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

by Richard A. Knaak

  A figure burst from the darkness into the area, a man perhaps near the end of the third decade of his life. He looked to have once been strong and lithe and radiated a presence that indicated a high caste. However, black spots—almost burns—covered whatever could be seen of his flesh, including his face, and he looked as if he had taken neither food nor drink in days. There were still hints of a handsome face, and the eyes were penetrating, but in a manner that Zorun thought bordered on madness.

  Madness…or some sort of plague.

  “Stand where you are,” he commanded. One hand began gesturing. “You will come no closer.”

  The eyes stared past the mage. A sickly grin spread over the stranger’s countenance. Only then did Zorun and the rest see that his gums had turned black and his teeth were crumbling.

  “You’ll…do better…” he rasped.

  Zorun started to chant, and the figure fell over.

  Some of the guards started forward, but the spellcaster waved them back. It was not out of any concern for them but for himself. If there was any plague involved, he did not want any of those with him carrying it.

  There was a quick and safe way to discover the truth. Reaching into another pouch, Zorun removed a small box he had kept with him since the last plague that had touched the capital. He took from it a powder that had once been bone ground from a victim of such disease. The body had first been safely burned to remove contamination, but the bone would still remember the disease. If there was anything similar to it on this body, the powder would fly from his palm and cover the stranger.

  Muttering the spell, the mage poured just enough powder into his hand. The yellowed dust trembled as if ready to fly…and then stilled.

  There was no plague. Zorun was about to dismiss the body as unimportant, when the rags it was clad in finally caught his eye.

  “Terul! Bring the torch closer to him!”

  The brutish servant obeyed. Zorun let Terul stand closer than him, just in case.

  They were indeed the robes of an acolyte of the Triune and, from what the mage could glean, of a priest of some importance.

  Deciding that it was safe to risk it, Zorun ordered, “Turn him over.”

  Setting down his axe, the servant used one huge hand to shove the dead man by the shoulder.

  The priest suddenly gripped Terul by the wrist. The eyes opened—

  With an uncharacteristic sound of dismay, Terul tugged his hand free. Both master and servant watched as the priest grew still again.

  When the body remained unmoving, Zorun indicated that Terul should finish his task. Despite his earlier exclamation, the giant now did not hesitate. He shoved the priest onto his back.

  Seen more clearly up close, the robes looked to be those of a follower of Dialon. Zorun had made a thorough study of the Triune—one had to know one’s enemies—and noted markings still remaining that indicated that this man had once served in the prime temple itself.

  “A pity you are dead,” he murmured to the body. “What could you tell us about this Ascenian, I wonder?”

  There was a chain around the neck, one that had not been visible before. Using a stick to lift it loose, Zorun saw that it held a medallion of office.

  “I should know your name, it appears…let me see.” The Kehjani had, through his varied sources, identified the senior priests of the sect and kept track of the changes and politics. He had been most intrigued by the High Priest of Mefis, one Malic, until word had reached him of that one’s disappearance and supposed death. Zorun was no fool; there had been more to the Triune than it preached, a dark side that he had felt Malic best represented.

  But this sorry fool was not Malic. Zorun ran through his remarkable memory and finally hit upon the name he sought.

  “Your name was…was Durram. Yes, that was it. Durram.” Next to him, Terul let out a grunt. Ignoring the sound, Zorun rose. “Yes, you would have been a fount of information to me…if you’d managed to live a bit longer, that is.”

  The mage used a sandaled foot to push the corpse among the thick vegetation. The priest’s presence still interested him, in that Durram was far from where the main temple had been located and very enticingly near the current location of Uldyssian ul-Diomed. Zorun expected that given time, even Terul could fathom that there certainly had to be a connection. Durram appeared, against all sanity, to have been tracking the Ascenian on foot, despite an obviously debilitating condition.

  “Admirable, if foolish,” the mage declared to himself. “Better to have done something for his life first. Come, Terul! We are done here.”

  The giant, who had still been staring at the body, belatedly obeyed. He picked up his axe with one hand, hefting it over his shoulder. They and the guards mounted up, then headed farther into the jungle.

  But not before Terul glanced back one last time at the body of the unfortunate Durram.

  Glanced back…and ever so briefly smiled.

  Four

  It was a more somber Uldyssian who drove the edyrem hard that next day. He did not explain to anyone the reason for his change in emotion, and no one dared ask, not even Mendeln. That his brother likely suspected something dread, Uldyssian did not care. More than ever, what was important was to reach the capital and face the mage clans.

  But now he wondered if even they were enough to aid in all arrayed against him. In Uldyssian’s mind, Inarius had proven quite readily how little the human was compared with him. The angel made even Lilith’s power seem inconsequential. Yet Uldyssian had no choice but to face his celestial foe eventually, face him and probably die quickly and shamefully.

  The edyrem themselves that day faced nothing worse than a little rain. It was welcome at first, for it cooled the jungle some, but the moment the rain ceased, the humidity leapt. The Parthans were hard kept to maintain a reasonable pace after that, and even those from the jungle regions faltered sooner than he would have desired.

  Yet when they made camp, they did so with the knowledge at last that the next day would enable them to see—at least from the treetops—the distant but distinct spires of Kehjan the city. That even gave Uldyssian something with which to cheer his thoughts a little.

  He set down to sleep with the certainty that there would be a repeat of the previous night’s horror, but only vague dreams haunted him. Uldyssian awoke in much better spirits, human nature enabling him to make less of the encounter with Inarius as time and distance grew. Still, he was determined to make his offer to the mages and other leaders as soon as they reached the city.

  Near late morning, their trek was interrupted by a sight welcome to many of the edyrem. A much-traveled road divided the jungle, a road quickly verified by Saron and some of the others as leading directly to the main gates of Kehjan.

  Uldyssian saw no reason he and his followers should not continue along the road. The edyrem fell into columns, he, Serenthia, and Mendeln at the head.

  “Now we look like an invading army,” the younger brother said with some distaste.

  “We were given no choice.”

  “No, but I wish we had been.”

  Uldyssian shrugged, then squinted as someone came from the opposite direction. A small caravan. There were three wagons with rounded wooden roofs. Upon each were emblems on the side that Saron quickly identified.

  “The merchant Fahin, Master Uldyssian. Some of his wagons, at least. He is one of the richest merchants in all the lowlands.”

  “I know that name,” interjected Serenthia. “His people did business with my father. I even met Fahin once, when I was younger.”

  In addition to the wagons, a full score of mounted guards accompanied the merchant’s wares. The evident captain caught sight of the immense throng marching toward his charge and quickly signaled the fighters to ride to the forefront. The wagons, meanwhile, began to try to turn about.

  “He must be rich, indeed,” commented Mendeln. “To find so many men willing to sacrifice themselves for his goods.”

  The riders did not charg
e but spread across the road. The wall they created was obvious; to reach the wagons would demand much death from those they likely considered brigands.

  “Turn away!” the captain, a sharp-nosed young man with a scar across his chin, shouted. “Turn away, or face our blades!”

  “We’re no thieves,” returned Uldyssian, opening his hands in a gesture of friendship.

  “That we know, Ascenian! Your crimes in Toraja and other places are well established. Our master is not yours to take, even if we die to make that so!”

  “Fahin is in the wagons?” Serenthia put a hand on Uldyssian’s arm. “If I could speak with him, we might have an ally before we reach the gates. It worked in Partha….”

  Her suggestion had merit, but to speak with the merchant, they first had to deal with the zealous captain and his men. Meeting the officer’s condemning gaze, Uldyssian quietly said, “We want no bloodshed.”

  As he spoke, he spread his hands at each side. Among the mounted fighters, especially those in the center, horses began to stagger toward the outer edges of the road. The sight looked like some sort of macabre dance. Several of the guards let out curses and shouts as they attempted in vain to veer their mounts back into position.

  The captain was the first among them to understand just what Uldyssian did. At the top of his lungs, he cried, “Attack! Attack that one!”

  But although he and those nearest urged their steeds forward, the animals simply continued to stagger sideways. Despite the frustrated officer’s best attempts, a large gap opened up in the road.

  “Mendeln, you and the others wait here. Serenthia, let’s go meet this Master Fahin.”

  The two strode past the guards, who could do nothing to reach them. The invisible barriers Uldyssian had created kept the mounted warriors trapped on opposing sides of the road.

  The lead wagon had all but turned about, but the other two were still in progress. As he reached the first, with a gesture, he forced the driver to look his way.

  “Which is Master Fahin’s wagon?”

  “The—the middle!”

  Giving him a nod of thanks, Uldyssian led Serenthia to the wagon in question.

  A guard next to the driver of the second vehicle tried to throw a spear at the pair but discovered too late that it now temporarily adhered to his hand. He fell over the driver. Both men might have tumbled to the ground, but Uldyssian kept them safe. It would be impossible to enlist the merchant’s help if any of his people were injured or slain.

  They came around to the back of the wagon, where a single door stood. It flew open at Uldyssian’s desire.

  A shouting guard dove toward the pair.

  He managed no more than a foot out of the wagon before flying backward into it again. Uldyssian sent him to the opposite wall. The guard landed softly but found himself pinned.

  From the left side of the interior, a heavyset figure wearing a jeweled nose ring leaned into view. His hair had once been rich black but now had gray streaks. He was lighter of skin than Saron yet still darker than either of the two before him.

  “You have me,” he proclaimed with dignity. Despite his girth and his extravagant clothing—there was enough actual gold decor on him to feed Uldyssian’s village for a year—Fahin did not strike the son of Diomedes as so self-indulgent as to be oblivious to the needs of others. However, that still did not mean that he would see the truth. His next words, though, gave some hint of hope. “Bring no more harm to those who serve me. Let them go, and I am yours.”

  “No one has been harmed,” Uldyssian returned. “I am Uldyssian ul-Diomed, and by my honor I swear to their safety. We came to speak, nothing more.”

  As the merchant’s brow rose in obvious disbelief, Serenthia stepped forward. Leaning into the wagon, she said, “Master Fahin, do you remember my father, Cyrus of Seram? He dealt with you much in the past.”

  “Seram…Seram…I know the village, and the name Cyrus, too.” The Kehjani closed his eyes in thought. “A virtuous man, I recall that. He had many children, a blessing, I hope.” Opening his eyes, Fahin nodded. “Yes, I know Cyrus of Seram…and you are his daughter?”

  “We met when I was young, Master Fahin.” Serenthia hesitated. “I remember—I remember you had the most beautiful white pony with you. She had a silky, thick mane, and the only part not white on her entire body was a little streak just above her one eye that made it look like she was thinking something—”

  “Sherah,” Fahin murmured, a childlike grin spreading across his face. “Ah! I’d not thought of the little one for years!” He clapped his hands in cheerful memory of the pony. “And though you could have learned of her from someone else, I think, there is that which makes me believe you are who you say you are.” Some of the pleasure left him. “But what that means now, I do not know. I have heard stories of an Ascenian leading an army of terror across the lands—”

  “No one has anything to fear from us,” Uldyssian interjected as he gently moved Serenthia aside. “No one unless they serve the evil that is the Triune or the Cathedral.”

  “Indeed? I could almost believe what you speak concerning the Triune, for rumors of secret rituals recently have reached the highest levels in the capital, but nothing but good is said about the Prophet, who even preaches peace with you despite Toraja and elsewhere.”

  “Preaches it while he twists the minds of others into trying to slay us. I can’t prove what I say to you, Master Fahin, but I hope that you will give me the chance to plead my case…for the sake of all of us.”

  The stout merchant indicated his surroundings. “You see that you have a captive audience. I can do nothing but listen.”

  Uldyssian frowned. “That isn’t what I want of you.” An idea that he had not discussed with anyone else seemed his best hope now. “Hear me, Master Fahin. Would you listen if I stood alone before you and the leaders of Kehjan? Would they accept such an arrangement? I’ll freely walk into Kehjan alone—” He cut off Serenthia, who started to protest. “And place myself under your guidance throughout it. Myself alone. Will they—will you—give me the chance to tell them the truth?”

  The merchant leaned back. Uldyssian saw no subterfuge in the man’s eyes, although he reminded himself that this man made his living dealing.

  “Your—people—they would have to stay two days beyond the gates,” Fahin declared. “Any closer with so many, the city would expect imminent attack.” He pointed at Cyrus’s daughter. “She could come with you, if you wish. That would be acceptable.”

  “It’ll only be me.”

  “I won’t let you go into the capital alone!” Serenthia blurted. “I’ll go—”

  He shook his head. “You need to keep the rest under control, Serry. None of the others can manage that. They certainly won’t be comfortable around Mendeln.”

  “Then take him with you! You know that he’d gladly come!”

  Uldyssian had already considered that. “The mages might find him far too unsettling. I won’t risk him or anyone else. I’ll be fine.” Uldyssian eyed the merchant. “If Master Fahin says I’ll be.”

  “If I take you into Kehjan, so it will be, Uldyssian.” Fahin rose, moving very smoothly for one of his bulk. “Permit me to tell those with me that we will be returning home. Captain Aztuhl will need some placating, too.”

  A grateful Uldyssian bowed low. “Thank you. I apologize for disrupting your journey.”

  “The trip I was undertaking was for personal matters, not much business. Do you think me so destitute that I have but three wagons? I might have been more upset if I had been forced to have twenty or more turn around, not these few.” Fahin waved off his assistance as he disembarked. Once down, the merchant glanced back inside. “Oh! My poor bodyguard?”

  Uldyssian released his hold on the man. With a gasp, the guard slumped into a sitting position. He stared at Uldyssian as if the latter had two heads. That was likely to be one of the predominant expressions among the Kehjani, the son of Diomedes thought…that and, thanks to Inarius, hatre
d.

  Captain Aztuhl proved to be an obstinate man, but in the end, he bowed to his employer’s dictates. On the other side, Uldyssian faced many protests from his own followers. No one liked the notion of him entering the capital alone, but, like the merchant, he brooked no disagreement.

  It was decided that Fahin would lead the way back to Kehjan, with Uldyssian riding beside his wagon. For the journey back, the merchant chose to sit next to his driver. He did not wish to appear afraid before his people, which Uldyssian could appreciate. However, Captain Aztuhl also remained near, ever ready should the Ascenian do anything he considered bordering on threat.

  It was Master Fahin who indicated at last when they were approximately two days from their destination. Saron and others reluctantly verified this, not that Uldyssian had asked. In the short time that he had come to know the merchant, he had gained much respect for the man. Good fortune had finally smiled upon the son of Diomedes; with Fahin to introduce him to the ruling powers, there was hope that they might listen, not merely react.

  “The fractious nature of the mage clans’ council means that there is merit in meeting with Prince Ehmad. The young prince has sought to strengthen his position. He has gained backing from many of the guilds, and even the mages will pay attention to what he says,” Fahin had explained early on.

  “What about this feuding between the clans? How deadly has it been?”

  “There was a time, my son, when not a day could pass without a body found in some terrible state. There are many deaths to this day whose cause no one outside the clans can decipher, so monstrous were the remains. That has lessened, but only in the sense of the survivors of a wild pack of hyenas still fighting over a morsel. They size one another up, awaiting their chance to take advantage of weaknesses, and at that point, there will be more blood.”

  Uldyssian had wondered if the spellcasters would be any use at all, so consumed with fighting among themselves. “Is there any hope in speaking with them, then?”