Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel

by Greg Keyes

  “A little,” Sul said.

  “He used to entertain a lot of sorcerers. Not as much lately. Anyway, his gates will be closed by now, but you could go up there in the morning. In the meantime, how about a couple of nice beds?”

  “And a hot bath?” Attrebus asked hopefully.

  “Now, that’s just crazy talk,” the fellow gruffed.

  The beds weren’t so nice, but they were better than cold dirt. Breakfast wasn’t much either—a thin porridge and a bit of dark bread. But it was enough, and the cocks were still crowing when they started up the approach to the castle.

  The path was wide enough for wagons and not too steep for them, but by the time they reached the top of it, Sathil village was tiny below them. The walls of the castle were living rock for the first fifteen feet or so, polished smooth as glass, and then for another ten feet they were carefully fitted stone. It would be a hard place to take; except for the road, there wasn’t any place for siege engines, and the two towers that overlooked the gate seemed pretty capable of defending the approach.

  The gate, a thick wooden affair heavily banded with steel, was closed, but a fellow on the wall hailed them as they approached. Like most of the villagers, he seemed to be a Nord.

  “Haven’t seen you before,” the fellow commented.

  “We’re travelers,” Attrebus said. “Naturalists, actually. We hope to catalogue the flora and fauna hereabouts.”

  He saw Sul’s eyebrow lift, but otherwise his companion didn’t react.

  “Do what?” the Nord asked.

  “You know—those things on the beach, for instance, with the three tusks …”

  “Horkers? You’ve come to look at horkers? Must be a boring place you’re from, lad.”

  “I’m from the Imperial City,” Attrebus said. “I’ve been commissioned as part of a project to write a new guide to the Empire and surrounding countries.”

  “Well, this isn’t the Empire, you know,” the man said.

  “Right,” Attrebus agreed. “Hence the ‘surrounding countries’ part. I was rather hoping to gain Lord Sathil’s patronage for a time, while we’re doing our cataloguing.”

  “Cattle hogging? What does that mean?”

  “No, I mean—writing down types of things and describing them.”

  “You’re going to write about horkers?”

  “Yes, and whatever other things might be of interest in the area. Wildlife, geography, culture and customs, places and objects of power, those sorts of things.”

  “Places of power, eh? Are you a sorcerer?”

  “I am not. That is my companion’s specialty.”

  “Hang on there, then,” the man said. “I’ll convey your request to his lordship.”

  He vanished from the wall.

  “Naturalist?” Sul asked.

  “I’ve always been interested in those sorts of things,” Attrebus said.

  “Not enough to actually read about them, so far as I’ve seen,” Sul said.

  “Well, here’s my opportunity,” Attrebus replied.

  An hour passed and most of another before the gate creaked and finally opened. The man from the wall was there, and a thin, ascetic-looking Dunmer woman with a long queue, clad in a flowing black robe embroidered with the stylized form of a draugr. Her gaze flicked over them a bit distastefully.

  “Welcome to Sathil Manor,” she said. “Isilr was a bit confused about your purpose here. I wonder if I could prevail upon you to reiterate it.”

  “Of course,” Attrebus said. “It’s nothing complicated, really. The Emperor in Cyrodiil has commissioned a new guide to the Empire and independent realms of Tamriel. I’ve been sent here to collect general information on the area for the guide.”

  “You’re not just spying on our horkers, then, but on us as well?”

  “Spying? I wouldn’t put it that way, my lady.”

  She smiled thinly. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I have been instructed to offer you lodging and whatever help you require—within reason, of course.”

  “Of course, lady. That is most hospitable.”

  She nodded wanly. “I am Nirai Sathil, daughter of Hleryn Sathil. With whom do I make the acquaintance?”

  “My name is Uriel Tripitus,” Attrebus lied, “and this is my companion Ozul.”

  “Ozul,” she said. “From what house?”

  “I belong to no house,” Sul told her.

  “I understand you,” she said. “We have also foresworn allegiance to the houses. Please, follow me and be welcome in our home.”

  She led them across a bare stone yard surrounded by what appeared to be barracks and into a central keep that rose quite high before sprouting six slender towers. The place was smaller than it looked from the shore, but still quite large—and to Attrebus’s eye, undermanned. He didn’t see nearly enough guards or servants.

  They entered a large central hall with an enormous table. The walls were hung with the busts of animals—bears, wolves, wild bulls, lions—and also with various sorts of arms and armor, some of which seemed quite exotic.

  “I must leave you here,” Nirai said, “but servants will attend you shortly. Only tell them your needs, and they will see to them.”

  And with a whisking of robes, she was gone, and they were alone in the hall.

  Attrebus paced, examining the swords, spears, maces, and falchions that adorned the walls.

  “What does this ‘Umbra’ look like?” he asked.

  “A black longsword with red runes on the blade,” Sul replied. “At least when it was seen last.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Legend says it has worn other shapes—but it is always a bladed weapon.”

  Attrebus started in a hurry, but as the minutes stretched to more than an hour, he had ample time to assure himself that no weapon approaching that description was to be found—not in the great room, anyway.

  He was just starting to consider wandering through the rest of the castle when he heard a soft whisper, then a giggle.

  He turned, and caught a flash of gray vanishing from the doorway. There was a sudden furious whispering he couldn’t make out, and then, after a moment, a rounded woman with fading red hair came in. She studied them for a moment, then gave a little curtsy.

  “My apologies, sirs,” she said. “I hadn’t been informed of your presence. May I be of service?”

  “I’m not sure,” Attrebus said. “The lady Nirai brought us here, and said we would be provided with rooms and so forth.”

  “Nirai,” she sighed, then cocked an eyebrow. “And so forth?”

  “Well, I’m here to do a bit of exploring,” he said, then rambled off his invented job description.

  The woman looked a bit disapproving, but she nodded.

  “I’ll get rooms ready for you. Meantime I’ll take you to the kitchen—I don’t know what Nirai is thinking, but there will be no meal in the hall tonight.”

  “We were hoping to meet Lord Sathil,” Attrebus said.

  “Were you?” she replied. “Well, perhaps you will.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  She showed them to the kitchen, a smoky, low-ceilinged room with an enormous hearth and two massive oaken tables. To Attrebus’s vast surprise, about thirty people were seated there. None of them were elves; most seemed to be Nord, although there were two Khajiit. They were dressed in plain working clothes. All stood when they entered.

  A gnarled old woman at the head of the table raised her head.

  “Who is this, then, Yingfry?” she asked.

  “Lords Uriel and Ozul,” their escort reported. “From the Empire. Nirai brought them up. They’re here to see the country.”

  “Well,” the old woman said, “you gentlemen look hungry. Join us, won’t you?”

  “We would be honored,” Attrebus said.

  He heard a familiar giggle, and his attention was drawn to a honey-haired young woman with mischievous green eyes.

  “Irinja!” the woman said sternly.

  �
�I’m sorry, Eld Ma,” she said. “It’s just he speaks so fine, as if he’s in court.”

  “All the more reason to mind your manners,” Eld Ma said. “Lords, please, sit.”

  A couple of men made room on the bench, and Attrebus and Sul were soon seated in front of thick trenchers of black bread, boiled venison (or at least it tasted like venison) with wine and honey sauce, fish with butter and vinegar, and roast duck. Their hosts were silent as the two began eating.

  “I hope it is to your liking,” Eld Ma said.

  “It’s delicious,” Attrebus replied.

  “Very good,” Sul added. “Different.”

  Eld Ma leaned back. “We know the food of Morrowind, lord,” she said. “If I had known you were coming, we would have cooked in that manner.”

  “You misunderstand me,” Sul replied. “I was paying a compliment. I don’t care to be reminded of Morrowind.”

  “Ah,” a bald-headed fellow piped up. “Lord Sathil is the same; he prefers our cuisine, our ways. But the lady, she prefers the tastes of her people—especially hluurn, and other things made from Marshmerrow.”

  “Val,” Eld Ma said, quietly, “didn’t the gentleman just say he didn’t like to be reminded?”

  “Oh, right,” Val said. “Sorry.”

  “No harm,” Attrebus cut in. “We’re just glad of the hospitality.” He lifted his mug of warm ale. “To each of you,” he said.

  They all toasted, and when he didn’t continue, began talking among themselves, a low chatter rising—talk of tasks to be done that afternoon, complaints about the work of the morning, simple things, confirming his suspicion that these were castle servants, not masters. He ate and listened, hoping to hear something useful, but when the end of the meal came he didn’t know much more than when it began.

  Yingfry took them up three flights of stairs to two adjacent rooms, both quite large, both with fireplaces already blazing. When she was gone, they met together in Attrebus’s room.

  “What do you think is going on here?” Attrebus asked Sul.

  The Dunmer scratched his chin. “I don’t know much about the Sathils, other than remembering the name.”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that we haven’t met him yet? That we were left to eat with servants?”

  “Not really,” Sul said. “I don’t know the man. Neither do you. Perhaps he is reclusive. Or very busy.”

  “Very busy with what?”

  “Again, I don’t know him, and we hardly know anything about this place.”

  “Well, if we never see him, how do we find the sword?”

  Sul blinked. “Was that your plan? Just to ask him about it?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Then why this whole demented story about you being a naturalist?” Sul demanded.

  “I don’t know. ‘Hello, I’m crown prince Attrebus, I’ve just come from Oblivion, where I was eviscerated by something and then healed by a god so I can try to find the sword that will help me defeat the flying city of Umbriel and its army of undead’ just seemed like an implausible way to go.”

  “Right,” Sul grunted. “You had a good instinct. But asking outright where the sword is would seem to run counter to it, wouldn’t you think?”

  “I could just ask him if he has any unusual artifacts I can write about. We don’t have a lot of time, Sul.”

  “He let us in,” Sul said. “He seems to have an interest in sorcerers. Let’s continue to follow your first instinct and see what happens. At least for another day.”

  Attrebus studied Sul for a moment, trying to see if he was making fun of him. Even now it was hard to tell.

  “Okay, then,” he said.

  “Get some sleep,” Sul replied.

  Attrebus turned in, but every time he closed his eyes, he felt his belly open and the wet, impossible gush of his innards into the basket of his arms. Sleep felt too near death, and after half an hour of lying there, watching the faint crack and glow of the flames, he rose, dressed in breeches and shirt, and quietly padded into the hall. He dithered for a moment, feeling vulnerable in the near-black. He’d thought he might explore a bit, but without a torch or lantern, he wouldn’t be able to see much. He took a few steps along the wall and stopped, not entirely sure why.

  Then he felt breath touch his face.

  SIX

  “Anything I can help you with, inspector?”

  Colin looked up from the tome he was studying to find a bent and withered fellow in a burnt umber robe furnished with what was possibly a hundred pockets. His nose took up most of his face, but his keen blue eyes were what drew your attention.

  “Professor Aronil,” he said, standing.

  “No need for that, old fellow,” the mage said. “Are you finding what you’re looking for?”

  “I don’t really know what I’m looking for,” he said.

  “Well, that can either be good or bad, can’t it?” Aronil said. “But I don’t remember you as a browser, Colin. You always wanted to get to the point, to the answer. I don’t expect you’ve changed that much.”

  “No, I don’t expect I have.”

  Aronil peered down at the pages. “Pneumatology? That’s rather your strong suit.”

  “Well, I thought so,” Colin replied.

  “Is this about the flying city or what-have-you? Because the College of Whispers has the most up-to-date information on those things. I’ve just seen their most recent report—fascinating, really. The things aren’t bonewalkers—they’re more like flesh atronachs, although they don’t respond the same to arcane stimuli.”

  “No, it’s not about that,” Colin said. “I’m assigned internally.”

  “I understand,” the mage said. “I shan’t pry more.”

  He began to walk away.

  “Actually, I would welcome your help,” Colin said. “It could take me weeks at this rate.”

  “Well, what’s the problem, then?”

  “The problem is that something nearly killed me the other day, and I don’t know what it was.”

  “Well, the ‘nearly’ part is encouraging anyway,” Aronil said.

  “I don’t like my chances if I meet another one,” Colin said. “I don’t know if that’s even likely, but I always prefer to be prepared.”

  “Tell me about it,” Aronil said, pulling over a seat.

  “I was searching an apartment,” Colin began. “At first I thought it was a ghost—”

  “Presenting, or had you prepared yourself?”

  “I went there looking for spiritual remnants,” he admitted.

  “So it was probably invisible to the untrained eye.”

  “Oh, I’m sure of that,” Colin replied. “The apartment has a resident. I checked into him a little and he’s apparently never claimed his place was haunted or whatever.”

  “And he isn’t a mage?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. Go on.”

  Colin related the rest of the encounter, and the old Altmer just sat there for a moment, nodding absently.

  “And afterward—the spirit you were looking for?”

  “She was there. Not much left of her, though.”

  Aronil stood and took a couple of paces. “You’re in dangerous territory here, Colin. I wonder if you know exactly what you’re doing.”

  “Just my job,” he replied.

  “I can check that, you know,” Aronil said. “I am privy, if I wish to be, to any investigation our organization is running. And one of my charges is to make certain that the library of the Penitus Oculatus isn’t being abused in any fashion.”

  “I’m aware of that, sir,” Colin said, as ice formed in his belly. “I don’t believe I’m abusing anything.”

  “Last I checked, you were assigned to find any possible Thalmor connection with our current problem. This seems far afield from that, to me. How did you meet this thing? What did you hope to learn?”

  He sighed. He couldn’t pretend Aronil didn’t have the clearance.

  “You’re right,�
�� he said. “I think the Thalmor angle is a dead end. I’m looking into something else.”

  “We’re alone here,” Aronil said. “Tell me.”

  “I believed there was a connection to Black Marsh,” he said. “The spirit I was looking for was of a woman who witnessed what may have been the calling of Umbriel into our world.”

  Aronil folded his arms.

  “I’ve heard the speculation that it must have been summoned here, or at least invited. It arrived in Black Marsh, so I suppose that makes sense, on the surface of it. Do you have proof?”

  “Only a strong suggestion,” Colin said.

  “Strengthened, perhaps, by the fact that the witness to this event was murdered, presumably for what she saw?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you gone to Marall with this?”

  “No, I haven’t,” he replied.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest,” Colin said. “Part of it is that I’m not sure who I can trust anymore.”

  “And yet you trust me?” Aronil said. “How touching.” His kindly tone had been replaced by a dark rasp.

  “Well, I hadn’t thought about whether I trust you,” Colin replied. “I didn’t expect to have to.”

  Aronil snorted. “Well, it’s a good thing you can, you idiot.” He strode across the room and up a ladder, and without even looking, it seemed, selected a book and pulled it down. It was bound in some sort of dark red leather and blackened iron bands, but it was quite small, not much bigger than his palm.

  “The thing you’re talking about is a very specific variety of daedra. They were often summoned by the Nibenese battlemages who ruled during the times of the Alessian order, but after the War of Righteousness, the relationship they cultivated with this species deteriorated. The knowledge to summon them was lost, or almost so—confined to this volume, do you understand?”

  “I’m not sure I do,” Colin answered. “It was powerful, yes—and I don’t want to face another one unprepared—but far worse things are conjured now, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Of course. It’s not the creatures themselves you need to worry about. And that’s why I asked if you know what you are doing.”

  “Sir?”