“I never got that description of Rimmen,” she said.
“I know. But gods willing, I’ll get the chance to give it to you. When you’re free, and alone, always try me. I’ll answer when I can.”
“I know you will,” she said.
Her image persisted a moment, and then vanished as she put away the locket.
It was only then that he realized he was freezing.
“Watch it,” Sul warned.
Attrebus looked down and realized he was about to put his foot into a jagged crevice a yard deep.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Just-watch yourself.”
“I didn’t really sleep last night,” Attrebus explained.
“Cold and hard dirt can do that.”
“That wasn’t it. Believe it or not, I’ve slept perfectly peacefully under those conditions before. I just couldn’t stop thinking.”
“I can believe that,” Sul grunted.
Attrebus felt irritation flare but pressed it down.
“Look, until a few weeks ago I thought I was a warrior, a leader-a hero. I slept like a baby because I didn’t have any worries. Every fight I was ever in, I won, every battle went my way. And I was too stupid to figure out the whole thing was a sham.”
“You’re not that stupid,” Sul said, to his surprise. “That’s an easy sort of thing to believe, when you’re young. I thought I was invincible at one point, too, and I didn’t have any of the excuses you do for thinking so.”
“Well, that’s-thanks.”
For a moment he continued in silence, wondering over the rare almost-compliment.
“Sul,” he finally began, “you made me face the facts, and then you gave me a way of making it through with my sanity. You told me to try to become the man people think I am. And I am trying.”
“Good for you.”
“But I need you to tell me something. I need you to tell me if you think we have any chance at this, or if you’re just so angry and guilty…”
Sul drew to an abrupt stop.
“Do you think I’m out of my mind?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“I asked,” Sul said, his voice rising to a shout, “if you think I’m out of my mind?”
Attrebus felt a stir of fear in his gut. If Sul chose to kill him, there was no way he would be able to stop him.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “If everything Vuhon said was true, I honestly don’t know.”
“Does it matter?” Sul asked.
“Yes, it does. Umbriel is headed toward the Imperial City. Toward my father, my mother, everyone I know. And yet here we are, halfway across the world, looking for a sword that might help us destroy Umbriel. But I’ve met Vuhon and seen his power. Even with all of your art, we barely escaped with our lives, and I hadn’t the slightest chance against him. I don’t see how this sword is going to change things.”
“It might not,” Sul admitted. “But what else would you do?”
“You could take us back through Oblivion, get us to the Imperial City before Umbriel reaches it. We know things that can help the Empire against Vuhon.”
“We do? What would you tell him?”
“Everything we know.”
“And how would that help him? Have you worked out how to destroy Umbriel?”
“No,” Attrebus said.
“Neither have I,” Sul replied. “Until we know that, I can’t see what use going there will do. Even assuming I could do it at this point, which is anything but given. You’ve seen now what can happen if I don’t have my trail to follow through the realms.”
“We know Vuhon wants the White-Gold Tower for something. My father’s mages might be able to figure out why.”
“They might,” Sul conceded.
Attrebus paused, uncertain if he wanted to continue, but he knew he had to.
“We could go to Clavicus Vile,” he said.
“Now there’s an idea,” Sul replied. “And you’re wondering if I’m out of my mind.”
“But it makes sense. Vuhon is fleeing Vile, trying to be free of him. If we tell Vile where he is-”
“Vile can’t come into Tamriel, at least not in an aspect potent enough to do anything about Umbriel. And if he could, he would probably make a far bigger mess than Vuhon will. If Clavicus Vile could take his power back from Umbriel, he already would have. What he needs in order to do that is what we’re looking for.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“No. But Vuhon went way out of his way to try to retrieve the sword. Azura gave me visions of it, and even Malacath seemed to think we’re on to something. Anyway, our last little forays into Oblivion have left me weakened. If I dare try going there again anytime soon, it will have to be for a very good reason, and not just because you want to be with your daddy.”
“Look-”
“The Imperial City is that way,” Sul said, pointing. “You’re free to go there anytime you like.”
Attrebus pursed his lips and drew himself a little straighter.
“Did you kill your lover? Did you destroy Vivec City?”
Sul’s bloody eyes narrowed. “I did what I did,” he said. “I bear some of the blame. But Vuhon made this as well, and when I am done with him-” He stopped abruptly.
“What?” Attrebus asked. “Yes, what then?”
“Come with me if you wish,” Sul said. “I won’t speak of this anymore.”
And with that he started walking again, his lean legs stretching in long strides.
Attrebus watched him for a moment, sighed, and followed.
FOUR
“That was even stranger than the last meal,” Yeum said, sipping her wine. The two of them sat at one of the cutting tables. The last dish had gone up for Umbriel’s banquet, and the rest of the kitchen swirled around their still point, cleaning up. “I liked it, especially the one with that plant, what is it called…?”
“Marshmerrow,” Annaig replied. “It grows in Morrowind, one of the countries we passed over.”
“It was delicious. Before, I would have questioned the choice-but I’ve heard that since Rhel’s tasting, the other lords have begun demanding coarser, less spiritual food. You’ve started a trend.”
“More a fad, I would think,” Annaig said.
Inwardly, she wasn’t so certain about the meal. She’d heard that Umbriel often ate plain matter, but beyond that neither the skraws nor anyone else knew anything about his specific tastes. She’d had two things to go on-Attrebus’s assertion that he’d at least once been a fully corporeal Dunmer, and Rhel’s preferences, which seemed in that light perhaps an aping of his master’s appetites. In any case, it was done now.
Hours passed and no one came down, so she bid Yeum goodnight and went to her bed.
Sleep eluded her, however, despite her fatigue, so instead she rose and went to her old workbench in the kitchens, where the tree-wine vats were, and idly sifted through the powders and potions while she thought.
She was a chef now, master of a kitchen, and not a negligible one. But for how long? She doubted there was anywhere to go from here but down. She might have tried to poison Umbriel, but she knew in her gut that any such attempt would fail, and she’d lose any chance she had of accomplishing anything. But if Attrebus was right, if Umbriel, the ingenium that kept it aloft, and the Histlike trees Mere-Glim had discovered were all connected by a flow of soul-force, then she ought to be able to poison the whole system. Lord Umbriel was likely untouchable; she knew where the ingenium was, but Glim hadn’t found any way to reach it other than through the apparently deadly connexion at the bottom of the sump.
But the trees-them, she could reach.
And so she began making a poison.
Some believed that poison was the antithesis of food, but Annaig knew better. Most food was poison to one extent or another, especially plants, many of which had to be pounded or soaked or boiled or all three to divest them of enough toxins to make them even edible. Too many beans eaten raw could be fatal-the same was true of almonds, cherry pits, apple seeds. Nutmeg, when taken in large amounts, could give strange visions, and in higher doses, death. Alcohol, while pleasant, was indisputably a poison. The body dealt with these things, but over time, eventually, the body failed. Everything one ate brought one closer to one’s last meal, and not just in a metaphorical sense.