The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet (70 page)

Against his will, his mouth suddenly clamped shut. The hunter’s legs started forward of their own accord. In the same manner, Achilios’s arms dropped. The bow dangled in his one hand, utterly useless.

Unable to do anything but obey, the undead archer followed the angel deeper into the jungle.

“Uldyssian!”

Mendeln seized his brother just before the latter could strike the ground. Panic such as Uldyssian’s brother had not experienced since his parents dying filled him. He watched the blood pour from the wound, which, if it had not hit the heart, certainly had come close enough.

Uldyssian’s body shook violently, and his eyes gaped up at the dark jungle canopy. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but what it was Mendeln had no idea.

Through the younger sibling’s mind went all that Rathma had taught him, but nothing seemed right for the moment. There had been a spell that had enabled Mendeln to reattach the arm that one of the Triune’s servants had severed, but that would certainly not do. Uldyssian and the others believed that Mendeln had healed himself after he had put the limb back on. Yet no one knew that the limb was not alive but
animated
. It was as dead as Achilios, moving only because of his magic.

It would not have even been possible for him to do
that
if he had not reattached the limb within the first hour of its loss. Any longer, and Mendeln could have done nothing. No, not even that spell, which on the surface had looked like healing, could avail him now.

And he did not want to resurrect Uldyssian as he had Achilios.

His thoughts went to Serenthia, whose skills were nearly as great as Uldyssian’s. She might be able to save his brother.

Where is she?
Mendeln suddenly wondered. Surely she, of all people, had sensed what had happened? Why was there not a crowd of edyrem already swarming the pair?

Uldyssian coughed up blood, and then his body jerked even more violently.

The arrow burst into flames, the cinders spilling over Uldyssian’s blood-soaked shirt. From the wound poured out a peculiar, thick liquid, which Mendeln at last recognized as what remained of the arrowhead.

And as the last of it poured out, the wound shrank and shrank…then finally sealed.

Uldyssian coughed again, but this time, it sounded only as if he cleared his throat. His eyes opened.

Mendeln gaped. “Uldyssian! This cannot be! You were—you were—”

“Where—” The elder son of Diomedes tried again. “Where is—is he?”

“Who?”

“Achil—Achilios…”

Only then did the arrow’s origins register with Mendeln. Still holding Uldyssian tight, he stared out into the jungle, searching. Of course, he saw nothing, but these days, that meant little.

He suddenly considered the terrible accusation Uldyssian had just made. “Surely not! This was a trick, some ploy of Inarius’s or possibly even the Triune. Achilios would never—”

With some effort, Uldyssian stood on his own. Mendeln marveled at his recuperative powers.

“The arrow belonged to Achilios, Mendeln. I know that. It’s obvious to me, and it should be obvious to you. He fired it. It was intended to kill me swiftly.”

Still hoping to deny that their friend would ever have any part, even involuntarily, in Uldyssian’s murder, Mendeln pointed out, “If it had been him, there would be no doubt of your death. From a hundred paces in the thickest woods, Achilios could slay any creature with a shot directly to the heart. This one was close, yes, but—”

“Achilios meant to slay me,” his brother insisted. However, Uldyssian’s expression softened. “But you’re right. He couldn’t have missed unless he prayed to.”

The conflagration that Uldyssian had started now rose high. That this, too, had not brought the other edyrem running perplexed Mendeln, until he watched his brother douse the fire with a simple wave of his hand. All that remained as memory were some scorched trees.

“It was you, then,” he murmured to Uldyssian. “You are the reason no one, not even Serenthia, has come to our aid!”

Uldyssian grimly checked his chest where the arrow had struck. His right hand flared a faint gold as it passed over not only the area but wherever his blood had spilled. Mendeln shook his head in amazement as he watched.

In mere seconds, the stains vanished, and even the rip in his tunic repaired itself.

“In the beginning, I did it to keep anyone from joining us while you summoned the dead. I didn’t want anyone else witnessing that, Mendeln. They’ve already seen enough to fear you.”

Mendeln did not entirely believe that Uldyssian’s reason was purely the protection of his brother, but he kept silent on it. “And when you were shot?”

“I assumed it would’ve vanished…unless that which turned Achilios into an assassin chose not to let it.”

“Inarius?”

With a harsh, humorless chuckle, Uldyssian turned back to camp. “You don’t believe that any more than I do, do you, Mendeln? Not like him at all. Something as
powerful
as he, maybe…”

His words only served to leave Mendeln cold. “You know that if it is such, we are lost.”

But his brother, already walking, casually replied, “One angel, two, or a hundred. I’ll bring them all down. All of them.”

And as Mendeln stared at his sibling’s receding back, he knew that Uldyssian meant it.

Serenthia stood waiting for them at the perimeter, the former Parthan brigand, Jonas, at her side. As Uldyssian neared them, Saron—a dour Torajian who, with Jonas, acted as Uldyssian’s de facto officers—joined the other two.

“Did something happen out there?” Serenthia immediately demanded. “It felt as if—”

“We finished with Mendeln’s work, that was all. It took more than we expected.”

“And were there answers?” she pressed.

Glancing past the trio, Uldyssian replied, “The Cathedral was behind this. Inarius is placating the people and spreading vile rumors about what we do. He’s trying to turn Sanctuary against us.”

Jonas frowned. Saron remained dour, his mood having never truly lightened since the death of his cousin at the hands of the Triune. They had been closer than brothers, perhaps even closer than Uldyssian and Mendeln.

“We should march on the great Cathedral itself, master,” he stated.

With a nod, Serenthia added, “That’s not without merit. Strike at the heart before it gets any worse. We can’t do as we did with the Triune, cutting away at it methodically. Inarius isn’t permitting us that chance.”

Absently rubbing his chest where the arrow had penetrated, Uldyssian considered their view. Mendeln, who had finally joined him, made a noncommittal noise.

“No,” Uldyssian finally decided. “Not yet. We’ve one more place we’ve got to go before we march on Inarius. Just one more.”

“Where’s that to be, Master Uldyssian?” asked Jonas.

“The capital…we’re going to the city of Kehjan to see the leaders of the mage clans.”

News of his decision spread fast among the edyrem, and a sense of excitement filled the encampment. Many among Uldyssian’s flock had never been to the capital. Discussions broke out everywhere about what Kehjan the city was like. Those few who had been there did their best to describe it, but from what Uldyssian heard, they all had differing memories.

He let their excitement go unchecked, despite some concern on the part of both Mendeln and Serenthia. They were rightly wary about confronting the mage clans, who had, as far as anyone could tell, avoided interfering in the struggle.

Uldyssian was also wary but at the same time confident. He had it in his mind that the mages, obviously no puppets of the Cathedral of Light, would be interested in a possible alliance. If not that, then certainly they would do their best to lessen the sect’s influence over the masses.

It was worth the gamble to Uldyssian and, since the capital was somewhat on their path toward Inarius’s sanctum, not so troublesome a detour in his mind.

His makeshift army left at first light, pushing through the dense vegetation with little effort. When a river had to be forded, what was easier than using magic to bring together tree trunks to create a bridge or, as some of the more skilled did, simply propel oneself over and land on the other side? When the terrain grew treacherous, how much simpler was it to have small groups of edyrem stand together and literally rip a path through?

At no time did Uldyssian discourage such displays of power among his people. The more confident, the more comfortable they were with their powers, the better chance they would have of surviving in battle, much less winning.

Mendeln, naturally, did not look at all pleased, but he kept his counsel to himself, which satisfied his brother. The edyrem made great progress the first day and the next. They had quite a distance still to go, but Uldyssian calculated that the rate at which they trekked would not give even Inarius’s missionaries much time to raise others further against their cause.

Still, he pushed the edyrem’s pace just a little more…and a little more…and a little more…

Just before dark on the fourth day, they came upon another river. The edyrem began crossing. Uldyssian was at his most cautious and set several sentries in place.

Yet it seemed that his concern was unwarranted. They were not attacked, and no one was caught by the river. When the last of his followers had made it over, Uldyssian ordered them on, while he stood and surveyed the area of the river with more than just his eyes.

And still there was nothing.

It made no sense to use the last few minutes of dim light to take them farther from such an obvious source of water. With reluctance, Uldyssian called a halt. He set up the usual perimeter and then, recalling the attack, placed additional sentries a bit deeper into the jungle. All of his guards remained in contact with one another.

Even with that done, he still summoned Saron for one more precaution. “I want you to find four others and begin a continuous patrol of the camp itself. Reach out with your minds. You need to be aware of any sensation that seems at all out of the ordinary.”

“Yes, Master Uldyssian. I understand completely.” The Torajian bowed and immediately went off to locate the ones he needed. Uldyssian vowed to himself to have Jonas and another band take over after a couple of hours. He wanted
all
his sentinels to be fresh of mind.

But as the night lengthened, Uldyssian began to wonder if he had just had a case of nerves. The nearer they got to the capital, the more his task there began to weigh upon him. It was very possible that confronting the mage clans might even get them at least to side temporarily with Inarius. Better the enemy they thought they understood, rather than Uldyssian’s unknown and unpredictable powers.

That they would find themselves in a far worse situation if the edyrem were beaten would be something he would have to impress upon them.

But all that had to wait until they reached their destination. Uldyssian finally gave in to his exhaustion, his last thoughts concerning his overzealous precautions. It had only been his nerves—

A bright white light suddenly erupted in his face, blinding him. Uldyssian let out a shout, but his voice was so muted that even he could bearly hear it. He reached out with his thoughts to Serenthia and the others—but could not find them.

There existed only the light…only the light and then, gradually, a wondrous figure from whom it was clear the blazing illumination originated. Far taller than any human, he strode confidently toward Uldyssian, his breastplate gleaming and the tendrils of pure force that were his wings flaring a rainbow of fierce colors.

And as he neared the son of Diomedes, he transformed into the leader of the Cathedral of Light, the Prophet.

“Uldyssian ul-Diomed,” came the musical voice. The youth stood just about the former farmer’s height but seemed somehow still to be able to gaze down upon him from well above. His luminous silver-blue eyes penetrated to Uldyssian’s very soul, making the human feel as if he could hide nothing. “My errant child…”

Uldyssian belatedly leapt to his feet. He stared into the Prophet’s beautiful, perfect face—unmarred by scar, wart, or even the slightest beard—which was framed by glistening, golden locks that fell far past his shoulders. “I’m no acolyte of yours, Inarius, and certainly not your child!”

“No…” the beatific figure agreed with a glorious smile full of perfect teeth. “But you are the child of the child of the child several times over who was begat by my even more errant son, he who now calls himself Rathma.”