“But if you wait until my country-my people-are destroyed, why would I help you then?”
“It needn’t be you; I have mortal followers, lots of them.”
“I don’t understand, then,” Attrebus said. “What do you want from us?”
“What he wants is a deal,” Sul said. “A contract.”
“Now, there you go,” Vile said. “A man who knows the ways of the world. Or worlds, as it were.”
“What sort of deal?” Attrebus asked.
“Well-one of your souls will do.”
“That’s outrageous,” Attrebus said.
“Very well,” Vile said. “I’ll just send you on your way, then. Without the sword.”
“If it’s a soul you want-” Sul began.
“Stop!” Attrebus commanded.
And Sul actually did, his lips in mid-syllable.
“The pup is barking,” Barbas said.
Sul and Vile both turned withering gazes on him, but he held himself straight.
“Vuhon is taking Umbriel to the Imperial City for a reason,” Attrebus said. “It has to do with the White-Gold Tower. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I think you do. I think if he gets to the White-Gold Tower, you lose, which means you need us, now -not some followers who might or might not do the job in the future. You’re just trying to trick us, get a little extra out of it. So there is only one deal here, Prince Clavicus Vile-you get us as close to Umbriel as possible, and you do it immediately. We get your missing power back, we’re rid of Umbriel. No conditions.”
Vile hunched forward, his face wrinkling in a sneer.
“Do you honestly think you can talk to me like that? That after that little bit of impertinence I’ll just let you alone?”
“You don’t have a choice, unless you plan for this dreary little realm to be all you have for the rest of time,” Attrebus rejoined.
Vile smiled and leaned back. “Right then,” he sighed. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you alone. There are costs, whether a bargain is struck or not. You’re clever, but you don’t think toward the long term, and you will regret it eventually. But here we are. Fine. Take the sword, but be careful not to wield it until it’s time to thrust it in, yes? And I’ll put you close. I can’t put you in my city because he’s made it so I can’t see it, but if it’s going to the Imperial City, why don’t I just send you there?”
“That sounds good to me,” Attrebus replied.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” the daedra asked, his tone brightening. “Good meeting you fellows. Best of luck to us all, eh? At least for now.”
He gestured for Sul to pick up the sword. The Dark Elf rewrapped it and slung it on his back.
Then Clavicus Vile waved them away with his hand, and they were gone.
Attrebus had come to expect surprises moving to and from Oblivion, but that didn’t stop him from yelping when he appeared ten feet off the ground. He waved his arms desperately, striking a tree, which overbalanced him. He landed on his heels going back, and his butt took a lot of the force before his spine slapped into the pine needles and the all-too-solid earth they covered.
He kept his wind, and almost felt like laughing. Had Vile dropped them on purpose? Or was the daedra prince even weaker than he let on, and not in good control of his powers?
Sul would know.
Attrebus stood up and brushed off, then looked around for his companion, but didn’t see him in the immediate vicinity. What he did see was a large stone statue of Clavicus Vile with a dog at his side, albeit a much larger animal than the one they’d just encountered. A clearing surrounded the statue, but gave way to forest pretty quickly in every direction.
He had heard rumors that there was a shrine to Vile somewhere west of the Imperial City, not far from the Ring Road. If this was it-and that made a certain amount of sense-then they didn’t have too far to go.
He looked around again, this time more carefully. Dark things were supposed to happen at places like this, and even though the daedra himself had sent them here, that didn’t mean they were safe from his followers.
Closer inspection didn’t reveal anyone else, but he did notice Sul’s boot sticking out from behind the shrine.
“Sul?” he cried, running across the clearing.
Sul was breathing, but his eyes were closed and he was bleeding from a nasty gash in his head. He must have fallen, too, but hadn’t been as lucky as Attrebus.
“Hey, Sul!” Attrebus patted him on the cheek, but that didn’t draw a response. He poured some water from his skin and washed the wound. He couldn’t see any bone, and the skull didn’t seem dented. He stripped off the heavy coat he wore and cut strips of the lining, then tied the bandage around Sul’s head. Through all of that, the Dunmer showed no signs of waking up.
Attrebus sat there for a moment, trying to decide what to do. He felt very alone, and it began to sink in exactly how much he relied on the old man for strength, knowledge-even occasional encouragement. What if the wound was more serious than it looked? What if Sul was dying? Would he have any chance of finishing this? A chance, maybe, but a much bleaker one than if he had the sorcerer at his side.
He couldn’t just sit here, could he? But on the other hand, sometimes those who were injured ought not to be moved. Maybe he should go for help.
But the nearest village could be hours away-even if he knew which way to go-and that would give wild animals far too much time to find a fine, easy meal.
He cut up more of the horker hide coat and chopped off some willow branches, which he then spent an hour or so fashioning into a travois. A few moments later he was dragging Sul through the forest, worried, but feeling a sense of accomplishment. He was pretty sure he knew which direction the Ring Road was, and from there he could find almost anything.
It was slow going in the woods, and he had to stop frequently to reposition the makeshift harness or to rest. He was sure there was a better way to design a travois, but he’d never had occasion to build one before, and although he had seen them, he hadn’t studied their structure.
He dithered a bit about where he ought to go. If they were west, the Imperial City was close, but so was his hunting lodge in Ione. Should he go there first, get Sul tended to, acquire some guards? Or go straight for the Imperial City?
Attrebus reached the road more quickly than he thought he would, an hour or so before sundown. Lake Rumare was the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long time, its familiar waters turning coral as the evening deepened. The familiar cries of curlews and coots were music to him. And then there was the Imperial City itself, standing proud and strong on its island, the White-Gold Tower at its center like a pillar holding up the heavens-as some claimed it actually did.
For Attrebus, however, it was proof that his quest had been worth it, that he wasn’t too late. His father would listen to him now. With or without Sul, they would invade Umbriel somehow and return Umbra to his sword.
It still wasn’t dark when he saw a small fishing settlement, built on an old stonework that probably dated back to Ayleid times. He was vacillating about checking to see if they had any sort of healer when he thought he heard something odd behind him. Turning, he saw them.
For an instant his heart took wing at the sight of a military formation; to run into a patrol at this point would be excellent luck. But he’d apparently had his allotment of that today, because a few seconds of watching them approach resolved the truth. They wore no uniforms and carried a motley assortment of weapons. These were Umbriel’s unholy warriors.
He turned off the road, picking up his pace, dragging Sul toward the village. It seemed like a long way, but frequent glances back didn’t show pursuit, so maybe they hadn’t seen him.
Hiding behind a house built of driftwood, he watched the hideous procession pass, reckoning their number at about twenty.
The sun was gone by then, but Masser stood bright in the sky as he searched the village. It had been abandoned, he couldn’t tell how long ago.