Lord of Souls es-2

by Greg Keyes

  But it did give him an idea. He took a twisting course, past where a cluster of middens emptied into the sump, hoping the turbulence would disperse his blood trail, then swam toward the capillaries that drew water up to the Fringe Gyre. It took him a few minutes, but he found the one with the lines crudely etched into the stone above-the sign of the vapors. They had smashed the filter, so the capillary was pulling up debris that in time would choke the feed. Hoping it wasn’t blocked already, he went up it.

  It was nearly too tight for him; he had to writhe up the thing for the first hundred feet or so, but finally it met a larger tube and he let himself drift for a moment before continuing on.

  He’d never been in these passages before for the simple reason that none of the filters were ever broken. Older skraws who had made repairs said they formed a webwork that brought water to the roots of the Fringe Gyre. He hadn’t wanted to take his usual path up, because it would have been far too easy to track him. Now, as he passed dozens of branching tubes, many far too small to admit him, he wondered if he hadn’t merely managed to trap himself. If they found him here, his speed and maneuverability wouldn’t count for much.

  Not that he had that much of either left anyway. He didn’t know how much blood he had lost; his wounds stanched themselves pretty quickly, but he was still bleeding.

  Hoping he wouldn’t pass out before he found a way up, he swam on, through passages that became increasingly more dizzying and labyrinthine.

  THREE

  Attrebus fell, but before he could start a scream he crunched into something cold and wet. Gasping, he came to his hands and knees, swiping at the clotting stuff on his face, wondering what horrible Oblivion realm Malacath had banished them to. But then he understood that he’d landed in snow, and the air coming into his lungs was clean and filled with evergreen scent. When he looked up, the sky was blue and traced with high, thin clouds.

  “He did it,” he said.

  “So it would appear,” Sul replied. “This is not Oblivion, at least.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “If this is Solstheim, that makes sense.”

  Like him, Sul was still naked; his dark skin stood in sharp contrast to the snow and spruce trees surrounding them. Near him lay a bundle, and the older man stepped over to it, discovering their clothing, weapons, and armor.

  Everything was still torn, filthy, and blood-caked, but Attrebus felt warmer and more secure back in his gear.

  “Which way now?” he asked. They were on a low ridge. Jagged peaks stood off in one direction. “I thought he would drop us right in front of-wherever we’re going.”

  “That’s not always possible, even for a daedra prince,” Sul replied. “He probably put us as near as was convenient.” He looked around, and then jerked his chin toward the peaks. “I’ve no interest in climbing mountains just for sport. Downhill is likely more hospitable, and we’re more apt to find someone to ask directions of.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” Attrebus said.

  The land rolled up and down, but took them generally lower, until they came to a little valley with a small but enthusiastic river laughing over polished stones. They began following that downstream. It was about midday, and the sun was warmer, the ice turning to mush under their feet.

  As the sky paled to slate and the outlines of the moon Secundus began to brighten, the snow began to crackle under their feet, and the inadequacy of their clothing became clear. They searched the valley wall for a rock shelter, but failing to find one, they stopped, gathered wood, and built a fire to huddle around.

  “I thought we would find people sooner,” Attrebus said, watching the flames dance and trying to avoid the resinous smoke.

  “Why?” Sul asked.

  “Well, because so many Dark Elves came here after the red year-” He broke off, realizing he was in uncomfortable territory, but Sul clapped his hands together and rubbed them over the fire.

  “I had many unpleasant surprises after returning from exile in Oblivion,” he said. “I knew that Vivec City was destroyed. Vuhon told me he had seen as much, when he was torturing me. But it wasn’t until I went there that I understood how badly my homeland had been ravaged, or how they had suffered from the Argonian invasion. Still, I had an idea. But that Skyrim had offered Solstheim as a haven for my people, after ages of enmity between our races-for that I was unprepared.”

  “ ‘Untithed to any thane or hold,’ ” Attrebus quoted, “ ‘and self-governed, with free worship, with no compensation to Skyrim or the Empire except as writ in the armistice of old wheresoever those might still apply, and henceforth let no man or mer say that the Sons and Daughters of Kyne are without mercy or honor.’ ”

  Sul raised an eyebrow.

  “I learned it from my tutors,” Attrebus explained. “I memorized it. I’ve always been moved by it.”

  Sul poked at the fire, his brow furrowing, then tossed his head to indicate their surroundings. “It’s not the most fruitful land,” he said. “And in my day almost unpopulated, and then by scraggly tribesmen with no clear allegiance toward Skyrim or the Empire. Morrowind had always laid theoretical claim to the place. If Skyrim hadn’t given it freely, odds are the refugees would have settled here anyway, forcing the Nords to either fight or lose face. This way they came out looking like saviors.”

  “Stendarr,” Attrebus swore. “Can’t you ever imagine that people actually act from kindness? From mercy?”

  “People might, or at least might imagine that’s what moves them,” Sul said. “Nations don’t.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Attrebus said. “Nations are ruled by people. When did the Nords ever back down from a fight with Dunmer? Your people were weakened, Sul-battered, without home or resources.”

  “They were desperate,” Sul replied. “Desperate and dangerous. You’ve too many romantic notions in your head.”

  “Maybe,” Attrebus said. “And maybe nine times out of ten, you’re right-nations act from cold self-interest. But sometimes, at their very best, they act for a greater good, just as some men and women do.”

  Sul waved that off. “I’m not going to argue any further,” he said. “Believe what you want. But to return to your question, my guess is that most Dunmer settled in the South and along the coasts, and I think we’re in the interior.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “No, but as I said, it was always a disputed territory, and therefore its essentials were a part of my education in the ministry.”

  Despite Sul’s pronouncement, Attrebus wanted to press the debate, but at that moment he heard a soft noise from his haversack, both artificial and birdlike.

  “Annaig,” he whispered. “She’s alive. I tried to contact her earlier but-”

  “Go on,” Sul said. “But don’t stray far from the fire.”

  Attrebus nodded and stepped a bit away from the flames, into the muffling spruces, for a bit of privacy. Then he hesitated at the cold, wondering why he needed discretion, why Sul assumed he did…

  He pulled out Coo, the mechanical bird, an exquisitely crafted object, detailed down to the feather. He opened the small latch on its belly.

  And there she was, Annaig, with her curly black hair and mouth curving up in a wide, happy grin.

  “Attrebus,” she said. “I-I thought you were dead. It’s been so long.”

  “Has it?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’ve lost all sense of time.”

  “What happened?” she asked. “Where are you?”

  “Things didn’t go exactly as planned,” he said. “Sul and I reached Umbriel, but Vuhon was too much for us. We barely escaped into Oblivion with our lives, and there-we were quite busy. I tried to contact you a few times but I never managed it.” He felt sick as he said it, and realized he was holding his gut scar. He forced a smile. “But now we have returned to Tamriel.”

  “Vuhon? Who is Vuhon?”

  “You haven’t heard of him? He’s the lord of Umbriel. He created it.”

 
Her brow furrowed.

  “When they speak of the lord of Umbriel, they call him Umbriel,” she said. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Vuhon.”

  “That’s odd,” Attrebus said, but he remembered Vuhon suggesting that he didn’t go by that name anymore, that he was only answering to it out of convenience for Sul. Then he caught the tense of her verb. “You speak as if you’re still there,” he said. “I thought you had managed to escape.”

  “My plans didn’t fare so well either,” she replied. “It seems Umbriel has some hold over us. We flew out a few hundred yards and our bodies began to-ah-evaporate.”

  “Evaporate? Like the larvae you told me about? I remember you said the inhabitants of Umbriel all believed they couldn’t leave.”

  “And it seems they can’t. And now Glim and I can’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “All this time I thought you were safe. I tried to contact you once from Oblivion, when we had a moment’s respite, but there wasn’t an answer. There must be some way.”

  “There is, I’m sure,” she said, but her eyes shifted away and her tone was unconvincing.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just haven’t made much progress, that’s all,” she said.

  “We learned a few things from Vuhon that might help you,” he told her.

  “Really?” she asked. “Such as?”

  “Umbriel used to be a city in Oblivion, in the realm of Clavicus Vile. Vuhon-the lord of Umbriel-was trying to escape that realm with his companion, Umbra, but Vile essentially hardened the walls of his domain so no one could leave it. Vuhon found a way to sort of turn space around the city, though, and then break that free, like twisting a sausage casing and then tearing it.”

  Annaig blinked. “So Umbriel is in a bubble-a bubble of the wall Clavicus Vile made it impossible to pass through?”

  “I think that’s right,” he said. “Sul has tried to explain it better, but we’ve been rather busy-”

  “But that helps,” she said excitedly. “Attrebus, that helps a lot. If I were there I would kiss-”

  But she broke off and blushed.

  “You know what I mean,” she said after a moment.

  “I think I could suffer through a kiss from you,” he said.

  Her brows drew in. “Oh, could you?” she asked.

  “Sure-if it wasn’t too long, or wet.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, your highness,” she said. But then her face changed, as if she’d just remembered something awful.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is someone there?”

  “No,” she replied. “No, privacy isn’t the problem it used to be.”

  “How is that?”

  “I’ve-moved up. I’m the chef of a kitchen now.”

  “That’s good?”

  “I think so. It puts me in a position to learn more about Umbriel. I think I may have found some weaknesses.”

  “That’s wonderful, then. Are you safer?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. Her good mood seemed to have all but left her. Now she sounded tired. “In a way, certainly. But every step up just means a new kind of danger. In two days I will make a meal for Umbriel himself.”

  “Vuhon?”

  “I guess so. I don’t know.”

  “He’s a Dunmer, Annaig. From Morrowind.” A thought occurred, but he felt reluctant to voice it. She must have seen it on his face.

  “You’re wondering if I can poison him.”

  “No,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I-” She closed her eyes. “I’m confused, Attrebus. To survive, to get to this position-I’ve had to do things. Things I’m not happy about or proud of.”

  “I’m sure everything you’ve done was necessary,” he said. “Look, I know you’re not an assassin. I shouldn’t have-”

  “If I thought I could succeed, I would do it,” she said. “The fact that he was once an elf, a person of flesh and blood like you and me-that’s interesting. But I don’t think he is that anymore.”

  “No,” he said, “you’re probably right. He said that everything on Umbriel was a part of him, and he part of it. And he was so strong…”

  Her expression had changed again, become thoughtful.

  “If that’s true…” she began.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I need to think about this. Tell me everything you remember him saying, everything you know about Umbriel.”

  He recounted the meeting with Vuhon and everything he could remember Sul saying about him, Clavicus Vile, and Umbra, continuing long into the night.

  “I should go now,” she sighed. “I have more privacy, but I have a kitchen to run. I’m-it’s good to talk to you.”

  “To you, too,” he said. He hesitated, then went on. “There’s so much that’s happened, so much I want to tell you about when we really have time-”

  “I never got that description of Rimmen,” she said.

  “I know. But gods willing, I’ll get the chance to give it to you. When you’re free, and alone, always try me. I’ll answer when I can.”

  “I know you will,” she said.

  Her image persisted a moment, and then vanished as she put away the locket.

  It was only then that he realized he was freezing.

  “Watch it,” Sul warned.

  Attrebus looked down and realized he was about to put his foot into a jagged crevice a yard deep.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Just-watch yourself.”

  “I didn’t really sleep last night,” Attrebus explained.

  “Cold and hard dirt can do that.”

  “That wasn’t it. Believe it or not, I’ve slept perfectly peacefully under those conditions before. I just couldn’t stop thinking.”

  “I can believe that,” Sul grunted.

  Attrebus felt irritation flare but pressed it down.

  “Look, until a few weeks ago I thought I was a warrior, a leader-a hero. I slept like a baby because I didn’t have any worries. Every fight I was ever in, I won, every battle went my way. And I was too stupid to figure out the whole thing was a sham.”

  “You’re not that stupid,” Sul said, to his surprise. “That’s an easy sort of thing to believe, when you’re young. I thought I was invincible at one point, too, and I didn’t have any of the excuses you do for thinking so.”

  “Well, that’s-thanks.”

  For a moment he continued in silence, wondering over the rare almost-compliment.

  “Sul,” he finally began, “you made me face the facts, and then you gave me a way of making it through with my sanity. You told me to try to become the man people think I am. And I am trying.”

  “Good for you.”

  “But I need you to tell me something. I need you to tell me if you think we have any chance at this, or if you’re just so angry and guilty…”

  Sul drew to an abrupt stop.

  “Do you think I’m out of my mind?” he asked quietly.

  “What?”

  “I asked,” Sul said, his voice rising to a shout, “if you think I’m out of my mind?”

  Attrebus felt a stir of fear in his gut. If Sul chose to kill him, there was no way he would be able to stop him.

  “I don’t know,” he finally said. “If everything Vuhon said was true, I honestly don’t know.”

  “Does it matter?” Sul asked.

  “Yes, it does. Umbriel is headed toward the Imperial City. Toward my father, my mother, everyone I know. And yet here we are, halfway across the world, looking for a sword that might help us destroy Umbriel. But I’ve met Vuhon and seen his power. Even with all of your art, we barely escaped with our lives, and I hadn’t the slightest chance against him. I don’t see how this sword is going to change things.”

  “It might not,” Sul admitted. “But what else would you do?”

  “You could take us back through Oblivion, get us to the Imperial City before Umbriel reaches it. We know things that can help the Emp
ire against Vuhon.”

  “We do? What would you tell him?”

  “Everything we know.”

  “And how would that help him? Have you worked out how to destroy Umbriel?”

  “No,” Attrebus said.

  “Neither have I,” Sul replied. “Until we know that, I can’t see what use going there will do. Even assuming I could do it at this point, which is anything but given. You’ve seen now what can happen if I don’t have my trail to follow through the realms.”

  “We know Vuhon wants the White-Gold Tower for something. My father’s mages might be able to figure out why.”

  “They might,” Sul conceded.

  Attrebus paused, uncertain if he wanted to continue, but he knew he had to.

  “We could go to Clavicus Vile,” he said.

  “Now there’s an idea,” Sul replied. “And you’re wondering if I’m out of my mind.”

  “But it makes sense. Vuhon is fleeing Vile, trying to be free of him. If we tell Vile where he is-”

  “Vile can’t come into Tamriel, at least not in an aspect potent enough to do anything about Umbriel. And if he could, he would probably make a far bigger mess than Vuhon will. If Clavicus Vile could take his power back from Umbriel, he already would have. What he needs in order to do that is what we’re looking for.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “No. But Vuhon went way out of his way to try to retrieve the sword. Azura gave me visions of it, and even Malacath seemed to think we’re on to something. Anyway, our last little forays into Oblivion have left me weakened. If I dare try going there again anytime soon, it will have to be for a very good reason, and not just because you want to be with your daddy.”

  “Look-”

  “The Imperial City is that way,” Sul said, pointing. “You’re free to go there anytime you like.”

  Attrebus pursed his lips and drew himself a little straighter.

  “Did you kill your lover? Did you destroy Vivec City?”

  Sul’s bloody eyes narrowed. “I did what I did,” he said. “I bear some of the blame. But Vuhon made this as well, and when I am done with him-” He stopped abruptly.

  “What?” Attrebus asked. “Yes, what then?”