by Greg Keyes
FOUR
“Mazgar!” a familiar voice shouted, and suddenly Goblin was there, leaping at her from the mass of refugees. If her instincts had kicked in, she would have probably killed the kid, but somehow they didn’t, and the girl was clinging to her like a leech.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I missed you, too. No need to get crazy about it.”
“What happened? Where have you been?”
“Brenn and I got cut off when we stormed out of Cheydinhal,” she said. “It took us a while to catch up with the rest of you.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re alive,” Goblin said. “I thought maybe you weren’t.” She looked around. “Where’s Brenn?”
“He’s taking a rest on the wagon, there,” she said.
“How long have you been back with us?”
“Two days,” Mazgar said.
“And you didn’t come looking for me?”
“Captain Arges put us in charge of this bunch,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to do much else but shepherd them.”
“Well, I’m glad we ended up on the same side of the split,” Goblin said.
“Right,” Mazgar agreed.
It was clear that they weren’t going to reach the Imperial City before Umbriel overtook them. Arges, the ranking officer, had decided their best bet was to split into two groups, one north and one south of the Blue Road, and hope the main army of wormies didn’t come after both of them.
It had worked, at least so far; it seemed that Umbriel was trying to get to the Imperial City, and they just happened to be in the way. They were still harassed by groups like the one that had attacked Brennus and Mazgar, but no large groups had detached.
Mazgar wondered why they didn’t just make a big circle and march back to Cheydinhal, and a lot of the refugees were starting to say the same thing, rather loudly. After all, the Knights of the Thorn hadn’t found an occupying force in the city. Behind Umbriel seemed to be the safest place to be.
Arges, however, was focused on getting to the Imperial City, and without soldiers to protect them, most people weren’t willing to chance running into hunting parties. Not yet anyway. She had a feeling that wouldn’t last much longer.
They were walking on, with Goblin chattering away, when a rider came alongside them.
“Imperial troops up ahead,” he shouted. “Stand by for orders.”
“There we go,” Mazgar said, rubbing Goblin’s head. “Things are looking up.”
“Who’s in charge here?” the young commander shouted in a strong Colovian accent.
“That’s me, sir,” Mazgar replied.
“Name?”
“Mazgar gra Yagash, Imperial scouts.”
“Scouts? How did you end up here?”
She explained, and when she was done he nodded.
“I knew Falcus,” he said. “He was a good man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m Commander Prossos, and I’m in charge of this wing of refugees now,” he said. “Given your experience, I’m giving you a field promotion to captain, and you’ll act as my second in command.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Our orders are to go north immediately. General Takar is going to meet the enemy a few miles west of here, and we don’t want the civilians in the dust-up. Frankly, I’m not sure why you all were still anywhere near that thing’s path.”
“I just follow orders, sir.”
He laughed. “I like that. You know Arges is an idiot, but you don’t want to say so. Well, if you think I’m being an idiot, you’ll speak up. In private, of course. And that’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Take a party and make sure that hill south of here is free of the enemy. If it is, send us a messenger and wait. We’ll be along.”
“Yes, sir.”
She’d heard of General Takar. He was from Hammerfell. He’d fought against the Empire, before Titus Mede won him over—supposedly through personal combat. It made a good story, but she doubted it somehow.
Whatever the truth was, Takar was now one of Mede’s most trusted generals.
The hill wasn’t occupied, so she sent a runner down with the news and settled in.
Takar had about five thousand men with him, mostly mounted infantry and mages. She could see them formed up in a huge field, along with some eight large wagons that might be siege engines of some sort.
“I wish I was down there,” she told Brennus. “I’m deadly sick of running.”
“Well, at least we’ll get to watch,” Brennus said.
Brennus was right. Less than an hour later the legion met its counterpart as the shadow of Umbriel moved toward them. For whatever reason, the wormies had constricted their range, marching more tightly beneath the flying mountain than they had in the countryside.
Mazgar heard the distant shock as the front lines met a few seconds after it actually happened, and for a while that was the last time she watched the ground battle—because the air war had begun. Half of the legion suddenly left the ground, along with the wagons, and flew toward the city.
“Oh, yeah!” Brennus whooped, so loudly it startled her almost as much as watching an army fly.
When they got near Umbriel, she saw something coming to meet them. She had seen them before; they looked like birds, at least from a distance. They would drop down and then appear to dissolve, turning into trails of smoke. Brennus told her that they were the spirits that took over the bodies of the newly dead, and lost corporeal form when they passed through the rim of the bubble of Oblivion the city traveled in.
But the Imperials were now apparently inside that bubble, and the bird-things were smashing into them in swarms. Lightning and flame seemed to fill the sky, and the soldiers with her cheered. But their cheers dropped away when it became clear that most—if not all—of the bodies dropping wore Imperial colors.
It was over in less than an hour; one of the wagons made it as far as the rim, but none of the others even got close, at least not that she saw.
Below, the wail of horns went up. Takar was in retreat, and Umbriel moved on, undeterred.
They continued to march the civilians out of harm’s way that night and the following day, with no sign of the wormies, not even raiding parties anymore.
“Whoever is running things up there has tightened their focus on the Imperial City,” Prossos said to Mazgar. “Command thinks the refugees will be okay with a skeleton guard. A lot of the civilians have been slipping off back to Cheydinhal, and we’re letting them go. We can’t feed them forever anyway.” He stood a little taller. “I’m leaving you in charge, Captain. Take care of these people—use your own judgment.”
“Where are you going, sir?”
“To reinforce the city,” he said.
“I’d like to go with you, sir.”
“I’m doing you a favor,” he replied softly. “You’ve already seen a lot of action.”
“No, sir, you aren’t. If you order me to do this, I will, but my place is fighting, not nursemaiding. My mother went down in battle—what would she think of me if I didn’t? Please, sir. There are others here who can get these sheep to pasture.”
He studied her for a moment. “Very well,” he said, and sighed.
Brennus cleared his throat and spoke up.
“She’s under orders to watch out for me,” he said. She turned—she hadn’t known he was anywhere near.
“Is this true?” Prossos asked.
“Under Falcus, sure,” she admitted. “Each of the mages had a bodyguard assigned.”
“That came from the Imperial war office, directly,” Brennus said. “It can’t be countermanded in the field.”
“That mission is over, Brenn,” she said.
Prossos shook his head. “He’s right. If what he says is true, you have to stay here with him.”
“Not at all,” Brennus said. “All it means is that I have to come along, too.”
FIVE
“It looks calm,” Intendant Maral
l said.
“It does,” Colin agreed. Viewed from atop the walls, the vast waters of Lake Rumare were perfectly turquoise, the Heartlands beyond verdant with field and forest. Only at the farthest edge of sight was the vista blemished, and then because he knew that what appeared to be a distant storm cloud wasn’t.
“How long before it arrives?” he asked Marall.
“Two days,” the Intendant replied.
“And then what?”
“The Emperor can’t be convinced to evacuate, if that’s even possible now. General Takar made a preliminary strike—he took a legion. The Synod managed to spell almost three thousand of them airborne, but some sort of flying daedra killed them all in short order. Other magicks were tried—I’m told over a hundred—with no result. As if they knew in advance what we were going to do and were prepared for it. So now we know a lot about what doesn’t work.”
“Not much time left to find out what does,” Colin said.
“Do you have any ideas?”
Colin hesitated, and Marall caught it.
“You’ve been missing a lot,” the Intendant observed, “and distracted when you’re around. I told you when you began this job that your job wasn’t to think, but we both know the truth is more complicated than that. Sometimes I believe it’s my job to not notice when one of my inspectors takes his own head. I don’t know what you’ve been into, but if you know anything that will help us, tell me now. Or, if you think it best not to tell me—then you should act.”
“Yes, sir,” Colin said. “I’ll think about that.”
“Do so. And here is another thing that might interest you.”
“What is that, sir?”
“I’ve a report from a source that is sometimes reliable that Prince Attrebus was seen at the waterfront.”
“Since it’s been overrun by the enemy?”
“Yes. My source did not see this himself. The story is that Attrebus was abducted, taken away with a bag on his head.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I know Vel took you off the Attrebus case. I just thought you might be interested.”
“When did this supposedly happen, sir?”
“In the past few days. My source wasn’t clear on it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Attrebus paced, he tested the bars, the walls, the floor of the tiny cell. He tried to get Sul—unconscious in the cell across from him—to wake up. He wasn’t sure how long he had been doing this.
Finally, exhausted, he sat on the floor and turned the situation over and over in his head.
When he heard footsteps, he lay on the floor and pretended to sleep, but kept his eyes cracked open a bit.
It was Hierem, who didn’t even look in his direction. He walked across the room and into the next. Through the open door, Attrebus saw him stop. Then something flickered, like a spinning, full-length mirror, and he was gone.
Where? Obviously, magic was involved. He’d heard stories about teleportation, but never met anyone who had actually done or seen it. Or he didn’t think he had. It might have been an illusion of some sort—but why would Hierem bother, if he was the only witness?
“Umbriel,” he muttered.
Of course. Obviously Hierem and Vuhon/Umbriel were in contact. He’d assumed it was through some device like Coo, but what if they were simply meeting face-to-face this whole time?
He stood to get a better look; he could make out a red sigil on the floor.
He kept watching, but exhaustion caught up with him. He was on the verge of sleep when a movement caught his eye. Then he saw it was only a rat, sniffing about on the red spot. It cocked its tiny head up, then crouched low to the ground, as if frightened of something above.
Perhaps half an hour more passed, and Attrebus was again having trouble keeping his eyes open, when the light turned again, and Hierem stood there.
But now the rat had vanished. It hadn’t scurried away or been stepped on—he had been watching. It was just gone, as Hierem had been earlier.
He hoped the minister would just pass through, but he didn’t—he stopped at Sul’s cage and touched the bars, which glowed briefly. Then he stepped back and seemed to examine the unconscious man for a few moments.
Sul stirred and then screamed.
“Stop it!” Attrebus said.
Hierem turned and lifted an eyebrow.
“That’s not my doing,” Hierem said. “I’m just waking him up, now that I’ve had some time to secure things. I find it easier to question people in pairs, if you understand me. No, whatever that was about, it’s in his head. But don’t worry, I’ll find some other reasons for him to scream.”
“Hierem,” Attrebus said, “listen to me. There’s still time to change your mind. Whatever bargain you made with Umbriel—”
“If you’re going to keep moving that mouth of yours,” Hierem said, moving toward his cage, “it had best be to tell me something useful. I’ll make it easy on you—I’ll ask a specific question, and you tell me the answer. How’s that?”
“I’m not telling you anything,” Attrebus said.
“Really? Not even your name?”
“What do you mean? I’m Attrebus Mede.”
“Good,” Hierem said, making an odd gesture with his hand.
Attrebus felt as if something had touched him lightly in the forehead, and then his knees gave way as the most absolute pleasure he’d ever felt rushed through his body. He wept in ecstasy and moaned involuntarily, overcome.
Then it stopped, and he realized he was quivering on the floor, aching to feel again what he’d just felt.
“That’s what you get for a right answer,” Hierem said. “Do you want another sample of it?”
Yes! he thought, but he pressed his lips together and didn’t reply.
But it happened again, this time longer. He tried to hold on to his anger and purpose, but it was useless, and he soon surrendered completely, hoping it would never end.
But it did, of course, and he wanted to die.
“Stop it,” he heard someone croak. “His mind can’t take much more of that. You’ll destroy him.”
It was Sul. The Dunmer was on his feet, leaning against his bars.
“We can discuss that, Sul,” Hierem said.
“I remember you,” Sul said. “You were an ambassador to Morrowind.”
“Indeed I was. You have a good memory—let’s put it to use. Why is Umbriel afraid of you?”
“Because I’m going to kill him,” Sul replied.
“Yes, but you tried that already,” Hierem said. “It didn’t work out very well for you. And yet despite that fact, Umbriel is worried by you. Why is that?”
“You don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Sul said.
“No, I don’t,” Hierem replied. “And of course, that concerns me. Everything is aligning—the moment I’ve waited for for many years is coming near. I don’t want any surprises, not from him.”
“Life is full of surprises,” Sul said.
Then he shrieked, and not at all in pleasure—it sounded as though scalding water was being poured on him, except Attrebus couldn’t imagine even that drawing such an agonized response from Sul.
Hierem turned back to Attrebus. “That’s what happens when I don’t get an answer, or get one that doesn’t make sense,” he said.
Attrebus slammed into the bars, reaching with both arms for the minister, but he was too far away.
“Let’s keep it simple,” Hierem said. “It’s not just Sul he’s afraid of, is it?”
Attrebus stood there, panting. Hierem had already guessed that, hadn’t he? That wouldn’t be telling him anything he didn’t know. And if he kept quiet, he would hurt Sul again.
“No,” he murmured, and knew he had done the right thing, as delight once more filled every pore in his body.
“Is it the sword, then? Does he fear the sword?”
Attrebus laughed with joy, but then the sensation was gone, and Sul screamed.
“Yes!” he shouted. Happines
s returned, briefly, but then Hierem asked him something else, which he didn’t understand. He wanted—desperately—to have the feeling back, to please Hierem in any way he could, to just have it keep going …
But he couldn’t focus enough to understand the minister’s words. All he could think about was the memory of the feeling, the devastating loss of it. He ground his face against the stone floor, weeping.
It seemed that hours passed before he could form a thought, maybe days. For the first time in his life he honestly wished he could die. The world was a horrible, ugly place, and he wanted no part of it.
“Attrebus,” Sul said. “Attrebus, listen to me.”
He forced his eyes open but couldn’t find the energy to sit up.
“What?” he muttered.
“You’ll get over it. It doesn’t feel like it, but you will.”
“No. He’ll come back. He’ll get me to tell him the rest, and then he’ll kill me.”
“He won’t,” Sul said. “He won’t come back because I told him.”
“Ah, damn you!” Attrebus howled, climbing to his feet, yanking at the bars. “I’ll kill you! That was the only thing, the only way he might—” He broke off in a paroxysm of fury, slamming arms and elbows against the walls, punching them until his knuckles were bloody.
“That was the only thing I had to look forward to!” he finally got out.
“I know,” Sul nodded.
“Why did you tell him?”
“Because he would have kept asking you, and it would have destroyed you. As it is, you’re still able to get angry. That’s a good sign.”
“But now Hierem—You told him about the sword? What it will do?”
“Yes.”
Attrebus sank, trembling, back to the floor. “Then why are we still alive?”
“In case, I think,” Sul replied.
“What do you mean?”
“If things don’t go Hierem’s way, he said he would give us the sword and send us up to Umbriel.”
Attrebus wiped his tears with the bloody back of his hand. “We might still have a chance?”