Diablo® The Sin War

by Richard A. Knaak

  Yet, he found himself not entirely convinced. More to the point, something else about the abomination disturbed him. “But how does it come to be here? We are far from Seram.”

  “Why, it followed Uldyssian, naturally! After all, everyone thought that he was the one to blame. If it slew him, then no suspicion of its foul existence would remain!”

  Again, another reasonable explanation, but for some reason Mendeln could not see the creature pursuing Uldyssian so far just for that. There had never been any suggestion by either the village or the Master Inquisitor that such an unnatural beast could be responsible. Everyone had thought of the murderer as human and far too many had assumed it to be Uldyssian.

  Something else came to mind. “It called to somebody,” he blurted. “At the end, it called to somebody.”

  “Aye,” interjected Achilios as he helped Serenthia to stand. “I heard it, too.”

  Lylia’s grip on Uldyssian tightened. “It was nothing.”

  But the elder son of Diomedes nodded to Mendeln. “I heard, too, but the name escaped me.”

  Mendeln concentrated, reliving the moment. “Great…Great Lucion. Lucion.” For some reason, merely speaking it made him shudder. “That was the name.”

  Unfortunately, knowing it meant nothing to him, nor did he see any recognition on the faces of anyone else. Not even when Mendeln studied Lylia’s as close—and as surreptitiously—as possible did he see any hint of knowledge.

  “He must be with one of the mage clans,” Uldyssian suddenly declared, his eyes brightening dangerously. “The murdered ones were emissaries from the Temple and the Cathedral. Who else would hunt such?”

  “Yes,” Lylia immediately agreed, sounding to Mendeln’s ears almost pleased with his brother’s quick thinking. “The mage clans. Surely them. Do you not agree, Mendeln?”

  She gave him a smile such as he had seen her so far reserve only for his brother. Mendeln felt himself flush.

  “The mage clans,” he blurted, nodding at the same time. “Of course.” Yet, Mendeln wondered why any of the mage clans, so desperate to hold their own against each other, would bother with two lowly emissaries in a backwater village.

  Everyone else seemed satisfied. Uldyssian looked around at the others as if they were his children. “We can worry about that later. This only proves my decision the right one.”

  Mendeln had a bad feeling. “Your decision?”

  “Seram is part of my past now, not my present or future.” As Uldyssian spoke, Lylia—leaving one arm around his waist—moved to his side. “I never asked for this, but something’s granted me a gift—”

  “A gift? You call what happened a gift?”

  “Hush, Mendeln.”

  He looked in surprise at Serenthia, who was the one who had spoken. Of all people there, Uldyssian’s brother would have expected her to call the things that had happened horrible, certainly not a gift. Yet, now she spoke with what he realized was awe…awe of Uldyssian.

  Mendeln looked to Achilios, but the hunter did not appear willing to contradict the emotions of the woman he loved. He kept his expression set.

  “A gift, yes,” Uldyssian went on, as if Mendeln were a small child in need of simple words. “Something inside all of us, in fact.” He paused, smiling. “Let’s get back to camp. I’ll explain everything. Then, as soon as we’re done eating, we need to get some rest. After all, the journey to Kehjan will take several days’ riding.”

  “Kehjan?” Mendeln nearly choked on the name, so unexpected was it. They were now going to Kehjan? “But…but what about the sea?”

  “Kehjan,” Uldyssian repeated, gazing down at Lylia. “Where best to begin changing the world?”

  As he and the noblewoman drank in one another, Mendeln looked in dismay at Serenthia and Achilios. The world? Had he just heard his brother correctly? He looked to the other pair for some understanding, even help, but, to his dismay, the trader’s daughter seemed caught between her awe of this new Uldyssian and her jealousy of Lylia, while the hunter only stared longingly at her. No one but Mendeln seemed to grasp the enormity of the moment properly.

  No one but he seemed to understand that his brother was surely heading toward his certain doom…and very likely taking the others with him.

  Malic angrily shut the tiny, jeweled box he had been given by the Primus. The green, circular gem situated in one of the four slots had crumbled to ash but a moment before, signifying its sudden worthlessness to the high priest. The hunter he had summoned was no more.

  But anger mixed with growing interest, for he had been sent to investigate emanations felt by his master, investigate and, if it proved that they came from some person, bring that one back to the Temple for study and possible conversion. Now, at least, Malic knew that he was not on some wild chase.

  Still, frowning, the tall cleric thrust the box back into the pouch on his belt, then returned to his horse. A hooded, armored Peace Warder handed Malic the reins, then retreated to his own mount. Behind them, a full score more well-armed warriors of the faithful sat ready to ride wherever their leader commanded and do whatever was necessary. They, of course, did not understand the entire truth concerning the Temple of the Triune, but they did understand enough to know, like Malic, that to not succeed in this mission was unthinkable.

  Malic eyed them, seeking any weakness or hesitation, then looked ahead. The dark of night did not affect him, a gift of the Primus. Malic saw the path ahead as perfectly as he did during the day.

  Soon, the high priest thought. Soon. They were not far from their goal, the steeds granted them by his master swifter than any. Their appearance might be that of sleek black stallions, but that was mere illusion for the foolish masses. No mortal animal could have covered so much ground in so little time.

  “Forward,” Malic commanded, urging his own beast on.

  The prize was not far. A demon might fail, but the high priest would not. Malic had not risen to be the Primus’s right hand without effort. His hands were stained with the blood of his rivals, both figuratively and truly. He would succeed.

  Again, there was no other choice.

  SEVEN

  Uldyssian rode a changed man. Never in his life had he considered himself a champion of the people, a transformer of a world. He had been content to be a farmer, tilling the soil, raising his crops, and seeing to his animals. How short-sighted, how simple, that all seemed now. He did not question his almost overnight shift in thought and purpose any more than he now questioned the force swelling within him. It had happened and that was all that mattered.

  A great part of the change in Uldyssian could be attributed to the woman riding behind him. When he listened to Lylia, everything made sense. Everything seemed possible. Uldyssian was grateful not only for her presence, but her knowledge and experience. She knew the world outside of Seram, especially the pitfalls and other traps. She also understood the yearning of the masses to no longer be subject to the mercurial machinations of the mage clans or corrupt sects such as the Triune or the Cathedral. With her at his side, Uldyssian felt as if he could do anything.

  It was all planned out, at least in his mind. Ride into the vast city and seek a place in the great public square, where many would-be prophets came to preach. However, where they were looked upon as fools and madmen, matters would be different for Uldyssian. He could show the people the path, the gift, that he offered. They would see that he was no charlatan. Once his first audience saw the truth, the word would spread like wildfire everywhere.

  He glanced to his right, where his brother rode. Mendeln watched the path ahead, just like the others, but Uldyssian knew that his sibling was one person in the party who did not fully appreciate what he intended. Mendeln had been hesitant from the beginning, bringing up suggestions and reasons for caution.

  But Lylia had countered those concerns with strong words of her own, further empowered by her tragic tale. Caution and hesitation only allowed those who would be jealous of Uldyssian’s gift to act. Innocents mi
ght suffer, then, as had happened with the noblewoman and her family.

  No, Uldyssian was absolutely certain of his course. He loved his brother, but if Mendeln continued to fail to see things as they should be, then Uldyssian would have to deal with him somehow. It would not look good for his own blood to seem less than an absolute believer in what Uldyssian was doing—

  The farmer grimaced. What sort of thoughts were these? His brother meant everything to him! Only Mendeln’s presence had kept him from losing his mind when the rest of their family had perished.

  Shame filled Uldyssian. He could not imagine life without his brother…

  He’ll come to understand, the older son of Diomedes assured himself. Mendeln will come to understand…

  He had to.

  They rode that day and the next toward their destination without so much as meeting a soul. To Uldyssian, life in Seram seemed more and more merely a bad dream as anticipation of the city grew.

  Achilios went ahead to scout the way, something that Uldyssian felt unnecessary—considering his power—but did not argue against. The archer did not return to the party until well after they had made camp, bringing with him a pair of good-sized hares for food.

  “I sighted smoke far in the distance just before sunset,” Achilios remarked, giving the hares to Mendeln and Serenthia. “A town, maybe.” With a smile, he added, “Perhaps somewhere where we could get a good ale!”

  Mendeln closed his eyes for a moment, then said, “Partha. I think that there’s a town in this region called Partha.”

  One of Mendeln’s favorite pastimes when in Cyrus’s establishment was to listen to where travelers came from and to inspect the trader’s collection of maps. In regards to the latter, Mendeln had an almost perfect memory.

  “A good-sized place?” Uldyssian asked with growing interest.

  “Larger than Tulisam, I believe, yes. On a direct route between the great city and the largest seaports.”

  Partha sounded ideal to Uldyssian in more ways than one. It had occurred to him, somewhat belatedly, to test himself on a simpler place than Kehjan. A few days in Partha would remove any doubt, especially from Mendeln, about Uldyssian’s ability to show people the gift.

  So far, despite the fact that each night Uldyssian tried to show them, only he and Lylia seemed able to draw upon whatever it was within. Serenthia appeared on the edge of making the leap, but something held her back. As for Achilios, he looked content with his skills as a hunter, which, for the first time, Uldyssian believed drew in a different manner from the same source as the farmer’s abilities. Certainly, Achilios had always been a very, very fortunate hunter. There was still hope there, but long-term.

  As for Mendeln, he seemed furthest of all from realizing his own abilities. Uldyssian did not understand why, having assumed that his brother would be the most adept other than himself. Lylia had, the night before, come up with what appeared to be the best answer so far. As with Achilios, it was very likely Mendeln’s own personality that held him back.

  But that was a matter that could also wait, at least for the moment. The town offered many, many new options.

  “Partha…” he murmured.

  Lylia leaned close, then, almost nuzzling his ear. Uldyssian did not miss Serenthia’s brief look of dejection at this.

  “We should really continue straight to the city,” the noblewoman whispered. “The sooner the greatest number of people can hear and see you, the sooner the transformation of the world can begin…”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Uldyssian returned, immediately seeing her point and wondering why he had even bothered thinking of a tiny, insignificant place such as Partha. “Straight to the city. That’s best.”

  Achilios looked disappointed, but nodded. Serenthia’s face was a mask. Mendeln appeared perturbed, but Uldyssian was used to seeing his brother so. No one protested; that was all that was important.

  Still, Uldyssian needed to test himself. He finally rose from Lylia’s grip. “Serry, would you come with me?”

  Her eyes momentarily brightened…then the mask returned. She also rose. “Of course…of course…”

  “Uldyssian—” Lylia called.

  “I won’t be long,” he assured her.

  The blond woman turned her gaze to the fire and said nothing.

  Taking Serenthia’s hand, Uldyssian led her past an uncomprehending Achilios and Mendeln. He guided the trader’s daughter into the forest until the light of the camp could no longer be seen, then turned her to face him.

  Serenthia waited expectantly. Uldyssian considered his words carefully before saying, “I’m sorry again about Cyrus, Serry. So very sorry.”

  “Uldyssian, I—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Serry, he may have died because of me—”

  She pulled back. “No!” Lowering her voice, Serenthia added, “No, Uldyssian. I’ve thought about it a lot while we’ve been traveling. Perhaps…perhaps the storm came from you…I still don’t know…but you never meant harm. Brother Mikelius was condemning you as a heretic! If you somehow caused the storm, then it was because he forced it on you! You were only defending yourself!”

  He looked at her in surprise. Hearing this from one he knew who had cared deeply for her father—and had long respected both major sects—Uldyssian felt tremendous relief. Until then, he had not realized how much he had still worried inside about how the trader’s death had affected her.

  “Serry, even thinking that…why didn’t you return home instead of following me into the unknown? Your brothers…they’ll fear for you…”

  “I am old enough to find my own way in the world,” she said with some of her old defiance. Planting her hands on her hips, Serenthia added, “Thiel and the rest will know what I did and they’ll leave me to my own actions, as always.”

  She said it with such finality that Uldyssian could only smile ruefully. Even now, he would not try to dissuade her. Besides, it still comforted him to have her around, just as it did to have his brother and Achilios. “All right. I had to ask. I had to know. I won’t say any more.”

  “But, I must say something…if you permit…” Once again, Cyrus’s daughter became the awed follower.

  “You don’t need my permission.”

  “Uldyssian…I understand what you do and believe wholeheartedly in it.” She cleared her throat. “But perhaps Mendeln’s concern has some merit. I know Lylia says to ride straight to the city, but—”

  He frowned. “Is this about Lylia, Serry?”

  Although she shook her head, he could tell that it both was and was not. Uldyssian doubted that Serenthia could separate matters.

  “No…I mean…Uldyssian…I’ve spoken with missionaries from both the Temple and the Cathedral and not all of them are like Brother Mikelius. I do think that there’s some good in them—”

  “Hardly,” the son of Diomedes returned, growing stone-faced. Memories of the Master Inquisitor raced through his head.

  Serenthia paused, visibly seeking a different tack. “It’s just that…I know Lylia has experienced far more than us, but not everything she says is what we should do.”

  Her words only made Uldyssian defensive. “I listen to Lylia just as I listen to all of you. It just happens that her advice has made the most sense to me more often.”

  “More like all the time—”

  “Enough.” Uldyssian felt an unreasoning anger rising, but managed to smother it. He could see no reason to continue with the conversation. It had been his notion to clear the air between them in regards to her father and that had been done. Obviously, Uldyssian thought, putting to rest any emotions Serenthia had toward him would take longer. He would have to be patient. Yes, patient.

  Reaching up, he placed one hand on her head as he had done when she had been only a child. “Serry,” he whispered. “You said you believe in what I’ve become, right?”

  She nodded, her eyes still reflecting her thoughts on the previous subject.

  “I know that what’
s been awakened in me is trying to stir within you, too, but so far it’s not been able.”

  “I’ve tried…” the young woman insisted.

  His hand went to her shoulder, which he patted. “I know. Let me try to help guide it to awakening. Take my hands.” When she had obeyed, Uldyssian continued, “If this works, it will better help me understand how to show others once we reach Kehjan.”

  “But what are…oh!”

  Lylia had suggested to him that it was their closeness, their melding to one, that had stirred the latent force within her. Obviously, Uldyssian could not share in that same manner with others—especially Serenthia—but he could try to come as close as possible. He focused on the woman before him, trying to see into her heart, into her soul. He tried to let the power flow from him into those places in the hope of igniting the flame.

  It certainly felt to him as if what he did worked. A warmth entered his hands, a warmth he seemed to feel spreading from his companion. Serenthia, in turn, began to breathe rapidly and her eyes now looked up to the point where Uldyssian could see only the whites.

  Then, to his surprise, Uldyssian felt stirring from her direction something akin to that which lurked within himself. He focused on Serenthia and was able to verify that it came from within the woman. It was slight in comparison, but the more he reached out to it, the stronger, more awake, it became.

  He was awed by his own, swift success. Lylia had been correct again. Uldyssian had managed to stir to life within Serenthia the same force.

  Without warning, her body began to quiver uncontrollably. The whites were still the only thing visible of her eyes. She let out a small moan…

  Uldyssian grew worried. Serenthia had just passed a mighty threshold, although the enormity of it would not be evident for some time. Still, it behooved him now to stop and let her move ahead on her own. Too quickly and something might happen to her.

  As Uldyssian released her hands, the trader’s daughter let out a gasp and fell toward him. He caught her in his arms, holding her while she recovered.