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

by Richard A. Knaak

  This brought renewed cheers. Uldyssian let it go on for a time, then raised his hands for silence.

  “Romus!” he called. “Are there still among you those who can track well?”

  “Aye, Master Uldyssian…and if they can’t, I can!”

  “We leave at first light, with the city of Toraja as our goal! A good-sized city, Mendeln?”

  His brother considered. “It is not Kehjan, but nothing is. Yes, it is a good first destination.”

  He knew what Uldyssian had in mind. To face the Temple and, very likely, the Cathedral and the mage clans, their numbers would have to be much greater. Uldyssian had no doubt that there would be those in Toraja who would be open to what he offered.

  There would also be those who would oppose him…and so Toraja would in addition become a proving ground for his uprising…. or a burial ground.

  “We head to Toraja, then,” he said to the rest. “The riders must go back and tell whatever Parthans wish to hear that they are invited to join us there! Tell them to head there!”

  “I’ll see to the message myself, Master Uldyssian!” replied Romus with increasing resolve. Three other men let out shouts of equal enthusiasm.

  “The task is yours, then, you four. The rest of you remember! First light!”

  They cheered again, caught up in the imagined spectacle of sweeping across the world and gathering with them throngs of enthusiastic newcomers. Uldyssian let them celebrate, knowing that it might very well be otherwise.

  They might very well be slaughtered before they even reached the gates of Toraja.

  “They would follow you anywhere,” Mendeln commented.

  “Even to the Burning Hells and High Heavens?” his brother returned, recalling the mythic places of which Lilith had spoken. He could scarcely imagine an eternal conflict between celestial beings, but even less could imagine he and his kind remaining potential fodder for whichever side triumphed.

  Mendeln nodded. “Even there…if it should prove necessary.”

  He glanced in startlement, not certain whether Mendeln was jesting or not. Certainly, his brother did not seem the type to jest, not anymore.

  They continued to let the Parthans cheer. If not the Burning Hells and High Heavens, at the very least there would be demons and more aplenty here in Sanctuary…chief among them Lilith. Lucion had been correct about one thing; Uldyssian had no doubt that she would find a way to come back into his life…and then attempt to either control or take it.

  Whichever she desired, Uldyssian did not shy from facing her. She would find him far more than she thought. Much favored her in their struggle, but he was prepared.

  “My birthright,” he whispered. Then, thinking of all those there, Uldyssian corrected himself. “Our birthright. Our world.” His determination grew greater yet as he thought once more of Achilios and those others who had perished for no good reason. “Our destiny.”

  “Yes,” answered Mendeln, hearing Uldyssian despite how quiet he had spoken. “That and more. That and much more.”

  And thinking about it, Uldyssian knew that he was right.

  An uneasiness had spread through the main temple of the Triune. Few understood it, but all felt it. The high priests pretended as if all was as it normally was, but those who watched them close saw that even their eyes held some hint of concern.

  In the private sanctum of the Primus, the demon Astrogha hung deep in an upper corner, his form completely shadowed from any who might enter. Around him scurried several eight-legged fiends, all moving with an anxiety he did not outwardly reveal.

  But mixed with that anxiety was a growing thought. Lucion had not returned from wherever he had gone. It was far past any reasonable hour of return. While the son of Mephisto had said one thing concerning where he had vanished to, Astrogha had not taken that at face value. He knew that Lucion saw in this human something more than mere potential for the ranks of the morlu or any other force benefiting the Triune. Lucion had been on the verge of the unthinkable…perhaps wondering if the nephalem could raise him up above even his father and the other Prime Evils.

  Yet, Lucion was not back and Astrogha now contemplated how that worked in his favor. Perhaps he should take on the aspect of the Primus. He should command the power of the Triune.

  Yes, after all, it could certainly not be turned over to a fool such as Gulag. Gulag was pure chaotic force; he had no wit for commanding.

  Suddenly, the demon sensed another presence in the chamber. He tensed, ready to spring if it turned out to be an intruder. Astrogha had eaten recently, but he always had a taste for blood.

  But to his surprise, it was the one being he had not expected.

  “Lucion is back,” he announced. “And has Lucion done what he wished?”

  “In some ways, yes, in some ways, no,” the Primus remarked cryptically. “Astrogha?”

  Lucion’s tone almost sounded as if he was not certain who spoke, but that could not be right. The spider demon chose to move on with the conversation. “Was there sign of her? Of Lilith?”

  The Primus was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Some, but I do not think we shall see much of her for a while.”

  “Good, good…”

  Lucion put a hand on the tall throne upon which he generally sat during audiences. As Astrogha watched, the towering figure settled into it, then looked up into the shadows where the other demon lurked.

  “I would be alone, Astrogha.”

  “How long?” There were times when the son of Mephisto demanded this. Generally, the arachnid would retreat to one of the towers until Lucion was done with whatever it was he was working on. As the demon chosen to lead, Lucion had benefits that Astrogha often envied.

  “From this point on,” returned Lucion, expression hardening. “Find yourself a place to spin a new web. The towers, perhaps. If I ever need you, I will summon you.”

  He was being cast out of the chamber forever? Astrogha almost protested, then considered that Lucion was, after all, the son of Mephisto, whereas he was only a favored of the Lord of Terror. Diablo would not defend him against Lucion.

  “As is wished,” the shadowy arachnid muttered. “As is wished.”

  He summoned his children to him, then breathed upon the web so as to dissolve it. Then, with one last—and somewhat angry look—Astrogha vanished.

  The figure on the throne reached out with sorcery to survey the room. No one was present, not even one of the spider’s over-inquisitive pets. The chamber was magically sealed off from all others.

  The Primus let out a slight laugh…one with what might have been called a feminine aspect to it.

  “Come to me, my love,” Lucion said with the voice of his sister. “I am waiting anxiously for you…”

  And in the Cathedral of Light, the Prophet nodded.

  All was going exactly as he had dictated.

  The Sin War

  continues in

  SCALES OF THE SERPENT

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

  A Pocket Star Book published by

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2007 by Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. All rights reserved. Diablo and Blizzard Entertainment are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc., in the U.S. and/or other countries. All other trademarks referenced herein are the properties of their respective owners.

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  ISBN: 1-4165-5997-3

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4516-7401-9
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  For all the loyal and very patient fans

  of the world of Sanctuary.

  Prologue

  …The world was forever changed by the second coming of the nephalem, but changed most of all was the first among their kind, Uldyssian ul-Diomed. Wanting nothing more than the simple, worthy life of a farmer, he was now forced to become a catalyst for upheaval. Through him would be revealed some of the truth concerning Sanctuary, as the world was called by those who most vied to control it. Through him did others learn of the eternal war between the angels and demons through the guises of the Cathedral of Light and the Temple of the Triune.

  And knowing Uldyssian as a threat to all they planned, both the Cathedral and the Temple in their own ways worked to either beguile him into becoming their puppet or destroy him utterly. Worse, betrayed by what he had thought love, Uldyssian became a danger to himself, for he risked becoming blind to what was happening around him even as he sought to free humans from the yoke of those believing themselves the race’s rightful masters.

  But although Uldyssian felt that the entire fate of Sanctuary rested on his weary shoulders, he could not know that there had been others fighting for centuries against his same enemies, fighting them despite what had seemed for centuries the hopelessness of their cause.

  He could not know this, which was probably for the best…for they, in turn, were not certain if he should be welcomed…or destroyed, just as the angels and demons believed.

  From the Books of Kalan

  Fifth Tome, First Leaf

  One

  The city of Toraja burned…

  While never able to approach in magnitude or glory great Kehjan to the east, Toraja had still been known far and wide for its unique sights catering to the pilgrim and the inhabitant alike. There was the vast, open market just beyond its northwestern gate, where anything from the known lands could be bought or sold for the right price. Near the city center lay the centuries-old, intricately sculpted gardens, where one could admire the spiral trees or the Falo Blooms, the fabled flowers with more than a dozen variations of bright color on each petal and a scent that perfumers could never match. Beyond that stood the towering Arena of Klytos, home of the Nirolian Games, attracting visitors from even the sprawling capital.

  But all those legendary sites, often filled to capacity, were empty this one terrible eve. Indeed, there was only activity in a lone part of the city and the hint of that could be witnessed from as far as a mile away in the deep jungle surrounding walled Toraja.

  Toraja burned…and at the center of the conflagaration lay the Temple of the Triune.

  The flames illuminated the sky well above the three-towered, triangular structure, the largest temple of the sect other than the main one near Kehjan. Black smoke billowed from the foremost tower, the one dedicated to Mefis, one of the three guiding spirits. The huge red circle representing both the order and love—Mefis’s supposed sphere of influence—hung lopsided. Cast of iron, the immense circle now threatened those below as the damage from the fire ate away at its remaining supports. The original constructors had never imagined that such a fate would ever befall the structure and so had not added additional support.

  If calamity imminently threatened the tower of Mefis, it had already claimed that of Dialon, to the right. The proud ram’s head—symbol of determination—still hung high, but above it the structure was a collapsed ruin. Oddly, little of the upper level had actually fallen to the streets below; most of the stone and wood rubble lay piled atop, as if the tower had somehow imploded.

  Hundreds of figures swarmed the area around the steps, those nearest the entrance clad in the azure, gold, or black robes of the three orders. With them stood scores of hooded, breast-plated figures—the temple’s Peace Warders—armed with swords and lances. The faithful of the Triune fought against a crush of bodies whose foremost ranks were dressed in simple peasant and farmer clothing of the upper lands far to the northwest of the great jungles. The pale skin and tighter garments of these first figures was in sharp contrast not only to the mainly swarthy servants of the temple, but also those making up most of the successive waves behind the lead attackers. Indeed, the bulk of the movement against the Triune consisted of natives of Toraja itself, marked by their loose-fitting, flowing, red and purple garments and long, black hair bound to the back.

  Although it was the attackers who wielded the majority of the torches, the flames consuming much of the nearby sections of the city were not, for the most part, their doing. In fact, no one could for certain say how the first fires had begun, only that they seemed to initially work in favor of the priesthood…and that had been enough to turn what sympathies there had been for the Triune into anger.

  That anger was all the impetus needed to urge Uldyssian to take down the temple without further delay. When he had initially arrived in Toraja—and once he had gotten over his astonishment at so many people packed into one place—Uldyssian had thought to gradually influence the citizenry into simply ousting the priests and their underlings from the city. But for such a heinous act—in which dozens of locals and even some of his original followers had perished—no remorse or sympathy remained in the former farmer’s heart.

  I came to this city hoping to teach, to convert people, Uldyssian bitterly thought as he strode toward the steps. But they forced this upon all of us instead.

  Without seeing him, the crowd parted. Any of those touched by the power within Uldyssian—the power of the nephalem—could sense his nearness. The momentum of the crowd paused as they realized that Uldyssian had something in mind.

  He had not been the cause of the devastation so far embracing the temple. That had been the results of the more primitive efforts by some of his enthusiastic followers, such as Romus, one of the lead Parthans. Romus was one of a handful of the most advanced among Uldyssian’s acolytes. Partha had been the second place to witness the miracle of Uldyssian’s gift, after his own village of Seram. However, unlike Seram, where the son of Diomedes had been cast as a murderer and monster, the Parthans had welcomed his abilities and embraced his simple but honest beliefs.

  Uldyssian was not the image of a crusading prophet as fables usually went. He was no angelic, ageless youth like he who led the Cathedral of Light—the rival sect to the temple—nor a silver-haired, benevolent elder such as the Primus, whose servants now awaited Uldyssian’s wrath. Uldyssian ul-Diomed had been born to be a tiller of soil. Square jawed and with rough-hewn features half-draped by a short beard, he was strong of build due to his hard life but otherwise unremarkable. His sandy-colored hair hung unkempt down to his neck, any attempt at neatness lost in tonight’s chaos. Uldyssian wore a plain brown shirt and pants and weathered boots. He carried no weapon save a knife thrust into his belt. Indeed, he needed no weapon, he himself far deadlier than the sharpest blade or the swiftest, truest arrow.

  Or even a squad of Peace Warders, who at this very moment charged down the steps at him. Behind them, a priest of Dialon imperiously barked orders. Uldyssian had no special hate for the fool, for he knew that the cleric simply mouthed the words of his superior, secreted somewhere deep in the temple complex. Nonetheless, both the warriors and the priest would suffer for their zealous loyalty to the foul sect.

  Uldyssian let the guards come nearly within weapon’s reach, then, without so much as a blink, sent the entire contingent flying in different directions. Some collided with the pillars at the top of the steps, their bones audibly cracking, while others flew all the way back to the bronze doors themselves, where they dropped in twisted heaps. A few went hurtling to the sides, landing with a harsh crash at the feet of the waiting throng, who broke out into cheers at this display of their leader’s power.

  An archer next to the priest fired. He could not have made a worse decision. Uldyssian frowned, t
he only outward hint of the terrible memories flashing through his mind. He relived again his friend Achilios’s stand before the demon Lucion, who, in the guise of the Primus, had created the Triune to corrupt and control Mankind. Still as vivid as the moment it had happened was the hunter’s shot, which, at the demon’s desire, turned about and pierced Achilios through the throat.

  Uldyssian now did the same for the bolt fired at him. Without hesitation, it arced around, racing back up. The archer looked aghast…but he was not the target.

  The arrow drove through the chest of the priest as if passing only through air. It continued on, still accelerating, until it reached the door bearing the circular symbol of Mefis. There, driven by Uldyssian’s will, the arrow impaled itself in the center of the circle in a perfect bull’s-eye, burying deep in the metal.

  It all happened so swiftly that only now did the priest’s body waver. He let out a gurgling sound and blood poured not only from the wound, but mouth as well. His expression went slack…and then the robed figure toppled forward, rolling down the steps in a macabre tangle of loose limbs.

  The archer dropped his weapon and fell on his knees in abject shock. He stared at Uldyssian, awaiting his doom.

  A deathly calm pervaded the vicinity. Uldyssian strode up to the guard. Beyond the one stricken warrior, the rest of the temple’s defenders grimly sought to regroup. The blood of several of Uldyssian’s more impetuous converts decorated the area, giving proof to the Peace Warders’ determination to let none pass alive.

  Jaw set, Uldyssian placed a hand on the shoulder of the kneeling guard. In a voice that boomed as if thunder, the son of Diomedes said, “Let this one be spared…as an example.” He glared at the other Peace Warders. “The rest can join their Primus in Hell.”