The Infernal city

Glim nodded.

“Xhuth!”

Because somewhere in the passages, she could hear voices shouting, several of them.

“Come on,” she said, and started up another branch of the tunnel.

They kept going, taking random branches, but the voices were gradually growing louder, and there was little doubt in her mind now that they were being pursued.

Whenever they came to a turn that seemed to go down, she took it, reasoning that so far they hadn’t been bothered by anything from that direction, but inevitably the passages seemed to move them upward.

She couldn’t have known, could she? How big this was all going to be, how utterly beyond her? It was ridiculous.

As if the gods had decided to punctuate that thought, the tunnel suddenly debouched onto a steep ledge that vanished into the interior space of the island.

She drew up short, panting, but Glim grabbed her arm and they were suddenly skittering down the tilted surface. Her surprise was so complete that all thought was pushed from her brain by white light, so when the Argonian caught a knob at the edge and swung them sharply down and under, she had nothing to be relieved about. She found herself on a rounded, springy surface.

It was one of the web sacs.

Glim pulled her up to where the thing was anchored to the stone, the sloping shelf now a ceiling above them, and they crouched there, trying to calm their breathing for many long moments.

A voice suddenly spoke above them, in a tongue that sounded teasingly familiar. The voice might have been that of a man or mer. Another, stranger voice replied. This time she caught a few words; it was Merish dialect of some sort. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds.

“—could be dead already,” she made out.

“We can’t take that chance. He’ll have our heads if another vehrumas gets them.”

“Who else is looking for them?”

“Word gets around fast. Come on, let’s try this way.”

The two continued talking, but the sounds grew gradually more distant until they faded away.

As the voices diminished, she heard Mere-Glim resume breathing.

“I don’t suppose you understood any of that?” he asked.

“Remember how you used to make fun of me for studying old Ehlnofex?” she asked.

“A dead language? Yes.” His throat expanded and he huffed. “They were speaking Ehlnofex?”

“No, but it was enough like it for me to understand it.”

“And?”

“Someone saw us fly up here. They’re searching for us.”

“Who?”

“Whoever lives here. There was a word I didn’t understand—vehrumas—but it sounds like there are more than one bunch trying to find us.”

“Wonderful. So what do we do?”

To her surprise, she suddenly knew.

She fumbled in her jacket and pulled out Coo.

“Go to the Imperial City,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “Find Crown Prince Attrebus. Speak only to him, hear only in his presence. He will help us.” She saw him in her mind’s eye, her own imagining based on the portraits she had seen.

Coo clicked and tinged, and then flew off, dodging gracefully through the filaments, diminishing, a speck, gone.

“How does that help us?” Glim asked. “Why should Attrebus care what happens to us?”

“This thing isn’t stopping at Lilmoth,” she told him. “It’ll go on, through all of Tamriel. And you’re right, we can’t stop it, you and I. Most likely we’ll die or be captured. But if we can survive a little while, until Coo reaches Attrebus—”

“Listen to yourself.”

“—if Coo reaches him, and at least one of us survives, we can tell him what’s happening. Attrebus has armies, battlemages, the resources of an empire. What he doesn’t have is any information about this place.”

“Neither do we. And it will be days, at least, before Coo reaches the Imperial City—if he does.”

“Then we have to survive,” she said. “Survive and learn.”

“Survive what? We don’t even know what we’re up against.”

“Well, then let’s find out.”

“I have a better idea,” Glim said, pointing to the oily black snout emerging from the cocoon. “Let’s grab onto one of those strands and ride it to the ground.”

Annaig frowned. “They’re moving too fast. Anyway, then we’d just be down there where everything is dying.”

He paused, looked at her as if she was crazy, and then rolled his eyes.

“You were kidding,” she said.

“I was kidding,” he confirmed.

The filaments that anchored the web sacs to the stone gave them purchase to climb down to the next ledge, where they found another tunnel. They went in quietly, mindful of what had happened before. As before, the way tended either upward and outward or back into the vault. After perhaps an hour they came across one of the now familiar cables.

Less familiar was the person licking it.

He hadn’t seen them yet.

It was a man, naked from the waist up and clad in loose, dirty trousers rolled tight at his waist. His shape and features were those of a human or mer, except that his eyes were a bit larger than normal and recessed more deeply into his face. His hair was unkempt, greasy, and dingy yellow.

She motioned Glim back, but the fellow’s gaze snapped over to them, and he stopped licking the cable.

“Lady!” he exclaimed, in the same dialect she’d heard before, bending his head and battering his forehead with his knuckles. “Lady, this isn’t at all what it looks like!”

Annaig just stared for a moment.

“Lady?” the man repeated. She saw fear in his eyes, but puzzlement as well. Clearly he thought he knew who —or more likely, what—she was.

The man’s eyes widened further and he stepped back as Glim emerged.

“What is it, then?” Annaig asked, trying to sound haughty. “What is it if it’s not what it looks like?”

“Mistress,” the man replied. “I hope you understand what you saw just now was just appearances. I wouldn’t actually—”

“Lick the cable? That’s exactly what it looked like you were doing.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a funny accent, lady. Some of the words are strange. I’ve never heard them. And your companion …”

“Who are you?” Annaig asked, feeling her feeble attempt at a bluff crumbling.

“Wemreddle,” the man replied. “Wemreddle of the Bolster Midden, in fact, if you must know.” He lifted a finger and shook it. “You’re not supposed to be here either.” He waved violently at Glim. “And there’s no such thing as you, you know. No. No such thing as you. You’re the ones they’re talking about. The ones from outside. From down there.”

“Look,” Annaig said, “we don’t mean anyone any harm—”

“No, listen,” Wemreddle said. “I’m of the Bolster Midden, didn’t I tell you? What business do I have with them upstairs? Sump take them and keep them. But come on now. I’ll get you safe and cozy. Come on with me.”

“He’s not armed,” Glim lisped, in their private cant. “I can kill him.”

“You’ve never killed anyone.”

“I can do it.” There was a new hardness in his voice.

Wemreddle stepped back. “I mean to help.”