Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel

by Greg Keyes

  For Attrebus, however, it was proof that his quest had been worth it, that he wasn’t too late. His father would listen to him now. With or without Sul, they would invade Umbriel somehow and return Umbra to his sword.

  It still wasn’t dark when he saw a small fishing settlement, built on an old stonework that probably dated back to Ayleid times. He was vacillating about checking to see if they had any sort of healer when he thought he heard something odd behind him. Turning, he saw them.

  For an instant his heart took wing at the sight of a military formation; to run into a patrol at this point would be excellent luck. But he’d apparently had his allotment of that today, because a few seconds of watching them approach resolved the truth. They wore no uniforms and carried a motley assortment of weapons. These were Umbriel’s unholy warriors.

  He turned off the road, picking up his pace, dragging Sul toward the village. It seemed like a long way, but frequent glances back didn’t show pursuit, so maybe they hadn’t seen him.

  Hiding behind a house built of driftwood, he watched the hideous procession pass, reckoning their number at about twenty.

  The sun was gone by then, but Masser stood bright in the sky as he searched the village. It had been abandoned, he couldn’t tell how long ago.

  At the little floating dock, however, he found a small boat, complete with oars.

  He glanced at the silhouette of the Imperial City.

  He hadn’t seen Umbriel in the sky; he thought he should if it were here. That meant the walking corpses could go far from their city, which surprised him a bit, although given what Annaïg had told him, there wasn’t any reason why they shouldn’t be able to do that.

  He didn’t have any idea how many were here, but it was a good bet that if they were moving freely on the Ring Road, there were a lot of them. Possibly the city was under siege.

  Either way, the boat looked better than the road at the moment. Sul needed help sooner rather than later, he was starving, and he didn’t think there would be food or medicine in the abandoned village.

  So without further deliberation, he got Sul off his traveling frame and into the boat, then began rowing toward the distant lights of the Waterfront District.

  THREE

  Around midnight Sul began to moan in his sleep. His arms jerked and fingers twitched, and Attrebus hoped he wasn’t trying to conjure something or set fire to an imaginary foe.

  He took it as a good sign, although he knew that didn’t come from any medical knowledge, but rather from the feeling that when it came to a man who was unconscious, it seemed better if he was doing something rather than nothing. It suggested his soul was still bound up with his heart.

  That there was no obvious pursuit he did not take as any sign at all, although it gave him plenty to think about. He knew from experience that Umbriel’s creatures didn’t need boats or anything of the sort; he’d seen them emerge from the boiling waters that surrounded the shattered remnants of Vivec City. If any of them were following him, he wouldn’t see them. Still, those on the road seemed not to have spotted him, or at least not to have cared if they did. That didn’t fit his previous experience with them or Annaïg’s testimony. Their pattern was to kill everything they came across—or at least everything with a soul of the sort Umbriel preferred, which seemed to be those of sentient beings. But then again, Annaïg had said that the souls of the dead were drawn up into the city by crystalline threads, and so only those killed directly beneath the city fed it. The ones he’d just seen weren’t beneath Vuhon’s city, and by the way they marched, he imagined they were on task—either looking for Imperial patrols to slaughter or, more likely, heading to the causeway to put it under siege, or to join one already in progress. In that case they well might ignore the stray traveler.

  Another thing occurred to him as well: The last time he had met these creatures, they had somehow known who he—or at least Sul—was. Would they know him if they saw him here? Or was he even making the right assumption? After all, Vuhon might have ordered them to capture anyone at the site where the sword was supposed to be and only recognized Sul later.

  Maybe Annaïg would know more, and since his arms felt like they were about to fall off from rowing, he withdrew Coo from his battered haversack and opened the locket door.

  At first there wasn’t anything, but then her face appeared. He felt a grin start on his face, but then saw hers wasn’t nearly as welcoming.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Are you able to talk now?”

  “I am,” she said. “I’m so happy I can accommodate you.”

  “Something’s the matter,” he said. “What’s happened?”

  She appeared to be in a bedchamber illuminated by several glowing orbs. There wasn’t anything furtive about the way she acted, not like usual. No, she actually seemed to be mad at him. As if she knew about Irinja, which hardly seemed possible …

  But then he felt a guilty little burn in his belly-pit. He remembered taking Coo off the table that morning. Had the door been open? Had she seen …

  “Look—” he began.

  She waved him off. “You don’t owe me any explanations, Prince,” she said. “I’m not as foolish as you might think. It’s just that things here are very—complicated.”

  “How so?”

  “I’d rather not say right now,” she said. “I’m still working it out. I’ve a list of things you might like to know, however, if you have a moment.”

  “A few,” he said, starting to feel a little angry himself. “Things are a little tough here, too, you know. Sul is hurt—he may be dying. I’ve just had to face down another Oblivion prince, and I’m trying to paddle across Lake Rumare, which on a pleasant day with a picnic basket might be nice but at the moment is rather a lot, considering. I’m sorry if your feelings were hurt somehow. I can only tell you that anything I did was to further our cause, not to—”

  “For our cause?” she half shouted, her eyebrows lifting high. But then she closed her eyes, and her forehead smoothed until she just looked tired.

  “What is our cause, Prince?” she asked softly, looking at him again. “I’m not sure what my cause is anymore.”

  “Look—”

  “No,” she said, cutting him off. “You don’t understand. And it’s my fault, because I don’t want to tell you. Not right now. I just don’t want to talk about it. You think it’s about that girl, but it’s not, you see? It’s about who I am. I’m not who I thought I was. The person I believed I was could never—” She stopped and passed her hands over her eyes.

  “I can’t argue now,” she said. “I don’t have the strength for it. I’m going to try something in a few days. It might work and it might not. If it doesn’t, I want someone else to know what I’ve learned since we last spoke. That’s all I want of you, Attrebus. That’s all I need you for.”

  “Listen,” he said. “I’m almost to the Imperial City, Annaïg. You just have to hang on a little while longer. But I understand you. Tell me what you’ve learned, and know we’ll put it to good use.”

  She nodded, and then spoke of strange trees and stranger births and poisons that might bring it all down—but nothing about herself.

  “Have I ever told you how brave you are?” he asked. “How strong? Stronger than me. I know something about making unpleasant discoveries about yourself. But I know that whatever you may have done, you had to do it, and it was for the best.”

  “How?” she murmured. “How can you?”

  “Because I’ve listened to you,” he said. “I’ve heard you. And I believe in you.”

  Something flickered a little in her eyes, and her mouth quirked to the side.

  “Those are fine words,” she said. “I have to go now.”

  “Wait,” he said. “May I contact you tomorrow?”

  “If I’m still alive,” she replied. Then she closed her locket.

  He sat there for a moment, watching Sul breathe, and then put his back into rowing.

  When Secundus rose, he coul
d see the waterfront not far ahead. It was on an island, separated from the city, with the harbor facing inward. The old stone buildings formed a semicircle enclosing the harbor, and he was coming up from behind. In the pale light he could see the hundreds of shacks, shanties, and lean-tos that crowded between the wall and the water, and in fact many were built raised up from the water. He smelled the stink of it already, the various stenches of human waste, rotting fish and offal, cheap beer. He thought about going around, but it was a long way and he was tired of rowing, so he passed as noiselessly as possible through the stilts and ladders of the outer houses.

  He’d been to the shantytown before, when he was fifteen, curious to see the poorest and most dangerous part of the city and attracted by its reputed vices. He didn’t remember it being this silent—even at night there was usually drunken singing, screams, fighting. Now it was as still as the village he’d taken the boat from. Had the people here also fled Umbriel’s hosts?

  He slowed his approach, squinting to make out if anyone was on the shore.

  The boat rocked, gently, then more forcefully. He looked back to see what he’d bumped and saw a hand gripping the hull. For an instant he just stared at it, but then it was joined by another, and another, as decaying limbs rose from the water and gripped the gunnels. With a shout he drew his sword and began chopping at them. They came off easily, but he felt the boat rise and realized there were more of them—many more—beneath, lifting the vessel. He leaned over and tried to cut at them, but he couldn’t get a good angle, and the boat continued to ascend as its bearers took it ashore. Desperate, he tried to get Sul on his back, planning to fight through them. If he could get around to the harbor, it might still be manned by Imperial guards.

  But then the boat tipped and dumped them both unceremoniously into the stinking, muddy shallows. He swatted blindly for a few seconds before they had him disarmed and held tight.

  And as before, they didn’t kill him. Instead they dragged him farther inland, to one of the nicer cabins, and milled about it for a while. They didn’t appear to care if he called for help, so he did, with sinking hopes that it would do any good.

  After a time, however, the door opened and he saw a lantern.

  The face revealed in the light appeared human and alive. He was probably on the other side of forty, with a large bald spot in his reddish hair. He had a notch in his left ear.

  “Well, now,” he said. “What’s this?”

  “Came from the water,” one of the things gripping Attrebus rasped. “Can we have him?”

  The fellow held the lamp closer to Attrebus, and his eyes widened. “I don’t think so, fellows,” he said, shaking his head. “Who would have thought it? Well, I guess he did, and by Malacath, it weren’t a waste of time at all.”

  “I warn you,” Attrebus began, chilled by the man’s casual oath. “If you don’t release me—”

  The man laughed. “That’s him all right. Don’t worry, prince-me-boy. I’ll not be keeping you. I’m sending you right along.”

  “To where?”

  “Someplace—nicer.” He looked over Attrebus’s shoulder.

  “Umbriel?”

  “Naw, not there. You’re going to the palace, boy-o.”

  “Then tell these things to let me go. I can walk there.”

  “I trust you could, but I’ve been told not to let you exert yourself.”

  “By whom?”

  “Patience, m’lad.”

  “My friend is hurt—”

  “Yes, well, that’s not up to me,” the man said. He went back into the cabin and came out followed by a sleepy-looking Khajiit and a Bosmer woman. One of them put a bag over his head. He tried to shout, but after a few breaths of something with a funny smell, his senses dimmed and were replaced by strange, vividly colored dreams.

  He woke up to the smell of cinnamon tea and a face with eyebrows like fuzzy caterpillars perched over calm blue eyes. It was a very familiar face.

  “Hierem!” he exclaimed. He looked around. They were in a sort of parlor, decorated in odd alchemical devices and Ayleid curiosities. Attrebus was in an armchair. He tried to stand up but found he couldn’t; his body seemed immensely heavy.

  “What is this?” he demanded.

  “Let’s be honest,” Hierem purred. “There’s no love lost between you and I. We’ve never much liked each other, that is to say.”

  “Release me, now,” Attrebus snapped. “When my father finds out—”

  “But your father isn’t going to find out,” Hierem said. “Not unless I choose to inform him.”

  “Do you plan to kill me, then?”

  “Eventually,” Hierem nodded, “when I’m certain I have no use for you—when this whole business is over.” He smiled. “Really thought you were going to play the hero again, didn’t you?”

  Attrebus gritted his teeth. “What about Sul?”

  “He’s better, for the moment. His wounds have been doctored, but I’ve kept him asleep. He’s far too dangerous otherwise, from what I can tell.” He settled back into his chair. “Odd weapon he was carrying.”

  Attrebus felt a little thrill of hope. Did Hierem not know what Umbra was?

  “Is it?” he asked.

  “Yes. Lielle, one of the ones who brought you here, drew it and went mad. I had to kill her. Would you like to tell me why you have such a thing?”

  “It’s an heirloom of Sul’s,” Attrebus said. “He’s trying to find the grave of his father or something so he can bury it there.”

  “I see,” Hierem said. “It has nothing to do with Umbriel?”

  “No,” Attrebus said, desperate to deflect attention from the weapon. “But you do, don’t you? You’re in league with Vuhon.”

  “Vuhon?” Hierem chuckled. “He doesn’t call himself that anymore, but then again he isn’t exactly himself, is he? You met him, I believe. And escaped him, I gather, although not through any art of yours.”

  He lifted a small porcelain cup and sipped from it. “I thought you might eventually come here, so I convinced Umbriel—which is the name Vuhon does affect—to lend me some of his ground troops to sweep up anyone entering the city. No one is entering, you see—they’re either staying put or leaving, which makes people like you rather easy to spot.”

  “But why?” Attrebus demanded.

  “Well, because Umbriel wants you, very badly. Sul primarily, but you as well.”

  “So you’re going to give us to him.”

  “You know,” Hierem said, “I think you really ought to be called ‘Attrebus the Clever.’ That’s how you should go down in history. ‘Attrebus the Clever,’ the prince who thought he was a hero. My idea, do you know that? Talked your father into it. ‘The people need a young hero,’ I told him.” He laughed. “He may have thought I was right. He may have just been trying to placate me, but he went along with it. It worked, too. The people love you.” He took another sip, then directed his gaze back at Attrebus.

  “No, you idiot, I’m not giving you over to Umbriel—at least not right away. There weren’t any taskers in the bunch who found you, so he doesn’t know I have you. What I want to know is, why is he afraid of you? What do you have over him?”

  “Nothing,” Attrebus said. “He’s not afraid of us—he and Sul have a lot of bad blood between them. I think he just wants to torture Sul to death.”

  “No,” Hierem contradicted, “he’s afraid of something. He took his city up to Morrowind, in completely the wrong direction. Umbriel has an irrational side, but that made no sense at all—unless he was looking for something. And what did he find there? You two. Imagine my surprise—you were supposed to be dead. Then you turn up alive in Water’s Edge. But a few days later you’re in Morrowind.” He shook his head. “These are things we need to discuss.”

  “You can forget that,” Attrebus said.

  “We haven’t started yet, don’t worry,” Hierem replied. “That’s all still to come. I just wanted to welcome you home.”

  “Why are you doin
g this?” Attrebus asked. “Do you want my father’s throne? If Umbriel reaches the Imperial City, there won’t be anyone to rule over! They’ll all be dead.”

  “It’s not going to be like that, actually,” Hierem replied. “I’m going to save the city your father couldn’t. You’re going to die a traitor, a conspirator against the state—at least in the current version of my plan.”

  “And Vuhon—or Umbriel—will just go on his merry way? He can’t—his city needs souls to keep flying.”

  Something quickened a bit in Hierem’s eyes. “Yes, your published letters said as much. But how did you know that?”

  “I—” He stopped. They didn’t know about Annaïg. They couldn’t. “Sul told me.”

  “Ah. And how did he know?”

  “He worked with Vuhon before, in Morrowind. They used souls to keep a building aloft.”

  “The ingenium of the Ministry of Truth. I suppose that makes sense. Perhaps he’s worried Sul knows how to wreck the ingenium in Umbriel.”

  “You don’t trust him, then,” Attrebus said. “Whatever deal you two made, you’re worried he won’t honor his terms.”

  “There is that,” Hierem replied. “But on the other hand, I’m not so keen to honor mine either.”

  “How could my father have trusted such a despicable traitor?” Attrebus wondered aloud.

  “To his credit, Titus has never trusted me. He’s kept me around because he doesn’t have a choice.” Hierem smiled again. “Trust me; you are your father’s son only in name. Titus may be an ill-mannered, badly bred Colovian upstart, but he at least has brains in his head.”

  He lifted the cup again, looked in it, and set it down.

  “I don’t want to wear you out,” he said. “Umbriel—the city—is nearing arrival, and I have a lot to do, and preparations to make before our next conversation. Until then I’ve had quarters prepared for you. I hope you find them comfortable.”