Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel (30 page)

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.

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.”