The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet (83 page)

But then it came again.
Serenthia…

Rising, the merchant’s daughter peered into the nearby jungle.

A pale figure half hidden by the underbrush stared back at her. Serenthia almost shouted his name, so thrilled was she. Then, suddenly more wary, she surveyed those nearby. The nearest sentry was far away, and the other edyrem were asleep. Only she had heard the archer’s voice.

If it
was
actually him.

Suddenly cold with anger that someone might be using his image to lure her, Serenthia seized her spear. She reached out with her power, seeking any hint of another presence, but barely even finding that of the hunter.

There was only one way to settle whether or not this was actually Achilios. Aware that her heart was leading more than her head, Serenthia slipped out of the encampment.

As she neared him, the pale figure retreated deeper into the jungle. Serenthia readied her spear, more wary than ever. She continued to survey the region but still sensed no one but herself and what might be the man she loved.

When they were just out of sight of any possible onlookers, Achilios paused. Serenthia did the same.

“Is it you? Is it you, Achilios?”

He nodded once. “Yes…Serenthia.”

She was still not convinced, although her heart ached to be. “Why now? Why at this point when you fled the other times?”

The archer brushed some loose dirt from his cheek. His effort proved futile. “At first…it was so that…that I would keep you…keep you from seeing me…as I am.”

“Oh, Achilios! You know that I don’t care about—”

He cut her off with a slashing gesture. “I’m
dead,
Serenthia! Dead!”

She would not accept that even such a state meant the end of what had been between them. “With all that I’ve seen, with all that I’ve fought, death doesn’t scare me, Achilios.”

“So it would…would seem.” A rueful smile stretched across his face. “Why did you…have to fall…to fall in love with me…at last?”

It was more than she could take. Still clutching the spear, Serenthia rushed to Achilios. She wrapped her arms around him and held tight. He did not resist, but neither did he imitate her actions.

When it was clear that he would merely stand there, Serenthia finally looked up into his face and happened to see up close the dark, congealed gap where once his throat had been.

It made her gasp and back up, but not for the reasons the archer thought. As Achilios turned bitterly from her, Serenthia realized just how it had appeared to him.

“No! Please! It wasn’t out of fear or disgust! Achilios!” Ignoring how loud her voice was growing, Serenthia cupped his chin in her free hand and made him look into her eyes. “I was angry! Angry for what happened to you!”

He shook his head. “You’re…you’re truly…amazing.”

“I love you, that’s all.” Her eyes narrowed. “You said ‘at first’ that it had to do with not wanting me to see you as you are! What was the reason after that?”

Achilios pushed back from her. He gritted his teeth, as if seeking to keep in the answer. “For the same…for the same reason…that I tried to kill…to kill both you and…and Uldyssian! For the same…for the same reason…I’m finally with you…at last…” The undead hunter looked to his right. “Because of him…”

A brilliant light blossomed from there, one that made Serenthia immediately tighten her grip on her spear. In the midst of that light, she saw the tall figure emerge. Vast wings composed of tendrils of energy rose up behind him.

“Inarius!” Shoving Achilios back, she raised the weapon.

“No, Serenthia…” The archer grabbed her wrist. “Not Inarius…”

“Not—” She had no idea how that was possible to know, never having seen him. All Serenthia had to go by was Rathma’s and Mendeln’s descriptions, which certainly fit the celestial figure before her. True, there were minor details that she thought should have been different, but this was an angel! How many angels were there on Sanctuary, after all?

Belatedly, she recalled that there might be another, but her mind wanted to refuse that. They could not fight two angels.

“He comes…in peace.”

That stirred her anger anew. “Peace? Isn’t this the one who made you shoot at Mendeln and me?”

THAT WAS BEFORE.

The voice resounded in both her head and her heart. Serenthia’s pulse raced.

THAT WAS BEFORE,
the angel repeated, the light around him—light surely visible to all in the camp—pulsating with each word.
WHEN IT WAS NOT CLEAR TO ME THE COURSE NEEDED.

“What does he mean by that?”

“He will…tell you…just be…patient.”

THE EDYREM MUST BE READY,
the angel answered unhelpfully. He did not exactly walk toward them but rather seemed to be closer, then closer yet, then even closer than that.

There was no face, but more something that seemed a visor made of light. The angel was impossibly tall and so bright that Serenthia had to squint a little. She was also surprised that no one had yet come running to see what was going on.

IT IS NOT MEANT FOR THE OTHERS TO SEE US TOGETHER, AND SO THEY DO NOT.

Which meant that, no matter what happened here, the other edyrem would not know the truth. That revived her wariness of the angel.

“Please, Serenthia…please listen…to him. I know…I know that’s much to…to ask…believe me.”

It was only because she was certain that Achilios spoke for himself and not because of some spell of the angel’s that the merchant’s daughter relaxed her grip—a little. “All right. I’ll listen.”

“Mendeln knows, too,” Achilios continued, sounding a bit more human. A bit more…alive. “He knows…and that is why…why he was sent…ahead.”

“To the city? By himself?”

“Mendeln is…never alone…and he of all of…us…can best find Uldyssian…if there’s…if there’s hope.”

Serenthia dared gesture at the angel. “And what does this have to do with him? Why is he now trying to help us?”

It was not Achilios but the winged figure who answered that question.
BECAUSE INARIUS HAS DONE
—
AGAIN
—
THE UNTHINKABLE. HE HAS MADE A PACT WITH ONE OF THE THREE…MADE A WILLING PACT. THAT, TOO, DEMANDED MY COURSE CHANGE.

“One of the Three? Is he referring to the Triune, Achilios?”

“To the…the truth of the…Triune.” The archer grimaced. “You know…you know that demons…demons created it. You know that…the spirits of Mefis, Dialon…and Bala…are not what they…are made to be.”

“No, of course not! They’re each master demons, supposedly the rulers of—” She stopped short as the enormity of what he was trying to tell her finally became clear. “Surely not!” Her eyes wide, she looked to the angel. “One of the…one of the Three? Here?”

The angel dipped his head ever so slightly.
AND PERHAPS THE WORST OF THE THREE…HE WHO IS THE ESSENCE OF TERROR…THE LORD DIABLO.

And as he said the name, Serenthia not only felt a chill throughout her body but sensed that the angel, too, fought back some anxiety. That such a mighty being as the one before her would be unsettled by merely speaking of this master demon gave indication of just how terrible this news was.

Trying to make sense of it, she blurted, “But if this demon is so powerful, how can Inarius risk any pact with him? It’s sure to lead to his downfall.”

AND IT WILL…ALTHOUGH HE DOES HAVE GREAT REASON TO FEEL THAT, IN THE END, IT SHALL BE LORD DIABLO…NAY…ALL OF US…WHO KNEEL BEFORE HIM…

“How is that possible? Was Inarius always so powerful among angels?”

There was a hesitation, as if the figure had to consider carefully what to say.
POWERFUL, BUT NO MORE SO THAN ANY ON THE ANGIRIS COUNCIL…. IT IS HERE…IN THIS WORLD THAT HE HELPED MAKE…WHERE INARIUS WIELDS POWER THAT MAKES THE LORD DEMON SEEK ALLIANCE…IT IS HERE WHERE HE HAS SUCCEEDED IN DISTORTING THE WORLDSTONE FOR HIS OWN GAIN, HIS OWN POWER.

The Worldstone. She knew of it from Uldyssian, knew that it was a phenomenal artifact, a massive crystal, that not only preserved Sanctuary’s presence from the outside but had been manipulated by Inarius once to dampen the latent powers of humans. Lilith had managed to alter its magic slightly, just enough to encourage the rebirth of the nephalem—or, as they were called now, the edyrem.

SOMEHOW HE WAS ABLE TO ALTER THE WORLDSTONE’S FOCUS
—
PERHAPS WITH THE UNKNOWING HELP OF HIS FELLOW RENEGADES
—
THEN BIND HIMSELF UTTERLY TO IT AND THUS ENSURED THAT NONE WHO HAD ASSISTED HIM IN ITS THEFT WOULD BE AS POWERFUL…. IN TRUTH, IT IS ONLY HIS CONCERN FOR DISCOVERY BY THE ANGIRIS COUNCIL THAT PREVENTS HIM FROM DRAWING UPON ITS POWER EVEN MORE.

His words made Serenthia’s hopes plummet. “Then all this time, Uldyssian never had a chance against him? All this time, the Prophet—Inarius—has been toying with us? It’s all been for nothing?”

“No! Not nothing,” Achilios interjected, at the same time seizing her by the shoulders. “Uldyssian is the only one…the only one who might be…be able to actually
defeat
Inarius here!”

“But how is that possible? How?”

“Don’t…don’t you recall what…Uldyssian did, Serenthia? Don’t you…remember…what he said…happened? At the…the Worldstone?”

The Worldstone. Despite the growing turmoil of her thoughts, the raven-haired woman quickly focused on what Achilios had said. Uldyssian had seen this Worldstone. He had been brought to it by Inarius’s son, Rathma. Even Uldyssian’s cursory description of it had left her marveling that such a thing could have been created, much less exist at all.

And then Serenthia recalled what Achilios had been trying to point out.

Uldyssian himself had
altered
the Worldstone in its very makeup. Altered it in a manner that apparently even Inarius could not unmake.

Inarius could
not
unmake it.

“Uldyssian is…the one hope against Inarius,” Achilios acknowledged. “Even he…” The archer pointed at the angel. “Even he can’t alter what Uldyssian did.”

That knowledge stirred her as nothing else could. “Then we need to move on Kehjan as quickly as possible! If we awaken the others now, we can be there in just a few hours. Despite what you say, I’m certain that Mendeln can’t do this by himself. We need to be there, need to march to the gates and tear them down if we must! We’ve got to find Uldyssian!”

The angel—who had yet to give any name—suddenly stood on her other side, causing Serenthia to gasp.
IF YOU WOULD DO SO, THEN YOU WOULD FALL DIRECTLY INTO THE TRAP ALREADY SET INTO MOTION…A TRAP THAT EVEN I CANNOT UNDO AT THIS POINT.

“What? What is it? Is it about Uldyssian?”

IT IS ALL ABOUT YOUR FRIEND.
For the first time, the angel appeared weary.
AND THE LIVES LOST THAT WILL NOW BE BLAMED ON HIM AND THE EDYREM.
He raised a gauntleted hand to her forehead, without permission touching the palm to her skin.
BEHOLD WHAT IS HAPPENING…WHAT WILL HAPPEN…

There was something about this angel that still caused Serenthia concern, but she had no choice but to obey as what felt like her soul was ripped free of her body. Suddenly, she raced along the landscape toward the capital. It reminded her in some ways of the search that she and Uldyssian had made using their powers. That allowed her to regain some of her composure.

Over the massive walls, her view flew, over the walls and into the vast city. Images of buildings raced past, and even people briefly appeared.

Then…and then, somewhere deep in the middle of the city, her gaze dove directly into a heavily walled gray building. She passed through stone as if it did not exist and entered first a small, torchlit chamber and then, almost instantly, a much larger, more elaborate one.

And there Serenthia beheld horror that convinced her of the angel’s every intention.

The mage council consisted of one chosen member from each of the dominant clans, which numbered seven. There were lesser members from the next seven smaller but still powerful ones below those, but they had no vote. They could recommend or bring up articles for debate, though. This gave them some influence and, thus, less inclination to protest the rulings by the senior members. In this manner, the mage council kept order among themselves, even when many clans were involved in bitter and deadly feuds with one another.

There was an additional factor that served to keep the council above the infighting. The enforcement arm had been created to make certain that no mage, whatever his position, escaped punishment for breaking the covenants set in place by the council. It drew to its ranks spellcasters willing literally to give a part of their essence to the council and thus no longer belong to a clan. Such mages were chosen carefully using many criteria, including trust in their determination to see their orders through to the end regardless of the obstacles.

And so, when Amolia appeared in their midst, she was acknowledged by the council and other attending mages as befit her position. The visiting masters of the guilds also eyed her respectfully; to them, the enforcers were the most trusted—if that word could be used for any of those present—of spellcasters.

The current leader of the council—the bearer of the title changed with each new moon in order to maintain fairness—stared down from the high platform where he and his counterparts sat and, in a voice cracked with age, demanded, “Where is this Uldyssian ul-Diomed? You were supposed to return with him!”

“He won’t be coming,” the figure before him replied. “I am here in his place with a message.”

A combination of surprise and disdain crossed more than one wrinkled face among the mages. Several merchants, most of them far more corpulent than the council, also appeared disproving of the announcement.

A well-coiffured figure with an elaborate emerald-encrusted nose ring declared, “We agreed, in great part due to the request of Prince Ehmad and the memory of our own lamented Fahin, to come to this gathering. If the mages have played some trick in cooperation with this Ascenian—”

“The Ascenian has made no advance pact with the council and would be turned away if he dared so,” returned the council leader. “We would not think of such a disrespectful action against our brothers in the guilds….”

Several of the guild masters smiled knowingly. As powerful as the spellcasters were, they depended too much on the guilds’ wares.

Throughout this exchange, Amolia—Malic—remained quiet. Only when all eyes turned back to him for explanation did he continue, as planned. “Master Uldyssian is not coming, but, as I said, I am to be his messenger.”

“‘Master’ Uldyssian?” The council leader grunted. “You have no masters but us, Amolia….”

Bowing low, Malic put a smile on his stolen face. “No longer! Master Uldyssian has shown me the truth. I exist to follow his path and remove from it all he has deemed heretical.”

“What does she mean by that babbling?” demanded a guild master. Several of those beside him rumbled their approval of this question.

Malic turned slowly to face the man. “It means that he has given me the honor of taking the first step toward liberating the people of Kehjan from the mages and the guilds!”

There were shocked protests from all around at this damning statement. On both sides, members of the gathering rose in anger.

Malic suddenly felt the might of the two who had sent him on this mission fill him. He suddenly knew how puny the powers of any of those in attendance were compared with Inarius or the Lord Diablo…or even him now.

“Amolia!” grated the council leader. “Your very words condemn you. Such foolishness! You know too well the hold upon all of your order. It shall be used now to mete out proper punishment for your declared betrayal, after which the Ascenian—Uldyssian ul-Diomed—shall be declared enemy of Kehjan and marked for death by all.”

Roars of approval rose from both spellcasters and guilds. Malic was unconcerned about the threat of punishment to Amolia. As she no longer existed, what essence they had of her was useless.

Besides, it was time for him to follow his commands.

“But it’s not I who is to be condemned,” he retorted, his smile widening. “Master Uldyssian had already condemned all of you!”

Malic did not even have to gesture. All he had to do was stare around him and let the will of the angel and the demon be done.

The tiny, glittering blades formed in the air around him, then shot forth like hungry flies in every direction. They spun with a swiftness that caused each to emit a faint buzzing sound, a sound multiplied by the thousands.

The guild masters certainly had no chance. Some wore protective talismans bought from greedy mages, but none of those so much as slowed the slaughter. The twirling blades cut through thick garments, then flayed flesh. Men screamed and tried to hide, but there was nowhere for them to go, for before unleashing the blades, Malic had sealed the exits.

The mages fared little better than the guildsmen. Most were too caught by surprise to cast any protective spell. A few managed to ward off the initial blades, but the power of Inarius and Diablo far outstripped even the most powerful of those assembled here. What success any mage initially had proved fleeting.

And so they were slaughtered. The gleaming silver blades—shaped like arced slivers—fulfilled their monstrous purpose. Blood splattered the chamber everywhere, so much that it pooled in many spots on the floor. The screams died down, becoming sobs from here and there…and then silence.

There was little left recognizable. Not an inch of skin remained on any of the victims. Aware that the Kehjan methods of torture preferred flaying, the angel and the demon had visited upon the gathering what they felt was quite an appropriate fate.

With the smile still playing over his host’s face, Malic, untouched by either blade or blood, calmly made his way around the chamber. He paused here and there to inspect a body, but, not finding what he was looking for, he quickly moved on.

At last, the dread spirit located his prize—or two, to be exact. One was a mage, a part of the council, in fact. His life was passing swiftly, but Malic put a hand to his gory torso just where the heart—partially visible—was beating its last.

He felt the will of Inarius flow through. The flayed man let out a gasp. The heart beat a little faster. Of necessity, the pain had also been slightly lessened. They wanted this one alive…temporarily.

Malic performed the same ritual for a guild master whose left leg had been all but amputated by the blades. Gobbets of the rotund man’s flesh lay spread around him like some macabre blanket. He, too, received the angel’s gift.

There were witnesses now. They would survive just long enough to relate their tales, then pass on. The same spell that had kept them from death would also guarantee that they would recall enough but not too much. Their stories would be very similar but from their differing perspectives. The angel and the demon had made certain that there would be no questions from those who discovered them about just what had happened and who was responsible.

Uldyssian, of course.

Already there came banging on the doors. The guards and the mages with them likely did not understand why nothing they did opened the locks or removed the protective spells.

Malic sensed one or two more fleeting lives but knew that those poor fools would not be able to answer any questions. His mission here was done. Under normal circumstances, the medallion he had used to enter would now have required the work of one of those on the council to allow him to leave again. However, the powers he currently served made that unnecessary.

Malic grinned at the carnage, bowed…and disappeared.

He should be dead, drowned in the water.

But he was not, a fact made stranger by the discovery, when at last he was able to open his eyes, that he was
still
at the bottom of the underground canal.

To his credit, Uldyssian kept from panicking, despite this unnerving revelation. He could vaguely make out movement above him, most of it refuse flowing on. Without moving so much as a finger, the son of Diomedes cautiously sought to find the cause of his salvation—if that was what it was.

At first, Uldyssian thought it the work of the demon, but that made no sense at all. It had been intent on devouring him, that much had been obvious. Therefore, why preserve his life?

What else, then? Or rather,
who
? Kethuus? Again, Uldyssian knew that he followed a false lead. He had been conscious long enough to see the mage fall. Kethuus was either dead or immobile. There had been no help from him.

Then…who?

Something moved against the current. It was little more than a dark shadow, but it immediately made Uldyssian think of the demon again. He tensed, watching it as best he could.

It hovered at the corner of his eye, never quite coalescing into something that he could recognize. There were glimpses—mere glimpses—of what he
believed
were long, plantlike appendages and maybe the bulbous body, but never could Uldyssian be absolutely certain. Nonetheless, his heart pounded faster, and had he been on the surface, the son of Diomedes would have broken out in an anxious sweat.

Then there came a voice in his head, one that sent chills through him.
I’ve saved you, mortal…saved you from certain death.

Who are you?
Uldyssian thought back.
What are you?

The shadow moved a bit more into his line of sight. Again, Uldyssian thought he caught glimpses of something that resembled the attacking demon, but now there were other images as well. For a moment, he could have sworn that it was Inarius himself who hovered so close, and the fear that the angel had at last trapped him sent his blood surging yet faster.

It is not he who has come to you here,
the voice said with some hint of mockery for having been mistaken for the Prophet.
The angel would leave you to die, but I am not so heartless!

Who are you?
Uldyssian repeated, now wondering how he could have ever thought for even an instant that this shadow was his foe. Inarius did not touch his primal instincts so.
Who?

The shadow shifted closer yet. Dread memories of Malic arose, then passed, only to be replaced by a beauteous yet even more unnerving face briefly crossing Uldyssian’s thoughts.

Lilith.

He fought down these resurrected fears. Lilith was dead, and Malic would not have left him untouched. They had nothing to do with what was happening now.

The shadow receded slightly. It spoke again, its tone soothing, placating.
They cannot touch you, Uldyssian, not while you’re under my protection. As for who I am, I’ve many names, and some you know. One of those is Dialon
.

Dialon! Uldyssian understood immediately both who and what had prevented him from drowning. Dialon, said to be the spirit of Determination by the Temple of the Triune. Dialon, who Ulydssian knew was actually of the same blood—if one could use that term for demons—as Lilith, for he was brother to her father, the terrible Mephisto.

Diablo, Lord of Terror, was the only thing that kept Uldyssian from drowning.

You need have no fear of me,
Diablo said, no doubt sensing the human’s unease.
All things are turned about on Sanctuary, where angels commit sin and demons must try to make amends. I saved you because we two are much alike, for we’re all that stands between Inarius and this world’s death
.

Despite his predicament, Uldyssian found himself caught up by the master demon’s words. What Diablo said about Inarius was very true. The Prophet clearly saw sin as something others did, not himself. His actions were “necessary.” That hundreds died because of the angel’s ego did not matter in the least.

Yes…you see him correctly. Inarius is mad in a manner that sends fear through the High Heavens and the Burning Hells. Yet he cannot be touched, for he’s tied to the very foundation of Sanctuary, the Worldstone! It’s his power, his existence!

Uldyssian could find no fault in Diablo’s statements, though he had not considered that both the High Heavens and the Burning Hells knew all that was going on. That sent a further chill through him. If both sides in the celestial conflict of which he had learned feared Inarius, then what did that mean for humanity’s hopes?

The demon drew so close that Uldyssian could swear Diablo stared directly into his eyes. The son of Diomedes steeled himself. He had faced demons before.

There was a moment of silence, as if, for some reason, Diablo had to mull over his thoughts. Then…
But the angel is not so invulnerable as believed. You proved that…and you proved that you can reach into his very core and put fear into him.

Me? But how?

You changed the Worldstone without even understanding it! You did what no other could and what the angel could not unmake. This gives us a chance if we are willing to strike quickly.