They entered a large central hall with an enormous table. The walls were hung with the busts of animals-bears, wolves, wild bulls, lions-and also with various sorts of arms and armor, some of which seemed quite exotic.
“I must leave you here,” Nirai said, “but servants will attend you shortly. Only tell them your needs, and they will see to them.”
And with a whisking of robes, she was gone, and they were alone in the hall.
Attrebus paced, examining the swords, spears, maces, and falchions that adorned the walls.
“What does this ‘Umbra’ look like?” he asked.
“A black longsword with red runes on the blade,” Sul replied. “At least when it was seen last.”
“What do you mean?”
“Legend says it has worn other shapes-but it is always a bladed weapon.”
Attrebus started in a hurry, but as the minutes stretched to more than an hour, he had ample time to assure himself that no weapon approaching that description was to be found-not in the great room, anyway.
He was just starting to consider wandering through the rest of the castle when he heard a soft whisper, then a giggle.
He turned, and caught a flash of gray vanishing from the doorway. There was a sudden furious whispering he couldn’t make out, and then, after a moment, a rounded woman with fading red hair came in. She studied them for a moment, then gave a little curtsy.
“My apologies, sirs,” she said. “I hadn’t been informed of your presence. May I be of service?”
“I’m not sure,” Attrebus said. “The lady Nirai brought us here, and said we would be provided with rooms and so forth.”
“Nirai,” she sighed, then cocked an eyebrow. “And so forth?”
“Well, I’m here to do a bit of exploring,” he said, then rambled off his invented job description.
The woman looked a bit disapproving, but she nodded.
“I’ll get rooms ready for you. Meantime I’ll take you to the kitchen-I don’t know what Nirai is thinking, but there will be no meal in the hall tonight.”
“We were hoping to meet Lord Sathil,” Attrebus said.
“Were you?” she replied. “Well, perhaps you will.” She didn’t sound convinced.
She showed them to the kitchen, a smoky, low-ceilinged room with an enormous hearth and two massive oaken tables. To Attrebus’s vast surprise, about thirty people were seated there. None of them were elves; most seemed to be Nord, although there were two Khajiit. They were dressed in plain working clothes. All stood when they entered.
A gnarled old woman at the head of the table raised her head.
“Who is this, then, Yingfry?” she asked.
“Lords Uriel and Ozul,” their escort reported. “From the Empire. Nirai brought them up. They’re here to see the country.”
“Well,” the old woman said, “you gentlemen look hungry. Join us, won’t you?”
“We would be honored,” Attrebus said.
He heard a familiar giggle, and his attention was drawn to a honey-haired young woman with mischievous green eyes.
“Irinja!” the woman said sternly.
“I’m sorry, Eld Ma,” she said. “It’s just he speaks so fine, as if he’s in court.”
“All the more reason to mind your manners,” Eld Ma said. “Lords, please, sit.”
A couple of men made room on the bench, and Attrebus and Sul were soon seated in front of thick trenchers of black bread, boiled venison (or at least it tasted like venison) with wine and honey sauce, fish with butter and vinegar, and roast duck. Their hosts were silent as the two began eating.
“I hope it is to your liking,” Eld Ma said.
“It’s delicious,” Attrebus replied.
“Very good,” Sul added. “Different.”
Eld Ma leaned back. “We know the food of Morrowind, lord,” she said. “If I had known you were coming, we would have cooked in that manner.”
“You misunderstand me,” Sul replied. “I was paying a compliment. I don’t care to be reminded of Morrowind.”
“Ah,” a bald-headed fellow piped up. “Lord Sathil is the same; he prefers our cuisine, our ways. But the lady, she prefers the tastes of her people-especially hluurn, and other things made from Marshmerrow.”
“Val,” Eld Ma said, quietly, “didn’t the gentleman just say he didn’t like to be reminded?”
“Oh, right,” Val said. “Sorry.”
“No harm,” Attrebus cut in. “We’re just glad of the hospitality.” He lifted his mug of warm ale. “To each of you,” he said.
They all toasted, and when he didn’t continue, began talking among themselves, a low chatter rising-talk of tasks to be done that afternoon, complaints about the work of the morning, simple things, confirming his suspicion that these were castle servants, not masters. He ate and listened, hoping to hear something useful, but when the end of the meal came he didn’t know much more than when it began.
Yingfry took them up three flights of stairs to two adjacent rooms, both quite large, both with fireplaces already blazing. When she was gone, they met together in Attrebus’s room.
“What do you think is going on here?” Attrebus asked Sul.
The Dunmer scratched his chin. “I don’t know much about the Sathils, other than remembering the name.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that we haven’t met him yet? That we were left to eat with servants?”
“Not really,” Sul said. “I don’t know the man. Neither do you. Perhaps he is reclusive. Or very busy.”
“Very busy with what?”
“Again, I don’t know him, and we hardly know anything about this place.”
“Well, if we never see him, how do we find the sword?”
Sul blinked. “Was that your plan? Just to ask him about it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then why this whole demented story about you being a naturalist?” Sul demanded.
“I don’t know. ‘Hello, I’m crown prince Attrebus, I’ve just come from Oblivion, where I was eviscerated by something and then healed by a god so I can try to find the sword that will help me defeat the flying city of Umbriel and its army of undead’ just seemed like an implausible way to go.”
“Right,” Sul grunted. “You had a good instinct. But asking outright where the sword is would seem to run counter to it, wouldn’t you think?”
“I could just ask him if he has any unusual artifacts I can write about. We don’t have a lot of time, Sul.”
“He let us in,” Sul said. “He seems to have an interest in sorcerers. Let’s continue to follow your first instinct and see what happens. At least for another day.”
Attrebus studied Sul for a moment, trying to see if he was making fun of him. Even now it was hard to tell.
“Okay, then,” he said.
“Get some sleep,” Sul replied.
Attrebus turned in, but every time he closed his eyes, he felt his belly open and the wet, impossible gush of his innards into the basket of his arms. Sleep felt too near death, and after half an hour of lying there, watching the faint crack and glow of the flames, he rose, dressed in breeches and shirt, and quietly padded into the hall. He dithered for a moment, feeling vulnerable in the near-black. He’d thought he might explore a bit, but without a torch or lantern, he wouldn’t be able to see much. He took a few steps along the wall and stopped, not entirely sure why.
Then he felt breath touch his face.
SIX
“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.”