“Most Holy One,” he began, seeking some word that would mean his salvation. “It is possible that this woman—”
But the Primus shook his head. “No, my Arihan. No. The plot—my glorious plot—should have triumphed! He will demand the reason why and she may not be enough—”
“’He,’ O Great One?” the human blurted, trying to stall for time. The many spells he knew were unlikely to work here, but Arihan had to attempt something. Unfortunately, it was impossible to concentrate for another reason. There were too many spiders, either crawling on the throne, the walls, the Primus—and himself, Arihan discovered—or dangling from the ceiling. Some of them were as large as the high priest’s hand or even larger.
And at last Arihan recalled what those spiders indicated. He knew what stood before him, disguised as his master. He had never seen the demon, but had, as a young priest, read of him and heard the rumors that the creature dwelled deep in the recesses of the grand temple.
“Our lord Diablo, my good Arihan…” the false Primus answered to his question. “He it will be that demands not only a reason why, but the one who failed!” As he spoke, the figure’s handsome face began to rip away. Loose threads erupted where the flesh split, threads of silk.
Spiders’ threads.
And underneath, was a hairy monstrosity that once Arihan would have gladly summoned, a demon who served the true lord of the high priest’s order.
“Great One!” he gasped. “Let me go with you to speak with the wondrous Diablo! Together, we can—”
The robe tore apart as a huge, somewhat manlike shape with eight limbs expanded. Arihan’s desperate suggestion was cut off as four clawed hands seized him and pulled his face within inches of a savage pair of mandibles. Saliva dripped on the high priest’s immaculate garments.
“Together we shall go, yes, my Arihan, but to present your head on the platter! The head only, yes…for the rest of you this one will need for strength when facing the grand and magnificent Diablo!”
The mandibles sank into the high priest’s throat, ripping out everything. Arihan had no chance to utter even a gurgle. His head flopped to the side, barely held by some bits of bone and sinew.
Astrogha swallowed the mouthful, then shifted the body to begin sucking out the precious fluids. What the human did not understand was that the demon had actually done him a tremendous favor, killing him so quickly. Lord Diablo might have made him suffer longer, torturing the puny mortal until he was satisfied that he not only knew everything, but had put Arihan through all that entertained the master of terror.
But in the process of that, the high priest might have implicated Astrogha in the failure. Even despite having prevented that scenario, the arachnid would have to do some quick thinking to save himself.
And as he supped, one notion already formulated. Lucion was still absent, Lucion who should have noticed what was afoot and come to add his power to the effort. Yes, somehow this would be steered again toward Lucion…and the female with Uldyssian ul-Diomed, also. Arihan had spoken the truth when he had said that she had revealed more than even the demon had expected. She would become the other focus of Astrogha’s defense…
At last satiated, he threw the carcass down for the children to finish. Already, Astrogha could sense Diablo awaiting word of his success.
The demon glanced down at the high priest’s grotesque corpse, already covered by spiders. “Consider yourself fortunate, my Arihan…consider yourself fortunate…this one may yet envy your fate…yes, envy and plead for it to be so merciful…”
With that, Astrogha opened the way between places, reaching forth into the Burning Hells…
I have awaited you…came the dread voice.
The edyrem looked up as one, sensing the call. It was not from the master, but from she who was closest to him. That was enough. Romus waved his hand and they surged toward Hashir. Even those minding the smallest children followed, for the edyrem did not leave anyone behind. The weakest among them would be better protected staying with the rest, even if that meant following them into a struggle…
And so, there was left only one figure standing in the jungle, one figure who wished with all his might to join the stream of bodies flowing toward the city gates. However, Achilios could not do so, not without creating greater catastrophe.
It’s…as they said…she’ll take up the reins if he’s gone. The archer had not wanted to believe that, but he should have known that Rathma and the dragon were correct. They seemed to be correct about all things.
No…not all. They had been wrong about him. They felt that he would be utterly obedient to what they said. Not because they demanded that obedience, but because they assumed the rightness of their decisions made no objection possible.
But even if a dead man now walking, Achilios was still Achilios. He had considered other courses of action that skirted the choices made by Lilith’s son and the thing called Trag’Oul.
He had Serenthia to consider…and that was the most important matter of all.
Achilios looped his bow tight over his shoulder, then started running. Death had not slowed him, and in fact, he could cover ground much, much faster now. He left little if any trail and could avoid nearly all obstructions.
From Hashir came screams and the clash of metal. Rathma had granted him abilities necessary to the cloaked one’s demands and so Achilios knew what was going on inside even better than Uldyssian’s edyrem. He also knew very well who was leading the struggle. That made the hunter increase his already astounding pace.
Around the outskirts of Hashir’s territory he ran, pausing only to avoid the homes of those who lived beyond the city’s walls. At all times, Achilios kept one sight in focus; the three towers of the temple. As with Toraja, the Triune preferred a location that gave them access through a separate gate. To Achilios, that should have been enough to warrant suspicion from anyone concerning them, for what reason would a noble and loving sect have need of a path of escape?
Of course, to be fair, before his own slaughter, Achilios doubted that even he would have paid much attention. Life had a way of blinding people. Only death seemed to truly open the eyes…
The gateway he sought finally came into view. One side was already open. The senior priests obviously did not trust their chances at this point. He wondered if they actually thought that their masters would welcome them with open arms after this fiasco. Then again, perhaps the Triune’s true lords would…and then promptly flay all of them alive.
Achilios decided to save the demons the trouble. Freeing his bow, he reached for an arrow—and found himself staring at a startled Hashiri woman carrying a basket.
The moment she registered him, the woman shrieked. Achilios could imagine her shock and self-loathing filled him. However, for all he hated how he was, there remained greater priorities.
“Run…home…” he rumbled. “Go!”
She did not need more coaxing. Spilling the basket and its contents on the jungle floor, the woman rushed away.
The incident already forgotten, the undead archer notched an arrow—
And was promptly tackled by a heavy, armored form.
The dagger that sank deep in his chest would have killed him, if he had not already been dead. His attacker started to lean back, clearly confident of his strike. The vague outline of a morlu filled Achilios’s gaze.
The archer grinned, a sight he was certain would have been ghastly to any living person. “Too little…too late.”
With a strength now as inhuman as that of the morlu, Achilios threw the bestial warrior high into the air. The morlu collided with a tree, cracking the latter in two.
Achilios, well aware how little that would stop his adversary, was already on his feet. The bow came up and a shaft went flying even as the armored assassin rose from the tangle.
With utter accuracy, the bolt hit one of the black eye sockets. As the morlu grasped for it, Achilios fired at the remaining socket.
Grunting, the helmed creatur
e batted away the oncoming missile. However, Achilios had already expected that. His shot had only been to distract. The bow fell to the ground as the hunter pulled free a long knife. He leapt toward the morlu as the latter finally pulled free the one bolt, a sucking sound accompanying its removal.
The knife, honed sharp and wielded by an expert, severed the armored creature’s head from the neck.
Achilios kicked the twitching body aside. He grabbed the head even as one of the morlu’s hands sought for his leg.
Hefting the head, the archer threw it deeper into the jungle. Turning back only long enough to retrieve his bow, Achilios raced past the torso, which sought in vain to regain its footing. The foul magic animating it would last only a short time longer, too short for the morlu to save himself by retrieving his head. Achilios wondered if the same thing would hold true should someone remove his. Perhaps, if somehow the crisis passed and the others no longer needed his questionable aid, he would test it out himself. After all, what was there left for him? No love, no life…
The hunter grimaced. As an animated corpse, he had become very maudlin. All that mattered was fulfilling his mission and then dying again. Everything else he could leave to Uldyssian, Mendeln…and, if there was still hope, Serenthia.
If there was still a Serenthia.
The morlu had been a warning that the woman’s scream had alerted some of those he sought. Achilios stuffed the knife in his belt, then readied another arrow.
By this time, four wary figures had emerged through the gate. Three were guards, the last a priest he estimated somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy. The guards faced different directions, evidently checking the safety of the immediate area.
The priest—his robes that of Bala—stared in the direction of Achilios.
The hunter let the bolt fly. With darkness to shadow it, it should have cut down the robed figure. Instead, the priest raised a hand—
Achilios’s arrow exploded in midflight.
But the archer had already expected that something might happen. Barely had he let fly the first than he shot a second. As Achilios had surmised, the priest had quick reflexes, but not that quick. The second arrow burrowed deep into the robed chest, its momentum sending the prey falling.
The guards turned in his direction. One shouted something and two more came through the gateway.
Achilios fired three more bolts in rapid succession. One bounced off the breastplate of his target, the second caught a guard in the arm, and the third pierced the throat of its quarry.
The two survivors retreated to the new pair. They looked convinced that they were being attacked by more than one person, exactly as he had wanted. Achilios retreated from his location, blending into the darkness in a manner that he could only do by being dead.
There was no sign of another morlu, which possibly meant that the rest were involved in the chaos. That increased Achilios’s chances of finishing the special task he had set upon himself. All he needed now was to continue pressing those seeking flight from Hashir.
But at that moment, he sensed something else in the jungle, something as unsettling to it as he was.
The ground below him heaved up, as if about to erupt. What at first he mistook for the upturned roots of the nearby trees shot up and around him. Only after the first had snared his leg did the archer see them for what they actually were.
Tentacles…the tentacles of some huge, grotesque creature burrowing through the soft dirt.
A creature that was not of Sanctuary.
As a second tendril snared his bow arm, Achilios cursed himself for forgetting the true patrons of the Triune. The priest he had shot had been a servant of Baal, the Lord of Destruction. Foolish of the archer to forget the man might have summoned another servant of the Prime Evil, a servant not in the least human.
Still, whether or not the dead priest had summoned this denizen of the Burning Hells was a moot point. What was important was escaping it; no easy task. It already had both of Achilios’s legs and one arm and he had still not seen more than the tentacles. Instead, the only measure he had of his foe was that the ground everywhere around him continued to shake, as if whatever lurked below it was gargantuan.
Reaching the knife would have driven a living man to terrible wrenching pain, but Achilios was thankfully beyond such mundane sensations. Thus, he was able to grip the blade just as another tentacle sought his wrist. Twisting, Achilios slashed at the tip, watching with satisfaction as the faithful edge cut through.
A low, thick thundering arose from beneath him. The jungle shook violently. If not for the very tentacles holding him, Achilios would have fallen on his back.
“Hurt you…did I?” he rasped triumphantly.
In response, another, thinner tendril shot out, wrapping like a whip around his throat. The appendage constricted.
Fortunately, unlike most, Achilios no longer breathed. He did not actually even draw breath when speaking. The power that animated him also gave him voice. Hence, while having his neck snared did slow Achilios further, it did not incapacitate the hunter as it would have a living being.
He took immediate advantage of the demonic creature’s misconception, slashing with the knife at not only the tentacle snaring his throat, but his other arm, too. Both times, Achilios struck true. A black substance resembling tar dripped from the cuts. The two appendages were instantly withdrawn.
Achilios wasted no time in assaulting the others. One received a shallow line across its width, but before he could do more, both retreated below the soil.
The hunter allowed himself a brief smile as he righted his balance. No beast had ever had the final laugh against him; that triumph, however short-lived, had been the archdemon Lucion’s alone.
Still, it was best not to simply stand there. Achilios plucked up his bow—
Again came the thundering that the archer had decided was the demon’s roar. A quake that toppled most of the trees near him also sent Achilios tumbling. This time, he lost not only the bow, but his knife.
“Damn!” he gasped. “Damn!”
And out of the ground burst a dozen tentacles of varying length and size. Whether they belonged to one monster or another did not matter, only that suddenly they snagged him by the legs, the arms, the torso, and the throat.
There was nothing he could do. Against their combined might, Achilios might as well have been a newborn baby. At this point, there was only one question as to his fate. Would the beast tear him to pieces—which might or might not actually finish the undead hunter, although it would certainly make him useless—or instead drag him down into the ground, a much more daunting prospect. Achilios had been buried once; he found the idea of a second interment frightening.
The tentacles tightened. Achilios felt his body strain. Dismemberment was the decision made by his captor. The archer perversely wondered if he should thank the demon for that choice.
A brilliant golden light suddenly turned the jungle brighter than day. Achilios felt a warmth such as he had not known even before death and which, because it actually did warm him, stunned the archer that much more.
But if it warmed Achilios, the light did much more to the beast. Now the thundering reached an ear-splitting crescendo. The tentacles shook and Achilios noticed burning flesh.
The demonic appendages shot back into the ground. The jungle shook…then stilled.
The golden light vanished…leaving a puzzled and very disturbed Achilios. He lay there for a moment, uncertain if either would return. When neither did, the archer stood.
However, no sooner had he done so, than Achilios experienced an odd sensation. Had he been living, he would have thought it vertigo.
His legs gave out. The world swam. Achilios tried to reach his bow—
And then all was blackness.
Eleven
Uldyssian had heard the voices for several moments now and although a part of him sought to react to them, his body would not obey.
“He has still not opened his eye
s,” came what he vaguely noted as Mendeln’s voice. But that was not possible; Mendeln was lost to him. Uldyssian recalled thinking that he had heard Mendeln earlier, yet that, too, had to have been his imagination.
Have patience, young one. Her strike was as subtle as it was heinous…
Even unconscious, Uldyssian jolted the moment that the second speaker voiced himself, for the words resounded in both the head and soul of the son of Diomedes. He must have moaned at the same time, for that which sounded like Mendeln suddenly grew excited.
“Did you see? He stirred! Uldyssian! Listen to me! Come to me! By our father and mother, you’ll not leave me like this!”
Mention of his parents finally caused Uldyssian to actually wake. He remembered how he had felt when Mendeln had vanished; if this was indeed his brother, he could not very well let him suffer so, not if it was in his power to do anything.
And then there was Serenthia…
That proved more than enough. With a cry, Uldyssian struggled free of the last vestiges of unconsciousness. Immediately his body was wracked with terrible pain. He rolled about and perhaps might have hurt himself in the process if not for hands grabbing him by the shoulder in order to keep his body still. Yet again he heard Mendeln.
“Be at ease, Uldyssian! Be at ease. It will pass…most of it, anyway…”
There is much within that will take longer. The demoness is a poison deep in his blood…
“And I could have stopped her, if only you’d all have let me!” snapped Uldyssian’s brother. “I could’ve prevented so much!”
Not then. You would have been slaughtered and Uldyssian more in her grip…
“But you said that she went in unsuspecting of the betrayal! That alone—”
A third voice intruded just as Uldyssian forced his eyes open. Vague shapes and much darkness greeted the battered man’s gaze.
“My mother is very adaptable, Mendeln ul-Diomed. You saw how quickly she turned potential defeat of her plan into a new and possibly more terrifying path toward her ultimate goals. Now she is nearer than ever to victory…and Sanctuary that much nearer to cataclysm.”
The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet Page 46