Chapter 13: Agents of the Empire

Ria had learned long ago when was the time to draw attention to oneself, and when it wasn't. The man with a commander's gait was not someone they needed to make known to the tavern; if he wanted to kill them, he would do it elsewhere or not at all, so his focus on them had to be about something else. Still, she didn't much like the easy danger in his body, and her hands hovered unconsciously near her daggers.

The man stopped and dropped a piece of paper on the floor in front of them, leaving as quick as he came. Tristan picked it up first, and took some prompting before he would turn the image towards her direction.

Ria leaned forward slightly to take in what was drawn on it. It held the diamond-shaped dragon of the Empire, and a bridge below that. Her brow furrowed, momentarily confused.

"Dragon Bridge." she said aloud a second later, when she considered the animal and not the group it stood for. She glanced up at Dorrien, her mild annoyance at his presence forgotten for the moment. "The question is, which one of us is it for?"

"He looked like someone from your line of work."

Ria glanced back to the door. "He looked Imperial." There was silence for a long while, each of them contemplating the message. It was late afternoon now; if Ria actually heeded what was obviously a summons, she could be in Dragon Bridge well before dawn.

But what reason did she have to leave? With the inn's low rates and her and Jared's combined savings, she could buy lodging and supplies for almost half a year. That was more than enough time to find a job with a farmer, or to set up traplines and learn game trails. Once she had a steady source of income, there wouldn't be much reason to leave

Rorikstead and venture out where Brotherhood informants lurked.

Her gaze drifted back to the door. If the summons was for her, what would happen if she didn't answer it? If whoever sent the message sent it specifically to her, they knew who and where she was- something the Brotherhood would be keen to learn. Upsetting that person could be a risk.

And then there was the possibility that it was the Brotherhood, setting a trap. If this was Lucian's doing, it was a poor idea; curiosity was the only bait, and she was not the kind of half-cat to be killed by it.

Ria had yet to re-rent a room for the night, having decided to have dinner and a look around the town first, so her bag and all her possessions sat on the floor, leaning against the chair she'd had her feet on. She stood and swung it onto her shoulder, marveling at the lack of stiffness in the joint; Dorrien had done a recommendable job healing it, even if it had been for his own ends.

She still wasn't sure why Dorrien had chosen to follow her, only known, from the minute she left Ivarstead, that he had; he wouldn't have let her go otherwise. The deduction was the he either wanted the Brotherhood, or wanted something that had to do with the Void demons, but he would get neither from her.

"Don't follow me this time." She said, glancing down at Dorrien. "I'll kill any tails."

He was unphased by the threat. "You're actually going to Dragon Bridge, then?"

"I'm going somewhere where people will stop finding me." The annoyance in her voice was fierce and genuine, even if the statement was false. First High Hrothgar and now Rorikstead; she was running out of inconspicuous places to hide. At this rate, she would end up in Cyrodiil.


Ria was eating lunch and lounging in a tree outside Dragons Bridge when Tristan Dorrien came down the road. She grabbed her knapsack from where it sat on a limb next to her, slinging it over her shoulders and slipping from the tree. Then she trotted towards the road, pulling her cloak tighter around her and throwing up the hood as she gained ground. If Dorrien was startled when she fell into step next to him, he didn't show it.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show." she said to the Breton.

A wry smile crossed his face, but Ria didn't know him well enough to be able to tell if it was genuine or rueful. "Funny, I was about to say the same to you."

"Yeah, funny." Ria said flatly. The sound of their feet on the ground changed slightly as they reached the bridge that gave the town it's name. She nodded towards one of the buildings. "I think they're based in that one. Smoke's been coming out of the chimney all morning, but otherwise you'd think the place was abandoned."

The statement earned her a sideways glance, and after a moment, Tristan said, "Why are you telling me this? I was given the impression you wanted nothing to do with me. Now you act like we're going into this together."

"Well, I'm not going in there alone. Especially if that message was meant for me."

"And if it was meant for me?" There was a challenge in his voice.

Ria didn't answer. They reached the other side of the bridge, and the men working at the lumber mill shot them curious glances. The assassin tugged her hood lower over her face.

"So I'm bait." Tristan said after a moment's silence. He sounded offended.

"Worst case scenario, you're more like a distraction." Was the half-Imperials reply. She didn't bother trying to otherwise contradict the statement; he was bait, prey that would put up an interesting fight and give her time to slip away if the whole thing was a Brotherhood trap.

The pair made a bee-line for the house Ria had pointed out. A fact came, unbidden, to mind, that Dragons Bridge had once housed a Penitus Oculatus headquarters. The thought made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

They mounted the porch and approached the door, though both the Breton and Imperial hesitated there. They were saved from the predicament of whether or not to knock when the door swung inward, revealing a Nord man standing in the doorway. He wasn't the same one that had found them at the inn, but he was similarly muscled, and a sword hung at his hip.

"Come in, quickly." He hissed, agitated. "You've attracted enough attention already."

There was a heartbeat in which no one moved, and Ria glanced at Dorrien, following when he realized she wouldn't go first and stepped through the doorway. When they were both inside, the door was shut behind them, and the Nord stalked off deeper into the house.

Ria didn't know what gave her attacker away- a slight creak as she shifted forward, seeing her shadow out of the corner of her eye- but in a second, the assassin had drawn her daggers and spun back towards the door, towards the person who had been lying in wait next to it. At the other end of Ria's blade was a neck that belonged to a very surprised looking woman, her Imperial sword drawn and in her hand, obviously intended having been intended to be used if it wouldn't now mean her death.

Next to her, Dorrien was in the same situation in reverse; an Imperial, the very one from Rorikstead, stood behind the Breton, the point of his sword lost from sight as it rested between Tristan's shoulder-blades.

"Now, let's just all calm down and-" The Imperial didn't get a chance to finish the sentence; a ball of light formed in Tristan's hand and zipped back into the man's face. It dissipated without any harm- Ria had watched Cirion train enough to recognize a harmless magelight- but the Imperial didn't know that, and he flinched back, swordpoint dropping as his hand came up to shield his face. Dorrien spun and kicked the Imperial's stomach as a blue ethereal sword came to life in his hands, and the Imperial's back slammed into the wall. In an instant, the taller man was the one with a blade at his throat.

"Drop your weapons!" A male voice, the Nord who had greeted them at the door, barked from behind Ria. She immediately stepped so she was behind the woman at the end of her blade, putting the other Imperial's body between her and the doorman. He had ascended a set of stairs from her left, and as she watched another Nord followed the first up the steps at a run, this one's sword drawn.

It was the first instance that Ria noticed their armor- all their armor. The woman in front of her, the man from Rorikstead, both Nords, they were all dressed in a style of raiment not seen in Skyrim for almost three decades: Legionnaire. If it weren't for her mother's set, the breastplate always hanging over the mantle, Ria wouldn't even recognize it; she'd never seen another example of Imperial armor in Stormcloak-controlled Skyrim.

Tristan had seemed to have an interest in finding whatever remained of the Empire in Skyrim. It seemed he'd accomplished that goal. It also seemed that the message had been meant for him after all; Ria began making plans accordingly.

"Like your friends dropped theirs?" Ria snarled over the Imperial's shoulder, shoving her thoughts to the back of her mind.

One of the stairs creaked, and Ria's eyes darted once again back to the staircase that descended below ground. Another person emerged from it, stopping at the top with her hand on the rail, looking none too amused by what she saw.

"Who are we, the Thalmor?" The woman's voice rang out, clear and commanding, with a slight Nordic accent. She too wore the armor of the Empire, and her red-brown hair was streaked heavily with grey. "Put your weapons away, all of you."

"But, ma'am, they haven't been searched, and procedure states-" Tristan's Imperial started, but the woman's challenging gaze silenced him.

"I don't care what procedure states, Caius. It's just making things worse."

The men and women dressed in Legionnaire armor exchanged looks amongst themselves. Slowly, they sheathed their blades; first, the pair of Nords, and, after an exchanged glance between assassin and Breton, the Imperials that Ria and Tristan released. The latter's summoned sword disappeared from existence, and Ria also sheathed the Blade of Woe, though she kept the bone-handle knife out, idly twirling it around her fingers.

The silence that followed was charged with nothing but tension.

"I believe we got off on the wrong foot." Dorrien finally said. "I am Tristan Dorrien. I come to seek your aid regarding the protection of Skyrim."

The Bretons, Ria mentally scoffed, somewhere between amuse and annoyed by the courteous tone. Such diplomats.

"We know who you are." The Imperial from Rorikstead- Caius- said, contempt in his voice. It seemed he took being overpowered by the shorter man quite personally. His gaze shifted to Ria. "You, however… who in Oblivion are you?"

"Cateria Verres." She answered; anyone who'd known her a decade ago had most likely perished in the demon invasion of Whiterun, and her real name would passably serve as an alias now. Her gaze flickered to Dorrien as she spoke, and the relaxed twirling of her knife sped up notably. He glanced to it, the only sign that he recognized the silent threat. Ria looked back to Caius and added, "Blade for hire."

One of the Nords scoffed. "Mercenaries." he muttered disdainfully under his breathe. Ria smiled icily and didn't correct him. The older Nordic woman spared neither of them a look as her subordinate kinsman spoke, her eyes on Dorrien as she awaited an explanation; she had noticed the shared looks that accompanied Ria's answer.

"She owed me a favor, and the roads are dangerous in times like these." The Breton said at length.

It was his turn to glance at Ria, to ensure she understood the meaning of his first words. Caius's commander studied him for several more seconds, but let the subject drop.
Instead, she motioned to a table across the room; it was the first time Ria had cause to look in that direction, and the first time she noticed the blazing hearth and the dining table next to it. "Come. We have much to discuss."

A few seconds later, the armored Nords and Imperials had disappeared downstairs, save Caius, who lounged on the railing of the descending stairs, watching the processions a few yards away from him. Dorrien and the Nordic woman settled at the table, the latter looking at Ria expecting, waiting for her to join them.
The assassin shook her head. "You and I can talk separately. I'm not with him."

The commander arched and eyebrow. "You said you owed him a debt."

"He still lives. Anything I owe him is paid by that. You and I can come to a separate agreement."

The other woman studied her for a moment. "Why would we discuss anything at all? We summoned Tristan. You are an uninvited guest."

Ria flashed her most charming smile. "Because I'm useful and the Legion is powerful. Those two groups are usually of some help to each other."

"You can't expect a Nord to accept help they haven't asked for, sellsword."

"And what are your other options? I know where your little hideout is now. That makes me a threat. So you can either let me work with you, or you can kill me." The honeyed grin turned predatory, "And I'm a very hard person to kill."

"Inconveniently so." Tristan agreed. Ria scowled at him.

The Nord woman studied the assassin for several more seconds before nodding. "Very well, then. Introductions are in order. I am Legate Rikke, head of the Imperial operations in Skyrim."

Ria kept her surprise under control. She recognized the name from her mother's stories; Rikke, the Nord Legionnaire who fought alongside Ulfric in the Great War and fell to his blade in the Battle of Solitude.

"The Empire didn't abandoned us, then." Tristan said, relief in his voice. One little phrase, Imperial operations in Skyrim, were all it took to confirm the Empire was still willing to help the country that had rebelled against it. Or at least, they were willing to keep it from crumbling so they might take it back.

"Skyrim needs the Empire as much as it needs us. And even if the Imperials would abandon Skyrim, I would not." Rikke paused. "So we must find a way to combat this new threat."

"Ulfric will refuse your help if you offer. He already said as much."

"I expected that from him. We simply won't offer."

Tristan stiffened, leaned forward. "You have to, and you have to find a way to get him to accept. The Stormcloaks can't do this by themselves, and neither can you. If you don't come to-"

"I know the Empire cannot protect Skyrim alone." Rikke interrupted. "But as you said, my old friend won't accept the Empire's help. He's too sure of his own ability to deal with this situation."

"Then he's an arrogant fool." Ria said flatly. She was the daughter of a Khajiit; she grew up harboring no love for Ulfric's men or how they treated her family.

"Perhaps, but he loves his homeland. He'll realize that he needs our help eventually."

"So what, then? We wait for that day to come?" Anger and the starts of desperation were creeping into Dorrien's voice. If the shouting match at High Hrothgar was anything to go by, though, he was keeping himself under control. "Skyrim will be ash by the time it gets here."

"You misunderstand, Breton. We won't be idle while we wait." She glanced across the room, to her waiting subordinate. "Caius."

The Imperial pushed from the stair railing and stalked across the room, plucking a roll of paper from the mantle as he passed it. Rikke stood and helped him to unfurl it across the table. It was a map of Skyrim, and a large one; it showed the Holds in detail, with several forts and major landmarks annotated within each area.

While Ria took a few steps forward to look over Dorrien's shoulder at the map, Caius pointed to Morthal and began speaking.

"Our agents have reported disturbances just outside Morthal, starting a few days ago. Townspeople and travelers claim to see black, animalistic creatures with red eyes. We believe it's related to the creatures that destroyed Whiterun." He paused, seemingly just to give the chill creeping up Ria's spine a chance to be noticed. Lucian was the head of the Void's army; one way or another, the Dark Brotherhood were in Morthal, and it was too close for comfort.

"Several people also claim to see a darkly-robed figure. We have a few accounts of this person summoning the creatures, though the sources are questionable. If you wish to be of help, you can travel to Morthal, find out what is spawning these entities, and put a stop to it."

Summoning. Can Void creatures be summoned? It isn't a plane of Oblivion, and even if it behaves like one, who would know a spell like that?

The Brotherhood, of course. She knew the thought was right the moment it crossed her mind. The Brotherhood had the knowledge, and Cirion, with all his classic High Elf skill, had the ability. With a sinking feeling, she realized what that meant: that they were sending Tristan off to kill her Brother.

She pushed the thought from her head; Cirion could take care of himself. In a battle of magic between a Breton and a Altmer, the Altmer would win. It was a comforting thought, though she knew better. If Tristan got in close with a Bound blade, her Brother would most likely die.

Tristan nodded. "I'll see what I can do, but I would ask that you do whatever you can for Windhelm. They won't survive a second attack."

So he knows about Windhelm. Was he there?

"We already have agents in place, for whatever help they'll be." Caius said.

"Do you- either of you-" Rikke glanced to Ria, pointedly including her in the question, "Have any more information about this threat?" The Nordic Legate looked to Dorrien expectedly, thinking that he had the most experience of the two of them.

"Restoration magic closes their portals." Tristan answered almost immediately. "And when they die, they explode into corrosive ash." A shudder went through him at that sentence, and Ria thought of how the street of Windhelm must have looked, covered in bodies in the same state as the prison guardsman from Solitude. She almost shuddered as well.

"The ash we knew of, but not this bit about healing magic We should send someone to the College to investigate further." Caius accompanied his words with a glance to Rikke. When she nodded her approval, Caius left and descended the stairs, presumably to organize the new mission. Ria was left alone with Rikke and Dorrien.

The former looked at Ria. "And you? Do you know anything about it?"

"No." she lied flatly. She'd killed Seba, and was going to allow Tristan to kill Cirion; she wouldn't throw Lucian and the others to the wolves and tell the Empire of the Brotherhood's involvement.

Rikke nodded once. "You said you wanted to help. What do you propose?"

"I'm a blade for hire. Hire me. I can be a spy, a courier, a knife in the dark. Whatever you need."

"And your payment?"

"A house." Ria answered. She pressed on before Rikke could give voice to the surprise that lit her and Dorrien's faces. "Nothing extravagant. Just a place to rest my head in small-town Cyrodiil. When this is all over, of course, you'll conveniently forget it's location."

It wasn't her first choice, but she'd had all morning to think about it. The Brotherhood would keep coming after her- would actively hunt her when they learned of Seba's death. With the Brotherhood's center of power being Skyrim, the Void armies would take over it first. Ergo, there was nothing to keep her in the frozen province, and blood on its horizon; Cyrodiil was her best option for survival.

Not for the first time, Rikke took her time studying Ria, before nodding. "I have a good feeling about you. About both of you. And I haven't had a good feeling about anyone since…" she trailed off, shook her head. "Complete your first assignment, and you'll have an agreement, sellsword."

A trace of a smile crossed Ria's face, more of relief than humor. Despite everything else, this might be a benefit for her. She would work for the Empire until they got her a place to live, and then she'd drop them and move to Cyrodiil. It pained her, slightly, to turn her back on her homeland so callously.

She wagered dying would pain her more.

"Good. What's my first-" she almost said contract, "-mission?"

"The same as Dorrien's. Accompany him to Morthal, and put a stop to whatever is happening there."

"What?" Tristan hissed.

"Not a chance." Ria said flatly.

"This isn't debatable, Verres." Rikke said, steel in her voice. "As long as you're with the Legion, you'll follow orders like any other soldier."

Wanna bet? Ria almost snarled, but she clamped down on her anger. Best not to bite the hand that fed her. I'll slip away, get there first. Cirion will be long gone by the time Dorrien gets there.

"Fine." she growled through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at Dorrien. The Breton returned the look, as thrilled with the prospect as she was.

"You'll find horses waiting for you on a farm east of town. I expect you back within the week."
Dorrien nodded tightly and rose. Ria jerked a nod to the Legate as well and stalked to the door, slipping out it without so much as a backward glance. The Breton caught the door before it closed and followed her out.

"If you're planning something, Ria-"

"I'm planning the same thing everyone plans, Dorrien. Survival." She shot him a agitated sideways glance. "Don't worry, I'm not going to turn on your Imperial friends before they can save Skyrim."

They reached the bridge and began the walk across, as they had almost an hour before. "And how would my Imperial friends feel if they knew you killed the Emperor?"

Ria stopped in her tracks. "How-" She clamped her jaw shut. He must have put the pieces together- her short imprisonment in Solitude, her job as an assassin. Perhaps he was smarter than his actions against Black-Briar had suggested. She pushed on, pace brisker. "Don't threaten me, Dorrien. You don't have a hoard of Penticus Oculatus to guard your back."

If there was one thing to put a damper on conversation, it was saying how relatively easy it would be to kill one's conversational partner. Even if it was half bluff, it kept the silence until they reached the farm.

"The horses are in the stables on the other side of the house. Don't be longer than you have to." The farmer called as they neared his land. Ria nodded, and Tristan thanked the man. They still hadn't spoken to each other when they saddled and mounted their horses.

"I know a place in Morthal where this demon summoner is likely to be. We should get as far as we can today and begin the search tomorrow."

Tristan nodded, and the pair set off down the road, bound for Morthal.


Tristan was jerking slightly in his sleep as Ria rose and crept away from their campfire. The going was slow at first; they were perhaps a hour away from Morthal- her skin crawled to be so close to that city - and the marshy land made her skirt water to remain silent.

When she was far enough away from the camp that she wouldn't be heard, she picked up the pace, jumping from one area of soft land to another, sometimes wading through large pools of stagnant water. It was less than a half-hour later when she reached a shack, the little hut long since established as a waystation for traveling assassins.

She was just starting to pick the lock when a familiar voice sounded behind her, and flames threw her shadow on the building's door.

"Raise your hands above your head, or I shall incinerate you." The Altmer accent was almost lost as Cirion growled out the command. Ria did as he said, wondering if he recognized her with the grey cloak covering her armor. His next sentence proved that he didn't. "How did you find this place?"

"Alistair's habit of drugging and kidnapping his recruits."

Stunned silence followed the reply, and the world turned dim once again as the fire in Cirion's hands disappeared. The next second, Ria was spun around and wrapped in a hug.

"Where have you been!? Are you well? You're not injured, I trust? Why did-"

"Calm down, Brother. I'm fine."

The High Elf held her at arm's length and swept his gaze over her, as though to confirm the statement for himself. His face quickly took on a darker expression.

"What's going on, Sister? Why did you leave?"

Ria ignored the question. There was something she had to be sure of, and that was whether or not Seba had been acting under Lucian's orders. She feared the answer. "Why did Seba try to kill me?"

Horror took over Cirion's golden face. "I knew her temper, but I never fathomed… We didn't know what to believe, Ria. We thought… Well, Lucian woke in your bed, so we inferred..." Ria felt her cheeks growing redder the more he spoke, and Cirion cleared his throat and continued, "But Seba thought you'd turned your back on us. She slipped away before Lucian could forbid it. Where is she? She didn't return to Whiterun."

The new information roared through her head, and once again she ignored his question. "You need to get out of here, Cirion. I don't know what your mission is, but it's attracted attention."

Confusion crossed the High Elf's face, but he didn't have time to reply. A twig snapped perhaps twenty yards away, monumentally loud in the quiet of the night, and both assassins whirled to face the sound, Ria's daggers appearing in her hand. Cirion made a motion with his, purple-black magic in his palms, and to her surprise, a pair of pitch-black rifts appeared on either side of him, perhaps a few feet wide by six feet tall. A lupine shape leaped from either portal, hairless ebony bodies and red eyes standing out in the light cast by the moons, and the miniature Void gates close behind them. Ahead in the darkness, a shape stood from a crouch, a blue ethereal bow coming to life in his hand.

"Not planning anything, right, Ria?" Tristan called sarcastically.

"It's called diplomacy, Breton." she snarled back, trying to think of a way to spin the situation so she didn't look like she was conspiring with the Legion's enemies.

Fire leapt into Cirion's hands, and Ria stepped in front of him, her back to Tristan so neither could fire on the other. It was a foolish choice, she would later decide, but in the moment she only knew that she needed to defuse the situation, before Cirion was dead and Tristan had reason to tell Rikke of her past.

"Just go back to Whiterun." She said. "No one else has to die here."

Too late, she remembered Cirion's skills of deduction. "Else?" He growled. His eyes darted between Ria and Tristan, and the former took a step back. "Where's Seba?" The nearest dog snapped at her, and she sprung back another few feet. Her silence was enough of an answer.

"I see." Behind her, she heard the sound of Tristan's bow being drawn, and Cirion's eyes darted to him. "And now you lead an enemy to my doorstep." Anger was building itself up in his face the longer he looked at the Breton.

Cirion's hands came up, a fireball shooting from his palms. Ria reacted without thought, hurling her bone-handle knife with all her strength.

It was only after the knife left her hand that she realized Cirion hadn't been aiming for her; his fireball sailed over her shoulder, only to be dodged by Tristan at the same instant the blade buried in the High Elf's chest.

Her Brother stared down in shock at the handle of the knife, taking a staggering step back before his knees went out from under him. The Void hounds threw back their heads; Ria expected a howl, but instead the ear-piercing shriek of the Whiterun demons reverberated out. In the next instance, the pair rested accusing red eyes on Ria, and shot off into the wilderness. Westward, she noted- no doubt to bring word to Lucian of her betrayal.

The instant they were gone, Ria was moving forward, dropping to her knees next to Cirion's prone form. He was still alive, blood pouring from his chest. His held his hand up, and she took it, feeling searing pain as he attempted a fire spell. She might have admired his tenacity, if her throat hadn't been so constricted she could hardly breathe.

She heard Tristan behind her, his footsteps shuffling in hesitation before coming towards her. "Get back." she snarled out over her shoulder, unable to shake the thought that if he weren't here, Cirion would be alive. He complied, eyes sweeping over the scene.

Her Brother clung to life, bleeding out slowly, and at the minute Ria didn't care that behind her, Tristan was looking at Cirion's black and red mage robes, and glancing after the Void hounds, and slowly putting together the Dark Brotherhood's involvement in the Void Crisis.