by Greg Keyes
“There are certain spells here in the library that few know about. If a book is touched, I can tell who touched it. Before this moment, this book hadn’t been touched in twenty years, and then by only one man, one of the few not of our order with the authority to do so. Would you care to guess who that was?”
“I’m pretty certain I know,” Colin replied. “But it would help me a lot if you told me.”
“Minister Hierem,” Aronil said, his voice nearly a whisper. “He has a curiosity for knowledge of that era. And so why, Colin, are you investigating the second most powerful man in the Empire?”
“Because I have to,” Colin said. “I have no choice.”
“Always aiming for the answer? The point?”
“I guess so.”
The mage looked at the book for a moment before handing it to Colin. “It can’t leave here,” he said. “Is there anything else?”
“Maps,” Colin replied. “But I know where to finds those.”
“You should take what you know to Marall. He’s a good man. You can trust him. On a more pragmatic level, you might well lose your position for this sort of rogue activity.”
“I’m aware of that, professor,” Colin replied. “Thank you for your help.”
“I always liked you, Colin,” Aronil replied. “I’d hate to have to attend your funeral.”
“If this goes wrong, I doubt there will be a funeral,” Colin said, “a burial, maybe—funeral, no.”
Far down the corridor, light appeared, orange and shivering. Shadows moved in it, and then it was gone.
“What was that?” Arese asked, her whisper so faint as to be almost inaudible, though her breath tickled his ear.
“That’s one of the main tunnels,” Colin said. “I’m sure they’re securing them against the siege. They won’t bother with this passage because it doesn’t go anywhere—or doesn’t seem to.”
They had to walk crouched over for another hundred feet before he found the recess in the wall and the mechanism it hid, and then they passed into a chamber large enough to stand in. He closed the hidden panel and then produced a stone that, although it glowed only faintly, illumined everything about it at exactly that same dim luminescence, so it did not outshine what it revealed: a largish room decorated in ghoulish splendor; furniture adorned in grinning, gold-leafed skulls and articulated vertebrae, velvet upholstery figured with obscene rituals of sex and death.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“It was a sort of warren for Julius Primus,” he said, “about twenty years ago.”
“I don’t remember the name.”
“I shouldn’t think so. He rather fancied himself the new King of Worms, a necromancer supreme, a prince of death. In the end he was moderately clever at hiding and being a nuisance. The Penitus Oculatus rooted him out and sent him to his own long sleep.”
“It seems a little silly,” she said, picking up a carving of a skull with a serpent wound about it. “Pretentious.”
“He was theatrical, to say the least. It didn’t save him.”
“And this is underneath the ministry?”
“Relatively so.”
“It’s not on any of our maps,” she said.
“Well—we have better maps,” Colin replied. “We’ve been at it longer.”
“Hmmm. Unless Hierem has charts I don’t know of,” she said. “After all, he might well have been involved with this Julius character.”
“I rather doubt it,” Colin said. “Anyway, this place is not connected to anything in or beneath the ministry.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because this is where you’re staying,” he said, “until I have this sorted out.”
“Nonsense,” she replied. “We’re partners in this. I recruited you, remember?”
“I could hardly forget that,” he told her. “But for what I’m about to do, you would only impede me. You have your gifts, but the shadows aren’t friendly to you, I can see that much. Here you should be safe. I brought food and wine down yesterday. I also left some little tricks to show if anyone has been here since then, and they haven’t.”
She sighed. “Well, that all makes sense, but—”
“If I’m not back in four hours, you can worry about your next move,” Colin said. “But I’m safest working alone.”
She nodded. “I trust you’re right,” she said.
“I’m often wrong,” he replied. “But not about this.”
“About being better able to get in unseen, perhaps—but what then?”
“I’ll find the Emperor’s proof.”
“The journal didn’t satisfy him. What do you imagine will?”
“Documents concerning the voyage, with Hierem’s signature. Even a ship’s manifest would do. He is connected to Umbriel—there must be some evidence of it.”
She looked skeptical. “Even with the key to his private chambers, I doubt you will find anything like that.” She sighed. “I don’t believe the Emperor thinks so either.”
“Why give me the key, then?”
She brushed his bangs with her fingers. “You’re being naive,” she said. “It’s sweet, but now isn’t the time for it.”
“Do you really think the Emperor wants me to kill him?”
“Of course. Why else give you the means?”
“Well, I take him at his word. If he wanted the minister dead, why wouldn’t he just tell me to do it? Or send a more experienced inspector?”
“When Hierem is dead there will be many questions, and they will all lead to you, a member of the Penitus Oculatus, yes, but operating without permission. You were never assigned to follow me, or spy on Hierem, by any superior. It will be easy to paint you as a rogue because—in fact—you are.”
Colin let that settle across his shoulders for a moment. Everything she said made sense; it was all reasonable. He reviewed his conversation with the Emperor and her case grew stronger. Perhaps Titus Mede did mean for him to end Hierem’s threat and then absorb the blame, pay the penalty.
What of it, then? He had signed on for this, hadn’t he? To serve and protect the Empire, even if that meant doing the nasty, horrible things no one ever sang about in ballads?
Even though he was looking down, he could feel Arese’s gaze upon him.
“It may be you’re right,” he said.
“It won’t be easy,” she said. “I believe you will need my help. Together we might manage it.”
“If it comes to that,” he said. “If the Emperor tells me in plain words to kill Hierem, I will. But until then, I do what I’ve been told to.”
“Since when?” she exploded. “We’ve just been over this. You’ve been operating on your own for some time now. Why are you suddenly so concerned with permission and commands?”
“I’m not arguing with any of that,” Colin said. “But I won’t kill Hierem unless I have to.”
“I can’t stay down here forever,” she said softly. “If you won’t help me, I’ll have to try myself.”
“Then this is about your own life.”
“That’s not fair,” she replied. “You know it isn’t.”
“Look, let me try it my way. If it doesn’t work, if I can’t find anything to convince the Emperor to move against Hierem, then we’ll come back to this conversation again, okay? And I’ll at least know more about the layout of his rooms—we won’t be going in blind.”
She stayed stiff for a moment, but then he saw the cords in her neck soften.
“Okay,” she said. “Don’t get yourself killed.”
“I won’t,” he said. He hesitated, and then leaned forward to kiss her, but she drew back.
“Not now,” she said. “I—just not now.”
“That’s fine,” he said, feeling something twist in his gut.
It was still twisting when he was back out in the sewers. Did she think she’d made a mistake? Did she regret what they had done? If so, he ought to be relieved. It wasn’t like they were going to get married, ra
ise children, and live in the country. There was no sort of future for them, and pretending there was would only make them stupid now, when they needed all their wits about them.
But it didn’t make him feel any better, and it took him longer than usual to find his way into the darkness that few could see into. But he finally got there, and made his mind as clear as it could be, and moved to the secret door that led into Hierem’s private office and quarters. The key fit, turned, and the door opened.
And, as in the house of Delia Huerc, there was something waiting for him.
SEVEN
Attrebus jumped back with an inchoate shout, reaching for his sword, but of course it wasn’t there. He realized his hands were up in a defensive position, and left them there.
“Who is it?” he demanded, backing quickly toward the light of his room.
“I—I’m sorry,” a woman stammered. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Well, you did,” he said. “Sneaking around in the dark—who are you?”
Her face appeared then, a young woman, probably about his age, with golden hair and a quirky, wide mouth and very blue eyes. He’d seen her before, at dinner.
“My name is Irinja,” she said. “I’m just a serving maid.”
“What were you doing outside my door?”
“I made up your room,” she said, moving a bit more into the light. He saw that she was wearing a heavily quilted robe and thick, knitted footwear. “I was just coming to make sure everything is good for you.” She looked up boldly. “Anyway,” she went on, “it looked as if you were about to do a bit of sneaking on your own.”
“Why didn’t you have a lamp, or something?”
“I grew up here, sir. I know these halls like I know my own toes. Besides, I have excellent vision at night. They say I get it from my grandfather.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Everything is fine. The room is acceptable.”
“Good,” she said, but continued to stand there.
“That’s it, then,” he said. “Thanks for your concern.”
“Right,” she said, nodding. “I’ll just be going.”
“Good, then.”
She started to turn, but then spun back.
“What are you really about, your highness?” she asked. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
“What?” he managed.
“No one else reads in this bloody castle,” she said. “They really don’t have a clue who you are. They completely fell for your story. But I’ve read every adventure about you I could get my hands on.”
Attrebus felt a peculiar warmth steal over his face, and realized he was blushing. “Listen,” he said, “I think you’ve mistaken me—”
“Don’t you dare!” she said. “You’re not really going to lie to me and tell me you’re some sort of horker-watcher? I’d know your likeness anywhere.”
He sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to be convinced. “Very well,” he said. “But you really mustn’t tell anyone my true identity.”
“I knew it,” she said. “You’re incognito, on some sort of adventure, aren’t you?”
“Well, now that you bring it up,” Attrebus said, “yes, I am. And it’s of a very secret nature.”
“Oh, I want to help,” she said. “Surely I can be of help.”
As he was considering that, he saw a ghostly face appear over her shoulder. The smoldering eyes were those of Sul, and in that instant he felt the girl’s life was hanging by a thread. He shook his head violently.
“Oh, please?” she said, mistaking the object of his gesture.
“Come in,” he replied. “Shut the door.”
“Your highness,” she murmured, lowering her eyes, “I hope you don’t take me for the sort of girl—”
“No, no,” he said. “I just want this conversation to be private.”
“Well—okay, then.”
She stepped in and closed the door, but even before she did, Sul was no longer visible.
“Irinja, you say?”
“Yes, highness.”
“Okay, Irinja. The first thing is you have to stop calling me highness, or prince, or anything like that. I’m Uriel—do you have that?”
“Yes, hi—Uriel.”
“Good. The next thing—tell me about this place. You say you grew up here. Tell me about Lord Sathil. I’m puzzled that I haven’t met him.”
“Well, he’s changed,” she said. “When I was a little girl, he was always around, always in good cheer. We all went on excursions to the sea, and in the summer played bowling on the lawns. My brother used to hunt with him. It was nice, back then.”
“And now?”
“Well—things happened,” she said. “He’s not the same now. He hardly ever comes out. But he doesn’t mistreat us. You shouldn’t think that.”
“Things happened? What sort of things?”
Irinja looked uncomfortable. “I’m not really supposed to say,” she replied. “Nobody talks about it.”
“You said you wanted to help me,” he reminded her.
“And I do,” she replied. “But if this is about Lord Sathil …”
“I mean Sathil no harm,” Attrebus assured her. “Or anyone here.”
“There are just things we don’t like to talk about,” she said, sighing.
“Okay,” he said. “Have a seat. I’m going to explain to you why I’m here, but it will take some time.”
“Very well,” she said.
And so he told her about Umbriel and its undead army, and Annaïg, and how he and Sul had gone through Oblivion, first to Morrowind and now here. He showed her his scar.
When he was done, she looked down at her knees.
“You’ve come here for the sword, then,” she said. “For Umbra.”
“Yes. Because I believe it is the only thing that can stop Umbriel.”
“Don’t tell anyone else that,” she said softly. “Don’t ask about the sword at all.”
“Why?”
She looked up at him. “I want to help you,” she said. “But I have to think.”
“Listen,” he said. “Every moment we wait, more people die, and the more soldiers the enemy has. Minutes are precious, days are treasures.”
“I know,” she said. “But I can’t just—I have to think.”
“Will you come back here, tomorrow night?”
She nodded. “It’s probably the only time we wouldn’t be noticed and heard.”
“Good, then,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She left, and when he was certain she was gone, he went next door to Sul’s room.
Sul was waiting for him.
“How much of that did you hear?” he asked the Dunmer.
“Most, I think. Are you sure that was wise, telling her why we came?”
“I had to do something. At least we know that the sword is a hornet’s nest, somehow.”
“Yes, and that girl is one of the hornets. You’ve asked her to betray the rest of them, and you don’t know why or what’s at stake. For all we know, someone will be back here to cut our throats before morning.”
“I trust her,” Attrebus said. “She might not help us, but she won’t do anything to hurt us.”
“Hurt you, you mean.”
“Look, unless you’ve had another vision that tells us where the sword is, we’ve got very little chance of finding it without help. You saw how big this place is. Even if we could move through the castle at will, unobserved, it could take weeks, months. In fact, we don’t know it’s even here, do we?”
“I’m just wondering how much you thought this through and how much comes from your pike.”
“My what?” But then he got it, and felt his face warm. “Now, really—” he began.
“That woman I found you with—the one who kidnapped you. The one I killed. You trusted her, didn’t you? Slept with her?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And this whole chase, this quest of yours—that started with a girl, too—th
is Annaïg you’re so set to rescue.”
“Maybe that was part of it, yes, but Umbriel did rather sound like something that needed taking on.”
“Your judgment just seems a bit hasty and simple when pretty girls are involved.”
“Well, possibly,” he admitted. “But it’s done now.”
“There’s still time. Something could happen to her on the way to wherever she’s going.”
“No,” Attrebus snapped. “No, do you hear me? She’ll help us or she won’t, but I won’t have her hurt.”
“Well,” Sul muttered, “let’s hope she feels the same about you.”
EIGHT
Glim wasn’t aware when silence and darkness claimed him; he didn’t know how long they had lasted—it might have been hours or days. But after the quiet came the voices, the gentle murmur of the trees, drawing him into the dream of thought, where past and future were irrelevant illusions and his mind was unhampered by reference to anything at all. And so he remained for a time, until finally the ache of hunger and the pain of his wounds brought him nearer to the world. The voices were still there, leading him through the twisting roots, finally into the light, amidst the great boughs of the Fringe Gyre. He climbed higher, until he could see the buildings above and get his bearings.
None of them looked familiar, which could only mean he was on the wrong side of the rim. Groaning, he began picking his way from tree to tree, hoping his quivering limbs didn’t fail him.
It was nightfall before he found the place, and all he could do was collapse and hope he didn’t die before Fhena found him.
“I’ve never seen anyone hurt like this,” Fhena murmured, pressing something that looked like yellow fur against the wound in his side.
He finished swallowing the whatever-it-was she had given him to eat. “That feels good,” he said, looking around. They were in some sort of cavity in the tree, irregular in shape. Light came in from around the bend, but he couldn’t see sky.
Then her comment registered.
“You’ve never seen anyone hurt? How do you know what to do?”
“No, of course I’ve seen injuries. Ixye broke his leg in a fall yesterday. I meant I’ve never seen someone hurt on purpose.”