by Greg Keyes
“I’ll get him as soon as he appears.”
“No,” Attrebus croaked. He’d been sitting despondently outside of his cell, but now he stood up.
“Your highness-”
But Attrebus was talking to the Dunmer. “We can get up there, Sul,” he said. “Up to Umbriel, just as Hierem did.”
“He’s got some sort of object with him,” Sul replied. “I think it activates the portal. We’ll have to get it from him.”
“No, we won’t,” Attrebus said. “I think if we stand in the middle of the sign, we’ll go up when he comes back. I saw a rat vanish once, when he appeared.”
“Wait,” Colin said. “Listen to me. If we return you to your father, he can send a hundred men through the portal-soldiers, battlemages-there’s no point in you going, Prince.”
“What if the portal only works for Hierem? What if he’s the only one who knows the magic word, or whatever? We can’t take that risk. Sul, we have to find the sword before Hierem returns.”
“What sword? What’s this about?” Colin demanded, but Sul was already out the door. Attrebus started after him.
“I’ll explain if we have time,” the prince said.
“What if he doesn’t return?” Colin pressed, walking with him. “What if he just stays on Umbriel until this city falls?”
“I don’t know,” Attrebus said. “But I think he’ll be back. You stay here in case it’s sooner rather than later.”
“I think he’s right,” Letine said after they were gone. “I think Hierem will be here when Umbriel reaches the city.”
“Why?”
“Just a feeling in my gut,” she replied. “The prince is determined-let him do whatever it is he wants to do-we’ll wait here for Hierem.”
“The prince is delusional,” Colin whispered.
“You can’t make him go.”
“Sure I can. His father will thank me.”
He heard them returning. Sul was carrying something wrapped up in cloth. It was the size and shape of a sword.
Sul and Attrebus moved to the sigil. Nothing happened when they stepped on it.
“Can you open it, Sul?” Attrebus asked.
The dark elf shook his head. “It’s not an Oblivion gate or trace. It’s beyond me.”
“We’ll wait, then.”
“Highness,” Colin said, hoping one more try would do the trick, “my charge is to get you to safety, not watch you jump into the midst of the enemy.”
“I know what you probably think of me,” Attrebus said. “To be honest, right now most of me just wants to go back to my villa and lay down on my bed, if only to die there. But I can’t. I’ll never be the man the books talk about. But I started something, and I’m going to finish it. I won’t argue about this anymore, and as your prince I forbid you to bring it up again.”
Colin drew a deep breath and nodded. “As you say, my prince.”
Attrebus and Sul took positions on the sigil. The inspector-Vineben, the prince recalled-and the woman, Letine, stood behind it. Sul unwrapped Umbra and replaced his usual weapon with it.
“What’s the plan?” Attrebus asked.
Sul’s gaze seemed even more intense than usual as he turned it on Attrebus.
“If we’re lucky, Hierem is meeting with Vuhon, and we’ll appear right in front of him. If that happens, I’ll stab him. If we’re right about all of this, the sword should reclaim Vile’s energies. That should allow me to kill Vuhon.”
“And then what?”
Sul cocked his head, as if studying some strange creature speaking an even stranger language.
“Then he’ll be dead.” He said it quietly, like a note plucked softly on the tightest wire in the world.
“But what about Umbriel? Without Vile’s power to run the ingenium, will it just fall out of the sky, or-”
“Vile said he would take it from there,” Sul said shortly. “Remember?”
“Right, but-” Then he understood. “You don’t care about anything but killing Vuhon.”
“When did I ever say otherwise?” Sul snapped.
“Well-never. But I just thought-”
“Don’t try to think for me,” Sul said. “And don’t act surprised. I kill Vuhon-anything else is up to you. You know what’s going to happen when I draw Umbra-you remember Elhul. Best get away from me when that happens, find that girl or do whatever strikes your fancy.”
“Then why do you want me along at all?”
“Because if Vuhon isn’t there when we appear, we’ll have to find him-and you’re the one with the magic bird and the friends in high places. So I might still need you. And speaking of birds…”
“Right,” Attrebus said, reaching into his bag.
SIX
He swam in black water, probing through the rotting leaves, lifting his eyes now and then above the surface to search the shallows and shore for movement. Larger things in the depths of the swamp couldn’t reach him here, amidst the twisting cypress roots; here the danger usually came from land.
Something in the mud moved, and he snapped at it with webbed paws and lifted a feathery-gilled wriggler into view. He ate it happily and searched for more, but in a short time his belly was full and he felt like basking. He swam lazily back to the gathering hole.
The old ones had already claimed the choicest perches, so he crawled onto a log already crowded with his siblings and wriggled down among them until he felt the rough bark against his belly. When his brothers and sisters gave up their sleepy, halfhearted complaints at his added company, he felt the sun on his skin and began to dream his life; swimming, basking, killing, avoiding death, the sun and moons, all mystery, all terrifying, all beautiful. Each day the same day, each year the same year.
Until the root came, and the taste of sap. Some changes were slow, others came quickly, and he-they-flowed together, found the stream of time. His old body wasn’t forgotten, but it changed, became more like things the root remembered from otherwhere; his hind legs lengthened and his spine stood up. Small thoughts in his head put out branches, and those branched also, until what had before been warmth, light, shadow, movement, fear, contentment, anger, and lust became categories instead of simple facts. The world was the same, but it seemed more, bigger, stranger than ever.
Death followed life and life death, but it all flowed through the root, each life different, each the same.
Until that, too, ended, and the root was ripped away, and he was alone. The gathering place was empty except for him-no elders, no siblings. He swam in black water, forgetting everything. Losing his form, melting away.
But in that dissolution, the illusion was also dissolved. He was many, and he was one. He sang, a plaintive tune, a remembrance, a prayer. All of his voices took it up, trembling it out through every branch and root, through heart and blood and bone.
I want to go home, he sang. I want to go home.
Glim woke gasping, spitting water from his mouth, remembering the ache closing in on his chest. He smelled his own terror, and remembered more-his heart stopping, the cold, nothingness.
And Fhena. Then he understood that he wasn’t just thinking of her-she was looking down at him anxiously.
“What?” he managed.
“You’re talking!” she said.
“Where am I?”
“You’re safe,” Fhena said. “Just know you’re safe.”
“I don’t understand,” he grunted. His skin felt tight, itchy, and he was shivering. His mind was full of shifting images and half thoughts, as if he were back home, touching the root of the City Tree but stronger, stranger, freer.
“What happened to me?” he said. “I’m not the same. The trees-”
“You hear them now,” she said. “Like I do.” She touched him, and her face changed to an expression of purest wonder. “No,” she said, “not like me. Better-more-it’s like you’re one of them, Glim.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m me. I’m me.”
He fought back the thoughts invading
his head.
“What happened?” he demanded. “I thought I died. I was sure I died.” He felt at his side, then his face. “Where are my wounds?” There weren’t even any scars.
“She did it to save you,” Fhena told him. “To keep you safe.”
“Did what?” Glim asked, starting to feel hysterical.
“I killed you,” another familiar voice said. “I killed you.”
The face was Annaig’s, but the words made no sense juxtaposed with it.
“She did it to save you,” Fhena murmured, laying her hand on his shoulder.
“Neither of you is making any sense,” he snarled.
“Be calm, Glim,” Annaig said in their private cant. “Just be still and let me explain.”
Annaig watched Glim’s face as he listened to her, as she tried to explain to him that he was still Glim, still the friend she had grown up with, that she had rescued him, not murdered him.
But his face wasn’t exactly the same. It looked younger, which made sense, but there was also a little something different about the shape of it; the same for his coloring, which had more rust in it now. If she had seen this body a few months ago, she would have thought it one of Glim’s brothers, but she wouldn’t have mistaken it for him.
But inside, he had to be the same. He had to. Sure, he seemed somehow more distracted than the old Glim, seemed to have a hard time focusing on what she was saying, but surely that was a side effect of the incubation process. To go from a worm to an adult with eighteen years’ worth of memories in a few days had to be a shock.
But Glim didn’t come to that conclusion.
“You’re saying I’m not me anymore,” he said, in as strange a tone as she had ever heard him use. “I’m a copy.”
“No,” Annaig said. “You have the same soul, Glim. The poison I made caught it before Umbriel could take it away.”
Glim scratched at his flesh. “But this isn’t my body. It isn’t even a Saxhleel body. It’s grown from a proform. I’m not-” He jerked to his feet.
“This is all I’ve ever been to you, an experimental subject! ‘Drink this, Glim, you’ll turn invisible, this will let you fly, this will kill you and bring you back to life,’ but not quite right, never quite right!”
Annaig felt as if layers of cloth were wrapped around her, muffling everything, hiding what Glim ought to be able to see, trapping anything she could say that might help in dense warp and weft.
“I’m sorry, Glim, it’s all I could think of,” was the best she could do, and she saw now that it wasn’t good enough, might never be good enough.
“Listen,” she said, reaching to soothe his spines, “I know this is a lot right now. I know you may hate me. But I need to tell you a few things, about what I’m planning-”
“No,” Glim said, jerking away from her touch. “I’ve had it with your plans, with doing things your way. I’m finished with it.”
“Glim, listen,” she said, but he turned and stamped from the room. She went after him, but his wet footprints led to the balcony and ended there. She stood looking down at the spreading ripples far below, while Fhena came and stood by her.
“Go back to the Fringe Gyre,” she told Fhena. “I’m sure he’ll find you there, if he doesn’t get killed again immediately. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
Fhena nodded and padded silently away, leaving Annaig staring out at the wonder and madness that was Umbriel.
Her locket chimed.
She held it up and stared at it for a moment, then flipped it open.
Attrebus looked like he hadn’t slept in a month.
“Hello,” he said. “How are you?”
“As best as can be expected,” she replied.
“Look,” he said, “I may not have long. Sul and I think we’ve found a way to get up there. I’m not sure exactly when it will happen or where we’ll be.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Hierem, my father’s minister-he’s in league with Umbriel. We think he’s been traveling up there and back using a magical portal. We’re hoping when he comes down, we’ll go back up.”
The threads about her seemed to tighten.
“What can I do?”
“We’re going to try to use the sword, as we discussed earlier,” he said. “I’m not exactly sure what will happen then, even if we manage it. But I thought you should know, so you can be ready if-if any chance for escape comes.”
“What about you?”
“When it’s all over, Sul may be able to take us into Oblivion again.”
To her ear, it almost sounded like he didn’t care if he survived.
“Attrebus,” she said, “I’m sorry if I seemed angry before-”
“It’s okay. I think… I think maybe you had a right to be. I think we might have to talk about that someday.”
“Right,” she said. “Someday.”
“I’m going to put Coo up now-I need to be ready to fight whenever this happens. I just wanted you to know what was going on. If I have a chance to contact you after we get there, I’ll try.”
“Do that,” she said.
The locket went dark.
She took one last look at the vista beyond the balcony and then began striding purposefully toward her kitchen.
Hours passed, and Attrebus began to fear that perhaps Vineben was right, and Hierem had no intention of returning to the Imperial City. The wait did provide the time for a fuller exchange of information, but beyond that it was sheer torture. His mind kept trying to return to the feelings Hierem had violated him with, and he feared if he let that happen he would be useless in any confrontation, and so pressed for more conversation when he could.
“Arese?”
“Yes, Prince Attrebus?”
“You say you worked for my father.”
She glanced at her companion, but he didn’t give any sort of reaction. She pulled her shoulders back.
“I was at one time in his small circle, majesty.”
“You have the brand?”
She nodded and reached to show him, but he shook his head.
“That’s okay. I believe you.” He took a deep breath. “So you knew, then? About me?”
“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Prince-”
“I’m sure you know exactly what I mean,” he said.
She made a little grimace, and then acknowledged with a tilt of her head.
“Can you tell me why?” he asked.
“Your father-he’s a brilliant general, a cunning emperor. I’ve never known a man so strong. But when it came to you, he always had something of a weak spot.”
“Weak spot? My father doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body.”
“I don’t mean that way,” she said. “I mean he had no idea what to do with you. When Hierem suggested you be groomed as a sort of boy hero, I think he was relieved to have some sort of direction. It was a way to keep an eye on you and keep you entertained at the same time.”
“Yes, when I was ten, I might see that,” Attrebus said. “But when I was fifteen? Nineteen?”
“Sometimes when something like that gets started, it takes on a life of its own. No one saw how far it was going to go, how locked into the role you would be. It’s been ten years since I could talk freely with the Emperor, but I’m sure he was hoping to draw you out of it gradually, marry you, settle you down, prepare you to rule.”
Attrebus absorbed that, remembering Gulan saying something about marriage not long before…
“I got them all killed,” he murmured. “And I should have known better. I should have seen it myself, but I didn’t want to. And for that, everyone who rode with me-”
“Hierem did that, not you,” Vineben cut in.
“He’s right,” Sul said tersely. “This is no time for this sort of thing.” His voice softened a little. “Maybe you should do what he suggests-go to your father. If I can’t kill Vuhon by myself…” He trailed off.
“Then me being there won’t help?”
Attrebus finished. “What about all of that about needing Coo?”
“I’ll find him,” Sul replied.
“I’m not the warrior you are,” Attrebus admitted. “I’ve got no arcane arts. But if I hadn’t been with you in the cave, Elhul would have killed you.”
“Maybe,” Sul admitted.
“You need me.”
Sul was taking a breath to say something else when Attrebus heard a thud loud enough to leave his ears ringing and his stomach threatening to rush up and out of his mouth. He swayed, trying not to lose his footing. It was dark, and someone was standing right in front of him.
“Vuhon!” Sul snarled.
The Dunmer’s eyes arched in surprise and his mouth opened, but before he had a chance to say anything, Sul had already stabbed him with Umbra; the blade went in deep.
Vuhon vented an odd little gasp as Sul yanked the sword out and cut at his head, but the Dark Elf caught the blade with his hand, which burned with a steely blue light.
Attrebus swung Flashing at the joint of Vuhon’s leg; the blade struck, but it felt as if he’d hit iron. Vuhon ignored him in favor of striking Sul with his other hand, sending the sorcerer staggering back.
Attrebus was making another cut when Vuhon’s eye flicked to him, and suddenly he felt unbelievable cold spike through his body. He lost the timing of his attack, and Vuhon easily sidestepped the blow and caught him by the collar.
Then a bellowing Sul smashed into Vuhon, stabbing him again, and they all went out into space.
Animal terror passed through Attrebus as the world, the starry sky, and dark Umbriel spun nightmarishly around him. The fall seemed to go on much too long, but in reality he knew he’d only drawn one good breath for screaming before they struck a strangely yielding surface. Fire flashed and he was buffeted away as if by an enormous burning hand. He flailed to get up, but the surface he’d landed on shifted crazily.
Then he understood where he was-on top of the glass forest.
It was the best name he had for it; it was where Sul and he had arrived on their last visit here. Far below, a great web of flexible, glasslike cables anchored to various buildings along the rim formed a large web suspended over the valley and sump below. From the web, hundreds of smaller tubes grew skyward, branching, and those branches dividing until they at last became a virtual cloud of translucent twigs no bigger around than a little finger-and it was this upper layer they had fallen on.