Diablo® The Sin War

by Richard A. Knaak

  “I’ll just walk down the street to the right side of the estate, then probably return right after that.”

  “Poor Uldyssian! You do not have to tell me everything you do!” Lylia gave him another, lengthier kiss. “I wish you a relaxing excursion!”

  From anyone else, he would have thought such a reply hinting of mockery, but from her Uldyssian sensed only concern and love. Not for the first time did he think how fortunate he had been to find her. It was almost as if Fate had planned it.

  With yet an even more passionate third kiss, he left her in Master Ethon’s study. Uldyssian was tempted to first locate his brother, but suspected that, as in previous tries, he would not find Mendeln around. While everything else seemed to be coming together, Mendeln and he continued to grow more distant from one another. What made the situation worse was that the few times when Uldyssian might have been able to talk with his sibling, he was without exception interrupted by new supplicants. Unwilling to turn down such requests, he had let the precious chances slip away.

  But there’s got to come a time. Mendeln was not well. Uldyssian felt certain of that. The younger brother was hiding something important. What it was, perhaps only Achilios knew, but the hunter was also good at being absent when Uldyssian sought to confront him. Even Serenthia’s presence at the gatherings did not seem to keep Achilios nearby.

  Not for the first time, Uldyssian swore to himself that all that would change as soon as possible. Somehow, he would find out the truth. For now, though, he needed to clear his own head and relax.

  The night air helped him almost immediately. As he reached the outer gates, Ethon’s men silently saluted him. Like so many, they had experienced the awakening within, but still felt most comfortable keeping their normal routine. Fortunately, they also already knew to respect Uldyssian’s privacy.

  “I won’t be long,” he told them.

  “As you wish, Master Uldyssian. We will be here for you when you return.”

  He had given up trying to make them or anyone else cease calling him by such a title. Better that, at least, than being declared a “holy one” or the like, as some still did.

  He chose the least lit avenue and quickly headed into it. The darkness comforted him, its shadowy veil giving Uldyssian a sense of anonymity that he truly needed at the moment. He began to think of his farm, surely either in utter disarray or in the hands of some opportunistic neighbor who had recognized the value of its soil. Uldyssian hoped that at least someone had taken care of the animals properly.

  Faint voices warned him of someone coming from the other direction. Preferring to be alone, Uldyssian turned down an even darker side street and hurried off before the others would see him. What little he could make out of the tone of conversation indicated that they were merely two members of the Partha Guard making their rounds, but even they represented too much interaction with the townsfolk at this point.

  Uldyssian had no idea where the new street went, but its seductive solitude was enough to keep him on it for some distance. The voices soon faded behind him. He began to relax as not even sleep could help him do. For the first time since before the calamity in Seram, the son of Diomedes felt like an ordinary man again.

  Then, another voice, this one whispering, caught his attention. Uldyssian looked to the left, where he thought the source lay.

  But from his right came a second whisper. Like the first, it was just low enough to be unintelligible. There was something about its tone, however, that raised his hackles.

  “Who’s there?” Uldyssian called. “Who’s there?”

  From the left, the first voice began anew. Wasting no more breath, Uldyssian leapt toward the sound…but his groping hands found only shadow.

  A third voice came from somewhere ahead. With a growl, Uldyssian whirled in that direction…and once more nothing of substance could be found.

  Carefully, he retreated several steps, then glanced over his shoulder. There should have been some glimpse of another street a short distance back, but Uldyssian saw only darkness.

  Suddenly, all the voices renewed their mad muttering. Worse, now they were quickly joined by several more, all speaking in the same intense tone that set Uldyssian’s nerve on edge. He spun around in a circle, seeking either one of the speakers or an exit, but finding neither.

  “Show yourself, damn it!” he finally shouted. “Show yourself!”

  He tried to summon the power to his command…and failed. Trying a different tack, Uldyssian specifically imagined bright illumination—the better to ferret out his stalkers—or even some great wind that would carry him away from this area. Yet, these, too, came to nothing.

  Nothing…

  One voice suddenly seemed to come from right by his ear. He started to turn toward it…and a thick limb from the opposing direction wrapped around his throat.

  Choking, Uldyssian struggled to free himself from whatever had snared him. He could not even tell if it was an arm or some sort of tentacle, only that its grip was stronger than iron.

  As the lack of air took its toll on him, Uldyssian’s thoughts went to Lylia. He could only assume that this attack had to do with Malic and so he feared that the high priest would next go after her. Yet, even that concern did not give him the might to escape—

  Then, from out of nowhere there came a hiss, followed by a snarl like that from the throat of a foul beast. At the same time, some instinct took over in Uldyssian. Every muscle in his body tensed.

  The air rippled. A guttural exclamation filled the night, followed immediately by a crash.

  The tightness around Uldyssian’s throat vanished, along with it the insidious whispering. Suddenly, there was only the sound of him trying to catch his breath, that, and the soft padding of swift boots.

  “Uldyssian!” came a voice very familiar to him. “Uldyssian! I thought I saw…damn! I don’t know what I saw…”

  But, despite that little obstacle, Achilios had evidently managed a masterly shot. In the blackness, it could have just as easily been Uldyssian whom he hit and certainly that would have been a high probability had it been any other archer. However, Uldyssian knew his childhood friend’s skill well and so understood that his life had never been in danger, at least from an arrow.

  “Th-Thank you…” he gasped.

  Achilios, bow over his shoulder, helped Uldyssian straighten. “Don’t thank me for anything. I’m sorry I didn’t manage to kill whatever had you…though I’m damned if I know why not! I had it or him right where the back of the neck should’ve been! If it was an assassin, he should lie dead at our feet right now.” Making certain that Uldyssian could stand on his own, the hunter knelt. A moment later, Achilios muttered, “There’s something here, but it doesn’t feel like blood. Not fresh, anyway. Couldn’t be from your attacker…”

  Recalling all too well the sort of fiends that had been so far thrown against him, Uldyssian was not so certain. For the moment, though, he would trust Achilios’s knowledge.

  Rising, the lithe figure rushed off in the direction of the crash. A minute later, Achilios returned, what little was visible of his expression revealing his disgruntlement.

  “Something heavy struck the side of that building,” he said, gesturing at the darkness from which he had come. “Cracked it good…but whatever it was got up right after and ran off.”

  That, too, did not surprise Uldyssian. Malic would have sent servants far more capable than the previous ones. They had planned their little trap better this time, waiting for him to venture out on his own. The high priest had read him well. He had known that his prey would eventually seek private time.

  Then it occurred to him to wonder just what the archer was doing here, too. Uldyssian had long given up believing in coincidence.

  But before he could ask, Achilios said, “I’d suggest we leave this area for somewhere a little more populated. You might enjoy your privacy, but surely not that much, anymore.”

  With a nod, Uldyssian followed his friend back the way t
hey had come. Achilios apparently could see in the dark much better than him. The hunter soon had them back in the vicinity of Master Ethon’s house. Only then did both pause to breathe normally.

  “Much better,” commented the blond man.

  “Thank you again,” Uldyssian returned. “Now tell me how you happened to be right there when I needed your help.”

  Achilios cocked his head. “And why did you need my help, Uldyssian? What happened to you back there?”

  Uldyssian would not let the questioning turn to him, not just yet. “Answer me, Achilios.”

  There was a long hesitation, then, “I thought you were going to be in danger.”

  His phrasing left Uldyssian puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I just had a feeling that something was going to happen and so I followed a hunch. That’s all.”

  “And managed to follow it all the way to where I was.”

  The archer shrugged. “It’s nothing new. Just an instinct, Father would’ve said.” Achilios’s father had been a hunter like him, one whose reputation had never been dwarfed until his own son. “What makes me a good hunter, I guess.”

  But Uldyssian was thinking that it was much more than merely an instinct. He refrained from saying anything, yet suspected that Achilios had turned the very same gift that Uldyssian carried into something honed to his particular talents. More to the point, it was possible that the archer’s family had been doing so for at least two generations.

  That meant that there was more to the powers growing within them than even he had believed. Uldyssian realized that he was likely not even the first to learn of the gift, merely the first to understand that it was something astonishing.

  “What was that thing back there?” Achilios asked. “Did you see it?”

  Deciding not to pursue Achilios’s situation—for the time being, at least—Uldyssian replied, “A pet of the high priest’s, I’d say.” He considered further, then added, “It wore the guise of a man, I think. I also thought I felt armor.”

  “Well, my arrow didn’t hit armor. I heard a healthy strike. It should’ve done more damage…”

  Uldyssian did not care about that. He had something far more important on his mind. This attack, so deep within Partha, had made him determined to do something. “Achilios, I’ve a favor to ask you. Promise me that you’ll do it.”

  “Not until I hear what it is, old friend! You know me better than that!”

  “Then listen carefully and think even more carefully. Achilios, you’re the only one I can trust to do this. I’ve decided that the others are only in danger here. I need you to lead them to somewhere far away from me. Will you do that?”

  “When you say the others, you mean specially Lylia, I presume?”

  “All of you…but, yes, I hope you can help her, obviously.”

  Achilios glanced around to see if anyone was nearby. However, the streets were empty. “I understand why you would want Lylia, Serry, and Mendeln away from here…and you know that I most of all want Serry to be safe.”

  “Achilios—”

  The hunter waved him to silence. “I can never be you in her eyes, but I live with that. Still, even though we agree that they shouldn’t be here—and I understand that you’d like me safe, too, naturally,” he added with a chuckle. “I know that not one of them would agree to go. Not even your brother. They’d fight me, fight you, Uldyssian.”

  “This isn’t safe for any of you! You’ve the proof of that tonight!”

  “Aye, and telling them of it would just make them all that more stubborn…which I can’t say I blame them for! You won’t be getting rid of them or me, old friend! There’s no way…”

  But there was one way, Uldyssian thought. The worst way of all.

  Although he knew the futility of continuing the argument, Uldyssian opened his mouth to try…only to shut it at the sound of hooves. Both men immediately tensed, Achilios freeing his bow.

  However, the figure riding out of the black street turned out to be none other than Master Ethon. The merchant sighted the two men and reined his horse to a halt just before them.

  “Uldyssian. Archer. What causes you pair to stand out here, looking so filled with distrust?”

  Achilios grinned. “Just nerves, Master Ethon! Just nerves, that’s all!”

  With a quick nod, the son of Diomedes agreed. “I needed a breath of air.”

  “And I am not surprised about that.” The older man dismounted. Reins in one hand, he slapped Uldyssian on the shoulder with the other. “Much you have done, Uldyssian ul-Diomed! Much you have done…” He hesitated, then added, “And if there is anything I can do to be of service to you beyond what I already have, please do not hesitate to come to me.”

  Uldyssian felt embarrassment. Fortunately, Ethon unexpectedly turned his attention to Achilios. “Have I told you what a fine bow that is, archer? I have had my eye on it since first I saw it.”

  “’Twas my father’s, Master Ethon! He kept it as good as the day it was carved and I’ve done my utmost to see it stays like that! Half a man’s skill depends on the bow he wields…”

  “So much, you think? May I hold it?” the merchant asked, extending a hand.

  “By all means.” Achilios let their host inspect the weapon. Ethon ran his fingers expertly over the finely crafted piece. Uldyssian, who himself had admired and even fired the weapon several times over the years, saw it anew. Few there were who could have surpassed the work of Tremas, Achilios’s father.

  But had Tremas’s exceptional talent with carving also been some variation?

  After giving the bow a very thorough inspection, Master Ethon finally returned it to its owner. “A splendid piece, yes. I look forward to seeing it in action again.”

  His comment caused the other two to briefly exchange glances. The leader of Partha had no idea just what he was asking. Uldyssian felt certain that the attack in the street had just been the very beginning of something far more sinister…something that could engulf the entire town.

  Something that could very well destroy it and everyone within…

  The sheep poured out of the temple, unaware that they were one step closer to losing their souls…and more…to Lucion.

  No…not to him, the Primus quickly thought, his pious expression hiding sudden concern. Rather, to the greater glory of his father and the other Prime Evils.

  Yet, the son of Mephisto did not mind basking in the reflection of that glory.

  But for that to continue, for the eventual control of Sanctuary to happen, all had to proceed as Lucion had planned it…and recent events no longer guaranteed that such would happen. Matters had to be set properly back in place. For a demon, Lucion was a very orderly being. He liked things just so.

  The other two high priests, Herodius and Balthazar, came up to him and bowed respectfully. Generally, after the Primus had given a sermon to all three orders, he and his most loyal followers met in private for further discussion of the Triune’s progress toward domination.

  Not this evening, however. Lucion had to focus on restoring the situation. While his servants were useful, when it came to the planning, he relied most on himself.

  “We will speak together tomorrow eve, come the moon. Go and see to your duties…” Those duties included indoctrinating the faithful who had reached the point where they had begun to turn to the true doctrines of the Temple…Hate, Destruction, and Terror. The methods by which the Primus and his servants slowly manipulated the fools toward that end were many and ranged from the mundane to the magical. Some of the faithful were more attuned to this—the weak-minded ones—and they were carefully picked out of the throngs and invited to special sermons. There, the subtle shapings of the Primus’s private sermons delved deep within the mortals’ minds, seeking that which lay in the darkest recesses.

  But Lucion could rely on the two humans before him to handle such matters for a time. He dismissed them and hurried back to his private sanctum. It galled him that he had to do his work in
secret, but some sacrifices had to be made…especially if she was indeed involved. Malic’s efforts would make for a good distraction in that regard, causing her to be unaware of what Lucion also intended.

  The four guards snapped to attention as he passed them. They wore the semblances of Peace Warders, but were morlu. Anyone foolish enough to attempt entry without permission would quickly learn the difference…a moment before they were cut to pieces.

  Shadows filled the chamber, Lucion’s work now more suited for the dark. He looked to where two more morlu stood sentry over a cowering young man in the gray garb of a novice cleric. In the first part of their study, those chosen by the high priests did not wear the robes of any order, for it was by the Primus’s decision which one they would best serve.

  “Ikarion…” Lucion entoned. He wore his most kindly expression, which was lost on the youth in front of him, who knew who and what his master was.

  “G-Great is my lord,” Ikarion stammered, going down on one knee. “Merciful is m-my lord…”

  This brought a chuckle from the Primus, who knew himself much better than the mortal obviously did. He reached down to the kneeling figure, stroking the chin of his chosen. “Dear Ikarion. You know the sacrifices you make to take on the mantle of a cleric, do you not?”

  “And I have accepted them gratefully!”

  “Have you? Your sisters were to be brought to us, to be made our loyal handmaidens…” Lucion had a very earthy taste for human women, especially untried ones. It was a mark of how devoted his acolytes were that they willingly sold their own to prove their love for him. “But they appear to have left for a long journey…”

  “Master, I—”

  The hand that stroked the chin now painfully clamped the mouth shut. Still speaking in the same kindly tones, Lucion continued, “They did not travel far, though, thanks to the very dedicated Brother Tomal, your good friend. I had the pleasure of discussing their talents with them only last night…”

  “Nggh!” Ikarion made the mistake of trying to leap at his master.

  One of the morlu drew his great ax and, in a single swift motion, removed the rebellious youth’s head.