak, depending on the company. My father is a borderlord on the southern edge of Falkreath, in the Jeralls. Not quite Skyrim, not quite Cyrodil. Nord by blood, Imperial by custom.” Hania introduced herself. I liked her already.
“A noble lady, run off in a man’s armor to chase down devils and corpses? A tale as old as time, truly. If as many of the men around here… Best I don’t finish that.” A gave her a sarcastic grin. She took the joke well, but her expression turned sour a moment later.
“A noble lady? Please, the border towns are shunned by both the jarls of Skyrim and the pompous cunts in the Imperial City. We’re either northern barbarians, or southern cowards that folded to the Thalmor.” She took up a tankard.
“Sounds like you have a bigger bone to pick with the southern cowards. Next time one of them gives you lip, remind them who founded the empire.” That got a snort out of her.
“They dance around that as best they can. Enough about that. I came to ask about the state of things since Jori’s last letter. He said that you’d gone off to investigate a situation along the coast. You must have been successful?” Hania got down to business, the red flush from laughter slowly draining away.
“Successful, yes, but not without losses. We destroyed the undead marching out from a cave on the coast, and killed the beast responsible. It was a vampire, playing with Draugr. I don’t think I need to say much more to explain how big of a problem that is.” Hania’s residual grin dropped to a grimfaced stare at my words, her tankard frozen halfway between the table and her lips.
“Did Jori share what Adalvald has been working on the past few years? Or what we’ve learned recently?” Hania was speaking very quietly, leaned over the table. I looked to Rolvar, and shook my head for him to leave. The guard seemed curious, but found somewhere else to be.
“He didn’t, but I know. You’re searching for a vampire, tied to a prophecy.” That alarmed Hania even more, but she didn’t deny it. I was putting everything on the table for her, as I’d planned to do with Adalvald. It didn’t make much difference who heard it first.
“How do you know that? Adalvald has hardly told the Keeper what we’ve been up to. Did you steal Jori’s letters?” Her tone turned accusatory.
“No. Did Jori mention how my memory is a bit scrambled?”
“He said something about that, yes. That you were captured by a necromancer, but you broke free and turned the tables. You nearly died from exposure, you took a hit to the head. Did I get all that right?” She was confused, but she did have a good memory.
“I’ve been remembering things from my life, slowly. Some things that I thought were memories aren’t. I’ll explain it all once Adalvald can hear it, but I know that you’re looking for an ancient vampire, from the Volkihar clan. They know that too, and they are going to send killers after you. I don’t know how soon, but I’ve seen it. Adalvald, Tolin, dead in a crypt. The Hall of The Vigilants burnt to the ground, vampires roaming the land in packs. It’s going to start happening soon.” Truthfully, I didn’t know how much of that was accurate, because Hania and Jori were no where in my memories before I’d met them. Surely Jori would have helped fight the vampires? He would have run south to join the Dawnguard after the Vigilants were splintered. Maybe he had been targeted and killed on the roads before he got there.
“Visions then? We’ve only just found the name of the crypt, but haven’t been able to translate—” I held up a hand.
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“I can tell you the name, and where it is, but we have bigger concerns. If the vampire we killed was a Volkihar, they could have an army to overrun the holds if the knowledge to control the draugr gets back to them. Thralls and the usual undead are bad enough, we don’t need them calling up dozens of dead heroes.” Hania was going to speak, when a voice cut her off.
“First Ranger! Who is our guest?” Jarl Korir had come around, followed closely by Jorman, and more distantly by Kai. I stood, and held my hand out to the lady knight.
“Vigilant Hania, perhaps Lady White Oak, of the southern borderlands would be more appropriate. She came to announce herself, but we were carried away with our shared goal. Her senior, Vigilant Adalvald, will be joining us…” I looked to Hania, she stood.
“Tonight. He had a pressing matter with Vigilant Jorileif. Jarl Korir, a pleasure.” Hania’s courtly manners kicked in, offering a short bow. Jarl Korir appraised her, and the armor she wore.
“Lady White Oak? Your father, he’s Lord Fenvald of the Jagged Mountain, is he not? We’ve met once before. The High King’s ascension feast.” Korir smiled warmly, his bias for martially competent nords showing through. Maybe it was just because she was a good looking woman.
“I was still a girl, hiding behind my mother’s dress. Sorry to say, I don’t remember meeting you.” Hania put on something of a forced smile. Jarl Korir waved his hand dismissively.
“Well, as you said, you were hiding behind your mother’s dress. Your father pushed you forward to say hello. You don’t seem to be so shy anymore.” Jarl Korir nodded towards the blade she wore. The Jarl took the time to talk her ear off for the better part of the afternoon, it seemed he rarely got noble visitors, real nobles that is. He’d done the same thing with Lodor, up until he realized that the younger man did not have any fun gossip, or the rank to talk as a friend. Lady White Oak however, was a different matter. She was far enough removed from Skyrim’s pecking order to talk freely, and she was apparently the heir to her family’s titles, lacking brothers.
The sun was just about set, dinner almost ready, when the rest of the Vigilants joined us. Hania and I were on the verge of running out of polite chuckles when Jori waved to me from the door. He was good at showing up when he was needed most.
“Jori! Come, introduce the Jarl to your friends and companions.” I made a loud call to the door, breaking the incessant, petty small talk the Jarl, now joined by his wife, had been making. I avoided the old bitch to the best of my ability. Jarl Korir at least tried to do the right thing, sometimes. His wife was insufferable, incompetent, ignorant, and all of those things loudly.
“Ranger Johannes, Jarl Korir, I’d like to introduce a dear friend, and respected member of my order. Vigilant Adalvald mentored me in my first years on the roads, he’s the wisest man I know.” Jori tried to give the elder man a worthy introduction. He was dressed in the robes of a healer, an amulet of Stendarr proudly displayed. Thaena, the Jarl’s wife, hissed at the sight, muttering something under her breath. She would rather die than accept the help of a mage. I got a pass from the old crone, because I wore armor and swung a blade. That was the working theory anyways.
“A pleasure, Jarl Korir. A fine hall you have.” Adalvald strode forwards, bowed well, and nodded to the rest of us. He ignored the look of disgust he got from Thaena.
“Kind words. We’re thankful to have you Vigilant. My Ranger has told me many good things of your order, and your friend here, Jori, has been very helpful to him. I wasn’t sure that you would make it before we left.” The Jarl offered his hand to the mage, who took it without hesitation. We were reseated at the Jarl’s high table as the first courses of dinner were served. The Jarl had a pig butchered for his table, given that there were three important guests now. He was keeping up appearances he couldn’t afford. Looking at the portions the guards were getting, they were smaller than usual. Not much, but it was noticed.
“So, Jori tells me that you and your Ranger have been quite successful in persecuting these miscreants so far. I was sorry to hear that several of your sworn men have given their lives, but you have put a beating on the criminals.” Adalvald started a conversation as the first of the main course came out. I was seated two chairs to the right of the Jarl, Kai had gotten the place of honor.
“They feast in Sovngarde now, with our fathers and gods.” Jarl Korir hadn’t had any other outbursts, but in the days since I’d told him of Fenrik he had seemed on edge. It was part of the reason I’d gone along with his inane babbling earlier. He needed the relief.
“Rightly so, brave men, one and all. Jori told me some of what’s gone on here, but I’d like to hear it from the source. First Ranger, would you mind telling the tale from your perspective?” Adalvald listened intently, between bites of tasty pork. For all his faults, Korir kept a good kitchen.
“…morning after we dealt with the barrow, Anglin there, the one on the left, came back with the vampire’s head. Later tonight we’ll get him to tell the story, it’s a good one. Everything of note after that, Jori was witness to.” I ended the tale.
“You’re a scythe before wheat Ranger, everywhere you’ve gone, evil men and foul creatures fall.” Adalvald raised a goblet of wine to me, and drank it down. For all that I was getting tired of retelling the same stories over and over, I was glad that he asked for a full account.
“I don’t know why, but it seems I was sent here for a reason. I’ll be glad when I stop being a scythe, it will mean all the troubles are done.” I grinned, and sipped my own cup of mead. Hania had been keeping a careful eye on me through dinner, she hadn’t had the chance to share anything with Adalvald yet.
“Be it by chance or by divines, we’re glad to have him.” A drunk Korir reached over to pat the table near me, almost knocking over Kai’s cup. Adalvald leaned back towards me.
“So, tell me a bit more of this business with your memory. I’ve studied healing for quite some time, perhaps something could be done for it.” Adalvald held up a hand, letting the soft glow of a healing spell shine. Being that Adalvald was here to help, all but Thaena kept a positive expression. The mage was too old, and too sharp to not realize how much of a social misstep it was.
“Like I explained. I remember being on the ice plains, collapsing in the blizzard, and then being clubbed over the head. Some things have come back to me, histories, knowledge, skills, but my personal life is non-existent. I can make guesses about who I might be, but unless someone’s heard rumors of a missing witch hunter…” I let the joke make its rounds.
“Time may heal the gaps, but I find it all too fortunate for the people of this hold that such a capable man was delivered to them when they needed him most.” Adalvald looked between the Jarl and I. It was the perfect opportunity.
“I had made a joke to Riga in the barrow, after all the business with the vampire was settled. We were in front of an ancient world wall, one that held the words of power to a Thu’um. I was only slightly disappointed to find out I wasn’t a dragonborn when I couldn’t read it. I may have missed the blessing Akatosh, but perhaps it’s the work of a different div—” I took that moment to accept the reward, between syllables. The serving girls had cleaned up our plates by that point, leaving the table bare. There was a flash, and a pop as a bundle of armor dropped to the table.
It had appeared directly in front of me, the helmet was effectively making eye contact. The only problem was that I had been sitting at an angle, and the armor had landed between the Jarl and Adalvald. Both immediately had their eyes glued to it.
“—ine… Well…” I tried to act surprised as the two men looked at the bundle. The Jarl was about to speak when a voice boomed out from the helmet.
“RISE CHAMPION OF STUHN!” There was a long pause, even I was rocked back into my seat. In my moment of hesitation, the Jarl’s eyes went wide with excitement. He stood, and reached a hand out for the helmet. There was a flash, and a howl of pain from the Jarl. The hall was quiet aside from brief murmurs, then the voice came back.
“YOU? YOU WHO HAVE FAILED EVERY TRIAL OF MY BROTHER TSUN? WHO’S LINE HAS FAILED EVERY TRIAL OF THE LAST HUNDRED YEARS? FOOL!” As the voice in the helmet berated the Jarl, I got a good look at his hand. It’d been burned badly by a brief touch. Adalvald was watching him too, a dangerously curious look in the Vigilant’s eye. Being burned by a gift from Stuhn, Stendarr, was not a good sign. I’d give him the benefit of the doubt, and assume it was a reprimand for claiming what wasn’t his.
“NO! I mean my champion! The one who has walked through snow and ice, who has fought and destroyed evils both mortal and undead! He who has shirked no challenge and proven his faith!” That left Adalvald to look at me.
“I do not believe our lord Stuhn is referring to me.” The old Vigilant nodded towards the helmet, and the fact it was looking at me. I rose, and took it up. The helmet was a skullcap with a centerline ridge, starting just above the oval shaped eye holes. Ornate gold decorated the lines of the helmet, with inscriptions that I mistook for dragon runes at first. Mirrored engravings decorated the sides, whales, with armored soldiers marching beneath them. On the forehead, above the eyes but at the base of the ridge, was a circular golden embossment depicting the sun. Beneath the eyes was a steel plate to protect the nose and face, chainmail hung down from it and around the rim of the helmet. It didn’t burn me either.
While I took my time looking the helmet over, I could hear a growing chorus in the background. A hundred men had just seen the Jarl burned and berated by a talking helmet, the same helmet that I’d picked up with no issue. Before I could say anything, the voice spoke again. It was loud enough to be heard through the hall, but not quite the booming from before.
“Don this armor champion, and smite the foes of my people! I remember the days when we marched together with Shor, and I will not leave them to suffer the deeds of wicked things! March to war, march against ruin!” An urge to put the helmet on overcame me. It fit perfectly, and felt right. I paused for a few seconds, to see if the voice had anything else to say, but nothing came. I looked over the hall, some men that had left dinner had streamed back in after hearing the voice. A hundred fifty or so had witnessed the affair in part or in full. Seeing them all, the surprising way that my small miracle had gone, I couldn’t remember what I'd planned to say. Luckily, someone else did. Hania rose from her spot across from me, and drew her sword.
“Wherever your march takes you, my blade will be there!” The lady knight lifted her blade, the fire of zealous fervor in her eyes. She looked down the Jarl’s table first, and then back to the hall. Lodor and the twins stood first, but the rest of my company were quick behind. Adalvald was slower, but stood and offered a bow. The rest of the vigilants were quick behind him, Jori the most enthusiastic of their number. More men, mostly guards but some Stormcloaks, rose as well.
That won’t cause a political clusterfuck… especially not with what I’m about to say.
“I wasn’t sure why I’d been delivered to this place, my memories lost and seemingly no history in the Hold. Now I know, and I intend to live up to the task I’ve been given. A blight is spreading across Skyrim, not just this hold, and I intend to drive them out! All you brave who would rise to the call, your blades are needed!” That provoked several more men to their feet, an even mix of guards and Stormcloaks. Rolvar was among them, Tolin too. A quick glance to my left revealed a grinning Kai, and the Jarl barely containing his temper.
“Who am I, or even Jarl Ulfric, to defy Stuhn’s calling?” Kai shrugged, and then stood to address the Stormcloaks that had risen.
“You men swore oaths to me, to carry my banner and fight my battles, but such things do not account for the gods calling upon your strength. We will fight together against the bandits, as we’ve trained. Afterwards, I will release you from your service to join the Champion.” Kai sat back down, a few more of his number standing. I’d poached a quarter of his force.
Of the guards, about half of them had stood. Rolvar had already promised to join us once his term of service ended in the spring, along with a few others. Half of the guards in the room was more than the Jarl kept on hand in the city usually. Almost all of the ones that had stood were from that contingent, the ones that had seen the results of my effort the most. It gutted Korir’s experienced force, the ones I’d been training with for the better part of two months now. All eyes turned to Korir after the Stormcloak commander had sat back down.
The Jarl was on the verge of an apoplectic fit, the thin silver goblet in his hand buckling. When the weight of those eyes landed on him, he lost it. There weren’t any words, just howls as he stormed off to his chambers. His wife shot me a venomous glare, ushering their son back to the quarters alongside her. There’d been some harsh words about the Jarl, but he may as well have hung himself with that.
Once Thaena slammed the door shut, a ripple spread through the hall. Nobody wanted to be obvious, but word of that tantrum would make the rounds by sunrise. Turns out, there could be a lot of harm in small miracles at dinner.