Without warning, figures appeared before him. Uldyssian prepared himself for a struggle…then recognized Achilios and Serenthia.
“Uldyssian!” blurted the trader’s daughter. “Praise be that you are all right!”
The archer, too, started to speak, but, despite being glad to see them, Uldyssian did not slow. He sensed that time was running out. Without apology, the farmer shoved past the pair, each frantic beat of his heart a scream to hurry faster.
The edge of the village came into sight. His hopes rose.
But then, from further in echoed a sharp, cracking sound that sent a shock of pain through Uldyssian’s heart.
Gritting his teeth, his breath now coming in pants, the son of Diomedes charged into Seram.
The sight that met his gaze filled him with loathing and anger. He saw many of his fellow villagers herded together like cattle, their expressions fear and confusion. Grim Inquisitor guards pointed weapons at them.
But worse, so very much worse, was what the villagers watched. Near the ruined well, the lead Inquisitor guard had Mendeln down on his knees. Another armored figure made certain that Uldyssian’s brother could not rise. Someone had torn open the back of Mendeln’s tunic and now a long, red ribbon decorated the latter’s spine.
A red ribbon made by the long, scaled whip of the lead guard.
The officer at last noticed Uldyssian, then readied the whip for another strike.
“Surrender yourself, Uldyssian ul-Diomed, or you will force me to cause your brother more suffering!”
His twisted words—insisting that it would be Uldyssian’s fault if Mendeln was again whipped—only made the farmer more furious. He wanted to lash out at them the way that they dared lash out at his brother—
The length of the officer’s whip curled up in the air, as if blown by some sudden gust of wind. Startled, he tugged at it, trying to bring it down, but the sinewy cord instead tangled around his neck.
He reached to pull it off, but the whip suddenly tightened. The officer’s eyes went wide and he let go of the grip in order to tear at the whip with both hands. A hacking sound escaped him.
The guard nearest Mendeln rushed to aid his commander, at the same time working to sheath his own weapon. However, his hand suddenly turned, causing the blade to rise above the sheath. Somehow, the blade bent—and buried itself upward, just beneath the breastplate.
Blood spilling over his hands, the stunned guard collapsed into the officer, whose eyes were bulging as he now clawed in desperation at the macabre noose. The wounded guard finally slumped next to Mendeln, who stumbled away in shock. A second later, the officer let out a last gasp and joined his companion. The whip remained tight around his throat.
“Uldyssian!” called Lylia from somewhere behind him. “Beware the others!”
He glanced to the side to see the remaining Inquisitor guards converging on his position. A part of Uldyssian wanted to flee, but his fury still dominated. He glared at the armed men, who terrorized in the name of their holy sect.
One man stumbled. His sword arm turned—
The edge of his blade expertly cut through the throat of the guard next to him. The second man let out a gurgle and fell. As he did, he dropped his own weapon, which somehow tangled the feet of another guard. That man spun around, then hit the hard ground skull-first. There was an audible snap and the Inquisitor stilled, his head now lying at an awkward angle.
But now the rest of the guards surrounded Uldyssian, who eyed them as he would have the vermin that sought to devour his crops. In his mind they were no more than that. The farmer recalled when once he had discovered a cache of grain infested with such. He had done the only thing that he could to keep the creatures from spreading. He had burned the cache, burned it with the vermin still inside…
Burned them…
The foremost guard cried out. He dropped his sword and stared in horror at his hand, which was blackening before the eyes of all. In but a single breath, the flesh cindered and the muscle and sinew turned to ash. Even the bone darkened and darkened until nothing remained.
And as he befell the fate of his hand, the guard himself suffered so. His face shriveled and his body shook, even his armor tarnishing as if tossed into a coal-fueled inferno. He screamed, but his scream was cut off as his tongue crumbled.
The eyes vanished then, melting into the sockets with horrible finality. The crumbling black figure collapsed in a heap of bones that further smoked away to dust.
His comrades had no time to gape in fear at his fate, for they perished at the same time. Their brief cries were shrill and their deaths were marked by the clatter of empty armor and lost weaponry.
Only after they were all dust did Uldyssian return to his senses…and stare at a monstrous sight he could not even at that point fully link to himself. Yet, neither could the farmer deny the fiery urge that had swept through him, the urge he had focused on the hapless men.
An unnatural silence filled Seram. Uldyssian finally tore his gaze from the macabre remains and looked at his brother, who stood but a few lengths from him. Panting, still obviously in some pain from the harsh lash of the whip, Mendeln gaped at his older sibling.
“Uldyssian…” he finally succeeded in whispering.
But Uldyssian now looked past Mendeln to where the rest of the villagers still stood packed together even though their captors were all dead. He saw no relief in their eyes, but only what the farmer recognized as dread.
Dread of him…
Murmuring arose from within the group. When Uldyssian stretched forth a hand toward them, they moved as one away from his touch.
That, in turn, caused Uldyssian to retreat a step. He looked around and saw that other villagers had stepped out from hiding. Faces he had known all his life now eyed him as the former prisoners had.
“I didn’t do anything…” he murmured, more to himself than others. “I didn’t do anything…” The son of Diomedes protested louder.
But the people of Seram saw him differently, he knew. They now believed that he had slaughtered both missionaries. How could they not? Before their eyes, one man had been struck by lightning, another strangled by his own weapon, and the rest brought down in manners no one could ever claim ordinary.
Uldyssian spotted Tibion. He stepped toward the owner of the Boar’s Head. The old man had been as near a father to him as anyone since the death of Diomedes. Tibion could at least see sense—
The stout figure backed away, his stony expression not entirely hiding the revulsion and anxiety. He mutely shook his head.
Someone tugged on his sleeve. Mendeln. Wincing from pain, his brother whispered, “Uldyssian…come away from here. Quickly!”
“I’ve got to make them see sense, Mendeln! They can’t possibly believe—”
“They believe. I think even I believe. That doesn’t matter! Look around! You’re not Uldyssian to them anymore! You’re the fiend that the Cathedral’s Master Inquisitor claimed you to be! That’s all that they see!”
Brow wrinkled tight, Uldyssian glanced from one direction to another. All he saw were the same dark emotions.
Dorius reappeared…and with him Tiberius. The captain had his arm in a sling and there was a gash on his right cheek. Behind the pair came the men who had been ordered to lock up the headman in his own quarters.
Captain Tiberius was the one who finally spoke to Uldyssian. “Keep perfectly still. Don’t do a damned thing, Uldyssian, except put your hands behind you—”
“I’m not the cause of all this!” the farmer insisted, knowing all the while that his protests were as futile as ever. “You just have to listen to me—”
“There’re archers positioned,” Dorius anxiously interrupted. “Please listen to reason, Uldyssian…”
The farmer shook. No one would listen to him. He was surrounded by insanity. They saw in Uldyssian a murderer, a monster.
Distracted by his own turmoil, he almost did not notice a subtle motion by Tiberius. The headman’s words retur
ned to him. Archers. Those who had once been his friends would rather kill him than understand his predicament.
“No!” Uldyssian cried out. “No!”
The ground shook. People toppled over. Something whistled past his ear.
As the tremor overtook Seram, a hand pulled Uldyssian away. It was not Mendeln’s, however, but Lylia’s.
“This is our only chance! Come!”
Unable—and unwilling—to think anymore, he allowed her to guide him out of the village. Although those around them seemed unable to keep their footing, neither the farmer nor the noblewoman had any difficulty.
Someone shouted his name. Despite Lylia’s tugging, Uldyssian looked back and saw Mendeln on all fours. His brother was trying to follow, but suffered the same trouble as the rest of Seram.
Ignoring Lylia’s protest, he went back for Mendeln. Mendeln took his hand and suddenly found his footing. Holding tight, Uldyssian led his brother from the chaos.
“Horses!” Mendeln shouted above the din. “We need horses!”
Uldyssian was about to argue that they had no time to secure even one animal let alone five, when suddenly a horse raced ahead of them. It was followed by several more, all bearing the saddles of the Cathedral of Light. They raced directly into the woods…and straight into the waiting hands of Achilios.
Skilled in dealing with animals, the hunter easily brought under control three. Serenthia managed to catch another, but let a fifth escape.
Uldyssian paused before the hunter, the two lifelong friends reading into each other’s gazes.
“We must be away from here,” Achilios finally said, thrusting the reins of two horses toward the farmer. “Away until they come to their senses.”
But both men knew that such a thing would never happen. Achilios and Serenthia could return, yes, and would, if the farmer had his way. However, Uldyssian—and by fault of blood, Mendeln—were likely saying good-bye to their home forever.
“We’ve only four mounts,” the trader’s daughter gasped. “Uldyssian, you and I could—”
“I shall ride with you, Uldyssian,” interjected Lylia. “She is welcome to the other horse.”
Serenthia looked ready to argue, but Uldyssian, reacting to the noblewoman’s words, had already returned one set of reins. Achilios quickly handed them to Mendeln, who eyed the reins as if they had turned into serpents.
“Mount up!” urged the archer. “The tremor seems to be subsiding!”
Sure enough, all was slowly quieting in Seram. Uldyssian wondered if the tremor would renew its throes if he willed it so, then cursed himself for even thinking of such a thing. Whether or not he was somehow responsible, enough people had already been harmed or even slain due to events. To wish for something that might endanger others further was to him nearly as terrible as the crimes to which he had been accused.
He glanced around at the few who had stood by him. Of all of them, Serenthia was the most innocent. Surely, she at least could return now rather than later.
“Serry! Go back to the village! No one likely saw you! Go back to your father and brothers—”
She gave him a defiant look. “Not until I know that you’re safe!”
To Uldyssian’s surprise, Achilios added his support to her rather than to his friend. “She should ride with us for a time until things are settled. Now, no more talk!”
“To the southeast!” Lylia declared without warning. “Ride to the southeast! We will be safest there!”
Unfamiliar with that region, Uldyssian looked at the hunter, but Achilios only shrugged. He had not been much farther from Seram than his companions.
Lylia leaned near Uldyssian’s ear, her breath warm and stimulating. “Trust me,” she whispered. “The southeast…”
“To the southeast, then!” he growled to the others. “And away from this madness…”
With the noblewoman’s arms locked around his waist and her soft head against his back, Uldyssian ul-Diomed urged his mount on. Behind him came the others, Achilios taking up the rear.
It would all resolve itself, the farmer insisted in his mind. It would all resolve itself. Somehow, sense would be made of everything and he would be able to begin his life again, albeit probably not anywhere near Seram. The ties he had had with the other villagers had been forever cut. He could never trust them again, just as they could never trust him. The accusations and the memories would always lurk in the background.
But Uldyssian could start over elsewhere, forgetting all that had happened in Seram. A farmer only needed a good patch of land and a strong hand. He had both. He could build a new home and, just perhaps, make it large enough for a family. Lylia had sacrificed much for him. He had to mean something to her, whatever the difference in their bloodlines. Together, they would put behind their pasts and make a new future.
If the Cathedral and the Temple let them, that is…
SIX
They paused that night near the edge of a hilly tract that overlooked in the distant part of the vast jungles that surrounded the more tamed central regions of Kehjan the land. It naturally fell to Achilios to hunt for game. Mendeln worked on a fire while Serenthia, Lylia, and Uldyssian ventured out a short distance in separate directions to see if they could find water and edible berries. More than happy to focus on something other than his predicament, the fugitive farmer wended his way farther than agreed, the stillness of the rolling forest calming his heart for the first time in days. Indeed, he savored the silence so much that, for a good part of the search, Uldyssian forgot what it was he was supposed to be doing.
His peace was abruptly shattered by the sound of rustling leaves. Uldyssian instinctively reached for the knife that he had long lost.
But as he realized his folly, a form pushed through to him. His heart raced, but out of pleasure, not fear.
“I am sorry,” Lylia murmured, looking up at him. “I was frightened by myself! I—I wanted to be with you, Uldyssian…”
His blood raced as she put an ivory hand on his own. Her eyes caught what light there was from the foliage-obscured moon, making them almost glow like stars themselves.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he reassured her, savoring the touch. “Tomorrow, things’ll be better. You’ll see.”
The noblewoman smiled. “How silly to hear you trying to calm me! ’Tis your life at threat, Uldyssian…”
“We’re far from Seram now. They’ll forget about me.” It was obviously a lie, but the farmer had no idea what else to say.
“They will not. I think…Uldyssian, there is only one way to prevent us from having to run and run forever. I said something of it before and now that I have seen the wondrous gifts you possess, I think it more than ever.”
He did not like where she was going with this. “Lylia…”
“Please…” Without warning, the blond noblewoman kissed him. It was long and lingering and filled Uldyssian with a yearning.
“We must go to the great city itself,” she said once they had separated. “You must speak to the people! Not the mage clans or the nobles, but the common folk! They will understand you—”
He laughed harshly. “My own village didn’t understand me! They saw me as some kind of horrible monster!”
“That was due to the awful circumstances, Uldyssian! If you go to the city, you start fresh! You have been given a gift most fantastic! They must be told!”
“And what am I supposed to preach to them? To follow me like some god or spirit or I’ll tear them apart as I did the Cathedral’s men? What could I give them except fear and loathing?”
Her expression turned solemn. She stared deep into his eyes. “You could give them the promise of becoming as you are! Of becoming more than the Cathedral or the Triune could ever claim for them!”
“Of becoming like me?” The farmer could scarcely believe his ears. Was she mad? “Why would they want to become like me? To suffer as I have? For that matter, I still don’t even know exactly if I believe it all in the first place—�
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Lylia put a finger to his lips. “Then test it again. One last time. Here and now.”
“Test—”
“The final proof.” She looked around. “There. Something small but significant. Impossible to deny.”
The noblewoman led him toward a bush of the type for which they had been searching. However, this one was withered and, in addition to wrinkled leaves, had only a few shriveled berries to offer.
“What am I supposed to do?” growled Uldyssian anxiously.
“Touch it. Imagine what you want of it. That is all.”
He recalled the last time that he had done as she had asked. It was still possible to question what exactly had happened then. Here, though…
But he could not deny her. Imagine what you want of it, Lylia had said. Uldyssian nervously shrugged. What would he want from the bush other than some fresh berries? But the plant was long past that and, in fact, looked near to dying. If it had been younger, full of life, surely it would have offered a bounty for them.
He let his fingers graze the dry bush. The leaves and branches were brittle to his touch. The plant was not dying; it was dead.
There was no point in continuing. “Lylia—”
She softly placed her hand atop his, keeping it on in contact with the dead bush. “Please…just this once more.”
Despite his wariness, he wanted nothing more than to please her. With her hand still atop his own, the son of Diomedes thought of the bush and the juicy, ripe crop he would have liked to have found. Enough to feed them all. After the troubles he and the others had suffered in part due to these supposed powers, it was the least he could ask—
With a gasp, Uldyssian suddenly tore his hand back from the bush.
Unlike when he had concentrated on the storm over Seram, there was no hesitation between his desire and the fruition of it. Even in the dim moonlight, the transformation he now beheld could not be mistaken for anything short of miraculous.
Diablo: The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet Page 8
