Harald leaned against the cavern wall for a moment to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. The others watched him quietly, maybe even worriedly, he thought.
“Sorry about that,” he finally said. “I’m just really tired of these Witchmen and I can’t help but feel maybe a little taken advantage of.”
Ulkarin harrumphed. “Yeah. I heard Jackos telling the guards that they were planning to strike at the heart of these savages. I’m sure they’ll use the opportunity we’ve created. You’ve seen the kinds of dodgy situations we’ve been put in. ”
Harald was too tired of it all to do anything more than nod and trudge down the next hallway toward a lowered metal gate. The nearer he got, the deeper his frown became; patches of red, moist material lined the corridor.
“This looks sadly familiar to what we saw in Oblivion,” Kalaman whispered. “I suspect that we have Witchman or Daedric influences ahead.”
Harald nodded as he pulled a wall-mounted handle to open the gate. The sizable chamber beyond it was clearly part of the ruined Nordic barrow except for one vivid detail: on the far wall was a broad area that glowed red like the Oblivion gate they’d encountered.
So the contagion is all across this northern part of the Reach. What are we getting ourselves into, here?
Ulkarin sniffed. “Ugh. Best be on your guard.”
“Another of those bone effigies,” Kalaman murmured.
“And that,” Harald whispered, pointing. It looked like a troll hunched across the shallow pool of misty water covering the floor cavern. He took aim with the Nerevarine’s bow and sank an arrow solidly into the creature’s back, then followed it up with another before backing up to let Ulkarin shoot. Another shape dropped down from the ledge above their target and aimed its ferocious, explosive, probably-poisonous spell directly at Harald. He jumped aside, barely escaping the worst of its damage and then saw that their first target wasn’t a troll, but another golem like the one they’d killed outside the cave. It roared and swiped at Rados, who had dashed forward to press the attack. Ulkarin snorted, yelling “it’s the final straw!” while pulling his own bow; and Kalaman hurled fireballs at the beast.
Harald wasn’t so much concerned with the golem. It was well in hand, and his companions would have it down shortly; but other shapes moved in the fog. From somewhere to his left a red globe of magical energy began to pulse, accompanied by harsh, croaking sounds. Harald ran toward the energy and gasped with his first clear view of the creature he’d seen dropping down from above. It was winged, with tall, twisting spines emerging from each shoulder, blood-red eyes in its hairless head, and long, deadly-looking claws. Worse still, it seemed to be duplicating itself as Ulkarin and Rados attacked so that instead of facing down the lone opponent within the magical sphere they had at least three to deal with. Harald coughed, catching the attention of one of them.
I’ll draw this one away. I’m not much of a marksman but if I can get back into the corridor I can pick it off one arrow at a time.
The creature followed, almost greedily he thought. Then the primary beast spotted him too, and began flinging its balls of poison at him. Harald heard Rados yell “draw your last breath!” Of more concern was a shriek of pain from Kalaman, to his left.
“Gods, no!” the Archmage yelped.
Harald roared in anger. He might not be much of a marksman but he’d been getting plenty of practice. One of the duplicate beasts spat green at him, and he couldn’t escape all of it. Even a splash was enough to make him cry out in nausea; but he stepped into the center of the doorway and began firing at the original creature as quickly as he could. After a few moments the magic exploded and the creature fell.
He had expected that once the beast was down its duplicates would also fall. He was wrong – they kept fighting. One of them cast the red sphere of magic around itself. All of them had converged on the gateway, leaving Harald no way to get out into the main cavern; all he could do was try to help with his less-than-efficient archery. The Ice Form Shout didn’t effect them, either, and he only had limited opportunities to fire his bow without risking hitting Rados.
“Draw your last breath,” the big Breton snarled, landing an enormous forward power attack on the creature trying to come through the gate. It was stuck, its shoulder spines firmly lodged in the raised gate’s spikes, and because it couldn’t move it shrieked every time a blow or an arrow landed.
“Bet you regret this now,” Rados laughed as one of the duplicates, a red-tinged ethereal version, came to join its primary. Both of them stuck firmly in the suspended gate spikes and could only croak their anger.
This is ridiculous, Harald thought. I’m a swordsman, not an archer, and if this magic harms me so be it. It’s my responsibility to do something. He pulled his sword forward and started hacking away at them, trying to time his blows with Rados’ back swings so that together they could do as much damage as possible. Ulkarin was on the other side of the creatures; Harald couldn’t see him but could hear his blows landing. He couldn’t hear Kalaman, but could see bursts of flame that said he was still alive and fighting.
After a few moments of close proximity to the magic, though, Harald could feel his energy draining away. He stepped back from the doorway to cast healing, and the most awful thing happened: the primary beast cast a spell and two more ethereal copies appeared – but inside the corridor, next to Harald. One of them instantly cast an ice spike at him, and he turned and ran back through the corridor, gaining distance before turning to face the creature. He’d expected it to follow him. He had his sword and shield at the ready. To his amazement, though, he found that the beast had wandered back toward the door, beyond which the battle still raged. Harald tsk’d, pulled out the Nerevarine’s bow once again and crouched, using the moment of shadow it provided to creep forward into the best position to loose several arrows and dispatch the shadow beast. Then he stepped out into the main cavern.
As soon as the primary creature sensed him, it turned and headed directly for him. He sneered.
I know your weakness. You’re too big to fit through that door. If I can get into the hall and you get stuck, we can attack you from both sides. You’re done.
He growled at having to rely on a bow yet again, but not only did the creature have its damaging cloak spell going, it kept hurling blasts of poison at Harald. His tactic held, though; it followed him up to the doorway arch and was trapped in the spikes, allowing Harald a clear vantage from atop the first rise in the hallway. He peppered it with arrows while the others attacked from behind. He heard Rados yell “come on! Keep up!” and then saw something he’d hoped never to see.
Ulkarin was down on one knee.
Harald roared and ran forward, drawing his blade as he stepped fully into the creature’s magical sphere. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that it had summoned more copies of itself, but he didn’t care: he simply struck the beast over and over, blocking where he could, circling around even as the magic tried to sap his vitality. Tried – because somehow Harald didn’t feel fatigue, didn’t feel pain. All he knew was that this creature had hurt and maybe even killed his friend and it must die.
He didn’t know how long he’d been battering the thing. Finally, though, he swung hard with his shield while raising his sword above his head and bringing it around in a brutal blow that sank deep into the creature’s neck just above the shoulder. The magical sphere disappeared and the carcass dropped to the floor.
“Now that’s how it’s done!” Kalaman said.
Harald blinked and shook his head, swiveling in all directions to look for his friends. Ulkarin was still down, and so was Rados; but before he could go to their aid each of them rose slowly to his feet.
“Are you alright?” Harald asked anxiously, primarily referring to Ulkarin but concerned for Rados as well.
“Of course,” Ulkarin said, while reaching into a pouch for a healing potion. “It’ll take more than that to keep me down.” He pointed at Rados and chuckled. “And that one’s a beast. Don’t even worry about him.”
Harald nodded, reaching for a waterskin to wash the taste of battle from his mouth. “So let’s see if we can’t get out of here with all of us intact. I don’t know what these things are but if we need to face more of them I’d like to do it out in the open.”
“I’ve had enough of Nordic ruins for the time being,” Kalaman agreed. “Cold or not, I’d prefer the fresh air.”
The barrow had its fair share of draugr, likely roused from their slumber by the cacophony of the battle just passed. All of them were used to fighting these undead, though, and took them down without incident. Harald found the exit, a narrow ice channel through which they passed single-file, emerging on a ledge overlooking a huge Witchman encampment.
“Where are we, do you think?” Harald said while readying his weapons.
Kalaman looked around, and up, and then peered at the mountains around them. “If I were to hazard a guess, young sir, I would say we are south of the opening by which we entered.”
“Oh yeah,” Ulkarin said. “We did see a big camp in the distance on our way up the valley. You think this is it?”
Harald thought for a moment and then nodded. “Probably. I was hoping we’d be able to avoid at least some of these lunatics.” He suddenly heard fiery explosions coming from the valley below them, and sighed. “I guess not.”
Ulkarin nodded. “That’s probably Jackos down there, like I said.”
Harald hopped up onto a boulder overlooking the encampment. Below them, a full battle raged, with fireballs, poison explosions, and someone’s frost atronach lurching about with its icy fists pounding anything in its path. He thought he could see figures in Arnima guard’s armor – and one huge figure in black in the middle of things. He pointed.
“Is that Sek, or is it Mek?”
“Yes,” both Ulkarin and Kalaman said simultaneously.
Harald snorted. “Alright. Let’s get going.” He was about to descend when he noticed the pit directly under their position. It was large, almost perfectly round, and he hadn’t noticed its contents earlier because of the wooden platform extending out over it. “Be careful. There’s a big pit right down there and I think it’s full of blood.”
“Delightful,” Kalaman murmured in his cultured Altmer tones. “I shall do my best to avoid it, then, as should we all.”
It took them a few minutes to find a safe passage down from the ledge; while they did no fighting, one of the Witchmen’s mages spotted them and threw an altogether too-accurate ice spike at Harald, slowing him down even further. By the time he made it into the valley floor it seemed, to his dismay, as though the battle had ended. As he approached the pit, Harald spied a familiar figure silhouetted before one of the bonfires.
“Jackos!”
“You made it through the savages’ hole!” the man exclaimed. “Or am I seeing ghosts?”
Harald shook his head. “I’m still alive, bleeding like any other.”
“And often,” Rados added.
Jackos grinned. “And you share our black humor. Alright, we’re gonna have to clear up here and see to it that these dogs don’t return with yet another dark ritual.”
As Jackos turned back toward the valley, movement and a voice to his right caught Harald’s attention. One of the soldiers stood at the very end of the wooden platform, his hands in a telltale position.
“What in the hells were these ferals up to? Ugh. Well, I’ve been needing to take a piss since we got here. No better place than a giant hole to take a leak.”
The hair on Harald’s neck stood on end. “No! Don’t!” He didn’t know why, but what the man was about to do seemed like the worst idea any of them had ever had.
A moment later there was an enormous roar from beneath their feet. The ground shook, staggering all of them. Harald struggled upright and saw Jackos rushing toward the thing that had emerged from the bloody pit.
It was huge. Long as a dragon from its rounded head to the tip of its sinuous tail, the thing was part beast, part skeleton, and completely covered in the same red, bloody slime as the other effigies they’d seen. And it was angry. Harald didn’t dare look to find out what had happened to the soldier who had roused it from its pit.
“It’s a gorgon!” Kalaman shouted. “Kill it!”
Good idea, Harald thought in a moment of exhausted sarcasm. I don’t know what else we’d be expected to do with it. He ran forward toward Jackos, not thinking about the rest of his companions, and then the thing he’d least hoped for happened. The creature rose into the air, revealing the long, bony “fingers” at the end of each forward limb.
It flew. Just as though it had wings. It flew, and when it roared – or Shouted, or whatever one might call its bellow – there was a strange, nauseating whisper of magic like a storm’s winds that filled the valley, blurring vision and distorting balance. That was followed by missiles of green, poisonous explosions – a storm of sickening bolides pelting the ground beneath the creature’s passage.
Harald stared up at it and suddenly realized in complete horror where he’d seen the thing before. The beast in Subject Realm 137, in Oblivion, had been standing between Harald and a creature just like this. “Take in the child yet conceived behind, it gestates in the wanting womb… Liberator, I wish you would kill this child, and remove the final hurdle to my rise. The child is already named, would you believe that, Liberator? She has called it ‘Whisper.‘“
The words finally made horrible, terrifying sense.
Shor’s bones – it’s Whisper! and it has risen from its womb, the bloody pit!
We can’t kill it! But what else can we do except kill it? We’re all dead if we don’t!
He reached for his bow in frustration, since the beast had flown well out of the reach of his sword, and then followed the sounds of Ulkarin and Jackos, Kalaman and Rados cursing and taunting the beast as it hovered. It was the only chance he was going to have to strike unless the Whisper came to ground. He knew his arrow had reached its mark when the creature flinched and rose back into the air. Harald Shouted at it – the one word of Ice Form that he could command – but the blast missed Whisper’s skinny tail as it flew overhead. It circled and then landed, staggering all of them for a moment before Rados roared and rushed in, yelling “Make your peace!”
Harald pulled back his bowstring once more, just as Whisper rose into the air. His shot made a solid hit even as the skeletal frame moved away, and a corner of his mind made note of that, said I’m getting better. Qara would be proud. At that he grimaced. As moments passed it was ever more clear that there was a real chance he would never see Qara again.
Somewhere behind him he heard Kalaman dueling a Witchman straggler, and Ulkarin proclaiming yet again that he was the wrong Reachman to have messed with, but he couldn’t take his attention away from Whisper. It seemed as though they’d made very little progress toward stopping the thing as it landed and began lurching toward Rados. Kalaman’s fireballs struck from behind – solid hits that set the bones ablaze. Both Ulkarin and Harald landed arrows. Then, just as Whisper was about to seize Rados in its bloody jaws, Harald Shouted Ice again, a solid hit that didn’t harm the creature but did stagger it, giving Rados a moment to step back just out of reach.
“Right between your eyes!” Ulkarin yelled triumphantly.
“We’ve almost got him!” Kalaman yelled back. “Your time is at its end!” he added, turning to the gorgon and sending magic blasting at it.
The battle seemed to take forever. Each time it looked as though they’d damaged Whisper it lifted into the air once more, coming back to attack again, refreshed. “It’s like a damned frost troll!” Harald bellowed. “It’s healing almost as fast as we hurt it! Don’t let it get a chance to breathe!”
And they didn’t. They finally brought it to ground, still very much a threat but down within weapons’ reach. Harald grinned, drew his sword and equipped his shield and Shouted once more.
“TIID!”
He could see the others, still pressing the attack, but time had slowed to a crawl. He rushed ahead, striking as many times as he could in the short window of time he had to use. Whether it was his strike or someone else’s attack he couldn’t tell, but finally the great slime-covered beast crashed to the ground.
He stared at it for a long moment, panting to catch his breath and trying to quell the involuntary shudders running up and down his spine. They’d had to kill it. It had been within one snap of taking Rados, the hero that Arnima had waited to see. And yet Harald couldn’t help the sense of dread that they might have just paved the way for something even worse. He spotted Jackos not too far away, standing near the bloody pit and a body that Harald didn’t even want to contemplate.
“Jackos,” he said as he reached the man. “What in Oblivion was that?”
“I thought the priest was just being dramatic. Portents of doom are all we get from him at the least hint of trouble. But now I see there was some truth to his words. He told me to expect some kind of demon up here.”
“Are you serious?” Harald growled. “He knew this was up here and sent us anyway?”
“Told you they were just having us do their dirty work,” Ulkarin grumbled.
“Don’t be so quick to assume,” Kalaman said. “Sometimes, scrying and the like give only a very dim portrait of what may be. I have a hard time imagining that Matthew would have knowingly sent us to our doom.”
Harald had a moment of pure anger at being contradicted, but then stopped himself. Kalaman was an accomplished mage. He himself was not. He was a plodder, if that, where magic was concerned and even his grasp of the ancient magic of the Tongues was minuscule compared with Dardeh’s. Or Qaralana’s.
He frowned at himself. “I suppose you’re right. But I’m still finding it a bit irritating that our priestly friends aren’t joining the effort themselves.”
“I doubt he knew we’d be facing this bastard,” Jackos said. “But it confirms an even more sinister rumor concerning our lord, Mortifayne, and his possible dealings with that foul goddess, Namira. The priest didn’t tell me any more than that, just told me to be on the lookout for anything particularly strange, and, well, we saw exactly that.”
“I suspected as much,” Kalaman said quietly. “The Eternal Spider. Should we then head back to the Priest, Jackos?”
“You’ve all really put your lives on the line for us, eh?” Jackos continued. “For that, you have my gratitude. If you do speak to the Priest, do it quietly. There are many still loyal to Mortifayne there, and even here.”
Harald looked around in confusion. “You mean some of the soldiers? I suppose so.”
“Or Mek,” Ulkarin said.
“Or Sek,” Kalaman replied.
“Whatever,” Rados grunted.
Matthew, the Priest of the Nine, was at prayer when they finally trudged wearily into the church. Harald gave him a quick and very quiet summary of what had happened.
“Jackos says you two have discussed this matter previously. Is it true that you suspect Namira is behind all of this?”
“We’re not certain about which Prince is involved but we are certain that an involvement exists.”
“I maintain that it is in fact Namira,” Kalaman said calmly. “My interactions with Mortifayne and the unsavory amulet he wears have convinced me of this. But I, of course, am an outsider and not privy to all that you may have seen or heard.”
“Based on nothing more than the ample circumstantial evidence I agree that we are most likely dealing with Namira,” Matthew agreed. “There aren’t many other candidates that betray her influence among those pagan tribes, particularly through the Hagravens.”
“Of course,” Harald said, nodding. “We’ve encountered them.”
The priest turned to Kalaman. “I need ask something else of you, concerning that very amulet of which you spoke, and I must request that our conversation remain private.”
“Of course. Your words are safe with me.”
“Did you feel anything strange emanating from it? Were there any markings on the item?”
Harald watched in surprise as Kalaman shuddered, visibly. He’d not seen the mage react with anything other than typical Altmer composure, or anger.
“Yes,” the Archmage said. “There was an inscription reading ‘may your stomach never sour.’ As to strangeness, well…” He looked down and shook his head before continuing. “I can only mention that I am a half-breed, Altmer and Bosmer mixed. Let us just say that deeply-suppressed urges came to the fore when I put the amulet around my own neck, and my stomach would indeed have soured had I acted upon them.” He looked up at the priest, his eyes almost pleading for understanding in Harald’s view.
It was Matthew’s turn to shudder. “Stendarr protect us. I hope this is a coincidence and nothing more.”
“As do I,” Kalaman said.
“It’s all becoming clearer now. None of it was random. I must demand silence from you on this matter, lest we summon the blackest reaction from Mortifayne. We shan’t talk further; we’ll only waste time and the threat of treason. We’ll need to be swift and take action.”
“What sort of action?” Harald asked.
Matthew paused, rubbing his chin for a moment before continuing. “Consult with the Arch Priest of Evermore. Merosa has urged our king to send forth men to oust Mortifayne in response to this recent chaos. It will make things all the messier.”
“Wait a moment. You expect us to go to Evermore and then return, all before the troops arrive here? How are we supposed to achieve that?” Harald was tired, and once again feeling very much taken advantage of, and some of that frustration must have been obvious in the tone of his voice. He felt Kalaman rest a hand on his arm for just a moment.
“We shall do our best,” Kalaman said smoothly.
“Gods spare us fortune in these times,” Matthew said.
“We’re gonna need it,” Ulkarin grumbled from behind Harald. “Seems things are taking a turn for the worse. Well, Jackos did tell us we might want to speak to that guy Kegor up in Evermore, so we had a reason to be going there anyway. It’s up to you whether you want to stay here or not. I won’t blame you for wanting out of this mess.”
Harald smiled grimly as he turned to the altar and sank to his knees. He closed his eyes for just a moment, seeking out the certainty of Shor’s eternal spirit, and then breathed deeply as he felt that warmth and approval flooding through him. He rose to his feet and nodded.
“We’ll go,” he said quietly. “It’s like you’ve said, Tiny. Most men make promises. Not all men keep them. I intend to be one of those.”
Shortly after they stepped through the gate into Evermore’s territory they encountered a battle. Or perhaps execution might have been a better word for it: one of the Evermorin guards was in the late stages of incinerating two other people. Harald had drawn his sword on seeing the attack but sheathed it when he realized he was too late to help. The man, whose entire body was swathed in armor, his eyes barely visible through tiny slits in his helmet, stepped directly into Harald’s path.
“You here from Arnima? Or are you one of those ridden with plague?”
“Yes, I’m here from Arnima. What’s going on here?”
“Look at their skin, Harald,” Kalaman said quietly. “They were both Afflicted.”
Harald glanced down at the bodies and realized that yes, their skin was ruddy, and not the red that came from burns.
“Yes, the Afflicted, brother,” the soldier said. “They used to stay among themselves, but now they’re turning south, attacking anyone on sight. Lucky I was here for you.” With that, the man turned to trudge up the road toward the swirling magic barrier that blocked the entrance to Evermore.
“There’s something troublesome about all of this,” Kalaman murmured. “Particularly in that they are using such powerful magic to secure the gates.”
Harald was too mentally exhausted to be polite. “There’s something troublesome about this entire place,” he grumbled. “I’m beginning to wonder why I am even here.”
“You’re here, young sir, as am I, to glean what information we can in order to safeguard Skyrim from the gathering threat on this side of the mountains.” Kalaman was, as usual, calm and matter-of-fact sharing that insight, and his calm was exactly what Harald needed.
“Yes. You’re right. Sorry to be an ass. It just feels…”
“It feels like we’re doing everyone else’s dirty work and not necessarily finding what you needed to find, Harald,” Ulkarin said.
“Yeah. But I should be better than this. Anyway,” he said, pointing toward the gate to change the subject, “that’s where we need to go.”
The closer they got, the more evident was the sheer size of the magical barrier. It completely blocked all access to the main gate and, as far as Harald could tell, encompassed the buildings high above them as well. They were almost there when Harald began to hear the guards’ conversation.
“Time to commission a replacement for my blade. An axe, maybe? Takes their puking heads off with one good swing.”
There were three guards sitting within the energy field, firmly situated between Harald’s group and the gate. The two standing guards didn’t look at Harald, but shifted their position in such a way that it was clear the city gates were closed.
“Axes are short,” the second guard replied. “You’ll get a faceful of bile if you don’t stick to the sword’s reach. Besides, you don’t have the gold for it.”
The first guard chuckled. “Maybe you don’t, but I’m smarter about it. I go through their pockets before I burn them. Septim by septim, slow and steady does it.”
Before…I burn them?
A shudder ran down Harald’s spine. Before he could think about why, though, the guard seated at a small table looked up at them. This man looked to be the officer in charge. The one, Harald thought, that he needed to sweet-talk into letting them enter the city.
No wonder Tiny took us around the other way before.
“You alright?” the officer asked.
“Yes. At least I think so. But I saw something on the way in that makes me wonder how you all are dealing with the plague.”
“Scorched near every sickly whoreson we’ve come across, though their numbers don’t seem to be dropping. They damn near gain another two for every one we light up. Gods knows how many still live out there. An’ we don’t want any more of us falling afoul of this pox.”
Harald frowned. “Well I don’t blame you for that, but it can’t be their fault that they’ve gotten sick.”
The officer shook his head. “You see, these orange skins aren’t content with rotting away in some hole – they’re turning vicious. Coughing their lungs out on any who draws near. And that bile they vomit can burn down to the bone. We thought the gear the Kingdom supplied could protect us somewhat, but we soon learned otherwise.”
‘Orange-skins?’ This man sounds like he could fit in at home just fine, with the ‘grey-skins.’ I can just imagine what Roggi might have to say to that.
“You may see where I’m going with this,” the officer continued. “Had a friend who caught the worst of their venom, must have sprayed through his visor. Now he’s vanished, and had no clue to where.. Till recently…”
Kalaman stepped forward, his elegant face showing interest. “Go on. What would you have of us?”
“News surfaced that he’s cozening up with the sick just north of here, up in the ravine. Too many afflicted for us to do anything about it just yet. We need some information. Get him to spill his agenda – but you’re not to go bargin’ in there sword in hand.”
Ulkarin snorted. “Not going anywhere without it, either.”
The officer ignored him. “So a friendly talk, all we ask – you capable of that? Gift of the gab, not the gift of the blade? Keep it calm and it’ll go smoothly. An’ if that option’s not open then take this, pop the flare if you sense trouble, high enough so we can see. I’ll send the boys over to cover your escape.”
Kalaman took the flare, trying to cover an amused grin but not quite managing to do so. If there was anyone who didn’t need a flare to create a spotlight, it was the Archmage, Harald thought – but he admired how smoothly Kalaman handled himself and the situation.
“We’ll see what can be done and return as soon as possible,” Kalaman said, giving the men a nod and leading them back down the road and away from the guards.