Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel (31 page)

“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.”

“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.