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

by Richard A. Knaak

  Strengthening his shields, he took a step forward and tried once more to talk reason. “Serry! We need to speak. The angel with you is as deadly as Inarius. Perhaps deadlier. He wants to destroy the entire world—”

  “Spare us your pretense, high priest!” came her voice. “We know what you are and what you’ve done. By Uldyssian’s memory, we’ll make you regret all the lives you’ve stolen, especially his!”

  He cursed, understanding at last what—or, rather, who—they thought him to be.

  Malic.

  How the angel had managed that, Uldyssian did not know. Still, what mattered was that the son of Diomedes now knew just why the two were so adamant about killing him.

  And there was no manner by which he could think to convince them that he was himself.

  The spear caught him under the ribs. Distracted by Serenthia’s revelation, Uldyssian had left himself open. His shields should have still held, but as he fell back, wounded, Uldyssian had no doubt that Tyrael had done something to assist the weapon in reaching its target. That also would have explained the arrow’s luck earlier.

  Pain coursed through him. His head pounded. He gripped the spear and burned it to ash. Panting, Uldyssian put a hand over the wound, healing it.

  His frustration mounted. He could not just stand there, letting them take chance after chance to slay him. The overall situation was far more important than this fight. Uldyssian had to put an end to things…even if it meant harming one or both of them in the process.

  Or even doing something worse.

  He straightened—and immediately, another arrow raced toward him. This time, though, Uldyssian had been expecting it. He threw his power first into reducing the bolt to ash, then striking where the archer had surely stood.

  The trees and undergrowth for yards ahead flattened under the force of his spell. A scream arose, but it was feminine and came from another direction.

  “No!” Serenthia shouted. She leapt out of the jungle, hands raised toward Uldyssian. The trees he had just flattened went soaring back at him.

  He managed to deflect the first few, but while that was happening, Serenthia summoned a new spear and threw. Uldyssian managed to catch the spear just inches from him, then tossed it point first into the soil.

  As it struck, a wall of dirt erupted. It rose several yards and immediately solidified.

  Tree after tree slammed into the wall, but, strengthened by Uldyssian’s power, the dirt barrier held. The makeshift missiles struck with what sounded like a thunderclap.

  Before Serenthia could attempt anything else, Uldyssian slapped the air in her direction. It struck the merchant’s daugher as if he had actually hit her himself. With a groan, she fell backward.

  Taking a deep breath, the son of Diomedes looked around. Sensing no other threat, he rushed to Serenthia’s side.

  She lay sprawled amidst the ruined undergrowth, her head tilted to one side in a manner that at first made Uldyssian fear that he had injured her badly. However, a quick study revealed nothing threatening.

  The merchant’s daughter moaned. Her eyes opened, and she saw Uldyssian leaning over her.

  An epithet worthy of a demon escaped her lips. She tried to move, tried to use her power, but Uldyssian had already prepared for that. Serenthia quickly found that she could do nothing.

  “Please be calm, Serry,” he murmured, deciding that calling her by her childhood name might serve to alleviate her suspicions. In truth, her expression did immediately grow confused, yet the wariness did not completely disappear. “It’s me—it’s Uldyssian, I swear!”

  “No…he said…I saw the carnage in the capital. He showed us what happened…and that it was Malic’s ghost seizing body after body…including yours!”

  “The angel lied,” he bluntly replied.

  “But…no…” Her eyes shifted ever so slightly.

  Uldyssian sensed the figure behind him but made no move. Instead, the former farmer muttered, “At this close range, you should be able to hit me dead on, Achilios.”

  “And if he even tries,” remarked yet another voice, “I shall send him back to where he came from.”

  “Mendeln?” Serenthia gasped.

  With the utmost care and casualness, Uldyssian looked behind him. As he had noted, the pale figure of the archer stood right behind him. A few leaves still clung to the undead’s body. Achilios had another dirt-encrusted shaft ready to fire, but even as Uldyssian watched, his childhood friend lowered his bow.

  Just barely visible behind Achilios, Mendeln held the ivory dagger point down. The mystical weapon glowed faintly like moonlight.

  “Mendeln…” rasped the hunter. “You…you don’t know…the truth…This is…is not Uldyssian! This is that…that creature…Malic!”

  “No, this is my brother,” Mendeln replied calmly. “I would know Malic if I saw him, no matter what the body. I’ve learned that.”

  “But—”

  “The angel lied to both of you,” Uldyssian interjected. “He used you for pawns.” As he spoke, he released Serenthia from her invisible bonds. She eyed the hand he offered her with suspicion but finally grasped it.

  “I believe it’s actually him, Achilios,” Serenthia said. “I really do.”

  Her admission only seemed to anger the archer. “He nearly made…made me…do it again! I almost…killed you!”

  Mendeln joined them. Keeping the glowing dagger by his side, he added, “I do not know if the angel wanted Uldyssian dead even now. I think that he is merely maximizing chaos wherever he can in preparation for the coming of the armed host.”

  Both Serenthia and Achilios looked at the brothers in total bewilderment.

  “What armed host?” the hunter asked.

  Uldyssian explained. His friends’ expressions transformed swiftly to horror as understanding hit them hard.

  “All of the world?” the dark-tressed woman exclaimed. “Nothing…no one left?”

  “If Tyrael and the angels have their way. The other alternative seems to be enslavement by the demons…or by Inarius.”

  “This can’t be happening. That means all we’ve done has been for nothing, Uldyssian!”

  He shook his head. “No, Serry. I won’t believe that. I plan on fighting until the end. This is our world, not Inarius’s, the angels’, or the demons’!”

  “What of…of Rathma?” asked Achilios grimly. “Can he…can he persuade Inarius…to join with us? Is that…even possible?”

  “Is that even desired?” Uldyssian retorted. He vehemently shook his head. “I think Rathma’s doomed to failure, but he’s got to try—and in the meantime, we need to prepare.”

  “For the angels’ coming,” Mendeln concluded.

  But Uldyssian shook his head again. “No—no, I think first for Inarius, actually.”

  Rathma had never been inside the Cathedral of Light, but he had heard tales of it. It was everything those tales had said, but despite that, he was not in the least impressed. All the glory, all the grandeur, focused around the megalomania of his father, not good, as it pretended.

  The guards lining the corridors did not see him walk among them, nor did even the senior priests. He had not sought to materialize directly in Inarius’s sanctum, for his father would have taken that for a sign of disrespect. While Rathma did indeed have no respect for the angel, he felt that now was not the time to push that particular point.

  The zealous guards stationed at the doorway to the Prophet’s sanctum stared as blindly as the rest. The cowled figure strode right past them and, a moment later, through the doors themselves.

  Rathma did not announce himself as he entered the vast, elegant chamber. Inarius knew full well that his offspring was there.

  Indeed, a moment later, the voice Rathma so despised echoed through his head and heart. MY WAYWARD SON…AND HAVE YOU COME TO BEG FORGIVENESS FOR YOUR SINS?

  The angel materialized in his full, grand glory just a few feet above Rathma. His wings were spread wide across the chamber, the full sp
ectrum of their energies filling the marble room with an astounding array of colors. Despite himself, Rathma had to admire the beauty inherent in what his father was, if nothing else.

  “You can spare us both that constant question, can you not, Father?”

  BUT IF THAT IS NOT THE REASON, THEN WHAT? WHEN LAST WE SPOKE, YOU REJECTED FOREVER THE LINK BETWEEN US. THEREFORE, IF YOU DO NOT SEEK FORGIVENESS, I SEE NO REASON FOR ANY FURTHER AUDIENCE.

  “There is a very good reason, and you know it!” the Ancient said, his vast cloak fluttering. He raised a fist toward the angel. “The whole of Sanctuary is in imminent threat of destruction. There is only one hope to save it—”

  COMBINE MY MIGHT WITH THAT OF THE HERETIC ULDYSSIAN AND HIS RABBLE, NOT TO MENTION YOURS AND PERHAPS WHATEVER HANDFUL OF THE FIRSTBORN STILL HIDE UNDER THE ROCKS? Inarius’s disdain was clear in his tone. PERHAPS ADD EVEN THE BURNING HELLS TO OUR RANKS? OR MAYBE THE SO-CALLED MAGE CLANS?

  As he spoke, the angel glowed ever more brilliantly, so much so that Rathma had to shield his eyes. Rathma struggled against the ever-present urge to kneel before his father. Inarius gestured toward the images in the ceiling, his gauntleted hand twisting as if he sought to grasp each and every one of them.

  IN THE HIGH HEAVENS, I WAS ONE AMONG MANY. AGAINST THEIR HOST, I WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO STAND. He looked down at his son once more. BUT WE ARE IN MY WORLD NOW…MY WORLD! ITS LIFE…ITS DEATH…ARE AND HAVE ALWAYS BEEN MINE TO DECIDE, LINARIAN!

  This was turning into a conversation that Rathma and Inarius had had too often already during the ages. The Ancient had always suspected his progenitor of teetering on madness, but now he began to see that the angel was utterly insane.

  Nonetheless, Rathma continued to try. “Father, you know that Tyrael has found Sanctuary—”

  NO! The winged figure descended to just a few inches above the immaculate floor. THE PLOY FAILED! THE TRUTH BECAME KNOWN TO ME! TYRAEL IS NOT HERE; TYRAEL WAS NEVER HERE. AND EVEN IF HE WAS, NOT A THOUSAND OF HIM OR ANY OTHER COULD STAND AGAINST ME, SO LONG AS I AM BOUND TO THE WORLDSTONE! NO, LINARIAN, TYRAEL IS NOT HERE. YOUR TRICKS HAVE BEEN UNVEILED TO ME. YOU WORKED IN LEAGUE WITH ALL THE REST. YOU ARE NO MORE TO BE TRUSTED THAN THE LORD DIABLO, WHO THINKS TO BLIND ME TO HIS TREACHERIES BY OFFERING HIS OWN “ALLIANCE.”

  The words verified some of Rathma’s suspicions and fears concerning recent events. “Then…then the slaughter of innocents in the capital is in great part your doing! You have left the mage clans in confusion and anger and made Sanctuary that much more unstable. You play into Tyrael’s hand, do you not see that?”

  ALL PLAYS INTO MY HANDS, YOU MEAN. THE CITY IS TURNED AGAINST THE HERETIC, ULDYSSIAN, AS ARE MORE AND MORE OF THE FLOCK THROUGHOUT THE REALM. A very human laugh escaped the celestial being, a laugh filled with mad triumph. THEN LORD DIABLO OFFERS ME WHAT HE BELIEVES WILL IN THE END GARNER HIM DOMINATION OF MY WORLD AND MAKE THE HERETIC’S LEGIONS SOLDIERS FOR DAMNATION. HE PROVIDES ME WITH THE PATH TO THE VERY CHAOS I DESIRE UPON SANCTUARY, THE BETTER TO SWEEP IT CLEAN AND REBUILD IT WITH THE PERFECT ORDER IT WAS MEANT TO HAVE SINCE THE BEGINNING.

  Rathma had earlier sensed Uldyssian’s reluctance when the Ancient had suggested seeking a pact with Inarius, and although the angel’s son had expected little, he saw that even Uldyssian had underestimated just how impossible success might be. Rathma’s father lived in a world of his own, but it was not even Sanctuary…it was a fantasy within his own mind.

  And because of Inarius’s blind madness, everyone else would suffer.

  Rathma made one last, desperate stab. “Father, Tyrael is not—”

  He got no farther. Inarius gazed down upon him with eyes that were not even remotely human but blazing energy. At that moment, Rathma realized the gap between even himself and what his sire was. It was a jest of the cosmos that they were father and son; there was more of a physical bond between Rathma and a toadstool.

  WHETHER NO TYRAEL OR A THOUSAND THOUSAND TYRAELS, THIS WORLD IS MINE, LINARIAN! MINE.

  A sensation of extreme claustrophobia overwhelmed Rathma. His father swelled in size, rapidly growing into a giant.

  No…the entire room matched the angel, which meant that it was the angel’s offspring who was transforming. Without Rathma even being aware of it, Inarius had shrunken him down to the size of a rat—and then even smaller.

  The winged figure alighted, then reached out to his son. A smoky sphere immediately formed around Rathma. The Ancient battered his cage with all the magic he could muster, but for naught. Alone against his father, he was nothing.

  The tiny sphere flew up from the floor and onto Inarius’s open palm. By the time it did that, it was no larger than a pea.

  YOU ARE SO VERY MUCH LIKE YOUR MOTHER, Inarius said. A SHAME, THAT.

  With that, he cast the sphere and Rathma into the void.

  Sixteen

  It was neither Inarius nor the other angels who struck first. That honor went to the city of Kehjan.

  The sentries sensed their approach just before dawn the next day, but Uldyssian noted them several minutes before that. He did not immediately tell his followers, or even his friends, instead trying to think of what he could do to prevent so many innocent lives from being lost.

  Unfortunately, little came to mind.

  When word came from the sentries, all he could do was summon Mendeln and the others he trusted for command and quickly discuss whatever suggestions they might have to stopping the impending disaster. They had barely more to offer than he had and, with the exception of Mendeln, saw no reason to be so concerned over the fate of the Kehjanis.

  “You tried to come in peace,” Serenthia pointed out. “They never gave you the chance. If not for Malic’s evil, there would’ve been some other reason to betray you. Look how they attacked you even in the palace of Prince Ehmad!”

  “We will crush them easily,” Saron piped up.

  Jonas nodded agreement, adding, “Once they see they can’t win, Master Uldyssian, they’ll go running. That’ll save a lot of their lives.”

  “But not enough,” the son of Diomedes returned. “Not nearly enough…” He suddenly looked up. “How the angels and demons must be laughing right now.” Uldyssian wondered especially about the one identified as Tyrael. This was surely what he desired. Keep all the abominations at one another’s throats until his brethren swept down and cleansed the world of them.

  And Inarius? Inarius would not be idle. Curiously, Uldyssian was most concerned about him—and the fact that Rathma had not returned. He glanced at Mendeln and saw something in his brother’s eyes that indicated the same thoughts had crossed his mind as well.

  One of the sentries touched his mind. Uldyssian shoved aside all thought about Inarius…at least for the moment.

  “Get everyone ready. Make sure those who need to be protected are. At my signal, we move to meet them.” He would not allow his foes to dictate this battle; come what may, Uldyssian would take responsibility for his part in what was to happen.

  Saron and Jonas ran off to relay his orders to others. Serenthia started to follow but then faltered. She looked to Uldyssian.

  He knew immediately what disturbed her. Achilios had left them during the night, but only to keep the edyrem—from whom he was shielded—from growing disturbed by his presence. However, the hunter had promised that he would be near when the conflict began.

  “He’s not far,” Uldyssian reassured her. While the son of Diomedes was in great part responsible for keeping Achilios hidden from everyone else, he maintained a link with his friend that even Serenthia could not create. “He’ll be at our side, so to speak.”

  She gave him a grateful nod and raced off.

  Mendeln glanced at his brother. “This does not feel right, Uldyssian. In many ways, these people do not deserve what will happen.”

  “We can’t do anything about it. It’s out of our hands, Mendeln. We need to defend ourselves, not only for our sakes but for the world’s.”

  “But if we slaughter hundreds for no
good reason other than that they were blinded by Inarius and others, of what value will that world be?”

  Uldyssian shrugged his question off. “That might not even matter.”

  He strode off before they could argue. Mendeln followed at his heels, silent. Uldyssian knew that despite his sibling’s words, Mendeln would fight as best he could.

  No one would be spared bloodying his hands….

  The sky thundered even though the clouds did not warrant it. Mendeln sensed that the mages were beginning what they thought their grand spellwork. The Kehjani were not stupid; they knew the stories of Uldyssian and the edyrem. They knew the tales of Toraja, Istani, and other places where Uldyssian had brought down the Triune. They also had the supposed betrayal in their own ranks, the blame falling on Mendeln’s brother.

  The spellcasters would want this over quickly, and the guilds and nobles would back them on this entirely. If this Prince Ehmad was also dead, as Uldyssian suspected, the last vestiges of hope for anything other than war were indeed gone. However the mages struck, it would be fearsome.

  And if that failed, an army of thousands was ready to die in the mistaken belief that the edyrem were coming to raze their homes and slaughter their families.

  The angels and demons had done their work oh so well.

  Despite his understanding of all this, Mendeln summoned what knowledge and power he had gained in preparation for his own efforts against the Kehjani. He could ill afford to let his doubts keep him from standing beside his brother. No matter what the outcome, nothing was more important.

  Now, in addition to the thunder, the trees shook as if caught in a violent wind that neither he nor the edyrem could feel. What Mendeln could detect, though, were the magical energies building up before Uldyssian’s followers.

  But the edyrem were not idle, either. Under the silent direction of their leader, they were combining their wills toward two goals. The first was shielding themselves against whatever it was that the mages intended to throw at them. The second, naturally, had to do with Uldyssian’s intentions for striking back. Although he had no idea what his sibling intended, Mendeln shivered at the thought of Uldyssian’s retribution. If he should lose control at some point, there was no telling what devastation he might cause.