Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel (5 page)

And one of those people was Slyr. But somehow she couldn’t watch her lose her mind.

So, with a sigh, she unstoppered the bottle she’d fixed for herself, in case she had an accident during the experiment, and waved it under Slyr’s nose. The other woman inhaled, gasped, gave one great shake, then sagged. She was still breathing hard but her eyes were clear.

“S-Summpslurry,” Slyr managed, her breath still ragged.

She traveled her gaze over her body, as if fearing she was missing limbs.

“You stopped it, didn’t you? You could have let it go on and on.”

“For a few hours, yes.”

“It would have driven me mad.”

Annaïg shrugged, still feeling angry and helpless, and now trying not to cry. What was wrong with her?

“I’m not so convinced you’re sane as it is,” she said.

Slyr chuckled harshly. “I soiled myself,” she said.

“I didn’t need to know that,” Annaïg replied.

“I guess not.” Her eyes dropped down. “Toel doesn’t care
what happens to me. No one does. No one would have even reprimanded you—”

“I’m not like you, Slyr,” Annaïg said.

Slyr shakily came to her feet and gathered her clothing around her.

“Maybe not,” she said. “But you’re closer than you were.”

And then she left. Annaïg almost thought the woman had a faint look of triumph on her face.

When Slyr was gone, Annaïg’s tears came.

For a long time after being trapped on Umbriel, she hadn’t cried. She watched the city she grew up in destroyed, and although she hadn’t seen it, in her heart she knew her father was dead, and Hecua, and every other soul she had ever known before coming to this place, to Umbriel—which was responsible for all of that murder. She had kept it all in, bound up with hope and purpose, freighted by the need to survive to get from one day to the next—and yes, at times by wonder, by the sheer alien assault on the senses that was Umbriel.

But after Slyr poisoned her, those bands began to fray, and when at last she was ready to escape, to leave Umbriel, they had broken, because she wouldn’t have to live each day in fear any longer, because she didn’t need such unnatural control. And then she and Mere-Glim had flown out across the night to where Prince Attrebus was waiting, with
his
strength, his courage to sustain her.

But Umbriel hadn’t let them go, and now …

“You cry far too much,” a soft voice said behind her.

She closed her eyes, but he knew, so she didn’t bother to wipe them. It would only show further weakness.

She turned with her cheeks still glistening and stood up from her stool.

“Chef Toel,” she said.

When she first met Toel, she’d thought him darkly, devilishly
handsome, and his unbelievably blue eyes had absorbed her. Now he only seemed dangerous, like a viper.

He looked meaningfully at the purplish substance in the crystal cone.

“What have you there?” he asked

“Terror, Chef.”

“Well, give us a taste, then.”

She hesitated. “It’s quite strong, Chef.”

“I’ll take care, then.”

She doled him out a bit and watched as he carried it to his lips and let it touch his tongue. His eyes widened dreamily and he hissed before taking several shuddering breaths. Little sparks danced on his skin, and she felt the tiny hairs on her face pull toward him.

Then he looked down at her, his gaze still a little strange.

“Exquisite,” he murmured. “You have so much talent, little one. Such beautiful ideas. If only you had—well, a little drive. A bit of ambition.”

He smiled slightly. “I saw Slyr. She looked as if she’d seen the worst thing in the world.”

“She tasted it, Chef.”

“You let her?”

“I did.”

“Well, well. An improvement. But why is she still walking? She hasn’t a constitution for such things, as I do. I think it should have destroyed her mind.”

“I gave her an antidote,” Annaïg admitted.

He stared at her a moment, then made a slight tsking sound beneath his breath. His eyes—which had held her with a certain sparkle—dulled and shifted.

“Very well, then,” he said. “Bring that around. I’ve a mind to use it in seasoning the suspiration of hare and sulfur I’m preparing for Lord Irrel’s thirty-third course. A little something different
for him. And perhaps, if you could, also make me a bit of remorse?”

“I’m not certain a horse can feel remorse, Chef.”

“Very well,” he said. “Kohnu was badly burned this morning distilling phlogiston. I shall send his brain over.”

“But if he’s still alive—”

“Healing him would take time and resources, and he wouldn’t be able to work for weeks. He’ll serve me better this way.”

She knew Kohnu. He was funny, always telling little self-effacing jokes and clowning about with the produce.

“Chef—” she began.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not as if you have to kill him yourself,” he said. Then he left.

She sat back down, trembling.

“What am I doing?” she whispered. She needed Glim.

“What
are
you doing?” Mere-Glim asked the next night, at their weekly meeting. It took place in an old slurry filter, empty and forgotten a few yards below the pantry. From it Annaïg could hear what was going on in the kitchens—which at night was usually nothing—and Glim was only feet away from the tube that would take him back down into the sump, if anyone approached.

“I’m trying to figure out why we can’t leave,” she told him. “It’s got something to do with the way Umbriel uses souls, I’m pretty sure. At least it’s a place to start. But I can’t just experiment without producing anything, or Toel would start thinking I’m no longer useful. And if that happens, well—it’s over. Just ask poor Kohnu.”

“You’re doing what you have to do,” Glim said. “You can’t feel bad because of what Toel does.”

“He might have let Kohnu live if it wasn’t for me.”

“Might-have and mud are fine places to wallow,” Glim said.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Annaïg replied. “You haven’t gotten anyone killed.” She clenched her fists. “I’ve gotten a lot of people killed, Glim, not just Kohnu. Everyone in Qijne’s kitchen. And probably Attrebus.”

“Still no word from him?”

“No,” she said miserably. “I talked to him just before we tried to escape. He was in our path, Glim. I fear the worst.”

“You don’t know, though,” Glim said. “He might have lost Coo, or maybe he’s somewhere the enchantment doesn’t work.”

“Maybe.”

“But even if something happened to him, it’s not your fault.”

“If I knew more, had more to tell him—”

“You’ve done more than he could have ever expected,” Glim replied. “More than I’ve ever done.”

“Nonsense. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t understand half what I do about this horrible place. You found me, Glim. I couldn’t have found you. And all of those maps—I still don’t know why the skraws helped you with that.”

“Well,” Glim said, sighing, “I sort of promised them something.”

“What do you mean?”

He was silent for a moment. “Do you remember, back when we tried to escape, you said something about having invented a way of breathing underwater?”

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

He wiggled his hands in clear agitation.

“What?”

“The skraws,” he said at last. “Those who work in the sump, like me—none of them can naturally breathe underwater. They inhale vapors that allow them to, but the vapors are really bad for
them. They live in agony and die young.” He looked up. “I was wondering if you could make them something else, something that won’t hurt them.”

She thought about that, and then found herself answering carefully.

“I could,” she said. “It’s easy for me to sneak the things I need to make an ounce or two of anything. But you would need more than that—a lot more than that—to make a difference. I would have to set up a generation vat. I don’t think I can do that without permission, but if I managed to, it would be noticed and I would be in big trouble.”

“Maybe you can get permission,” he said.

“If I bring up the skraws, Toel will wonder why I know anything about them and why I care. He considers caring a weakness, and he already thinks I’m about as weak as they come. And he might find out about you.” She paused, and then went on even more cautiously. “Anyway—our goal is to bring Umbriel down, remember? Before it destroys our world?”

“The skraws don’t have anything to do with that,” he said. “They just work and die.”

“Are you—” She laughed suddenly.

“What?”

“After all that making fun of me and my causes. You’ve got one, haven’t you?”

“They—They sort of made me their leader.”

“Why?”

“I told them we might be able to make things better if we—umm—organized a little.”

“Organized? You’re leading a
revolt
?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he replied miserably. “I mean, they kind of got the idea from me when I stood up to an overseer, and then—well, I might have suggested that they make some maps for me.”

“Maps?”

“So I could find you. So we could escape.”

“Oh. And now that we’re stuck here—”

“They seem to expect me to follow through.”

“Well, I guess they do,” she said. “Will you?”

His pupils expanded and shrank, and then he nodded. “I think so,” he said. “It’s not right, how they live.”

“You can think of it this way, too,” Annaïg told him. “The more of them you’ve got looking for ways to sabotage things, the more likely you’ll find some way to stop Umbriel altogether. That connection with the ingenium you told me about, for instance. We need to know more about that.”

“Right,” he said, but he sounded a bit uneasy.

“Glim,” she said, taking his chin between her fingers.

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you care about these people. I’m glad you found a cause. And if there is any way to save the skraws, I’m all for it. But if it comes down to them or our world—if all of these people and the two of us thrown into the bargain have to die to stop this thing—that’s what we have to do. You know that, don’t you?”

He nodded, but there was an odd stiffness to it.

“Look,” she said. “The kitchens are highly competitive, right? If the skraws raise enough ruckus, the lords may start looking for an alternative to the vapors. I’ve got one, ready to go. I just need Toel to ask me for it—understand?”

“I understand,” Glim replied.

“We’ll start there. But meanwhile you have to keep gathering information, okay? I mean, if I solve the problem of getting us off of this rock, maybe we can take your friends with us. The more information I have, the more alternatives that gives us.”

“That makes sense,” Glim breathed. “I’ll see what I can do. But you—what about this woman who tried to kill you? What
about Toel? If what you say is true, and if he thinks you’re weak—I don’t want to find you in the sump one day.”

“You have your situation to manage,” she said softly. “I have mine.”

She hugged him and watched him go, but she felt troubled afterward, wondering if she and Mere-Glim were really on the same side anymore.

A soft cough drew Colin from the papers massed on his desk. Intendant Marall stood a few feet from his table, hands clasped behind his back.

Colin pushed his chair back and came to his feet.

“Intendant,” he acknowledged.

“Inspector,” Marall nodded. Then he just stood there.

“Can I help you, sir?” Colin asked after the moment drew uncomfortably long.

“I’m just wondering if you have anything to report.”

Colin blinked.

If I had anything to report I would have—he began thinking, but quashed it, lest it show on his face.

“Not much, really, sir,” Colin said. “Is there something wrong?”

“You received the latest interceptions.”

“I did, Intendant,” he replied. “I still can’t find any connection between the Thalmor and this—flying city.”

“And yet they must be up to something.”

“Oh, yes, sir, they’re up to plenty,” Colin said. “Thalmor
agents continue to harass the refugee communities in Sentinel and Balfiera—there has been a series of murders in the latter we can pretty confidently assign to them. The pattern is typical—the victims were all of mixed blood or had associations considered by the Aldmeri Dominion to be unclean. It’s much worse in Valenwood—our supplies are no longer reliably getting to the rebels there. Sixty were caught and executed last week, along with four of our own men. There’s a leak we don’t know about, someplace. They know too much about our movements.”