The Pull
A few weeks passed. There wasn't a single day that I did not think of Shal'ir Kamaya, his predicament, or our discussion. Even so, House Redoran kept me quite busy. Guar herders, giant slaughter fish, and lost pilgrims all had to be dealt with by me and me alone, it seemed. There were times that I was sure that Neminda thought to herself, "Let's give this one to Alaunel. She likes guar and peasants."
However, I did not wish to give the Dremora the impression that I had forgotten him, or my vow. And so, while I was out on the road a mile or so from town, I made use of a recent reward for work well done: a scroll of Summon Dremora.
Unless you wanted to pay an ungodly price to the Mages Guild for a Summoning, scrolls were the best bet. You had to do it outside of the town walls; the guards and the citizens might see it as an attack and act accordingly. Vivec forbid that I might want a little company or some protection.
Shaking a little—I had never used a scroll to summon anything in my life—I read the runes inscribed on the parchment. They glowed red-hot before consuming the scroll even as a red-black cloud swirled to life before me. Finally, the cloud coalesced into a Dremora Caitiff, in this case a warrior. The Daedroth towered over me by at least a head, not including his impressive horns.
"State your request and state it quickly," he growled at me. "I have no time to play with little girls."
"Very well," I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I was feeling. "I ask that you take a message to Shal'ir Kamaya, a Dremora Lord. He—"
"I know who he is, mortal," the Dremora snarled. "Get to the point!"
I swallowed. He looked big enough to break me in half, and he was nowhere near as…'nice'…as Shal'ir. "He is trapped in the ruins of Ashennamasatru. I ask that you please convey to him that he is not forgotten, and that the little mortal is working to find a solution for him."
The Caitiff glowered even more fiercely, but nodded. "It shall be done." He vanished in a puff of the same red-black smoke in which he'd arrived, leaving me to wonder if Shal'ir would, indeed, receive my message.
Of course he would. Dremora did not give their word lightly, but once given, it was as law. Besides, the Caitiff had been under the compulsion of the summoning, and would not be released until he'd completed the task.
I supposed that some people might have seen that as a waste of a valuable scroll.
It occurred to me then: might it be possible to summon a Dremora powerful enough to best him in battle? Thinking so, I went to the one person I knew I could count on for answers.
My grandfather welcomed me with an embrace and a lecture about 'tramping about when all this danger was afoot', then offered me a cup of tea. "Your favorite, imported from Cyrodiil," he told me.
"Sure, thanks," I said, but in truth, I was feeling quite distracted. "So…what have you been doing, and how are you?"
"Well enough, I suppose." He carried the laden tea tray to the table and set it down. As usual, he'd gone overboard: in addition to tea and the rest, he'd added several small cakes, cookies, and several small candies. The tea set itself was chipped and wildly mismatched. But I'd loved it since I was a little girl, and were I to have tea in the palace with Vivec himself, there could be no finer. "These ash storms are getting worse every day, though." He looked me over me with his still-piercing scarlet eyes. "You look well."
"I'm doing all right." I chattered on about less volatile events in my life that what I'd come to discuss with him: protecting the guar herds, how the local guards seemed to spend more time pestering people than doing their jobs, my boring 'Deliver this to some old guy over in Ald Velothi' mission, and so on. When I could avoid it no longer, I said, "Grandfather, I have a question for you. It will probably make you squawk—"
"I don't squawk, girl! I express concern for my only grandchild." He sipped his tea, eyeing me sternly over the rim of his cup as he did so.
I nibbled a cookie. He would indeed squawk when I told him of my latest adventures. I took a deep breath and plunged in. To my surprise, my grandfather did not squawk, not even once. He listened in stunned silence as I told him of how I had been caught in the ash storm and sought shelter in the ruins, only to be accosted by a nasty Spider Daedra.
"It didn't get to lay a hand on me, though" I assured him. "This Dremora came out of nowhere and—"
Now my grandfather exclaimed, "A Dremora! Alaunel, I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous those things are." He looked like he was about to deliver me a stern lecture that would probably end some time tomorrow morning.
"Shal'ir Kamaya is not a 'thing'," I said stiffly. "He saved my life, Grandfather. He killed the Spider Daedra before it could harm me. I didn't get to finish my story, though."
"By all means, finish your tale, child," he said with a wry smile. "I am dying to know about this Dremora you say saved your life."
I told him about Shal'ir, and his predicament. How he'd stood watch over me until the storm had passed, and how we'd discussed mortal nature and his home in Oblivion. "I even told him your definition of philosophy, and your ideas on the nature of destruction," I said. "He told me that he thought you were very wise, especially for a mortal. Oh, and I asked him if he ever got lonely, but that question really seemed to bug him, and he told me to go away."
My grandfather remained silent a moment. Then he said, "He sounds…most extraordinary. How he has not managed to go mad from Pull Sickness, I do not understand."
"Pull Sickness?" I mumbled around a mouthful of cake.
He nodded, pouring more tea. "Pull Sickness is quite fascinating, actually. First, you need to understand the fundamentals," he said, ignoring the 'Oh Gods' look I gave him. Grandfather was a retired Mage's Guild instructor, and I hadn't yet met any mage who could impart any information without a long-winded speech. Priests were just as bad: they always blathered on long enough to bore me, if not Vivec orMolag Balor whomever they were haranguing hapless listeners about.
"The Pull is a driving need all Dremora have to be with their own kind," he began. "All Kyn—that is how they refer to themselves--feel its strain at one time or another, depending on how long they must be apart from other Dremora depending on their duties."
"So…what happens if they're away from them for a really, really long time? Say, a thousand years or so?"
Grandfather looked terribly grim. "If they're too long apart from other Kyn, they will start to become more and more irritable and grouchy, the worst traits in their personality easily coming to the surface. As they go on longer without the closeness of other Kyn, they start to become mad. The madness is what they refer to as Pull Sickness."
I thought about this. "Shal'ir seemed fine. More than fine, actually: if anything, he was a little friendlier than you might expect."
"Mayhap he is fine, but mayhap not. If gone unchecked for too long, a lone Dremora will go insane and become both violent and sexually violent, worse so to other Dremora he may come in contact with, but even to other Daedra or even mortals." My grandfather gave me an especially stern look here before continuing. When he resumed, he told me, "In fact, there's a fascinating case involving a Dremora named Ra. He—"Grandfather droned on at length about the terrible suffering the Dremora endured and inflicted until he saw the tears in my eyes.
"I am ever so sorry, my dear. Not terribly sensitive of me, considering. I'll finish as quickly as I can. After a while, usually in the range of a year as mortals count time, the suffering Kyn will go into a comatose state. After too long, if the lone Dremora is banished, his Animus will be stripped of all that it knows and the Dremora will be reborn in a way, completely unknowing of whom he was before." He fell silent at last. "And that is the fate that awaits your friend, I fear. He might be sane and reasonable for now, but deprived of his Kyn for much longer…"
I swallowed. "I don't want that to happen to him, Grandfather. He is what he is, but I can't let this happen to him! Nothing—no one—deserves to suffer like that. He…I've not known him long. But Grandfather, I swear it—he is one of the most honorable beings I have ever met. He—there aren't words." I rubbed at my wet eyes.
"I do believe a miracle has occurred. Something has rendered you at a loss for words," he teased. I stuck out my tongue, smiling a little.
"This means a lot to you, doesn't it?" he asked gently, taking my hand. I nodded.
"I gave him my word. I won't break it." And he's coming to mean something to me, I thought. Never had I thought I'd come to feel anything for someone like Shal'ir. Dremora were dangerous beings, cruel to mortals and even other Daedra.
"You're so like your father." I blushed at the compliment. "Now, unless I miss my guess, you have come to me seeking a way to either break the compulsion, or to send him home." He sighed deeply. "I will research the situation, even though he swears there is no way around it. After all, are we mortals not famous for breaking the rules and doing the impossible?" His redeyes twinkled.
"I also wanted to ask you: is it possible to summon a Dremora even more powerful than Shal'ir, to defeat him in honorable combat? It only seems fitting that way."
"I am not too certain that it can be done. From your description of Shal'ir, it would seem that he is a Markynaz, or Grand Marquis. The only Dremora more powerful that Markynaz are the Valkynaz, Dagon's personal guard; there are only six of them, and they cannot be summoned to the Mundus. However, he might be deeply appreciative of a Dremora summoned to keep him company. It occurs to me that this, perhaps, is how he's held himself together for so long."
"Maybe so." I thought of the Dremora I'd summoned to take him the message.
"As for a long term solution, there's always the Fighter's Guild, for a price. Or perhaps House Redoran might agree to assist you. Or…" he trailed off.
"I could do it myself, once I become powerful enough."
"Let us hope that it does not come to that," Grandfather said.
After talking to my grandfather, I made up my mind that I would visit Shal'ir after all. I hoped that the Dremora I had sent to him would remain with him; nevertheless, I wanted to see for myself how he was doing.
I held no illusions, however. I didn't expect to be welcomed with open arms. I figured that his idea of an enthusiastic welcome for me would be a gruff 'You've returned' followed by some grumbling. Still, the idea excited me. I assembled my gear, told Grandfather I'd be gone for a few days (he made me promise to tell him in detail how Shal'ir was faring) and I departed through Ald Ruhn's main gate.
The ruins looked much the same as when I'd left, not that I had really expected them to change. This time, there were no hostile Daedra lurking about the exterior. That was good: I really wasn't looking forward to almost being on the menu again.
I made use of the same entrance that Shal'ir and I had used before and made my way towards the shrine. I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard guttural snarls and growls and the occasional muffled scream echoing out from the shrine ahead.
Was Shal'ir locked in battle with something? Or was he elsewhere, and I would have to deal with whatever beast was making those sounds? Shuddering, I drew my Elven long sword and moved cautiously forward.
What I saw nearly made me drop my sword in surprise. Not far from where I'd last seen him, Shal'ir was locked in an embrace with the Dremora I had summoned. They found ecstasy together and went into frenzy, biting and clawing at each other before Shal'ir pinned the smaller Dremora's hands to the ground, asserting his dominance as they coupled.
I ducked around the corner before they could see me. Their harsh breathing echoed in the shrine chamber, and it was the only sound I heard—aside from the blood rushing in my ears—until Shal'ir called out to me.
"We know you're there, little mortal. You may as well come out into the open."