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

by Richard A. Knaak

  “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.

  The head tumbled into Lucion’s hand. He turned it upside down to preserve the contents. The son of Mephisto preferred to do his own slaying, but could not fault the warrior for his enthusiasm.

  “Leave the carcass,” he commanded the morlu. “You are dismissed.”

  The armored figures bowed and departed. Lucion paused, then glanced up at the deepest shadows above. “Astrogha! I know you watch! I have a tidbit for you…”

  “And what the cost?” came a hissing voice. “What the cost, oh, Lucion?”

  “Nothing you cannot afford, dog of Diablo…we shall speak of it later. Take the carcass…”

  Something white and like rope shot down to where the body lay. It resembled the webbing a spider might shoot, only much, much larger, as if a creature at least as great as the son of Mephisto somehow hid in the recesses of the ceiling.

  The headless body shot up, pulled by the webbing into the shadows. A moment later, there was a horrific slurping sound.

  He has been bought, Lucion thought to himself. That leaves just one more.

  With his free hand, the Primus drew a triangular symbol not unlike that of the Triune in the air. The pattern flared a savage crimson, then drifted to the floor, sealing there.

  Lucion tossed Brother Ikarion’s head into the center. It landed perfectly, the bulging eyes staring up, the mouth slack as if in midscream. Blood puddled around it, in actuality feeding the burning symbol with power.

  “Gulag…I have something for you. Come and get it.”

  The stone floor beneath the head began to shift as if suddenly liquid. The magical pattern remained intact, as did the stones beneath, but they rolled and twisted as if part of a turbulent sea.

  Then…a gap reminiscent of a whirlpool opened up just to the right of the pattern. Although it was circular, within, one could see ridges of teeth. The “mouth” swirled around the pattern twice, then sought to engulf it.

  Dark sparks arose each time it attempted. At last, the toothy gap paused.

  “Stupid is Gulag,” came Astrogha’s monstrous voice from above. “Like his master he is…”

  “You have your treat, arachnid,” reprimanded Lucion. “Be still…”

  The demon above grew silent, save to renew the slurping that marked his eating. The macabre mouth attempted once more to take in the head and once more the pattern kept it away.

  “Rise up, Gulag…”

  The floor began to swell. It took on a shape vaguely humanoid, vaguely porcine. Its body still maintained the stone design of the original floor, but approximately where the head should have been, three eyestalks suddenly sprouted.

  “LLLLLuccccionnnnnnnnn…” it said, the voice akin to the last gasp of a dying man. “Wwwwaannnntttt…”

  “And so you shall, servant of destruction, servant of Baal, but in a moment. You and Astrogha must assist me with a spell. Will you?”

  Above, the slurping ceased again. “Expensive is this meal, this one thinks now…”

  Lucion’s expression grew sharp. His eyes seemed to sink into the sockets and he was suddenly half again as large as before. “You accepted it, spider, just the same. A bargain made without thought is still a bargain…”

  “So it must be…” the other demon replied reluctantly.

  Looking slightly more like the genial Primus again, the son of Mephisto focused on the second demon. “And you, Gulag, do you have any reservations about accepting what I offer even before hearing the price?”

  “Dessssstrucctionnnnnn?”

  He smiled at the simple question. “Yes, there could very well be some.”

  “Hhhheadddd…”

  It was as close to an acquiescence as Lucion would get from one of Baal’s minions. He gestured at the pattern, removing it.

  Gulag’s mouth suddenly expanded to nearly his entire length. The skull of Brother Ikarion tumbled into the bottomless maw, vanishing.

  The demon shut his mouth, then formed a crude smile out of the stone pattern.

  Lucion nodded. Steepling his fingers, he closed his eyes in thought. “Excellent. Now…this is what I seek from the two of you…”

  FIFTEEN

  The illusion of peace shattered, Uldyssian lived in a constant state of high concern. Malic was nearby, no doubt plotting something more heinous. As ever, Uldyssian did not fear for himself so much as he did Lylia and the others. However, as Achilios had said, they would not leave him of their own free will and he had no idea how to make them change their minds.

  Noticing his darkening mood, Master Ethon pulled him aside after dinner the next evening. “You are not yourself. Does something ail you?”

  “There’s nothing.”

  The dark eyes burned into his own. “Yes, I think that there is, but you do not wish to talk now.” Ethon frowned. “The other night, I offered whatever additional help I could to you. I think this is just such a situation. Perhaps, if we met alone when the others sleep, I could at the very least pass on some advice.”

  Since the death of his parents, Uldyssian had more or less relied on his own advice over the years, only now and then turning to the likes of Cyrus and other friends of his father. Still, the merchant had seen much and lived through more and surely had a view of matters far exceeding that of the farmer.

  Uldyssian finally nodded gratefully to his host. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  “Later, then,” murmured Master Ethon. “Say the hour before midnight?”

  Nodding again, Uldyssian returned to the company of Lylia and the others. It was all he could do from that point on to hide his impatience. The minutes took hours to pass, the hours an eternity. When at last he excused himself from Lylia—the noblewoman becoming used to his late-night walks—Uldyssian almost ran through the house, so eager was he to reach the study and pour out his concerns.

  On his way, he nearly collided with a smaller figure. Cedric looked up at him, the youth’s face oddly pale.

  “Ced! What do you still do up?”

  The boy glanced past, as if impatient to be away from the man before him. “Father…my father wanted to see me. Now I’m going to bed.”

  Already feeling late for his own meeting with Master Ethon, Uldyssian patted the merchant’s son on the shoulder. “Of course. Off you go, then.”

  Without waiting for a reply from the boy, he continued on. The halls were dimly lit, only a few oil lamps marking the nighttime. Uldyssian passed no guards, the merchant obviously feeling very secure in his own domain. That would certainly change once he heard what his guest had to say.

  The door to the study was closed and no light shone through the bottom. Uldyssian looked around the empty hall, then knocked once.

  From within, Ethon’s voice bid him enter. Relieved, Uldyssian slipped inside, quickly shutting the door after him.

  The only illumination in the room came from a single candle situated atop a small, mahogany table to the side. Next to the candle sat a decanter of wine and two goblets, one of which Uldyssian’s host—seated in a leather chair next to the table—took up even as the farmer’s eyes adjusted to the gloom.

  “Tonight, I find the quiet of the night much more relaxing,” explained Master Ethon after a sip of wine. “The better to think, also.”

  Uldyssian slipped into another chair that Master Ethon indicated. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “How could I not? After all that has happened? Uldyssian, I could not refuse this moment to you!” He gestured at the other goblet. “Please…I would recom
mend it.”

  Although he wanted to keep a clear head, Uldyssian suddenly felt parched. He allowed Master Ethon to pour him some wine. The liquid flowed like delicious fire down his throat.

  “A strong vintage, but one that touches the soul, I say.” Ethon put down his own goblet. “You are very troubled, my son.”

  Clutching his wine in both hands, Uldyssian leaned forward and explained his concerns for his friends…and Partha itself. The older man listened quietly, nodding now and then in understanding.

  When Uldyssian had finished, Master Ethon rubbed his chin in thought. The flickering candlelight danced in his eyes, catching the farmer’s attention.

  “Your fears for my people and your own comrades does you justice, Uldyssian. I would hope to do no less myself in your situation…”

  “But what can I do to keep them—all of you—from harm? I don’t know if I can protect everyone, not from the might of the Triune. I thought I could once, but after the other night…”

  The leader of Partha rose and began to pace slowly in front of Uldyssian. His mind was visibly at work.

  “Yes…the other night, as you describe it, shows an inconsistency in your gift I would not have expected. It was a telling moment.” Ethon paused, looking down at him. “You may be correct; what you wield might not be enough against such a force as the Temple. Their tools are legion. I have heard through trusted sources that they have fanatic warriors who make the Peace Warders seem pacifists. Some claim that these dark, armored fighters cannot even be slain by mortal means—”

  His description struck home with Uldyssian. “Yes! The attacker in the street! As I said! Achilios should’ve slain him with that bolt, but it only startled him…”

  The older man stepped from the vicinity of the candlelight, all but disappearing in the shadows in the far corner of the room. “So, the stories have merit. It almost makes me suggest…but, no, you would never do that.”

  “What?” Uldyssian was willing to try almost anything, if it would at least protect the woman—the people—he loved. “Tell me!”

  Master Ethon turned to face him again. If not for the fire of the candle reflecting yet again in his eyes, Uldyssian would not have been able to read anything of his expression. In that gaze, though, he saw determination and that strengthened his own resolve.

  “There is one way to protect them…and my beloved Partha, but I feel much guilt even suggesting it.”

  “Please! I won’t hold anything against you, Master Ethon! You’ve been nothing but a good friend and host!”

  “Very well. It may be, my young Uldyssian, that you can only accomplish what you wish by leaving them without any notice. Leave them in the dead of night and ride out of Partha as if the hounds of the Temple are nearly upon the town. Ride out and meet with this Malic—”

  Uldyssian leapt to his feet, the goblet dropping and the chair falling backward. “What?”

  “Hear me out! Malic came for you! He wants only you! Whatever the outcome of your encounter with him, by abandoning Partha and the others, you remove them from the situation entirely! The Triune will trouble them no longer!”

  The terrible thing was, what he said had not gone unconsidered by Uldyssian already. Yet, to hear it said so bluntly put a solid weight to it that pressed down hard on his heart.

  But it would keep them all safe, especially Lylia…

  Still, there was something else to think about. “But the high priest’s minions are already in Partha. It may be too late to undo that.”

  “They watch for you. They will assuredly see you leave, even if you choose to do so this very minute. Such creatures will immediately follow their prey…or does that not make sense?”

  To Uldyssian it made dreadfully perfect sense, and yet, there was that about Master Ethon’s suggestion that did not sit right with him.

  But it’s the only way! his mind insisted.

  The merchant stood silent, letting Uldyssian battle this out himself. Leaving the others behind was the only true course of action. This was strictly between he and Malic.

  “They would all follow me, you think? The creatures of the high priest, I mean?”

  “I would guarantee it. To do anything to the contrary would be absurd.”

  That finally settled it for Uldyssian. “I’ve got to do it, then.”

  His host bowed in acknowledgment of the heaviness of his decision. “I will assist you to the best of my ability. In any way I can.”

  Ethon reached out a hand. Uldyssian instinctively did the same, but just before the two men could shake, a sense of urgency overtook the son of Diomedes. He pulled his hand back and stared at the merchant’s eyes. There was something wrong about them…

  He tore his gaze from the merchant’s, suddenly needing to look toward the ceiling.

  It was too late. From the darkness above, a heavy, armored form fell upon the farmer. It brought him to the floor, their combined weight cracking the boards beneath them.

  “There is ever something that causes the best plans to somehow go awry!” snapped a voice that was not the merchant’s. “I begin to wonder if it has to do with your curious and unpredictable abilities…”

  Even as Uldyssian struggled against his opponent, he recognized the new voice. It was Malic speaking. Malic, in the guise of Master Ethon…

  “All so very simple…or so it was supposed to be. Lure you out into the wild, where this could be handled without further complications. But as with last time, nothing can go simple where you are involved, farmer, can it?”

  His face almost crushed into the floor, Uldyssian gasped, “Where—where is E-Ethon?”

  “Why, right here,” replied a voice that was now both Malic’s and the merchant’s. “Let him see,” the cleric ordered Uldyssian’s guard.

  From behind, a thick hand grabbed the captive by his hair and pulled hard, forcing him to look up. The image of the merchant still stood before Uldyssian. “Right here, in the flesh,” Ethon said, once more using the high priest’s voice. The figure chuckled, then added, “Or, at least wearing his flesh.”

  He reached up and touched his cheek with the palm of his right hand. Where the hand came in contact with the face, the skin there suddenly dripped as if melting. In large portions, it started sliding down to his chin, where it hung in gobbets.

  Uldyssian’s stomach turned. He struggled to free himself, but the monstrous warrior had him in a tight grip.

  Through the macabre display, the high priest’s own dark countenance began to peek out. Malic pulled his hand away, which caused the horrific melting to cease. He showed Uldyssian his palm.

  Revealed there was a sight more terrible than the face, for it was no human hand that Malic had, but rather something that matched his demonic heart well. The high priest flexed what passed for fingers and it amazed Uldyssian that he had not noticed the misshapen appendage despite the disguise.

  “A simple use of misdirection and illusion,” explained Malic, reading his expression…or his thoughts. He thrust the limb closer. “Granted me by my master to assist in this hunt. I tested it twice before the merchant, whom the morlu caught as he was returning to his home. He was an opportunity that I could not pass up.”

  Uldyssian spat at the man, unfortunately coming up short with his effort. His guard—a morlu, the high priest had called him—rewarded the captive’s attempt by slamming Uldyssian’s face in the floor again.

  “That will be enough,” Malic commanded, whether to his prisoner or the guard, it was impossible to say. “Raise the fool up.”

  Another pair of powerful hands took hold of Uldyssian’s right arm. The original morlu shifted to the left. The two armored giants held Uldyssian in viselike grips.

  “Not as I originally intended, but this will do—”

  The door opened. Glancing there, Uldyssian saw in horror that Cedric had returned.

  “Go!” he shouted at the youth. “Run!”

  But instead of obeying or at least looking fearful, Cedric ignored the warn
ing. To Malic, he said, “The woman’s not in the room.”

  The blood drained from Uldyssian. The voice emerging from Ethon’s son was no more that of the boy than Malic’s had been the merchant’s.

  “No…” he gasped. “No…”

  “She must be there!” insisted the cleric. “I sense her there even now. The arm, too, verifies that. It is drawn to her, as the master said. You looked in the wrong room.”

  Cedric shook his head. With a dismissive shrug toward the gaping Uldyssian, he grunted, “This one’s scent is all over the room…and the bed. Nothing of her. No smell, no trace.”

  Malic reconsidered. “I see. This is a wily prey. Certainly more so than this buffoon…”

  Uldyssian could not make sense of everything the pair said, but one bright point stuck out. Malic had sent this abomination—tears streaked down Uldyssian’s face as he thought of what had happened to the lad—to hunt for Lylia. That, thankfully, had so far ended in failure.

  “Find her quickly, Damos,” the high priest continued. “You will leave nowhere untouched. The spell I cast will continue to muffle any sounds within the house only. Recall that at all times.”

  “I will hunt her down, Great One. And she will not live long after that.” The false Cedric accented his dire statement with an animalistic snort, then left again.

  Malic smiled at his captive. “We will salvage this yet, it seems. Then, you will be on your way to a long-overdue audience with the Primus.”

  “They’ll not let you out of Partha, cleric!” Uldyssian snarled. “The townsfolk loved Master Ethon! They’ll stop you! They’ll tear you apart for what you’ve done!”

  “But why should they stop me?” asked the malevolent figure, putting his monstrous palm to his face. As Uldyssian watched, stunned, the flesh moved to cover the revealed areas. In seconds, Malic once more completely resembled the merchant, even to the difference in height. The spell that allowed him to walk in Ethon’s flesh was an astonishing if grisly creation. “Why should they stop their dearly beloved leader?”

  Indeed, there was no reason and Uldyssian now saw that. The guards and any bystanders would be fooled just as he had been, especially in the dark.