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

by Richard A. Knaak

  Serenthia struggled to hold on to his arm. “Something must be done about it! You must do something about it!”

  Her words brought back undesired recollections. Lilith—as Lylia—had at one time suggested much the same thing. Then, it had concerned the storm clouds over Seram and its surrounding region. That storm had been dispersed, but he had later discovered that it had been more due to the demoness’s work than his own.

  “No…” Uldyssian growled, not wishing to relive that time in any way. “No…I can’t…”

  A nearby tree creaked ominously. Leaves and jagged branches flew through the air. A woman screamed as a terrible gust tossed her back into her companions. Children cried. Despite all that they had been given, despite all that they had learned, even the most talented of the edyrem began to give in to their fears and exhaustion.

  Uldyssian knew that he should attempt something, even if only to remind the others of what they were capable. The band was not long from Hashir. They had to be ready to face what might be a more terrible foe despite the temple’s smaller size, for surely Hashir would be forewarned.

  Yet, his will was weak, worn as it still was by Mendeln’s loss. He shook his head, fighting with himself—

  Without warning, Serenthia let go of him. Uldyssian grabbed for her but missed. To his surprise, she stepped into the most open area around them, where the storm threatened worst. Although already drenched to the skin, Cyrus’s daughter stood proud and tall. She held high the spear, brandishing it at the sinister black clouds.

  “Away with you!” Serenthia shouted at the top of her lungs at the dark sky. “Away!”

  Seeing her there, doing futilely what he might actually be able to accomplish, filled Uldyssian with incredible remorse. Mendeln would not have wanted him acting this way because of him. If there was any hope that Uldyssian could stop this raging tempest, then it behooved him at the very least to make the attempt—

  But that thought died as something incredible unfolded. Like some warrior goddess, Serenthia continued to not only defy the elements, but demanded that they bow to her. She waved the spear as if ready to toss it into the heart of the storm…

  And then…and then the rain slowed, finally ceasing altogether. The wind died down to a mere whisper. The black clouds faded to gray and then began to disperse.

  The others—Uldyssian included—stood awestruck by this miracle. An aura surrounded Serenthia, a brilliant golden aura. Yet, she stood as if unnoticing of this or any of the other phenomena. Instead, she continued to demand obedience from the sky…and received it.

  The last of the clouds melted away. A hush settled over the dense jungle, not even the multitude of insects usually present letting out so much as a single sound.

  Arms dropping to her sides, Serenthia let out a gasp. Her body shook and the spear dropped from her grip. At the same time, the aura disappeared.

  Slowly, very slowly, Serenthia looked over her shoulder at Uldyssian. Her face stone white, her breathing rapid, she managed to blurt, “I…did it…didn’t I?”

  He nodded, feeling both shame and exhilaration. Serenthia had done what he should have instinctively chosen to do. In the process, she had revealed a level of power that only he had so far exhibited. She should not have had to put herself through so much…but the fact that she had just proven what Uldyssian had always preached finally stirred him to life.

  “Yes…you did it,” he said proudly and so loud that all those around them could hear. “You did what any of us are capable of!” He faced the edyrem. “And I, who claim so much, offer my deepest apologies that I did nothing—nothing—at all…”

  But Serenthia was the first of many to protest his failure. No one said why they bothered to defend him, but to Uldyssian it obviously had to do with Mendeln. He felt grateful for the care and support and swore that he would not let himself fall again, if only for their sake.

  Still, he could not feel but thrilled by Serenthia’s triumph and advancement. There had always been a hint of disbelief among his followers whenever Uldyssian had insisted that he was no more mighty than any of them. Now, even the least among the Parthans and Torajians knew that they could achieve so much more. Even Serenthia, for all that she had done this day, had not yet reached his level.

  “The storm is gone!” Uldyssian shouted. “And, in honor of that, it’ll be you, Serenthia, who gives command for the rest of us to continue the march! You!”

  A wide smile spread across her still wet countenance. Serenthia plucked the spear from the ground, then pointed in the direction of their goal.

  “Onward to Hashir!” she called with gusto.

  A cheer erupted from the others. Serenthia looked Uldyssian’s way once more. He nodded, indicating with his chin that she should begin the trek. If anything, her smile grew wider yet. Shoulders proud, she started walking.

  After giving her a few paces, Uldyssian followed. Romus and the other edyrem joined after. The mood of the makeshift army rose to new levels. Uldyssian sensed their confidence; here was now the force that had taken Toraja’s temple and would do the same to Hashir. Here was the beginning of something that the Triune would now truly fear. Here was something, he started to believe, that even Lilith would be unprepared to face.

  And perhaps…perhaps…here was something that somehow might help him yet find Mendeln…

  Arihan had not lived half as long as his late counterpart, Malic—who himself had supposedly had not one, but more than two lifetimes granted him by the master—but he looked almost old enough to have been the dead high priest’s father. Arihan, who had once been a thief, a liar, a cutpurse, and a murderer—and now used those skills more often as high priest of Dialon—did not believe in the vanities that Malic, partly Ascenian by birth, had so often displayed. Malic had been a peacock, wearing not only fine clothes but maintaining a face and form not truly his for many, many decades.

  Born of low caste in the deep recesses of the capital, the gaunt, thick-bearded Arihan had expected that one day the lead cleric of Mefis would, in his arrogance, overstep himself. That prediction had recently come to pass, but Arihan wisely kept his glee hidden from the others. It was one thing to maneuver for position in the hierarchy, another to be pleased with a failure that affected the Triune even more than it had the fool who had perished because of it. This Uldyssian ul-Diomed was of significance to the sect’s ultimate objectives and Malic’s tremendous debacle had ruined any chance of ever seducing the peasant to the cause. Now, a more harsh course of action would need to be taken.

  Arihan had been ready to offer his services in pursuing the matter immediately after Malic’s demise, but something strange had happened that had caused him to hesitate. The Primus, ever predictable in his perfection, of late acted as if not quite himself. He had grown very reclusive and subject to lengthy, inexplicable absences. More confusing, he gave commands to his followers that seemed just as likely to create havoc among the priests as they did to better enable them to coordinate their efforts.

  Yes, there was something amiss…but Arihan had no idea how best to approach that difficulty. He certainly was not about to register his concerns with either of his counterparts, especially Malic’s novice—but highly ambitious—replacement. If only—

  A particularly ugly Peace Warder suddenly stood in the high priest’s path. So caught up in his thoughts, Arihan nearly collided with the dolt.

  The Peace Warder was obviously mad, for he seemed unconcerned about his transgression. “The Lord Primus wishes to speak with you, High Priest Arihan. Immediately.”

  “Where is he?” the bearded elder asked, his monotone voice belying his sudden anxiety.

  “Awaiting you in his chambers, venerable one.”

  Arihan gave the man a dismissive nod and strode down the long marble hallway at a pace that indicated confidence but not disrespect. He passed several more Peace Warders standing at attention along the way, the guards as resolute as statues. For some reason, that stirred his concerns more.


  The sentries at the doors to the Primus’s inner sanctum gave way without any preamble, which made the robed figure feel as if he was already late. The Primus did not like tardiness; Arihan recalled at least one incident when such a sin had left the sinner bereft of his beating heart.

  All was darkness as he entered the chambers. The doors slammed shut behind him with a harsh finality. Arihan blinked, trying to accustom his eyes to the black rooms. He knew in which he would find his master, but what was the reason for having no light whatsoever along the path? Generally, there was at least an oil lamp or dim torch.

  The priest took a step forward…and something about the size of a cat scurried over his sandaled foot.

  Arihan let out an uncharacteristic yelp, which only served to add to his tensions. How did it look for the high priest of Dialon—or rather, Diablo—to be startled by something so small and unseen? He served the master of terror! Arihan hoped and prayed that something had distracted the Primus’s attention at that moment…

  He could now see just enough to wend his way to the innermost chamber. It occurred to him that perhaps he could have conjured a light, but the Primus wanted darkness for a reason, whatever that might be.

  As Arihan reached the doorway to his master’s sanctum, it opened by itself. A dim, unearthly illumination greeted him. Arihan glanced down at his narrow hands, which were now the green of decay.

  “Enter, enter, High Priest Arihan!” the Primus called, his voice oddly excited.

  Doing as commanded, Arihan stepped toward the throne. As he neared, he saw the Primus, a giant, bearded man both younger and older in appearance than him, study the newcomer with a strange fascination. Again, Arihan wondered about the recent changes in the personality of the figure before him. He had always known what to expect…but not this time.

  As was custom, the priest went down on one knee just before his master’s feet. He knew that the Primus was indeed the scion of Lord Mephisto, but always thought of him by his mortal title, not his name.

  Never as Lucion.

  “Great and powerful Primus, son of the most regal Mephisto, your loyal attendant, Arihan, is here at your request. How may I serve thee?”

  A short, erratic chuckle escaped the vicinity of the Primus. Arihan fought not to look up in surprise at this disconcerting sound. He had never heard the master laugh so…so madly.

  Almost as quickly as he thought it, the priest smothered the blasphemy. It was not proper to think ill of the Primus, not proper and not wise for one’s health.

  “Rise! Rise, High Priest Arihan!” the seated figure commanded almost jovially.

  Arihan obeyed. He tried to keep his expression and gaze respectful. Perhaps this was a test. Perhaps his master wanted to see how dedicated and loyal Arihan was.

  “I am yours to command, most glorious one.”

  “Yes…yes, you are…” The Primus leaned against one of the armrests of the throne. “This—I am the Voice of the Triune, am I not?”

  “But, of course, most glorious one.” Arihan felt his brow begin to furrow in concern and perplexity, but fought the action away. He would keep a face of calm adoration, no matter what peculiarity the Primus next exhibited.

  Yes, surely this was some sort of test…

  The Primus fidgeted. Then, as if aware of how he looked, his aspect grew stern. “High Priest Arihan! Do you have anything to say?”

  “N-nay, most glorious one! I but await your word on what it is you wish of me!”

  “Very good…very good…” A small, black form—a spider, Arihan realized—crawled up out of the Primus’s collar. The leader of the Triune paid no mind to the vermin, even when it began making its way up his neck. “This—I have a plan to bring the mortal to our cause, High Priest Arihan. A masterful plan! But it must be implemented quickly, for it involves our brothers in Hashir.”

  “Hashir?” repeated the priest, trying in vain to keep his gaze from shifting to the arachnid. It now crawled on the Primus’s jaw, still apparently undetected.

  “Hashir…yes, Hashir will be the perfect place to turn this all around…”

  Arihan bowed to the Primus’s wisdom. If he had a plan, then surely it would come to wondrous fruition.

  The spider now crawled near the ear, two legs even probing within. Try as he might, the high priest of Dialon could not help but stare at it.

  Spiders…there was something about spiders that Arihan had once known. What was it—?

  With astonishing reflexes, the figure on the throne suddenly snatched the arachnid up. The Primus clenched his hand, crushing the creature within.

  “There is something wrong, my Arihan?”

  It was the first time since the gaunt man had entered that his master had not used his title. Although unsettled, Arihan managed to shake his head.

  “So good…so good…” The hand remained clenched. The Primus smiled wide…something he had never done before. “You are to be my agent! This is what you will do that will bring the human Uldyssian to our side…whether he wishes to come or not.”

  Arihan bowed his head and listened as the Primus outlined his intentions. He listened and all thought of the master’s recent quirks were quickly buried deep in his mind. After all, Arihan lived to serve the Primus; in the end, that was all that mattered.

  That…and the knowledge that even if there might now be a hint of madness in the son of Mephisto, the Primus could still crush Arihan as simply as he had the spider.

  Nine

  Darkness surrounded Mendeln, darkness that felt as if it went on forever. Uldyssian’s brother suspected that if he ran and ran as hard as he could for as long as possible, he would find no change in things. It would still be dark and empty. A part of him was unnerved by that…but another part was morbidly fascinated.

  Still, his concerns for Uldyssian overrode that fascination and the longer Mendeln stood alone and silent in the darkness, the more impatient he became to return…if such a thing was possible. He was, after all, very likely a prisoner.

  Why this betrayal, Achilios? he asked himself. Why steal me away when I only wanted to reunite you with the others? What reason could you have for stopping me?

  “Because what you would have done would have had very unfortunate repercussions,” replied the voice he knew so well from his own mind.

  A shape emerged from the darkness, a shape that yet still seemed very much a part of it. The tall, very pale man with the features too perfect. The cowled figure stood a full head higher than Mendeln, something the younger son of Diomedes had not earlier noticed.

  “What repercussions? What? Speak some sense! What repercussions?”

  But instead of answering those questions, the other turned from him and looked up…not that Mendeln saw anything different when he, too, stared in that direction. There was simply more of the darkness.

  The stranger—no, he had called himself Rathma—quietly asked the emptiness, “Well? Can you sense what she is about?”

  And the emptiness answered.

  No…she is well shielded in this regard. There is perhaps only one who knows best how to infiltrate that shield and learn the truth…

  Rathma frowned. “And we cannot exactly expect my father to be of assistance…as he is more likely than even her to try to reduce me to dust.”

  There is that small matter…

  Mendeln’s head throbbed each time the second voice spoke, as if his mind was not strong enough to fully accept its presence. He clutched his temples, trying to regain his balance.

  Forgive me…the voice said, its intensity much reduced. I will endeavor to keep within your bounds…

  Rathma helped Mendeln straighten. “The first time he spoke to me, I thought my head would split open.”

  “Did not mine do so?” Mendeln blinked, again seeking the source of the voice. “Who is it who speaks to us? I have heard him before, too!” To the darkness, he suddenly railed, “Show yourself! I’d know all my captors!”

  “But we are not your captors,” Ra
thma quietly returned. “Hardly that. Nor, definitely, your enemies.”

  “Not my friends, to be sure! Or else why take me from Uldyssian’s side, where I should always be?”

  Because, if you wish to be there for him when you most need to be, you must be with us now…

  “More riddles? Who are you, speaker in the shadows? Cease hiding from me!”

  Rathma tsked. “There can be no going on with explanations until he sees you, my friend,” he said to the emptiness. “But recall that he is mortal.”

  He is not so much less than you, Rathma…

  “I never said otherwise.”

  Listening to the pair, Mendeln sensed how long they had clearly known one another. There was a bond here as great as that between him and Uldyssian…

  Know me, then, Mendeln ul-Diomed…the voice declared, keeping its intensity to a low booming in his head. Know me as Rathma here does…

  And suddenly there were stars in the darkness above, a blazing multitude of stars that swirled about as if caught up in a tempest. They filled the area above to the point that Mendeln had to shield his eyes. At first there seemed no rhyme or reason to their movements, but quickly they began to spread apart and settle into certain areas. As they did, Mendeln noticed that a shape began to form, a shape only half-seen, yet seen enough to finally identify it.

  It was a creature of myth, a thing in fairy tales and stories, but never truth. Uldyssian had cheerfully frightened Mendeln with tales of such when the latter had been a small child…and Mendeln had savored every story.

  But now…now to see such a giant, especially one composed of stars…Mendeln stood gaping and speechless.

  It was a dragon. A long, sinewy, serpentine dragon beyond epic proportions.

  The dragon has chosen you…those words or ones very close to them had been etched on the stone in the ghastly cemetery Mendeln had found himself in while staying in Partha. The dragon has chosen you…

  The celestial creature shifted, its “eyes” a startling array of smaller stars. Know me…it repeated. Know me as Trag’Oul…