Chapter 14: A Strike from the Void

"Heal him!" Ria screamed. "He'd be alive if not for you! You owe me. Heal him."

Tristan glanced at Ria, holding the bleeding High Elf in her arms, and shook his head.

"I can't," Tristan said quietly. "He was the mission. Now the mission's complete. Besides," he continued, "he's more dangerous alive than he is dead. And either way, I doubt it'll change anything. Not for you, at least."

Ria was shaking, fury and anguish pulsing through her body.

"Curse you, Dorrien," she spat.

Tristan shrugged weakly and left her to her mourning, a million thoughts refusing to settle in his mind.

Tristan was furious, but he did a decent job at hiding it. Or keep it contained, at least.

He'd been a fool for thinking Ria would actually work with him on this.

Tristan had turned and left Ria to her friends body, packing up his half of the camp and riding out towards the west, hoping to circle around to approach Dragon Bridge from the east. He doubted he'd be followed by any of the demons, but it never hurt to be sure. Besides, the cloaked man was dead, and that was the mission. He wasn't going to stick around to face the demons. Not when it was just he and Ria.

He knew without a doubt that Ria would find him, though what would spur her to regroup with Tristan was beyond his understanding. Regardless, he'd been sitting near the fire he'd made mulling over the information he'd pieced together in the last two hours. The minor news was that the demons weren't limited to foot soldiers. There were hounds as well, and that meant there were likely other types of units. But that information was nothing compared to Ria's involvement with the crisis.

She knew who they'd been sent to end; she drew them there and tried to inform them to run.

Diplomacy? Tristan thought darkly. No, treachery if anything… Whose side is she even on?

The answer was simple. Ria was on her own side. Survival concerned her more than anything, and the animals that intend to survive tend to bite the hardest, be the craftiest.

If Ria was involved with the threat that meant the Dark Brotherhood was involved. And if the Dark Brotherhood was involved it meant Ria had a lot more information than she let on.

At last, unsurprisingly, Ria emerged from the darkness leading her horse. Tristan glared at her, but she never met his gaze.

So she came back, he thought, bemused.

Ria sat in front of the fire and said nothing. She took out a dagger that looked to be fashioned from bone and placed it in front of her. The blood was black with dry blood.

She was grieving. Tristan knew. The Brotherhood had a sick sense of family, and Ria had gone and murdered one of them. Another one. But that wasn't all. She just stared blankly at the dagger, her back hunched, her breathing alternating between deep and shallow. Tristan was familiar with the look. She looked like someone who was out of hope.

Tristan dismissed her and stared into the fire, thinking about other things.

So, Ria knew the man, he contemplated. Basically told him to escape. But he asked where she was. So she ran from the Brotherhood? That makes sense, considering what happened in Ivarstead… Whoever this guy was, he could summon those demons. The hounds didn't attack after she killed their summoner, no, they screeched and ran. And I'd wager they ran to the head of the pack. The leader. And that makes Ria… Tristan scrutinised the woman. A target…

Where else was she going to go? If the Dark Brotherhood got on her trail they weren't going to get off it. Had they forced her hand? Was she going to fight? What choice did she have? But of course, she already knew all of that.

Tristan scoffed. That was interesting…

"He's dead?" Tristan asked shortly.

Ria shot him a look that would frighten a bear, but she nodded nonetheless.

Tristan didn't know if he believed her, but a chest wound like the one the elf had sustained was substantial and would require a lot of healing magic, healing magic he doubted Ria possessed.

"Well, Ria, congratulations," he mocked. "You are one step closer to your house in the Cyrodiilic countryside. Let's just hope the Imperials never find out that you almost betrayed them."

Was it spiteful? Yes.

But Tristan was too angry to care.

They returned wordlessly to Dragon Bridge, Tristan internally fuming, Ria wearing her greatest poker face. Perhaps she was mourning, perhaps she was plotting, perhaps both. Tristan couldn't know.

Tristan rode a few hours ahead of her, the only inkling that she was following the feel of the Trace.

He returned to Dragon Bridge ahead of time. He stabled his horse and made his way to the Imperial hideout to discuss matters, and while Rikke seemed impressed at their efficiency she appeared to have more dire things occupying her attention. Her hasty movements and short, sharp orders barked at other legionnaires a tell tale sign of this.

"Legate," Tristan bowed curtly.

"Tristan," Rikke returned with a nod of her head. "I take it Morthal was a success."

"Of course, Legate," Tristan said, recognizing that it was a statement and not a question. If they'd failed Rikke and Tristan wouldn't be having this conversation. "Legate, I've an issue to discuss with you," Tristan began.

"At a later time, Tristan," Rikke said, drawing a large circle on the map in front of her. "Our sources tell us another gate has opened in Windhelm. I need you and your mercenary friend to be there to help fight back the enemy. You know how to defeat them. Where is she, by the way?" Rikke added, noticing Ria's absence.

"Actually, Legate, that's what I need to –"

"Find her," Rikke said shortly, dismissing Tristan. "Take new horses from the stables and get to Windhelm full speed. We don't know how much longer they can hold out."

"Any word on how they've been doing so far?"

"Very little, I'm afraid," Rikke said darkly, grinding her teeth together. "So far only one gate has been opened, that's all we know."

"And what will you do?"

"From here? Nothing. But I have plants in Windhelm who know how to fight. They're strong and respectable warriors. They'll defend the city as best they can."

"But for how long?"

"No one can say."

"Then I'll make haste," Tristan said.

Rikke nodded. "Good luck."

Tristan returned the nod exited the building, walking briskly to the stables where two new horses – saddled and ready – were waiting. Ria was there also, handing the reins of her old horse to the stablehand, who nodded in thanks.

"On your horse," Tristan told her.

Ria scowled.

"We're needed in Windhelm," he continued before she could supply a response.

"No." The woman snapped. "One job. That was the deal."

"Your deal means nothing after the stunt you pulled in Morthal," Tristan argued harshly. "All you can do now is seek some sort of redemption. Unless you want three armies hunting you?"

Ria held his gaze with a fierce determination and stubbornness.

"Fine," she said. "But I never want to work with you again after this, Breton."

"I didn't expect anything less," Tristan murmured to himself.

"Why do they need us in Windhelm?" The woman asked.

"I've a sneaking suspicion you already know the answer to that."

Ria tensed. She mounted her new horse, Tristan following suit. Without so much as looking at each other the two whipped their reins, and the horses began to bolt for Windhelm.

They made good time, running non-stop from Dragon Bridge so that they might reach Windhelm by the morning of the following day.

As the City of Ysgramor rose into their view it was obvious that battle was taking place. Smoke poured from its walls and the clash of steel on matter echoed in the wind. Tristan reminisced, smirking at the dark irony, remembering the blood that the city had seen only some days before after they'd been sure Windhelm had been saved. His "I told you so" to the High King could wait, however.

Tristan and Ria exchanged little words as they made their way to Skyrim's capital, but as they got closer Tristan noticed that Ria began to physically deteriorate. It was fear, Tristan knew. He was afraid as well, but he was just a piece in a larger game. A game he intended to win.

Ria dismounted some ways away from the city, and upon deliberation Tristan did the same. They both allowed their horses time for rest and gave them an opportunity to escape the oncoming carnage, however considering how much the steeds had worked in recent past he wouldn't be surprised to later find them lying in the snow, their hearts and bodies having given out.

If there is a later, he thought guiltily.

"Come on." Tristan said gruffly, gesturing for Ria to follow him.

The woman did so, her hands nervously fiddling with her daggers.

"I'm heading straight for the gate," Tristan explained. "The sooner I can shut it, the better. If I'm lucky they'll be trying that already. If you do anything, try to help people escape, or get them to safety, or something." Tristan eyed her. "Do not run."

And do not join our enemy.

Ria's lips tightened into a straight line, but she nodded.

The two were on the cobblestone bridge that led to Windhelm's main gate. The stones were wet with snow, ice, and fresh blood. People were dying, that was for certain. But now it was a question of just how many.

An arrow pierced the stones next to them, and in an instant Tristan was looking up to the walls and casting his Bound Bow. He drew back the ethereal drawstring and let an arrow fly, but his aim was too elementary and it sailed passed the head of the Void creature that had shot at them. He went to ready another but stopped when an arrow planted itself in the creatures' head, turning it to ash almost immediately.

Tristan looked to his side and saw Ria with her bow in hand. He never even saw her draw the arrow.

"Let's just get this done," she said shortly, shouldering her bow and drawing her dual daggers.

"Let's," Tristan agreed, shaking off a feeling of slight impressment as he summoned his Bound Sword.

The main gate of Windhelm was somewhat opened. It wouldn't close because of the body of a guard that was lying half in, half out of the city. Tristan swallowed heavily and pushed the gate open. Both he and Ria visibly tensed.

Windhelm may as well have been a plane of Oblivion. The citizens of the city were fighting the Void creatures, but they were tired from the battle days before, and this time the Void creatures appeared to outnumber them two to one.

He felt rather than saw Ria begin to backpedal. His arm lashed out and he grabbed hers.

"This doesn't end if you run," he said.

"We die if we go in there!" Ria barked.

"We die either way."

The words hung in the air, and Tristan silently prayed to the Divines.

Ria took a deep breath. "I hate you, Dorrien."

"As long as you stay to fight I couldn't care what you think of me."

"Whatever," she brushed off the comment. "You do what you have to do. I'll try to get people out of here."

With that she skirted around the inside of the walls, trying to avoid what fighting she could, but if a Void creature came close she dispatched it with deadly grace.

Tristan himself waded right into the thick of battle, dispelling his Bound Sword and putting up two of the strongest Wards he could muster. The shields of the Restoration magic forced the demons out of the way. Tristan carved a path through the battle, the fighting breaking around him like water breaks around a rock. By the time he made it to the end of the courtyard he was starting to sweat with the effort of maintaining the Wards. He cast his Bound Sword and – comforted by its presence – began to lash out at the things in front of him. The citizens of Windhelm saw him, and some recognized him and began to fight with more tenacity. Every time he cut down a demon he would raise a foot and kick it backwards, out of arms reach. He did this to stop the ash from the creatures' explosive deaths wouldn't affect him. While he didn't have to endure the brunt of the corrosive ash, particles would still find their way onto his clothes, and then to his skin. It was little more than a sting, but it was forgotten as Tristan moved forward.

"The portal is in the Palace," a citizen shouted above the chaos.

Tristan parried the strike of another creature and fell it, pushing it away from him to escape the ash. He looked towards the voice and raised a hand, signifying that he'd heard.

It was then that he was rocked by a searing, ice-cold pain. A tortured scream escaped his lips, and he looked to where the pain had come from, trying to make out what had happened through the tears that were springing to his eyes.

A crude, black blade slid from where it had gone through his raised arm. He spun around and slashed at the thing that had stabbed him. The Oblivion sword split its chest, but it laughed gutturally as it reached out and grabbed a hold of Tristan, it's malevolent red eyes boring into Tristan. He realised what the creature was hoping for, and Tristan threw up a Ward just as it exploded into caustic ash.

The Ward protected him from most of it, but some of it still managed to get to his clothes and skin. The burning sensation was annoying and somewhat painful, like tiny needles poking into his skin.

Tristan dispelled his sword and his hand immediately went to the wound on his other arm, clasping weakly as the blood pooled around his fingers. He stumbled up the stone stairs that led to the rest of the city and unconsciously found his way to a back alley, away from the fighting.

He inspected his wound and winced, the golden threads of healing magic seeping from his hand and coating the gash. His panting got heavier as the magicka drained from him, but the bleeding eventually stopped and the bones and muscles began to reknit themselves.

Tristan looked about him and almost laughed. This scene was cruelly familiar. He waited for some moments, trying to regather himself, figuring that a tired Tristan is of more use to Windhelm than an exhausted Tristan. He dared close his eyes and focused on his own heartbeat, the sounds of the battle fading from his consciousness. He looked inwardly and found his centre, and, drawing from it, stood, ready once more to brave the creatures from the Void.

He caught the Palace of Kings in his vision and made towards it at a jog so as to not completely exhaust himself. The sounds of war and death got louder now, and as Tristan approached the Palace of Kings without incident he anticipated what it was he would be faced with.

A courtyard full of demons facing a wall of shields to the Palace of Kings. The door was barricaded from the outside, and Tristan knew that they were trying to keep the Gate within. The demons were trying to penetrate the shield wall, recklessly throwing themselves onto spears and swords as they tried to free their brethren. Many of them were occupied with the shield wall while others were crossing blades with the guards and the citizens of the city, but the citizens were falling like flies, possessing neither the endurance nor conviction to continue this fight.

To his left Tristan was somewhat surprised to see Ria leading a family out of a building. They were all hunched over, trying to sneak to safety. She caught his eye and gave a small, tight-lipped nod. Tristan caught wind of the message.

Consider us even.

Tristan returned the gesture before he turned towards the courtyard once more. Even fewer of Windhelm's people still stood, and the things from the Void were beginning to shriek in triumph.

For a brief moment Tristan wondered why he was even trying, but he extinguished the feeling and focused on the creatures and on the palace.

The portal is in there, he thought. And if it's still open, I can shut it.

Time seemed to slow as he summoned his Bound Bow. He got off three arrows, two of them finding their targets while the third skirted harmlessly off of a wall. The creatures noticed him and one lunged. He smacked it with his bow and dispelled it, in turn vouching for a Bound Sword. He slashed and cut, felling the demons that rushed him. But he grew tired, and they held the advantage of numbers. Sooner than expected his form started showing gaps, and the creatures weren't the fools to leave those gaps unexploited. His instincts kicked in, and he seemed to lose track of his enemies as his body acted before his mind could catch up. He was on the defensive now, empty skin and malicious eyes beating him backwards, coming at him from one, two, three sides, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

A cloud of ash followed him as he backpedalled, bursting from the bodies of the creatures he'd already slain. He threw up a Ward in a desperate attempt to fend off the number of creatures attacking him, and their blades skirted off of the magical shield, causing them to shriek and disintegrate.

Tristan dimly noticed that the shield wall was pushing forward, and the creatures were being driven further and further from the palace doors. In his distraction his Ward flickered and died, and a feeling of numbness extended from his stomach.

He looked down in shock at the Void creature. It was reminiscent of a child, or at least was no larger than one. Its face split apart into a mean gash, and Tristan knew that this was it smiling. It pulled the dagger-sized blade from him and pranced off, leaving him to his own fate.

Tristan reflected with annoyance that he'd been stabbed too many times since his encounter with Maven Black-Briar all that time ago. The feeling of numbness spread to the rest of his body. He tried to summon his healing magic, but all it did was recover some bruises. He didn't have enough magic to heal a stab wound.

A Void creature stepped slowly into his field of view. Its face parted into the demented smile and it raised its arm, the blade forming around it.

Well, I tried. Tristan chuckled to himself, annoyingly witty until the very end.

A battlecry brought him back to reality, and a woman slashed at the creature with a dagger, opening its throat. Ash began to stream like blood, but she kicked the creature away and drew her bow, firing once at another demon that was nearing the fallen Breton.

"Ria," Tristan remarked, to tired to feel surprised. "Glad to see you."

"Are you kidding me right now, Dorrien?" the assassin asked.

"Well…"

"Shut up," she snapped. "I didn't save you because you're of any worth to me, so let's move on. Are you sure you can close the gate?"

"Normally yes, but as you can see I'm preoccupied with bleeding right now…" Tristan croaked.

Ria eyed him evilly, ill intentions so obviously in the look. She drew from a satchel at her side a small vial. A red liquid sloshed about inside of it.

"I'm not a vampire."

"It's a healing potion, you fool." Ria retorted. She unstoppered the vial and hurriedly poured the contents down Tristan's throat. Tristan hacked and coughed, but Ria slapped her hand over his mouth to ensure he'd swallow it.

As he drank Tristan regained feeling, and his wounds felt like they were being painfully restitched. He clenched his teeth and tried not to scream. But even through the pain he knew he was healing.

He held out a hand, but Ria simply shook her head. Tristan winced and pulled himself up.

"How do we get into the palace?" He asked, noticing the shield wall still fending off creatures on the opposite side of the courtyard.

"We climb." Ria said, gesturing towards an outside wall.

"You can't be serious?"

Ria sighed in frustration and made to move off. Tristan, seeing no other choice, followed.

Tristan struggled with the climb for two reasons, and both of them involved a recently healed over wound. Ria climbed next to him although he knew she could have scaled the wall thrice over in the time it was taking him to do it once.

The wall itself was caught between smooth and rugged, some stones being easy to grip and others having been eroded by the wind and the snow. Other stones were cold to the touch and coated with ice, making the climb all the more difficult.

Below them the battle had subsided, but only because the things from the Void had stopped rushing the shield wall and instead were standing ominously, seemingly staring down the Nords.

"Come on, Dorrien," Ria said through clenched teeth. Whether it was exhaustion or cold was a mystery.

"I'm getting there," is what Tristan wanted to say, but instead he incoherently exhaled.

At long last they made it to a window. Ria climbed in deftly and then reached out, gripping Tristan's sleeves and then pulling him roughly into the palace.

Tristan opened his mouth to talk.

"Shut up," Ria hissed, pointing down.

Tristan noticed that they had climbed in onto a balcony decorated with rich rugs and pelts, and that over the stone railing was the main hall of the Palace of Kings. The main hall was full of demons, some of which were barging against the door to escape. A portal was open in the centre of the hall in front of the throne, thick, black tendrils spreading like roots into the earth and the air, anchoring it to the world. On the throne the High King Ulfric Stormcloak sat. The High King looked unnaturally pale, and upon further inspection Tristan deciphered that dark shackles were holding his hands and feet in place.

"He's trapped," Tristan whispered.

Ria nodded beside him. "And presumably poisoned."

Tristan raised an eyebrow.

"Clammy skin, raised veins. It could be any number of poisons. I can't tell from here."

Tristan sighed helplessly. "Ok, let's shut this portal."

He moved, but Ria's hand shot out and held him in place.

"What are you doing?" He demanded.

"You'll be killed if you go down there. You're worth nothing if you can't cast your spells."

"So what do you suggest?"

Ria was silent for a moment. "I'm going to get the guards to open the doors and run. Maybe then most of the demons will get out of here."

She turned on her heels and snuck her way to the window before she soundlessly climbed out and – Tristan assumed – began to climb down.

Tristan waited for the doors to open, thankful for the time it would take for him to regenerate and muster his magicka. He stepped back from the balcony's edge and sat cross-legged, focusing on drawing magic from around him for the task ahead. This time he didn't have anyone to help him. This time he'd have to do it himself.

As if on cue the doors to the palace were opened from the outside. Tristan saw no one on the other side of the door, but he could only assume that Ria had somehow convinced the guards. At least he hoped so.

The demons seemed initially surprised, but soon their shrieks of triumph echoed throughout the palace and Tristan briefly registered covering his ears. They started to seep from the palace like the blood of an infected wound, leaving only the king, the gate, and Tristan inside.

Tristan understood that he only had moments to act. He didn't doubt that somehow the creatures would be able to feel if their portal was being attacked, so he had to act quickly and he had to do it right.

He hoisted himself over the railing and fell several feet to the stone floor. He landed heavily and jarred his legs. He winced at the pain and the noise and cursed himself for thinking that was a good idea. He gathered himself and took a step towards the gate. The gate itself wasn't much bigger than the last gate in Windhelm, however it was still big, and it radiated feelings of malice and unease. Tristan knew that he could burn himself to charcoal if he tried closing it alone. The Breton rubbed his hands together and glanced over to the High King, who sat soundlessly on his throne, his eyes staring into nothing, the only inkling that he was alive the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Tristan focused, forced all of his magic from his body into has arms, and then his palms, and then his fingers. His muscles spasmed and his fingers twitched violently as the magical energy drained from everywhere else in his being to the one spot, and he noticed a golden light getting brighter beneath the skin. The sensation was starting to throb, but the throb was soon replaced by a burning feeling. Tristan clenched his teeth and forced the magic to take shape, visualising with perfect details what it was he needed and what it was he wanted. At last he thrust his hands forward, and with a climactic clap the magical energy rushed from his palms, taking the form of a crystalline, gold-blue wall of energy. The energy crackled and arced, and moved forward until it met with the gate. The magic slowed when the Ward met the roots of the portal, and for a moment Tristan panicked, wondering if what he'd done were enough. He willed the magic forward, and the magic obliged, carving a slow pathway through the tendrils and the blackness that anchored the gate to the palace.

Figures began to step through the gate, black figures with red eyes. Their gaze met his and Tristan went cold. The figures made to advance, careless of the Ward that was eating away at the gate. Tristan figured the Ward would keep them away, but they stepped to each side and avoided it, continuing their advance.

Tristan was sweating, continuing to will the magic on, but knowing that he had nothing left to protect him. He pushed harder, hoping that when the portal left the Void creatures would decide to leave to.

An arrow from above planted itself in the first Void creature and it stumbled, a second arrow pinning the second one in rapid succession. Tristan looked to the balcony just as the form of Ria released a third arrow, and then a fourth, finishing the two creatures that had been coming for him.

"Hurry up, Breton!" The Assassin called, readying another arrow just in case.

Tristan exhaled and turned back to the gate, and with one final push willed the Ward forward. It ate the portal and removed its traces from the palace, but all Tristan saw were thousands of red eyes within, intent on him as a wolf was intent on its prey.

The space in the middle of the palace was suddenly empty. The Ward continued on and hit the wall, slightly displacing the stones before it too dispersed.

Tristan collapsed to his knees, panting heavily. He felt Ria's presence behind him and instantly assumed she'd done what he'd tried to do but successfully.

"It's done." Ria said shortly.

Tristan nodded and tried to blink away the black that was eating away at the corners of his vision.

The assassin turned to leave.

"I didn't sell you out," Tristan croaked.

Her footsteps stopped.

"I didn't get the chance," he chuckled weakly. "After today… I don't know if I will…"

"Stop babbling, Dorrien," Ria said. "This isn't politics."

Tristan sighed. "What I'm trying to say… Is… Although it's objectively unwise… The Empire won't learn of your… Past… With the Brotherhood, I mean…"

The last bit came out quiet and raspy, and although Tristan tried to speak he just couldn't hold on anymore. He slumped forward and into unconsciousness.