Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel (32 page)

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.”

“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 …