“It does,” Sul said. “But I already have that.” He tapped his head, then swung himself up on his horse.
Attrebus began saddling his own mount.
“What are you doing?” the Dunmer asked.
“You said you wanted allies. I’m going to see what I can do.”
Sul looked as if he tasted something bad. “Let me check things out first,” he said. He switched his reins and rode off.
Attrebus watched him go, then resumed making his horse ready.
“You’re going into town, too?” Lesspa asked.
Attrebus nodded. “Yes. There’s a garrison there, and I know the commander. I need to send word to my father I’m still alive. I might even be able to recruit a few more men.”
“We aren’t enough for you, Prince?”
“Yes,” Attrebus said. “About that. I appreciate your help up to this point, but you deserve to know what we’re up against. When you’ve heard me out, if you still want to go, that’s great. But if you don’t, I’ll understand.”
“My ears are twitching,” she replied.
And so he told her about Umbriel—or at least everything he knew about it—and about Sul’s plan to reach Morrowind. When he finished, she just regarded him for a moment. Then she made a little bow.
“Thank you,” she said. Then she walked back over to her people.
He finished saddling, then splashed a bit of cold water from the stream on his face and shaved. By the time he was done with that, he noticed one of the Khajiit tents was already down.
He sighed, but part of him was relieved. He needed them, yes, but the thought of leading more people to be slaughtered was a hard one.
His mood lifted a little as he entered the town and felt—for the first time since crossing the border—that he was really back in the Empire, in his element. The shops—many with freshly painted signs—cheered him, as did the children laughing and playing in the streets. A question merrily answered by a girl drawing water from the well at the town center sent him toward the Imperial garrison, a couple of wooden barracks flanking an older building of dark stone. A guard stood outside the door, wearing his father’s colors.
“Good day,” the guard said as he drew near.
“Good day to you,” Attrebus replied, watching for the glimmer of recognition, but either the man did not know his face or was good at concealing his reactions. “Can you tell me who is on post here?”
“That would be Captain Larsus,” the fellow said.
“Florius Larsus?” Attrebus asked.
“The same,” the guard replied.
“I should like to see him,” Attrebus said.
“Very good. And whom shall I say is calling?”
“Just tell him it’s Treb,” he replied.
The guard’s eyes did widen a bit, and he went into the building. A moment later the door swung open and Florius appeared. He looked irritated at first, but when his gaze settled on Attrebus, his jaw hung open.
“By the Divines,” he said. “You’re supposed to be dead!”
“I hope I get to have my own opinion about that,” he answered.
Larsus bounded over to him and clapped him on the shoulders. “Great gods, man, get in here. Do you even know how many men your father has out looking for you?”
Attrebus followed him into a simple but ample room with a desk, a few bookshelves, and a cabinet from which Larsus produced a bottle of brandy and two cups.
“If everyone thinks I’m dead, then why does my father have men out searching for me?”
“Well, he doesn’t believe it. But the rumor is they found your body.”
“Some rumors are better than others.”
Larsus poured the brandy and passed the cup to Attrebus.
“Well, it’s good to see you alive,” the captain said. “But don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me what happened.”
“My companions were all slain, and I was taken captive. They took me to Elsweyr with the intention of selling me, but they ended up dying instead. And so here I am.”
“That’s—I don’t know what to say. Are you alone?”
“Yes,” Attrebus lied.
“Well, you look well enough. A little battered—listen, I’ll arrange for your transport home immediately, and send a courier ahead to let your father know the good news.”
“Send the courier,” Attrebus said. “But I won’t be returning to the Imperial City.”
Larsus frowned, but at that moment another fellow entered the room—a man with sallow Breton features and curly black hair. He looked familiar—Attrebus was sure he had seen him at court, or at least in the palace.
“Riente,” Larsus said. “See who it is!”
Riente cocked his head to the side, and then bowed. “Your highness,” he said. “It’s wondrous to see you alive.”
“Captain Larsus and I were just discussing that,” Attrebus said.
“Well, I shouldn’t intrude, then,” Riente said. “I only came to report that the matter at the Little Orsinium Tavern is cleared up.”
“Thank you, Riente.”
“Captain, majesty,” he said, bowing again before vanishing through the door whence he’d come.
Larsus turned back to Attrebus. “Now, Treb, what are you talking about? My orders are to return you to the Imperial City without delay.”
“I’m giving you different orders,” Attrebus said.
“You can’t countermand your father.” He paused and looked a bit sheepish. “My orders include permission to restrain you if necessary.”