Chapter Fifty-Five:

The Butcher

After receiving Jorleif's permission to pursue the case, as well as a special wooden carving that served as the official Seal of Windhelm, in case anyone doubted their legitimacy, Milos and Hiemdall met with Javin at the inn where Cha'qim was already awake. Eduard and Aldren were still fast asleep. Once they explained the situation to the Khajiit, she promised to look around outside of Windhelm, in case the serial killer dubbed "the Butcher" tried to make a run for it. They also left a note for Aldren to take a look around the Grey Quarter, since he would be the best to draw the least amount of suspicion. But the group had no intention to let the Butcher know they were actively searching for him, so they didn't all leave at once.

Milos returned to the site of the most recent murder to see the guard from before returning from the Hall of the Dead adjacent to the gravesite. His gloves were wet with blood, and the body had been moved. It didn't take a genius to know where.

"Jorleif gave me this when he allowed me to help with the investigation," Milos said as he presented the wooden seal.

The guard wiped his gloves on his blue tunic and approached for a closer examination. When he was satisfied, he nodded. "All right, then. I thought you should know I noticed a trail of blood leading away from here." The guard pointed up the steps that would take them up to Valunstrad, where most of the homes for the Nords were. "And Helgird, that priestess of Arkay you saw here, has the body in the Hall of the Dead so she can prepare it for burial. She's a little crazy, but if she knows anything, it's dead bodies."

"Anything else?" Hiemdall prompted him.

"No." The guard glanced up at the sky. "My patrol's done. Hopefully you can make something of this mess."

Milos rubbed the crease between his eyes. He sighed loudly when the lack of sleep finally began to weigh on him. Still, he had to go to see the body.

"What do you think about all this?" Hiemdall asked as he leaned against a headstone. "This 'Butcher' and all that."

"I heard rumours before, but nothing concrete. First victim I guess was this girl named 'Shatter-Shield'." Milos began pacing again. If anything, he felt comforted by the weight of the greatsword tapping against his back. "What's our next move?"

Hiemdall glanced at the torches on the wall. "That blood trail should be investigated, I suppose. And the body, if we can get anything from it. Didn't look like it though." He tapped his chin. "I wonder... That blood may lead to where Susanna was found, but..."

"But what?"

"Don't you think someone would have reported a person covered in blood running through the streets, whether it be Susanna or the Butcher? It almost feels like Susanna saw something she shouldn't have and the Butcher may have killed her to keep her quiet."

"That would explain the trail. He would have cut her and had to change his clothes to get rid of the blood. Susanna must have crawled away while he was doing that. Maybe when he saw she still wasn't dead, he finished her off?" Milos pointed to the near-frozen pool of blood that Susanna had been found lying in. "This bit appears more controlled than the others. Less disturbed by outside influences."

"We should take a look at the body to make certain," Hiemdall affirmed. "The benefits of knowing how to kill, eh?"

"The Dunmer we have is more useful than I thought with all his murder-talk."

"I'll say."

Milos stopped before he entered the Hall of the dead and turned to Hiemdall. "I was thinking, could you check the docks for me? That's the last place I can think Taryn would be if she were safe—drooling over the ships in port. It'd save us some time later, too."

Hiemdall nodded. "All right. I'll ask around there. But wait until I'm back to follow that trail of blood, aye? Even you will need back-up."

"I appreciate it. I'll wait," Milos agreed. He waited and watched Hiemdall take the steps three at a time towards the port before he spun on his heel and entered the Hall of the Dead.

It didn't take long for him to find his way down to the priestess Helgird, who was examining the body with bare fingers. Milos gave it no pause though, considering how he'd done his share of touching deceased bodies back in Black Marsh. He was no stranger to looting, but that wasn't what Helgird was doing.

"Large diagonal cut from left shoulder..." the haggard priestess mused as her fingers trailed alongside the named cut. She shook her head at it as Milos approached.

"Found anything out?" he asked her. "Anything strange or peculiar?"

Grimly, Helgird said, "Well, she's dead. But I guess that's not unusual, at least not for somebody in here." She noticed Milos' silence. "I mean, someone who's not me, that is." At Milos' sigh, she smiled thinly. "Sorry, was only joking with you."

"It's all right," Milos grumbled, remembering Taryn's often bad sense of humour. "Anyway, have you found anything that can help? Besides an intact coinpurse?"

"Not really," the priestess replied. "The only unusual thing is the shape of the cuts."

Milos chanced a look at the body. Because of the cold temperatures in Windhelm, it would take longer for the body to decompose, which meant it would be difficult to tamper with evidence of the body, namely, the cuts Helgird had mentioned. And Milos noticed that many were curved oddly, not as if the Butcher veered in his strike, but as if it was made that way—to cut so harshly into the vein or the muscle.

"They look like they were made with..." Helgird trailed off as she took Milos in, wondering if he was familiar with the Nordic culture. Milos prompted her to continue. "Well, the ancient Nords used these kinds of blades when they embalmed their dead. I don't know who in Windhelm would even have something like that. Other than me, of course."

"The other bodies, they had these kinds of wounds, as well?" Milos tried to be respectful of the unclothed body readying for burial that had served him drinks not half a day ago. He did his best to linger only on the cuts. Her stomach had a particularly nasty opening near the liver which could account for most of the blood outside. A large gash at the front of her right thigh revealed the bone and sinew within. From what Milos could gather, the various other cuts on her legs were the ones that had her crawling, but the ones on her torso had done her in.

"Aye," the old Nord priestess replied. "I should let you know, before you go thinking I had anything to do with this, I keep all my embalming tools in a locked cupboard. And its never been tampered with—the key never stolen. But I didn't kill this poor girl."

"Never thought you did," Milos replied honestly. "Without meaning an insult, priestess, I find it doubtful that you could kill and then clean yourself so quickly, despite how close your proximity was to the murder. You aren't exactly spry."

The priestess threw her head back and laughed loudly, the sound echoing within the deadened halls of her abode. "Of that, you are correct," Helgird responded heartily, but then her mood darkened again, not one to stay bright for long. "Now, I really have to get back to the body. There's lots of work to prepare her for the grave."

Milos nodded and made his way up the steps to the door. "Let me know if you find anything else," he called over his shoulder.

Out of the side of her mouth, Milos heard her say, "I wouldn't hold out too much hope."

Finally emerging from the dank and dreaded darkness of the Hall of the Dead into the chilled air of the walled city, Milos took a deep breath and began examining the ground, where frozen blood clung to. At this time, guards were warning people out of the graveyard while the investigation was underway. Men and women looking to pay respects for the dead were turned away, and they either left in a furious huff or a shaking, sobbing mess. Milos found himself wondering if Susanna had any family that would be present at her burial.

"Checked the docks," Hiemdall said as he strode towards Milos. "No sign of her, and nobody saw her down there. You're right; the Butcher might have her."

Milos snorted. "She can't go one month without getting kidnapped, can she?"

The Harbinger shrugged. "You have to admit, she's got a horseshoe up her ass, but a noose around her neck."

"Meaning?"

"She's lucky, but she's got a target on her back."

"You can say that again. So how about we follow this trail here?"

Hiemdall crouched on the ground near the bloodstain and ran his fingers through it. His eyes keenly spotted the several more splotches of blood leading to and from the gravesite. With a wrinkle of his nose, he cast a wry grin at Milos.

"Lizards first?" he asked.

Without much more prompting Milos took strides ahead, slowing only to observe the blood spatter or find the trail again. What the two found led them through Valunstrad to a derelict home against the great stone walls of the city adjacent to two others. Weeds covered in snow poked out of what looked to be a once well-tended garden, but beyond that, the only other clue the two had that no one inhabited the place was the coldness of the home. All the other houses had luminous lights casting a warm glow from within their windows. That house reminded Milos of a book Taryn had read him once when she was teaching him his letters. "The Legend of Krately House". A book that had terrified him at the time of his first hearing it (something that Taryn had found particularly amusing), but now it appeared a classic to him. The Argonian found himself wondering if there were any ghosts within.

Hiemdall jostled the door roughly. There was blood on the handle. The Nord eventually swore and gave up on it once it became clear the door was either locked or stuck.

"I'm going to find a cellar or something," he announced as he walked alongside the house. "I'd be surprised if there wasn't something. Coldness here would do well with the mead."

While Hiemdall was searching for an alternate entrance, Milos began fiddling with the lock. Any picks he brought out were promptly eaten up by the door until it was nearly jammed with the ends. Giving up on that, he began to check the windows. He considered breaking them, but then noticed the bars within. Even if he tried to enter through the window, unless he had some sort of tool to unlatch the bars, it would take time.

Soon, Hiemdall returned. From the frustration in his eyes, Milos surmised the Nord had been as unsuccessful as he.

"Think we could get our resident assassin or thief to help out?" he asked, indicating the door.

Milos rubbed the back of his head, avoiding the ridges of his spine. "I might've nearly jammed the lock with picks..."

Sighing, Hiemdall inspected the lock. "Well, we could check with Jorleif. He could give us some information on the home. And if there really isn't another way in, we could probably get the key from him. I mean, this place is still city property. He ought to have a spare key to everything."

"True," the Argonian agreed. "Let's grab Javin, too. Maybe Aldren got up and was asking around the Grey Quarter already."

"Cha'qim will still be patrolling outside, I'm sure. She might've moved to the ramparts, but who knows?"

"I wouldn't put it past her. She's always looking for a high place to check things out." Milos led the way from Valunstrad to the Stone Quarter, and from there they met with Javin and hurried to the Palace of the Kings.

Jorleif, the castle steward, was enjoying a lush breakfast set before him when the three arrived to speak with him. It was already morning, with the sun streaking through the sky and nearing noon, though closer to dawn. Most people were already out of their homes and going about their business. That made Milos worry, for if the Butcher was among them, he could probably find some way to slip away undetected with all the citizens of Windhelm.

But Jorleif, eager for news of the murder, wiped his moustache with the back of his hand of any leftover goat's milk from his cup and met the three.

"Any news?" he asked.

"There's a trail of blood that leads from the murder site to a house near the wall in Valunstrad," Hiemdall told him (and rightly, since Jorleif was more inclined to speak with the Nord Harbinger rather than an Argonian prisoner or a Redguard Arch-Mage). "It's abandoned, but might be worth investigating."

Jorleif looked genuinely surprised. "Hjerim? Friga Shatter-Shield's old place? It's been abandoned ever since she was killed."

"A victim of the Butcher?" Javin asked.

"Yeah. The first. Her mother, Tova, has the key to it. You'd be better off speaking with her."

Thanking the steward, the three asked a patrolling guardsman for directions to the Shatter-Shields' home. The door was answered by a girl around Taryn's age named Nilsine, the now only child of the Shatter-Shields after the murder of her twin, Friga. Nilsine kindly led them inside to speak with her mother about Hjerim, but left soon after with a basket to go to the market.

Tova Shatter-Shield was sitting before a fire on the second level of their home, dressed in good finery, but her clothes were the most appealing thing about her. Her eyes were sunken and hollow, red-rimmed from weeping. Lines that probably weren't there a year ago were carved deep into her face, and her blonde hair was stained by unruly grey strands. This was a woman devastated by loss. Milos felt for her, he really did, but he needed to find Taryn. His sympathies for the woman only went as far as wondering if she'd aid them.

Javin, the less threatening-looking of the three, took point on the woman. She stared blankly at them, but Javin managed to bring her attention to him alone. Javin knelt on the ground and stared up gently at Tova with every seriousness the scholar mage could muster.

"Tova Shatter-Shield, my name is Javin Kelco," he greeted her. "These men behind me are Milos and Hiemdall Jorganson, my colleagues. We have some questions about your daughter."

It was like Javin had just twisted a dagger already in the woman's chest. She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands as she attempted to stop herself from bawling. A few racked sobs came from her, but they waited patiently. When Milos was about ready to shake the woman, his worry for Taryn's safety increasing, she regained whatever control she had of herself left.

"I-I'm sorry..." Tova stammered. "She was very dear to me... and it's rather painful to think about..." Mustering her strength, the Shatter-Shield matron staggered to her feet and swayed weakly. "I'd rather not talk about my daughter," she whispered, "if you'll excuse me."

Javin stood and took hold of her arms gently to steady her. "Ma'am, we're trying to find out who did this—to avenge your daughter's untimely and unjust death. Please, would you help us?"

The sincerity Javin had mashed together in his voice swayed Tova's mind rather than her body, and she nodded slowly, reluctantly. "A-All right," she agreed as he lowered her into her chair. "What exactly do you need to know?"

"Hjerim was her house, right?" Milos asked her, impatient now. "We need to get inside, so we'll need your key."

"Hjerim?" Tova repeated, as if unsure. "Well, I'm not sure what you think you'll find there, but you're welcome to have a look." With shaky hands, Tova unhooked a single, small key from the chain at the foot of her chair. She handed it to Javin, who thanked her, but she grabbed him suddenly. "Bring my daughter peace, strangers," she begged them, and then released Javin.

They couldn't have left that house quicker with that key in hand, they were so anxious. The hope that they'd find Taryn within was smouldering rather than dimming.

They had just fit the key in the lock (carefully, because of Milos' continued blunders with the lockpicks) when Aldren caught up with them. He was fully dressed in his black and red Dark Brotherhood assassin outfit, hood up (to block out the sunlight), and glass daggers strapped to his waist.

"Stabby?" Hiemdall said. "What're you doing here?"

"Thought I'd let you know I checked the Grey Quarter," the Vampire announced, then tapped his nose. "Followed the blood to find you."

"Well good. We could use an extra arm in here," Javin told him, giving the door a shove. "Help me out, would you?"

The rest slammed their combined weight against the door, although Hiemdall and Milos made up the most of it. Javin spilled forward onto the floor, nearly being trampled by the warriors above him. Aldren was the one who helped him to his feet.

"Thanks," he told the assassin. "But don't think I'm going to let you bite me because of this."

Snorting, the assassin walked off. "I don't need permission," he said idly.

Which led Javin into furiously insulting the nonchalant assassin.

Meanwhile, Hiemdall and Milos followed the remainder of the blood trail to a chest tucked beside the westernmost wall (if they were considering their direction of entry south). The chest was clearly well-used, but had been abandoned with the rest of the house. Unlike the home, it had no cobwebs or much dust lingering on top of it.

They opened it and reached in to investigate. Milos removed a pair of bloody boots and clothes (recently bloodied, which told them all they needed to know about the link between Susanna and the clothes) while Hiemdall found a leather-bound journal and began reading.

He finally cursed and restrained himself from chucking the book across the room. Instead, he held it up so they could see. "He was targeting Susanna from the start," he growled. "Taryn might have either gotten in the way, or he saw a chance of two birds with a single stone. And he was a member of the College of Winterhold."

Javin immediately stopped his bickering with the assassin and snatched the book away. He read vigorously, then snapped the book shut.

"He's a necromancer, this Butcher," Javin concluded. "Either studied at the college before my time or while I was away. These girls are his Gods-damned means... but to what end?"

"Well, he appears to enjoy his bout of fame," Milos said, holding up several torn flyers with "The Butcher" splashed across the front in bold letters.

"More over here," Aldren said, grabbing a handful from a cupboard at the northern wall. "And... What's this?"

He held up a strange amulet. Simple, it looked like, but with an intricate carving of a jade skull at the centre of the bauble. It had been hidden intentionally. Within reach... But within reach of what?

As Javin took the amulet in his hands to study, Aldren suddenly recoiled from a wardrobe nearby and covered his nose. His eyes had darkened, Milos noted. And even Hiemdall had tensed.

"What?" the Harbinger pressed the Listener.

Cringing, Aldren glared at him. "Don't you smell that, dog?! Werewolf blood."

Milos all but grabbed the Vampire. "Where?! Where's it coming from?!"

Aldren pointed at the wardrobe. Milos quickly went over to inspect it. He flung it open, the doors screeched loudly, but there was nothing. And Milos could see no hint of blood.

He was about to spin and yell at Aldren for the false alarm when he spotted a flicker of light from under the wardrobe. Confused, Milos crouched to examine it. The flicker faded, but then reappeared, as if someone was walking in front of the light of a doorway.

Milos put a hand on his greatsword and began checking the siding for a latch. He risked shaking the false panel, hoping to open it just enough that he could do the rest, and it worked. Although he became completely aware of the light going out from inside.

Knowing he was at a disadvantage with his large, swinging weapon, he put his fingers on the opening he'd discovered and had Javin take point. The Arch-Mage crept forward, lightning flourishing off his fingertips, and nodded to Milos.

The Argonian slid the panel away, and Javin stepped inside.

Immediately, Javin shouted and retreated. Not out of cowardice, for the man was anything but. He retreated for his own self-preservation when a huge, hairy beast lunged at him with a roar and tried to clamp its teeth around his neck.

"Gods-dammit!" Milos was tackled to the ground in lieu of Javin. He struggled to keep its teeth from ripping his throat open, but was quickly aided by Hiemdall, who tackled the Werewolf right back and inside of the secret room.

Hiemdall sprang to his feet, nearly tripped over something he ended up kicking out of the room, and sprinted for the false panel. As soon as he was out he slammed it shut, catching the Werewolf's paw. It howled and wailed as Milos and the rest came to his aid and tried to push the door closed. The Werewolf finally pried its paw-like hand out of the crack in the door, allowing the men to shut it firmly. It hardly spent a few seconds recovering before it was slamming the brunt of its weight against the door, snarling and barking from within as it desperately tried to escape. They didn't budge an inch, even when Hiemdall swore at the sight of the femur he'd accidentally kicked out of the room upon escaping.

Milos' heart hammered loudly within his chest. He thought his ribcage would burst from the mere vibrations of it, if it wasn't about to be ripped open by fangs and claws. The grim determination of keeping that door shut was the only thing that was keeping him from crumbling from fear. He took a deep breath.

"T-That was her, right?" he managed.

Hiemdall nodded. "Had her smell, once I managed to get close enough." He grunted when the next escape attempt nearly had him sprawled on the floor.

"Can't you tell her to stop?!" Milos exclaimed.

The Harbinger glared at him. "Does it look like I can speak wolf?!"

Milos snarled at him. "You're one, aren't you?!"

"I am, but we can't talk! Not with thoughts or words. Just actions. And I think she's a little too—." He nearly fell again, but Milos caught him and shoved him against the door to help. "A little too scared to be coherent!"

"Scared?! She seems like she's Gods-damned angry!"

"She's just trying to escape, Milos! And she's like that because it makes her feel safer than she was!"

Another hit against the door had them off balance, but Milos could tell it—she—was weakening inside. Getting tired of smashing herself against the door.

"Think the Butcher knows, then?" Aldren asked pointedly.

"He'd have already killed her otherwise," Hiemdall replied firmly. "I suspect he left her in here to die. Or at least become so weak he could kill her."

A frustrated whine sounded from the other side. Milos clenched his fists once another few hits came, but they soon stopped. He could hear frantic pacing on the other side. Things were being kicked and pushed around the floor.

Javin chanced a step back and began muttering incantations. Milos watched him suspiciously, but the Arch-Mage noticed.

"I thought it best to calm her down," he assured him. "Hopefully, I'll have her in a state that she'll be able to understand. It's just an experiment though. If it doesn't work, I'm running out and we can resume keeping her in there to let nature take its course and have her turn back from exhaustion."

Pursing his lips, Milos nodded and readied himself. Javin slowly took a few steps forward, magicka pulsating in his palms, and beckoned a signal to Milos. Breathing deeply once more, Milos slowly pulled the false panel back. No sudden movements, he told himself.

Javin stepped within and cast his calming spell. Milos peeked inside to see her curled up in a corner, and his heart wrenched. Hiemdall was right. From the way her muzzle—muzzle. He wouldn't ever get used to associating that word with Taryn—was scrunched to the way her ears drooped, despite pivoting at every sound, he knew immediately how terrified she was. It reminded him of finding her under the bridge the first time...

Javin was slow to kneel in front of her. "... Taryn?" he called softly. "Can you hear me, girl?"

If it was at all possible, the Werewolf curled in closer to herself. He noted how her tail swished to cover up her head.

"It's all right," he assured her, his voice every bit the understanding parent. "You're safe now. It'll be okay."

Milos thought, for a moment, Javin's spell had been successful. But when she began to show more signs of distress and a snarl came from her, Javin slowly backed away, but not before pocketing something he was passing. The Arch-Mage had Milos close the door gently. There was no more sound from within.

Breathing a long sigh of relief, Javin removed the book he'd spied from his pocket and quickly read through the pages. His face contorted with anger.

"Gods-damned muck worm..." Javin shoved the book into his pocket again. "He's trying to resurrect the dead."

"We got that with the necromancer bit," Hiemdall grumbled.

Javin shook his head. "I mean someone who's been dead a long time. He's trying to perfectly recreate them." Lifting the amulet they'd found, he added, "Something doesn't sit right for me with this. I'm going to find someone who can make sense of it. Hiemdall, come with me. You need to grab Taryn's armour. I doubt the poor girl will make it through the streets of Windhelm naked as the day she was born."

The Harbinger turned crimson. "A-Aye..."

When only Milos and Aldren were left, Milos flopped onto the ground and rubbed his eyes. It had been quite the morning, and it was only past breakfast. If at all possible, Milos had every intention to never, ever let Taryn head anywhere alone in a strange city again.

Because next time, there might not be a door to keep her away from innocent citizens.