tried to feed him last didn’t bother to lock the gate.”
“I still don’t like it,” Sul said. “You stay here. I’ll go and find the sword.”
“If he really killed all those people-”
“Weren’t you just arguing he’s dead?” Sul snapped.
“I was, but you don’t believe it.”
“Just stay here and watch the gate.”
“Fine. But if you need help-”
“Right,” Sul said, waving him off. “I’ll call if I need you.”
Attrebus watched him stride off into the darkness, until all he could see was the lamp he carried, growing smaller. Then Sul must have passed behind something.
He rubbed his head. The hangover wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and for that he was grateful. Irinja’s attitude about their little tumble together was fortunate, because now that he was sober, he couldn’t shake the nearly unfamiliar feeling that he had done something wrong. He’d been with a lot of women, and never had any sense of guilt. That had changed now, and he knew that against all reason, he felt some sort of loyalty to Annaig, a woman he had never seen in the flesh, much less been with. He was going to have to sort this out, because he didn’t like feeling guilty. But he understood that it couldn’t happen until they were actually together, face-to-face. As it was, the relationship was too fantastical.
His ruminations were interrupted by the poke of something sharp in his back.
He leapt forward-away from the pressure-and spun, drawing his sword, Flashing.
The gate slammed in his face. On the other side stood Nirai Sathil. She smiled.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I should rather ask what you are doing, sneaking around down here,” she replied, wagging her finger at him.
“We were just exploring the castle,” Attrebus said, “and we got a bit lost.”
“A bit,” Nirai replied sarcastically.
“Look, I can explain,” Attrebus said. “I’m-”
“Attrebus Mede,” she interrupted. “You’ve come here looking for the sword, Umbra, and you seduced-or think you seduced-our dear little Irinja to find out where it is.”
“Irinja isn’t to blame,” Attrebus began, then stopped. “ ‘Think’ I seduced?”
“I sent her to you, of course,” Nirai said. “After she told me what you wanted.”
Attrebus closed his eyes, glad that Sul was out of earshot.
“So you know what I want,” he said. “What do you want? Your father spoke to Sul yesterday, and he apparently didn’t know who I was.”
“That’s because he doesn’t know,” Nirai said. “He doesn’t know about this either. He’s still protecting Elhul. After what he did! And he’s determined not to let any servant of Clavicus Vile take the weapon.”
“Why?”
“My father made certain pacts with Vile, and in exchange the prince asked him to find a certain sword in Morrowind. What Vile didn’t tell my father was what would happen when someone picked the sword up. The rest I think you know.”
“I don’t serve Clavicus Vile.”
“I don’t care if you do,” she said. “That’s my father’s obsession, not mine. I want this to be over with, finally. If you can get the sword from Elhul, you can have it, for all I care.”
“Then why this game? Why lock us in?”
“It’s just tidier this way,” she said. “And if one of you ends up picking up the sword and losing your mind, you’ll be safely jailed.”
“We won’t pick it up,” Attrebus said.
“Can’t count on that,” Nirai said. “Sorry. Good luck.”
From somewhere in the back of the cave he heard Sul shout, and then an unholy sort of shriek.
“You’d better hurry,” Nirai said.
Cursing under his breath, Attrebus turned away from her and, holding his lantern in one hand and Flashing in the other, made his way as quickly as he could over the rough floor in the direction Sul had gone.
The howling continued, a nerve-shivering, inhuman rasp that sometimes broke into what might be words in a language he didn’t know.
Another few moments of stumbling brought him to the source.
Sul had dropped-or maybe thrown-his lantern; it had shattered and was now a brightly burning pool of oil. In the ruddy light, Elhul Sathil was hideously revealed.
He had skin but no flesh, and the skin fit him so tightly his bones were all plainly revealed. As he continued his terrible shrieking, Attrebus could see the apple of his throat bobbing, reminding him of a lizard or a frog. There was something strangely childlike in his gestures, the way his almost white eyes darted hesitantly between Sul and Attrebus.
Attrebus almost didn’t notice the sword, it was so much a part of Elhul, just an extension of his arm with its tip resting on the floor.
He glanced at Sul long enough to see the dark stain spreading on his arm.
“I told you-” Sul began, but Elhul was suddenly bouncing toward Attrebus with unbelievable speed. There was no attempt at technique; Umbra chopped down toward him like a cleaver. He met the blade with Flashing’s flat edge.
The blow drove him to his knees and sent arrows of pain into his shoulder. Gasping, he flung himself forward in an attempt to tackle the apparition-but although Elhul looked as if he only weighed sixty pounds, he felt as if he were made of cast iron.
Elhul boxed his ears, and Attrebus stumbled back, his head ringing exactly like a bell. Elhul came after him. Lightning crackled about him but he didn’t miss a stride.
Elhul lifted the black sword to strike again, and Attrebus drove Flashing into his solar plexus. Or tried to; the point didn’t break the withered black skin. Still, the impact sent Elhul back a step so that his swing smacked into the cave floor rather than Attrebus’s skull. Attrebus cut hard at his foe’s head; it felt like hitting a statue. Elhul shook it off as Attrebus backed away. Elhul stopped screaming, and then spoke.
“Take it from him,” Elhul said, his voice curiously high-pitched, but imperiously demanding.
“What?” Attrebus said, trying to gain more ground.
“Take the sword from him, you idiot.” He seemed to have a hard time talking. His gaze was full of fury.
Then his eyes changed, and so did his tone.
“Please,” he whispered.
Then he flung himself at Attrebus again. Attrebus jumped back and tripped, throwing Flashing’s point up in a feeble attempt to ward off the thing that had been Elhul Sathil.
But Elhul stopped in mid-stride, his mouth open as if to scream again, though no sound issued. Instead a smoking green fluid vomited out. He clapped his free hand to his head as the same viscous stuff jetted from his eyes and ears. Holes began to burst in his abdomen, and he crumpled, breaking into pieces. Where the vitriol touched stone, it too began to dissolve.
“Get back,” Sul said. “Don’t touch it.”
“I wasn’t considering that, believe it or not,” Attrebus said, trying to keep his breakfast down. “That was-” But he didn’t have a word strong enough for whatever magic Sul had just used.
“It worked,” Sul replied. “I was starting to think nothing would.”
“Congratulations. How’s your arm?”
Sul glanced at the wound as if he had forgotten it.
“Not bad,” he said. “Nothing that won’t heal.”
Attrebus looked back at the remains-which now consisted of a fuming green puddle-and the sword, which seemed untouched.
“What now?” he asked. “We can’t pick it up without becoming like him, as I understand it.”
“Probably not,” Sul said. “Look around-find something to wrap it in. It’s going to be a while before all the acid is gone anyway.”
Only then did Attrebus notice the bodies. Most were merely bones, but a few were still fresh enough to smell.
