The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet (71 page)

Uldyssian had been told of a blood link between himself and the angel, but if there was one, it was as far removed from him as if he were related to the animals that he had raised. If Inarius thought to spark some familial bond, then the angel was sorely deluded.

“I do not seek to call family to family,” the Prophet remarked with unsettling accuracy, “but I do come to you with power to grant you absolution even now. You need not continue on this path of sin after sin, my son. I can still forgive you.”

His statements might have been considered mere audacity by Uldyssian if not for the jarring fact that not only was it still impossible to reach out to the others, but even the encampment could not be found. Uldyssian was completely surrounded by the light emanating from his adversary. Even when he took a step back, nothing changed. The ground itself was enshrouded by the celestial illumination.

“You see,” continued Inarius, spreading his hands in a fatherly fashion, “there is no more reason to continue the bloodshed. The outcome is inevitable. Besides, it is not ultimately your fault. You were led astray by
her,
she who shall not be named, and your only mistakes were due to your own inherent deficiencies. You are mortal; you are weak. I mean that not as insult; all humans are weak. It is why they must be led toward the light.”

It was not the words as much as something in the Prophet’s tone, his manner, his very being, that made Uldyssian want to believe. He had felt much the same when confronted by the demon Lucion in his guise as leader of the Triune. Inarius, though, was a thousand times more compelling. Uldyssian had a desire to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness—

For what?
he suddenly wondered, his anger burning away his awe at the angelic figure.
I asked for none of this!

“Fury is a demon’s lover, my good Uldyssian. To give in to it is to abandon thought and heart.”

“Spare me all that! What have you done with them? Where are the others?”

The Prophet nodded approvingly. “Concern…now, there is a goodly aspect. You would do well to be concerned about those who mistakenly follow you down this path, for what you decide may condemn them, too.”

Serry! Mendeln! Jonas! Saron!
Uldyssian located no trace of any of them.

He lunged for Inarius, at the same time summoning his power. Yet the Prophet was no longer where Uldyssian expected him. Instead, the angel stood just to the side. He watched dispassionately as the human fell forward.

“Fury leads only to more shame and disaster, Uldyssian ul-Diomed. It leaves you not only lying in the dirt but forever covered over by it.”

Shoving himself up again, Uldyssian glared at the holy figure. He expected flames to rise around the angel and, if they did not harm him, at least wipe the smugness from the unblemished countenance.

But nothing happened.

“You see what chance you have, my good child. There will only be death and damnation for you and those dearest to you, unless you seek forgiveness. Follow the path of sin as you do, and you convict everyone. Is that what you wish? Do you have such conceit?”

Uldyssian spat. “If I’ve conceit, it can’t compare to yours, Inarius. You don’t own us any more than Lucion or Lilith did. This is not your world; it’s ours! Ours!”

The Prophet’s smile vanished. “I forged this world from raw forces taken from the place of Creation! I sculpted the lands and filled the seas. All exists because of me; all remains at my whim…including you, my child.”

Before Uldyssian could respond, voices suddenly rose around him. At first, he took them for Serenthia and some of the edyrem, but then something about them jarred memories long buried…especially one female voice.

My poor Uldyssian! So confused, so angry! Let me comfort you….

He choked back tears. His eyes instinctively sought out the one who spoke.

From the opposite direction, there came a child’s giggle. Uldyssian whirled.

His mother…his little sister…

A shadow passed by the edge of his vision. What little he glimpsed of it was a burly man about his size. There briefly came a second shape, this one also male, but shorter, younger.

“You sacrificed so much to save them, my child, and though their bodies failed, they gained salvation. They fear for you, however, for you cannot join them if you refuse to accept my light. You will forever be parted—”

Tears spilled down Uldyssian’s face. In his mind, he saw his family as they perished slowly, agonizingly. Although he had rejected the various missionaries and their empty words, Uldyssian still had hoped inside that his mother, his father, and his other siblings had at least found peace in whatever realm existed beyond death.

And that made him wonder at what Inarius revealed to him. With all the angel’s power, why had he not offered to bring Uldyssian’s family back to life? Not a semblance, as Mendeln had done with Achilios, but actually make them alive again?

Was it because he could not? If so, then the angel was not so all-powerful as he pretended.

Which made his summoning these shades—these false shades, very likely—even more abominable to the human. Inarius had dredged up the emotions that Uldyssian had prayed never to feel again. The hollowness, the despair, the bitterness…

Uldyssian roared at the Prophet, using those terrible emotions to intensify his powers. He let his family’s loss overwhelm him and, in doing so, strip away any hesitations he had about unleashing all his might at Inarius.

The blinding light dimmed slightly…but that was all. The sanctimonious face still gazed down upon him. Despite no visible sign that he had done
anything,
Uldyssian felt so drained that all he could do was drop to his knees.

“You have chosen to sin,” the Prophet commented slowly and without emotion. “I cannot help you but by putting an end to your misguided existence, my child.”

With that, Inarius simply vanished.

As he did, the light winked out so abruptly that Uldyssian felt as if he had been plunged into utter darkness. His thoughts were not for himself, though, but for the loved ones he had briefly thought were with him once again.

“Mother…” he rasped. “Father…”

Suddenly, his head jarred up from where it had been resting. Uldyssian discovered that he once again lay in the midst of the encampment, surrounded by sleeping edyrem. A slight breeze coursed through the area, and in the distance, the night creatures of the jungle chattered with one another.

Uldyssian shook.
It can’t have been a dream! It can’t have been
…

His fingers scraped the ground as he pushed himself to a sitting position. Every muscle in his body ached as if he had actually fought against the angel. Yet if that had been the case, surely all would not be so quiet. The encampment should have been in chaos.

It was only a nightmare,
Uldyssian insisted.
Only a nightmare…nothing to fear…

But then he happened to glance at the ground where his hand had lain…and where now dirt lay scorched for more than a yard beyond him.

How convenient,
Zorun Tzin thought as he finished his divining. The seven-sided pattern he had scraped in the ground still glowed faintly from residual energies. Letting the crystal he had used for his effort continue to dangle from its gold chain over the center of the pattern, the mage looked ahead into the jungle.

How convenient that he comes to meet me, this Uldyssian ul-Diomed.

Straightening, the Kehjani kicked away the pattern, briefly sending traces of magical residue up along with the flying dirt. He glanced over his shoulders at those with him. In addition to Terul, who wielded both axe and torch, there were half a dozen guards in the loose red garments and golden breastplates of the mage clans’ master council. The guards had been foisted upon him by his “employers” and were more likely there to keep watch on the spellcaster rather than assist with his mission. Thus was the way of the council even now. Not enough trust even in the one they had commissioned for this.

Zorun chuckled under his breath. They were right to be so wary.

The underbrush ahead suddenly shifted as if something large approached. The mage thrust the crystal into a pouch on his belt, then readied an incantation. Terul let out a grunt and moved forward to protect his master. The guards readied their weapons but remained where they were.

A figure burst from the darkness into the area, a man perhaps near the end of the third decade of his life. He looked to have once been strong and lithe and radiated a presence that indicated a high caste. However, black spots—almost burns—covered whatever could be seen of his flesh, including his face, and he looked as if he had taken neither food nor drink in days. There were still hints of a handsome face, and the eyes were penetrating, but in a manner that Zorun thought bordered on madness.

Madness…or some sort of plague.

“Stand where you are,” he commanded. One hand began gesturing. “You will come no closer.”

The eyes stared past the mage. A sickly grin spread over the stranger’s countenance. Only then did Zorun and the rest see that his gums had turned black and his teeth were crumbling.

“You’ll…do better…” he rasped.

Zorun started to chant, and the figure fell over.

Some of the guards started forward, but the spellcaster waved them back. It was not out of any concern for them but for himself. If there
was
any plague involved, he did not want any of those with him carrying it.

There was a quick and safe way to discover the truth. Reaching into another pouch, Zorun removed a small box he had kept with him since the last plague that had touched the capital. He took from it a powder that had once been bone ground from a victim of such disease. The body had first been safely burned to remove contamination, but the bone would still remember the disease. If there was anything similar to it on this body, the powder would fly from his palm and cover the stranger.

Muttering the spell, the mage poured just enough powder into his hand. The yellowed dust trembled as if ready to fly…and then stilled.

There was no plague. Zorun was about to dismiss the body as unimportant, when the rags it was clad in finally caught his eye.

“Terul! Bring the torch closer to him!”

The brutish servant obeyed. Zorun let Terul stand closer than him, just in case.

They were indeed the robes of an acolyte of the Triune and, from what the mage could glean, of a priest of some importance.

Deciding that it was safe to risk it, Zorun ordered, “Turn him over.”

Setting down his axe, the servant used one huge hand to shove the dead man by the shoulder.

The priest suddenly gripped Terul by the wrist. The eyes opened—

With an uncharacteristic sound of dismay, Terul tugged his hand free. Both master and servant watched as the priest grew still again.

When the body remained unmoving, Zorun indicated that Terul should finish his task. Despite his earlier exclamation, the giant now did not hesitate. He shoved the priest onto his back.

Seen more clearly up close, the robes looked to be those of a follower of Dialon. Zorun had made a thorough study of the Triune—one had to know one’s enemies—and noted markings still remaining that indicated that this man had once served in the prime temple itself.

“A pity you are dead,” he murmured to the body. “What could you tell us about this Ascenian, I wonder?”

There was a chain around the neck, one that had not been visible before. Using a stick to lift it loose, Zorun saw that it held a medallion of office.

“I should know your name, it appears…let me see.” The Kehjani had, through his varied sources, identified the senior priests of the sect and kept track of the changes and politics. He had been most intrigued by the High Priest of Mefis, one Malic, until word had reached him of that one’s disappearance and supposed death. Zorun was no fool; there had been more to the Triune than it preached, a dark side that he had felt Malic best represented.

But this sorry fool was not Malic. Zorun ran through his remarkable memory and finally hit upon the name he sought.

“Your name was…was Durram. Yes, that was it. Durram.” Next to him, Terul let out a grunt. Ignoring the sound, Zorun rose. “Yes, you would have been a fount of information to me…if you’d managed to live a bit longer, that is.”

The mage used a sandaled foot to push the corpse among the thick vegetation. The priest’s presence still interested him, in that Durram was far from where the main temple had been located and very enticingly near the current location of Uldyssian ul-Diomed. Zorun expected that given time, even Terul could fathom that there certainly had to be a connection. Durram appeared, against all sanity, to have been tracking the Ascenian on foot, despite an obviously debilitating condition.

“Admirable, if foolish,” the mage declared to himself. “Better to have done something for his life first. Come, Terul! We are done here.”

The giant, who had still been staring at the body, belatedly obeyed. He picked up his axe with one hand, hefting it over his shoulder. They and the guards mounted up, then headed farther into the jungle.