The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet (88 page)

But would it ultimately be enough when the true threat came to Sanctuary?

A swelling of magical energy brought him back to the situation at hand. Reprimanding himself for the distraction, the son of Diomedes stared at the mages’ sanctum. Then, imagining his present form had a hand, he cupped it over the distant but foreboding building.

And under his hand, what seemed the upper half of an eggshell took shape over the structure. It grew to encompass all that he desired, then descended. As it did, the shell turned translucent, then invisible.

Uldyssian nodded in satisfaction. He sensed the spellcasters only now noticing that something was amiss. Their consternation rose as they tested what could not be seen but completely enveloped them. They would find that they could not leave by magical or physical means, nor could they make any contact whatsoever with those outside. To onlookers, the sanctum would appear empty, desolate.

More important, if Uldyssian had done as he hoped, the attack they had just been conjuring would be no more. He tested that hope, seeking any trace of the surge he had earlier noticed.

But there was nothing.

Uldyssian returned to his body. As he opened his eyes, he silently informed the others of his success. The soldiers of Kehjan had no magical support. They were truly like lambs to the slaughter, save that Uldyssian had no desire for that.

Just this once,
he prayed.
Just this once, let there be no deaths.

He reached to all the edyrem now, asking of them what they could give. His reasons for this he made apparent, so that they would understand. There were no protests, just some surprise and a little regret. However, this was what Uldyssian wished, and so they would obey.

Again, he felt guilty that they trusted him so much.

Once more, Uldyssian sought out the Kehjani soldiers. It did not take long at all, for they were nearly within sight of his followers. He had little time to plan; it had to happen now.

It was a matter of wills, his—magnified by the contributions of each of the edyrem—against theirs. The soldiers numbered more than his following, but they were merely men and had not been introduced to the gifts they carried within. Thus, there was no comparison at all between the two forces.

But still, Uldyssian would not know if he could succeed until he actually tried.

Sleep,
he commanded the Kehjani.

What seemed a light, pure snow—snow in a land seething with heat—showered the oncoming army. Their perfect marching faltered as many looked up in bewilderment. Uldyssian sensed apprehension on the part of the officers, for they knew that this could be nothing good.

The first man to be touched by the gentle flakes yawned. He stopped marching, then dropped to his knees. By this time, several others in the ranks had joined him. An officer rushed up to a pair and raised his whip…then followed their example.

One by one, then by the dozens—then the hundreds—the army of Kehjan set down their weapons, fell quietly to their knees, and simply went to sleep. They did not lie down but just knelt there in row upon row, their arms dangling, their heads cocked to one side or another. Eyes closed and mouths slack, the soldiers rested peacefully.

Those mounted, including the commanders, had no time to flee from their comrades’ fate. Riders merely went limp, slumping over in the saddle. Their horses did as they often were inclined to when sleeping; they lowered their heads and slept standing up.

An entire army still faced the edyrem, but it was one that would not awaken until Uldyssian commanded it.

From among his followers, there was at first silence. It was not that they were disappointed in the lack of any bloodshed but that most were not certain that if by shouting out, they would somehow shatter the spell. Once Uldyssian reassured them that this would not happen, the cries rose from everywhere. The edyrem cheered the incredible sight, an image made all the more arresting by the faint snow cover on helmets and shoulders.

Uldyssian ended the shower of sleep-inducing flakes. He smiled gratefully, thankful that his prayer had come to pass—and then wondered just to
whom
he had been praying. Not Inarius or the Three, certainly.

But that hardly mattered at the moment. What did was the welcome vision that he had made come to pass. There would be no horrific fight between his people and Kehjan. The situation was temporary, but it would last long enough, he hoped.

Long enough to deal with Inarius.

Mendeln cursed at the dragon and at matters in general. He swore with a passion he rarely displayed. It had much to do with once more being treated as if he had no say in what was happening. Each time someone desired to use him, he was snatched away from his brother’s side and dropped wherever they pleased. That the same thing had happened to others did in no way assuage him. At the moment, Mendeln felt particularly picked on.

His fury was such that he did not even at first pay any mind to Trag’Oul’s distress, clearly evident in the creature’s voice.

Mendeln…Mendeln…can you feel him? I can barely…maintain a link.

“Return me to my brother! I am sick of this! How many times must I bow to you and Rathma? I am grateful for what I have learned, but this is not—”

Listen to me!
demanded the dragon in a tone that cut off any further protest by the human.
Look about you! See where you are!

Uldyssian’s brother did just that—and only then registered that the blackness in which he floated was not the domain of Trag’Oul. This place radiated such emptiness that Mendeln suddenly clutched his arms tight around his body and wished fitfully for the relative cheer of the dragon’s home.

Do not fall prey to it! If you do, not only Rathma but you, too, will be lost. Pay heed!

Trag’Oul’s warning began to sink in. Trying to focus, Mendeln held the dagger to his face and focused on its reassuring light. Some of the fear began to recede.

“Where—where is this?” he finally managed to ask. “And did you say that Rathma is here somewhere?”

Here…and trapped possibly until the end of all. Sent to this accursed place by Inarius as a reward for seeking to do the right thing.

Mendeln had feared that the Ancient’s visit to his father would prove to be a fool’s errand, but even he could not imagine the angel so vicious as to condemn his offspring to this hellish abyss. “What is this place?”

Trag’Oul’s voice sounded fainter, as if he were farther away now.
What could be called the remotest part of existence! A place so far from all else that to be trapped here is to be cursed forever.

New chills ran through Mendeln as he heard this. He imagined floating here for all eternity, never to see or hear anything again.

The strain…the strain of reaching out all the way here is…is growing worse. Mendeln ul-Diomed, you must act as the link between myself…and Rathma…if we are to save him.

While Uldyssian’s brother more or less understood what the dragon explained to him, a point that Trag’Oul had inadvertently mentioned made him very anxious. The dragon had just revealed that he was not even with Mendeln but rather had sent the human here alone. Trag’Oul kept a
link
with the son of Diomedes but no more.

And if that link—already strained, as the celestial being had informed him—broke, Mendeln’s fears of being lost forever would come very true.

Concentrate!
Trag’Oul demanded almost angrily.
Do not give in to the fear!

Mendeln tried his best to focus. Trag’Oul was powerful. He would not let the human be lost. The dragon was very concerned about his pupils. Was he not doing his best also to rescue Rathma?

“Let this be done,” the human said to the darkness. Then, in more of a mutter, “If it
can
be…”

It is up to you now…you know Rathma…you must seek his presence out…you must call him to you. I cannot do more than I have…there is so much else going on.

Despite his curiosity, Mendeln dared not ask to what other tasks the dragon referred. Instead, he turned his mind completely to seeking the Ancient, using the bond that Rathma and he had forged through their roles as mentor and student. He called out to Rathma and sought with the dagger to locate the lost soul.

It was difficult to measure time in this place. Mendeln felt as if he spent an entire lifetime seeking Rathma, seeking and finding nothing.

And then…

Mendeln.

It was faint…so very faint. Mendeln searched in every possible direction but again found nothing. He held the dagger everywhere, silently calling over and over again.

Mendeln.

There! He focused the dagger in the direction from which he believed the call had come. It
sounded
like Rathma, but he still was not certain.

His name came once more, now a bit stronger.
Mendeln! Where
—

“I have him!” he all but roared to Trag’Oul.

Use your power to draw him near. Hurry! They suspect the ruse!

Who “they” were, Uldyssian’s brother feared to know. He chose to ignore the comments, instead following the dragon’s suggestions about Rathma.

Clutching the dagger with both hands, he threw all he had learned into summoning Rathma to him. The dagger flared bright, its light comforting in the emptiness.

Rathma,
he called in his head.
Rathma…

Then Mendeln felt something drawing near. He could see nothing but was certain that it was attracted by his spellwork. A faint presence that reminded him of the Ancient grew noticeable.

Something formed in the emptiness. A sphere. It was opaque, almost as if covered by frost. This surely had to be Rathma’s magical prison.

But then Mendeln sensed something else. There was still that about the oncoming sphere that hinted of Rathma…but also something else.

Something sinister…and familiar.

Mendeln pointed the dagger directly at the sphere and altered his spellwork.

The frostlike coating burned away, and the maddened face of
Lilith
glared out at him.

“Mendeln!” Her expression immediately shifted, turning from bestial to beguiling. The rest of her transformed as well, turning more human. She resembled Lylia again, but also Serenthia and other women Mendeln had known and admired over the years. “Dear, sweet Mendeln…my savior…”

His heart pounded. Mendeln knew that it was as much because of her sorcery as her unearthly beauty, but he found it difficult to reject her presence. She was helpless now, entirely dependent upon his might. For him, Lilith would do anything,
be
anything. Whoever he desired. She was willing, Uldyssian’s brother could see that in her wondrous eyes. They beckoned and promised. They called to him.

Lilith stretched forth her hand. Mendeln started to reach to her.

The dagger flared as if of its own doing. In its even more brilliant light, Mendeln saw her again as she truly was.

Disgust at his own weakness overtook him. “No…no more from you, harpy!”

He uttered words of power, and the sphere shot backward into the darkness. The demoness’s shriek was terrible to hear, filled with both fury and despair. Lilith cursed his name even as she called for him.

And then Mendeln could hear the temptress no more.

The shock of confronting her—especially since she was
supposed
to be dead—shook Mendeln so much that he nearly demanded that Trag’Oul immediately return him to his world. However, just as he became determined to do this, he felt Rathma’s faint presence again.

Mendeln hesitated but could not risk abandoning this one last hope. He repeated his earlier magic, using the dagger to draw whatever it was he had sensed.

A breath later, another sphere drifted close. Like the first, it was covered with the peculiar, frostlike coating. Keeping wary, Mendeln removed the latter as he had previously.

Before him floated a weary but grateful Rathma.

“I have him!” he shouted to Trag’Oul.

Yes…I know.

And suddenly, Mendeln felt himself propelled through the emptiness. As stunned as he was by the effect, he had the presence of mind to keep focused on Rathma.

Vertigo struck the younger son of Diomedes—and then he landed on something hard.

Above him, the glittering stars that were the dragon proved a welcome sight.

And a voice from his right proved even more welcome. Gasping for breath himself, Inarius’s son said, “You have no idea, Mendeln…my gratitude…for that risk.”

“It was Trag’Oul who was able to send me there,” Uldyssian’s brother pointed out as he turned to face the Ancient. “He who managed to find where you had been cast in the first place.”