Cold Voices

Something flittered across Elfiran's consciousness, and he narrowed his
eyes a bit before speaking aloud to the party.  "Hold all, ah seem te
remember this place from somewhere afore.  Ah'm nay sure, but this is a
place of deep evil if'n ah remember correctly from the tales ah wuz told as
a young lad.  Be ware everyone, tis nay a place te let yer guard down ah
would think."  With those last words, a sound like vibrating metal pierced
the quiet of the cavern, as Elfiran drew his Long Sword.....

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     Balefire halted his advance. Cromm took a step farther, a black fire in
his eyes shouting defiance at the shadowy cavern, and held his great-axe as
a ruler his scepter.
     Balefire nodded. "Yes, a history I read some time ago spoke of a place
such as this. A dark bridge over spirit-waters." He sifted through long-shut
memory of tomes he had read in passing or earnest. "'Cold voices from
below'..."
     He could not remember the rest of the line, but his words drew a small
gasp from the khajiit. He spared her a glance, but flicked his eyes back to
the stone span ahead. A menace lurked there.
     "Yes," Loriella whispered, "voices. Cold voices...whispering. Do you not
hear them? I've heard them since the giant spider above."
     The moment she asked them, everyone heard them. It was as if they had
just noticed a sound that had been there all along; phantom whispers on the
edge of hearing, so ephemeral as to seem to be in their heads and not heard
with ears at all. Cold nothings, yet urgent, pressing. They were fell voices
that chilled the heart, yet beckoned them all to listen.
     Alduin slowed his scratchings, cocking his head. His hand began writing
again, but with a different rhythm, the pattern of a different tongue. His
eyes nearly shut and his mouth began to shape words he did not know.
     Talnan, the nearest Werre, lashed out, punching a hole through the fine
parchment. The scribe gave a start, seeming to come out of a light sleep.
His headlamp flickered with the sudden movement. He began to give the man a
vicious tongue-lashing, and it looked to be withering, but stopped himself at
the look of utter fear on the dark man's face. Alduin looked down at the torn
paper. There in another hand were strange markings, yet he could understand
their meaning so perfect was their form. He squeaked and dropped the paper.
Talnan, not looking at the page, snatched it up and set it aflame in Alduin's
lamp. The fire greedily took the parchment and the fear left the Werre.
     Loriella held the old man's arm.
     "What was on the parchment? What did you write?"
     Alduin met her gaze with unsteady eyes.
     "I will not tell. It was...horrible. Such terrible words... I will not
recall them now."
     The dark warmage grew more grim. He set his crimson gaze on every one in
the party.
     "It is just as Elfiran said: this is not a place to let down our guard.
Good Alduin has paid somewhat. Be ware that no one else pays more dearly!"
     Alduin shooed off Loriella's attempts at leading him, and the party
continued on. The bridge was great indeed. It continued to grow as they
approached, its size difficult to judge in the deceitful shadows cast by
torch and lamp. The air cooled and a draught flowed over them. All the while,
the voices grew more insistent and came out of the background of their
thought.
   Again, Alduin slowed, but Talnan did not allow him to halt. With a rough
push, he kept the scribe awake and moving, if not a little annoyed. But while
attention was paid to the nord, Loriella had slipped behind. Joran had to go
back to pull her along.
     Balefire let out a deep growl. "What is this? My feet are like two
stones unwilling to move." His voice was low, but Elfiran heard.
     He shook his head and breathed deeply, mustering his will against the
voices. Their eerie song was lulling, clouding his mind, making his limbs as
of wood.
     "Ah! Sorcery it is," said Elfiran. "Ah feel as tho' ah'm pushing agenst
the very air itself."
     They reached the base of the bridge. The grey mist swirled about the
bank, and curled up the supporting pillars on either side of the bridge. A
steep flight of stairs led up the near arch of the bridge. The draught of air
had grown strong and threatened the torches. Alduin's light went out and he
moved closer to a Werre.
     The voices were overpowering now. They had not grown any louder, still
were on the edge of hearing, but they had become impossible to ignore.
Loriella began muttering to herself.
     "Get away. Go. Don't touch..."
     Her voice trailed off, and she slumped into Holm'ka. Now he was holding
her. His stern face was full of concern. The khajiit was breathing only
lightly and her face was deathly pale.
     Balefire then felt it; the voices seemed to be coming from under the
bridge, but were advancing on the mist. A quick glance at Elfiran confirmed
that he too felt the malignant presence. With a sigh, Alduin now succumbed.
The warmage, his face a mask of fury, turned to the Werre. Even as he did so,
he stumbled.
     "We must get across!" he hissed. His voiced seemed faint, as if coming
from another throat, far away. "We must not heed the voices!"
     He wracked his mind for a spell to stave off the encroaching darkness
of sleep. The only thing he could think of with his clouded brain was a
foolish cantrip, a spell for quickly sobering up after heavy drinking. He of
course never needed to use it, but now, it was all he could think of.
     He muttered the words and the dark mist of his mind seemed to lift a
little. His vision cleared. It only now occurred to him that the Werre did
not seem to be affected by the beckoning voices. Straightening his stooped
shoulders, he turned to Talnan and Joran.
     "Pick up those two. We must cross this bridge. This is the final
challenge before the storm. Come!"
     Feeling weariness coming on again, he did not wait, but jogged up the
steps. Elfiran took heart in seeing Balefire's renewed strength and fought
to maintain his own hold on consciousness.
     He never made it to the top of the stairs. It seemed to him the voices
were all around him, clawing at him, dragging down his limbs. His last memory
was of Balefire's cape, red and black, whipping up the stairs ahead, the hard
crunch of his boots on stone.
     The warmage stumbled once, then again. The heavy weariness had advanced
with redoubled force. He growled and gripped the low barrier for support as
he forced his way to the top. The span became less steep now, and he found
himself racing too quickly ahead. His feet could not keep up. He fell, and as
blackness took him, he echoed Loriella's words.
     "Get away. Leave me..."

     Cromm nodded to the Werre in response to Balefire's command. The old man
and the boy each took up the sleepers, hoisting them over their shoulders.
The to'khar followed Elfiran closely, with Holm'ka and K'tarin behind. Not
twenty steps up, Elfiran collapsed, groaning under the weight of the voices.
Without a word, Holm'ka swept up the tall elf, ignoring the quick stab of
pain in his shoulder. A look at K'tarin let him know that this burden was a
point of honor, and he would not have it removed. K'tarin picked up the
fallen sword.
     Balefire slowed as he reached the top, and took three faltering steps
before toppling. Cromm was there, catching his fall. With effort, he slung 
the large man over his shoulder. Balefire was certainly as heavy as he
looked. Cromm for one moment was glad he'd never have to feel that weight
bearing down on him behind the point of a red claymore.
     K'tarin now took point. He sheathed his axe. There was nothing here that
could be harmed by it. The Werre did not hear the voices. They were deaf to
them, as they were 'deaf' to all magicka. They knew the voices were there,
certainly. They knew their power. They were the voices of the Naugh, those
Werre who fought for the Horned Council. They are never spoken of, even among
the Werre. In their betrayal, they damned themselves. Now their cries fell on
deaf ears. Cromm allowed himself a smile, invisible in the dry mist
enshrouding the bridge. These Naugh would soon be released from their long
imprisonment if the Heart were destroyed. His smile faded, however. K'tarin
was looking over the side of the bridge.
     Through the mist, he could dimly see a black water, perfectly smooth.
Something was there. He kept walking, but he found it difficult to draw away
his eyes from the water. There were faces there, seen as if from deep below
the surface. Pale faces, white as bone, eyes as sunken shadows. Their lips
moved to the words of their silent whispers.
     "K'tarin. Look yourself!"
     The Werre jerked back from the edge. He saw the fierce glare in Cromm's
eyes.
     "We may not hear their voices, but we are not immune to their faces.
They will root you to the spot!"
     Chastened, K'tarin loosened his axe. With it in hand, his conditioned
mind became more alert. He had been foolish. Here, not all dangers were
obvious.
     As they neared the center of the great span, lamps lit on either side
on silent command. The lamps, widely set on the low barriers, gave a steady
pale light with their blue flame. K'tarin could not help but give one final
glance at the water. The light did not reflect off the black surface.
     The far bank came into view, higher than the first, for there were only
a few stairs on this side. In the gloom ahead, there was a deeper shadow. The
file of Werre passed from the bridge. Cromm paused a moment.
     "This was where the final line was held, so say the Histories. To'Khar
Rhurn fell here against the Fifth Council Mage, who I will not name here."
     The men bowed their heads, then strode from the bridge to the shadow.
Here, the cavern walls met again, and a natural cleft had been shaped into
the frame for a mighty pair of doors. They were of a black stone, engraved
and inlaid with white granite and gold. In silver were runes traced; wards.
These were all along the edges, framing the doors in powerful magicka. What
caught Cromm's attention, however, was the center of each door. Here there
were skulls set in a pentagon. They were redguard, with their strong brows and
large jaws. They were also Werre. Just as one Werre knows another on sight,
so Cromm and the others knew that these skulls were Werre. In the center of
each pentagon was a large ivory sigil. They had all seen them before in the
Histories. They were Words of Power. Talnan gave voice to what they all
feared.
     "Kru'ldum dul Holkthm and Heem'd u Toth! The Shield and The Hammer."
     He had used the Lesser Names, but even so their sound grated on the
ears. The Shield to guard and The Hammer to smite.
     Three low wide steps led up to the doors, faded inscriptions chiseled in
their leading edges. A great bronze bowl stood on either side, mounted on
squat pedestals of obsidian. The bowls were filled with white ash.
     Cromm lay down his charge on the first step and composed him in a more
comfortable position. The others did the same. No one was sure if this was
far enough from the voices, but the only way to move farther was to pass the
doors, and no one save the midnight man told in legend could do that. Cromm
looked at the warmage's sleeping face. He tried to crush the feeling of hope
in his heart, but found he could not. He knew with pious conviction that this
dark elf was Him.
     Joran could stand it no more. He hurtled toward the doors. With a wild
scream, he gripped a skull and pulled hard. He pulled and clawed until his
nails broke and bled.
     It required both Holm'ka and Talnan to pries him from the door. The boy
fought with abandon for a moment before falling limp. He was crying.
     "Joran! They cannot be freed." Cromm came up and held the boy's face.
"They cannot be freed, I say. They are a part of the doors now."
     The young Werre struggled again, but was held fast.
     "But they have been defiled!" he cried. "Evil surrounds them."
     "Evil surrounds all of us. Evil surrounds us now. Look about you and
remember where you are! Beyond that gate you will find far worse things than
the profanity here."
     His eyes snapped at the young man until he quailed. Then the to'khar
straightened. Even though he had said it, he was not sure himself what could
be worse than the bones of his brethren used in the design of such fell doors
as these. He could not know what lay on the other side.
     He turned at a stirring behind him. It seemed indeed that the voices had
lost their power.

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Alduin dor Lammoth