“Tricked him how?”
“I said appears,” Nirai said. “It’s unclear whether what happened was part of a plan or merely the result of tampering with daedric forces. The sword is a soul stealer, and over time it comes to possess its owner. But whether by design, or by contact with human souls, or simply because it is in the nature of daedric energies, in time the part of Vile that was in the sword became a thing of its own, a sentient being.”
“Yes,” Attrebus said. “We know of that. The being of whom you speak has escaped the sword and now empowers the city of Umbriel. We wish to draw him-or his energies, I guess-back into the sword.”
“I surmised that the creature Umbra was no longer in the sword,” Nirai said. “It still steals souls, but it is unstable, driving its wielder insane almost instantly. I believe this is because it is still in communication with Vile in some way. I have, in fact, come to believe that when Umbra left, Vile himself-or some significant fraction of what comprises him-is now, in turn, trapped in the sword. Whatever the truth is, no mortal mind can long survive the rage and madness in that weapon.”
“Then let us make it whole again, and bring down Umbriel.”
“But that’s what Vile wants,” Nirai replied. “And if that is what Vile wants, he shall not have it.” Her voice firmed up, became more confident. “And so I’m sorry. You must remain here.”
“I thought that was your father’s obsession,” Attrebus said.
“So did I,” she replied.
“What if we agree to leave the sword, as you offered before?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” she replied. “I no longer believe you would honor such a truce. You might have ways of making the sword invisible, or come back for it with others. I cannot release you.”
The air quivered and then snapped in sharp report, and a slavering fiend appeared, hurling itself against the gate. Nirai screamed and leapt back, but the monster’s cry was ear-splitting. It caught fire and melted in great gobbets.
“You see!” she gasped, then turned and fled.
“You might have summoned it on the other side,” Attrebus said to Sul.
“I tried,” he replied. “She’s right about that gate. There’s power at work that I can’t undo.”
“What then?” Attrebus asked. “I have a feeling she’s not just going to let us starve to death now.” He brightened. “If she sends guards, they’ll have to open the gate to get to us.”
“If it were me, I would send down clouds of noxious fumes,” Sul said, “or seal the passageway and let us suffocate. Or pour down barrels of oil and set them aflame, if there is no one here with such arcane knowledge.”
“If her father made that weather at the valley, I’m sure he can do something pretty nasty to us if we’re trapped down here.”
“My thought, too,” Sul agreed.
“Can you take us into Oblivion?” Attrebus asked.
“I don’t sense any weak spots in the walls between the worlds here,” he said. “At least not of the usual sort. Even if there were, it could take us anywhere. When we traveled to Morrowind, we were on a trail known to me, one it took me decades to work out. When we escaped Vuhon, we survived only due to the whim of a daedra prince.”
“Then-wait, what do you mean, ‘of the usual sort’?”
Sul glanced at the wrapped-up weapon in his arms. “I sense something here,” he said. “And if what Nirai says is true, we might have a chance at entering Oblivion and escaping this place.”
“But wouldn’t that take us straight to Clavicus Vile?”
“I think so, yes.”
“And didn’t you tell me that would be a bad thing?”
“Yes,” Sul said, “but now our options have dwindled, and here we’re faced with the bad thing and the worst thing.”
“Maybe there are options we haven’t considered.”
“Name them. I will consider them.”
“Just let me think.” Sul nodded and sat down.
After thinking for about fifteen minutes, Attrebus heard odd sounds coming from the stairwell.
“Anything?” Sul asked.
Attrebus shook his head. “Nothing. Not a single thought. Except that even if we get through that gate and out of the castle, we’ll still never reach Umbriel before it gets to the Imperial City, not unless you have some other little trick I don’t know about.”
“If we could get back to the ruins of Vivec City, I could take us back onto my track. But getting there will take weeks, probably.”
“Assuming we can find a boat that will sail boiling water without cooking us. No, I think we might as well pay Clavicus Vile a visit. Maybe he’ll be in a hospitable mood.”
Sul took out the ointment he’d made back in Water’s Edge, what seemed ages ago, and dabbed some on Attrebus’s forehead. Then he stood the sword on its tip; he didn’t unwrap it, but instead closed his eyes and put his skull against the wrapping on the hilt.
For a long time nothing happened, except the air began to stink.
Then something like a fist seemed to grab him, yanking him so hard the blood rushed from his head and black spots danced before his eyes. He struck something, hard, and the wind left him.
The air still smelled bad, but it wasn’t the same stench that had been building in the cave. And as Sul managed to lift his head, he saw they weren’t in the cave any longer, but elsewhere.
BOOK THREE
ONE
Annaig drifted across a floor of rose-colored crystal that gently rose and fell like the frozen swells of an ocean. It met the walls in gradual curves and then lifted into a vast, lucid canopy veined with softly shifting hints of color. Men and women danced on the uncertain floor, stepping, sometimes gliding, often leaving the surface altogether for a time, as weight was less present here than it was elsewhere in Umbriel. Filmy gowns of viridian, azure, hazel, and lemon spun out impossibly wide as they turned, and each garment chimed musical notes that subtly harmonized or clashed with those around them.
“Who are they?” she asked Rhel.
“Why, your peers, of course,” he replied.
“There can’t be this many chefs in Umbriel.”
“Certainly not,” he replied. “Only eight chefs stand high enough to join this company. But surely you don’t believe cooking is the only art valued by the lords of Umbriel? We love artistry of every sort, and thus value artists of all kinds. These are the most successful of them. Luel, there, he helped create this very room. Ten days ago it was a dark jungle, an homage to the first land we saw on coming here-your homeland, as I understand it. It was wonderful, of course, but a few days and everything becomes boring. There is no worse taste than stasis, and I won’t be accused of it.”
“This is all yours?”
“Rhel Palace,” he said. “Greatest of the eight, if I say so myself.”
“How long has it been yours?”
Even with eyes as strange as his, she sensed his puzzlement.
“It has always been mine,” he replied. “I built it before Umbriel ever began its voyaging.”
“Oh,” she said.
“I am a high lord, Annaig. We do not move through cycles as you do. We have always been and we remain. We were here at the beginning, and if there is an end we will be there, too.”
“I didn’t know,” she replied. “No one ever spoke of it to me.”
“I’m sure they assumed you knew, as I did. You mean to say that the lords in your world are not immortal?”
“For the most part, no,” she said. “The world down there isn’t much like this one at all.”
“Well, that’s a pity,” he said. “But you’re here now.” He touched her shoulder. “Enjoy yourself-I must attend to Umbriel.”
She nodded and, not quite knowing what to do with herself, walked carefully to the wall and looked out upon the Fringe Gyre and the landscape of Tamriel beyond. She saw mountains in the distance, forest and fields nearer, and wondered where they were now.