Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel

by Greg Keyes

  “Glim,” she said, “what in the world are you doing?”

  “You have to stop it, Annaïg,” he said. He sounded urgent, but there wasn’t any anger in his voice. “Stop poisoning the trees.”

  “Glim—there is no stopping it. It’s done. I’m sorry, I know how you feel—”

  “You don’t know anything,” he said. “They just want to go home.”

  “This isn’t making any sense to me,” she said. “This is it, Glim. We’re out of time. All we can do now is try to escape.”

  “But—”

  “We have to get out of here now! If you have something to tell me, tell me while we’re leaving.”

  She got onto the lift that brought things to and from the Fringe Gyre and activated it, and they began to rise.

  “The trees,” Glim said. “I understand them now. They changed me so I could help them.”

  “Help them do what?”

  “Go home.”

  “And where is that?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know—somewhere else. Not Tamriel. Isn’t that what we want?”

  “What I want is for all of this to die, Glim.”

  “I can feel it, too,” Fhena said. “Don’t you understand? If it kills the trees, it will kill all of us—including Glim.”

  The lift reached the top.

  “We’d better hide,” Annaïg said. “They’ll be after us soon.”

  “Aren’t you listening?”

  But Annaïg’s head was whirling. It was too much, wasn’t it? Could she really be expected to listen to all of this, put up with it?

  “Just—one thing at a time,” she said.

  Her locket was begging for attention.

  In the gray, unnatural mist, Mazgar bent to her oars, feeling the longboat glide through the water. She felt Brenn huddled close behind her, crowded there by the five other soldiers stuffed into the small craft. As unnatural as the concealing mist was the silence. The lack of chatter and even of breathing left her feeling unsettled. Even the water of the great lake bore their passage without so much as a single lap of oar in water.

  But that could work both ways. When the arrows started falling, she didn’t hear them either, or the screams of those they hit. Her first clue was when a man in the boat ahead of her clutched at a shaft in the side of his neck; only then did she notice the cloud of fletched death swooping down on them.

  Fortunately, Ram and Dextra were ahead of her, hefting their shields to catch most of the darts coming their way.

  But while all eyes were turned up, Mazgar felt something seize her oar. She jerked at it, and then the boat heaved up on one side.

  The wormies were in the water.

  Ahead, the mist was suddenly incandescent with bursts of orange and azure.

  So much for surprise, she thought.

  The boat started to flip, so she jumped clear into the water. To fight the panic being submerged always brought on, she concentrated instead on finding the bottom with her feet, as all around her the upper bodies of wormies appeared, water draining from the cavities in their faces and chests.

  She set her footing in the muddy bottom and boxed away the nearest before drawing her close-work dagger. Ram, Dextra, Martin, and a Redguard whose name she didn’t know formed a diamond formation around Brennus and started pushing toward shore. She went for their hands first; grab with her left, sever at the wrist with her knife, cut the side of the neck, move on. She was slower in the water, but so—thank Mauloch—were they.

  She saw Ram had one on his back and cut its arm off at the elbow, ruining its grip, but then another hail of arrows dropped into the water and Ram went down anyway, screaming soundlessly and gripping at a shaft in his sternum.

  Mazgar felt a pleasant shock, and then the wormies fell away from them, moving off to other targets. She was relieved—because that meant Brenn was alive—but turned to confirm it anyway. He nodded at her.

  By the time they reached the shore, the survivors of the first two waves of boats had formed a double line, one to face the enemy coming from the sea, the other looking landward. Sound came back—battle cries, screams of pain, terse orders passed up and down the lines. She found Prossos and he put her in the front line, which suited her fine. She drew Sister, which was more suited to this sort of work.

  And work it was going to be.

  She had started the day with five hundred soldiers. Their job was to cross Lake Rumare from the north, there to join with a massive push toward the northwest side of the city. That’s where the enemy was massed most deeply, and lately had begun actively trying to break through the gate that led to the Imperial prison. It was also where Umbriel would arrive, if it continued on the course it was presently following.

  Now she stood with something between two and three hundred comrades. They looked to be lined up against three times that.

  Still, they gained ground steadily. The land was pretty flat here, and the archers who had plagued them earlier either seemed to have been dealt with or more likely couldn’t make decent shots with ranks so close. As they pushed forward, their line formed a wedge, to prevent the wormies from outflanking them with their numbers and rolling them up. After that, they settled into a bloody pace. Someone off to her left starting bellowing “General Slaughter’s Comely Daughter” a little off-key, and a few heartbeats later the whole cohort was shouting the response, and it started to feel like a party.

  A blond man to her right dropped with a leaf-shaped spear pushed all the way through him. She felt a tap on her shoulder and nodded, dragging the wounded man back as an orc half again her size filled the gap.

  In the empty center of the phalanx, she yelled for a healer, but it was clear Blondie wasn’t going to make it.

  He knew it, too.

  “It’s okay,” he managed. “Just be quick.”

  She nodded and closed his eyes. Then she took off his head with a single blow, followed by both hands and feet. Sometimes they came back, even without heads.

  She took her ten-minute rest and had a long drink of water while watching the huge bulk of Umbriel draw ever nearer.

  Brennus fell in with her.

  “I know that’s hard,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to do it.”

  “Orders are orders,” she said. “Especially when they make sense.”

  “I know,” he said. “That doesn’t make it easy.”

  “How long before it gets to the walls, you think?” she asked, jabbing her tusks toward the flying city.

  “Hours,” he said, “unless the Emperor has some tricks to try still.”

  “I heard from that rat-face, Solein, that they made two more tries to invade by air.”

  “We’re not supposed to spread it around, but yes, both just as unsuccessful as that first one. But the wall might be a different matter; the Synod and the College of Whispers will give it all they’ve got, you can be sure of that. And they’ve had a long while to prepare defenses.”

  Mazgar handed him the skin. “I’ll let them worry about that,” she said. “I’ve got my own job to think about.”

  She clapped him on the shoulder and went back to take her place on the line.

  EIGHT

  “Attrebus.”

  He opened his eyes at the sound of the voice and found Sul’s crimson gaze only inches away.

  He felt stone beneath his back and was soaking wet. Behind Sul he saw a rough, faintly luminescent wall.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “We fell in the lake in the center of Umbriel,” Sul replied. “This is some sort of cave above the waterline.”

  Attrebus remembered then.

  “Did you do it? Did you kill him?”

  “No,” he said. “Do you think you can walk?”

  “What happened?” He pushed, shaking water from his ear. “You had him.”

  Sul didn’t answer, but instead stood and reached an arm down. Attrebus took it and let him half pull him to his feet.

  “You know more about this place
than I do,” Sul said. “Where do you think we are?”

  Attrebus felt his face flush as he finally understood.

  “You came after me instead,” he said. “You saved my life.”

  “I failed,” Sul said. “After all this time—” He broke off. “You were right—something is wrong with him, and it’s no doing of ours. The sword didn’t hurt him much, if at all. It certainly didn’t reclaim anything of Vile’s.”

  “Annaïg’s poison, then,” Attrebus guessed. “That must be it.”

  “It seems likely, and that means Vuhon will be trying to stop her, to reverse whatever she’s done.”

  He turned, and Attrebus saw Umbra was sheathed again.

  “Wait,” he said. “How were you able to put it away?”

  “I almost wasn’t,” Sul admitted. “Next time—”

  “There’s no reason for a ‘next time,’ ” Attrebus argued. “If it doesn’t work, why take the risk?”

  “I have a feeling about it,” Sul said. “Leave it at that and talk to the girl—we’re wasting time.”

  Attrebus nodded, pulled Coo out, and flipped open the little door. A moment later Annaïg’s face appeared.

  “Attrebus,” she said. “Where are you?”

  “We fought Vuhon. The sword didn’t work, but something’s wrong with him.”

  “I may have distracted him,” she replied.

  “Your venom is working?”

  “It’s doing something. Where are you?”

  “We fell in the lake in the middle of this place, and now we’re in some sort of cavern just above the waterline.”

  “You’re in the skraw caves, then.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Stay where you are,” she said. “Keep Coo open.”

  She closed the locket and then turned to Glim.

  “The sword didn’t work,” she said. “Our only hope is my poison. When the trees start to die, we may get a chance to escape. Fhena can come with us.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” Glim insisted.

  She closed her eyes, tired of his persistence. “I need you to go down to the skraw caves and bring Attrebus up here,” she said.

  Glim’s pupils dilated wide and his fighting musk filled the air. She inched back a little.

  “No,” he said.

  “They deserve a chance, too. You need to hurry.”

  “I said no,” the Argonian said, in a quiet but firm voice. “Not unless you save the trees.”

  “I’ve told you, that isn’t possible. Most of the poison is in now—”

  “If you know how to make the poison, you know how to make the antidote,” he said.

  She stared at him for a moment, then reached into her pocket and produced a long, stoppered tube.

  “This is the antidote,” she said. “This is for us, when we’re affected, if we are. It’s not nearly enough to counteract what I’ve pumped into the roots.”

  “They’re already fighting it,” he said. “If they taste that, they’ll know what to do—they can produce enough antitoxin to save themselves.”

  “And the lords, and Umbriel,” Annaïg said. “Then the Imperial City is destroyed, and we don’t escape.”

  “No,” Glim replied, his voice measured. “I’ll help the trees go home and take the city with them.”

  “You really believe you can do that?” Annaïg asked.

  “Yes.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “Go get Attrebus and Sul. Then I’ll give you this.”

  “I could take it from you,” Glim said very softly.

  “I’ll throw it, if you try.”

  “It may be too late by the time I find Attrebus. Give it to me now, and I promise I’ll do as you ask.”

  “Glim—”

  “Nn, it’s me.”

  “Right,” she said. “Weren’t you just threatening to use force on me?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “If you could feel them, like I do … Nn, our whole lives, it’s always been you, your desires, your needs. And despite my protestations, I’ve been happy to be at your side. But this time you have to stand with me. You have to trust me.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to remember what he was talking about, to a time when everything hadn’t been about suspicion and betrayal and heartsickness, but nothing came, nothing—until, finally, an image. The face of a five-year-old girl with long, curling black hair, and that of a young Saxhleel about the same age, reflecting up from water twenty feet below. She saw their feet, too, perched on the crumbling wall of an ancient, sunken structure.

  “Let’s jump,” the girl said.

  “That’s too far down,” the boy replied.

  “Ah, come on. Let’s do it together.”

  “Well … fine,” he grumbled.

  And they jumped.

  Annaïg opened her eyes, and Glim suddenly remembered her when she was a little girl, how full of everything her eyes seemed to have been in those days.

  She didn’t say anything. She just handed him the bottle.

  “Thanks,” he said. He turned to Fhena. “Take her to the hiding place. I’ll be back.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” Fhena said.

  Glim slipped the antidote into his belt-pouch and bounded down the trunk, feeling the sickness invade it deeper. He wondered how to do it—if he could simply empty the contents where the roots would find it, or use one of the nutrient injectors the fringe workers used. In their pain, the trees had become unfocused, distilled to need and demand, and it was all he could do to keep his mind singular enough to be Glim, and not just a part of the hurt and panic. But Annaïg trusted him, and he had to be worthy of that trust now. He would find the prince and his companion, and hopefully by then he would figure it out.

  The sump felt sick and oily, and he nearly retched when he pulled in his first breath. He surprised a school of bladefish, but they hardly reacted, and instead continued along, unsteadily, as if they had lost half of their senses.

  He found shattered crystal tubes in the shallows and followed them to their greatest concentration, and then began searching the caves. He discovered them in the third one he tried. The Dunmer saw him first, reaching for his sword before Glim was even out of the water. Then the Imperial turned.

  “Wait,” he said. “That’s an Argonian. Mere-Glim?”

  “Yes, Prince,” he replied, making a little bow.

  “Do you know these people?” the prince asked.

  Glim noticed a number of skraws on the other side of the cavern. Several of them were armed. As Glim approached, Wert pushed through.

  “I know them,” Glim replied.

  “Who are they, Glim?” Wert asked. He looked tired, more jaundiced than usual.

  “You can leave them alone. What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” Wert replied. “Hiner and Skrahan dropped dead. The rest of us—it’s like everything is getting sick, all at once.”

  He coughed, and for a moment Glim thought he would fall.

  “What should we do?”

  Glim took several deep breaths, looking at the skraws. His skraws, and in an instant he felt not just the trees anymore, but all of it, everyone, and he knew what to do.

  He took out the antidote, removed the stopper, and drank it all.

  Annaïg paced back and forth in the wooden cavity, wishing she had something to do, something to cook with. One minute she’d been in control of everything, and suddenly she didn’t know what was happening anymore.

  “Glim can do what he says,” Fhena said. “I believe him.”

  “Of course you do,” Annaïg said. “And maybe he can. But maybe—have you thought of this?—maybe he’s gone crazy.”

  “No. I can feel it. The trees made him different, and now somehow they’ve changed, too. As if they got something from him as well. They have a purpose for him. Anyway—you gave him the antidote. You must believe.”

  “No,” she said. “That’s not why I gave it to him.”

  “I don’t
understand. I—”

  Fhena was interrupted by an odd coughing sound. Annaïg saw the other woman’s eyes dart past her and turned.

  Umbriel stood there. “It had to be you,” he said. “As soon as I felt your venom, I knew your scent on it.”

  “Lord Umbriel …”

  “The trees are fighting hard,” Umbriel said. “They’ve shunted the poison through the ingenium, poisoning the rest of the city while they try to synthesize an antidote. It will cycle back around to them in time, but by then most of the damage will be done. I don’t know if you meant it to work that way, but it was brilliant; it’s attacking the head first—which means me. I had to absorb Rhel and three other lords just to keep going on in this body, to find the venom’s mother.”

  “So much for Rhel’s illusion of immortality.”

  “His illusion was that he was any less a part of me than everything here. It’s an illusion you share. The poison will kill you, too.”

  “If that’s what it takes to stop you, I’m willing,” she replied.

  “I see. And yet you have an antidote.”

  “I don’t,” Annaïg said.

  “I’m weak,” Umbriel said, his voice beginning to change. “I’m not deaf.”

  “I don’t have it. I gave it to someone else.”

  “Possibly,” Umbriel replied, moving toward her. “But you still have it, right there behind your eyes.”

  “Stay back,” Annaïg said. “Keep away from me.”

  “We’re almost there,” Umbriel snarled, revealing sharp, yellowed teeth. “All we have to do is reach the White-Gold Tower, and we’re free of him forever.”

  “I don’t care,” Annaïg said.

  He lunged at her, and she whipped out the invisible blade, slicing three of his fingers off.

  He barked a harsh sort of laugh and made a fist. He didn’t hit her, but something did, hurling her against the wall and knocking the wind out of her.

  He held up his hand, and the fingers grew back. His spine seemed to straighten; the lines of his face filled in.

  “What’s this?” he murmured. “Incredible. They did it.” He looked down at her, his lips curling up in a malicious grin. “It was a nice try,” he said.