The Infernal city

“You put yourself and your desires ahead of our people, Sul. And all you see is the result.”

“You’re twisting it all up,” Sul said. “You know what happened.”

Vuhon shrugged again. “It’s not important to me anymore. Did you find the sword?”

“What sword?”

Vuhon’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you didn’t find it. My taskers certainly haven’t.” His voice rose and his calm broke. Attrebus suddenly seemed to hear boundless anger and violence in the Dunmer’s tone. “Where is it?” he shouted.

“What do you want with it?” Attrebus asked.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“I think everything about you is my concern,” Attrebus snapped back. “Whatever happened in the past, you’re many thousands of times a murderer now. All those people in Black Marsh …”

Vuhon sat back, seemed to relax. His voice became once again maddeningly tranquil.

“I can’t really deny that,” he admitted.

For a moment Attrebus was stunned by the casual confession.

“But why?” he asked finally.

“Look around you,” Vuhon said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Almost against his will, Attrebus once again took in the sight of Umbriel.

“Yes,” he was forced to confess.

“This is my city,” Vuhon said. “My world. I do what I must to protect it.”

“Protect it from what? How does destroying my world save yours? Are there no souls to feed on in Oblivion?”

Vuhon seemed to consider that for a moment.

“I’m not sure why I should waste my time telling you,” he replied. “I’ll most likely have to kill you anyway.”

“If that’s so, why haven’t you done so?”

“There are things you know that might be helpful to me,” Vuhon replied. “Or, if you could be convinced, do for me.”

“Convince me, then,” Attrebus said. “Explain all of this.”

Vuhon ran his thumb under his lips and shrugged.

“Sul told you how we were cast into Oblivion? How we met Umbra, and the deal I made with him?”

“Yes,” Attrebus replied. “And how you tortured him.”

Vuhon’s grin turned a little nasty. “Yes, but I grew bored with that. I could never torture him as much as he tortured himself.”

“A problem I won’t have with you,” Sul said.

“Ah, Sul. You really haven’t changed.”

The red bowls were gone, replaced by skewers of slowly writhing orange caterpillars.

“Vile had made it impossible for Umbra to leave his realm, and after your escape, Sul, he tightened his walls further so that I couldn’t leave either, even if I’d had the means. The only way to escape was to circumvent his restriction, to remain in his realm, at least in a way. I built my ingenium, I powered it with Umbra and the energies he had stolen from Vile. I turned our city, wrapped those circumscribed walls around it. Twisted it like a sausage maker twists a casing to form a link, the way a child might an inflated pig’s bladder to form a double ball. Twisted it until it broke loose, like a bubble.”

He bit one of the caterpillars, and it exploded into a butterfly, which he caught by the wing and devoured.

“That was a long time ago,” he went on. “We’ve drifted through many realms and places beyond even Oblivion. We cannot leave the city—Vile’s circumscription still surrounds it. Nor would I want to leave it—I’ve come to love this place I built. To survive in those long spaces between the worlds, we had to become a little universe of our own, a self-sustaining cycle of life and death and rebirth, a continuum of matter and spirit—all powered, manipulated, mediated by my ingenium. We’ve moved beyond the inefficiency some call ‘natural,’ and in doing so approach perfection. Everything here is in a real sense a part of everything else, because all flows from the ingenium.”

Sul—off to the right and in the corner of Treb’s vision—made a sudden gesture with his hands. Without turning his head, Attrebus shifted his gaze the tiniest bit. The Dunmer’s lips moved in an exaggerated fashion.

Keep him talking, Attrebus thought he was saying.

Attrebus put his full focus on Vuhon, who didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Not so self-sustaining,” he countered. “Your world feeds on souls from the outside world.”

Vuhon nodded. “I said we ‘approach’ perfection. Beyond Mundus, our need for sustenance is minimal. In some places, not necessary at all. Here, on this heavy plane of clay and lead, much more is required.”

“Then why have you come here?”

“Because this is one place that Clavicus Vile cannot pursue us, at least not in the fullness of his power.”

“Then you’ve won,” Attrebus said. “You’re free. Why are you still running? Surely there must be some way to land this thing—in a valley, a lake—someplace?”

“It’s not that simple,” Vuhon answered. “Vile can still work against us. He can send mortal followers to assassinate me, for instance.” He nodded pointedly at Sul.

“Sul’s not an agent of Clavicus Vile,” Attrebus protested.

“Do you know that? He was in Oblivion for a long time. And he hates me enough to make whatever bargains he thinks will get him his revenge. But that aside—Umbriel isn’t fully in your world yet.”

“Yet?”

Vuhon shook his head. “No, we remain a sort of bubble of Oblivion in Mundus, and as such we’re vulnerable. But I’ve found a way to change that, and to be free of Clavicus Vile forever.”

“And you need this sword of Umbra to do that?”

Again, that sudden uncharacteristic rage seemed to rise up in Vuhon.

“No,” he all but snarled.

“But you do want it,” Sul said, breaking his long silence. “It can still undo you, can’t it? Where is Umbra, Vuhon? You said he powers your ingenium. If Umbra is re-imprisoned in the sword, what becomes of your beautiful city?”

Vuhon seemed to be actually shaking with rage. He closed his eyes and drew long deep breaths. When he finally did speak again, it was in even tones.

“We didn’t come just for the sword,” he said. “I came to repair the rift into Vile’s realm, and now that’s done. Umbra wanted to find the weapon, and we shall still look for it, but we have other agents that can do that. If you know where it is, I will find out, I promise you. But it’s time to turn my attentions elsewhere.”

“Why didn’t you use these other ‘agents’ of yours in the first place?” Attrebus asked.

“They couldn’t have sealed the rift. Besides, this little meander gave me time to build my army. It’s already marching, you know. The walkers need not remain near Umbriel—they can go where I choose.” He scratched his chin. “And here is where you might prove yourself useful to me, Prince Attrebus,” he said.

“Why should I want to do that?” Attrebus asked.

“To preserve your own life, and the lives of many of your people. And to finally be the man you want to be.”

A little spark traveled up his spine. “What do you mean, ‘the man I want to be’?”

“I mean I suspect that your adventures have probably caused you to learn that much of your fame is based on fraud.”

“How do you know that?” Attrebus asked, backing away. “If you’ve just come from Oblivion …”

“Don’t you see?” Sul shouted. “He has someone inside the palace. That’s who tried to have you killed.”

“Is this true?” Attrebus challenged.

“Your fame was the problem, apparently. My ally feared you might create popular demand to attack Umbriel before we were ready, and to make the siege more bitter.”

“Siege?”

“Regrettably, I must attack the Imperial City. I suspect they will resist.”

“Why must you attack the city?”

“I need the city,” Vuhon said. “Specifically, I need to reach the White-Gold Tower. Then all of this can end. The