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

by Richard A. Knaak

  The floor itself, a mosaic masterpiece using hexagonal pieces, had an array of chadaka kings scampering about. The rails were also carved to resemble chadaka kings trying, sometimes unsucessfully, to sit in contemplative repose. There were chairs—brass ones with padded seats—near the edge, for which Uldyssian was grateful. He had managed a second wind once discovering that he had found Prince Ehmad, but that wind was failing him now. He all but fell into the nearest chair.

  “Forgive me,” declared the prince. “I should have given you a place to sleep.”

  “I don’t dare right now.”

  “Ah, but all men must sleep. Even you, I imagine.”

  “Not now…” Still, the chair felt more and more comfortable.

  With a shrug, Ehmad sat not in the other chair but rather on the stone rail. His expression grew more serious. “What happened to Master Fahin?”

  That question stirred Uldyssian back to waking. Summoning his wits, he told Prince Ehmad everything he could recall. The prince’s eyes widened as he heard about the magical attack, then narrowed at the death of the well-liked merchant.

  “I have…sources…who say that you are responsible, my Ascenian friend. Sources who heard this among the mages.”

  “I would’ve never killed Fahin or any of the rest. That work was done by one of their own, Zorun Tzin.”

  The name did not appear to surprise Prince Ehmad. “Zorun Tzin is known well to me. He is a jackal among men. For too long, the bickering mage clans used him for that which they dared not soil their own hands with.” The Kehjani studied Uldyssian closer. “He is very formidable.”

  But speaking of the spellcaster reminded the son of Diomedes of something—or, rather, someone—more sinister. “There’re things more formidable than Zorun Tzin.”

  “Yes, you, for instance, as you escaped his sanctum so readily.” At that moment, the serving girl returned with the tea and fruit her master had requested. She set both trays on a tiny marble and iron table next to Uldyssian’s chair. “Please. Eat and drink at your convenience.”

  Uldyssian did not argue, digging into the fruit and even risking some of the tea. Despite the heat of the region, he expected the tea to be hot. However, Uldyssian found it not only cool but sweet with the scent of some nectar.

  “Taiyan tea,” his host explained. “It will help rejuvenate you.”

  As he poured a second cup, Uldyssian said, “What of Zorun Tzin?”

  “From all you describe, it sounds as if the mage clans will have to deal with the beast that they themselves loosed upon you. Master Fahin had friends and alliances with many of them. Zorun Tzin will be outcast even from his own blood. You need not concern yourself with him.”

  But Uldyssian still recalled the fleeting glimpse. Tzin had followed him through the streets, and the look Uldyssian had read in the mage’s eyes had indicated a hatred for the son of Diomedes that was nearly as deep as that of—

  He jerked straight. The cup of tea slipped from his grip. The delicate container shattered on the floor, spilling tea.

  “No…”

  Prince Ehmad leaned close in concern. “You are ill?”

  Uldyssian rose. “Prince, I must speak with the mage clans immediately!”

  “And I have begun to send out entreaties to them and the top guilds, my friend. I did so the moment after I’d read Fahin’s messages. It will take a little time—”

  But the prince’s guest was only half listening. How could he have not seen it before? Uldyssian berated himself for a fool despite the fact that his powers were only now enabling him to recover from the horrors of the mage’s sanctum. Yes, he had seen the figure of Zorun Tzin in the streets….

  But the eyes had been those of Malic.

  “You don’t understand, prince!” Uldyssian growled. “There’s a new concern for the mages that they need to know about before he’s got a chance to take over one of them!”

  “I must admit, I am at a loss. I have no idea what you are talking about—”

  “Neither do we,” came a cultured female voice, “but we are certainly willing to listen…for the moment.”

  Both men turned to see a trio of figures who could not have simply walked onto the balcony behind them. Uldyssian took up a defensive stance. He knew what these had to be.

  However, Prince Ehmad boldly—or possibly fool-hardily—stepped between his guest and the mages. “Nurzani,” he said to a spindly figure that looked like something Mendeln might have summoned from the ground. “My greetings, Kethuus,” the noble then declared to one who seemed more shadow than man. At last, to the woman who had first spoken, Ehmad finished, “And ever, ever a pleasure, my beautiful Amolia…”

  Unlike most females Uldyssian had thus far seen, Amolia did not react to Ehmad other than to nod slightly. However, as she pulled back the odd, high-peaked hood, Uldyssian nearly let out a gasp, for Amolia was close enough in appearance to Lilith’s guise of Lylia as to be her sister. Clearly, she came from the stock that the demoness had used for her disguise.

  She noted his staring, and the flaring of her eyes warned him against any impudent action.

  “You are Uldyssian ul-Diomed.”

  “I am,” he replied, not relaxing in the least. He stepped around his host. After Fahin, Uldyssian did not want Ehmad also paying a price for his friendship.

  But all the woman did was say, “The prince has introduced us.” Her two companions left their own hoods up. “You spoke of the traitor and murderer Zorun Tzin.”

  Uldyssian measured each of them but could not decide just who was the most dangerous. “I did. I need to warn the mage clans—”

  “You warn us, you warn them. You wish to speak to them, you speak to us.”

  This was not how Uldyssian had intended it, but he had no choice. First, the spellcasters had to be warned of the danger in their own midst. That in itself might create an opening he could use to forge some sort of alliance against the Cathedral.

  “First, have you found Zorun Tzin?” he asked.

  “It should be obvious that we have not.”

  “I mean, when was the last time anyone saw him?”

  “We saw him last.” Amolia glanced at her two companions, then continued, “Just before he fled to his underground chambers. Something must have happened—and we assume it concerned you.”

  “It did, but not as you think. Tzin had a servant, too, the giant.”

  “Terul. We saw what was left of him. Your work?”

  Uldyssian dared not deny it. “But not for the reason you think. That thing was no longer Terul. I don’t know for how long that was true, but I suspect he’d already possessed the giant when Zorun Tzin chose to slaughter Master Fahin’s personal caravan.”

  “You verify it was Zorun who slew all?” asked the one called Nurzani in an incredibly deep voice. “That is what was suspected.”

  “Yes, he did it…but there was another who enabled him to do so with such…completeness. It was he who possessed the servant. You know him by the name of Malic.”

  Amolia frowned. “As in the high priest of the Order of Mefis? Malic, who is, by our best reckoning, dead?”

  The son of Diomedes reluctantly nodded. “Dead…but deadly still.”

  He explained to them what had happened to Malic and how the priest had been brought back. Uldyssian described his shock when Terul had admitted to being the spirit of the priest come back for vengeance and then his desperate battle to escape the vile specter. He left out only the stone, not certain if it was something that he wished to bring to the attention of the mages.

  “And how does this pertain to Zorun Tzin?” the shadow called Kethuus demanded. “You said that you killed the giant.”

  “I thought I did…but I think Malic still survived in the body long enough. I saw Zorun Tzin in the streets just after the prince found me…only now I think the eyes weren’t his.”

  Nurzani leaned toward Amolia. “Recall the mage’s staff lying abandoned as if of no consequence. A priest would not
require such.”

  “Malic’s accomplishments were known well to the mage clans,” Kethuus interjected, “but to move on from host to host after death, that sounds too incredible!”

  Amolia glared at Uldyssian. “It was not the high priest’s skills that enabled him first to cheat his doom, but the questionable acts of two brothers…but yes, I think Malic capable of perverting it further still.”

  “But the bodies don’t last,” pointed out Uldyssian. “How long Tzin’s might, I don’t know.”

  “Zorun Tzin was a spellcaster of exceptional skill and questionable judgment,” the female member of the trio stated. “But his physical worthiness would certainly not make him my first choice should I be in such a state as you claim Malic is in.”

  “I’m making no claim! I’m speaking the truth! If your people find Zorun Tzin, they’ve got to make certain that they don’t touch him.” Uldyssian remembered something else. “And watch for black lesions. I think they worsen as the body burns out….”

  He expected the three mages to act immediately, but instead, Amolia looked to her two companions. The trio stood in silence, simply eyeing one another.

  Then, without a warning, Kethuus vanished.

  “Word has gone out concerning your suspicions of Zorun Tzin,” Amolia announced. “Now we turn to the question of what to do about you, Uldyssian ul-Diomed.” Her gaze narrowed dangerously. “What, indeed…”

  And suddenly, an emerald sphere materialized around him.

  This body was not going to last for very long. Malic knew that the moment he had taken it, but his choices had been very limited at the time. He had managed to linger in the corpse of the giant for far longer than even he had thought possible. Mephisto had surely been smiling on him when the fool spellcaster had reached for the crystal.

  That piece remained in his hand, although for what reason, Malic did not yet know. He was not certain that he would have time to use it to amplify his transfer to another host. For that matter, who was to say that his next victim would be one worthy of keeping permanently?

  Only Uldyssian thus far matched the criteria.

  He kept to the shadows, using what he knew of his own spells to hide him from the inner sight of the mages. It was more difficult to cast properly in this body, for its former occupant had been of a calling using other forces. Given time, Malic supposed that he could have adjusted, but time was not on his side.

  He had to find Uldyssian. No other body would suffice.

  Malic passed a barrel whose top was covered in moisture. On a dread hunch, the high priest peered as best he could into the water. The image was distorted but still clear enough to reveal a dark spot near his left ear.

  “So soon…” he muttered in Zorun Tzin’s voice. Malic had barely even worn this body! It had taken two days for the lesions to start on the giant, and Durram’s young form had lasted weeks before the first had grown evident.

  “Time grows shorter with each one,” the specter realized. “I must have you soon, Uldyssian.”

  But first he had to find his quarry and escape a city full of mages who thought him a renegade from their ranks. For that, Malic would need another body already, one that would hold for a time. It would do him little good to switch to a host that would fail him almost immediately.

  Then a sudden suspicion made him crouch further into the shadows. A moment later, a cloaked figure stepped into the alley in which he had gone. The figure carried with him a staff, marking him immediately as one of Tzin’s fellow mages.

  As if to make matters worse, another mage appeared at the opposite end. He, too, wielded a staff. Both men slowly wended their way toward each other, with Malic in the midst.

  But hidden in the dark, the undead priest was not concerned. He had seen the trappings of each man and knew exactly what to do. After all, he was still a servant of Mephisto, was he not?

  As the pair closed, Malic drew the proper symbols in the air, then thrust a finger at the mage on his left.

  At that very moment, his target saw him. Raising the staff to shoulder level, the spellcaster growled, “Stand there, Zorun Tzin! You are my prisoner!”

  Unperturbed, Malic pointed at the second of his pursuers.

  That mage also raised his staff. “You presume too much, dog of Harakas! He is mine!”

  “Sarandesh pig! Like all your clan, you seek to steal instead of earn your prize!”

  They confronted each other as if Malic did not exist. The Harakasian mage thrust one end of his staff at his Sarandeshi counterpart. The latter countered the attack. The two magical staffs clattered together with a flash of unleashed energies.

  “Crawl back into your mud hole, Sarandeshi!”

  “I’ll wipe such words from your ugly face, Harakasian!”

  The Sarandeshi rubbed a glowing rune on his staff. A red aura began to form over his adversary.

  The other spellcaster immediately touched one of his own runes. A golden glow formed around the red, devouring it.

  The two let out guttural cries and went at each other, using both physical and magical means. They fought like two frenzied cats, nothing existing for them but their mutual hatred.

  And as they fought, Malic calmly slipped past them. The power of his master, the Lord of Hate, had once again been proven supreme. His two would-be captors would either slay each other or have to be forced apart by any other mages who found them. Either way, the distraction would serve Malic well.

  But he needed to do more. As he slipped from one alley to the next, the spirit considered carefully. The Triune was in ruins; there would be no help from there. His lord Lucion was also no more, a victim of Uldyssian….

  From Zorun Tzin’s lips erupted a curse at his own stupidity. He was in Kehjan. The capital. He was not alone.

  The city was the culmination of generation upon generation of building, often over the sites of older structures. The current populace had little, if any, notion about parts of their home’s past. Malic, however, knew much.

  The entrance he sought was completely hidden from those who trod upon it. That had been done for aesthetic reasons in part, but also for reasons of safety. The depths below were dark and dangerous and, in places, populated by things undreamed. The underside of Kehjan’s history could be found there in the form of stolen and lost treasures and the bodies of the dead.

  It was simple for Malic to locate the hidden lever in the decorative column on the corner of the next alley. The lever, barely an inch long, creaked with age as it finally moved.

  Next to the column, a portion of the street dropped open. Malic leapt down into the hole. Then, when the stone did not move back into place as it was supposed to, he struggled to close the hole again. Zorun Tzin’s body made the task more difficult, the mage obviously not as concerned with physical superiority as the high priest had been.

  Once Malic had finally sealed the hole again, he climbed down a cracked and ancient set of stone steps into a blackened chamber in which the rush of water could be heard. The small globe of light Malic summoned revealed dark, turbulent waters pouring through a canal as wide as the streets above. The depths of the canal could not be made out, but he knew that a man could disappear below with ease.

  Aware that the hunt continued above, Malic scurried along the edge of the canal deeper and deeper into the maze of tunnels. The system ran underneath all of Kehjan but rarely was visited by those above, unless some terrible blockage occurred and water levels rose to threaten the streets. The mage clans would also be loath at first to search for him down here, for different and more deadly reasons.

  And it was for one of those reasons that the spirit had ventured into this hellish place.

  Rats, serpents, and other vermin fled from the unaccustomed light. Some of the creatures lacked any eyes, generations of breeding in darkness making such features useless.

  Something bobbed in the water not far from Malic. He paused to inspect its familiar shape.

  The body had been down here for some wee
ks. Much of the flesh had been nibbled away, but enough remained to keep part of the corpse intact. It had been a man of middle age and, from the looks of his garments, fairly prosperous. A robbery victim, no doubt. There were few who would venture down here, but bandits were among that lot.

  In fact, ahead he heard a pair of voices in argument. They spoke with the accents of the low caste, and their argument appeared to concern the division of spoils, in this case a ring and a jeweled broach.

  “The ring I’ll take,” declared one. “I cut it off his finger, so’s it’s mine!”

  “Never so! The broach, it’ll be harder to sell! You take it. You said he’d have gold! If’n I can’t have gold, I deserve the ring.”

  Around the corner, an old brass lamp on the ledge illuminated a pair of scruffy figures in beggar’s rags. They paused in mid-argument when Malic, his glow light dismissed, appeared.

  “Who’s this?” growled the one who had cut off the finger of their absent victim. He was short and wiry and, other than some missing teeth and a few scars, looked in relatively good shape.

  His partner, on the other hand, while taller and fuller, clearly suffered the first stages of some disease that would eventually eat away his flesh.

  “I want his sandals,” snarled the second, indicating Malic.

  The high priest did nothing until they were nearly upon him. Then, with one hand, he slammed his stiff fingers into the throat of the larger bandit, while with the other, he seized the wiry one by the chest.

  The taller thief fell back against the mossy wall, clutching his ruined windpipe. His partner stood frozen, caught by Malic’s magic.

  The spirit reached into a pouch and removed the bit of crystal. He thrust it into one open hand of the thief, then closed the fingers. Malic then thrust his will into the man before him—

  And suddenly, he stared out of different eyes at the slack-faced figure of Zorun Tzin.

  The mage slumped into his arms. Malic let Zorun fall from him into the dark water. The dull splash echoed through the ancient tunnels.