The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet (82 page)

But now alerted, Uldyssian had every intention of turning the tables on Malic. If he was correct, then Kethuus was already dead, and so there was no fear in harming him.

“Is it much farther?” he asked, seeking to keep his adversary unaware of his discovery.

“Not far. Have no fear….”

The continually mocking tone only further encouraged Uldyssian that he was correct in his assumption. Certain of his triumph, Malic could not even hold back his disdain.

The only thing that held Uldyssian back from attacking was curiosity about just what Malic planned when they reached wherever it was they were going. Uldyssian suspected that perhaps the high priest had located some surviving acolytes of the Triune to assist him. If so, it would behoove the son of Diomedes to see that none of them left the tunnels alive.

They journeyed on in silence, the only other noises the churning of the water and their own breath. Just when Uldyssian decided that he would wait out Malic’s little game no longer, the figure ahead paused.

“Here. The entrance we descended was the nearest physical way to reach this spot. Don’t worry, though, Ascenian; we’ll get you back in time to meet the council.”

“I don’t doubt that at all,” Uldyssian replied, keeping his hand hidden.

The hooded spellcaster leaned down near the water’s edge. He pointed at an area just to his left. “That’s where all trace of Zorun Tzin ends. His body is not in the water. We would’ve detected that. It simply ceased to be.”

“The safer for covering Malic’s tracks, wouldn’t you say, Kethuus?”

The mage looked up. “Or simply where this supposed ghost ended when the body was no longer able to sustain him. You said yourself that the bodies didn’t last long.”

“But long enough to find him another.” Uldyssian pretended interest in the findings as he maneuvered closer to his companion. He wanted to make certain that Malic would not escape him this time. It put him at risk as well, but to Uldyssian it was more than worth it.

“We’ve found nothing to the contrary. All trace of Zorun Tzin stops here, as I said!”

“But we’re not looking for him,” Uldyssian reminded. “We’re looking for Malic, high priest of Mefis.”

Kethuus rose. In the glow of his sphere, his dark face looked monstrous. “If such a creature as you say he was exists, we would’ve found something! You were tortured, Ascenian, and Zorun Tzin would’ve been a master of that. What you thought happened was, in the opinion of more than just myself, your imagination.”

“Was it just that…Malic?”

The mage’s expression contorted as he registered just what the other had called him. “You can’t seriously believe that I am—”

Uldyssian raised his fist…and the water before the two men erupted. Both were drenched by a foul-smelling wave. Uldyssian lost his balance and fell into the channel. Kethuus tumbled into the wall, and only a last-minute grasp by the mage kept him from joining the son of Diomedes.

Sinking below the surface, Uldyssian fought to breathe. Something that was not a fish moved past him in the murky water. He blindly struck out at it, the water boiling as he unleashed what he had planned to use on Kethuus.

The mage was not Malic. Uldyssian cursed himself for falling prey to such a notion. Malic would hardly have let himself be so endangered, and certainly he would not have wanted to risk the body he had so avidly sought.

Something akin to a serpent wrapped around his leg. Pulling against it, Uldyssian felt several sharp edges cut into his flesh. He almost cried out, only at the last moment able to prevent himself from doing so and thus filling his lungs with water.

As it was, he already ached for air. Uldyssian tried to reach the surface, but whatever held his leg kept him just inches from salvation.

In desperation, he reached up, snatching at the air his lips sought. If he could only bring it to him…

And as his cupped hand came back underwater, it brought with it a huge bubble that radiated a faint golden aura. Uldyssian dragged the bubble to his mouth and inhaled. His lungs filled. He brought to his mouth another and another, all the while kicking to keep the unseen threat from pulling him down farther.

From above, there came a glow reminiscent of the sphere Kethuus had summoned. A moment later, that very globe shot down through the water, heading past Uldyssian. It soared deeper, descending, he realized, toward whatever held him.

As it struck, Uldyssian caught sight of the demon.

He knew it could be nothing else. Nothing born of Sanctuary could have so grotesque a form. It had a multitude of leafy yet sharp tentacles and a bulbous body that reminded Uldyssian of a bubble. Odd things floated within. He had the horrific feeling that he was to join them inside.

Again, Uldyssian felt his lungs aching. As Kethuus’s glow light faded away, the son of Diomedes used the last of the light to aim at the demon.

But the creature immediately released him, vanishing into the dark muck. Uldyssian had to forgo his attack; he needed air and needed it fast.

The instant his head broke the surface, Uldyssian inhaled. The air tasted so sweet to him that for a moment he thought of nothing else.

And that was when the demon attacked again.

There were tentacles everywhere, even around his throat. One wrapped around his mouth. He was pulled under.

From somewhere came Kethuus’s shout, then the water filled Uldyssian’s ears. He was pulled into the darkness.

However, the air that he had managed to gulp enabled him to think better. Uldyssian focused on the demon’s many appendages.

Despite the surrounding water, the son of Diomedes made them
burn.

A manic bubbling sound erupted from below him, so loud that Uldyssian thought he would go deaf. The demon withdrew its fire-engulfed limbs from him and began in vain to try to shake the flames off.

Uldyssian glanced down as he headed toward the surface. In the light of the unnatural fire he had created, the demon looked even more horrific. There were tentacles everywhere, half of them burning. The flames created an aura about the creature that would have been even more terrifying if not for the fact that it was actually harming the demon, not a part of it.

Uldyssian’s head broke the surface again. He blinked clear his gaze, then focused on a dim illumination ahead.

Kethuus, another glow ball near his head, crouched low as Uldyssian swam toward him. He reached out a hand, which, after a moment’s hesitation, Uldyssian accepted.

“By the seven!” the shadowy man blurted. “I have seen things that would turn a man’s skin whiter than yours, Ascenian, but never anything so…so…” Unable to come up with an appropriate word, Kethuus let his exclamation fade away.

Climbing onto the ledge, Uldyssian spat out some of the rank liquid and gasped. “It was a demon…a demon that Malic surely summoned!”

“I know not whether to believe you on that last point, but certainly it adds to your claim!” The hooded spellcaster grunted. “And you destroyed it with fire that not even water could lessen! You are truly what the stories claimed you to be!”

While Uldyssian was not unpleased to hear respect at last in his companion’s tone, he was more concerned with discovering just where Malic had gone.

The water bubbled again. Kethuus, staring past Uldyssian, raised a hand and began chanting.

Uldyssian spun around. The soaked ledge nearly caused him to slip back into the water, but he managed to keep his hold.

A fiery storm rained down upon the two men. The demon had ripped free its burning tentacles and now threw them.

Uldyssian clapped his hands together. An explosion of air tossed the tentacles away from him and Kethuus.

Yet as he succeeded there, the demon itself surged toward Uldyssian. From the bulbous body, a much-shorter appendage shot forth.

“I have it!” the mage called. He sliced at the air, and an arc of energy severed the tip of the short tentacle.

The limb fell, but the tip continued on. Uldyssian gestured at it, and it exploded in their faces.

Kethuus screamed. At first, Uldyssian did also, but then the pain abruptly vanished. In fact, his entire body grew numb. His legs collapsed. As he fell against the wall, he saw that Kethuus, too, had lost all control of his body. The mage slumped nearby.

The now-familiar bubbling sound grew louder and louder. A stench that had nothing to do with the water filled Uldyssian’s nostrils. The monstrous shape of the demon loomed over him.

A pair of tentacles wrapped around Uldyssian’s torso, lifting him up like a rag doll. The demon drew its victim close.

Uldyssian’s mind began to fog. Worse, he had no one but himself to blame for this catastrophe. He had walked into Malic’s trap fully confident in his ability to outwit the spirit and had only succeeded in proving himself a great fool.

One thing kept him puzzled. Why would Malic wish him dead if he needed his body? The high priest had been determined to make Uldyssian his new host. Had he found someone better?

The demon raised him higher, then began moving away from the ledge. It appeared to have no interest in Kethuus, which boded even more ill for Uldyssian. That made him wonder if the creature intended to bring him to Malic. That would explain some things.

But no sooner had Uldyssian thought that than the demon lowered him to just below its odd body, then pulled him underneath. There, for the first time, the son of Diomedes saw what he assumed was the creature’s mouth. The oval hole unsealed, and although within the demon there seemed some odd liquid, none of it spilled out.

This close, with the mage’s second glow ball still burning, Uldyssian could see at last what some of the objects within were. Small bits of metal, things like buttons and belt hooks.

He now knew why the searchers had found no trace of Zorun Tzin’s body.

His head was nearly at the mouth. Uldyssian could only imagine the terrible digestion process that would take place once he was within.

He fought back the fog. It finally receded, if only slightly. Uldyssian felt his powers returning. He had no time to think about what to do; as in such moments in the past, Uldyssian relied strictly on raw emotion to fuel his efforts. He stared into the demon’s body.

The thick liquid within bubbled. The demon let out a squeal as the bubbling intensified. A brownish tint began to form all over the bulbous body.

The creature flung Uldyssian high in the air, battering him against the ceiling. Even through the remaining numbness, Uldyssian felt the tremendous shock from the collision. Yet he refused to falter in his own attack.

Squealing louder, the monstrous creature again threw his prey at the ceiling. Uldyssian used the new pain to fuel his emotion-driven assault.

The demon’s body turned a dark brown. Inside, the sinister liquid began to vaporize. The bulbous body swelled.

The demon exploded.

In its death throes, it tossed Uldyssian up one last time. Caught unaware, Uldyssian hit his skull against the stone. The world spun around.

He struck the water, small bits of the demon spilling over him in the process. Uldyssian tried to orient himself, but his body would not function.

He sank beneath the water.

Rathma.

There was no reply to the dragon’s call. There had been no reply to the dozen before it. It was as if a veil had been thrown over part of Sanctuary, a veil that covered nearly all of the land of Kehjan and was, without a doubt, centered on its same-named capital.

But by Inarius alone, such a thing was not possible.

By Inarius alone.

And from everything that Trag’Oul could sense, this veil was not the work of two angels. No, there was a combination of powers involved here that Sanctuary had not experienced since its birth.

Angel and demon working together.

The glittering stars shifted about as Trag’Oul anxiously considered this. Angel and demon working together…and with but one possible reason.

There is no choice!
he insisted.
There is no choice! I must act! I must go to the mortal plane.

He began to draw forth the cosmic energies that would open the way for him. Only once before had Trag’Oul entered Sanctuary, and that had been just after the slaughter of the refugees by Lilith and Inarius’s subsequent reactions. At that time, the dragon had materialized for just a few seconds, long enough to lay the groundwork for Rathma’s discovery of him. He had chosen the son of Inarius well before that, seeing in him the spark that might help save the world should the angel decide it must be destroyed.

But now Trag’Oul would need to spend far longer than a few seconds. There would be no hiding himself from either the angel or the master demon with whom he worked.

And in revealing himself, Trag’Oul knew that he also risked ensuring the destruction of that which he had so long protected.

There is no choice,
he told himself again.
No choice!

The gateway was nearly complete, and then the voices struck him from all directions.

You cannot! You cannot! You cannot!

At the same time, the gateway disintegrated despite his best efforts to keep it from doing so.

Filled with an unaccustomed anger, he confronted the voices.
This is my burden! This is my duty! You have no say in this, none of you!

There was a moment of silence, and then, together, they responded,
But we do…this goes beyond Sanctuary now. Beyond all of us who stand sentinel.

The dragon grew wary.
How so? How can that be?

As ever, they answered as one, and, as before, their words struck him as nothing else could.
Because the war is coming to Sanctuary, and if you interfere with what the Balance demands, it and
all
existence may be forfeit.

They left him, then, all the others who stood guard as he did over their separate worlds, left him with the knowledge that it was his Sanctuary whose imminent fate might decide theirs. They left Trag’Oul with the understanding that all his years of aiding the Worldstone in shielding Sanctuary from the outside had come to naught.

It was not merely one angel who had discovered Inarius’s creation. The High Heavens themselves now knew of the world.

The eternal war was coming to Sanctuary…and he had just been forbidden to do anything about it.

Amolia appeared before Prince Ehmad, her dark expression matching her mood. “The council is not pleased. Uldyssian ul-Diomed does his cause no favor by slighting them like this!”

The prince sat in his personal chambers, sipping quietly from a flagon. There was but one candle lit, on the small table where he now set his drink.

“It was wrong to trust in him,” Ehmad remarked with a frown. “I only just found out from a spy of my own that he’s gone and made a pact with the Prophet to bring down the mage clans and the guilds and share all the land between his followers and the Cathedral.”

The blond woman looked not entirely surprised. “I thought him a base villain. You have proof of this?”

“I do, but I must present it to the council.” He rose. “It would be best if you took me there immediately, since they are already assembled.”

“There’s been no discussion of you appearing before them. If you have something to relay, give it to me, and I’ll tell them myself.”

“That would not serve. I must face them. It is the only way.”

Amolia shook her head. Her hand toyed with a medallion identical to that worn by Kethuus and others who served the mage council as they did. “Your daring is renowned, Prince Ehmad, as is your growing presumptuousness. You have no true authority; the love of the people means nothing in the end. If you were to cease to be, they would forget you in a day. The council has no need to grant you an audience. Whatever you wish to pass on, you can pass on through me.”

Ehmad thrust a hand into his pocket. “As you say. That might be for the best, after all. They certainly would not expect it.”

“Expect what?”

The prince reached out with his other hand. Amolia moved to brush it aside, but instead Ehmad gripped her wrist tight.

“Expect me to strike from in their midst,” he answered, smiling in a dark manner, “as one of their own.”

“You’re not—” was as far as the mage got.

Prince Ehmad’s body crumpled. The other hand slipped out of the pocket…and from its grasp rolled a tiny crimson crystal.

The female spellcaster smiled exactly as the prince had a moment before. She reached down and retrieved the precious fragment, slipping it into a pouch on her belt. A gilded mirror caught her attention. She walked over to it, examining herself.

“Yes…you will do for the time. Long enough, anyway.”

“It would be wise to cease unnecessary admiration for yourself, my son,” came a musical male voice.

The mage turned to find the beatific figure of the Prophet standing over the body of the prince. A scowl crossed Amolia’s features. “It pays to adjust my thinking before moving on. The better to play the part.”

“There is only one part with which to concern yourself. That is the ultimate elimination of Uldyssian ul-Diomed. Nothing else matters,” the Prophet insisted imperiously. “And certainly not your vile tastes…Malic.”

The spirit sneered at the angel, despite the fact that the latter could likely send him permanently back to the grave. “Vile, am I? But I serve the cause of the Cathedral and its glorious master.”

“And that is the only reason you are still permitted to walk this plane. You have had a holy task set upon you; do not waste what little chance of redemption you have by making it otherwise.”

But Malic laughed regardless. “A so holy task! Such blood and slaughter are worthy of any of the orders of the Triune! You would have made as good a Primus as my lord Lucion!”

The youthful figure stretched forth an open hand toward the spirit, and suddenly Malic felt himself wrenched from the latest body he had stolen. The mage’s form weaved back and forth as he desperately sought to maintain a tie to it. Despite his efforts, the high priest was pulled forward.

Inarius closed his hand, then let it casually fall to his side.

Malic’s spirit was flung back into Amolia’s body. The specter teetered from the strain of what had just happened.

“You will know your place, sinner,” the Prophet remarked. “You will be grateful that you are deemed worthy to serve me.”

“And…and another,” rasped Malic in Amolia’s voice. “The Lord Diablo.”

The angel paid his slight defiance no mind. Instead, Inarius gazed down at the prince. “This was a good man, and I weep for his necessary sacrifice, just as I do for the guard you used to reach him and even the brigand whose shape you wore to reach the guard. I weep for all my children who must pass from Sanctuary in order to save it. Their loss will be remembered fondly by me always.”

And with that, he waved his hand over Ehmad’s corpse. As had happened to Gamuel, the prince became dust that blew away to nothing.

Malic watched silently, his breathing still heavy. He did not need to ask for the Prophet to deal with the other two bodies mentioned, for the high priest had his own methods of disposing of unwanted evidence.

That made him consider what he would have to do after this latest shell had served its usefulness. He wanted an end to this; he wanted the body that would serve him best…serve him forever.

“I still claim his corpse when this is done,” Malic reminded his tormentor. “That was the offering by you and the Lord of Terror. Do this thing as you say, and I become Uldyssian ul-Diomed. That was promised!”

“You will receive your reward for services rendered, yes. I do not lie.”

The Prophet might not lie—and Malic was not so certain about that point—but there were many variations of his truth. Malic could not see the angel stomaching his continued existence; Inarius surely intended the specter’s time in his desired body to be short.

But the high priest had notions of his own. Whatever agreement the angel and Lord Diablo had, Malic would see that it would benefit him, not mean his end.

“The council and the guilds are waiting,” Inarius stated, his form beginning to lose definition. One ethereal hand drew a series of flaming runes in the air. “Touching this pattern on the medallion will enable you to utilize its ability to transport you to them.”

Malic had already known that, but he bowed his head regardless. He had shown enough defiance; now it was time for contrition.

“Do not fail in this” were the angel’s last words before he vanished.

“I have no intention,” the specter murmured to the empty air. “Not, at least, where my plans are concerned.”

Now fully recovered from Inarius’s painful lesson, Malic glanced again at the mirror, then touched the medallion. The runes glowed.

“Soon…” he whispered, imagining Uldyssian’s face before him. “Soon…”

The swarm had finally retreated. It had not been vanquished, however. The sky had still been filled with the vicious insects, but just when the edyrem had been about to fail, the mantises had at last risen back into the sky and fled in the direction from which they had come.

The edyrem could do nothing but slump to the ground in exhaustion. Had the mage clans or the city sent out a force to attack them, there would have been some question of how many of Uldyssian’s followers would have survived.

Serenthia was as exhausted as any of the others, but she forced herself to continue walking around the encampment, appearing as a symbol of confidence for the rest. In truth, her spirits were low, and not merely because of the bizarre attack. Now Mendeln was missing. The merchant’s daughter had little doubt that the swarming had something to do with that.

They’re all gone,
Serenthia thought as she kept a false smile on her lips. Saron wearily saluted her, then went back to trying to organize some of the others. Of Jonas, there was no sign, but she felt certain that he was in the midst of a similar task. Serenthia was grateful for both men’s loyalty and assistance, but they were not Uldyssian, Mendeln, or…or even Achilios. She was alone, and there was a fear that it would remain that way.

So close to the capital, the illumination caused by so many torches and oil lamps could be seen over the treetops. Out of necessity, Serenthia posted guards, all the while hoping that there would be no need of them.

When she felt that she had shown herself enough, Serenthia retired to a secluded area near the rear of the encampment. She ate a small meal that one of the edyrem offered her—they never let her cook for herself—then settled down and prayed for a decent night’s slumber and the good news of Uldyssian and his brother.

But a comfortable sleep was not to be hers. The dreams came quickly, and all of them had to do with losing Achilios again. If she did not relive his death, then she stood at the opposite end of a great gulf, stretching her hands out in vain to him as he receded farther and farther away. In every dream, the raven-tressed woman cried, and as she slept, actual tears slid down her face.

Serenthia…

Her eyes immediately opened, but whether or not she was still asleep, she could not say. It was not possible that she had heard
his
voice. Achilios’s voice.