Diablo: The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet

by Richard A. Knaak

  His action brought normalcy back to the party. Uldyssian and the rest moved upstream of the animals and began to take their fill. Achilios took care of the horses, then joined the others.

  But as he rose from satiating his thirst, the archer suddenly looked past the stream, clearly staring at something in particular. Uldyssian peered after him, but saw nothing.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” Achilios muttered…then the hunter darted across the stream, vanishing a moment later among the trees.

  Serenthia stepped up next to Uldyssian. “Should we go after him?”

  The farmer knew his friend too well. Even he would have been hard-pressed to keep pace with Achilios when it came to seeking some prey in the woods. “Likely he just saw some rabbit or something he wants to bring back for our dinner. Nothing to worry about. You heard him. He’ll be just fine.”

  But it was a tense several minutes that passed before Achilios finally reappeared. Despite the fact that surely he had run a good pace, the hunter was not at all winded. His expression, though, was anything but pleasant.

  “There’s a town nearby, barely an hour’s pace on foot, much less that by horse.”

  Lylia, who had been sitting on a rock, leapt to her feet. “A town? That is not possible!”

  Achilios cocked his head as he glanced at the distraught noblewoman. “Not only is it possible, milady, but it’s Partha.”

  Now, everyone else’s expression mirrored that of Lylia.

  “How can that be?” blurted Mendeln. “We did not ride that direction!”

  “I know that…but it’s definitely Partha. I spoke to one of the young locals.”

  At least one thing now began to make sense to Uldyssian. “Is that the reason you ran off?”

  “Aye. I saw a bit of movement and didn’t want to take the chance of losing him. Thought it was a bandit, but it was only a boy…Cedric, he said his name was. He was out trying to hunt.” For the first time since his return, Achilios allowed himself a brief smile. “And he’s not bad. Took me a bit to keep on his trail. The boy’s light-footed.”

  Paying the archer’s judgment of the boy’s skills no mind, Uldyssian tried to determine just how the band could have possibly come around in what was nearly a circle at this point. Partha should have been far, far behind them by now.

  “Malic…” he finally muttered. As the others looked to him, Uldyssian said, “Don’t you see? It has to be the high priest! This smells of some spell! Who else could it be?”

  Lylia joined his cause. “Yes, surely him! And knowing that, we must certainly not fall into his trap by going to the town! We must flee from its vicinity immediately!”

  “But Cedric hardly seems the cleric’s tool,” argued Achilios. “And the people of Partha have the reputation of being good and fair folks—”

  “It matters not what the people are like,” she insisted in turn. “They will be pawns for him to use against Uldyssian; that is what we need to keep in mind.”

  Somewhat to the surprise of Uldyssian, Serenthia supported the other woman. “She’s right, Achilios. There’s nothing natural about this turn. Malic must intend something awful.”

  He looked to his brother, but Mendeln was conspicuously mute on the subject. Curiously, rather than be of a mind to follow Lylia’s sound advice and leave the likely trap behind, Uldyssian found himself eager to enter Partha. If Malic hoped to surprise him there, he would find his supposed quarry more than willing to finish their previous encounter.

  “We go to Partha.”

  His declaration was met with a variety of expressions, Achilios’s most eager, Lylia’s most damning. A fire such as Uldyssian had never witnessed burned in her eyes. However, it lasted but a breath before the noblewoman caught herself. Trembling, she exhaled, then nodded.

  “To Partha,” Lylia agreed, finally smiling. “To the edge of an abyss and beyond, so long as with you, my love.”

  He was grateful for her change of heart. Her anger had only been fear for him, Uldyssian surmised. After all, it was he whom Malic desired to capture.

  But it was she and the others whom the high cleric seemed to think expendable. Uldyssian would make certain that, should Malic strike, they were again protected. He could do no less since it was because of him that they would also ride into potential danger.

  With Achilios taking the lead, the five rode toward the town. As the hunter had indicated, the party had stopped just beyond sight of Partha. Indeed, it took them less than the hour Achilios had suggested to reach the edge of town.

  Partha was much larger than Seram or even Tulisam. For the first time in his life, Uldyssian beheld buildings four stories high, dwarfing even the barns of the wealthiest of his neighbors. Their stone and wood exteriors had been smoothed over with plaster to give them an extravagant look. Roofs were arched and made of wood tiles overlapping one another. The streets—

  The streets were made of stone, not mud. Wagons and horses clattered along their way, raising a racket akin to thunder. There were more people in Partha than Uldyssian had probably seen in all his life and many were dressed in outfits that made him feel like a beggar. In fact, of all five of them, only Lylia looked at all appropriate to be seen by the inhabitants.

  Someone called out to them. Aware that none of them had ever been to Partha, Uldyssian stiffened in the saddle. However, it was no trap, but rather a youth who ran directly up to the side of Achilios’s steed.

  “Ho, there, Cedric!” the hunter called down. He tousled the boy’s mop of hair. “I told you we’d be along soon!”

  “An’ I called Father, I did!” Cedric returned breathlessly.

  Sure enough, behind the lad came an august gentleman at least a decade older than Uldyssian and dressed in flowing brown and black robes that immediately stirred distrust in the farmer. Was Cedric’s father a cleric of some sort?

  “Calm yourself,” Achilios quickly said. “‘Tis a trader much like Cyrus. Probably even knew him, in fact, if the boy was correct.”

  “This them, Ced?” asked the would-be hunter’s parent. The steely-jawed figure swept back silver and black shoulder-length hair and studied the newcomers. His eyes paused on Lylia, but froze on Serenthia.

  “I know you, though you be all grown up! You’d be Cyrus’s little girl…Sara, was it?”

  “Serenthia,” she responded, her face becoming overcast.

  Cedric’s father immediately noted this. His tone more formal, he said, “I am sorry, lass. I shall not ask you about it.”

  A silent Serenthia nodded gratefully.

  Other townsfolk had begun to pause in the vicinity, curious about the new arrivals. Part of that curiosity clearly had to do with the man greeting them, whose status in Partha was surely prominent.

  “Friends, my name is Ethon ul-Garal, and although I regret the passing of my old comrade, I heartily welcome those of kin and companionship to him.”

  Uldyssian eyed Achilios. “They both seem very certain that we were coming.”

  “I took a chance that you’d say yes, that was all. When Cedric mentioned that his father was an important merchant, I used Cyrus’s name—my apologies for that, Serry—because I recalled how he seemed to know everyone in the region who shared his trade. Cedric said that he would run and tell his father about us and tell him what I said about the old man—”

  “Many’s a good haggle I had with Cyrus,” threw in Master Ethon, eyes twinkling at old memories.

  “Anyway, after our path led us so near, I figured Destiny wants us here.”

  “Malic wants us here, Achilios. Remember that.”

  “My friend,” called the merchant, clearly seeking to prevent an argument between the two. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Nothing that can be spoken of here,” Uldyssian remarked in a low voice. “It’d be best if we spoke in private, Master Ethon. Your headman should also hear.”

  “As I am also elected leader of Partha, that shall be a simple matter to deal with! But come! Who do I have the pleasure
of meeting? I knew dear Serenthia as a child and there is no mistaking her beauty even now. You—” He gestured at Uldyssian. “—have a vague familiarity about you, too, but the others do not.” Ethon’s eyes again lingered over Lylia. “Some, especially not, and I am known for my memory for faces.”

  “I am Uldyssian ul-Diomed—”

  “Ah! Diomedes of Seram! A strong-hearted, outspoken man of the earth! You look his part, too. You’d be his firstborn, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Acknowledging the older man’s excellent memory, Uldyssian introduced Mendeln and Achilios, then, grudgingly, Lylia. He expected the merchant to fawn over her, but Master Ethon merely bowed and said, “By the garments and the face, you would be from the north of the great city, yes?”

  She dipped her head in turn. “Yes.”

  Cedric’s father clearly expected more of an answer, but when Lylia remained quiet, he took it in as much stride as he had Serenthia’s silence. Instead, he looked to the group as a whole. “Well, now that we are friends, you shall come with me to my humble home!”

  At first, Uldyssian wanted to turn Ethon’s offer down. The man meant well, but this was not a social visit. Yet, if he was both its most prominent citizen and its leader, then there was no one better to warn concerning any possible threat to his people.

  Uldyssian only hoped that Cyrus’s old friend would not throw his daughter and the rest into a cell once he learned the truth. After all, it was they who brought the danger, in a sense.

  As Ethon was on foot, the party dismounted, then led their horses after him. Uldyssian noted that the populace now treated the five as if they were visiting dignitaries, bowing as they passed. Master Ethon was clearly a man highly respected not only for his position but for himself.

  That the man had come without a personal guard bothered Uldyssian. Were the people of Partha that trusting? Or was there something more sinister involved? If this was Malic’s doing, it was a very convoluted trap. Uldyssian could see neither rhyme nor reason to it. These seemed good people, honest people. In addition to bowing, many of them also nodded pleasantly at the group. Some of those behind the party had already begun returning to their own tasks, clearly not at all suspicious of the strangers.

  “I have not been in Seram for many years,” announced Ethon to his guests as they walked through the busy streets. “How fares it? It was always a tranquil stop. I admit I used to go there in part because I savored the peaceful nature of it as much as the heated bargaining with Master Cyrus!”

  “There was a fierce storm there recently,” Mendeln interjected. Uldyssian quickly glanced at his brother, but saw that Mendeln intended no further comment.

  “Indeed? I suppose that would be the most exciting thing to happen in Seram, lucky for you! I love Partha, but there are so many, many matters on which to keep a careful eye, you know. At times, I would have gladly exchanged places with your father, Mistress Serenthia.”

  Uldyssian decided to check something. “And do the clerics of the Temple and the Cathedral offer any help with guiding your efforts here?”

  “Them?” Looking over his shoulder at Uldyssian, the merchant chuckled. “Hasn’t been a blessed one of them in Partha for over a year. They’ve nothing we want. We’re quite satisfied with our lot. They can save their words for someone who wants to hear them, if you’ll pardon me for saying so.”

  Uldyssian nodded in appreciation, Master Ethon’s words verifying what he had so far noted about Partha and its inhabitants. He saw robust men and women cheerfully going about their chores or taking a break to eat or converse with friends. He saw clean streets of stone and well-kept structures of both wood and rock. There was no one who was not dressed neatly, whether in simple robes or in more elegant garments. It was a good town with good people.

  That was not to say that all was perfection in Partha. There were infirm and maimed among the inhabitants. An elder with barely a tooth remaining hobbled along on one leg and a crutch. Uldyssian also saw a young boy whose left arm was a shriveled version of his right, clearly a defect at birth. Another man with the look of the farmer that the son of Diomedes knew so well from his own face bore savage scars across his arms and neck from what had likely been some accident.

  None of them appeared to be shunned by their neighbors and, in fact, all had companions assisting them. Partha under Ethon was evidently a very tolerant town, something even Seram could have learned from them.

  He looked again at the child. The poor limb reminded him of his youngest sister, Ameli. In her case, the right arm had been of proper length, but it had been bent back and had always been as thin as a piece of straw. Yet, Ameli had been the most cheerful of the family, the most wanting to help—

  The boy passed out of sight. Uldyssian gritted his teeth at the bitter memory. Men like Malic walked the earth living as lords while children suffered because of either chance or some capricious spirit, perhaps—

  He stopped in his tracks. “Mendeln.”

  His brother hesitated. “What is it?”

  “Here.” The older brother thrust the reins of his animal into Mendeln’s hand, then whirled back in the direction from which they had come.

  Unaware of what was taking place behind him, Master Ethon started pointing out some of Partha’s landmarks. “It may interest you to look upon that crested building yonder…”

  Lylia said nothing as he passed, but Uldyssian caught a smile of understanding. Serenthia and Achilios barely had the chance to register him before he was far behind the party.

  Making the best of his height, Uldyssian looked among the locals. Most paid him no mind, but a few watched the stranger with mild interest.

  Uldyssian grew frustrated as the object of his search evaded him. He tried to recall just where he had last seen—

  There! Heart pounding, the son of Diomedes pushed past a startled shopkeeper in the midst of arranging his wares. Ahead stood a woman he recognized from earlier.

  As he neared, she turned. Next to her, the young boy with a ruined arm followed suit.

  Now ignoring the woman, Uldyssian knelt down in front of the child. “May I see your arm…please?”

  With the innocence of his age, the boy stretched it forward as far as it could go. However, his mother naturally looked concerned and pulled him back out of the newcomer’s reach.

  Uldyssian glanced up at her. “Please. I mean no harm. My sister was like this. I won’t harm him. Just let me study it for a moment.”

  She had no reason to do as he asked, yet, the woman’s expression softened and, with a nod, she allowed Uldyssian to examine the arm.

  His fingers gently probed the limb. Up close, he saw that it was in even worse condition than his sister’s had been. Thinking of Ameli again brought a sudden rush of emotion to Uldyssian that only at the last did he understand had been bottled up inside him for those many years. Tears drowned out his vision. He wished that he could have done more for his sister…for his entire family. With all the power that he seemed to wield now, he could have perhaps saved some of them from the monstrous wasting disease…

  Tears drenched his face. Without realizing it, he kept his hold on the boy’s withered limb. To Uldyssian, though, it was as if time had turned backward and he now clutched Ameli’s arm. She, of all of the family, had been most mistreated by life. First being born so, then dying before she could even have had much of a chance to experience anything.

  His mind filled with images of his lost sister, but with one difference. She had a healthy body now. Two healthy arms. He imagined her catching things or, better yet, hugging him tight.

  Only belatedly did Uldyssian sense that someone was hugging him. That brought him back to the present…where he realized it was the young boy.

  With two good arms…

  Uldyssian looked past the child to his mother. She, in turn, stared at him with an expression of disbelief. Tears ran down her cheeks. Behind her, several other townsfolk had gathered, they, too, eyeing the farmer with astonishment.


  Disengaging himself from the child, Uldyssian looked at the people surrounding him. Harsh visions of the reactions in Seram haunted him and he stepped back in concern. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t meant to—”

  But he had meant to. He had noticed the child and had been filled with the sudden desire to see if he could do for the boy what had not been possible for Ameli. As it turned out, Uldyssian had been able to do just what he had hoped.

  And now, Partha, too, would turn on him, call him a sorcerer or worse…

  The boy’s mother lunged at him…and covered the stunned farmer with kisses and hugs. “Thank you! Thank you!”

  Beyond her, one man in the forefront of the growing throng bowed. Another followed suit, then another, and another, and another…

  Someone then chose to go down on one knee. That became the impetus for the rest to do the same. Within moments, everyone around Uldyssian knelt before him as if he were a king.

  Or more…

  ELEVEN

  Clad in floor-length robes of white, their heads lifted high, the six golden-skinned young women sang his praises as he lounged on the down couch in his private chambers. Although none were related or even physically looked like one another, there was that in their fanatic expressions that somehow made them all still seem identical.

  Their adoration for him was absolute and each would have gladly accepted his advances…not that such would ever happen. That they were beautiful meant nothing to him save that they were as the vast murals on the walls and ceiling or the intricate vases standing atop the crested marble stands. They were part of an overall design, one to help him relive, in some minute—very minute—way, the wondrous past that he had willingly left far behind.

  The Prophet’s luminous silver-blue eyes gazed up at the masterfully-painted images of ethereal winged figures fluttering through the sky. The artisan had been excellent by most standards, but he could never have understood the true depth of what his patron desired. Still, the results of his long labor let the Prophet imagine a little of what had been…and of what he had forsaken.