Scales of the Serpent

by Richard A. Knaak

  Finally, after what he felt a safe interval and distance, he dismissed the wind. Somewhere to the west, far from where any of the edyrem would have reason to go, he let the dust finally scatter.

  Would that it could be so easy with Lilith. But his treacherous lover had protected herself against him, and although he would not admit it to the others, this sort of spell, so akin to what he had done to Lucion, took much, much out of him.

  So much so, in fact, that now he began to teeter.

  “Catch him!” someone called. More than one pair of hands obeyed, Serenthia’s among them.

  “I’m—I’m good,” he managed, straightening again. Ignoring the awed stares of the others, he turned to Serenthia. “We can—we can go after Achilios now.”

  “No. Neither of us is strong enough for that, no matter how much I deeply want to. He’s followed us this long, Uldyssian; he’ll surely be in the vicinity still.”

  That made sense to him, too. Achilios appeared unwilling to give up on his friends.

  “For now,” Serenthia continued, “we need rest.” She looked down, and in a voice so soft that only he could hear it, added, “I also need…I need to sleep near you. Just sleep. I—I have to.”

  “I understand.” She would have nightmares, Uldyssian knew, nightmares of all the things Lilith had done with and through her. From him, Serenthia sought some comfort to get her through those nightmares.

  Uldyssian would gladly give her that comfort, too, and not for any other reason than that she was his friend and had been through a terrifying ordeal. More to the point, having seen Achilios reminded him of who Serenthia actually loved. What he had believed to be growing between him and her had merely been again the demoness’s seductions. Small wonder that Uldyssian had fallen into the trap so easily.

  But someday…someday he would make Lilith pay…

  Achilios had finally stopped running. There was at least a good mile, even two, between him and the camp. Not needing to breathe, the archer had managed the distance in astounding time, even considering the dense growth around him.

  As he paused, the same thoughts that had been swirling about his mind since he had begun running returned with a vengeance.

  She had seen him.

  Serenthia had seen him.

  There had been no manner by which he could have avoided a confrontation. The demoness had made that impossible. Achilios had sensed what she had been about and that Uldyssian had been betrayed by one he trusted. The archer felt some sympathy for Romus, but not much. Unlike Uldyssian, who generally saw the good in all men, Achilios had tended to keep a watch out for the bad, as well. True, from what he had seen through the air slit the Parthan had appeared to attempt to redeem himself, but perhaps he had merely been trying to avenge his own death. Achilios neither knew nor truly cared.

  All that mattered was that Serenthia was free of her possession…that, and that she had seen him.

  He had no idea what to do about that.

  With an unearthly groan, Achilios slumped against a tree. A small lizard near his head sought to quickly scurry away, but the hunter grabbed it without even looking. The reptile squirmed as he brought it around to view. Achilios could feel its heart beating wildly as it tried in vain to escape. It was certain it was about to be eaten.

  He savored the small creature’s life motions, realizing that he was jealous even of it. A part of Achilios suddenly wanted to crush the lizard to a pulp…but instead he set it on the tree again and let it rush to the freedom it had been certain it had lost.

  She had seen him…

  Achilios could not get that thought out of his mind. He was haunted by it.

  The archer let out a grating chuckle. He, the walking dead, was haunted.

  “It…doesn’t matter…” Achilios quietly grated. “Doesn’t matter…”

  But it did. He had taken some small comfort in being able to at least be near Serenthia, and on occasion, secretly aiding both her and Uldyssian. That would be next to impossible now.

  Yet, if not to help those nearest and dearest to him, of what use was his resurrection? Perhaps he should call and call Rathma or the dragon until one of them came and put him to rest forever…

  Despite the sense of that…Achilios uttered no sound. Even this mockery of life was something, if only because Serenthia still lived.

  You must make a choice! the archer berated himself. Either stay clear forever or show yourself to her and pray that she doesn’t go screaming in terror…

  Achilios grunted. More likely, Serenthia would deem him the abomination he was and use her new powers to do what he had just been considering asking of those who had brought him to this state.

  And that settled it for him. He would go to her, to all of them, and reveal the truth. If she and only she demanded he return to the grave, then Achilios would obey.

  He turned…and before him suddenly shone a brilliant blue light.

  Achilios backed away, an arrow already drawn. A memory once hidden from him flashed through his decaying brain, a memory preceding his collapse near Hashir.

  There had been a light there, too. He remembered now.

  But this was not the same light, that he knew immediately. However, whatever its source, Achilios had no doubt that he would not like its presence so near.

  He fired the arrow, and even as it left the bow, reached for a second.

  The shaft soared into the exact center of the unsettling glow, soared into it…and out the other side. It struck a tree beyond with a hard thud.

  Undaunted, the archer readied the second. This time, though, he waited.

  Achilios was rewarded but a moment later. A shape vaguely human appeared in the mist of the blue light. With grim satisfaction, Achilios pulled. He thought that he caught a glimpse of some armor—a silver-blue breast-plate—and adjusted his aim accordingly.

  I HAVE NEED OF YOU…

  The voice echoed throughout his entire rotting body in a manner akin and yet not akin to that of Trag’Oul. At the same time, Achilios’s grip on his weapon weakened. In fact, no part of him seemed to want to obey his commands anymore.

  Like a rag doll, the archer collapsed.

  He fell face-first, making him unable to see what was happening. Achilios listened for footsteps, but heard none. Nevertheless, when the voice spoke again, he felt as if its source now hovered over his corpse.

  I HAVE NEED OF YOU…it repeated.

  And, as Achilios now also recalled what had happened last time…the archer blacked out.

  Eighteen

  They did not find him. Despite their combined efforts, Uldyssian and Serenthia discovered no trace of Achilios. Refusing to give up, Uldyssian kept his followers in the same location for two extra days. However, by the end of that period, even Serenthia felt it unwise to postpone the march any longer.

  “We have to move on. Achilios either is not around or he doesn’t wish to be found by me…at least right now,” she said morosely. “I’ve got to think it’s the second reason and that, eventually, he’ll come back to me.”

  “He can’t stay away from you. I’ve known Achilios even longer than you, Serenthia. You’ll see.”

  His companion nodded, glancing not for the first time out into the jungle. “Does he really think I’d be so terrified by him?”

  “I told you how he looked.” Uldyssian had not been graphic in his description, but he had left nothing out. Despite that, though, Serenthia’s sympathy for the archer had only grown.

  “And I’ve no doubt that I’ll probably gape and gasp when I do see him, but you say it’s still Achilios. How can I not love him, then?”

  He had no answer to that. Besides, she was correct that they had to get moving. Lilith had surely not been standing by idly; whatever new course her plot had taken, it would not do to simply wait for it to pounce upon them.

  That is, if it was not already too late.

  Saron, a Hashiri named Rashim, and the Parthan Timeon, were now the unofficial commanders of their va
rious folk. Uldyssian had not intended each party to be divided up so, but he also did not wish to make one group seem dominant over another. It was his hope that by treating the Parthans, Hashiri, and Torajians on an equal basis, that they would further blend and eventually he could dispense with calling them anything but edyrem.

  Timeon was the cousin of Jonas, one of the first of Uldyssian’s converts. Jonas had always been among the first of the Parthans to volunteer for different tasks, but he had never shown any desire to act as one of Uldyssian’s seconds. Still, the once-scarred man assisted his cousin in organizing their remaining comrades from the town…a group particularly smaller than the others now.

  This must end soon, Uldyssian thought, watching those most like the people with whom he had grown up. Each time a Parthan died, more of Uldyssian’s past faded away. He had to finish his struggle before all of Jonas’s people were slain…and along with them the Hashiri and Torajians, too.

  Uldyssian had not spent all of his time on Achilios. He had also explained, in an abbreviated form, his vanishing to his followers. Naturally, he had left out such fantastic details as Trag’Oul and Rathma, feeling that now was not the right time to try to explain them.

  The edyrem marched come dawn the next day. Because of Lilith’s wicked detour, they had lost three more days in addition to those spent by him and Serenthia searching for Achilios. Three more days to give the demoness time to devise their doom…

  The jungle proved unduly quiet as they wended their way through it. A few birds could be heard in the far distance and there were always insects, but even they were less evident than normally. Uldyssian took this as an omen, but did not mention it to anyone else, not even Serenthia. Still, he kept the edyrem watchful, reminding them that their enemies were cowardly and often sprang from the shadows rather than face them directly.

  When they finally reached the river—half a day earlier than he had originally hoped—Uldyssian gave thanks. Their path was now clear again. Still, despite wanting to push on for at least another hour, he knew that he had already worn out the others too much. With reluctance, Uldyssian called for a halt.

  The lone benefit of Lilith’s vile possession of Serenthia was that the demoness had brought with her from Hashiri charts of the regions leading to the lands surrounding the main temple. The charts were old, but they were accurate enough in identifying not only the general location of Uldyssian’s adversaries, but the largest population centers between him and the Triune.

  “Yes, I know of Kalinash,” answered Rashim to his question as he pointed to where the city lay. The bushy-haired Hashiri had served as an apprentice to a merchant and had made the journey there more than once. “It is a little larger than where I am from and the temple there would be strong, so near Kehjan.” His finger slid more north. “Of Istani, I know little, save that it is smaller than Hashiri and not so rich despite its location.”

  Saron acknowledged the second. “The Triune would not be so strong there. If the master wishes to reach the main temple swiftly, it would be good to take the road leading closer to there.”

  On the one hand, Uldyssian agreed with that logic, but on the other, he did not like leaving the Triune’s supporters in Kalinash untouched, and especially at the edyrem’s rear when it came time to confront the main citadel. Yet, to veer toward Kalinash would further slow the trek and cost lives; both things that would only benefit Lilith.

  “How quickly can we reach Kalinash?”

  After a moment’s consideration, Rashim answered, “Four, five days.”

  “And Istani?”

  “Four.”

  The path was quicker. More important, with a much smaller presence of the Triune, Istani promised not to slow them in terms of struggle. Kalinash might mean many days of blood…

  With some reluctance, Uldyssian came to a decision. “Very well. Istani, it is. But we must move with all haste.”

  The others nodded obediently and departed. Uldyssian looked to Serenthia for some confirmation that he had chosen wisely.

  “I would’ve done the same,” she returned. Her brow furrowed. “What else is bothering you?”

  “Two things…or two people. Achilios, as you know…and Mendeln.”

  “Of course. I’ve discussed Achilios with you enough to sicken you, Uldyssian. Forgive me for not thinking about your brother. This—this Rathma. Do you think he can be trusted?”

  He grunted. “I don’t know. As much as any of the blood of Lilith can be…which I suppose includes me far, far down the generations.”

  “Then, Mendeln will be all right.” Serenthia considered. “His path converges with yours, but I think it also diverges more and more.”

  “I don’t care anything about that, Serry.” He had returned to calling her by her childhood name, the better to keep in his head that they were friends, not lovers. Uldyssian had no desire to stomp upon the grave of his friend, especially now that he knew that grave to be empty. “I just want Mendeln safe.”

  “As he does you.”

  “But it would be good to hear some word. Some word.”

  She shifted into a sleeping position near the fire. “I know. I know.”

  And from her tone, Uldyssian understood that she desperately desired the same from Achilios.

  Mendeln had never dreamt that he would return to Partha. That place was supposed to be far in his past. He had tried to erase his memories of the town, for in Partha had come what he felt the final severing of his life as a simple farmer and the beginning of all the cataclysmic changes for and within him. There had been no turning back after Partha, even more so than Seram, which the younger son of Diomedes was also glad to avoid.

  Trag’Oul and Rathma had sent him here alone…for some final test, they said. As usual, their replies to his questions were murky. In the end, with the promise that he could rejoin his brother if he finished this task, Mendeln had agreed to return to the town.

  And only after arriving had he realized that Trag’Oul had used the word “if”…

  He did not actually stand in the town itself. No, Mendeln sensed that what he sought was far outside the town walls. Very close to where the Parthans disposed of their refuse. A faint hint of decay already indicated that he was near the spot.

  There was no one else about. Those still living in the town—which surely had to be more than half-empty—were likely asleep. The few guards would not be bothering with this area; who would be interested in their trash?

  Mendeln certainly was not. He was only here because this also happened to be where the burning had taken place. According to Rathma, it was the best location to make the summoning.

  Uldyssian’s brother had little desire to cast the spell, but his mentors insisted that it was necessary. He had the feeling that they were not telling him something…not at all a surprise. Their methods of teaching, especially that of Lilith’s son, left much to be desired.

  The confrontation with Inarius had influenced this event. Of that, Mendeln was certain. After bringing him back to the dragon’s realm, Rathma had requested a private audience with the celestial beast. The first announcement after their discussion had been the requirement that Mendeln do this.

  I should have refused, he told himself for the dozenth time. I should have demanded that they send me back to Uldyssian.

  Somehow, though, even if he had, Mendeln knew that he would have ended up back in Partha.

  From his robes, he removed his dagger. It would guide him to the exact location, so Rathma had said.

  As soon as he held it up, it glowed. Mendeln turned, noting when the dagger flared brighter. Yes, he recalled the area well, recalled all the grisly events.

  Here they and the Parthans had unceremoniously burned the bodies of the high priest Malic and his morlus.

  Mendeln still recalled the man with a shiver. He was not afraid of Malic, but of his evil. How any man could give himself to such darkness was beyond him. The mere thought of Malic repulsed Mendeln so much that he wanted to turn ar
ound and leave.

  But Rathma had insisted that he needed to do this.

  Taking a deep breath, Uldyssian’s brother tried to summon the feeling of calm determination that the dragon had taught to him. In order to best serve the Balance…and, therefore, Sanctuary and Humanity…Mendeln had to learn to see things in a more clinical manner. Emotion was not forbidden, for even Rathma clearly fell prey to it, but that emotion had to be kept in check, for the forces with which Mendeln dealt could be very dangerous.

  As ready as he knew he could ever be, Mendeln knelt down and began sketching patterns designed to amplify his efforts. They were based on the very energies binding not only his world together, but all that beyond Sanctuary. The patterns pulled to them some element of those energies, bringing them to the location of the summoning.

  With that accomplished, Uldyssian’s brother held the dagger over the center. He did not have to draw blood for this, although there remained the possibility that he might have to at a later point. Now, all that mattered were the words, which themselves were parts of the energies keeping all things together.

  In a low tone, Mendeln uttered one word of power after another. With each syllable, he sensed the forces swirling into place. An ominous presence began to coalesce within the area of the patterns.

  Mendeln repeated everything that he had been told to say in such a situation, repeated all of it over and over. Each time, he added emphasis to a different part, in this way strengthening every aspect of the summoning.

  Something drifted past his face, so very gently rubbing against his right cheek. A gauzy wisp of smoke drifted in from the direction of the town. As Mendeln continued, these and similar sights began to move around and around him like small children seeking attention.

  Rathma had warned him that, until he learned to focus better, others would come in the mistaken belief that he had summoned them. There was nothing he could do right now save ignore the uninvited spirits; to dismiss any would mean to lose concentration at the most vital moment.