Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel (18 page)

“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.

“Annaïg,” 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, Annaïg, 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.”

Annaïg 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, Annaïg. 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 Empire 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?”

“Come with me if you wish,” Sul said. “I won’t speak of this anymore.”

And with that he started walking again, his lean legs stretching in long strides.

Attrebus watched him for a moment, sighed, and followed.

“That was even stranger than the last meal,” Yeum said, sipping her wine. The two of them sat at one of the cutting tables. The last dish had gone up for Umbriel’s banquet, and the rest of the kitchen swirled around their still point, cleaning up. “I liked it, especially the one with that plant, what is it called …?”

“Marshmerrow,” Annaïg replied. “It grows in Morrowind, one of the countries we passed over.”

“It was delicious. Before, I would have questioned the choice—but I’ve heard that since Rhel’s tasting, the other lords have begun demanding coarser, less spiritual food. You’ve started a trend.”

“More a fad, I would think,” Annaïg said.

Inwardly, she wasn’t so certain about the meal. She’d heard that Umbriel often ate plain matter, but beyond that neither the skraws nor anyone else knew anything about his specific tastes. She’d had two things to go on—Attrebus’s assertion that he’d at least once been a fully corporeal Dunmer, and Rhel’s preferences, which seemed in that light perhaps an aping of his master’s appetites. In any case, it was done now.