Lord of Souls es-2

by Greg Keyes

  “You think he wants us to follow him?”

  “I think that’s safe to say,” Sul said.

  “Safe to say, but safer to do,” the dog added in a yappy little voice. Attrebus felt he should have been surprised, but somehow he wasn’t.

  “Do we have a choice?” Attrebus asked, pointing the question at Sul. Unless the dog was really Clavicus Vile-which, given his experience with Malacath, wasn’t impossible-they didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger.

  The Dunmer shook his head in the negative. “Follow the dog,” he said.

  The dog led them from the clearing along the little trail, where the vegetation seemed to grow progressively sicklier. They crossed a brook on a fallen log, and he saw fish floating on the surface, their gills working desperately. Something fluttered by in the trees, which he at first perceived to be a bird, then a butterfly the size of a hawk, and finally a caterpillar with wings.

  They wound along a spiral trail up a hill, where they found a table large enough to seat thirty or so, with whimsically slim legs that terminated in hooves. Now and then one of the hooves would lift and stamp, rattling the empty plates and cups on the table. Beyond the hill, the colors of the world seemed to melt and flow before the sky gave way completely to shimmering chaos. From this height, Attrebus could see that the trees and grass only extended a mile or so in any direction before similarly dissolving at the edges.

  Seated at the head of the table, on a large wooden throne, was what appeared to be a boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen years, although his lack of shirt displayed a paunch that would have been more at home on a middle-aged beer glutton. He had what appeared to be a goat horn growing from above his right eyebrow, but over the left there was a festering sore. He had his bare feet up on the table crossed at the ankles, and a mean little smile showed on his face. His eyes were most peculiar; Attrebus somehow could not focus on them, but his impression was contradictory: They seemed empty, but empty in a way that nevertheless held limitless meaning.

  When the boy saw Sul and Attrebus, he laughed. It was an eerie laugh, almost like the imitation of one, although there seemed to be a tinge of genuine madness there as well.

  The dog hopped up on the table. “I give you Prince Clavicus Vile,” it announced, and then fell over and began licking itself.

  The boyish figure inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. Then he pointed a finger.

  “You, Sul. Bring me that thing.”

  “We bring it in good faith,” Sul said. “We wish to discuss a compact.”

  “A compact,” Vile said, exaggerating Sul’s Dunmer accent. “Oh, do you? Oh, very well. Why don’t you sit here, and be the daedra prince, and I’ll just stand down where you are and be the stupid mortal who doesn’t know exactly how close he is to being a turnip. Or a boil on a turnip.” He turned to the dog. “Do turnips get boils?”

  “Galls, I think,” the dog replied. “Not boils.”

  “Whatever,” Vile said. He turned back to Sul. “I don’t have to ask nicely, you know. It’s mine.”

  Something happened, but it was too fast for Attrebus to see. Sul grunted and dropped to his knees, and Vile-still in his chair-had Umbra.

  “Don’t think I’m weak,” Vile said. “Everyone who comes here now thinks I’m weak, just because a wee bit of my stuff has been stolen. The trick is, if you’ve got less to work with, you just don’t spread it so thin. My realm may be a little smaller than in happier times, but in it I’m just as strong as I ever was.”

  “Well,” the dog said, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Hush, Barbas, before I feed you to my hounds.”

  “Which would be me, sir,” the dog said.

  “If you’re after making a point, I really don’t take it,” Vile said as he unwrapped the blade. When he touched it, a shudder went through him, and he cast it on the table.

  “Well, it’s no good to me like that,” he said. “Sul, don’t you at least know better than to bring it to me like that?”

  Sul was having trouble answering, however. He was still on his hands and knees.

  “What are you doing to him?” Attrebus demanded.

  “What?” the daedra asked, and then blinked. “Oh, right.”

  Sul suddenly heaved a deep breath. He sat back on his heels, gasping.

  “Haven’t I always done my best by you people?” Vile asked. “Haven’t I always tried to provide instruction and opportunities for you to improve yourselves? I’ve treated you with good humor, like equals, really. And where is the respect I’m due? Really, I’m just tired of it now.” He sat back. “Just tired. Really.”

  “We know what happened to Umbra,” Attrebus said. “We know where he is. That’s why we’ve been looking for the sword in the first place.”

  “First of all,” Vile said, “let’s not go calling anyone ‘Umbra.’ There is no Umbra. This-thing-that suffers from the delusion that it is its own- person -is actually nothing of the kind, do you understand? No more than a stone rolling down a hill is capable of real self-locomotion. Or an abacus of doing math by itself. What was in this sword was me, plain and simple. If someone cut your leg off and the leg starting calling itself ‘Umbra,’ it would still be your leg, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t humor it, would you? Help it out with its delusions of grandeur?”

  “No, certainly not,” Attrebus said.

  “There you go,” Vile said. “That’s just what I’ve been saying. Not nearly so dumb as you look.” His strange eyes narrowed and he put on a boyish smile.

  “But go on. You were telling me where the rest of me is.”

  “In Tamriel, in a city known as Umbriel.”

  “Again,” Vile snarled, “the name of the city isn’t Umbriel. I created it, me. Its real name is-” He scratched his chin. “Well, I don’t remember. But it isn’t Umbriel. More, with the putting on airs.” Vile swung his feet from the table and leaned forward, bracing his hands against the table.

  “So it’s in Tamriel now? I’ve caught glimpses of it, now and then, but how could he possibly have gotten into Nirn?”

  “We’re not sure of that ourselves,” Attrebus said. “But we’re determined to stop Um-ah, your city.”

  “By returning what was stolen to the sword,” Vile said thoughtfully.

  “Yes.”

  “And then you were just going to bring the sword back to me, weren’t you?” Vile said.

  “Ah-of course,” Attrebus agreed.

  “You most certainly were not,” Vile said. “But that’s fine, things have changed. You’ve come to me for a reason.”

  Attrebus looked at Sul, who gave him a warning glance.

  “The city of which we speak is destroying Tamriel,” Attrebus said. “It’s on its way to the Imperial City.”

  “Is it?” Vile said. Attrebus thought the daedra’s ears actually twitched. “Ah, I see. And you found the sword in Solstheim. So you don’t have time to get there. This is really funny.”

  “I don’t see how,” Attrebus said. “I should think you would want us to reach it.”

  “I want what was stolen from me,” the daedra admitted. “That means someone has to stab this nonentity that calls itself Umbra with that sword. Given the circumstances of the city’s existence, I can take it from there. But it doesn’t matter to me if that happens sooner or later, does it?”

  “But if you wait until my country-my people-are destroyed, why would I help you then?”

  “It needn’t be you; I have mortal followers, lots of them.”

  “I don’t understand, then,” Attrebus said. “What do you want from us?”

  “What he wants is a deal,” Sul said. “A contract.”

  “Now, there you go,” Vile said. “A man who knows the ways of the world. Or worlds, as it were.”

  “What sort of deal?” Attrebus asked.

  “Well-one of your souls will do.”

  “That’s outrageous,” Attrebus said.

  “Very well,” Vile said. “I’ll just send you o
n your way, then. Without the sword.”

  “If it’s a soul you want-” Sul began.

  “Stop!” Attrebus commanded.

  And Sul actually did, his lips in mid-syllable.

  “The pup is barking,” Barbas said.

  Sul and Vile both turned withering gazes on him, but he held himself straight.

  “Vuhon is taking Umbriel to the Imperial City for a reason,” Attrebus said. “It has to do with the White-Gold Tower. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I think you do. I think if he gets to the White-Gold Tower, you lose, which means you need us, now -not some followers who might or might not do the job in the future. You’re just trying to trick us, get a little extra out of it. So there is only one deal here, Prince Clavicus Vile-you get us as close to Umbriel as possible, and you do it immediately. We get your missing power back, we’re rid of Umbriel. No conditions.”

  Vile hunched forward, his face wrinkling in a sneer.

  “Do you honestly think you can talk to me like that? That after that little bit of impertinence I’ll just let you alone?”

  “You don’t have a choice, unless you plan for this dreary little realm to be all you have for the rest of time,” Attrebus rejoined.

  Vile smiled and leaned back. “Right then,” he sighed. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you alone. There are costs, whether a bargain is struck or not. You’re clever, but you don’t think toward the long term, and you will regret it eventually. But here we are. Fine. Take the sword, but be careful not to wield it until it’s time to thrust it in, yes? And I’ll put you close. I can’t put you in my city because he’s made it so I can’t see it, but if it’s going to the Imperial City, why don’t I just send you there?”

  “That sounds good to me,” Attrebus replied.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” the daedra asked, his tone brightening. “Good meeting you fellows. Best of luck to us all, eh? At least for now.”

  He gestured for Sul to pick up the sword. The Dark Elf rewrapped it and slung it on his back.

  Then Clavicus Vile waved them away with his hand, and they were gone.

  Attrebus had come to expect surprises moving to and from Oblivion, but that didn’t stop him from yelping when he appeared ten feet off the ground. He waved his arms desperately, striking a tree, which overbalanced him. He landed on his heels going back, and his butt took a lot of the force before his spine slapped into the pine needles and the all-too-solid earth they covered.

  He kept his wind, and almost felt like laughing. Had Vile dropped them on purpose? Or was the daedra prince even weaker than he let on, and not in good control of his powers?

  Sul would know.

  Attrebus stood up and brushed off, then looked around for his companion, but didn’t see him in the immediate vicinity. What he did see was a large stone statue of Clavicus Vile with a dog at his side, albeit a much larger animal than the one they’d just encountered. A clearing surrounded the statue, but gave way to forest pretty quickly in every direction.

  He had heard rumors that there was a shrine to Vile somewhere west of the Imperial City, not far from the Ring Road. If this was it-and that made a certain amount of sense-then they didn’t have too far to go.

  He looked around again, this time more carefully. Dark things were supposed to happen at places like this, and even though the daedra himself had sent them here, that didn’t mean they were safe from his followers.

  Closer inspection didn’t reveal anyone else, but he did notice Sul’s boot sticking out from behind the shrine.

  “Sul?” he cried, running across the clearing.

  Sul was breathing, but his eyes were closed and he was bleeding from a nasty gash in his head. He must have fallen, too, but hadn’t been as lucky as Attrebus.

  “Hey, Sul!” Attrebus patted him on the cheek, but that didn’t draw a response. He poured some water from his skin and washed the wound. He couldn’t see any bone, and the skull didn’t seem dented. He stripped off the heavy coat he wore and cut strips of the lining, then tied the bandage around Sul’s head. Through all of that, the Dunmer showed no signs of waking up.

  Attrebus sat there for a moment, trying to decide what to do. He felt very alone, and it began to sink in exactly how much he relied on the old man for strength, knowledge-even occasional encouragement. What if the wound was more serious than it looked? What if Sul was dying? Would he have any chance of finishing this? A chance, maybe, but a much bleaker one than if he had the sorcerer at his side.

  He couldn’t just sit here, could he? But on the other hand, sometimes those who were injured ought not to be moved. Maybe he should go for help.

  But the nearest village could be hours away-even if he knew which way to go-and that would give wild animals far too much time to find a fine, easy meal.

  He cut up more of the horker hide coat and chopped off some willow branches, which he then spent an hour or so fashioning into a travois. A few moments later he was dragging Sul through the forest, worried, but feeling a sense of accomplishment. He was pretty sure he knew which direction the Ring Road was, and from there he could find almost anything.

  It was slow going in the woods, and he had to stop frequently to reposition the makeshift harness or to rest. He was sure there was a better way to design a travois, but he’d never had occasion to build one before, and although he had seen them, he hadn’t studied their structure.

  He dithered a bit about where he ought to go. If they were west, the Imperial City was close, but so was his hunting lodge in Ione. Should he go there first, get Sul tended to, acquire some guards? Or go straight for the Imperial City?

  Attrebus reached the road more quickly than he thought he would, an hour or so before sundown. Lake Rumare was the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long time, its familiar waters turning coral as the evening deepened. The familiar cries of curlews and coots were music to him. And then there was the Imperial City itself, standing proud and strong on its island, the White-Gold Tower at its center like a pillar holding up the heavens-as some claimed it actually did.

  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 Annaig 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 soone
r 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 Annaig’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, Annaig 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.