Chains of unyielding metal wrapped around his limbs, binding and restricting Kaius in place and he roared, swearing and growling at the sheer force required to move them the slightest fraction of a centimetre. Even with his vampiric strength and unbridled might of the daedra infusing his veins and soul, it was barely enough to move from where he stood but he continued on regardless.

  Centimetre by excruciating centimetre, he pulled the chains back, feeling them cutting into his wrists and forearms as he dragged the enormous portcullis up its track that had been disused for centuries. It was shrieking and groaning in protest, the heavy metal grate almost like a living thing, audibly protesting its removal from where it had been resting comfortably for so long. For centuries it had been stuck, securing and blocking the main entrance in silent vigil, blocking the main entrance to the fortress with its mass and somewhat unique construction. Had it been a standard portcullis like all the others found across countless fortresses, castles and city gates across Tamriel, it would have long since been scavenged and salvaged, or otherwise broken and rusted into nothingness by the march of time. Instead, like the fort it protected, it was intact, the silvery-black metal giving hints to its forging from a metal that was believed to be the solidified blood of a god.

  All of this effort would not be for nought, and in the first time in many, many long years the fortress would be easily accessible through the primary gatehouse once more, and the Dawnguard would no longer be limited by what supplies they could hand carry inside through the secondary sally gate and its thin, winding path. Hauling back as hard as he could, muscles taut and veins pumping black corruption through his flesh, Kaius could feel the way that his arms and back were screaming in protest almost as much as the portcullis did as the chains began to shift and move freely.

  “Enhanced strength twelve… No, thirteen times that of a normal man. Ten times as strong as an average Orsimer.”

  “Sorine!”

  “Improved durability, toughened bones and cartilage. Bone density alone has to be measured in orders of magnitude.”

  “For fuck’s sake Sorine!”

  A full head shorter than Kaius, the middle aged Breton woman suddenly snapped out of her train of thought at Gunmar’s annoyed shout and rushed over to the towering doors of the fortress. She moved quickly with an agile grace of a veteran hunter, moving past the collection of hauling, sweating and sweating Dawnguard as they hauled back on similar series of chains. Like many of the others, Kaius was stripped to the waist as they put their muscles and weight into pulling the enormous steel grating from where it had been stuck for so long. Even with his strength and that of dozens of Dawnguard recruits, the portcullis was proving to be a considerable effort as they went about its restoration. The steel tracks in the stone gatehouse had rusted and sealed around the portcullis itself, and the intricate collection of pulleys, gears and counterweights long since eroded and rotted away, and to restore it once more required more muscle than engineering. Three separate chains, weighing hundreds of kilograms each had been procured from various smithies and forges throughout the Rift, and were now being put to work by dozens of Dawnguard.

  Sorine Jurard, machinist, inventor and engineer of the Dawnguard, jogged away from where she had been studying Kaius and quickly scampered up the nearby scaffolding, her short, almost permanently singed hair from countless experiments bouncing all the way. A few weeks after Kaius’s return she had arrived riding a protesting, straining wagon loaded to the brim with pieces, scrap, parts, tools and artefacts salvaged across countless Dwemer ruins from Vvardenfell to Stros M’kai. Seconded only in her interest-bordering-obsession with all things related to the long vanished people to Calcelmo, Markarth’s wizard and archaeologist, Sorine had been the brains behind most of the Dawnguard’s equipment. Almost everything within their increasing arsenal had felt her touch or had been born from the depths of her mind, ranging from the explosive pots of powdered silver, to Isran’s repeating crossbow and brand new matchlock pistol, all the way to the increasing number of dwemer-inspired crossbows being issued to the hunters. Her penultimate aim and lifelong goal however was one that left most more than just a little bit concerned; the reverse engineering of Dwemer Fire.

  For the moment at least, her task risked far less to those supporting her efforts than a legendary substance rivalling dragonfire and that could apparently burn underwater. Today her job was supervision and the installation of the counterweights and pulley system allowing the massive defensive grating to be freely opened and closed. One by one, she arranged the chains, gears and other complex mechanisms as the teams of Dawnguard and Kaius controlled and held the portcullis steady, raising it manually centimetre by centimetre until it could hang open under its own mechanisms.

  Guttural curses, grunts, the clangs of metal, and growls of exertion continued as Sorine, along with Mogrul and Durak’s orcish strength applied dwemer oil and, what she called ‘percussive maintenance’ with crowbars until the portcullis began to move smoothly once more. For the first time in centuries, the gatehouse was accessible, the final test of the counterweights allowing the grating to be lifted up with a series of lessened, metallic shrieks that drowned out the chorus of cheers at their success.

  Kaius dropped his length of chain and wiped his brow with the back of a grime streaked hand. Of the three sets of chains, he had one all to himself, while it took fifteen members of the Dawnguard on each of the others. The restoration had gone surprisingly well, and despite Sorine's idiosyncrasies, it was finally complete after many, many hours of labour. While obviously gifted with all things engineering and mechanical, Sorine proved she was as easily distracted as a drug addicted Khajiit in a warehouse filled with skooma. In the space of two minutes she had gone from supervising the teams working on the chain, studying the material composition of the stonework on the floors, taking notes on Kaius’s vampiric strength and durability, and calculating the load bearing weights of the support beams in the ceiling three stories above their heads.

  “She’s fixed.” Gunmar grunted, feeding his team’s length through the wheels they had bolted into the floor of the main hall. They had initially tried to replace them in the internal gatehouse above the doors until Sorine had confirmed that the floors were no longer structurally sound enough to take the strain.

  “That should slow down anything thinking of coming in through the front door at least.” Ignoring the usual shuffling from the closest vampire hunters, Kaius too moved over and helped thread his length of chain through its own wheel. The wariness from the members of the Order was deeply ingrained now, a result of many, many hours of training and they all knew to be ready for anything he might do.

  “Two thousand, eight hundred and fifty six kilograms of alloy forged from a one-to-five ratio of ebony and steel.” The gleam in Sorine’s eyes was almost sexual as she looked over the metal in front of her with her brain alight with calculations. “I’d wager fifty-three Septims that it is strong enough to withstand dragonfire.”

  “That’s a wager I would be willing to take you up on.”

  “What? Oh… That’s right. You have experienced dragonfire before, so I suppose you would be an expert on the subject.”

  There were more than one set of eyes that were drawn to the enormous burn scars that covered a majority of Kaius’ torso but he shrugged it away. Sorine’s words may have been harsh, but unlike the others there didn’t seem to be any hate, loathing, or fear in her tone. He believed that she didn’t truly hate anything, not even vampires. The cursed beings merely provided her an outlet for her obsessions, designs, devices and experimentation.

  More grunting and swearing ensued as the three spoked wheels bolted into the floor were hauled back, and the portcullis was raised once more. This time there was an obvious reduction in metallic scraping and grinding as the oil that Sorine had continued applying, did what it was designed to.

  “How’s it all going Kaius?”

  Turning from the chained wheel, Kaius glanced over to where Sofia and Lydia were making their way from the direction of the training halls. All three of them had been alternating or working together to train the Dawnguard the best methods for fighting vampires, but certain tasks such as the gatehouse restoration usually drew Kaius’s to assist.

  “Good. The gatehouse is secured and repaired. Break time I’m guessing?”

  Like an experienced conjurer, a bottle of alcohol appeared in Sofia’s hand and she grinned. “You bet. The morning session is over and there are a few who will be licking their wounds for a while.”

  “Didn’t beat them too badly?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Only the ones that deserved it.” Lydia replied. Despite the months since the revelation of his true nature, Lydia’s attitude and tone with all things involving Kaius were only marginally less hostile than Isran’s on a good day. She no longer used his title of nobility either, and that’s if she addressed him directly in the first place. Attitude towards Kaius aside though, both she and Sofia were proving to be increasingly capable, showing time and time again that they could meet, match and surpass most, if not all of the members of the Dawnguard with skill and ability. Between Lydia’s armoured defence and resilience, and Sofia’s agility and speed there were very few who were able to best either of them, and their skills had grown further in the months since they had begun travelling together.

  Almost all the Dawnguard were present within, or just outside of the main entrance, some, like Sofia and Lydia were milling about during the break in their training, others taking a rest after assisting with the final refurbish and reconstruction, but many more had been waiting outside with various wagons loaded with goods. Every day a wagon or two would arrive from their two day journey between the fortress and Riften or other nearby settlements. Most were bearing raw materials, equipment, food and other supplies to keep the growing numbers of Dawnguard armed, armoured and fed. Others on rarer occasions would sometimes instead be some sort of guarded wagon, bearing a chest or two of coins from across Skyrim as various towns, villages and Holds began to fund their efforts. If the rumours had a measure of truth to them, then Jarl Ravencrone was one of their largest benefactors and certainly wasn’t the only Jarl providing donations now that they were proving effective against vampires.

  Today however, there were others who entered that immediately drew the attention of all those present. New recruits were almost as regular as the supply wagons, sometimes even coming with the wagons but this pair were obviously and radically different to the collection of ex-stormcloaks, Legion deserters and retirees, sell-swords, and mercenaries who made up the majority of the Dawnguard. Both were priests, or at least appeared outwardly as such, dressed in thick travelling robes and bearing various religious sigils and iconography. One was dressed in a rich, if weather beaten orange robe of a priest of Arkay, and the other in a tattered grey set of robes that was as light as the hair on his head. Unlike most men of the cloth however, the orange robed priest of the God of the Dead was impressively built, filling his robes with muscle that seemed at odds with his profession, while the other robed man was well on his way into his seventh decade of life. With looks of curiosity and interest they both walked right into the fortress with the dozen of Dawnguard labouring and carrying supplies, until a harsh, growling voice cut through the noise.

  “No! No! Your kind aren't welcome here, especially you, Florentius!”

  Isran had a habit of appearing unannounced, almost appearing capable of teleportation and once again he proved this ability, storming through the press with a thunderous expression on his face that was wholly directed to the orange robed priest.

  “Isran! Arkay told me that I’d find you here. Quite a nice place you have.”

  “Yes, it is. You can now make it even better by turning your arse around, and marching straight back to wherever it is you came from!”

  “Oh… shit…” Brushing the dirt and oil off his hands down the front of his tunic, Gunmar murmured, sharing an uneasy expression with Sorine who appeared just as concerned at the new arrival’s appearance.

  “Friend of yours?” The giggle from Sofia was infectious and despite themselves Isran’s comrades smiled wearily.

  “Not really. Florentius and the rest of us go way back. He’s… interesting, to say the least.”

  “Turn around? I haven’t just spent the past months roaming Skyrim at Arkay’s behest to simply turn around!” The priest’s voice rose almost to a feverish pitch of indignation and for a moment Florentius’s eyes rose up to the veiling far above everyone’s head as he shrugged. “See what I have to deal with? Never a word of thanks, just ill-will and…”

  Trailing off in mid sentence as his eyes once again returned from their wide eyed stare into the heavens and came to rest on Kaius and he openly gaped in astonishment. Astonishment that quickly turned into an all-consuming rage that left his face flushed red.

  “Unclean monster! Undead filth! I will smite you from this life and the next!”

  Kaius couldn’t help but flinch away from the way that the priest immediately recognised what he was, and the sheer insanity that lurked within the man’s gaze. Not even Isran had identified Kaius’s vampirism this quickly, and in fact, no one in his entire life ever had. Both of Florentius’s eyes were bright and gleaming, the purity of his faith being overwhelmed by the way his entire face erupted in spasms as he suddenly broke into a run straight at Kaius, shouldering aside a handful of Dawnguard in the process.

  “By the holy catechisms of Arkay, I banish you from my sight! You shall be cast down into dust and ash, forever…” Just as quickly as he had begun his headlong charge, he suddenly came to a skidding halt, almost jumping as though someone had shouted at him to stop, a moment before he tilted his head as though listening to something that only he could hear. There was no doubt that the priest had intended on attacking him head on with nothing more than his faith and fury and a set of rosary beads wrapped in a calloused fist, but confusion took over and consumed the anger.

  “I… No… But I… are you sure. I mean, really sure?”

  A shuffling of feet and a cleared space formed around Florentius in his orange robes, especially as he was looking up to the ceiling while appearing to talk to no one in particular. Several members of the Dawnguard, as well as Kaius, Sofia and Lydia were taking careful steps away from the man, leaving only Isran locked in place, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, and showing the most amount of emotion anyone had ever seen from the veteran hunter.

  “Fine. I’ll leave him alone.” The fist wrapped in the rosary beads lowered back down to his side, and Florentius unwound them, returning them and the amulet of Arkay back to their position around his neck. “I think you’re making a mistake though.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Unable to contain herself any longer, Sofia looked around the room and up at the ceiling where the Priest’s eyes were wandering about.

  “Arkay of course.” Snapping back into focus again, the priest locked his gaze on Sofia and snapped his whole head so quickly it gave her a start. “Who else would I be speaking to?”

  “You are talking… to a God?” Lydia said, very slowly and carefully as though she was talking to a child or someone with brain damage.

  “Of course! I’ve found that in order to speak to an equal, I am forced to converse with a Divine. Now, would you just shut up!”

  “Excuse me!?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.” Gleaming with barely contained mania, Florentius’s eyes flashed in Lydia’s direction before turning to the ceiling again. “This is some kind of joke you’re playing! Isn’t it bad enough you’re making me come help out this Redguard fool, but a vampire? I… really? The Order of the Nine? You’re serious? I think your head’s been stuck in the clouds for too long if you thought that was a good idea at the time.”

  “Are you quite finished, Florentius?”

  “I am, Arkay is still blabbering on as he does.” The smile was truthful and without any sign of the twitching that had just been plaguing his expression only moments before. “I don’t know why I put up with him sometimes.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “To help support a noble cause of course. Arkay likes the idea of the Dawnguard, and he sent me this way and that, collecting a few things for you.”

  “Things…” The sheer level of sarcasm dripping from Isran’s every word was almost as thick as the dwarven oil that coated Sorine to the elbows. “Things like what?”

  “Oh, well… some… things, I suppose. Remedies, cures, a poison or two.” Florentius shrugged and Kaius saw the way how his shoulders bunched and twisted under his robes. The body underneath the priest’s attire was as rough as an oak, and not one typically found with a man of the cloth. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. I have no idea, but I’m sure we can find something worth everyone’s time.”

  “Who is this then?” moving away from the twitching priest Isran roughly brushed past, moving over to the other robed individual who had accompanied him into the fortress.

  Clad in a rough, tattered grey robe that had seen far too long of a journey, the man looked up into Isran’s cold expression and bowed slightly. He was by far the oldest of them all present, barring Kaius with his hair turning a faded grey that matched his clothes.

  “My name is Dexion Evicus.”

  “An Imperial. What brings you here with this man?” The gloved thumb that Isran threw over his shoulder was as subtle as a catapult hurling its ammunition at a castle, and the elderly man tried his best not to meet Isran’s gaze.

  “I… Ah. This man rescued me from vampires a few weeks ago. Said that the Dawnguard would have need of my services before I returned to Cyrodiil.”

  “And just what sort of services do you provide?”

  “Well, as an acolyte of the Elder Moth Temple I can perform various readings, scrying and divination. You must understand though that it is not my primary purpose though, as my life has been spent in preparation reading and interpreting the information contained within an Elder Scroll. I doubt however, that a group such as yourselves would have such a priceless artefact in your possession.” The sudden stony silence crashed down hard on him as he saw the amazement on everyone's expressions, and their open mouthed glances between him and Florentius. “You... You can’t possibly have an Elder Scroll?”

  No one moved, barely anyone could breathe. There was only one person who had any control or ability to speak, and that was Florentius, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a childlike grin on his face.

  “I told you! Arkay was right when he said that they had one!”