Lord of Souls: An Elder Scrolls Novel (21 page)

“Anything I can help you with, inspector?”

Colin looked up from the tome he was studying to find a bent and withered fellow in a burnt umber robe furnished with what was possibly a hundred pockets. His nose took up most of his face, but his keen blue eyes were what drew your attention.

“Professor Aronil,” he said, standing.

“No need for that, old fellow,” the mage said. “Are you finding what you’re looking for?”

“I don’t really know what I’m looking for,” he said.

“Well, that can either be good or bad, can’t it?” Aronil said. “But I don’t remember you as a browser, Colin. You always wanted to get to the point, to the answer. I don’t expect you’ve changed that much.”

“No, I don’t expect I have.”

Aronil peered down at the pages. “Pneumatology? That’s rather your strong suit.”

“Well, I thought so,” Colin replied.

“Is this about the flying city or what-have-you? Because the College of Whispers has the most up-to-date information on those
things. I’ve just seen their most recent report—fascinating, really. The things aren’t bonewalkers—they’re more like flesh atronachs, although they don’t respond the same to arcane stimuli.”

“No, it’s not about that,” Colin said. “I’m assigned internally.”

“I understand,” the mage said. “I shan’t pry more.”

He began to walk away.

“Actually, I would welcome your help,” Colin said. “It could take me weeks at this rate.”

“Well, what’s the problem, then?”

“The problem is that something nearly killed me the other day, and I don’t know what it was.”

“Well, the ‘nearly’ part is encouraging anyway,” Aronil said.

“I don’t like my chances if I meet another one,” Colin said. “I don’t know if that’s even likely, but I always prefer to be prepared.”

“Tell me about it,” Aronil said, pulling over a seat.

“I was searching an apartment,” Colin began. “At first I thought it was a ghost—”

“Presenting, or had you prepared yourself?”

“I went there looking for spiritual remnants,” he admitted.

“So it was probably invisible to the untrained eye.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Colin replied. “The apartment has a resident. I checked into him a little and he’s apparently never claimed his place was haunted or whatever.”

“And he isn’t a mage?”

“No.”

“Fine. Go on.”

Colin related the rest of the encounter, and the old Altmer just sat there for a moment, nodding absently.

“And afterward—the spirit you were looking for?”

“She was there. Not much left of her, though.”

Aronil stood and took a couple of paces. “You’re in dangerous
territory here, Colin. I wonder if you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Just my job,” he replied.

“I can check that, you know,” Aronil said. “I am privy, if I wish to be, to any investigation our organization is running. And one of my charges is to make certain that the library of the Penitus Oculatus isn’t being abused in any fashion.”

“I’m aware of that, sir,” Colin said, as ice formed in his belly. “I don’t believe I’m abusing anything.”

“Last I checked, you were assigned to find any possible Thalmor connection with our current problem. This seems far afield from that, to me. How did you meet this thing? What did you hope to learn?”

He sighed. He couldn’t pretend Aronil didn’t have the clearance.

“You’re right,” he said. “I think the Thalmor angle is a dead end. I’m looking into something else.”

“We’re alone here,” Aronil said. “Tell me.”

“I believed there was a connection to Black Marsh,” he said. “The spirit I was looking for was of a woman who witnessed what may have been the calling of Umbriel into our world.”

Aronil folded his arms.

“I’ve heard the speculation that it must have been summoned here, or at least invited. It arrived in Black Marsh, so I suppose that makes sense, on the surface of it. Do you have proof?”

“Only a strong suggestion,” Colin said.

“Strengthened, perhaps, by the fact that the witness to this event was murdered, presumably for what she saw?”

“Yes.”

“Have you gone to Marall with this?”

“No, I haven’t,” he replied.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Colin said. “Part of it is that I’m not sure who I can trust anymore.”

“And yet you trust me?” Aronil said. “How touching.” His kindly tone had been replaced by a dark rasp.

“Well, I hadn’t thought about whether I trust you,” Colin replied. “I didn’t expect to have to.”

Aronil snorted. “Well, it’s a good thing you can, you idiot.” He strode across the room and up a ladder, and without even looking, it seemed, selected a book and pulled it down. It was bound in some sort of dark red leather and blackened iron bands, but it was quite small, not much bigger than his palm.

“The thing you’re talking about is a very specific variety of daedra. They were often summoned by the Nibenese battlemages who ruled during the times of the Alessian order, but after the War of Righteousness, the relationship they cultivated with this species deteriorated. The knowledge to summon them was lost, or almost so—confined to this volume, do you understand?”

“I’m not sure I do,” Colin answered. “It was powerful, yes—and I don’t want to face another one unprepared—but far worse things are conjured now, from what I’ve heard.”

“Of course. It’s not the creatures themselves you need to worry about. And that’s why I asked if you know what you are doing.”

“Sir?”

“There are certain spells here in the library that few know about. If a book is touched, I can tell who touched it. Before this moment, this book hadn’t been touched in twenty years, and then by only one man, one of the few not of our order with the authority to do so. Would you care to guess who that was?”

“I’m pretty certain I know,” Colin replied. “But it would help me a lot if you told me.”

“Minister Hierem,” Aronil said, his voice nearly a whisper. “He has a curiosity for knowledge of that era. And so why, Colin, are you investigating the second most powerful man in the Empire?”

“Because I have to,” Colin said. “I have no choice.”

“Always aiming for the answer? The point?”

“I guess so.”

The mage looked at the book for a moment before handing it to Colin. “It can’t leave here,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

“Maps,” Colin replied. “But I know where to finds those.”

“You should take what you know to Marall. He’s a good man. You can trust him. On a more pragmatic level, you might well lose your position for this sort of rogue activity.”

“I’m aware of that, professor,” Colin replied. “Thank you for your help.”

“I always liked you, Colin,” Aronil replied. “I’d hate to have to attend your funeral.”

“If this goes wrong, I doubt there will be a funeral,” Colin said, “a burial, maybe—funeral, no.”

Far down the corridor, light appeared, orange and shivering. Shadows moved in it, and then it was gone.

“What was that?” Arese asked, her whisper so faint as to be almost inaudible, though her breath tickled his ear.

“That’s one of the main tunnels,” Colin said. “I’m sure they’re securing them against the siege. They won’t bother with this passage because it doesn’t go anywhere—or doesn’t seem to.”

They had to walk crouched over for another hundred feet before he found the recess in the wall and the mechanism it hid, and then they passed into a chamber large enough to stand in. He closed the hidden panel and then produced a stone that, although it glowed only faintly, illumined everything about it at exactly that same dim luminescence, so it did not outshine what it revealed: a largish room decorated in ghoulish splendor; furniture adorned in grinning, gold-leafed skulls and articulated vertebrae, velvet upholstery figured with obscene rituals of sex and death.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“It was a sort of warren for Julius Primus,” he said, “about twenty years ago.”

“I don’t remember the name.”

“I shouldn’t think so. He rather fancied himself the new King of Worms, a necromancer supreme, a prince of death. In the end he was moderately clever at hiding and being a nuisance. The Penitus Oculatus rooted him out and sent him to his own long sleep.”

“It seems a little silly,” she said, picking up a carving of a skull with a serpent wound about it. “Pretentious.”

“He was theatrical, to say the least. It didn’t save him.”

“And this is underneath the ministry?”

“Relatively so.”

“It’s not on any of our maps,” she said.

“Well—we have better maps,” Colin replied. “We’ve been at it longer.”

“Hmmm. Unless Hierem has charts I don’t know of,” she said. “After all, he might well have been involved with this Julius character.”

“I rather doubt it,” Colin said. “Anyway, this place is not connected to anything in or beneath the ministry.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Because this is where you’re staying,” he said, “until I have this sorted out.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “We’re partners in this. I recruited you, remember?”

“I could hardly forget that,” he told her. “But for what I’m about to do, you would only impede me. You have your gifts, but the shadows aren’t friendly to you, I can see that much. Here you should be safe. I brought food and wine down yesterday. I also left some little tricks to show if anyone has been here since then, and they haven’t.”

She sighed. “Well, that all makes sense, but—”

“If I’m not back in four hours, you can worry about your next move,” Colin said. “But I’m safest working alone.”

She nodded. “I trust you’re right,” she said.

“I’m often wrong,” he replied. “But not about this.”

“About being better able to get in unseen, perhaps—but what then?”

“I’ll find the Emperor’s proof.”

“The journal didn’t satisfy him. What do you imagine will?”

“Documents concerning the voyage, with Hierem’s signature. Even a ship’s manifest would do. He is connected to Umbriel—there must be some evidence of it.”

She looked skeptical. “Even with the key to his private chambers, I doubt you will find anything like that.” She sighed. “I don’t believe the Emperor thinks so either.”

“Why give me the key, then?”

She brushed his bangs with her fingers. “You’re being naive,” she said. “It’s sweet, but now isn’t the time for it.”

“Do you really think the Emperor wants me to kill him?”

“Of course. Why else give you the means?”

“Well, I take him at his word. If he wanted the minister dead, why wouldn’t he just tell me to do it? Or send a more experienced inspector?”

“When Hierem is dead there will be many questions, and they will all lead to you, a member of the Penitus Oculatus, yes, but operating without permission. You were never assigned to follow me, or spy on Hierem, by any superior. It will be easy to paint you as a rogue because—in fact—you are.”

Colin let that settle across his shoulders for a moment. Everything she said made sense; it was all reasonable. He reviewed his conversation with the Emperor and her case grew stronger. Perhaps Titus Mede did mean for him to end Hierem’s threat and then absorb the blame, pay the penalty.

What of it, then? He had signed on for this, hadn’t he? To serve and protect the Empire, even if that meant doing the nasty, horrible things no one ever sang about in ballads?

Even though he was looking down, he could feel Arese’s gaze upon him.

“It may be you’re right,” he said.

“It won’t be easy,” she said. “I believe you will need my help. Together we might manage it.”

“If it comes to that,” he said. “If the Emperor tells me in plain words to kill Hierem, I will. But until then, I do what I’ve been told to.”

“Since when?” she exploded. “We’ve just been over this. You’ve been operating on your own for some time now. Why are you suddenly so concerned with permission and commands?”

“I’m not arguing with any of that,” Colin said. “But I won’t kill Hierem unless I have to.”

“I can’t stay down here forever,” she said softly. “If you won’t help me, I’ll have to try myself.”

“Then this is about your own life.”

“That’s not fair,” she replied. “You know it isn’t.”

“Look, let me try it my way. If it doesn’t work, if I can’t find anything to convince the Emperor to move against Hierem, then we’ll come back to this conversation again, okay? And I’ll at least know more about the layout of his rooms—we won’t be going in blind.”

She stayed stiff for a moment, but then he saw the cords in her neck soften.

“Okay,” she said. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I won’t,” he said. He hesitated, and then leaned forward to kiss her, but she drew back.

“Not now,” she said. “I—just not now.”

“That’s fine,” he said, feeling something twist in his gut.

It was still twisting when he was back out in the sewers. Did
she think she’d made a mistake? Did she regret what they had done? If so, he ought to be relieved. It wasn’t like they were going to get married, raise children, and live in the country. There was no sort of future for them, and pretending there was would only make them stupid now, when they needed all their wits about them.