The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet (19 page)

No, a short respite in the town would surely not endanger matters…

Surrounded by so many, Uldyssian did not notice that, far back, the one whose thoughts most mattered to him watched him now with veiled eyes. Lylia stood at the base of a set of steps overlooking the fountain, drinking in the sight. Oddly, despite the noblewoman’s arresting appearance, not one among all those there so much as noticed her.

But
she
noticed everything, including that what Uldyssian had set into motion here would keep him occupied for quite some time to come.
Too long,
in fact. He should have nearly reached Kehjan by now. That was how she had planned it. Not this highly suspicious turn to Partha, of all places.

Yet, after a moment’s consideration, Lylia suddenly smiled. Plans were made to be adjusted constantly.

“If not Kehjan, then by all means here, my
love,”
the blond woman whispered to herself. “In the end, the location does not matter. You will yet bring to me what is rightfully mine, Uldyssian…you will…even if you must
die
to do it…”

Achilios found Serenthia not where he had expected, that expectation being that Cyrus’s daughter would be assisting Uldyssian with his task. Instead, the hunter discovered the dark-haired woman sitting where she could see the proceedings, but was far enough away not to be a part of them. Her eyes were, of course, on Uldyssian—to ask otherwise would have been unthinkable even to Achilios—although as the archer approached, his own keen gaze noticed hers surreptitiously shift to Lylia, then back to the son of Diomedes again.

“I brought you some water,” he said as way of interjecting himself into her private world. He offered her the sack he had carried with him, freshly filled at Master Ethon’s estate. Ever practical—save when it came to love—Achilios had first paused to gather something to drink before chasing after his friend.

Serenthia took it with a nod of thanks. She drank far more from it than Achilios assumed that she would, which meant she had been sitting out here for quite some time, just watching. Likely Serenthia had run all the way here, fearing some imagined danger, whereas he had taken his time, somehow aware that Uldyssian was utterly safe.

When she was done, he took the sack back and remarked, “It’s truly astonishing, isn’t it, Serry?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’ve been his friend since we were children.” Without asking, he took up a place next to her. It was as forward as he dared get. Despite his sometimes gregarious appearance, Achilios was much more at home in the forest, alone with his quarry. In social circumstances, he felt only one step above Mendeln and, where the woman next to him was concerned, as awkward.

His comment caused her to look at him with such intensity that Achilios wondered what he had said wrong. Serenthia appeared poised to say something, but it was almost a full minute before a single word escaped her lips.

And when she did speak, it was not on the subject that he assumed it would be. “Why
are
the two of you friends, Achilios? You seem so different in so many ways.”

He had no answer save “Because we just are, I guess. We were friends the moment that we met.” He shrugged. “Children are like that.”

“I suppose.” Serenthia thought for a moment, then asked, “Is she what
you
would dream of?”

Now
the subject he had expected was at hand. Serenthia had merely taken a more circuitous route to it. “Lylia? She is fair, to be honest, and no man would let his gaze pass over her without noticing that, but the same could be said for others, not merely her.”

He could barely have been more blunt—in his eyes—but she seemed not to understand that he meant her. “I know that to us she is exotic and I can understand why Uldyssian would fall for her, but it was all so quick, Achilios.”

“It can be like that.” It
had
been like that for him…in a sense. One day, he had known only Serry the impish child. The next day, there had stood the beautiful woman. Achilios had been so lost in amazement of the change that, for the next week, he went without a single catch to his credit.

Serenthia was silent for a time and Achilios satisfied himself with being in her company…which was how such situations generally ended. They watched as Uldyssian greeted one Parthan after another. Each time he succeeded in doing whatever it was he did, Achilios noticed both his friend and the one touched share a look of immense satisfaction.

“Is that the way you felt?” he finally dared ask Serenthia. “Like them?”

“Yes.” But the way she said it made the hunter not so certain.

“Have you been able to do anything?”

This time there was a pause, followed by, “I don’t know.”

“How could you—”

Her tone grew more adamant. “I
don’t
know.”

Normally, Achilios would have left it at that, but this time, he could not. “Serry, what do you mean?”

Her gaze shifted not to him, but rather her hands. “I feel it, just as I know many of them do, but that’s all. I haven’t noticed anything else different around me. I’ve tried to think of things, make them happen, but…but as far as I know, nothing
has.”

“Still? I would’ve thought by now that—”

Now she looked at him. Her eyes were steely. “So would I. Believe me, so would I.”

It made no sense to him. Lylia had already displayed several instances of ability, such as making flowers and berries bloom on bushes or healing some minor cuts suffered by one of the mounts. She had also summoned a rabbit to them, saving Achilios from having to hunt but leaving the archer feeling as if somehow the animal had been cheated of its chance to survive.

“What about
you?”
his companion asked without warning. “I haven’t seen anything from you, either.”

In truth, Achilios did feel something within him seeking to grow, but he had done his best to smother it. He had told no one of that decision. Many might desire the gift that Uldyssian offered, but not his best friend. Achilios was satisfied with being who he was. A hunter and a simple man.

“I suspect that I’m not the best student for Uldyssian,” he returned. “Not at all.”

“But no one taught
him,
not really! With Uldyssian, it came as suddenly as the storm over Seram…which apparently was caused by him, too!”

“Uldyssian was pressed on all sides, Serry. He was accused of brutal murder by Brother Mikelius. The Inquisitors would have dragged him back off to the Cathedral, probably to burn as a fiend! He had no choice!”

She was not convinced. “It was all terrible, but why at that time? Why not when his family slowly and horribly perished from plague? Why not then? Why even him, for that matter? There are so many others who’ve suffered worse and yet we’ve never heard of such an astounding thing before! It would’ve even reached Seram, you know that!” Even as he nodded his agreement to this argument, Serenthia went on, “And why not Mendeln, then? He suffered as much, too! His family was wiped out and his brother was accused of a terrible crime! It could’ve been him, but it wasn’t! I’ve seen nothing unusual about Mendeln, have you?”

Her mention of Mendeln made Achilios flinch. Serenthia noticed his reaction and her eyes narrowed.

“What is it, Achilios? What about Mendeln? Is he manifesting abilities like his brother?”

It was not the suggestion of that which had caused the archer to flinch, but rather a brief and unexpected recollection of another time, another place. As Serenthia had spoken of Uldyssian’s sibling, Achilios had
relived
the moment when he and his other friend had inspected the mysterious stone near Seram. Not only had the archer seen again Mendeln freezing in place before it, but he had also reexperienced touching it himself…and the awful emptiness that had overwhelmed him until he had managed to pull free.

“No…” Achilios finally managed. “No…nothing like Uldyssian.”

She was not convinced. “Achilios, what—”

Without warning, a tremendous sense of fear overcame the hunter, but not fear for himself. He had the awful feeling that something was happening to Mendeln at this very moment.

Achilios leaped to his feet, startling his companion.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He wanted to answer her, but the urgency he felt was too strong. Without a word, Achilios began running. He ignored Serenthia’s concerned call after him.

But barely out of sight of the woman he loved, Achilios came to a dead stop. The fear for Mendeln had not lessened any, but the archer hesitated to begin his run anew.

The truth was, Achilios had no idea just
where
Uldyssian’s brother had gone.

The streets through which Mendeln moved were oddly empty and the buildings around him had suddenly taken on an unsettling gray cast. There was no wind whatsoever and not the slightest sound. Mendeln would have felt very alone save for one thing…he was still surrounded by the shades of the guards Uldyssian had slain.

Since their arrival, it had taken monumental effort on his part to keep from screaming out the truth to the others. Either these shadows of men existed or he had gone mad…or both. Mendeln did not know which would be worse. He only knew that he just wanted to tell
someone
what was happening to him.

But he had not. He had said nothing even when they had arrived in Partha, where his hopes that the ghosts would leave him had dissipated the moment the first of the shades had passed through into the town. Until then, Mendeln had believed that his haunting would be temporary. Now, he feared that the dead would always be with him.

“Fear” was perhaps no longer the right word, though. Certainly, they kept him anxious, but the more they were around him, the less frightened he became. They did nothing but stare. Not in condemnation, but as if awaiting some word from him. So far, though, Mendeln had said little directly to them. He had asked them to please kindly go away, but since they had not obeyed, he had seen no reason to continue any further attempt at conversation.

At the moment, they were the least of his concerns. As he continued through the town, Mendeln began noticing peculiar signs of age on the buildings, as if Partha were some ancient place long abandoned. The shift became more apparent with each step. The grayness grew darker, veering toward the black…

This was not right, he realized. Where was everyone? Where was Uldyssian, after whom he had been chasing? Mendeln was worried about his brother, especially what the Parthans might do. He recalled too vividly what had happened in Seram, where people who had known Uldyssian all his life had turned on him…

But then there arose a sight ahead that made Mendeln falter in his steps and forget all about his brother. He spun around with the intention of fleeing…only to find himself facing the very direction he had just abandoned.

A direction that led to a long-neglected cemetery. A cemetery that, from its ancient state, surely could not be Partha’s.

With the shades of dead men already surrounding him, Uldyssian’s brother could see nothing but ill coming of entering the overgrown burial site. Yet, when he tried to back away, the cemetery only drew nearer. Nevertheless, Mendeln tried one more step back—

And in the next breath found himself standing
within
the ruined grounds.

A choking sound was all he could muster as he tried to come to grips with what was happening. He prayed that it was only a bad dream, but knew otherwise. Mendeln then thought of his blackouts and wondered if this was some bizarre continuation of them. He certainly had no other answer.

He suddenly noticed another very curious—and unsettling—thing. The shades of the dead guards had not entered with him. They drifted beyond the arched gateway, as if the winged gargoyle he saw above it kept them at bay. For the first time, Mendeln would have liked their company, if only because of their comparative familiarity. Now he was completely alone, facing who-knew-what.

As he started to turn his gaze back…what felt like a
hand
pushed him deeper into the cemetery. Stumbling several steps, Mendeln glanced over his shoulder. He immediately swallowed. Naturally, there was
no one
there.

The farmer glanced down at the first of the graves. A crescent-shaped stone marked the spot. The grave had been dug so long ago that it was infested with generations of weeds and grass and had even sunken in a bit. Mendeln started to look away again, then eyed the marker one more time.

Barely legible in the odd, gray shadows, was the same script that he had seen on the stone near Seram.

Despite himself, Mendeln grew fascinated by the revelation. Keeping respectful to the grave, he knelt to the side, then leaned toward the stone. Up close, Mendeln was able to verify what he had seen. Many of the very same symbols ran along the crescent, but in patterns that he did not recognize.

Without hesitation, he ran his fingers over the first line. Immediately, he sensed some sort of power emanating from the symbols. Mendeln had heard of words of power, such as the mage clans supposedly used at times, and he could only surmise that these were such.

Looking up, Uldyssian’s brother surveyed the seemingly endless field of stones. The graves were marked in a variety of manners. In addition to the crescents, there were star-shaped slaps, squat rectangular ones, and more. Surveying the landscape ahead, Mendeln even spotted one overlooked by a towering, winged statue bearing a weapon in one hand.

Drawn by that statue, he slipped among the graves in order to get a better look. Fascination replaced dread. He had to learn more. Was this some repository for the dead of the mage clans? If so, did they have some tie to what was happening to him…and to Uldyssian, for that matter? Until now, he would have doubted it, what little he had gleaned from merchants indicating that the once-powerful clans had all but shut themselves off from the world as they continued their arcane duels of wit against one another. They would hardly have the time to bother themselves with a pair of farmers far from the city.

Although the statue stood deep in the cemetery, it seemed that Mendeln had barely begun toward it when suddenly it loomed over him. He paused, trying to understand what it was supposed to be. A winged being, with a face hooded save for glimpses of the mouth and some cascading hair. It wore a robe and breastplate somewhat akin to that of the Cathedral’s Inquisitors, but sculpted to resemble some finer material. The breastplate also had script upon it, more words in the same mysterious language.