Lord of Souls is a novel set in The Elder Scrolls universe, that was published by Del Rey on September 27th, 2011. It is written by Gregory Keyes and picks up where The Infernal City left off. It bridges the gap between Oblivion and Skyrim.
Lord of Souls was first published on September 1st, and mass published on September 27th 2011 by Del Rey.
Reeling from a devastating discovery, Prince Attrebus continues on his seemingly doomed quest to obtain a magic sword that holds the key to destroying the deadly invaders. Meanwhile, in the Imperial City, the spy Colin finds evidence of betrayal at the heart of the empire—if his own heart doesn’t betray him first. And Annaïg, trapped in Umbriel itself, has become a slave to its dark lord and his insatiable hunger for souls.
Lord of Souls received mixed reviews from critics, with an average rating of 3.45 / 5 stars.
LORD OF SOULS
An Elder Scrolls Novel, Book 2
Attrebus never saw the thing that cut open his belly and sent his guts spilling out into his arms. It happened in the dark, and the only things he remembered other than the agony was the stink of his bowels and something like rotting ginger-and Sul dragging him along, cursing in a language Atrrebus didn't understand.
Now the pain-for so long the only real thing to him-was fading as his body finally understood it was done.
It was possible he was dead already-he wasn't sure what death was supposed to be like. He hadn't paid that much attention to such things when he should have.
He started, as from a dream of falling, and for a moment he thought he was was falling, because all of his weight had vanished. With an effort he opened his eyes, but there wasn't much to see; the air was full of ash, a gray cloud that extended in every direction. He saw his companion Sul a few yards from him but steadily drifting off. Presently the dust would make him a shadow, and then nothing at all.
It was hard to breathe; the gray powder cloyed in his nostrils and mouth. After a few more breaths he realized that soon enough his lungs would fill up with the stuff and that would be that.
It was so hard to care. He was weak, tired, and even if he lived, the things he still had to do seemed impossible. No one could blame him if he quit, could they? Not now.
No one would even know.
And so he drifted, the ash caking his blood-soaked gambeson and hands, enclosing him like a shroud, preparing him almost gently for the moment his heart finally stopped.
In the darkness behind his eyes little sparks appeared and died, each dimmer than the last, until only one remained, fading. In it he saw the face of a young woman, tiny as with distance, and from somewhere heard a vast chorale of despair and terror that seemed to fill the universe. He saw his father on a burning throne, his face blank, as if he didn't realize what was happening to him. The wavering colors expanded, pushing the murk away, and the woman appeared again as his father faded. He knew her features, her curling black hair, but he couldn't remeber her name. He noticed she was holding something up for him to see; a little doll that looked like him, but couldn't be him, because it was stronger, smarter, better than he was, made in the image of a man incapable of giving in or giving up.
She kissed the doll lightly on the head and then looked at him expectantly.
And so, beginning to weep, he cracked his dust-caked lips and summoned the air that remained in his lungs.
"Sul," he croaked.
The other man was hardly visible, a darker patch in the ash.
"Sul!" This time he managed to shout it, and pain lanced through him again.
"Sul!" Now it seemed to thunder in his ears, and everything spun.