“Into Oblivion?”

“Yes. He’d heard that the gate at Kvatch had been closed somehow by entering it. So Ione went in with about half of his troops and left the rest here, to guard against anything else coming out.”

“It looks like he closed it.”

“It closed, but Captain Ione was never seen again. One of his men—a Bosmer named Fenton—appeared weeks later, half dead and half mad. From what little he said that made sense, they reckoned Ione and the rest sacrificed themselves to give Fenton the chance to sabotage the portal. The Bosmer died the next day, raving. Anyway, Ione was gone for a long time before the gate exploded, and in the meantime his company built some fortifications and simple buildings. Once the gate was gone, it was a convenient and relatively safe place, so a lot of people stayed, and over time the town grew.”

He turned about, spreading his arms. “That’s why I like this Ione. Because it’s new, because it speaks to the spirit of heroism that lies at the heart of each of us. Yes, there are no quaint old buildings or First Era statues, but it’s an honest place built by brave people.”

“And you have a house here?” Radhasa asked.

“A hunting lodge, in the hills just across town.”

“That’s quite a hunting lodge,” the Redguard said when they entered the gate.

Something about the tone irked him, made him feel a bit defensive. It wasn’t that big. It was built on the plan of an ancient Nord longhouse, each beam and cornice festooned with carvings of dragons, bulls, boars, leering wild men, and dancing, longtressed women.

“I suppose after the simplicity of Ione, it comes as a bit of a shock,” Attrebus admitted. “My uncle built it about fifteen years ago. He used to bring me down here, and left it to me when he died.”

“No, I didn’t mean to criticize it.”

And yet, he somehow felt she had been critical of something.

He pushed past it. There were other matters at hand now.

“They’re all here, Gulan?” he asked.

“They are.”

“And the provisions?”

“You had plenty in your stores. More than we can carry.”

“Well, I don’t see any reason to dally, then.”

He raised his voice and spread his arms.

“It’s good to have you with me, my brothers and sisters in arms,” he called out. “Give us a shout. The Empire!”

“The Empire!” they erupted enthusiastically.

“Today we ride to the unknown, fellows. Against something I believe to be as deadly and dangerous to our world as that Oblivion gate down there was when it opened—maybe more so. We’ve never done anything this dangerous; I’ll tell you that now.”

“What is it, Treb?” That was Joun, an orc of prodigious size even for his race.

He settled his hands on his hips and lifted his chin. Then he laid it out for them.

When he was finished, the silence that followed had an odd, unfamiliar quality to it.

“I know there are only fifty-two of us,” he said, “but just below us Captain Ione went into Oblivion with fewer than that and shut down that gate. The Empire expects no less from us—and we are better equipped in every way than he was. Even better, we have someone there, inside this monstrous thing—someone to lead us in, help us find the heart and rip it out. We can do this, friends.”

“We’re with you, Treb!” Gulan shouted, and the rest of them joined him, but it seemed, somehow, that a note was still missing. Had he finally asked too much of them?

No, they would follow him, and this would knit them all the more tightly as a band.

“An hour, my friends, to settle yourselves for the ride. Then we begin.”

But as they dispersed, there seemed to be much furtive whispering.

The grass still sparkled with dew when they reached the Red Ring Road, the vast track that circumscribed Lake Rumare. Across the morning gold of the lake stood the Imperial City itself, a god’s wagon-wheel laid down on an island in the center of the lake. The outer curve of the white wall was half in shadow, and he could make out three of what would—in any other city—be deemed truly spectacular guard towers. But those were dwarfed by the magnificent spoke of the wheel—the White-Gold Tower, thrusting up toward the unknowable heavens.

He saw Radhasa also staring at the tower.

“It was there before the city,” he told her. “Long before. It is very old, and no one is quite sure what it does.”

“What do you mean, ‘what it does’?”

“Well—understand first I’m not a scholar of the tower.”

“Understood. But you must know more than I.”

“Well, some think that the White-Gold Tower—and some other towers around Tamriel—help, well, hold the world up, or something like that. Others believe that before the Dragon broke, the tower helped protect us from invasion from Oblivion.”

“It holds up the world?”

“I’m not saying it right,” he replied, realizing he couldn’t actually remember the details of that tutorial. “They help keep Mundus—the World—from dissolving back into Oblivion. Or something like that. Anyway, everyone seems to agree it has power, but no one knows exactly what kind.”

“Okay,” she replied, and shrugged. “So how do we get to Black Marsh?”

“We’ll come to a bridge in a bit and cross the Upper Niben. From there we’ll take the Yellow Road southeast until we cross the Silverfish River. Then it’s overland—no roads after that except the ones we make.” He grinned at the thought of being in wild country again.

“I wish I knew more about Cyrodiil.”

“Well, you have an opportunity to learn now.”

She was silent for a moment. “This person—the spy on the floating island—how do you speak to them?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Of course I ‘believe’ you, my Pri—ah, Treb. I’m just curious. Do you have some sort of scrying ball, like in the old tales?”

“Something like that,” he replied.

“Very mysterious,” she answered.

“Must keep a bit of mystery,” he replied.

“We certainly must,” she said with a flirty grin.

At noon they stopped to water the horses in the springs near the overgrown ruins of Sardarvar Leed, where the ancient Ayleid elves had once herded his ancestors, bred them for work and pleasure. Attrebus found a quiet spot and took the bird from his haversack.

He saw Annaïg’s hands, working at some sort of dough, the cherry red fire pits beyond, and the hellish creatures that swarmed about the place. He dared not say anything now, but something in him needed to see what she saw, to make sure she was alive and well. His father and Hierem were right, in a way; this was in part about Annaïg. She’d picked him to send Coo to because she believed in him, because she knew that he would answer her prayers and do this thing that needed doing, even if that meant opposing his own father.

He had no intention of letting her down, and tonight, when they could whisper to each other across the leagues, he would give her the good news that he was on the way.

He was still thinking about that an hour later when he heard a dull whump and half of his men caught fire. For a moment he could only stare, as if watching a theatric. He saw Eres and Klau staggering, beating their hands at the blue flames that engulfed them, their mouths working to produce sounds unrecognizable as human. There was Gulan, not burning but trying to beat the fire off of Pash, but then he suddenly had strange quills growing from his back.

It finally settled through to his brain that they were ambushed, and he drew his sword, looking wildly for the enemy as arrows came whirring from every direction. Radhasa was still next to him, her own weapon drawn and an odd look of joy on her face.

The last thing he saw was her blade swinging toward his head.