The Infernal City (18 page)

Well, Prince, he thought, congratulations. Well done.

“Stay away from the bodies,” he told the royal guardsmen. He didn’t have to tell his own people; they were professionals. “Put sentinels on the road and in the woods. Stop any wagons and route foot and horse traffic well around this. Tell them a bunch of ogres have set up camp and we have to clear ’em out.

“Gerring, you start the search for witnesses. Every house, every shack in the area. Hand, you go to Ione and Pell’s Gate. Guilliam—you take Sweetwater and Eastbridge. Be discreet. See who’s saying what in the taverns. You know what to do.”

He nodded at a flurry of “Yes, inspector” but kept his gaze on the scene.

Most had been struck by arrows and had either died of that or of having their throats very professionally slit later. A sizable fraction had been immolated, presumably by sorcery. The attackers, interestingly, either hadn’t had any casualties or—if they had—didn’t leave them behind.

The arrows he recognized as belonging to an insurgent faction from County Skingrad that called themselves the “Natives.” A number of the bodies had been beheaded, a practice also in keeping with that same nasty bunch of thugs.

He stopped in front of one body that was burnt but not incinerated. Bits of clothing and jewelry still clung to it and a notably large ring. The head was missing.

“Too convenient,” he murmured as he took a closer look at the ring. As he suspected, it was the signet ring of Crown Prince Attrebus.

Of course, if it had been the Natives, they would certainly have singled out Attrebus’s head as the best trophy. But then, why leave the ring?

“Oh, sweet gods,” someone gasped. “It’s the prince.”

Irritated, Colin turned to find Captain Pundus dismounted and standing a few feet away.

“Captain, I asked you to stay clear of the bodies.”

Pundus reddened. “See here, I’m the leader of this expedition. Who do you imagine you are, shouting orders at me and my men?”

“You were the leader of this expedition until we found
this
,” Colin said, parting his hands. “Now I am in charge.”

“On whose authority?”

Colin removed a scroll from his haversack and handed it to the captain.

“You know the Emperor’s signature, I assume?”

Pundus’s eyes were trying to pop out of his head. He nodded rapidly.

“Good. Then set your men to divert traffic, as I requested, and
advise them not to speak of anything they’ve seen here. I advise you the same.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain said.

“After I’m done, we’ll need wagons, enough to hold the bodies. We’ll want them covered, as well. See if you can locate some in the nearby towns. And again, not a word.”

“Sir.” The captain nodded, remounted, and rode off.

He looked around a few more moments, then took a deep breath. He found the spark in himself that belonged not to the world, but to Aetherius, to the realm of pure and complete possibility.

He was lucky—this was easy for him. If he’d needed to start a fire or walk on water, it would require training, a mental sequence worked out by someone else to convince him that such things could be done. But for what he was doing, he need only focus and pay attention, look beneath the rock that everyone else didn’t notice.

The scene darkened and blurred, and for a moment he thought there was nothing left, but then he saw two spectral forms. One, a woman, was staring down at her body. The other, a man, was crouched into the roots of a large tree.

The man was closer, so he took the few steps necessary. He was already starting to feel himself weakening, the spark fading, so he knew he should hurry.

“You,” he said. “Listen to me.”

Vacant eyes turned to him. “Help me,” the ghost said. “I’m hurt.”

“Help is on the way,” Colin lied. “You need to tell me what happened here.”

“It hurts,” the specter said. “Please.”

“You came here with Prince Attrebus,” Colin pursued.

The man laughed harshly. “Help me up. I just want to go home. If I can get home, I’ll be fine.”

“Who hurt you? Tell me!”

“Gods!” He breathed raggedly, then stopped. His head dropped against the tree.

A moment later it rose again.

“Help me,” he said. “I’m hurt.”

Colin felt a sudden surge of anger at the pitiful thing.

“You’re dead,” he snapped. “Have some dignity about it.”

Almost shaking with fury, he went over to the other spirit.

“What about you?” he asked. “Anything left of you?”

“What you see,” the woman murmured. “Your accent—you’re Colovian, like me.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Where are you from?”

“I was born near Mortal, down on the river.”

“That’s a nice place,” he said, feeling his anger leave him. “Peaceful, with all of those willows.”

“There were willows all around my house,” she replied. “I won’t see them again.”

“No,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, you won’t.”

She nodded.

“Listen,” Colin said, “I need your help.”

“If I can.”

“Do you remember what happened here? Who attacked you? Anything?”

She closed her eyes. “I do,” she said. “We were with the prince, off following some half-cocked scheme of his. Headed for Black Marsh, of all places. We were ambushed.” She sighed. “Attrebus. I knew he would get me killed someday. Is he dead, too?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you did.”

“I didn’t see. First there was fire, and then something hit me, hard. I didn’t even get to fight.”

“Why were you going to Black Marsh?”

“Something about a flying city and an army of undead. I didn’t listen that closely. His quests were usually pretty safe, well in hand before we even arrived, if you know what I mean.”

“The Emperor forbade him to go. He disobeyed.”

“We weren’t sure what to believe,” she said. “Might’ve been part of the game. There were other times like that.” She shook her head. “I wish I could help you more.”

“I think you’ve helped me quite a lot,” Colin said. He looked around at the carnage. “Are you staying here, do you think?”

“I don’t know much about being dead,” she said, “but it doesn’t feel that way. I feel something tugging at me, and it’s stronger all the time.” She smiled. “Maybe I only stayed to talk to you.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No,” she said. “It doesn’t feel bad.” She cocked her head. “You, though—something wrong with you, countryman.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re far from fine,” she said. “You take care of yourself. Maybe next time you see a willow, think of me.”

“I will.”

She smiled again.

He pulled back into himself and the sun returned. They were all just broken dolls again. He thought his head was ringing, but then he understood that it was just birds singing.

He was starving. Unsteadily, he went to find something to eat, and to hear the reports.

“Draeg’s late,” Tsani told Radhasa, her golden tail twitching in agitation. “Really late.”

Attrebus, nearly asleep in the saddle, tried to appear actually asleep, in hopes they might let something useful drop if they thought he couldn’t hear them.

It had taken him two days to figure out there were eight of them, because no more than four were riding guard on him at any given time. The others, he guessed, were scouts—one in front, one in back, one on each flank, and probably pretty far out. Radhasa was a constant, but he was just too out of it at first to realize the other faces were rotating. Now, after a week, he knew all of their names. Tsani, one of four Khajiit in the group, the others being Ma-fwath, J’yas, and Sharwa. Besides Radhasa, there was a flaxen-haired Breton woman named Amelia, a one-handed orc named—not too surprisingly—Urmuk One Hand. He’d had an iron ball fixed to his stump. The missing Draeg was the Bosmer he’d seen earlier, on awakening.

Radhasa didn’t say anything, just tugged at her mount’s reins to guide him down the steep path through increasingly more arid
country. In the last few days the land had risen, and the thick forest and lush meadows of the West Weald had devolved into scrubby oaks and tall grass. Now, on the southern side of the hills, trees were more like big bushes, except when they came to a stream or pool, and tall grass prevailed in clearings.

His spirits had been sinking with the altitude, because he was certain they were already in Elsweyr. It would be more difficult for his friends to find him here; few of them had ever been south of the border, and the cats were less than friendly with the Empire they had once been a part of. Any force that tried to retrieve him might be seen as an invasion.

But then he saw a glimmer of hope in the situation.

By the time they were camping for the night, it was clear to everyone Draeg was probably more than delayed. The glimmer brightened.

“Trolls, probably,” Radhasa opined. “The hills stink with them.”

“I can’t imagine Draeg having trouble with a troll—or much else for that matter,” Sharwa said. “More likely he just decided this deal was too dangerous.”

“We
were
supposed to kill him,” Tsani said. “That’s what we were paid to do. Now we potentially have two powerful enemies—the Emperor and our employer.”

“He will be thought dead,” Radhasa replied. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not—at least not enough to scratch at the money. But Draeg—he’s a worrier.”

“Well, more for us, then,” Radhasa said. “Tsani, you go back and take his position.”

“Fine. Are we going into Riverhold?”

“Are you crazy? It’s swarming with Imperial agents. We’d have to keep his highness gagged, and that might attract attention. No, there’s a little market town a few miles west of there,
Sheeraln. Ma-fwath and J’yas will go in and trade our horses for slarjei and water.”

They came to the crest of the last of the hills before sundown, and the plains of Anequina stretched out to the horizon. He’d always imagined Elsweyr as an unrelieved desert, but here it was green. The tall grass of the upland prairies had been replaced by a short stubble, but that still seemed a far cry from the naked sand he’d been expecting. Streams were visible by the swaying palms, light-skinned cottonwood, and delicate tamarisk that lined them. A herd of red cattle grazed in the near distance.

Riverhold was visible a bit east, sprung up at the convergence of three dusty-looking roads. The walls were saffron, irregular, and not particularly high. Behind them, domes and towers of faded azure and cream, vermilion and chocolate, gold and jet, crowded together like a gaggle of overdressed courtiers waiting in the foyer of the throne room. It was a city that seemed at once tired and exuberant.

He wished they were going there.

But instead they did as Radhasa planned—they followed a goat trail into a copse of trees along a meandering stream, where he was forced to dismount. Then Ma-fwath and J’yas took the horses.

“Bathe,” Radhasa told him. “You’re starting to smell.”

“Hard to do with these bands on.”

“You promise to be good?”

His heart sped a bit. “Yes,” he said.

“Swear it on your honor that you won’t try to run.”

“On my honor,” he replied.

She shrugged, came up behind him, and untied the ropes.

“There,” she said. “Go, then, bathe.”

He stripped off his stinking clothes, feeling watched and somehow ashamed. Radhasa had seen him undressed before—had helped undress him, in fact. He hadn’t felt in the least uncomfortable
then. Now he hurried into the water and submerged himself as quickly as possible.

The water was cool, and felt unbelievably good. He let it wash over him, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate only on the sensation.

It might have been a half an hour before he opened them. When he did, he saw that Radhasa was the only one besides himself in the camp. She was sitting with her back to a tree, not quite facing him. She seemed deep in thought.

Between him and her lay a pile of gear, and protruding from it was the hilt of his sword, Flashing.

He didn’t hesitate, but launched himself out of the water toward the weapon. Radhasa saw him, but even then didn’t seem to understand the situation until he actually had the weapon in his hand. Then she came slowly to her feet.

“You promised,” she accused. “On your honor.”

“I promised not to
run,”
he corrected.

She drew her sword. “Ah,” she said. “I see.”

He circled her, waiting. She wasn’t in armor, so there was no advantage there. And he’d fought her before, knew her signals.

He feinted, but she didn’t twitch. He cut deeper, and she evaded with a quick sidestep. Then she did what he knew she would; her whole body sagged, the tell that she was about to make a hard attack.

She started forward; he threw up his parry and stepped to meet her …

Except that her attack was suddenly short, and he was blocking nothing but air. Then she was in motion again, cutting at his exposed legs. He tried to jump back, but he had too much momentum, and so dropped his blade to parry.

But that was also a feint, and in an instant she was inside, right on him, and her off-weapon hand wrenched at his grip in a
strange, painful manner, and then he was facedown on the ground. Flashing thumped to earth a few feet away.