The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet (86 page)

She, too, recoiled. “Who are you?” the woman demanded again. “Are you a mage?”

The voice did not sound at all like Lilith’s, but Mendeln knew that a demon could change voices at will. Still, it finally registered on him that Lilith was dead, killed by his brother. This was someone else and, considering that Mendeln suspected that he was again in the capital, probably one of those Master Cyrus had said the false Lylia resembled.

He steadied himself. “No. I am no mage.” There was no sense in trying to explain just
what
he was. “My name is Mendeln.”

There was a brief intake of breath, then a momentary silence. The woman finally murmured, “Praise be! I feared it was one of those murderous mages. They’re everywhere! They’re hunting down anyone who’s been helping a man called Uldyssian.”

“Uldyssian!” Mendeln could scarcely believe his luck, especially considering that Inarius had been the one to cast him here.

That thought immediately made him cautious again. It was probable that the angel wanted Uldyssian’s brother caught up in the mages’ sweep, although how exactly that helped Inarius was another question.

“You sound as if you know him,” the woman said, a hint of hope in her tone. She edged closer. “I heard that he had a brother named Mendeln. Are you he?”

“Yes.” He wondered if the Prophet had erred when he had cast his prisoner here. This looked more to Mendeln’s advantage. If the woman had had contact with Uldyssian, then there was perhaps a way by which he could use her link to his sibling to find him.

But that would involve explaining to her that despite not being a mage, he was still a spellcaster of sorts. The loss of his dagger would—

The dagger! Mendeln could not believe his addled thoughts. He had used the dagger to send his brother to safety. He did not even need the woman’s aid! What a fool he had been. The dagger was bound to him; all he had to do was reach out to it and, thus, to Uldyssian.

“Listen to me,” he said in his most reassuring tone. “Uldyssian is safe outside the city—”

“Outside? How can that be?”

Here he had to be careful. “You must trust me when I say that I am not part of the mage clans, but I do know a magic of sorts. I was able to send him to safety just before the mages would have attacked. There is a blade I use that was able to send him beyond the city walls.”

“And this blade…you have it now?”

“No. It is with him.” Mendeln began preparing himself for the effort. “It may be—I think—that I can reach Uldyssian through the blade and either have it bring us to him or perhaps have him do so. Yes, he might be able to cast such a spell also.”

She stood next to him. “All that power. Amazing!”

“I cannot promise for certain that it will work,” he was quick to add.

“But it must!”

Trying to calm his companion, Mendeln replied, “It has great hope of succeeding, I think.” He hesitated. Then, to keep her from thinking of failure, he asked, “What is your name?”

“A-Amolia.”

“I will not leave you here, have no fear of that.”

She reached a hand toward him. “I know.”

Mendeln shivered and, without at first realizing it, pulled his shoulder away from her oncoming fingers. He blinked, then stared at the shadowed woman.

“I
know
you!” he rasped, astounded and dismayed. “I know you!”

“Oh, yes, you do,” she replied, closing on him. Only now was it apparent that the shadows somewhat obscuring her features were stronger than natural. This close, Mendeln, whose vision was better than that of a cat, should have been able to make her out perfectly, and yet only with effort could he see a bit more. Amolia did remind him of Lylia, as he had thought, but there was one significantly different feature that marred her otherwise attractive features.

Dark lesions covered her face.

No…not her face anymore. How he could sense the truth was something that perhaps Rathma could have explained. This was not a woman called Amolia…not anymore.

This was the spirit of the high priest Malic possessing her body.

How this nightmare had come to be was impossible for him to say, but now he knew why Inarius had cast him here. That the angel would make use of a fiend such as Malic did not entirely surprise him.

The false Amolia grabbed his shoulder. “How appropriate that you should be the one to finally give your brother to me.”

Mendeln felt an emptiness press at him. It was almost as if he were being cast out of his body.

Not sure what else he could do, he muttered the first words he could think of in the ancient tongue.

Malic cried out as a white light erupted where his hand touched. As the specter pulled the appendage back, both could see that it was blackened as if burned—but by cold, not by heat.

“Impossible!” the high priest raged, his inhuman fury distorting the woman’s face further. “Impossible!”

Recovering from his own surprise, Mendeln put on a confident front. “I summoned you from the dead, Malic! You cannot touch me, but I can send you back to whatever damned pit you belong.”

The woman’s face continued to contort, but now to a different emotion. To his further astonishment, Uldyssian’s brother recognized that emotion:
fear.

Malic was afraid, possibly for the first time from anyone other than his masters.

But fear alone was not enough, especially if this parasitic ghost desired to shed his current victim for Uldyssian. Mendeln thrust a hand out toward the demonic shade.

“No more!” he growled at Malic. “It is time you died again…this time forever!”

The words he needed came rushing from his lips.

With a garbled cry, Malic seized a medallion hanging from his host’s neck. Too late did Mendeln understand just what the shade intended.

Malic vanished.

“No!” The younger son of Diomedes desperately finished his incantation—which, with no target, simply ceased to happen.

Where the high priest had vanished to, he could not say. Malic had acted in panic, and that meant it was possible that even the specter did not know where he had sent himself. Mendeln wished that Malic had by sheer bad fortune cast himself among the hunting mages, the only part of his story that had sounded believable. At this point, they likely would have known him for something vile.

But he could not rely on that. Mendeln had to make amends for the monster he had unleashed upon the world. He had to find Malic and finish him.

First, though, Mendeln had to find his brother. He had to know that Uldyssian was actually all right.

The plan he had intended before discovering Malic’s presence was still sound. Mendeln refocused, seeking out the dagger with his mind. Surely, Uldyssian still had it with him. Mendeln prayed that it was so.

A heavy force bowled him to the floor. He sensed several figures begin to coalesce around him. Mendeln knew exactly who they were. The mages had no doubt noticed his magical confrontation with Malic and reacted accordingly. Now, instead of Uldyssian or the ghost, they would find themselves with a different prize.

Head pounding, Mendeln tried to finish his spell, but he could not.

Hands roughly seized him and then let go as shouts filled the shadowed chamber. A moon-silver light briefly enveloped everything.

Again, a pair of hands took hold, but this time more gently.

The silvery light momentarily blinded Mendeln, and then the sounds of the jungle prevailed.

“Be at ease,” came Rathma’s weary voice. “He is unharmed.”

At first, Mendeln believed that the Ancient spoke to him, but then came a welcome second voice. “I could’ve gotten him myself, Rathma! I could’ve!”

Mendeln’s vision cleared. He beheld Uldyssian, his brother, still clutching Mendeln’s ivory dagger. The older sibling stared with wild eyes.

“The dagger was dead,” Uldyssian muttered to Mendeln. “I thought you were dead…and then it flared to life again.”

“I was a guest of the Prophet,” the younger brother revealed. “Likely, that was why the dagger and I had no link.” Mendeln saw no need to mention having suffered through a similar situation before finding Uldyssian in the tunnels.

Uldyssian cursed. “I knew it! I told you, Rathma. I told you I should’ve been the one to go.”

“But if you had gone back,” Inarius’s son answered, “there is little doubt that my father or his so-called ally would have been waiting.”

“That’s precisely—”

“Or worse,” Mendeln interrupted, testing his balance. “Malic.”

“Malic?” Uldyssian faltered. “You saw him?”

“
Her,
at least at the moment. A female mage named Amolia, I think it was.”

Uldyssian nodded gravely. “I’d wondered what had caused the mage clans to turn on me without hearing me out.”

Rathma shook his head at Mendeln, a hint of disappointment in his otherwise emotionless countenance. “What I revealed to you must always be wielded with caution. The variations on your teachings that you have accomplished are to be marveled at, but in the way one would marvel at the jaws of a great beast held from ripping you apart by a thin strand of hair binding it to a wall.”

“I am brutally aware of my deficiencies,” Mendeln muttered. “I—and only I—will deal with them and him.”

His declaration did not go unchallenged. “No,” Uldyssian interjected. “Malic’s mine.”

“You are susceptible to his touch; I am not, as I have discovered.”

The argument might have gone further, but Rathma unexpectedly said, “The situation regarding the malevolent Malic just might be of no true concern, I fear. In fact, nothing that we have struggled against for so long or so hard might matter whatsoever.”

He had the brothers’ complete attention. Uldyssian it was who dared to ask the question to which neither wished to hear the answer. “Why? Why is Malic—or, more important,
Inarius
—no longer something to fear?”

“Because they, too, may be swept away like the most insignificant vermin by the cataclysm that even now hovers just on the horizon.” Rathma shook his head. “The celestial warriors of the High Heavens are approaching Sanctuary. They come to eliminate it and all upon it as abominations that should never have existed.” A grim smile crossed his pale features. “They will make my father seem benevolent by comparison.”

“We’ll fight them just as we’ve been fighting him,” Uldyssian immediately declared. “With or without the mage clans, we’ll fight them.”

“And very likely lose, unless we do the unthinkable.”

“What’s that?”

Rathma shivered. “Why, join forces with my father, naturally.”

“Make a pact with Inarius?” Uldyssian could scarcely believe his ears, and from the look of his brother, neither could Mendeln. Uldyssian wondered if perhaps the centuries had finally caught up with the Ancient. His mind had surely gone. How else to explain such a mad suggestion?

“One might as well deal with Diablo, I know…and we may yet have to do that. I would willingly accept any other suggestion, but in the light of things, I see no other course.”

“No!” Mendeln stepped between them. “There is another chance. Another angel. Tyrael.”

“Is the very reason that the High Heavens now descend upon Sanctuary. Do not think that my father or the demons are alone in their mastery of manipulation. Tyrael—and it dismays me yet to hear you verify that it is he who is here—would see no contradiction in his role as a warrior of light by twisting his words and leading you and likely Achilios to believe him kindly and benevolent!” Rathma’s cloak fluttered almost nervously, an effect more pronounced by the fact that there was no wind. “All he has desired during his time here is to create more chaos that will keep those interested in the world’s survival at one another’s throats, the easier for them to be judged by the High Heavens and erased from existence.”

“Not possible!” Mendeln blurted. “I spoke with him. He was concerned over Inarius’s madness and the fear that demons were gaining control over humanity. He—”

“The truth can hide many lies within it.” The Ancient’s shoulders slumped. “To Tyrael, we would be monsters, things that should have never existed. Therefore, we are not worthy of trust or truth. All that matters is our annihilation, so that we do not blemish creation. No…we must seek alliance with my father, and quickly.”

Uldyssian could not believe that they would get anywhere with the Prophet. There had to be another way. “What about the dragon? Can’t he do anything?”

“He has. He warned me of the High Heavens coming.”

“And that’s all? He’ll do nothing else?”

Rathma glared. “I did not say he would remain idle. Even now, he attempts to blind them to Sanctuary’s true location. And if that fails, he will try to bar their way with his power.”

But judging by Rathma’s tone, it sounded unlikely that Trag’Oul would succeed.

There was one other question that bothered Uldyssian, and that concerned Inarius himself. “Why does this other angel go through such subterfuge? Is your father so powerful?”

“By himself not, but he has tied his essence to the Worldstone and draws upon it like a leech. It has made him far, far stronger, such that even the Three will deal cautiously with him.”

“Diablo!” Suddenly, what had happened to Uldyssian in the capital’s water system could be seen in a different light. “He tried to trick me into allowing him into my mind—or my soul! I fought him off, though.”

“The Lord of Terror was in Kehjan?” Inarius’s son considered. “I have this terrible feeling that there is more going on there.”

“Much more,” agreed Mendeln. “For it was the Prophet who sent me to Malic!”

It was impossible not to draw the only logical conclusion. The master demon in the city. Inarius tied to Malic. The sinister creature in the tunnels. “They’ve a pact,” Uldyssian muttered. “Those three had a pact.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And it included the slaughter of most of those who actually rule Kehjan!”

“Ah, how Tyrael would laugh…if he laughs at all.” Rathma spat. “So, either by his manipulation or by the plots of my father and the demon lord, all is falling into place for the High Heavens. The greatest city on Sanctuary, the nexus of power that might have stood, at least for a time, against an army of angels, is in utter chaos. It is made more ironic in that I am certain that neither Inarius nor Diablo sees the matter as anything more than the chess game between themselves.”

The thought was a sober one, for it now made it even more unlikely that Inarius would hear reason.

Uldyssian started, realizing that he had suddenly begun considering an alliance with the Prophet something desirable.

“Will he speak with us?” he finally dared asked.

Apparently, he even surprised Rathma with his change of heart, for the Ancient eyed him for a moment before answering. “It may be that he will…though what that will lead to could be not at all what we wish.”

Meaning that Inarius was just as likely to try to kill them as to listen.

“If there is to be any hope of approaching him, though,” continued the angel’s son, “it must be me who does it. The bond between us is tenuous but better than the feud between you and him.”

It was not how Uldyssian would have preferred it, but he saw the truth of Rathma’s words. “How’ll you do it?”

“I will simply go and speak with him…and now, in fact.”

And with that, Rathma vanished.

Startled, Uldyssian reached out a hand to the Ancient but was too slow. “Damn him! There’s more we needed to discuss!”

“Indeed,” returned Mendeln. “What do we do about Achilios? He serves this angel unwittingly or unwillingly, but he serves him nevertheless.”

There was no question in Uldyssian’s mind what to do. “We act in whatever way necessary to see to it that the edyrem are all safe. That means we return to them immediately.” He gestured for his brother to draw near, in the process returning the dagger. “And if that means we have to fight this Tyrael, then so be it.”

Mendeln only nodded. Uldyssian thought of Serenthia and the others. He sensed their general presence not all that far from the siblings, yet it was all but impossible to specifically locate Cyrus’s daughter.

And as Uldyssian concentrated, he worried what that might mean for her.

They vanished from their location and reappeared instantly among the edyrem. Startled shouts arose from those around them as the sons of Diomedes materialized. Wary of accidental attacks, Uldyssian shielded the pair—a good thing, since a moment later, a fireball sought to incinerate them.

“Stop!” cried Saron from somewhere. A moment later, the Torajian fell on one knee before Uldyssian. “You are back! We had feared the worst, Master Uldyssian!”

“I also, Saron.” Uldyssian patted the shorter man on the shoulder, then quickly surveyed those around him. “Where’s Serenthia?”

“I have not seen her in some hours. To be honest, Master Uldyssian, I was concerned, but she did once touch my mind and say that she was preparing the way for us.”

“And what does that mean?”

The Torajian shrugged. “At the time, I assumed that she referred to our march on the capital. We—we sought to rescue you.”

“For which I’m grateful.” Uldyssian concentrated harder, but still he could not sense Serenthia.

However, he did note something else to the north, something that reminded him of Achilios.

Thoughts racing ahead, Uldyssian absently said, “Stay with them, Mendeln. Do what you can.”

“Uldyssian! Do not—”

But it was already too late. Uldyssian left the edyrem, materializing instead in the jungle to the north. His eyes adjusted to the dark surroundings…but not soon enough.

The invisible force struck him like a battering ram, sending Uldyssian flying. If not for the son of Diomedes taking the precaution of shielding himself even before he arrived, he would have been very dead. As it was, Uldyssian crashed through first one thick trunk, then another, completely shattering both. The third finally stopped his flight, but not without nearly cracking in two.

He was not even given time to recover. Two arrows struck him, and despite the fact that they should have been far less of a threat than the magic, one
penetrated
his protection. Fortunately, it was slowed enough that it left only a shallow wound…a wound directly over his heart.

He tore the arrow from him, then rolled to the side. Uldyssian knew that a trap had been set for him. It had been no mistake that he had sensed Achilios but not Serenthia. That had enabled her to strike before he could orient himself.

But why they were trying to kill him was not entirely clear. The angel who manipulated them played a game nearly as twisted as Inarius’s. Achilios had managed to avoid successfully assassinating him earlier yet now seemed quite convinced that Uldyssian had to perish.

What was the point, though? Rathma had said that the hosts of the High Heavens were bearing down on Sanctuary. Why, then, did this Tyrael wish to bother with one particular human, no matter how powerful?

In asking that question, Uldyssian realized that he knew the answer.

But what mattered most was stopping this madness. He leapt to his feet. “Serenthia! Achilios! It’s me! It’s—”

Another tree bent over and sought to smother him in its thick foliage. As Uldyssian began ripping his way free, blue flames engulfed the branches.

The heat momentarily seared him. Sweating, Uldyssian waved a hand and sent a cold blast of air all around him. The flames died instantly, the blackened branches and leaves a dread reminder of what had been intended for Uldyssian.

Despite his concern for both his friends, he was also fast becoming angry. Serenthia and Achilios had come much too close to actually harming him. They were not even giving him an opportunity to try to tell them the truth. What did they think of him that they wanted his death so badly?

Strengthening his shields, he took a step forward and tried once more to talk reason. “Serry! We need to speak. The angel with you is as deadly as Inarius. Perhaps deadlier. He wants to destroy the entire world—”

“Spare us your pretense, high priest!” came her voice. “We know what you are and what you’ve done. By Uldyssian’s memory, we’ll make you regret all the lives you’ve stolen, especially his!”

He cursed, understanding at last what—or, rather,
who
—they thought him to be.

Malic
.

How the angel had managed that, Uldyssian did not know. Still, what mattered was that the son of Diomedes now knew just why the two were so adamant about killing him.

And there was no manner by which he could think to convince them that he was himself.

The spear caught him under the ribs. Distracted by Serenthia’s revelation, Uldyssian had left himself open. His shields should have still held, but as he fell back, wounded, Uldyssian had no doubt that Tyrael had done something to assist the weapon in reaching its target. That also would have explained the arrow’s luck earlier.

Pain coursed through him. His head pounded. He gripped the spear and burned it to ash. Panting, Uldyssian put a hand over the wound, healing it.

His frustration mounted. He could not just stand there, letting them take chance after chance to slay him. The overall situation was far more important than this fight. Uldyssian had to put an end to things…even if it meant harming one or both of them in the process.

Or even doing something worse.

He straightened—and immediately, another arrow raced toward him. This time, though, Uldyssian had been expecting it. He threw his power first into reducing the bolt to ash, then striking where the archer had surely stood.

The trees and undergrowth for yards ahead flattened under the force of his spell. A scream arose, but it was feminine and came from another direction.

“No!” Serenthia shouted. She leapt out of the jungle, hands raised toward Uldyssian. The trees he had just flattened went soaring back at him.

He managed to deflect the first few, but while that was happening, Serenthia summoned a new spear and threw. Uldyssian managed to catch the spear just inches from him, then tossed it point first into the soil.

As it struck, a wall of dirt erupted. It rose several yards and immediately solidified.

Tree after tree slammed into the wall, but, strengthened by Uldyssian’s power, the dirt barrier held. The makeshift missiles struck with what sounded like a thunderclap.

Before Serenthia could attempt anything else, Uldyssian slapped the air in her direction. It struck the merchant’s daugher as if he had actually hit her himself. With a groan, she fell backward.

Taking a deep breath, the son of Diomedes looked around. Sensing no other threat, he rushed to Serenthia’s side.

She lay sprawled amidst the ruined undergrowth, her head tilted to one side in a manner that at first made Uldyssian fear that he had injured her badly. However, a quick study revealed nothing threatening.

The merchant’s daughter moaned. Her eyes opened, and she saw Uldyssian leaning over her.

An epithet worthy of a demon escaped her lips. She tried to move, tried to use her power, but Uldyssian had already prepared for that. Serenthia quickly found that she could do nothing.

“Please be calm, Serry,” he murmured, deciding that calling her by her childhood name might serve to alleviate her suspicions. In truth, her expression did immediately grow confused, yet the wariness did not completely disappear. “It’s me—it’s Uldyssian, I swear!”

“No…he said…I
saw
the carnage in the capital. He showed us what happened…and that it was
Malic
’s ghost seizing body after body…including yours!”

“The angel lied,” he bluntly replied.

“But…no…” Her eyes shifted ever so slightly.