He pushed himself up and saw Sul doing the same.
They had landed in a field of white clover-a woodland meadow that might have come right out of the paintings of Lythandas of Dar-Ei. But like the sky, a close look revealed withered, twisted foliage and odd melted-looking places that his eyes couldn’t focus on. Beneath the perfume of wildflowers, the breeze carried a scent of profound decay, like a wound gone to gangrene.
“That was different,” Attrebus said, glancing at Sul. “It never felt like that when we traveled in Oblivion before.”
“That’s because we didn’t travel here,” Sul said. “We were summoned.”
Attrebus caught a motion from the corner of his eye and faced it. A small white dog was watching them from the edge of the clearing, where a little path wound off into the woods. It twitched its head toward the trail and wagged its tail excitedly.
“You think he wants us to follow him?”
“I think that’s safe to say,” Sul said.
“Safe to say, but safer to do,” the dog added in a yappy little voice. Attrebus felt he should have been surprised, but somehow he wasn’t.
“Do we have a choice?” Attrebus asked, pointing the question at Sul. Unless the dog was really Clavicus Vile-which, given his experience with Malacath, wasn’t impossible-they didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger.
The Dunmer shook his head in the negative. “Follow the dog,” he said.
The dog led them from the clearing along the little trail, where the vegetation seemed to grow progressively sicklier. They crossed a brook on a fallen log, and he saw fish floating on the surface, their gills working desperately. Something fluttered by in the trees, which he at first perceived to be a bird, then a butterfly the size of a hawk, and finally a caterpillar with wings.
They wound along a spiral trail up a hill, where they found a table large enough to seat thirty or so, with whimsically slim legs that terminated in hooves. Now and then one of the hooves would lift and stamp, rattling the empty plates and cups on the table. Beyond the hill, the colors of the world seemed to melt and flow before the sky gave way completely to shimmering chaos. From this height, Attrebus could see that the trees and grass only extended a mile or so in any direction before similarly dissolving at the edges.
Seated at the head of the table, on a large wooden throne, was what appeared to be a boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen years, although his lack of shirt displayed a paunch that would have been more at home on a middle-aged beer glutton. He had what appeared to be a goat horn growing from above his right eyebrow, but over the left there was a festering sore. He had his bare feet up on the table crossed at the ankles, and a mean little smile showed on his face. His eyes were most peculiar; Attrebus somehow could not focus on them, but his impression was contradictory: They seemed empty, but empty in a way that nevertheless held limitless meaning.
When the boy saw Sul and Attrebus, he laughed. It was an eerie laugh, almost like the imitation of one, although there seemed to be a tinge of genuine madness there as well.
The dog hopped up on the table. “I give you Prince Clavicus Vile,” it announced, and then fell over and began licking itself.
The boyish figure inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. Then he pointed a finger.
“You, Sul. Bring me that thing.”
“We bring it in good faith,” Sul said. “We wish to discuss a compact.”
“A compact,” Vile said, exaggerating Sul’s Dunmer accent. “Oh, do you? Oh, very well. Why don’t you sit here, and be the daedra prince, and I’ll just stand down where you are and be the stupid mortal who doesn’t know exactly how close he is to being a turnip. Or a boil on a turnip.” He turned to the dog. “Do turnips get boils?”
“Galls, I think,” the dog replied. “Not boils.”
“Whatever,” Vile said. He turned back to Sul. “I don’t have to ask nicely, you know. It’s mine.”
Something happened, but it was too fast for Attrebus to see. Sul grunted and dropped to his knees, and Vile-still in his chair-had Umbra.
“Don’t think I’m weak,” Vile said. “Everyone who comes here now thinks I’m weak, just because a wee bit of my stuff has been stolen. The trick is, if you’ve got less to work with, you just don’t spread it so thin. My realm may be a little smaller than in happier times, but in it I’m just as strong as I ever was.”
“Well,” the dog said, “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Hush, Barbas, before I feed you to my hounds.”
“Which would be me, sir,” the dog said.
“If you’re after making a point, I really don’t take it,” Vile said as he unwrapped the blade. When he touched it, a shudder went through him, and he cast it on the table.
“Well, it’s no good to me like that,” he said. “Sul, don’t you at least know better than to bring it to me like that?”
Sul was having trouble answering, however. He was still on his hands and knees.
“What are you doing to him?” Attrebus demanded.
“What?” the daedra asked, and then blinked. “Oh, right.”
Sul suddenly heaved a deep breath. He sat back on his heels, gasping.
“Haven’t I always done my best by you people?” Vile asked. “Haven’t I always tried to provide instruction and opportunities for you to improve yourselves? I’ve treated you with good humor, like equals, really. And where is the respect I’m due? Really, I’m just tired of it now.” He sat back. “Just tired. Really.”
“We know what happened to Umbra,” Attrebus said. “We know where he is. That’s why we’ve been looking for the sword in the first place.”
“First of all,” Vile said, “let’s not go calling anyone ‘Umbra.’ There is no Umbra. This-thing-that suffers from the delusion that it is its own- person -is actually nothing of the kind, do you understand? No more than a stone rolling down a hill is capable of real self-locomotion. Or an abacus of doing math by itself. What was in this sword was me, plain and simple. If someone cut your leg off and the leg starting calling itself ‘Umbra,’ it would still be your leg, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t humor it, would you? Help it out with its delusions of grandeur?”
“No, certainly not,” Attrebus said.
“There you go,” Vile said. “That’s just what I’ve been saying. Not nearly so dumb as you look.” His strange eyes narrowed and he put on a boyish smile.
“But go on. You were telling me where the rest of me is.”
“In Tamriel, in a city known as Umbriel.”
“Again,” Vile snarled, “the name of the city isn’t Umbriel. I created it, me. Its real name is-” He scratched his chin. “Well, I don’t remember. But it isn’t Umbriel. More, with the putting on airs.” Vile swung his feet from the table and leaned forward, bracing his hands against the table.
“So it’s in Tamriel now? I’ve caught glimpses of it, now and then, but how could he possibly have gotten into Nirn?”
“We’re not sure of that ourselves,” Attrebus said. “But we’re determined to stop Um-ah, your city.”
“By returning what was stolen to the sword,” Vile said thoughtfully.
“Yes.”
“And then you were just going to bring the sword back to me, weren’t you?” Vile said.
“Ah-of course,” Attrebus agreed.
“You most certainly were not,” Vile said. “But that’s fine, things have changed. You’ve come to me for a reason.”
Attrebus looked at Sul, who gave him a warning glance.
“The city of which we speak is destroying Tamriel,” Attrebus said. “It’s on its way to the Imperial City.”
“Is it?” Vile said. Attrebus thought the daedra’s ears actually twitched. “Ah, I see. And you found the sword in Solstheim. So you don’t have time to get there. This is really funny.”
“I don’t see how,” Attrebus said. “I should think you would want us to reach it.”
“I want what was stolen from me,” the daedra admitted. “That means someone has to stab this nonentity that calls itself Umbra with that sword. Given the circumstances of the city’s existence, I can take it from there. But it doesn’t matter to me if that happens sooner or later, does it?”