Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel (27 page)

“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. “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. 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. 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.”