trapped in Oblivion for many years, and knows its ways. Umbriel-that’s the name of the island-was too far away for us to reach in time-”
“In time for what?”
“I’ll get to that in a moment,” Attrebus said.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but this is a strange tale.”
“No stranger than being imprisoned by a daedra prince.”
“You have a point there,” she allowed.
“To make it brief,” he said, “Sul took us on a shortcut through Oblivion to get ahead of Umbriel.”
“Did you stop it, then?”
“No,” he said. “We didn’t have a chance. The lord of Umbriel was too strong for us. He captured us and would have killed us, but Sul managed to escape into Oblivion, and brought me with him. But we were lost, far away from the paths Sul knew. We wandered through nightmare places. Just before coming here, we were in the realm of Prince Namira, or at least that’s what Sul thought. Something there did this.” He indicated the scar.
“I’ve been wondering how anyone could survive such a wound,” Silhansa said.
“Me, too,” Attrebus replied. “Sul must have gotten us out of Namira’s realm. I remember floating in gray ash, choking to death. Then I woke here.” He didn’t want to think about his dream, much less talk about it.
“And so your quest is ended. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not ended,” he insisted. “I’ll find Sul, and we’ll get out of here somehow.”
“What makes you so determined?”
“It’s my people at stake, my world. And there is-someone counting on me, waiting for me. She might be safe, but if she isn’t-”
“Ah,” Silhansa said knowingly. “A woman. A lover.”
“A woman, yes, but she isn’t my lover-she’s a friend, someone who depends on me.”
“But you want her to be your lover.”
“I… I haven’t thought about it, and it’s neither here nor there.”
“And your friend Sul? He’s driven by love as well?”
“Sul? He’s driven by vengeance. He hates Vuhon, the master of Umbriel. I think he hates him more than I can imagine hating anything, and I’ve been expanding my capabilities in that sort of thing lately.”
He found himself touching his scar again. Silhansa noticed.
“Do you think Malacath healed you?” she asked.
“Maybe-if this is his realm I suppose it is possible-but I’ve no idea why. Malacath isn’t exactly known for his kindness.”
“You know something about him?”
Attrebus nodded. “A little. My nurse used to tell me a story about him. It was one of my favorites.”
“Really? Could you tell it? I know little about the daedra.”
“I don’t tell it as well as she did,” he admitted, “but I remember the tale.” He paused for a moment, remembering Helna’s singsong voice. He closed his eyes and pictured his bed, and her sitting there, hands folded. For just an instant he felt the shadow of the comfort he’d known then, the innocence that had protected him from the world.
“In the bygone-by,” he began, “there was a hero named Trinimac, the greatest knight of the Ehlnofey, champion of the Dragon of Time. One fine day he betook himself to seek out Boethiah, the daedra prince, and chastise him for his misdeeds.
“But Boethiah knew Trinimac was coming, and he put on the appearance of an old woman and stood beside the trail.
“ ‘Good day, old woman,’ Trinimac said when he came along. ‘I’m in search of Prince Boethiah, to chastise him. Can you tell me where I might find the scoundrel?’
“ ‘I know not,’ the old woman told him, ‘but down the road is my younger brother, and he might know. I’ll gladly tell you where he is, if you will but scratch my back.’
“Trinimac agreed, but when he saw her back, it was covered in loathsome boils. Nevertheless, having said he would, he scratched the noisome sores.
“ ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ll find my brother on the road to your left at the next crossroads.’
“Trinimac went on his way. Boethiah scurried ahead by a shortcut and put on the appearance of an old man.
“ ‘Good day, old man,’ Trinimac said, on meeting him. ‘I saw your elder sister, and she said you might know the path to Prince Boethiah’s house.’
“ ‘I do not,’ the old man told him. ‘But my little sister knows. I’ll tell you where to find her if you will only wash my feet.’
“Trinimac agreed, but found the old man’s feet even more disgusting and smelly than the old woman’s back. Still, he had made a bargain. The old man told him where to find the younger sister, and again Trinimac went on- and again Boethiah went ahead, and put on the guise of a beautiful young woman.
“Now, Trinimac was dreading the meeting with the younger sister, fearing he would have to wash or scratch something even worse than he already had, but when he saw the beautiful girl, he felt better.
“ ‘I met your elder brother,’ he said, ‘and he told me you would know the way to the house of Prince Boethiah.’
“ ‘Indeed, I do,’ she declared. ‘And I will gladly tell you if you will but give me a kiss.’
“ ‘That I can do,’ Trinimac said, but as he leaned forward to kiss her, her mouth opened wide-so wide that his whole head went in, and Boethiah swallowed him in a single gulp.
“Then Boethiah took on Trinimac’s form, and made him burp and fart and say foolish things, until finally he squeezed out a great pile of dung, and that was what was left of Trinimac. The dung got up and slunk away in shame, a proud knight no longer. He became Prince Malacath, and all of those who loved him changed as well and became the orcs.”
The woman’s eyes had a peculiar look in them.
“That was your favorite story?” she said.
“When I was seven, yes.”
She shook her head. “You people are always so literal-minded.”
“What do you mean?” A thought occurred. “You’re Altmer, yes? A High Elf? How is it you’ve never heard of Trinimac?”
“I have, of course, heard of Trinimac,” Silhansa said, placing her right hand on the floor, palm up. It seemed to melt and flow into the surface.
“What are you-”
But Silhansa-still crouching-began to grow, and quickly. And as she grew, she changed; the colors of her eyes and hair faded to gray, her face broadened, became piglike, and tusks emerged. All signs of womanhood vanished, and as she stood, he felt the floor lurch beneath him, realizing that she held him in her palm and was lifting him. The walls of the prison dissolved, and the thing that had called itself Silhansa was now a hundred feet tall. The hand holding him brought him up to the monstrous face, and the other hand came up, too, presenting Sul, as naked as he and just as captive.
“Malacath,” Attrebus gasped.
“So you call me,” Malacath said, his voice like beams of wood rending, his breath a foul wind. His eyes seemed empty, but when Attrebus looked into them, crooked things shimmered into his mind and ate his thoughts.
Their surroundings had changed, too. Around them rose a garden of slender trees, and wound about the trunks were vines festooned with lilylike flowers. A multitude of spheres moved, deep in the colorless sky, as distant and pale as moons. He heard birds chirping, but it was a doleful sound, as if something with a vague memory of having been a bird was trying to reproduce sounds it no longer felt.
“Prince,” Attrebus said, starting to shiver. “I did not mean to insult you. It was only a story I heard as a little boy. I don’t presume-”
“Hush,” Malacath said, and Attrebus choked as his mouth filled once again with ash. “I’ve heard enough from you. You don’t interest me. But you, Sul… I remember you. You swore an oath by me once, against your own gods. You’ve slipped through my realm before, without visiting. I am offended.”
