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.
Annaig 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,” Annaig 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. Annaig 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,” Annaig 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,” Annaig 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,” Annaig 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 Annaig-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 Annaig 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 Annaig-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.
Annaig 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.
