Diablo® The Sin War

by Richard A. Knaak

  “It felt like…” she finally managed. “…feels like…” But words failed her after that.

  “I know…” he finally replied, hoping to comfort her.

  Serenthia suddenly stiffened. She pulled away from Uldyssian as if he was a leper…then rushed toward the direction of the camp.

  Uldyssian stood baffled. He had expected something akin to the euphoria Lylia had told him that she had felt.

  Serenthia vanished among the trees and shadows. Uldyssian, still confused, stared after her for a few seconds more before starting back himself. He was certain that he had done everything right. Why, then, had she reacted so?

  When at first he stepped back into the camp, he saw no sign of her. Concerned, Uldyssian started to ask his brother, but Mendeln mutely shook his head, then nodded toward his right. There, half-obscured by the dark, lay Serenthia. She had one of the blankets procured from the Cathedral saddlebags around her and faced away from the camp.

  Uldyssian took a step toward her, only to have Lylia come up and gently take his arm.

  “It would be best to leave her be,” the noblewoman whispered.

  He opened his mouth to reply, then clamped it shut again. It seemed that, even with all that he had gained, there were some things that Uldyssian would never understand.

  Come the morning, Serenthia acted as if nothing had happened, yet Uldyssian could with his own burgeoning powers sense that the force within her had grown stronger. She evinced no sign of this, though, and he finally decided that he would let her choose when to accept her gift. It was enough to know that she did wield it. That meant that he would be able to guide others toward the same direction and with practice the effort would surely grow quicker and easier.

  They rode under an overcast sky that Uldyssian at one point bemusedly wondered if he could clear. He did not try, though, for fear that, if it did indeed worked, he would only be announcing his presence to those who might wish him to never make it to the city. Lylia had suggested to him that it would be better if he waited until in Kehjan before revealing himself so. Then, she said, it would be too late for them to hide the truth from the people.

  Despite the continuous gloom, it did not rain and so once more they made good time. Partha remained a faint spiral of smoke in the distance, the only change the direction in which they had to look for it. By Mendeln’s calculation and Lylia’s confirmation, they would see a similar hint of the great city in three or four more days at the utmost.

  The five finally also crossed paths with other travelers, in this case, a wagon heading the opposite direction. The driver, a bearded elder with trade dealings at the seaports, greeted the party warily at first. His apprentice, a gangly, carrot-haired youth with watery eyes, anxiously kept his hand near a well-worn sword at his side.

  As he still wished to reach Kejhan as soon as possible, Uldyssian decided that there was no use in revealing what he was to the pair. Instead, he sought from the trader news concerning the state of affairs in the legendary city.

  “The mage clans have a truce going on at the moment, aye,” declared the stout figure as he lit a long, clay pipe. “It’ll last as well as the others, which’s to say not long at all. Possibly even over, already. The nobles, they watch and wait while they plot to their own advantage and the clans let’m keep some control over the city’s functions so’s that they can free up themselves to figure out how to get around the truce.” He chuckled darkly. “So, one might say all’s pretty much as always in Kehjan…”

  His words verified for Uldyssian the importance of what Lylia had said about heading directly there rather than turn to Partha or any other lesser settlement. Uldyssian graciously thanked the trader, then led the others on.

  They settled for the night on the bank of a sedate river coursing along the region. Here the line between woods and jungle blurred some. For the first time, Uldyssian came to understand just how small the forested region was in comparison with the great jungles said to be covering much of the realm. He had even heard traders pausing at Seram remark that it seemed that the jungles were gradually swallowing up all else. Obviously that could not be the truth, but, eyeing the odd, almost unnatural shift in environment, Uldyssian could not help still wonder a little.

  He had hoped that the day’s ride would ease the tension between him and Serenthia, but the raven-haired woman yet again found reason to be away from him.

  “It is best to let her work it out herself,” Lylia finally whispered to him as she nuzzled his cheek. “She will come to accept matters. You will see.”

  Nodding, Uldyssian forced his attention to more important matters. Now that he was so near the city, his nerves had begun to act up. He admitted this to Lylia, who suggested that he retire early and let the rest of them see to things.

  “You must be at your peak come the day we enter. Go, sleep. When there is food ready, I will bring it to you.”

  She kissed him again, then departed. Uldyssian immediately followed her good advice. The ground beneath was soft and the night warmer than previous. A short nap, he decided, was indeed the right thing for him. As usual, Lylia knew best. He could not imagine a future without her. It was as if Uldyssian had always known her.

  With those comforting thoughts, he drifted off.

  Serenthia knew that she had to come to grips with her conflicting emotions concerning Uldyssian. She believed in the goodness of what he had become, believed it enough to not even consider him at fault for her father’s terrible fate, but at the same time she could not separate what he was from what he had once been…the man whom she had loved as no one else.

  And who now loved another…a woman he had met only a short while before.

  “We need more wood for the fire,” Mendeln commented.

  Seizing on the opportunity to be even more by herself, Serenthia quickly replied, “I’ll go and gather it. You make certain that the fire doesn’t die in the meantime.”

  She slipped out of the camp and began collecting small, broken branches. The search required little attention, which allowed her mind to wander to less confusing—and less painful—subjects. But Cyrus’s daughter had gathered only roughly half an armful when a prickling sensation on her neck made her look over her shoulder.

  “Lylia!” The presence of the noblewoman out here so startled Serenthia that she dropped several pieces of wood. She stared in disbelief at the blond figure.

  The other woman strode up to her with footsteps as silent as a cat. “Forgive me,” Lylia murmured. “I did not mean to scare you…”

  “What…what are you doing out here? I don’t need any help with the wood.”

  “I wanted to speak with you, that was all.”

  “Speak with me?” The trader’s daughter feared that she knew the subject. “There’s no need—”

  Lylia moved closer. “But there is every need, dear Serenthia, every need.” As she stared deep into the other woman’s eyes, she set a soft hand on her arm. “You are special to Uldyssian and, thus, special to me. I want all his friends to be comfortable around me. I want you to think of me not just as his love, his future mate, but as your friend as well…”

  If Lylia expected her words to comfort Serenthia, they had the opposite effect. An unreasoning distress filled Serenthia and the words “love” and “mate” rang in her head over and over. She felt utter shame that Lylia knew how jealous she had been. Serenthia struggled against her swirling emotions, insisting to herself that they were exaggerated…but, in the end, they still proved too much for her.

  Eyes tearing, she whirled from Lylia’s grip. The kindling fell unnoticed from her arms. Serenthia ran, not caring which direction she headed. All that mattered was to be away, away from everyone who knew what she had been thinking.

  Tree limbs snagged at her clothing. Serenthia stumbled several times on the uneven ground. She tripped once across an upward-turned root. None of these impediments caused her to pause and thus possibly regain her wits. Serenthia simply righted herself each time and con
tinued running. Wild emotion clouded her mind.

  A silhouetted form stepped out in front of her. Paying it no mind, she kept moving. Only when it seized her in a grip of steel did she start to come back to reality.

  At which point she opened her mouth to scream.

  One gauntleted hand quickly smothered her cry. Serenthia struggled to free herself, but another figure came up behind her, securing the trader’s daughter.

  The first figure leaned forward, his hooded form almost ghostlike. “Be silent, girl…” he hissed. “Or else you must be punished!”

  She began to notice other, similar figures, men in hoods and armor. At first she took them for Inquisitor guards, but then a symbol on the breastplate of the foremost momentarily glittered in the moonlight, revealing the familiar triangle symbol of the Temple.

  Serenthia tried to speak, to explain, but her effort garnered her only a swift and painful slap across the face.

  “Brother Rondo! Have a care with the child!”

  The voice was low and smooth and its kind tone reminded Serenthia of her father. A dark figure atop a monstrously huge stallion rode up to where the two men held her. As the tall rider dismounted, the hardened warriors surrounding Serenthia released her, then fell down on one knee. Although now not held, she felt a compulsion to follow their example.

  “Forgive me, Eminence,” grunted the one called Rondo anxiously.

  “Your enthusiasm is commendable, your tact in need of work, brother.” The gloved figure touched Rondo atop his covered head, then turned his attention back to Serenthia.

  “My child, shiver not so at my coming. I am friend, not fear.” Up close, his features became visible. In contrast to his pale skin, he had thick, wavy dark hair and a deep brow. An elegant mustache gave him a regal dignity. His smile, like his tone, reminded Serenthia of her father. “I am Malic, high priest of the Order of Mefis—”

  “Of the Temple of the Triune,” Serenthia finished somewhat breathlessly. Instinctively, she bowed her head.

  “A believer! How delightful!” Malic stretched out a hand to her, which, after a hesitation, the woman took. “And, I do apologize for the zealousness of Brother Rondo here. We are all eager to conclude our quest…”

  His last words set Serenthia on edge. She instantly recalled everything that had happened in the village and how the Cathedral had immediately condemned Uldyssian without hearing his side. Suddenly, Malic’s presence no longer eased her mind.

  Somehow, he must have read that, for the high priest cocked his head and remarked, “But come, my child! I told you, I am friend! I sense your withdrawal…” Without permission, his hand touched between her breasts. “And I sense, also…” Malic frowned. “…that you are not the one we seek. There is the spark of something within you, but it is too weak…”

  Without meaning to, Serenthia blurted, “Uldyssian—”

  Malic’s thick, dark brow rose. “‘Uldyssian’? Is that his name? And you think him the one we seek?”

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  Brother Rondo stirred from his kneeling position, but Malic waved him down again. The high priest leaned forward, until his face, and especially his eyes, filled Serenthia’s view.

  “You are fearful. But why…unless…” He smiled wider, revealing perfect teeth. “Ah! The Cathedral! It surely must be! Inquisitors, no doubt!”

  Still Serenthia said nothing, although his accurate guesswork made her wonder if he could read her thoughts.

  “The Cathedral…small wonder you show such distrust. Brother Rondo, was there not news from one of our messengers of the deaths of not only one of our own, but also a servant of the Cathedral as well?”

  “Aye, Eminence. In the village of Seram, it was said. The murder of our missionary was especially brutal—”

  “Yes, yes.” Waving him to silence again, Malic said to Serenthia, “And the Cathedral did condemn your Uldyssian, did they not?”

  “Yes,” she finally answered, some of her distrust fading again.

  “Typical of their ways. If they cannot fathom something, they must be rid of it. Woe betide the day that the Prophet began preaching his blasphemies…” The high priest stepped next to Serenthia, his arm wrapping around her shoulder in a comforting manner. “But we are not the Cathedral, child. The Temple of the Triune has always preached a peaceful resolution to matters, you understand that? Good! I would not have you believing that we come to do as they did! Rather, we are here just to do the opposite and surely it must be a sign for both you and I that we should meet at this fortuitous moment! You can lead me to your Uldyssian and then all of our problems will be over…”

  “But—” Serenthia found it hard to think. Her mind suddenly felt as muddled as when Lylia had spoken with her. Still, she still recalled some things. Uldyssian wanted to go to the city…and he certainly wanted nothing to do with any sect, be it the Cathedral or the Triune. “No. I can’t. Uldyssian wouldn’t want me to—”

  Malic’s body tensed. Serenthia suddenly felt his arm slide back until his gloved fingers rested near the back of her skull. She felt a painful force there and tried to let out a cry, but her mouth would not work. Neither would her body. Only her mind functioned, but it was now a prisoner in an immobile shell.

  “A shame you would not listen to reason, child,” the tall figure remarked in a voice no longer comforting. “But you will still lead us to your Uldyssian…” He looked at the Peace Warders. “To your mounts! Hurry!”

  As the men rushed to their beasts, Malic led Serenthia to his own. Up close, something about the creature put her ill at ease, but her body, subject to the high priest’s will, would not let her pull back. Instead, she mounted up in front of her captor, who took the reins with one hand and held her tight with the other.

  “Now,” he whispered in her ear in the same kind tone that he had first used, a tone that Cyrus’s daughter knew he used to mock her helplessness. “Now, my child. Show me the way.”

  Serenthia’s left hand rose, pointing unerringly in the direction of the camp.

  “Very good. Very good. Be sure to smile when you see your friend. I would hate to make him uneasy…”

  The corners of her mouth rose. Malic chuckled quietly…then urged his mount forward.

  EIGHT

  A sense of disquiet pervaded Uldyssian in his sleep. He felt as if some malevolent presence suddenly hovered over him, seeking his soul while he lay undefended.

  His uneasiness became so great that Uldyssian started into waking. However, instead of some fiend such as had attacked the party, he looked up into Lylia’s perfect face. The noblewoman knelt at his side.

  “Are you ill, my love?” she whispered.

  “How long—how long have you been there?”

  “I just returned. You looked so peaceful I did not wish to disturb you. I apologize if I did.”

  Uldyssian frowned. Now that he was awake, the disquiet magnified…only it seemed to have something more to do with their surroundings.

  “Lylia…” he muttered. “Go join the others by the fire. Go right now.”

  “Why?” Her eyes widened. “What is the matter?”

  “Just do it…” Rising swiftly, Uldyssian all but pushed the blond woman toward the center of the camp. As he did, he saw to his dismay that only Mendeln was present.

  “Where’s Achilios?” he demanded of his brother. “Where’s Serry?”

  “Achilios has gone hunting.” Mendeln glanced about. “I believe Serenthia should be nearby. She only went to gather a bit more wood—”

  “I am sure that she will be back shortly,” interjected Lylia, attempting to calm the tall farmer. “There is no cause for concern, Uldyssian…”

  But he felt otherwise. Something was close, very close. Something was—

  There was a rustling sound from behind Mendeln. Startled, Uldyssian’s brother scurried toward the others.

  Serenthia stepped into the campsite.

  Uldyssian began to exhale…and then another, dark-haired f
igure joined the trader’s daughter. He was even taller than Uldyssian and, while slimmer, clearly very fit. The newcomer wore a kindly expression and his manner reminded Uldyssian in some ways of his father…but all that became moot as he realized just what garments the man wore.

  They were those of a cleric of the Temple of the Triune. A high-ranking cleric, at that.

  “Uldyssian,” Serenthia called. “I have a friend with me. His name is Malic and he wants to help.”

  Uldyssian hid a frown. She of all people should have known how he would react to a cleric’s presence, especially after the chaos in Seram. True, Serenthia had always been something of a believer, but he had thought that behind her now. What was she thinking?

  “I have come to offer the protection of the Triune,” Malic graciously added, spreading his gloved hands as if to show he carried no weapon. The flames of the campfire reflected brilliantly in his gaze, which fixed upon Uldyssian’s with an almost magnetic pull. “This child has told me of the terrible injustice perpetrated on you in the name of the Cathedral of Light. The Triune frowns on such monstrous behavior. We would keep you from threat from the agents of the Prophet…”

  Despite everything that had happened to him, despite his deep abhorrence of Malic’s ilk, Uldyssian found himself half-wanting to listen to the man. There was just something understanding about the cleric. He seemed to feel the pain still buried deep in the farmer’s gut. Uldyssian opened his mouth to welcome the man to their camp—

  But, at that moment, the fire erupted, briefly bursting to a height greater than that of the cleric. Malic instinctively pulled back from the wild flames…and as he did, he also tore his gaze from Uldyssian.

  The farmer felt as if a blanket had been torn from over his head. It was as if he had been blind and could not see again…and only then did he understand that Malic had briefly mesmerized him.

  “Serry!” Uldyssian roared, his rage immediately swelling. “Come to me! Hurry!”

  There was a hesitation, as if at first she either did not hear him or for some reason could not obey. Then, with a violent shiver, the dark-tressed woman cried out and fled from Malic’s side. The cleric took a belated grab at her, then glared at Uldyssian.