EIGHT

“Attrebus.”

He opened his eyes at the sound of the voice and found Sul’s crimson gaze only inches away.

He felt stone beneath his back and was soaking wet. Behind Sul he saw a rough, faintly luminescent wall.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“We fell in the lake in the center of Umbriel,” Sul replied. “This is some sort of cave above the waterline.”

Attrebus remembered then.

“Did you do it? Did you kill him?”

“No,” he said. “Do you think you can walk?”

“What happened?” He pushed, shaking water from his ear. “You had him.”

Sul didn’t answer, but instead stood and reached an arm down. Attrebus took it and let him half pull him to his feet.

“You know more about this place than I do,” Sul said. “Where do you think we are?”

Attrebus felt his face flush as he finally understood.

“You came after me instead,” he said. “You saved my life.”

“I failed,” Sul said. “After all this time—” He broke off. “You were right—something is wrong with him, and it’s no doing of ours. The sword didn’t hurt him much, if at all. It certainly didn’t reclaim anything of Vile’s.”

“Annaïg’s poison, then,” Attrebus guessed. “That must be it.”

“It seems likely, and that means Vuhon will be trying to stop her, to reverse whatever she’s done.”

He turned, and Attrebus saw Umbra was sheathed again.

“Wait,” he said. “How were you able to put it away?”

“I almost wasn’t,” Sul admitted. “Next time—”

“There’s no reason for a ‘next time,’ ” Attrebus argued. “If it doesn’t work, why take the risk?”

“I have a feeling about it,” Sul said. “Leave it at that and talk to the girl—we’re wasting time.”

Attrebus nodded, pulled Coo out, and flipped open the little door. A moment later Annaïg’s face appeared.

“Attrebus,” she said. “Where are you?”

“We fought Vuhon. The sword didn’t work, but something’s wrong with him.”

“I may have distracted him,” she replied.

“Your venom is working?”

“It’s doing something. Where are you?”

“We fell in the lake in the middle of this place, and now we’re in some sort of cavern just above the waterline.”

“You’re in the skraw caves, then.”

“If you say so.”

“Stay where you are,” she said. “Keep Coo open.”

She closed the locket and then turned to Glim.

“The sword didn’t work,” she said. “Our only hope is my poison. When the trees start to die, we may get a chance to escape. Fhena can come with us.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Glim insisted.

She closed her eyes, tired of his persistence. “I need you to go down to the skraw caves and bring Attrebus up here,” she said.

Glim’s pupils dilated wide and his fighting musk filled the air. She inched back a little.

“No,” he said.

“They deserve a chance, too. You need to hurry.”

“I said no,” the Argonian said, in a quiet but firm voice. “Not unless you save the trees.”

“I’ve told you, that isn’t possible. Most of the poison is in now—”

“If you know how to make the poison, you know how to make the antidote,” he said.

She stared at him for a moment, then reached into her pocket and produced a long, stoppered tube.

“This is the antidote,” she said. “This is for us, when we’re affected, if we are. It’s not nearly enough to counteract what I’ve pumped into the roots.”

“They’re already fighting it,” he said. “If they taste that, they’ll know what to do—they can produce enough antitoxin to save themselves.”

“And the lords, and Umbriel,” Annaïg said. “Then the Imperial City is destroyed, and we don’t escape.”

“No,” Glim replied, his voice measured. “I’ll help the trees go home and take the city with them.”

“You really believe you can do that?” Annaïg asked.

“Yes.”

She rubbed her forehead. “Go get Attrebus and Sul. Then I’ll give you this.”

“I could take it from you,” Glim said very softly.

“I’ll throw it, if you try.”

“It may be too late by the time I find Attrebus. Give it to me now, and I promise I’ll do as you ask.”

“Glim—”

“Nn, it’s me.”

“Right,” she said. “Weren’t you just threatening to use force on me?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If you could feel them, like I do … Nn, our whole lives, it’s always been you, your desires, your needs. And despite my protestations, I’ve been happy to be at your side. But this time you have to stand with me. You have to trust me.”

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what he was talking about, to a time when everything hadn’t been about suspicion and betrayal and heartsickness, but nothing came, nothing—until, finally, an image. The face of a five-year-old girl with long, curling black hair, and that of a young Saxhleel about the same age, reflecting up from water twenty feet below. She saw their feet, too, perched on the crumbling wall of an ancient, sunken structure.

“Let’s jump,” the girl said.

“That’s too far down,” the boy replied.

“Ah, come on. Let’s do it together.”

“Well … fine,” he grumbled.

And they jumped.

Annaïg opened her eyes, and Glim suddenly remembered her when she was a little girl, how full of everything her eyes seemed to have been in those days.

She didn’t say anything. She just handed him the bottle.

“Thanks,” he said. He turned to Fhena. “Take her to the hiding place. I’ll be back.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Fhena said.

Glim slipped the antidote into his belt-pouch and bounded down the trunk, feeling the sickness invade it deeper. He wondered how to do it—if he could simply empty the contents where the roots would find it, or use one of the nutrient injectors the fringe workers used. In their pain, the trees had become unfocused, distilled to need and demand, and it was all he could do to keep his mind singular enough to be Glim, and not just a part of the hurt and panic. But Annaïg trusted him, and he had to be worthy of that trust now. He would find the prince and his companion, and hopefully by then he would figure it out.

The sump felt sick and oily, and he nearly retched when he pulled in his first breath. He surprised a school of bladefish, but they hardly reacted, and instead continued along, unsteadily, as if they had lost half of their senses.

He found shattered crystal tubes in the shallows and followed them to their greatest concentration, and then began searching the caves. He discovered them in the third one he tried. The Dunmer saw him first, reaching for his sword before Glim was even out of the water. Then the Imperial turned.

“Wait,” he said. “That’s an Argonian. Mere-Glim?”

“Yes, Prince,” he replied, making a little bow.

“Do you know these people?” the prince asked.

Glim noticed a number of skraws on the other side of the cavern. Several of them were armed. As Glim approached, Wert pushed through.

“I know them,” Glim replied.

“Who are they, Glim?” Wert asked. He looked tired, more jaundiced than usual.

“You can leave them alone. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Wert replied. “Hiner and Skrahan dropped dead. The rest of us—it’s like everything is getting sick, all at once.”

He coughed, and for a moment Glim thought he would fall.

“What should we do?”

Glim took several deep breaths, looking at the skraws. His skraws, and in an instant he felt not just the trees anymore, but all of it, everyone, and he knew what to do.

He took out the antidote, removed the stopper, and drank it all.

Annaïg paced back and forth in the wooden cavity, wishing she had something to do, something to cook with. One minute she’d been in control of everything, and suddenly she didn’t know what was happening anymore.

“Glim can do what he says,” Fhena said. “I believe him.”

“Of course you do,” Annaïg said. “And maybe he can. But maybe—have you thought of this?—maybe he’s gone crazy.”

“No. I can feel it. The trees made him different, and now somehow they’ve changed, too. As if they got something from him as well. They have a purpose for him. Anyway—you gave him the antidote. You must believe.”

“No,” she said. “That’s not why I gave it to him.”

“I don’t understand. I—”

Fhena was interrupted by an odd coughing sound. Annaïg saw the other woman’s eyes dart past her and turned.

Umbriel stood there. “It had to be you,” he said. “As soon as I felt your venom, I knew your scent on it.”

“Lord Umbriel …”

“The trees are fighting hard,” Umbriel said. “They’ve shunted the poison through the ingenium, poisoning the rest of the city while they try to synthesize an antidote. It will cycle back around to them in time, but by then most of the damage will be done. I don’t know if you meant it to work that way, but it was brilliant; it’s attacking the head first—which means me. I had to absorb Rhel and three other lords just to keep going on in this body, to find the venom’s mother.”

“So much for Rhel’s illusion of immortality.”

“His illusion was that he was any less a part of me than everything here. It’s an illusion you share. The poison will kill you, too.”

“If that’s what it takes to stop you, I’m willing,” she replied.

“I see. And yet you have an antidote.”

“I don’t,” Annaïg said.

“I’m weak,” Umbriel said, his voice beginning to change. “I’m not deaf.”

“I don’t have it. I gave it to someone else.”

“Possibly,” Umbriel replied, moving toward her. “But you still have it, right there behind your eyes.”

“Stay back,” Annaïg said. “Keep away from me.”

“We’re almost there,” Umbriel snarled, revealing sharp, yellowed teeth. “All we have to do is reach the White-Gold Tower, and we’re free of him forever.”

“I don’t care,” Annaïg said.

He lunged at her, and she whipped out the invisible blade, slicing three of his fingers off.

He barked a harsh sort of laugh and made a fist. He didn’t hit her, but something did, hurling her against the wall and knocking the wind out of her.

He held up his hand, and the fingers grew back. His spine seemed to straighten; the lines of his face filled in.

“What’s this?” he murmured. “Incredible. They did it.” He looked down at her, his lips curling up in a malicious grin. “It was a nice try,” he said.

“Get away from her,” someone else said.

At first the voice didn’t sound right to Annaïg—it was too full, somehow, too large. But then she recognized Attrebus striding toward Umbriel, sword in hand. Glim and an ancient-looking Dunmer came with him.

“No,” she shouted as Umbriel’s words sorted themselves into sense and she understood. “Attrebus—the sump. The sword didn’t work because his soul isn’t in him—there wasn’t anything to reclaim. Glim! His soul is in the ingenium—”

But then Umbriel’s eyes stabbed green fire at her, and every muscle in her body went rigid with pain.

Sul snarled in agony, and something erupted into existence between them and Vuhon, something with huge bat wings and claws, but in the shape of a woman.

Then Sul turned and ran back toward the way out, grabbing Mere-Glim by the arm.

“Wait!” Attrebus said.

“You heard her!” Sul shouted.

Sul’s monster and Vuhon slammed together. Attrebus could see a dark elf woman dragging the fallen Annaïg away from the confrontation. He stood there, paralyzed. He’d come here to rescue her, hadn’t he? She was so near …

But if he died here, rescuing her, what of the Imperial City? His father? His people?

He knew then, in that moment, that he was ready to die trying to save Annaïg—but didn’t have that luxury.

So he turned and ran after Sul.

He emerged from the trunk of the tree and saw the old man and Glim bounding down a branch. It took him a few seconds to catch up, but the three of them hadn’t gone another thirty steps before they saw figures boiling up the tree toward them. Some seemed human or elven—others were stranger. There were a lot of them.

Glim hesitated only an instant before changing direction, climbing from branch to branch with dexterity that was difficult to match.

“Don’t we want to go down?” Attrebus asked him as he clambered over one rough bough and reached for another.

“Everything takes you down eventually,” the reptile replied. “This is just the long way.”

Their exertions eventually brought them to another huge trunk, and as they scrambled up on it, despite everything, Attrebus was struck momentarily still by wonder.

They were at the top of the fringe, with the whole mad forest sweeping down and away from them, a massive bent fan.

And below that, the Imperial City from high above—as he had never seen it, and indeed he saw only part of it now, because Umbriel’s shadow must already be over the wall. Before them loomed the White-Gold Tower. Whatever Umbriel hoped to do, he was about to do it.

“We’re out of time,” Attrebus said. He turned to the Argonian. “You said you could use the trees to take Umbriel out of Tamriel.”

Mere-Glim nodded tersely.

“Do it now.”

“You’ll be trapped here,” the reptile-man said.

“If that’s the way it is, then so be it,” Attrebus replied.

Mere-Glim nodded, and after a slight pause, knelt and put his face against the bark.

Glim could feel the poison dissipating; the trees could hear him again. He felt his self soften and flow around the edges as everything that was Umbriel opened itself to him. He heard the call of return, and with an easy bending of his mind gave it greater voice.

Or tried to, but then a spear of pain seemed to drive through him, an absolute command that he acquiesce and fling himself, to break on the lower boughs before falling and vanishing from this world and every other. He rose and took the first step before pushing back against the command, and for an instant he thought he could beat it, push through.

But it was ancient, and the trees bent to it from long habit.

Annaïg had been right to doubt him. He’d been so sure, it hadn’t occurred to him that the Umbriel could countermand him.

Now all he could do was escape with his life.

For a moment it looked as if Mere-Glim would jump into the open air, then he stopped, the stippled lids uncovering his eyes.

“I can’t,” he said.

“We’re wasting time, then,” Sul said.

The three of them sprinted up the bough to where its roots grappled with the stone of the rim, and after a short climb, stood on the edge, in a gap between two strange, delicate buildings of glass and wire. A long cable went from the base of one all the way across the valley; several small buildings hung suspended from it, like lanterns at a festival. From the first of those a second cable ran down to the water’s edge.

“There,” Sul said, gesturing at the cable. “That’s the quickest way. It would take forever to climb down there.”

“I’ll have to go with you,” Glim said. “You won’t make it to the bottom of the sump without me.”

The cable was five feet in diameter, but the footing was still pretty tricky. They were a few yards short of the hanging building when Sul shouted and pointed. Vuhon and several other figures were flying toward them.

Sul ran three long steps and jumped; Glim went after him with only an instant’s hesitation. Attrebus followed, wondering how many times he was going to have to fall into the damned thing.

Glim smiled as he fell, remembering a long-ago day when Annaïg had dared him to jump with her into the ruins of an old villa.

He hit the water feetfirst and let his body relax—become the air, the water, the very shock that tried to slap the soul from his skin. He plunged deep, pulling a train of bubbles behind him that trailed to the broken mirror of the surface above.

As their descent slowed, he caught Attrebus and Sul by their wrists and kicked fiercely down, toward the little star he’d always been told to avoid. Now he felt it, the pulsing heart and mind of Umbriel, the core that was the true lord of souls. All other light diminished until at last they reached it.

Attrebus felt the pressure against his lungs mount and knew they would never make it back to the surface. He watched the light grow as Mere-Glim pulled them down.

When they reached it, he realized that Sul was unconscious, so he did the only thing he could—he drew Umbra from the sheath on the Dunmer’s back and stabbed it into the light. Even as he did so, he felt a rush of absolute rage. He became the blade, the edge, as Umbra drank him utterly in. He was steel and something more than steel, infinitely worse than steel. The thing waving it around and screaming was no longer Attrebus, and soon he wouldn’t be either.

The light seemed to explode about them, but he didn’t care anymore. Everyone and everything was to blame. The pleasure in Hierem’s cell, the lack of it after, the little pains of moving through any day, anywhere were too much to bear anymore. But he knew he couldn’t die yet—only when everything else was dead would he know any peace.

The light cleared, and he was lying on the floor, shuddering. Umbra lay a few feet away, as did Sul and the Argonian.

They had fallen into a vast nest of polished stone and shining crystal. The air was filled with delicate tones and fleeting incomprehensible whispers, as if motes of dust were excited to speech when light struck them. In the center of the great cavity a translucent pylon rose and met the gently rippling water above and kissed it with light pulsing up from a platform ten feet below, where a thousand glowing strands tied themselves into a coruscating sphere.

Sul was sitting up groggily; Glim was staring up at the water suspended over their heads.

And through the water, Vuhon came, lightning crackling from his eyes.

Sul leapt up to meet him. Blue flame erupted from his open palms and engulfed Vuhon, clinging to him like burning oil. Vuhon staggered back a step, then made a peculiar shaking motion and the fire vanished, replaced by gray smoke. Glim leapt forward, claws raking at Vuhon’s chest. The Dunmer replied with a vicious backhand blow that sent the reptile hurling to the floor. Then he did something that stopped Sul mid-stride; Attrebus didn’t see anything but could feel a crackling on his skin, and the air smelled like hot iron.

Sul strained to take another step, then collapsed.

“So much for your pointless revenge,” Vuhon muttered.

Attrebus looked toward where Umbra lay, trying to drive the terror from his mind, to do what he had to do.

“Stop!” Vuhon shouted.

Attrebus screamed in despair as he dove for the sword. He picked it up, and as he was drawn into it again, into anguish and horror that would never end, he aimed himself down, at the sphere. Vuhon came after him, quick as lightning.

Almost quick enough.

Then Umbra struck into the heart of Umbriel, and everything was changed.