Chapter 16: Infirmity
The city of Falkreath appeared untouched by the Void and its army. Tristan mused that it was because Falkreath was as dreary and dull as it had ever been, and that it really held no strategic benefit for an army. To surmise, Falkreath was the most cold and boring city in Skyrim – and this was coming from a Breton whose home was Riften, where crime and corruption reigned supreme.
The five of them had moved as quickly as possible from Riverwood, their otherworldly captive in tow. They took the next day of travel harshly, not stopping for rest or even food. No one complained. The more distance put between them and Riverwood, the better.
They arrived in the forests that surrounded Falkreath, and Tristan picked up a change in Ria's mood. While he hadn't known the woman to be jovial in any sense, her mood came across as dampened. Tristan didn't know if this was for any personal reasons, instead he figured that a place like Falkreath Hold could do that to a person. Arriving in the city of Falkreath caused all of them to gape in surprise. The city was functioning normally, the only difference being that there were more guards on watch around the clock.
They stayed in Falkreath for some days. The jarl – after some convincing by both Tristan and Covan – agreed to let the pair stay in the dungeons, and keep their prisoner in one of the cells. And so it was that the two Bretons set up bedrolls in the dungeons, both to ensure the creature was always present and to satisfy their own curiosity. Although the creature was now the one and only prisoner in the dungeons the jarl had a guard stationed to keep an eye on the two.
"I'll be returning to Windhelm," Caius stated after a day of rest.
Tristan and the Bosmer (who never disclosed a name but who Tristan referred to as 'Duke') were flipping coins and trying to call how they'd land. Covan was observing the Void demon intently, and Ria was sitting in a corner, staring into space and absently twirling a dagger between her fingers.
Tristan looked up. "Oh?"
"I don't know if Rikke has made our presence known to Ulfric. If she has, I can help with negotiations," the man started. "If not I'll continue on to Dragon's Bridge and report our success to Rikke."
"I wouldn't call anything a success," Covan interjected. "We're yet to find a weakness in the creature."
"Maybe it's only weak to Restoration magic," Duke suggested.
"Duke might have a point," Tristan said.
"Please don't call me that."
"It'd be easier to call you your name, but you're a closed book. I gotta call you something."
The Bosmer crossed his arms in defeat.
"I refuse to believe this creature has only one vulnerability." Covan said.
"And if you're wrong and it only has one vulnerability?" Caius asked.
Covan sighed. "Then we have to prepare ourselves for that possibility…"
"Covan and I will think of something." Tristan said reassuringly. "We've already learned enough since Riverwood. Look," Tristan stood and gestured to the creature. "It has a broken jaw. Courtesy of Ria, we know that they can be injured. That means they can be maimed. Given time, we can observe how long it takes for these things to naturally – if we can call it that – recover. When they're maimed they don't exude the ash, which means –"
"Which means in a battle we attack to injure, not to kill." Caius finished.
"Exactly." Tristan nodded. "Covan thinks that the demons could share properties with undead. We've enlisted the help of a smith to silver a weapon for us. It should arrive sometime in the next day or two. We'll see what happens."
"If nothing does?"
"We keep working." Covan stated bluntly.
Tristan pointed to Covan in agreement and sat back down with Duke.
Caius was in thought for a moment.
"I'll get you two as much time as I can. But Dorrien, be ready to report at any given moment. We may have another use for you. And you too, Verres."
Tristan gave a curt nod. Ria's eyes flicked to Caius, and then back to space.
Caius laid eyes on everyone in the room briefly, and then left.
The remaining four sat in the room in a lazy silence for some time, no one moving or even hinting that they wanted to continue on with their work.
Duke sighed and stood. "I'm checking in with the smith to see how that sword is coming along."
Covan waved an airy hand in acknowledgement and Tristan nodded.
Duke stretched briefly and made to follow Caius out of the dungeon.
"I'm leaving too." Ria said suddenly, standing herself.
"Where are you going?" Tristan asked.
"I don't…" Her voice wavered. "Home." And then she, too, left, leaving Tristan and Covan alone in the dungeon with the guard and the creature.
A day passed. And then two.
Duke arrived with the silver sword and said he was going home, lest he be bored out of his mind.
Tristan endured Covan's boyish babbling for the few days, not so much annoyed by it as he was tired. The Bretons quickly lost track of time as neither of them left the dungeon. The only hint of time passing was the guards that would change shifts every now and again, and the mediocre meals that were sent down twice daily.
Over the course of their time in the dungeons Covan scribbled on pieces of parchment with a stick of charcoal, however as time passed any notes or ponderies had been angrily scribbled out.
On the third day – or at least that's what Tristan assumed it to be – Covan was once more sitting cross-legged in front of the Void creatures' cell. Tristan sat with his feet on the table, flipping a coin for something to do.
On the eighth head in a row he put the coin on the table and gazed at the guard. He felt that the guard noticed his gaze, but refused to acknowledge it. He just stood silently, a shield on his back and a hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Their uniform makes them all look this same, Tristan thought bitterly, standing up and moving to a place next to Covan.
"Those guards don't move." Tristan said quietly. "It's disconcerting."
"I find it more disconcerting that our prisoner has also not moved." Covan replied. "It hasn't even tried to escape."
"That is a point of concern."
The two stared into the cell. The Void creature raised its eyes and stared back, its blood red gaze full of fire and vengeance. A chill went up Tristan's spine and he looked away.
"It's shrugged off all the magic we have. Lightning, fire, ice, all of it –"
"Does little to harm it. Granted our knowledge on Destruction is limited."
"We can't conjure anything because –"
"It might kill it."
"And we can't use restoration magic because it's –"
"Guaranteed to kill it. Yes."
"So our options are rather limited." Covan finished with a wry grin.
"Well… we still haven't tried the silver sword."
"We discussed this, Tristan. Although the prisoner is restrained there is no knowing the amount of danger we would put ourselves in by entering its cell."
Tristan rolled his eyes. "And what about its jaw? We don't know if it's healed itself yet. We'd have to go in the cell to do that."
"Tristan –"
"I'm doing it," Tristan got to his feet and collected the silvered sword. It was of iron work, and it was made well enough. However it wasn't the quality of the iron that mattered, but rather the coating of silver that Tristan hoped would inflict some damage. He took the cell key from a hook near the dungeons entrance and went to the cell door of the demon. He addressed Covan. "It's occurred to me that we haven't made any efforts to commune with it."
Covan was already shaking his head. "It is a creature without reason, hence it cannot be reasoned with."
"If that thing makes a move, use some Restoration magic. Kill it."
Covan nodded.
Tristan unlocked the cell and carefully, quietly, entered. He was unsure if it was unsettling, but the creature didn't look up or do anything to acknowledge that something else had entered its space. Tristan skirted around the edge of the cell, intending to approach the creature from behind. As he did he noticed that Covan's shackles were holding firm, the sigils holding their magic pulsing lightly with a golden-blue hue. The creatures arms were locked in the shackles, and the wrists were the only part of it to take solid shape. Close up Tristan could see the things skin rippling and shifting, as if to make it so that its body appeared invisible in darkness.
This close to the thing from the Void, Tristan had to admit that it was tempting to attack it, however helpless it may be. Inflicting grievous harm on it would quench some of the anger he felt towards the devil and the rest of its loathsome kind, however he was here to find a weakness and not further his own vendettas.
Tristan reached out with his free hand and touched the spot where Ria had attacked it with a block of wood. The creature was cold to the touch – so much so that it burned. Tristan winced, but felt that its jaw had repaired.
"Tristan," Covan said. "Something's happening."
The creature had looked up, and now he noticed that where before its skin had been a deep, empty black, trails of red were streaking beneath its skin like tails of fire.
And then the fury set in.
In an instant Tristan had plunged the silvered sword into the things shoulder. It screamed, but the noise felt like it was far away, obscured by Tristan's own rage.
He shifted his grip on the sword and pushed it forward, severing the shoulder even more. Finally, he wrenched it out, and with it the arm fell to the floor. Tristan blinked, and in that moment the demon was on its feet and pushing him back against the wall. Its severed arm was still connected to its other arm with the shackles, however now it had control of one of its limbs.
The creature looked deep into his eyes and its mouth split into a grotesque, horrifying grin. The only thing keeping Tristan's fear at bay was the smouldering, cold anger filling his soul.
A wall of light sprung between Tristan and the creature, and the Breton felt gloved hands clamp around his arm and drag him away.
The guard wrenched Tristan from the cell and pushed him behind him, standing with his shield as a wall between he and the enemy. Covan had the light of Restoration magic spilling from his fingers, and he used the ward to keep the thing from the Void away as he exited the cell and locked the door.
The creature looked hurt by the magic, but as soon as it was locked in again it sat back down, its severed arm lying limply by its side.
The guard removed his shield, sheathed his sword, and made his way back to his post. Covan was panting, and for the first time in the few seconds that had passed Tristan felt as if he had control of his mind, as if a fog had been cleared.
"What were you thinking Dorrien?!" Covan was furious, which was a drastic change from his boyish nature. "You could have killed our specimen!"
"I… I don't…" Tristan swallowed. "That… thing, it… Are there mages at Winterhold that can access the mind?"
Covan's fury quickly turned to confusion, and then curiosity. "Yes, there a mages that certainly wield magic of that kind. It's not a simple process, but it is indeed possible. Why?"
"The walker has a mind. I touched it and I felt it pass on to me some insatiable anger, as if it were trying to impress it upon me." Tristan was talking at speed, trying to make sense of his thoughts just as they were turned into words.
"The walker?"
"Yes, yes, that's what they're called." He clamped his eyes shut. "It told me… just now."
"What else did it tell you, Tristan?" Covan's features were hungry for knowledge, but the question was asked in an earnest tone.
The younger Breton shook his head. "I… can't remember. I'm sorry."
Covan exhaled in defeat, but put a reassuring hand on Tristan's shoulder and squeezed tightly. "You should rest."
Tristan nodded in agreement.
"It seems I'm in need of some new way of restraining this 'Void Walker'. Shackles are hardly effective when they are only effectively restraining one arm."
"I am sorry, Covan."
Covan waved away the apology. "It's not a worry. I already have a new idea, though the enchanting process may take a day or two." He settled into thought. "I'll go to the local smith. Until I return, you rest. Don't go trying to come into contact with the prisoner in my absence. Oh! Is it healed?"
"Aye," Tristan affirmed.
Covan frowned. "That is a worry. If it can heal broken bones at a rate of at most three days, our armies may have trouble competing."
Silence.
"Food for thought," Covan said at last, and then left.
Tristan lay down on the stone floor, ignoring his bedroll not two metres away. It was cool and pleasant, but Tristan was too busy pondering another string of words the walker had left with him. It took him time to work them out, but he slowly and finally remembered.
He frowned.
The dead far outnumber the living.
Another two days passed, slow as they were, with little progress.
Covan spent his time enchanting a neck shackle with an enhanced version of the same magics that the original shackles possessed.
"With this," he said when Tristan asked, "it should be able to move when we move it, but not off its own accord."
Tristan never bothered asking about how exactly that worked, preferring to focus on… what?
What would he focus on?
He was well aware that he had no inkling as to what the Void Walker would be weak to. Perhaps Duke was right, and its only weakness was Restoration magic. While the School of Restoration was popular among healers and clerics, few mages with any reputable skill in battle possessed the knowledge to cast such spells. He instead distracted himself with walking about Falkreath for air, and flipping the coin in the dungeon, now recording what side landed face-up on each toss.
Ria returned silently in both movement and presence, so much so that Tristan didn't notice her until she approached him.
"Ria. You're back." Tristan said, trying to hide his surprise.
Ria nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated.
"What's wrong, Ria?" Tristan asked slowly. "You're being uncharacteristically quiet."
Ria smirked weakly. "I'm not known to be outspoken, Dorrien."
"This is a different kind of silence."
No response.
"So?" Tristan prompted.
"We need to talk." Ria said quickly. She glanced around the room, to Covan and then to the guard, and to the Void Walker that looked up when she'd entered.
Tristan understood what she was getting at. "Yes, let's," he said, standing. "But let's go for a walk. I need some fresh air."
Ria almost sighed with relief when Tristan understood.
The Breton took the lead, up the stairs and out of the dungeon, into the longhouse, and then past the hearth burning at its centre and into the icy streets of Falkreath. He gestured with a nod and the two began to slowly make their way to the city gates.
"What did you learn?" Ria asked, the smallest hint of curiosity in her voice.
Tristan humoured her. "Less than we'd like. Silver does nothing to them, and they heal from physical injuries at an unsettling rate. I have learned that they can – I suppose – transmit negative emotions. My theory is they can impress thoughts and feelings on contact."
"Like a conversation?"
Tristan's mouth curled into a wry smile. "It's a very one-sided conversation."
They continued outside of the gates, and then further along the cobbled road until Falkreath was barely visible. Tristan preferred to keep Falkreath in sight, so he stopped walking and faced Ria. The woman noticed and stopped as well, taking some moments before turning and facing him. Tristan assumed she was searching the area for any enmity.
"You were gone for a few days, Ria." Tristan stated. "Not communing with the Brotherhood behind our backs, I hope."
Ria looked at Tristan with both hurt and anger, but the Breton raised his hand in an innocent gesture.
"Just kidding," he said with a small chuckle. "I've been preoccupied. No time to think about whose side you're on. You said we needed a chat?"
The hurt and anger slowly subsided. "You're not funny." She said flatly.
Tristan grinned in response. He felt as if he were annoying her, but she quite stubbornly refused to betray her emotions.
She also didn't continue the conversation. The look on her face told Tristan she was trying to grasp at the words but just couldn't quite find them.
"Ria," he started. "I genuinely hate to admit it, but unlike the rest of your… detestable faction –"
She winced.
"–you strike me as someone who has been caught up in circumstance for a lot of your life. "
Ria's eyes darted down, and then came up to meet his gaze.
"What happened to you?"
Ria shifted uncomfortably, as if she was trying to stay stoic but whatever was flying around in her head caused her discomfort, even pain.
"Not much to tell, really." She started. "Mama was retired from the Legion, and Papa was a Khajiit who came to Skyrim with the caravans."
Tristan raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Khajiit?" He never pinned her to have Khajiit blood in her.
Ria pushed her hair behind her ear and turned her head, so he could see the slight point her ears came to.
"Khajiit breeds are determined by the moon cycles." She explained. "I would have been Ohmes-Khajiit. They're almost identical to Bosmer, and I take after Mama on top of that." She let her hair fall back. "Jared's father Marcellus served with Mama in the civil war, and they settled on a farm near ours. It was a quiet life. A good one."
Tristan smiled slightly, but warmly. "That's… good to hear. But I mean what happened to you with the Brotherhood? What made you decide that you would kill as a profession? What happened Ria?"
Ria hesitated. "We were sixteen, I think. The Jarl's son joined the guards when he was passed up for succession. He was never quite right- there were rumours of Daedra worship. So the brilliant commander of the Whiterun guards thought putting him in charge of a squad was a good idea. He was so eager to prove himself, and Khajiit are known as skooma-dealers, so..." She shrugged, but looked away. "Jared and I were out hunting. Mama and Papa had Uncle Marcel and Aunt Aemilia over. Something must have gone wrong, because when we got back, the house was up in flames, and they were all still inside." There was silence for a long moment.
Tristan found himself gazing into nothingness. The house in flames was scarily familiar. Ria had lost her family, like him. They'd just found different ways to deal with it, and for that he found it difficult, even heinous to judge her. Besides, he had made to kill Maven Blackbriar…
Ria spoke again. "Nelkir ran. He'd killed four citizens without probable cause. The Jarl wanted him brought back alive, but... you have to remember, we were sixteen. We watched him put out the torch he used to set the house on fire. We could hear them screaming. And we had our bows and Jared's hunting knife." She glanced at him and away again. "We buried our parents the next morning, and Nelkir made it to Morthal before we caught up with him. Alistair found us after that. He was in charge of the Brotherhood, at the time."
Alistair. The name meant nothing to Tristan, but it was a name. A name he would – at some point – add to the list.
"And the Brotherhood promised you… vengeance?" He said slowly.
Ria didn't respond. He noticed how her posture had changed. Her shoulders slumped, and her fists were clenched, and her jaw was weak.
Tristan reached out hesitantly and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. He squeezed reassuringly, and her eyes, again, rose to meet his. There was a moment of silence. She didn't shrug his hand off like he'd expected, but instead she let him take it away.
Tristan took a breath. "Ria. I need to know what you know about the Void. Please."
Ria nodded, as if her mind was finding the track that it started on, but still she shrugged. "I know some, but not a lot. I've been there."
"I'm sorry?" Tristan interrupted.
"The Void." Her voice was firmer now. "They're army is… huge. It's like nothing you've ever seen. They have the souls of every victim the Brotherhood has sent there, flickering like candles in the emptiness."
"Those souls must be the soldiers. It only makes sense," Tristan said absently.
Ria offered him a look of confusion.
"The Void Walker told me that 'the dead far outnumber the living' when I touched it," Tristan clarified. He laughed sardonically. "That must mean they're army is beyond anything Tamriel could muster… Please, go on."
Ria looked thoughtful for a moment. "There is a liaison called the Conduit. It's like the other Void creatures, but it talks. And it's missing an arm. It left the arm on this plane so that it could move between the physical world and the Void. Lucian said that this arm – the Black Hand – connects us to the Void. But while part of the Void exists here, part of here exists in the Void. The Black City, where I went, is a manifestation of our world within the Void. That's what I was told, anyway."
Tristan's mind was going above full speed. "So, in theory, while the Black Hand is still on Nirn the gates can still open. And this Black City is a place that we can feasibly exist within the Void."
"I guess it's not impossible." Ria responded, seemingly unsure.
"And where is this Black Hand now?"
Ria looked at him. "Whiterun."
Tristan cursed. He knew they'd never be able to get into Whiterun, even with an army. The only possibility was drawing the enemy out, but even then the odds were slim – he doubted them to be fools.
"Thank you, Ria," Tristan said earnestly.
Ria offered a weak smile, though he could tell her heart wasn't in it.
"C'mon," Tristan said, gesturing with a nod of his head. "We should go. Covan may have had a breakthrough."
Unlike Tristan had hoped, Covan had not had a breakthrough.
He sat in front of the cell once more, in intense thought. Tristan returned to flipping his coin, and Ria sat in the corner, eyes darting between the two Bretons.
"This is what you've been doing for the last four days?"
"It is really hard to think of things that the creature could be vulnerable to." Tristan said defensively.
Ria huffed and sat in the corner furthest from them.
"I've a thought," Covan started. "It's rather unsettling. I'm sure the creature could open a gate and invade Falkreath, possibly even killing us. So why hasn't it?"
The idea interrupted Tristan's thoughts. He fumbled with the coin and dropped it. It bounced across the floor with metallic clicks, finding its way between the bars of the creatures' cell, before it lost its bounce and started to roll.
"Excuse me?" Tristan questioned.
"Well, nothing has seemed to indicate when or where a gate would open. Perhaps all it requires is the Void Walker's presence to-"
A pained, unholy shrieking broke through Covan's words, and Tristan clamped his hands on his ears in shock.
Ria instinctively drew her daggers and the guard unsheathed his sword. Tristan cast his gaze to where the noise was coming from, and his eyes rest on the creature. The shrieking continued, and with effort Tristan took his hands from his ears and summoned the golden-blue ribbons of Restoration magic to his hands.
Covan noticed and joined him, and together the Bretons projected the magic onto the creature. For a second the creatures' shrieking got worse, and then, in an instant, there was silence…
Tristan's ears were ringing, but after a minute or two it became a dull buzz.
"Well, we killed our specimen," Covan said flatly. "Why was it making that noise?"
Tristan collected the key and unlocked the cell, moving in and seeing a small pile of ash where the Void Walker once was. He reached down and collected his coin, and held it up for everyone to see.
"Gold." He said, a boyish grin plastering itself on his face. "They have a vulnerability to gold."
Covan thought for a moment, but soon he smiled as well.
"I have an idea," Tristan addressed Covan and Ria. "But it involves some travel."
"Care to let us know what it is, Dorrien?" Of course, that was Ria.
"Well, I need to go to Windhelm first to collect someone. I imagine the refugees from Whiterun are still there."
"And then?"
"Winterhold. I need to go to Winterhold."
Ria's eyebrow arched.
"Well, if you're going that way anyway," Covan started. "I'll return to compile my notes and inform my fellow mages. I will alert them to your potential arrival in the coming days."
"Thank you Covan," Tristan was already packing his few belongings – the bedroll, some rations, notes, and other miscellaneous items. "And you, Ria?"
"You ask as if I have a choice, or anywhere else to go." She said.
"So?"
Ria shrugged helplessly. "Sure."
