But then the boat tipped and dumped them both unceremoniously into the stinking, muddy shallows. He swatted blindly for a few seconds before they had him disarmed and held tight.
And as before, they didn’t kill him. Instead they dragged him farther inland, to one of the nicer cabins, and milled about it for a while. They didn’t appear to care if he called for help, so he did, with sinking hopes that it would do any good.
After a time, however, the door opened and he saw a lantern.
The face revealed in the light appeared human and alive. He was probably on the other side of forty, with a large bald spot in his reddish hair. He had a notch in his left ear.
“Well, now,” he said. “What’s this?”
“Came from the water,” one of the things gripping Attrebus rasped. “Can we have him?”
The fellow held the lamp closer to Attrebus, and his eyes widened. “I don’t think so, fellows,” he said, shaking his head. “Who would have thought it? Well, I guess he did, and by Malacath, it weren’t a waste of time at all.”
“I warn you,” Attrebus began, chilled by the man’s casual oath. “If you don’t release me-”
The man laughed. “That’s him all right. Don’t worry, prince-me-boy. I’ll not be keeping you. I’m sending you right along.”
“To where?”
“Someplace-nicer.” He looked over Attrebus’s shoulder.
“Umbriel?”
“Naw, not there. You’re going to the palace, boy-o.”
“Then tell these things to let me go. I can walk there.”
“I trust you could, but I’ve been told not to let you exert yourself.”
“By whom?”
“Patience, m’lad.”
“My friend is hurt-”
“Yes, well, that’s not up to me,” the man said. He went back into the cabin and came out followed by a sleepy-looking Khajiit and a Bosmer woman. One of them put a bag over his head. He tried to shout, but after a few breaths of something with a funny smell, his senses dimmed and were replaced by strange, vividly colored dreams.
He woke up to the smell of cinnamon tea and a face with eyebrows like fuzzy caterpillars perched over calm blue eyes. It was a very familiar face.
“Hierem!” he exclaimed. He looked around. They were in a sort of parlor, decorated in odd alchemical devices and Ayleid curiosities. Attrebus was in an armchair. He tried to stand up but found he couldn’t; his body seemed immensely heavy.
“What is this?” he demanded.
“Let’s be honest,” Hierem purred. “There’s no love lost between you and I. We’ve never much liked each other, that is to say.”
“Release me, now,” Attrebus snapped. “When my father finds out-”
“But your father isn’t going to find out,” Hierem said. “Not unless I choose to inform him.”
“Do you plan to kill me, then?”
“Eventually,” Hierem nodded, “when I’m certain I have no use for you-when this whole business is over.” He smiled. “Really thought you were going to play the hero again, didn’t you?”
Attrebus gritted his teeth. “What about Sul?”
“He’s better, for the moment. His wounds have been doctored, but I’ve kept him asleep. He’s far too dangerous otherwise, from what I can tell.” He settled back into his chair. “Odd weapon he was carrying.”
Attrebus felt a little thrill of hope. Did Hierem not know what Umbra was?
“Is it?” he asked.
“Yes. Lielle, one of the ones who brought you here, drew it and went mad. I had to kill her. Would you like to tell me why you have such a thing?”
“It’s an heirloom of Sul’s,” Attrebus said. “He’s trying to find the grave of his father or something so he can bury it there.”
“I see,” Hierem said. “It has nothing to do with Umbriel?”
“No,” Attrebus said, desperate to deflect attention from the weapon. “But you do, don’t you? You’re in league with Vuhon.”
“Vuhon?” Hierem chuckled. “He doesn’t call himself that anymore, but then again he isn’t exactly himself, is he? You met him, I believe. And escaped him, I gather, although not through any art of yours.”
He lifted a small porcelain cup and sipped from it. “I thought you might eventually come here, so I convinced Umbriel-which is the name Vuhon does affect-to lend me some of his ground troops to sweep up anyone entering the city. No one is entering, you see-they’re either staying put or leaving, which makes people like you rather easy to spot.”
“But why?” Attrebus demanded.
“Well, because Umbriel wants you, very badly. Sul primarily, but you as well.”
“So you’re going to give us to him.”
“You know,” Hierem said, “I think you really ought to be called ‘Attrebus the Clever.’ That’s how you should go down in history. ‘Attrebus the Clever,’ the prince who thought he was a hero. My idea, do you know that? Talked your father into it. ‘The people need a young hero,’ I told him.” He laughed. “He may have thought I was right. He may have just been trying to placate me, but he went along with it. It worked, too. The people love you.” He took another sip, then directed his gaze back at Attrebus.
“No, you idiot, I’m not giving you over to Umbriel-at least not right away. There weren’t any taskers in the bunch who found you, so he doesn’t know I have you. What I want to know is, why is he afraid of you? What do you have over him?”
“Nothing,” Attrebus said. “He’s not afraid of us-he and Sul have a lot of bad blood between them. I think he just wants to torture Sul to death.”
“No,” Hierem contradicted, “he’s afraid of something. He took his city up to Morrowind, in completely the wrong direction. Umbriel has an irrational side, but that made no sense at all-unless he was looking for something. And what did he find there? You two. Imagine my surprise-you were supposed to be dead. Then you turn up alive in Water’s Edge. But a few days later you’re in Morrowind.” He shook his head. “These are things we need to discuss.”
“You can forget that,” Attrebus said.
“We haven’t started yet, don’t worry,” Hierem replied. “That’s all still to come. I just wanted to welcome you home.”
“Why are you doing this?” Attrebus asked. “Do you want my father’s throne? If Umbriel reaches the Imperial City, there won’t be anyone to rule over! They’ll all be dead.”
“It’s not going to be like that, actually,” Hierem replied. “I’m going to save the city your father couldn’t. You’re going to die a traitor, a conspirator against the state-at least in the current version of my plan.”
“And Vuhon-or Umbriel-will just go on his merry way? He can’t-his city needs souls to keep flying.”
Something quickened a bit in Hierem’s eyes. “Yes, your published letters said as much. But how did you know that?”
“I-” He stopped. They didn’t know about Annaig. They couldn’t. “Sul told me.”
“Ah. And how did he know?”
“He worked with Vuhon before, in Morrowind. They used souls to keep a building aloft.”
“The ingenium of the Ministry of Truth. I suppose that makes sense. Perhaps he’s worried Sul knows how to wreck the ingenium in Umbriel.”
“You don’t trust him, then,” Attrebus said. “Whatever deal you two made, you’re worried he won’t honor his terms.”
“There is that,” Hierem replied. “But on the other hand, I’m not so keen to honor mine either.”
“How could my father have trusted such a despicable traitor?” Attrebus wondered aloud.
“To his credit, Titus has never trusted me. He’s kept me around because he doesn’t have a choice.” Hierem smiled again. “Trust me; you are your father’s son only in name. Titus may be an ill-mannered, badly bred Colovian upstart, but he at least has brains in his head.”