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

by Richard A. Knaak

  And as the son of Diomedes straightened, he saw the movement from the north. At first, it appeared to flow toward him and his followers much as the terrible rain did. However, as it drew relentlessly nearer, it divided into hundreds and hundreds of robed, helmeted figures on horseback. They wielded curved swords and maces, and their wild shouts were like thunder.

  Inquisitor warriors—the militant arm of the Cathedral of Light.

  But there was more to them than what at first was obvious. Uldyssian sensed that difference more than he saw it. Wary, he stared at the oncoming legions, reaching out to see them as if he stood just before the pounding hooves.

  And then Uldyssian made out just what it was about them that bothered him. It was best revealed in their eyes—their eyes that were now without pupils. Instead, a radiant gold fire blazed forth from beneath the lids, an inhuman force that he saw filled each and every warrior he searched.

  It took only a glance at their rabid expressions to see that there was little left of the original minds that had inhabited these bodies. Of all those in the ranks, only the helmeted woman in the lead and a handful of high-ranking priests mixed among the fighters still had eyes that indicated that they were themselves. The rest had all been utterly subjugated by Inarius’s will.

  At that moment, Rathma stepped up next to him, the Ancient’s hood and cloak untouched by the incessant rain. He somehow still looked no more pleasant than a drenched Uldyssian.

  His words had nothing to do with the ferocious onslaught racing toward them. “Be not concerned about your brother, for I was able to shield him just as you struck out.”

  Uldyssian glanced down at his sibling again. Mendeln moaned, and his eyes fluttered open. As Rathma had indicated, he seemed entirely well…no thanks to Uldyssian. The older brother had been too distraught to notice.

  But as guilty as Uldyssian felt about Mendeln and as concerned he was about his unthinking outburst, the events now unfolding before them demanded his attention. He stared anew at the charging Inquisitors, hoping that, as with Mendeln, his initial beliefs had been incorrect.

  Unfortunately, in the case of the Prophet’s warriors, Uldyssian immediately sensed that he was not. The dread spectacle was exactly as he feared it.

  “He has fallen even more than I could imagine,” Inarius’s son shouted, “and may have shown us at last why he is not concerned that a heavenly host is nigh upon Sanctuary!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You sense his power within those misguided fools, do you not? Then you can also sense where my father has been able to draw so much from, for this is surely more than he himself could bear alone!”

  Uldyssian eyed the oncoming horde closer. He looked within one random warrior and finally recognized what he should have known all along. Rathma was right. The angel was not this strong by himself.

  Inarius was drawing all the power he could from the Worldstone, power against which the efforts of Uldyssian and all the edyrem combined could very well prove futile.

  Nineteen

  Uldyssian shook his head, wanting the truth to be nothing more than a bad dream. Yet the Inquisitors continued to ride toward the edyrem, and the power of the angel filled them to overflowing. These would not be simple fighters easy to defeat, as would have been the case with the Kehjani. Uldyssian was not sure how powerful the individual Inquisitors would be, but he and his people were certain to face a terrible foe.

  He reached out to the others, preparing them for the imminent battle. Even when warned that these would not be mere mortal men that they faced, his edyrem remained stalwart. Their courage both stirred and concerned Uldyssian, who knew that many would die.

  And still Inarius did not deign to enter the conflict.

  “Where is he?” the son of Diomedes demanded of Rathma.

  “Everywhere. Be not impatient to face Inarius,” the Ancient replied. “You will do that soon enough.”

  The edyrem formed a great circle. They had no choice. Uldyssian would have liked to have created a vast line with reserves in the rear but was hampered by Serenthia’s discovery. Surely the demons intended to attack him from behind once his people were occupied by those before them. It was the strategy he would have used and that Rathma agreed made sense. That forced him to rely on the circle.

  Most of the edyrem were to focus on the Inquisitors, but enough kept sentinel on every other direction so that warning could go out and some of those facing the front could immediately shift their attention wherever needed. Despite the complexity already inherent in the situation because of such planning, Uldyssian had also kept the edyrem constantly on the move…until now.

  Serenthia readied her spear. “They’re almost upon us!” She seemed more eager than most to throw herself into the fight. “Give the word, Uldyssian!”

  But he held back, trying to decipher what else the Prophet might have in mind. Unfortunately, nothing was apparent, and the massive charge was closing fast.

  He saw no other choice. He let the edyrem strike.

  A wave of blackened earth shot up, rising well above the oncoming riders. Guided by Uldyssian, the edyrem sent it crashing down on the first ranks.

  Men and horses screamed as tons of stone and dirt buried them. Only a few managed to escape the crashing wall, one of them the female priest leading the charge. Her mount was not so fortunate, though, all but its forelegs crushed under the magical onslaught.

  However, those behind did not even pause but drove their animals over the carnage. There clearly existed no desire for them but for the edyrem’s blood.

  And worse, from the vast burial site Uldyssian’s followers had just created, several robed forms burrowed to the surface. Death should have claimed those the spell had struck, but the power Inarius funneled through his minions had saved many. Bereft of their horses, they grabbed whatever weapons they could locate and simply ran behind their mounted brethren, shrieking for the enemy’s death.

  Only a few paces now separated the two sides. Uldyssian had time for only one more attack, which he set into motion. Despite the rain, the edyrem readily created a veritable storm of their own, fireballs that bombarded the Inquisitors with the ferocity of lightning.

  This time, the attack had more effect. Several riders were blasted from their mounts. Many became fireballs in their own right, transforming into blazing corpses that dropped among their unsuspecting comrades. There was no doubting the fates of those struck; little enough remained of them that could even be identified as human.

  But although the first wave of the edyrem’s attack proved quite effective, subsequent ones garnered little success. Suddenly, the Inquisitors were better able to shield themselves. Fireballs dissipated harmlessly against their breastplates. The Cathedral’s minions were no longer even slowed.

  And moments later, the first of them collided with Uldyssian’s band.

  He had already prepared his followers for combat, but the edyrem were at first hard pressed. The lack of outright success against the Inquisitors had dampened their confidence enough to allow the warriors to push in the right side of the circle. It might have collapsed entirely if not for Serenthia and Jonas guiding the others in immediately rebuilding the ranks.

  The curved swords and spiked maces of the Inquisitors clashed with the edyrem’s varied assortment of salvaged weapons and farm implements, yet the struggle was anything but ordinary.

  Both sides fueled their fight with the gifts they had. The Prophet’s warriors—often acting in inhuman unison—drove hard into their foes. Inquisitors and edyrem alike struck with weapons that flashed with raw energy when meeting each other. But the latter had other tools at their disposal as well. More than one robed warrior would suddenly rise into the air and go flying across the field of combat. Others fell as hovering edyrem tossed more potent missiles than previously used among the Inquisitors’ ranks. The sky as much as the ground became the site of what Uldyssian already thought of as the Battle of the Golden Path.

  The place whe
re the edyrem might be making their last stand.

  Horses shrieked as silver bolts peppered the Inquisitor ranks. However, despite mounting losses, the robed riders continued their relentless assault, battering away with their glittering maces against the mighty, invisible shields of the edyrem. Although those shields mostly held well, the sheer fanaticism of the Inquisitors’ attacks was daunting even to the most hardened.

  It became, at least for the time being, a frustrating stalemate. However, Uldyssian knew that a stalemate only meant eventual victory for Inarius. The longer the edyrem struggled uselessly, the more strength they expended. Unlike the Inquisitors, who drew from their powerful master, the edyrem only had what was within themselves.

  All the while that Uldyssian struggled with that knowledge, he nevertheless fought hard. A robed warrior who attempted to batter in his skull instead lost his weapon to the son of Diomedes, who then sent the mace barreling through the man’s chest. Breastplate, flesh, and bone did nothing even to slow the missile—which then burst out the back. Uldyssian found that he had no compassion whatsoever for those he fought; they had already killed too many innocents in their zealous adoration of the Prophet.

  A massive whirlwind clearly of no natural origin suddenly cut through the edyrem, seeking to pluck them selectively from the ground. Uldyssian spotted the priests responsible for the oncoming catastrophe, but before he himself could do anything, Serenthia suddenly appeared among them. She drove her spear through one, then kicked another hard in the chest. That priest went flying far into the sea of Inquisitors still rushing forward.

  Swearing more at Serenthia for risking herself than anything else, Uldyssian clapped his hands together in the direction in which the merchant’s daughter fought.

  The booming sound he created plowed a path through the enemy, bowling them over as if they were nothing. He then raced toward her, his leaping gait nearly flying.

  He bounded among the Inquisitors closing on her and seized two by their necks. His rage caused both men literally to explode. He then raised his left hand and summoned into it a black broadsword formed from the ash that had once been the deadly grass. With that blade, the son of Diomedes cut through one opponent after another, until at last he reached Serenthia.

  She, meanwhile, finished off a third priest entirely unaware of how near she had been to being slain. Serenthia looked up at Uldyssian, her strained countenance almost as unnerving as those of the magically enhanced fanatics with whom they were struggling.

  He knew why immediately. “Serry! Get back among the others!”

  “I’m all right! Don’t worry about me!”

  “Serry! Achilios might not be gone! Do you want to die not knowing?”

  Before she could answer, a terrible thud shook the ground. Men toppled everywhere.

  Another thud followed the first. Uldyssian also felt the air grow very cold.

  It was also, he realized, no longer raining…or, at least, no water was dropping from the sky.

  There were, however, huge fragments of ice plummeting from the clouds, some of them as large as wagons. Uldyssian looked up and saw that there was still rain, but midway down, it was all coalescing together and freezing into the mammoth blocks now threatening all.

  Once again, Inarius had taken Uldyssian’s work—the cloud cover—and twisted it into a fiendish assault. That it also slew his own followers meant nothing, just as long as the rebels perished.

  The monstrous ice chunks did what the Inquisitors could not, shattering the cohesiveness of the edyrem circle. Too many were not powerful enough to deal with such a fearsome threat. Men and women ran wherever they could, hoping to avoid being crushed like insects.

  The Cathedral’s warriors made good use of their disorganization, heedless or uncaring of the threat the ice caused them as well. More than one of Uldyssian’s followers perished with a blazing sword through the back or a gleaming mace spilling open their skulls. That some Inquisitors were caught unable to escape Inarius’s magic did nothing to counter the horror that they reaped.

  Furious, Uldyssian dismissed the black sword, grabbed Serenthia by the wrist, and returned both of them to among the edyrem. He immediately reached out to those nearest, reassuring them as best he could and demanding their help. Most listened. He hoped they were enough for what he intended.

  “Focus with me, Serry!” he all but shouted in her face. With great reluctance, the raven-tressed woman nodded. Immediately, her mind and his were almost one, with the others he had reached adding to their will.

  A vast shadow loomed over the pair. Uldyssian did not need to look up to know what it was and how little time he had.

  Be with me, he told the others again.

  The shadow darkened. Uldyssian sensed the massive block of ice just above.

  Gritting his teeth, he thrust both hands skyward.

  The explosion utterly shattered the gargantuan block. Yet the pieces did not come raining down but rather flew with purpose through the air. They struck other huge chunks of ice even as the latter formed, shattering those, too.

  Eyes shut from strain, heart beating faster, Uldyssian imagined the dramatic scene above him. He saw with far more accuracy than his mortal eyes could where each fragment had to strike to avert more slaughter.

  And when at last it seemed Inarius could not keep pace with his efforts, Uldyssian took the thousands and thousands of sharp pieces and threw them down upon the bulk of the Inquisitor legions. He threw them with as much force as he could, defying the power that the Prophet fed his servants to save them from this peril.

  The needlelike shards dove toward the ground with a swiftness that left in their wakes a high, hissing sound. The Inquisitors gazed up to see their deaths coming. They used their power to try to prevent the oncoming missiles from reaching them…used that power and still failed utterly to stop even one.

  The shards drove through metal, flesh, and bone without pause. Eyes and mouths were punctured with ease. In mere seconds, men became nothing more than quivering pincushions, so many were the icy missiles that dropped upon them.

  The screams rose to a crescendo, then quickly died down. So swift was the slaughter that for the space of a single heartbeat, more than half of the Inquisitors still stood. Their bodies were drenched with blood, and their ruined countenances were slack, but they stood.

  Then, as one, the might of the Cathedral crumpled like rag dolls to the unforgiving ground. The bodies lay sprawled at all angles.

  Of the many Inarius had sent, only those mixed among the edyrem yet survived. Their numbers, though, dropped quickly as Uldyssian’s people vented their fury for the deaths of their own on the Cathedral’s survivors.

  Momentarily sickened by events, Uldyssian fought to stop the executions. He succeeded, but only after far too many more were slain. The rest of the Inquisitors were slowly rounded up, although what to do with them was a question for which he had no answer.

  As he stumbled among the dead, his eyes watching for whatever next the Prophet would send at them, the son of Diomedes ran across a figure he had not seen since early on. It was the gray-haired priestess who had been leading the riders. Unlike the rest, she had no discernible mark on her, yet she was definitely dead. Her open eyes stared up at him almost accusingly.

  “Master Uldyssian?”

  His inspection of the body was interrupted by wiry Jonas. The bald former brigand moved toward him with tentative steps.

  There were red, liquid lines across the right side of his face, but otherwise he was unharmed.

  “Jonas! Did you see what happened to this one?”

  The edyrem glanced at the priestess. “Nay. Was she of some import?”

  Giving it some thought, Uldyssian shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  The other man peered sharply at him. “Master Uldyssian! You look all done in! Let me give you a hand….”

  The son of Diomedes was tempted, but he could show no weakness now. Whatever reprieve that they had been given was certain to
be a short one. He waved off the hand. “It’s not necessary….”

  “As you wish, Master Uldyssian,” the Parthan returned abruptly. With an equally curt bow, Jonas quickly retreated. “I will go see to the others.”

  Even as he rushed off, Uldyssian became aware of someone coming from the opposite direction. He turned to find Mendeln. “Well?”

  Uldyssian’s brother knew exactly what he asked. “There are many dead. Many. If I had to guess, I would say nearly a quarter of our number since this first began.”

  “Nearly a quarter…” So many lives lost. It was made worse by the fact that although the Cathedral had suffered far, far greater, those lives meant nothing to the true enemy. Inarius considered his dead servants less than nothing.

  The thought stirred Uldyssian’s rage anew.

  Mendeln quickly took hold of his shoulder. “Uldyssian, do not let this happen to you again! Each time you permit your base emotions to rise to the forefront, you risk losing mastery of your powers. Think about it! Would that not play into Inarius’s hands?”

  His brother had a point, but Uldyssian kept seeing all those who had perished here. Even the woman at his feet, who had obviously served as one of the Prophet’s chief acolytes, was a victim of the angel’s madness.

  “Uldyssian…listen to me….”

  But he no longer paid any mind to Mendeln, for at that moment, Uldyssian spotted something on the corpse that made every muscle tense. He quickly bent down and examined the face. With trepidation, Uldyssian turned the priestess’s head to the side in order to get a better look.

  “Mendeln, look at this.”

  His black-robed sibling bent near, and a gasp escaped Mendeln. “By the dragon!”

  There were two dark lesions near the ear, lesions whose origins were unmistakable.

  “Malic!” Mendeln whispered. “He was among us!”

  “You didn’t notice him?”

  The younger brother shook his head. “I must be near, and even then it would take a moment. Malic…”