The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet (9 page)

But both men knew that such a thing would never happen. Achilios and Serenthia could return, yes, and
would,
if the farmer had his way. However, Uldyssian—and by fault of blood, Mendeln—were likely saying good-bye to their home forever.

“We’ve only four mounts,” the trader’s daughter gasped. “Uldyssian, you and I could—”

“I shall ride with you, Uldyssian,” interjected Lylia. “She is welcome to the other horse.”

Serenthia looked ready to argue, but Uldyssian, reacting to the noblewoman’s words, had already returned one set of reins. Achilios quickly handed them to Mendeln, who eyed the reins as if they had turned into serpents.

“Mount up!” urged the archer. “The tremor seems to be subsiding!”

Sure enough, all was slowly quieting in Seram. Uldyssian wondered if the tremor would renew its throes if he willed it so, then cursed himself for even thinking of such a thing. Whether or not he was somehow responsible, enough people had already been harmed or even slain due to events. To wish for something that might endanger others further was to him nearly as terrible as the crimes to which he had been accused.

He glanced around at the few who had stood by him. Of all of them, Serenthia was the most innocent. Surely, she at least could return
now
rather than later.

“Serry! Go back to the village! No one likely saw you! Go back to your father and brothers—”

She gave him a defiant look. “Not until I know that you’re safe!”

To Uldyssian’s surprise, Achilios added his support to her rather than to his friend. “She should ride with us for a time until things are settled. Now, no more talk!”

“To the southeast!” Lylia declared without warning. “Ride to the southeast! We will be safest there!”

Unfamiliar with that region, Uldyssian looked at the hunter, but Achilios only shrugged. He had not been much farther from Seram than his companions.

Lylia leaned near Uldyssian’s ear, her breath warm and stimulating. “Trust me,” she whispered. “The southeast…”

“To the southeast, then!” he growled to the others. “And away from this madness…”

With the noblewoman’s arms locked around his waist and her soft head against his back, Uldyssian ul-Diomed urged his mount on. Behind him came the others, Achilios taking up the rear.

It would all resolve itself, the farmer insisted in his mind. It would all resolve itself. Somehow, sense would be made of everything and he would be able to begin his life again, albeit probably not anywhere near Seram. The ties he had had with the other villagers had been forever cut. He could never trust them again, just as they could never trust him. The accusations and the memories would always lurk in the background.

But Uldyssian could start over elsewhere, forgetting all that had happened in Seram. A farmer only needed a good patch of land and a strong hand. He had both. He could build a new home and, just perhaps, make it large enough for a family. Lylia had sacrificed much for him. He had to mean something to her, whatever the difference in their bloodlines. Together, they would put behind their pasts and make a new future.

If the Cathedral and the Temple let them, that is…

They paused that night near the edge of a hilly tract that overlooked in the distant part of the vast jungles that surrounded the more tamed central regions of Kehjan the land. It naturally fell to Achilios to hunt for game. Mendeln worked on a fire while Serenthia, Lylia, and Uldyssian ventured out a short distance in separate directions to see if they could find water and edible berries. More than happy to focus on something other than his predicament, the fugitive farmer wended his way farther than agreed, the stillness of the rolling forest calming his heart for the first time in days. Indeed, he savored the silence so much that, for a good part of the search, Uldyssian forgot what it was he was supposed to be doing.

His peace was abruptly shattered by the sound of rustling leaves. Uldyssian instinctively reached for the knife that he had long lost.

But as he realized his folly, a form pushed through to him. His heart raced, but out of pleasure, not fear.

“I am sorry,” Lylia murmured, looking up at him. “I was frightened by myself! I—I wanted to be with you, Uldyssian…”

His blood raced as she put an ivory hand on his own. Her eyes caught what light there was from the foliage-obscured moon, making them almost glow like stars themselves.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he reassured her, savoring the touch. “Tomorrow, things’ll be better. You’ll see.”

The noblewoman smiled. “How silly to hear
you
trying to calm
me!
’Tis your life at threat, Uldyssian…”

“We’re far from Seram now. They’ll forget about me.” It was obviously a lie, but the farmer had no idea what else to say.

“They will not. I think…Uldyssian, there is only one way to prevent us from having to run and run forever. I said something of it before and now that I have seen the wondrous gifts you possess, I think it more than ever.”

He did not like where she was going with this. “Lylia…”

“Please…” Without warning, the blond noblewoman kissed him. It was long and lingering and filled Uldyssian with a yearning.

“We must go to the great city itself,” she said once they had separated. “You must speak to the people! Not the mage clans or the nobles, but the
common
folk! They will understand you—”

He laughed harshly. “My own village didn’t understand me! They saw me as some kind of horrible monster!”

“That was due to the awful circumstances, Uldyssian! If you go to the city, you start fresh! You have been given a gift most fantastic! They must be told!”

“And what am I supposed to preach to them? To follow me like some god or spirit or I’ll tear them apart as I did the Cathedral’s men? What could I give them except fear and loathing?”

Her expression turned solemn. She stared deep into his eyes. “You could give them the promise of becoming as
you
are! Of becoming more than the Cathedral or the Triune could ever claim for them!”

“Of becoming like me?” The farmer could scarcely believe his ears. Was she mad? “Why would they want to become like me? To suffer as I have? For that matter, I still don’t even know exactly if I believe it all in the first place—”

Lylia put a finger to his lips. “Then test it again. One last time. Here and now.”

“Test—”

“The final proof.” She looked around. “There. Something small but significant. Impossible to deny.”

The noblewoman led him toward a bush of the type for which they had been searching. However, this one was withered and, in addition to wrinkled leaves, had only a few shriveled berries to offer.

“What am I supposed to do?” growled Uldyssian anxiously.

“Touch it. Imagine what you want of it. That is all.”

He recalled the last time that he had done as she had asked. It was still possible to question what exactly had happened then. Here, though…

But he could not deny her.
Imagine what you want of it,
Lylia had said. Uldyssian nervously shrugged. What
would
he want from the bush other than some fresh berries? But the plant was long past that and, in fact, looked near to dying. If it had been younger, full of life, surely it would have offered a bounty for them.

He let his fingers graze the dry bush. The leaves and branches were brittle to his touch. The plant was not dying; it was
dead
.

There was no point in continuing. “Lylia—”

She softly placed her hand atop his, keeping it on in contact with the dead bush. “Please…just this once more.”

Despite his wariness, he wanted nothing more than to please her. With her hand still atop his own, the son of Diomedes thought of the bush and the juicy, ripe crop he would have liked to have found. Enough to feed them all. After the troubles he and the others had suffered in part due to these supposed powers, it was the least he could ask—

With a gasp, Uldyssian suddenly tore his hand back from the bush.

Unlike when he had concentrated on the storm over Seram, there was no hesitation between his desire and the fruition of it. Even in the dim moonlight, the transformation he now beheld could not be mistaken for anything short of miraculous.

The bush stood swollen several times its emaciated size and was now covered in lush leaves. From the few dried berries had burst a cornucopia of fresh, fat ones. They were not restricted to those native to the bush, either, for Uldyssian could easily make out more than half a dozen distinct variations. Blossoms also dotted the rejuvenated plant, filling the vicinity with a sweet scent.

In comparison to the storm, it was a small thing, this transformation, but it forever put to death for the farmer any doubt that
he
wielded powers beyond his imagination.

And that very realization made him tremble as he never had before, not even when facing the guards of the Cathedral.

“Why do you shake so?” asked Lylia, coming around him. “Look!” The beautiful noblewoman reached out and snatched some of the berries. She thrust them in her mouth, eating with gusto. Her eyes widened in merriment as she ate. “Delicious!” Lylia concluded. “Taste for yourself!”

Before he could decline, she had torn off another bunch and brought them to his lips. Her face she planted in his chest, eyes ever on his own.

Uldyssian could do nothing but accept the bounty. Lylia placed the berries into his mouth, her fingers lingering for a moment.

“Taste them,” she repeated, slowly removing her hand.

Never in his life had Uldyssian come across such flavor. Each berry was a treasure unto itself, as sweet as the sweetest wine…

“The power within you should be feared only by those who envy you! When all others see the good it creates, they will understand…and then…then, you can teach them…”

“T—Teach them?”

“What I spoke of before! To see the potential within them to be as you! To show them that they need not cow to mage clans, Temples, or Cathedrals, Uldyssian! To know that within each is a glory beyond the conceiving of any would-be prophet or cleric…” She halted. “I speak from knowledge, my love. You
can
show them the way…I know it! Watch…watch…”

The noblewoman reached out to one of the blossoms, touching it softly with the tip of her index finger.

And from within the flower burst a tiny stem ending in an oval berry. The berry swelled quickly, then broke open, revealing a small, curled flower. That, in turn, opened wide. As Uldyssian gaped, a twin of the original blossom formed.

“It worked! I knew it! I felt it!” Lylia’s laughter was music. “I have felt it ever since you healed me, as if what you did somehow stirred to waking a force within! It is not much, compared to what you have accomplished, but it is something…” She turned to him again, her voice taking on a determined edge. “You woke it in me, my love! Therefore, you can do the same for others! No false prophets will be able to fill their ears with lies after you are done! No one will ever be given empty promises, useless hopes! And all because of you!”

Her words swirled around him, both daunting…and tempting. In his mind, the farmer relived the deaths of his family and the cloying ways of the clerics who had come to take advantage of his grief. His anxiety and fear gave way to outrage again.

Lylia pulled his face down to hers, her lips barely an inch from his. “How many more are there who have suffered like you, my dear Uldyssian? You could see to it that it never happens again!”

No more clerics. No more Triune. No more Cathedral of Light. Men would depend upon themselves, guide themselves…

The son of Diomedes grinned. He liked the sound of that.

“And I…” Lylia breathed. “I will stand with you at all times. The two of us always together, always…
one.”

She kissed him long and longingly…then led him to the soft ground…

Serenthia huddled by the fire, on a small cloth her meager find. Most of the berries were hardly edible, but at least they were there. She had found a few flowers worth eating, too.

Mendeln stood across from her, peering into the dark beyond the campfire. Achilios was not expected for a time, but Uldyssian and Lylia should have been back by now and both there knew it. Mendeln only worried about his brother’s safety, while the thoughts of the trader’s daughter were far more complicated.

“She’s with him,” Serenthia murmured, her tone hinting of an emotion that Mendeln ever found uncomfortable. Women in Seram had never found him of interest and he, in turn, had never figured out exactly how to change that.

“It is possible, I suppose.” He tried to change the subject. “I hope that Achilios can catch at least one rabbit. There was little but dried rations in the guards’ saddlebags.”

“I worry about him, Mendeln,” she went on. “When that woman is with him, Uldyssian loses track of reason.”

“Surely not. I know my brother well.”

Serenthia abruptly rose, causing her companion to step back in surprise. “All she’s got to do is whisper in his ear and he follows her like a puppy!”

“Love will do that,” he replied before realizing just what he had said. To his horror, Serenthia gazed at him as if he had just shoved a dagger into her heart. “What I mean to say is—”

Thankfully, his babbling was interrupted by the arrival of not Uldyssian, but Achilios. The hunter carried two rabbits and a bird in his left hand and wore a smile on his face that evaporated when he noted Serenthia’s expression.

“Serry…what?” He looked from her to Mendeln and the burning gaze was enough to make Uldyssian’s brother feel like the next quarry in Achilios’s hunt. “You
told
her? Mendeln! How could you? Serry, I’m so sorry about your father—”

Mendeln sought to wave him to silence, but it was too late. Now the terrible expression that she had focused on the younger son of Diomedes was turned against the archer.
“What
about
my father?”

Achilios suddenly started toward Mendeln as if not hearing her. “Help me make these ready, Mendeln! They’ll take a while to cook, so we’d better work fast—”

“Achilios!”
Cyrus’s daughter stepped around the fire, coming between the two men. “What happened to my father?” She glanced at Uldyssian’s sibling. “You know, too?”

“Serenthia, I—”

She only grew more distraught. “Something’s happened to him! I want to know what!”

Abandoning his catch, the hunter seized her by the shoulders. Mendeln had thought of doing the same, but, as was usual in dealing with women, he was generally a second behind the actions of other men.

“Serry…” All the merriment Achilios usually displayed had utterly vanished. “Serry…Cyrus is dead.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No…no…no…”

“It is true,” Mendeln added as cautiously as he could. “It was…an accident.”

“How?”

Uldyssian’s brother hesitated. “A portion of roof torn off by the wind.”

The dark-haired woman looked down. “The wind…”

Mendeln feared she would blame Uldyssian, but instead Serenthia slumped down by the fire again. Putting her face in her hands, she began to cry.

It was Achilios who went to her side first. The archer put a comforting arm around his companion. There was nothing but compassion and concern in either his expression or his actions. Mendeln was aware just how much Achilios cared for Serenthia, more so than anyone including himself. Certainly in a different manner than Uldyssian, who had never truly ceased seeing her as the young girl tagging along.

But knowing Serenthia as he did, Mendeln pitied the hunter. Here was one quarry all his skills could not catch for him.

Feeling uncomfortable, Mendeln slipped away from the campfire. Achilios had brought them enough food, and once matters calmed, they could all get to work preparing it. For now, all he desired was to leave Serenthia in the care of the archer.

It was not simply out of respect that he left the trader’s daughter to Achilios, no. As he slipped into the dark woods, Mendeln knew that he had departed as much for the sake of his own mind. What would he have said next to Serenthia…that her father had been calling for her
after
his death? That he could have sworn that he had seen Cyrus standing above the wreckage of his own
body?