“You see? The word ‘Umbriel’ is in the passage next to it.” “Possibly,” Letine allowed. “But if so, what is this one?” “You know, if you turn it this way,” he mused, “it looks familiar to me—I’ve seen it before, or something really close. Not in Hierem’s chambers, but when I was studying to enter the Penitus Oculatus.” “That’s a very different context,” she warned. “I know. It was used by necromancers, back before the Mages’ Guild schismed. It was used to designate ghosts, but the meaning was more complicated. I think it could also mean ‘shadow,’ or even ‘echo.’ ” “I don’t see how it can mean that here,” she said. “Not knowing any more than we do.” “What, then? Do you know anyone you trust in the Synod?” “Hierem is a member of the Synod,” she said. “Maybe we should just ask him.” “Well, it might come to that,” he said. “I know someone,” she said. “But he won’t like it if I bring company. You’re going to have to let me out of your custody for a little while.” “The Dark Brotherhood is still out there,” he said. “They don’t give up easily. I would rather you stayed put.” She turned and kissed him. “I’ll be careful. I’ll avoid anyplace I usually go, and I’ll go at night. Your protecting me is all very sweet, but I’ve been looking out for myself for a long time.” “Things are different now,” he reminded her. “Yes, and I’ll take that into account, right?” A flicker of irritation passed over her face. “Look,” she said, “just because you saved my life and we’ve been playing tussle-bug for a few days doesn’t mean you own me, Colin. What we have here is a common goal and mutual respect. If we don’t have that, then—” “Easy,” he said. “You’re right. You have as much right to risk your life as I do mine. I just selfishly don’t want you to die. Be that as it may, if you know someone who can tell us if we have something important here or just a recipe for soup, please, go find out.” “I’ll be careful,” she said again. “What will you do?” “Well, I still have a job,” he said. “Marall will want a report tomorrow. How long will this take?” “I don’t know,” she said. “It depends on a few things. A couple of days at most.” “Days?” “I have to leave the city.” “The city is surrounded,” he pointed out. She smiled. “A girl can’t give up all her secrets right away. Meet you back here in a day or two?” He nodded. “Right,” she said, and started dressing. “You’re going now?” “It’s dark outside,” she replied. “And time is of the essence, right?” “Yes,” he admitted. Despite his words, he wanted to grab her, tie her up if necessary. He had a terrible, wrong feeling in his gut, as if he were never going to see her again.


Lord of souls _ an Elder scrolls novel -- Keyes, Greg -- Elder Scrolls, Book 2, 2011 -- Del Rey_Ballantine Books -- 9780345508027 -- 2999018512a7b9b6f4491b212cb1a696 -- Anna’s Archive.4

But he didn’t stop her when she went through the door. He walked along with her until their paths parted, and she gave him a little kiss on the cheek. Then he returned to his own apartment.


Lord of souls _ an Elder scrolls novel -- Keyes, Greg -- Elder Scrolls, Book 2, 2011 -- Del Rey_Ballantine Books -- 9780345508027 -- 2999018512a7b9b6f4491b212cb1a696 -- Anna’s Archive.1

Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel TWELVE Mazgar gnashed her tusks as Brennus cleaned the cut in her back, but managed not to let any sound escape her. “You’re lucky,” he whispered. “Another inch and it would have been your spine.” “Luck is all I’m having lately,” she grunted back softly. “Hey,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious, “at least we got through. I’m not sure how many of the others did.” “I saw Falcus go down,” she said. “And Tosh.” She closed her eyes as he rubbed something in the wound and began to bandage it. She strained her senses at the young night but couldn’t make anything out but silence. Too much silence—no night birds, no dogs barking or wolves howling—just the wind and the rustling of leaves as hundreds, maybe thousands of the wormies strode through the forest below the rock shelter they’d found at dusk. Brennus used his sorcery to further hide them, deaden the sound of their voices, their scent, the life force in them. It had exhausted him, and they still hadn’t been certain it would be enough, but the wormies had been passing for more than an hour without noticing them. “At least we got a few decent meals,” she said. “And beer! I’d almost forgotten how good it is.” “We’ll get another,” he said, “when we reach the Imperial City.” “Yah,” she agreed. “That’s something to look forward to.” “Divines,” Brennus breathed. “Now, don’t get silly and start praying,” she said. “No, no,” he said. “Look.” She turned, and there it was, a blackness taking up the whole sky. Beneath it, long flickers like lightning reached up from the ground into the shadows, giving the illusion that something huge was walking by on hundreds of tentacles, only a few of which were visible at any given time. “Each of those is a death,” Brennus murmured. “A soul, drawn up to feed that thing’s engines.” “Do you think it’s caught up to the others?” she asked. “Not yet,” he replied. “Not at that pace. We gave them a good head start. Those must be farmers or hunters who either never got the word or were stubborn, like those who stayed in Cheydinhal.” “Idiots,” she muttered. “That’s likely them passing us down there right now.” “Right,” he murmured. He didn’t sound good. “You’re not dying on me, are you?” she asked. “I can’t reach back there, and in a few days it’s going to be itching.” “There you go,” he said. “That’s incentive to keep living—the promise of scratching your knobby back.” “Happy to help,” she said. “Now get some sleep. I’ll let you know if anything changes.” “You’re the one with the wound,” he said. “Yes, and it hurts too much to let me sleep, so do as I tell you, okay?” “Okay,” he said. He curled up on the stone floor, and in minutes he was snoring.


Lord of souls _ an Elder scrolls novel -- Keyes, Greg -- Elder Scrolls, Book 2, 2011 -- Del Rey_Ballantine Books -- 9780345508027 -- 2999018512a7b9b6f4491b212cb1a696 -- Anna’s Archive.2

Mazgar watched Umbriel pass, running the battle back through her head: the mad charge with the Cheydinhal guard, breaking the wormies’ line. That hadn’t been so bad. But then they had to set up their own lines on either side of the gate as Cheydinhal evacuated, and that hadn’t been so much fun. It took hours, and the wormies didn’t rest, didn’t retreat or regroup. They just kept coming, wave after wave of them. In the end their line had been rolled up, and Falcus gave the command to fall back and regroup on the Blue Road—just before he took a spear in the throat. She and Brennus had been driven miles from the road, and now here they were. Suppose they managed to get around the army and rejoin what was left of the Cheydinhal guards and the Imperial company. Suppose they managed to stay ahead of that thing long enough to reach the Imperial City. What then? Another evacuation? Because, by Mauloch, what was going to stop that? As dawn slid red claws up from behind the world, she saw that the wormies had all passed, at least for the time being, so she shook Brennus awake. “You let me sleep all night,” he accused. “I never got sleepy,” she said. They packed quickly, starting off south and then turning west, alternating between jogging and walking, hoping to flank the main mass of the wormies. It was easy enough to see where they were, at least—Umbriel could be seen from any clear, elevated spot. But that also made it obvious they weren’t gaining very quickly on their objective. Most of the undead army marched together, but they were constantly sending out hunting parties in search of more bodies to steal. Brenn and she avoided two successfully, but were spotted by a third a few hundred yards behind them as they were crossing some fallow fields. They picked up their pace, but Mazgar knew Brennus wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. She was right; less than an hour later he began to falter, and their pursuers started gaining. She spotted a farmstead up ahead and steered them toward that. It was abandoned, so they broke in and barricaded the door. There were no windows. “How many of ’em do you think there are?” Brennus asked as various implements began thudding into the door. “Fifteen, I guess.” “You can’t count any higher than that,” he said. “It could be thirty.” “Could be,” she said. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? They can only get at us one or two at a time.” “Oh, well, I can’t dispute that logic,” he said. There was a splintering sound, and daylight and the edge of an ax appeared. Mazgar rested Sister, point down, and took long, deep breaths, watching as the door disintegrated and the leering, rotting faces of the enemy appeared. “Stand back a bit,” Brennus said as the first of them came through.


Lord of souls _ an Elder scrolls novel -- Keyes, Greg -- Elder Scrolls, Book 2, 2011 -- Del Rey_Ballantine Books -- 9780345508027 -- 2999018512a7b9b6f4491b212cb1a696 -- Anna’s Archive.3

“You save your strength,” she snapped, but it was too late. A sheet of white fire erupted from the earth a few feet on the other side of the door. She saw at least three of the things more or less disintegrated immediately. Half of one fell into the house, but it didn’t move again. She glared at Brennus, but he was sitting against the wall, eyes closed, face pallid. “All yours now,” he said. So she waited until the eldritch flame began to subside and then placed herself in the frame of the door so Sister could swing freely outside. But when the spell dissipated, she saw there weren’t any wormies left standing. She found herself regarding instead about twenty men in heavy armor, most astride barded horses. Two were dismounted, making certain the wormies weren’t going to get up. When they saw her, one of them doffed his helmet, revealing a dark Dunmer face. “I’m glad we got here in time,” he said. “We spied them chasing you from the hilltop a while back, but we had a lot of ground to cross.” He bowed his head a little. “I’m Ilver Indarys, and these are the Knights of the Thorn.” “Mazgar gra Yagash,” she said, “Imperial scouts.” “You were at Cheydinhal? You can tell us what happened? We were dealing with some of these things in the South—had no idea a whole army of them was coming down on the city. We found it empty.” “Most evacuated,” she told him. “We held them back long enough to give the refugees a head start, and that’s when we got cut off.” “Thanks Azura,” he murmured. “That’s good to know. They’re on the Blue Road, then? Ahead of that monstrous thing?” “Yes, so far as I know,” she replied. “We need to join them, then,” he said. “We have extra mounts, if you would like to ride with us.” “I would love a horse,” Brennus said from behind her. “Knowing you, you probably would,” Mazgar said. “Would you read it poetry first?” “Whatever it wants to hear,” he replied. “I was implying—” she began. “Right,” he said. “I got it. Can we go now?”


Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel THIRTEEN When the stonework of the castle gave way to living rock, Irinja stopped. “It’s farther down there,” she said. “There’s a gate, with a lock. I don’t have the key. And I … I won’t go any farther.” “Why not?” Sul asked suspiciously. “I don’t want to see him. Or hear him,” she replied. “They say he wails and curses.” “Who comes down here?” Attrebus asked. “No one,” she replied. “Someone has to feed him.” She shook her head. “He quit eating after the first year. We kept bringing him food for another year more, but it always went untouched.” “And after he hadn’t eaten for a year—he was still wailing and cursing?” “Yes.” “Thanks, Irinja,” Attrebus said. “This will be far enough.” Her face seemed to darken in the light of the lantern and she looked down. Sul rolled his eyes and stepped a bit away. When they had a bit of privacy, Attrebus gave her a little kiss. “I hope you’re not sorry about last night,” he said. “I’m not,” she replied. “It was nice. I just don’t want you to think ill of me.” “I couldn’t do that, Irinja.” “I know you’re a prince. I know I was just a dalliance, and I never expected more. But I don’t want you to think I’m like this all the time. That I’m a bad person.” “I think you’re an excellent person,” he said. “Now—are we straight on that?” “Yes,” she said. “Just be careful. I don’t want you to get into trouble over this.” She shrugged, then kissed him lightly on the lips. “Goodbye,” she said, then turned and quickly retreated back up the stairs she had just led them down. “That wasn’t wise, letting her go,” Sul said. “Well, I don’t make a habit of punishing people for helping me,” Attrebus replied. “Anyway, it’s done.” “It certainly is,” Sul said. “Look, we know where the sword is, at least. You can thank me for that.” “I suppose I could thank parts of you, anyway,” Sul replied. “Your brain not among them. Never mind—let’s go.” The passage was roughly hewn, and continued down into the bedrock the castle stood upon for another sixty feet or so, then opened into what appeared to be a natural cavern. The gate Irinja had mentioned was there, but when Attrebus pushed experimentally on it, it swung open. He drew his sword and looked around, but on his side of the gate there was no place to hide. “I don’t like this,” Sul said. “Why? I don’t hear any wailing or cursing, do you? He’s dead. He’s been dead for years. Probably whoever tried to feed him last didn’t bother to lock the gate.” “I still don’t like it,” Sul said. “You stay here. I’ll go and find the sword.” “If he really killed all those people—” “Weren’t you just arguing he’s dead?” Sul snapped.


“I was, but you don’t believe it.” “Just stay here and watch the gate.” “Fine. But if you need help—” “Right,” Sul said, waving him off. “I’ll call if I need you.” Attrebus watched him stride off into the darkness, until all he could see was the lamp he carried, growing smaller. Then Sul must have passed behind something. He rubbed his head. The hangover wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and for that he was grateful. Irinja’s attitude about their little tumble together was fortunate, because now that he was sober, he couldn’t shake the nearly unfamiliar feeling that he had done something wrong. He’d been with a lot of women, and never had any sense of guilt. That had changed now, and he knew that against all reason, he felt some sort of loyalty to Annaïg, a woman he had never seen in the flesh, much less been with. He was going to have to sort this out, because he didn’t like feeling guilty. But he understood that it couldn’t happen until they were actually together, face-to-face. As it was, the relationship was too fantastical. His ruminations were interrupted by the poke of something sharp in his back. He leapt forward—away from the pressure—and spun, drawing his sword, Flashing. The gate slammed in his face. On the other side stood Nirai Sathil. She smiled. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “I should rather ask what you are doing, sneaking around down here,” she replied, wagging her finger at him. “We were just exploring the castle,” Attrebus said, “and we got a bit lost.” “A bit,” Nirai replied sarcastically. “Look, I can explain,” Attrebus said. “I’m—” “Attrebus Mede,” she interrupted. “You’ve come here looking for the sword, Umbra, and you seduced—or think you seduced—our dear little Irinja to find out where it is.” “Irinja isn’t to blame,” Attrebus began, then stopped. “ ‘Think’ I seduced?” “I sent her to you, of course,” Nirai said. “After she told me what you wanted.” Attrebus closed his eyes, glad that Sul was out of earshot. “So you know what I want,” he said. “What do you want? Your father spoke to Sul yesterday, and he apparently didn’t know who I was.” “That’s because he doesn’t know,” Nirai said. “He doesn’t know about this either. He’s still protecting Elhul. After what he did! And he’s determined not to let any servant of Clavicus Vile take the weapon.” “Why?” “My father made certain pacts with Vile, and in exchange the prince asked him to find a certain sword in Morrowind. What Vile didn’t tell my father was what would happen when someone picked the sword up. The rest I think you know.” “I don’t serve Clavicus Vile.” “I don’t care if you do,” she said. “That’s my father’s obsession, not mine. I want this to be over with, finally. If you can get the sword from Elhul, you can have it, for all I care.” “Then why this game?


Why lock us in?” “It’s just tidier this way,” she said. “And if one of you ends up picking up the sword and losing your mind, you’ll be safely jailed.” “We won’t pick it up,” Attrebus said. “Can’t count on that,” Nirai said. “Sorry. Good luck.” From somewhere in the back of the cave he heard Sul shout, and then an unholy sort of shriek. “You’d better hurry,” Nirai said. Cursing under his breath, Attrebus turned away from her and, holding his lantern in one hand and Flashing in the other, made his way as quickly as he could over the rough floor in the direction Sul had gone. The howling continued, a nerve-shivering, inhuman rasp that sometimes broke into what might be words in a language he didn’t know. Another few moments of stumbling brought him to the source. Sul had dropped—or maybe thrown—his lantern; it had shattered and was now a brightly burning pool of oil. In the ruddy light, Elhul Sathil was hideously revealed. He had skin but no flesh, and the skin fit him so tightly his bones were all plainly revealed. As he continued his terrible shrieking, Attrebus could see the apple of his throat bobbing, reminding him of a lizard or a frog. There was something strangely childlike in his gestures, the way his almost white eyes darted hesitantly between Sul and Attrebus. Attrebus almost didn’t notice the sword, it was so much a part of Elhul, just an extension of his arm with its tip resting on the floor. He glanced at Sul long enough to see the dark stain spreading on his arm. “I told you—” Sul began, but Elhul was suddenly bouncing toward Attrebus with unbelievable speed. There was no attempt at technique; Umbra chopped down toward him like a cleaver. He met the blade with Flashing’s flat edge. The blow drove him to his knees and sent arrows of pain into his shoulder. Gasping, he flung himself forward in an attempt to tackle the apparition—but although Elhul looked as if he only weighed sixty pounds, he felt as if he were made of cast iron. Elhul boxed his ears, and Attrebus stumbled back, his head ringing exactly like a bell. Elhul came after him. Lightning crackled about him but he didn’t miss a stride. Elhul lifted the black sword to strike again, and Attrebus drove Flashing into his solar plexus. Or tried to; the point didn’t break the withered black skin. Still, the impact sent Elhul back a step so that his swing smacked into the cave floor rather than Attrebus’s skull. Attrebus cut hard at his foe’s head; it felt like hitting a statue. Elhul shook it off as Attrebus backed away. Elhul stopped screaming, and then spoke. “Take it from him,” Elhul said, his voice curiously high-pitched, but imperiously demanding. “What?” Attrebus said, trying to gain more ground. “Take the sword from him, you idiot.” He seemed to have a hard time talking.


His gaze was full of fury. Then his eyes changed, and so did his tone. “Please,” he whispered. Then he flung himself at Attrebus again. Attrebus jumped back and tripped, throwing Flashing’s point up in a feeble attempt to ward off the thing that had been Elhul Sathil. But Elhul stopped in mid-stride, his mouth open as if to scream again, though no sound issued. Instead a smoking green fluid vomited out. He clapped his free hand to his head as the same viscous stuff jetted from his eyes and ears. Holes began to burst in his abdomen, and he crumpled, breaking into pieces. Where the vitriol touched stone, it too began to dissolve. “Get back,” Sul said. “Don’t touch it.” “I wasn’t considering that, believe it or not,” Attrebus said, trying to keep his breakfast down. “That was—” But he didn’t have a word strong enough for whatever magic Sul had just used. “It worked,” Sul replied. “I was starting to think nothing would.” “Congratulations. How’s your arm?” Sul glanced at the wound as if he had forgotten it. “Not bad,” he said. “Nothing that won’t heal.” Attrebus looked back at the remains—which now consisted of a fuming green puddle—and the sword, which seemed untouched. “What now?” he asked. “We can’t pick it up without becoming like him, as I understand it.” “Probably not,” Sul said. “Look around—find something to wrap it in. It’s going to be a while before all the acid is gone anyway.” Only then did Attrebus notice the bodies. Most were merely bones, but a few were still fresh enough to smell. The light from his lantern and the dying flame that had been Sul’s were enough to reveal half a dozen. He didn’t want to know how many lay outside that illumination. As it turned out, they didn’t have to hunt hard or long; in a moldering pile of clothes and bedding they found a sheath. After about twenty minutes, when the floor finally stopped smoking, Sul pushed the scabbard onto Umbra. He stared at the blade for a few minutes, then picked it up by the sheath. His eyes widened and he muttered something under his breath that might have been some sort of incantation. “Even in its sheath,” he said, “stay away from this, Attrebus.” He tore one of the blankets and cut it into strips, first winding them around Umbra’s grip—careful not to touch it—then around the scabbard as well, until there were several layers of wool covering the whole weapon. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.” “Yes,” Attrebus said. “About that …” Nirai was still there, and when she saw them—and the bundle they carried—she began to weep. “You did it,” she said. “I had begun to believe it was impossible.” “You’re going to let us out now,” Attrebus said. She lifted her head. “No,” she said, “I’m not. Not unless you leave the sword.” “You know who I am,” Attrebus told her. “I’ll be missed.” “You’re already missed,” Nirai said.


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“But no one knows you came here except a handful of us in this castle—and we keep to ourselves. Besides, from what I’ve heard, the Empire has more to worry about than a wayward prince.” She glanced at Sul and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “These bars are sorceled to turn spells back on their casters tenfold. Try to harm me, and you will pay the price.” “Wait,” Attrebus said. “We can talk about this. I know you don’t want us to die.” “I don’t,” she agreed. “Go back into the cave. Leave the sword there. I will return here with sufficient guards to protect me and set you free, on your honor to never return.” “What you just said about trouble in the Empire—you’re talking about Umbriel,” Attrebus said. “But that’s exactly why I need the sword. We need it to destroy Umbriel.” “For all I know, it already controls you,” she said. “I’m not at all certain the sword must be wielded to possess its owner. Proximity might be enough. But even so, at some point someone will put hand to it again, and then the sword will walk its new thrall right back here to kill all of us.” “Why?” “Don’t you know anything about that thing?” “Some.” “My father sent for every book and manuscript in existence, and some that were believed lost were found.” “Tell us what you know,” he said. “Convince me that we should leave Umbra here.” She dithered for a second or two, and he knew in that instant that Nirai wasn’t going to let them out no matter what, but was still trying to make herself easier about it, to convince herself there was no other choice. “The daedra prince Clavicus Vile wished a weapon made,” she said. “It was to be an instrument of mischief in Nirn, a source of amusement for him, a weapon that would send him souls. At first, however, he couldn’t find a smith who could do the work. He spent months—some sources say years—in frustration, until the witch Naenra Waerr came forth. She made the weapon, but it was unstable, and she told the prince that he would have to imbue it with some of his own power to make it whole and communicate with it on the mortal plane. Vile gave her the power she asked for. But it appears she tricked him, and some even speculate the witch was actually none other than Sheogorath, the Madgod, in disguise.” “Tricked him how?” “I said appears,” Nirai said. “It’s unclear whether what happened was part of a plan or merely the result of tampering with daedric forces. The sword is a soul stealer, and over time it comes to possess its owner.


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But whether by design, or by contact with human souls, or simply because it is in the nature of daedric energies, in time the part of Vile that was in the sword became a thing of its own, a sentient being.” “Yes,” Attrebus said. “We know of that. The being of whom you speak has escaped the sword and now empowers the city of Umbriel. We wish to draw him—or his energies, I guess—back into the sword.” “I surmised that the creature Umbra was no longer in the sword,” Nirai said. “It still steals souls, but it is unstable, driving its wielder insane almost instantly. I believe this is because it is still in communication with Vile in some way. I have, in fact, come to believe that when Umbra left, Vile himself—or some significant fraction of what comprises him—is now, in turn, trapped in the sword. Whatever the truth is, no mortal mind can long survive the rage and madness in that weapon.” “Then let us make it whole again, and bring down Umbriel.” “But that’s what Vile wants,” Nirai replied. “And if that is what Vile wants, he shall not have it.” Her voice firmed up, became more confident. “And so I’m sorry. You must remain here.” “I thought that was your father’s obsession,” Attrebus said. “So did I,” she replied. “What if we agree to leave the sword, as you offered before?” “I’ve changed my mind,” she replied. “I no longer believe you would honor such a truce. You might have ways of making the sword invisible, or come back for it with others. I cannot release you.” The air quivered and then snapped in sharp report, and a slavering fiend appeared, hurling itself against the gate. Nirai screamed and leapt back, but the monster’s cry was ear-splitting. It caught fire and melted in great gobbets. “You see!” she gasped, then turned and fled. “You might have summoned it on the other side,” Attrebus said to Sul. “I tried,” he replied. “She’s right about that gate. There’s power at work that I can’t undo.” “What then?” Attrebus asked. “I have a feeling she’s not just going to let us starve to death now.” He brightened. “If she sends guards, they’ll have to open the gate to get to us.” “If it were me, I would send down clouds of noxious fumes,” Sul said, “or seal the passageway and let us suffocate. Or pour down barrels of oil and set them aflame, if there is no one here with such arcane knowledge.” “If her father made that weather at the valley, I’m sure he can do something pretty nasty to us if we’re trapped down here.” “My thought, too,” Sul agreed. “Can you take us into Oblivion?” Attrebus asked. “I don’t sense any weak spots in the walls between the worlds here,” he said. “At least not of the usual sort. Even if there were, it could take us anywhere.


Lord of souls _ an Elder scrolls novel -- Keyes, Greg -- Elder Scrolls, Book 2, 2011 -- Del Rey_Ballantine Books -- 9780345508027 -- 2999018512a7b9b6f4491b212cb1a696 -- Anna’s Archive.7

When we traveled to Morrowind, we were on a trail known to me, one it took me decades to work out. When we escaped Vuhon, we survived only due to the whim of a daedra prince.” “Then—wait, what do you mean, ‘of the usual sort’?” Sul glanced at the wrapped-up weapon in his arms. “I sense something here,” he said. “And if what Nirai says is true, we might have a chance at entering Oblivion and escaping this place.” “But wouldn’t that take us straight to Clavicus Vile?” “I think so, yes.” “And didn’t you tell me that would be a bad thing?” “Yes,” Sul said, “but now our options have dwindled, and here we’re faced with the bad thing and the worst thing.” “Maybe there are options we haven’t considered.” “Name them. I will consider them.” “Just let me think.” Sul nodded and sat down. After thinking for about fifteen minutes, Attrebus heard odd sounds coming from the stairwell. “Anything?” Sul asked. Attrebus shook his head. “Nothing. Not a single thought. Except that even if we get through that gate and out of the castle, we’ll still never reach Umbriel before it gets to the Imperial City, not unless you have some other little trick I don’t know about.” “If we could get back to the ruins of Vivec City, I could take us back onto my track. But getting there will take weeks, probably.” “Assuming we can find a boat that will sail boiling water without cooking us. No, I think we might as well pay Clavicus Vile a visit. Maybe he’ll be in a hospitable mood.” Sul took out the ointment he’d made back in Water’s Edge, what seemed ages ago, and dabbed some on Attrebus’s forehead. Then he stood the sword on its tip; he didn’t unwrap it, but instead closed his eyes and put his skull against the wrapping on the hilt. For a long time nothing happened, except the air began to stink. Then something like a fist seemed to grab him, yanking him so hard the blood rushed from his head and black spots danced before his eyes. He struck something, hard, and the wind left him. The air still smelled bad, but it wasn’t the same stench that had been building in the cave. And as Sul managed to lift his head, he saw they weren’t in the cave any longer, but elsewhere.


Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel ONE Annaïg drifted across a floor of rose-colored crystal that gently rose and fell like the frozen swells of an ocean. It met the walls in gradual curves and then lifted into a vast, lucid canopy veined with softly shifting hints of color. Men and women danced on the uncertain floor, stepping, sometimes gliding, often leaving the surface altogether for a time, as weight was less present here than it was elsewhere in Umbriel. Filmy gowns of viridian, azure, hazel, and lemon spun out impossibly wide as they turned, and each garment chimed musical notes that subtly harmonized or clashed with those around them. “Who are they?” she asked Rhel. “Why, your peers, of course,” he replied. “There can’t be this many chefs in Umbriel.” “Certainly not,” he replied. “Only eight chefs stand high enough to join this company. But surely you don’t believe cooking is the only art valued by the lords of Umbriel? We love artistry of every sort, and thus value artists of all kinds. These are the most successful of them. Luel, there, he helped create this very room. Ten days ago it was a dark jungle, an homage to the first land we saw on coming here—your homeland, as I understand it. It was wonderful, of course, but a few days and everything becomes boring. There is no worse taste than stasis, and I won’t be accused of it.” “This is all yours?” “Rhel Palace,” he said. “Greatest of the eight, if I say so myself.” “How long has it been yours?” Even with eyes as strange as his, she sensed his puzzlement. “It has always been mine,” he replied. “I built it before Umbriel ever began its voyaging.” “Oh,” she said. “I am a high lord, Annaïg. We do not move through cycles as you do. We have always been and we remain. We were here at the beginning, and if there is an end we will be there, too.” “I didn’t know,” she replied. “No one ever spoke of it to me.” “I’m sure they assumed you knew, as I did. You mean to say that the lords in your world are not immortal?” “For the most part, no,” she said. “The world down there isn’t much like this one at all.” “Well, that’s a pity,” he said. “But you’re here now.” He touched her shoulder. “Enjoy yourself—I must attend to Umbriel.” She nodded and, not quite knowing what to do with herself, walked carefully to the wall and looked out upon the Fringe Gyre and the landscape of Tamriel beyond. She saw mountains in the distance, forest and fields nearer, and wondered where they were now. “Congratulations,” someone said. She turned and found Phmer towering over her. “Thank you,” she replied, not knowing how else to respond. “I always knew that Toel’s arrogance would be his downfall,” Phmer said, following Annaïg’s gaze out into the world beyond.


“He certainly underestimated you.” “I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied. “Don’t insult my intelligence,” she said, and sighed. “Toel’s body was found in my kitchens. Now—I know that I didn’t put him there. I wondered how you could have done it until it became common knowledge that your friend was the leader of the skraws, and now it all comes together. You set us at each other’s throats. Perhaps you killed Toel by your own hand; perhaps your friend did it. It was all clever enough, I grant you. But I’m going to give you just this one warning, because there is something I like about you. You were able to accomplish all of this because no one knew just how devious you are—you played the guileless foreigner so well. Toel should have understood his danger when you framed Slyr, but—as I said—his arrogance got in the way. I will never underestimate you again, however. I do not think I am alone in that.” “I’ll bear that in mind,” Annaïg said. Phmer smiled, and lifted a finger toward the crystal wall. “Do you miss your world?” “My world doesn’t exist anymore,” she said. “I don’t even know what country that is down there.” “It is very large,” the chef said. “I find the idea of such a large world unappealing. One would always be lost, I should think. One would have trouble finding one’s place. Look how quickly you found yours here.” She wanted to protest, but the fact was, it was true. In Lilmoth her life had been essentially aimless. She might have spent her whole existence without discovering a direction, never learned what a monster lurked beneath her skin, just waiting for an excuse to manifest. But Umbriel had brought it out of her in quite a short time. Maybe this was her destiny. Maybe this was where she belonged. Did she really care what happened to Attrebus and his empire? Hadn’t that just been a childish affectation, like everything else about her before coming here? She noticed that Phmer was walking away, and was glad. She idled another hour, speaking to no one, and then returned to her kitchen. Yeum looked up when she entered. “How was it?” she asked. “Perhaps Rhel will allow me to send you as my proxy,” she said. “That way we should probably both be happier.” “Toel enjoyed the company.” “Well, I’m not Toel.” Yeum bent back to her task. “They caught someone sneaking in from the pantry,” she said. “Do you want to see her, or shall I just have her killed?” “Sneaking in to do what?” Annaïg asked. “She had a knife. She was looking for you.” Annaïg stood still for a moment, feeling as if she were shrinking somehow. How many people wanted to murder her now? How long could she last? Divines, was Yeum even telling the truth, or was this some sort of prank or trap? “I’ll see her,” she finally said.


“Where is she?” “In the cell, of course.” “We have a cell?” “Certainly. Where do you think Toel put his prisoners?” “I didn’t know he had prisoners,” Annaïg said. “In any case, where is it?” “I’ll take you,” Yeum said. She led the way, and Annaïg was careful to stay a few steps behind her. The woman glared at Annaïg through the bars. She was young and pretty, and looked like a Dunmer. She wore peach-colored knee britches and a brown top. She didn’t look much like a killer. “Are you her?” the woman blurted. “Annaïg?” “Yes. Who are you?” “My name is Fhena.” “Mere-Glim’s friend.” “So he told you about me,” she said defiantly. “I came down here to kill you. Everyone knows what you did. He thought you were his friend. He loved you. And now his poor body is all cut up.” “I loved him, too,” she said. “So you killed him? That doesn’t make any sense.” Her eyes were wide and sad, and Annaïg felt just how fragile her anger was, sensed the artless innocence that lay behind the brave facade. Or was that only how it seemed? Was she just trying to get a chance to strike? But this Fhena was Glim’s friend, and she owed Glim. “I want to show you something,” she told the woman. “If I let you out of there, will you promise not to try to hurt me?” “I don’t think I could have done it anyway,” Fhena said after a moment. “I just don’t understand. I have to understand why you would do this to him.” “Then come with me.” She took the woman to her rooms, which had once been Toel’s, and led her back to the bath. “There,” she said. Fhena knelt and stared into the water at the translucent sack and the reptilian figure it contained. She looked up with tears in her eyes. “It looks like him,” she said. “Smaller.” “It doesn’t just look like him,” Annaïg said. “It is Glim.” Fhena’s red eyes were huge as she looked back at the embryo. “Is it?” she breathed. “If I hadn’t killed him, someone else would have,” Annaïg explained. “This was the only way, as far as I could see.” “But his body was cut up, parts of it everywhere …” “True. They had to believe he was gone. The drug I put in the water killed him, but it also made his body grow a crystal, a matrix containing his soul, his thoughts, memories—him. It’s similar to what we call a soul gem—and also, I believe, to your ingenium. I used that to quicken a proform, and here he is.” “How long?” she wondered. “How long does it take?” “I was able to speed up the process with him,” Annaïg said. “He’ll have an adult body in a matter of days.” “And he’ll know me?” “He’ll remember everything.” Fhena clapped her hands together in delight. “That’s wonderful,” she said.


“He thinks so much of you—I should have known. I should have known it wasn’t true.” “I did kill him, Fhena. His body died, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that. Or if he will ever forgive me, for that matter.” “But you just said it was the only way to save him.” “It was the only way I could think of,” she replied. “But that doesn’t clean my hands.” “But he’s coming back to us,” she said. Annaïg nodded, not knowing how to respond. She had been forced to delay poisoning the trees until Glim could come out of the water—otherwise he would die with them. But the instant he was conscious, she planned to do it. If it worked, Umbriel would be crippled or destroyed, and there was a small chance that she and Glim might be able to escape. If it didn’t work … “Listen to me,” she said softly. “There are other Argonian bodies growing in the sump. Only you and I will know this is Glim, do you understand? No one else can know, or he won’t be safe.” “I understand that.” “Make him understand that,” she said. “Why can’t you?” Fhena asked. “I hope to, but it may not be possible. If anything happens to me, you have to take care of him.” Fhena turned her gaze back to the tub. “I’m not very smart,” she said. “I’m not strong at all. But I’ll do my best.” She ran her fingers gently over the sack. Annaïg’s throat felt tight, so she left Fhena there with him and sat on the balcony, watching the life of Umbriel, wishing for its ruin.


Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel TWO Attrebus found himself on his back, staring up at what appeared at first to be a few cottony clouds in a perfectly blue sky. But as he garnered his strength to rise, he noted odd unsettling patches, greenish-gray streaks that didn’t appear to be clouds but were more like stains on the sky itself. He pushed himself up and saw Sul doing the same. They had landed in a field of white clover—a woodland meadow that might have come right out of the paintings of Lythandas of Dar-Ei. But like the sky, a close look revealed withered, twisted foliage and odd melted-looking places that his eyes couldn’t focus on. Beneath the perfume of wildflowers, the breeze carried a scent of profound decay, like a wound gone to gangrene. “That was different,” Attrebus said, glancing at Sul. “It never felt like that when we traveled in Oblivion before.” “That’s because we didn’t travel here,” Sul said. “We were summoned.” Attrebus caught a motion from the corner of his eye and faced it. A small white dog was watching them from the edge of the clearing, where a little path wound off into the woods. It twitched its head toward the trail and wagged its tail excitedly. “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 on 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 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.


Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel 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 could 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 doing 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.”


Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel FOUR “Mazgar!” a familiar voice shouted, and suddenly Goblin was there, leaping at her from the mass of refugees. If her instincts had kicked in, she would have probably killed the kid, but somehow they didn’t, and the girl was clinging to her like a leech. “Okay, okay,” she said. “I missed you, too. No need to get crazy about it.” “What happened? Where have you been?” “Brenn and I got cut off when we stormed out of Cheydinhal,” she said. “It took us a while to catch up with the rest of you.” “Well, I’m glad you’re alive,” Goblin said. “I thought maybe you weren’t.” She looked around. “Where’s Brenn?” “He’s taking a rest on the wagon, there,” she said. “How long have you been back with us?” “Two days,” Mazgar said. “And you didn’t come looking for me?” “Captain Arges put us in charge of this bunch,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to do much else but shepherd them.” “Well, I’m glad we ended up on the same side of the split,” Goblin said. “Right,” Mazgar agreed. It was clear that they weren’t going to reach the Imperial City before Umbriel overtook them. Arges, the ranking officer, had decided their best bet was to split into two groups, one north and one south of the Blue Road, and hope the main army of wormies didn’t come after both of them. It had worked, at least so far; it seemed that Umbriel was trying to get to the Imperial City, and they just happened to be in the way. They were still harassed by groups like the one that had attacked Brennus and Mazgar, but no large groups had detached. Mazgar wondered why they didn’t just make a big circle and march back to Cheydinhal, and a lot of the refugees were starting to say the same thing, rather loudly. After all, the Knights of the Thorn hadn’t found an occupying force in the city. Behind Umbriel seemed to be the safest place to be. Arges, however, was focused on getting to the Imperial City, and without soldiers to protect them, most people weren’t willing to chance running into hunting parties. Not yet anyway. She had a feeling that wouldn’t last much longer. They were walking on, with Goblin chattering away, when a rider came alongside them. “Imperial troops up ahead,” he shouted. “Stand by for orders.” “There we go,” Mazgar said, rubbing Goblin’s head. “Things are looking up.” “Who’s in charge here?” the young commander shouted in a strong Colovian accent. “That’s me, sir,” Mazgar replied. “Name?” “Mazgar gra Yagash, Imperial scouts.” “Scouts? How did you end up here?” She explained, and when she was done he nodded. “I knew Falcus,” he said. “He was a good man.” “Yes, sir.” “I’m Commander Prossos, and I’m in charge of this wing of refugees now,” he said.


“Given your experience, I’m giving you a field promotion to captain, and you’ll act as my second in command.” “Thank you, sir.” “Our orders are to go north immediately. General Takar is going to meet the enemy a few miles west of here, and we don’t want the civilians in the dust-up. Frankly, I’m not sure why you all were still anywhere near that thing’s path.” “I just follow orders, sir.” He laughed. “I like that. You know Arges is an idiot, but you don’t want to say so. Well, if you think I’m being an idiot, you’ll speak up. In private, of course. And that’s an order.” “Yes, sir.” “Okay. Take a party and make sure that hill south of here is free of the enemy. If it is, send us a messenger and wait. We’ll be along.” “Yes, sir.” She’d heard of General Takar. He was from Hammerfell. He’d fought against the Empire, before Titus Mede won him over—supposedly through personal combat. It made a good story, but she doubted it somehow. Whatever the truth was, Takar was now one of Mede’s most trusted generals. The hill wasn’t occupied, so she sent a runner down with the news and settled in. Takar had about five thousand men with him, mostly mounted infantry and mages. She could see them formed up in a huge field, along with some eight large wagons that might be siege engines of some sort. “I wish I was down there,” she told Brennus. “I’m deadly sick of running.” “Well, at least we’ll get to watch,” Brennus said. Brennus was right. Less than an hour later the legion met its counterpart as the shadow of Umbriel moved toward them. For whatever reason, the wormies had constricted their range, marching more tightly beneath the flying mountain than they had in the countryside. Mazgar heard the distant shock as the front lines met a few seconds after it actually happened, and for a while that was the last time she watched the ground battle—because the air war had begun. Half of the legion suddenly left the ground, along with the wagons, and flew toward the city. “Oh, yeah!” Brennus whooped, so loudly it startled her almost as much as watching an army fly. When they got near Umbriel, she saw something coming to meet them. She had seen them before; they looked like birds, at least from a distance. They would drop down and then appear to dissolve, turning into trails of smoke. Brennus told her that they were the spirits that took over the bodies of the newly dead, and lost corporeal form when they passed through the rim of the bubble of Oblivion the city traveled in. But the Imperials were now apparently inside that bubble, and the bird-things were smashing into them in swarms. Lightning and flame seemed to fill the sky, and the soldiers with her cheered.


But their cheers dropped away when it became clear that most—if not all—of the bodies dropping wore Imperial colors. It was over in less than an hour; one of the wagons made it as far as the rim, but none of the others even got close, at least not that she saw. Below, the wail of horns went up. Takar was in retreat, and Umbriel moved on, undeterred. They continued to march the civilians out of harm’s way that night and the following day, with no sign of the wormies, not even raiding parties anymore. “Whoever is running things up there has tightened their focus on the Imperial City,” Prossos said to Mazgar. “Command thinks the refugees will be okay with a skeleton guard. A lot of the civilians have been slipping off back to Cheydinhal, and we’re letting them go. We can’t feed them forever anyway.” He stood a little taller. “I’m leaving you in charge, Captain. Take care of these people—use your own judgment.” “Where are you going, sir?” “To reinforce the city,” he said. “I’d like to go with you, sir.” “I’m doing you a favor,” he replied softly. “You’ve already seen a lot of action.” “No, sir, you aren’t. If you order me to do this, I will, but my place is fighting, not nursemaiding. My mother went down in battle—what would she think of me if I didn’t? Please, sir. There are others here who can get these sheep to pasture.” He studied her for a moment. “Very well,” he said, and sighed. Brennus cleared his throat and spoke up. “She’s under orders to watch out for me,” he said. She turned—she hadn’t known he was anywhere near. “Is this true?” Prossos asked. “Under Falcus, sure,” she admitted. “Each of the mages had a bodyguard assigned.” “That came from the Imperial war office, directly,” Brennus said. “It can’t be countermanded in the field.” “That mission is over, Brenn,” she said. Prossos shook his head. “He’s right. If what he says is true, you have to stay here with him.” “Not at all,” Brennus said. “All it means is that I have to come along, too.”


Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel FIVE “It looks calm,” Intendant Marall said. “It does,” Colin agreed. Viewed from atop the walls, the vast waters of Lake Rumare were perfectly turquoise, the Heartlands beyond verdant with field and forest. Only at the farthest edge of sight was the vista blemished, and then because he knew that what appeared to be a distant storm cloud wasn’t. “How long before it arrives?” he asked Marall. “Two days,” the Intendant replied. “And then what?” “The Emperor can’t be convinced to evacuate, if that’s even possible now. General Takar made a preliminary strike—he took a legion. The Synod managed to spell almost three thousand of them airborne, but some sort of flying daedra killed them all in short order. Other magicks were tried—I’m told over a hundred—with no result. As if they knew in advance what we were going to do and were prepared for it. So now we know a lot about what doesn’t work.” “Not much time left to find out what does,” Colin said. “Do you have any ideas?” Colin hesitated, and Marall caught it. “You’ve been missing a lot,” the Intendant observed, “and distracted when you’re around. I told you when you began this job that your job wasn’t to think, but we both know the truth is more complicated than that. Sometimes I believe it’s my job to not notice when one of my inspectors takes his own head. I don’t know what you’ve been into, but if you know anything that will help us, tell me now. Or, if you think it best not to tell me—then you should act.” “Yes, sir,” Colin said. “I’ll think about that.” “Do so. And here is another thing that might interest you.” “What is that, sir?” “I’ve a report from a source that is sometimes reliable that Prince Attrebus was seen at the waterfront.” “Since it’s been overrun by the enemy?” “Yes. My source did not see this himself. The story is that Attrebus was abducted, taken away with a bag on his head.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I know Vel took you off the Attrebus case. I just thought you might be interested.” “When did this supposedly happen, sir?” “In the past few days. My source wasn’t clear on it.” “Thank you, sir.” Attrebus paced, he tested the bars, the walls, the floor of the tiny cell. He tried to get Sul—unconscious in the cell across from him—to wake up. He wasn’t sure how long he had been doing this. Finally, exhausted, he sat on the floor and turned the situation over and over in his head. When he heard footsteps, he lay on the floor and pretended to sleep, but kept his eyes cracked open a bit. It was Hierem, who didn’t even look in his direction. He walked across the room and into the next. Through the open door, Attrebus saw him stop.


Then something flickered, like a spinning, full-length mirror, and he was gone. Where? Obviously, magic was involved. He’d heard stories about teleportation, but never met anyone who had actually done or seen it. Or he didn’t think he had. It might have been an illusion of some sort—but why would Hierem bother, if he was the only witness? “Umbriel,” he muttered. Of course. Obviously Hierem and Vuhon/Umbriel were in contact. He’d assumed it was through some device like Coo, but what if they were simply meeting face-to-face this whole time? He stood to get a better look; he could make out a red sigil on the floor. He kept watching, but exhaustion caught up with him. He was on the verge of sleep when a movement caught his eye. Then he saw it was only a rat, sniffing about on the red spot. It cocked its tiny head up, then crouched low to the ground, as if frightened of something above. Perhaps half an hour more passed, and Attrebus was again having trouble keeping his eyes open, when the light turned again, and Hierem stood there. But now the rat had vanished. It hadn’t scurried away or been stepped on—he had been watching. It was just gone, as Hierem had been earlier. He hoped the minister would just pass through, but he didn’t—he stopped at Sul’s cage and touched the bars, which glowed briefly. Then he stepped back and seemed to examine the unconscious man for a few moments. Sul stirred and then screamed. “Stop it!” Attrebus said. Hierem turned and lifted an eyebrow. “That’s not my doing,” Hierem said. “I’m just waking him up, now that I’ve had some time to secure things. I find it easier to question people in pairs, if you understand me. No, whatever that was about, it’s in his head. But don’t worry, I’ll find some other reasons for him to scream.” “Hierem,” Attrebus said, “listen to me. There’s still time to change your mind. Whatever bargain you made with Umbriel—” “If you’re going to keep moving that mouth of yours,” Hierem said, moving toward his cage, “it had best be to tell me something useful. I’ll make it easy on you—I’ll ask a specific question, and you tell me the answer. How’s that?” “I’m not telling you anything,” Attrebus said. “Really? Not even your name?” “What do you mean? I’m Attrebus Mede.” “Good,” Hierem said, making an odd gesture with his hand. Attrebus felt as if something had touched him lightly in the forehead, and then his knees gave way as the most absolute pleasure he’d ever felt rushed through his body. He wept in ecstasy and moaned involuntarily, overcome. Then it stopped, and he realized he was quivering on the floor, aching to feel again what he’d just felt. “That’s what you get for a right answer,” Hierem said. “Do you want another sample of it?” Yes! he thought, but he pressed his lips together and didn’t reply.


But it happened again, this time longer. He tried to hold on to his anger and purpose, but it was useless, and he soon surrendered completely, hoping it would never end. But it did, of course, and he wanted to die. “Stop it,” he heard someone croak. “His mind can’t take much more of that. You’ll destroy him.” It was Sul. The Dunmer was on his feet, leaning against his bars. “We can discuss that, Sul,” Hierem said. “I remember you,” Sul said. “You were an ambassador to Morrowind.” “Indeed I was. You have a good memory—let’s put it to use. Why is Umbriel afraid of you?” “Because I’m going to kill him,” Sul replied. “Yes, but you tried that already,” Hierem said. “It didn’t work out very well for you. And yet despite that fact, Umbriel is worried by you. Why is that?” “You don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Sul said. “No, I don’t,” Hierem replied. “And of course, that concerns me. Everything is aligning—the moment I’ve waited for for many years is coming near. I don’t want any surprises, not from him.” “Life is full of surprises,” Sul said. Then he shrieked, and not at all in pleasure—it sounded as though scalding water was being poured on him, except Attrebus couldn’t imagine even that drawing such an agonized response from Sul. Hierem turned back to Attrebus. “That’s what happens when I don’t get an answer, or get one that doesn’t make sense,” he said. Attrebus slammed into the bars, reaching with both arms for the minister, but he was too far away. “Let’s keep it simple,” Hierem said. “It’s not just Sul he’s afraid of, is it?” Attrebus stood there, panting. Hierem had already guessed that, hadn’t he? That wouldn’t be telling him anything he didn’t know. And if he kept quiet, he would hurt Sul again. “No,” he murmured, and knew he had done the right thing, as delight once more filled every pore in his body. “Is it the sword, then? Does he fear the sword?” Attrebus laughed with joy, but then the sensation was gone, and Sul screamed. “Yes!” he shouted. Happiness returned, briefly, but then Hierem asked him something else, which he didn’t understand. He wanted—desperately—to have the feeling back, to please Hierem in any way he could, to just have it keep going … But he couldn’t focus enough to understand the minister’s words. All he could think about was the memory of the feeling, the devastating loss of it. He ground his face against the stone floor, weeping. It seemed that hours passed before he could form a thought, maybe days. For the first time in his life he honestly wished he could die. The world was a horrible, ugly place, and he wanted no part of it. “Attrebus,” Sul said. “Attrebus, listen to me.” He forced his eyes open but couldn’t find the energy to sit up. “What?” he muttered. “You’ll get over it.


It doesn’t feel like it, but you will.” “No. He’ll come back. He’ll get me to tell him the rest, and then he’ll kill me.” “He won’t,” Sul said. “He won’t come back because I told him.” “Ah, damn you!” Attrebus howled, climbing to his feet, yanking at the bars. “I’ll kill you! That was the only thing, the only way he might—” He broke off in a paroxysm of fury, slamming arms and elbows against the walls, punching them until his knuckles were bloody. “That was the only thing I had to look forward to!” he finally got out. “I know,” Sul nodded. “Why did you tell him?” “Because he would have kept asking you, and it would have destroyed you. As it is, you’re still able to get angry. That’s a good sign.” “But now Hierem—You told him about the sword? What it will do?” “Yes.” Attrebus sank, trembling, back to the floor. “Then why are we still alive?” “In case, I think,” Sul replied. “What do you mean?” “If things don’t go Hierem’s way, he said he would give us the sword and send us up to Umbriel.” Attrebus wiped his tears with the bloody back of his hand. “We might still have a chance?” “We might. He just teleported somewhere, and he didn’t take the sword with him. But you have to pull it together, do you hear? In case.” “I don’t think I can,” Attrebus said. “I know you can,” Sul replied. “I’m telling you that you can. So do it.” Colin returned, as he did each evening, to the room beneath the city. Letine had been gone for five days, and he was starting to believe she wasn’t coming back, so when he saw someone waiting there, his hand went to his knife. “It’s me,” she said. He didn’t know what to do. Should he rush over, hold her, kiss her? “Are you okay?” he asked instead. “I’m fine. It just took longer than I thought. The countryside was crawling with those things.” “Did you find anything out?” “Nice to see you, too,” she said. “I—I was worried about you,” he said. “I starting thinking—” “It’s okay,” she said. “Come here.” “I didn’t find out anything about the diagram,” she told him later. “I’m sorry.” “It’s probably nothing,” he said. “Just a stupid distraction.” “What now?” “I’m going back,” he said. “Back to Hierem’s quarters.” “Why?” “I think he may have Attrebus captive,” he said. “It’s a long shot, but if he does—” “That would certainly be enough for the Emperor to act on.” “I think I’m past needing to convince the Emperor of anything anymore,” he said. “Umbriel’s nearly here. I’ve got to do something.” “That’s good,” she said. “That’s great.” “Okay,” he said. “I’ve got a few things to get together. If I don’t come back—” “Then I’ll know why. This time, I’m going with you.” “Letine—” “If you’re going to do more than sneak around, you’ll need me, I promise you.


No arguments.” He saw her resolve, and knew in that instant he wouldn’t have it any other way. “Okay,” he said. “Are you ready?” “I think I’ll get dressed first,” she demurred. Attrebus never heard a sound, but suddenly they were there, gazing down at him, a man and a woman in dark clothing. The woman was a pretty blonde, the man rather nondescript, with brown hair and green eyes. “Prince Attrebus?” the man whispered. Attrebus just stared at him, wondering what Hierem was up to now. Had the minister changed his mind? “Are you here to kill me?” he asked. “No,” the man answered. “Is Hierem here?” “He’s not,” Sul answered. “But he could return at any moment.” “Right,” the man said. “Listen—we work for the Emperor. We’ve come to get you out.” “There are more than locks here,” Sul informed them. “I can see that,” the man replied. “Just give me a few moments of quiet.” The man studied Attrebus’s cell. He closed his eyes, concentrating on something. Attrebus felt the hairs stand up on his neck. After a few moments the man seemed satisfied and touched the lock. It clicked, and the door swung open. “Who are you?” Attrebus asked. “I’m Colin Vineben,” the man replied. “If you’ll just come with me, highness—” “Sul. Get Sul out.” Colin studied Sul’s cell. “That will be harder,” he said. “That will require time.” “Take it, then,” Attrebus said. “If Hierem returns—” the woman began. “We think he’s on Umbriel,” Attrebus interrupted. “He steps on the sigil in the next room and vanishes. He returns in the same spot. If you wait in there you might be able to surprise him.” “That’s a good idea,” Colin said. “Letine?” “I’ve got it,” she replied, padding into the next room. “Hierem must have really been worried about you,” Colin remarked almost half an hour later, as the last of the wards finally succumbed. “Not worried enough, apparently,” Sul said. “How did you know we were here?” “I’ve been watching Hierem for a while,” Colin said. “There was rumor that the prince had been seen abducted, and I thought it was worth looking here.” “Now what?” Letine asked. “Now you get the prince back to his father,” Colin said. “I’ll stay here and deal with Hierem.” “He’ll kill you, Colin,” Letine asserted. “I’ll get him as soon as he appears.” “No,” Attrebus croaked. He’d been sitting despondently outside of his cell, but now he stood up. “Your highness—” But Attrebus was talking to the Dunmer. “We can get up there, Sul,” he said. “Up to Umbriel, just as Hierem did.” “He’s got some sort of object with him,” Sul replied. “I think it activates the portal. We’ll have to get it from him.” “No, we won’t,” Attrebus said. “I think if we stand in the middle of the sign, we’ll go up when he comes back. I saw a rat vanish once, when he appeared.” “Wait,” Colin said. “Listen to me.


If we return you to your father, he can send a hundred men through the portal—soldiers, battlemages—there’s no point in you going, Prince.” “What if the portal only works for Hierem? What if he’s the only one who knows the magic word, or whatever? We can’t take that risk. Sul, we have to find the sword before Hierem returns.” “What sword? What’s this about?” Colin demanded, but Sul was already out the door. Attrebus started after him. “I’ll explain if we have time,” the prince said. “What if he doesn’t return?” Colin pressed, walking with him. “What if he just stays on Umbriel until this city falls?” “I don’t know,” Attrebus said. “But I think he’ll be back. You stay here in case it’s sooner rather than later.” “I think he’s right,” Letine said after they were gone. “I think Hierem will be here when Umbriel reaches the city.” “Why?” “Just a feeling in my gut,” she replied. “The prince is determined—let him do whatever it is he wants to do—we’ll wait here for Hierem.” “The prince is delusional,” Colin whispered. “You can’t make him go.” “Sure I can. His father will thank me.” He heard them returning. Sul was carrying something wrapped up in cloth. It was the size and shape of a sword. Sul and Attrebus moved to the sigil. Nothing happened when they stepped on it. “Can you open it, Sul?” Attrebus asked. The dark elf shook his head. “It’s not an Oblivion gate or trace. It’s beyond me.” “We’ll wait, then.” “Highness,” Colin said, hoping one more try would do the trick, “my charge is to get you to safety, not watch you jump into the midst of the enemy.” “I know what you probably think of me,” Attrebus said. “To be honest, right now most of me just wants to go back to my villa and lay down on my bed, if only to die there. But I can’t. I’ll never be the man the books talk about. But I started something, and I’m going to finish it. I won’t argue about this anymore, and as your prince I forbid you to bring it up again.” Colin drew a deep breath and nodded. “As you say, my prince.” Attrebus and Sul took positions on the sigil. The inspector—Vineben, the prince recalled—and the woman, Letine, stood behind it. Sul unwrapped Umbra and replaced his usual weapon with it. “What’s the plan?” Attrebus asked. Sul’s gaze seemed even more intense than usual as he turned it on Attrebus. “If we’re lucky, Hierem is meeting with Vuhon, and we’ll appear right in front of him. If that happens, I’ll stab him. If we’re right about all of this, the sword should reclaim Vile’s energies. That should allow me to kill Vuhon.” “And then what?” Sul cocked his head, as if studying some strange creature speaking an even stranger language.


“Then he’ll be dead.” He said it quietly, like a note plucked softly on the tightest wire in the world. “But what about Umbriel? Without Vile’s power to run the ingenium, will it just fall out of the sky, or—” “Vile said he would take it from there,” Sul said shortly. “Remember?” “Right, but—” Then he understood. “You don’t care about anything but killing Vuhon.” “When did I ever say otherwise?” Sul snapped. “Well—never. But I just thought—” “Don’t try to think for me,” Sul said. “And don’t act surprised. I kill Vuhon—anything else is up to you. You know what’s going to happen when I draw Umbra—you remember Elhul. Best get away from me when that happens, find that girl or do whatever strikes your fancy.” “Then why do you want me along at all?” “Because if Vuhon isn’t there when we appear, we’ll have to find him—and you’re the one with the magic bird and the friends in high places. So I might still need you. And speaking of birds …” “Right,” Attrebus said, reaching into his bag.


Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel SIX He swam in black water, probing through the rotting leaves, lifting his eyes now and then above the surface to search the shallows and shore for movement. Larger things in the depths of the swamp couldn’t reach him here, amidst the twisting cypress roots; here the danger usually came from land. Something in the mud moved, and he snapped at it with webbed paws and lifted a feathery-gilled wriggler into view. He ate it happily and searched for more, but in a short time his belly was full and he felt like basking. He swam lazily back to the gathering hole. The old ones had already claimed the choicest perches, so he crawled onto a log already crowded with his siblings and wriggled down among them until he felt the rough bark against his belly. When his brothers and sisters gave up their sleepy, halfhearted complaints at his added company, he felt the sun on his skin and began to dream his life; swimming, basking, killing, avoiding death, the sun and moons, all mystery, all terrifying, all beautiful. Each day the same day, each year the same year. Until the root came, and the taste of sap. Some changes were slow, others came quickly, and he—they—flowed together, found the stream of time. His old body wasn’t forgotten, but it changed, became more like things the root remembered from otherwhere; his hind legs lengthened and his spine stood up. Small thoughts in his head put out branches, and those branched also, until what had before been warmth, light, shadow, movement, fear, contentment, anger, and lust became categories instead of simple facts. The world was the same, but it seemed more, bigger, stranger than ever. Death followed life and life death, but it all flowed through the root, each life different, each the same. Until that, too, ended, and the root was ripped away, and he was alone. The gathering place was empty except for him—no elders, no siblings. He swam in black water, forgetting everything. Losing his form, melting away. But in that dissolution, the illusion was also dissolved. He was many, and he was one. He sang, a plaintive tune, a remembrance, a prayer. All of his voices took it up, trembling it out through every branch and root, through heart and blood and bone. I want to go home, he sang. I want to go home. Glim woke gasping, spitting water from his mouth, remembering the ache closing in on his chest. He smelled his own terror, and remembered more—his heart stopping, the cold, nothingness. And Fhena. Then he understood that he wasn’t just thinking of her—she was looking down at him anxiously. “What?” he managed. “You’re talking!” she said. “Where am I?” “You’re safe,” Fhena said. “Just know you’re safe.” “I don’t understand,” he grunted. His skin felt tight, itchy, and he was shivering.