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

by Richard A. Knaak

  He went several yards farther away from both the village and the encampment, then pressed himself against a wide tree. Clutching the dagger against his breast, he started molding a spell to his specifications. Despite his care for Achilios, Mendeln forced himself to see the hunter as what he was: a walking corpse. There were spells that could animate such; Mendeln had used them against Inarius’s innocent dupes. To stop animating those, he had merely ceased his incantation. For a thing like Achilios, though, Uldyssian’s brother hoped that by actually reversing the animation spell, he would send the archer back to the afterdeath.

  In theory, it should work. In reality…

  He sensed rather than heard Achilios approach. Mendeln was struck by the utter silence with which his friend moved. Even as good as he had been in life, surely then Achilios had made some slight noise, especially the intake of breath.

  Mendeln finished assembling his spell. He would have one chance, and one chance only, to use it. It would require him stepping out to face the hunter, but Mendeln was willing to chance that. This had to end. Achilios had twice missed slaying his targets, but it was doubtful that he would keep missing. His master would not permit that.

  For Serenthia and Uldyssian—assuming that his brother still lived—to survive, Achilios had to die…again.

  I raised you from the ground, and to the ground I will send you again…and may you forgive me for both!

  There was something to his right. He noticed only now that none of the ghosts was nearby to help warn him. Achilios’s master wanted no failure this time.

  A shadow broke from the darkness.

  Mendeln stepped away from the tree, thrusting the downturned dagger toward that shadow. In its pale light, he saw Achilios’s grit-covered face. The archer’s expression was passive…lifeless.

  And much to Mendeln’s dismay, Achilios had just finished firing at him.

  Mendeln knew he was dead. This close, even a fair archer could not fail to hit him directly in the heart. Despite that, the black-clad figure tried to call out what he could of his spell. It was for his brother’s and Serenthia’s sake, for it was already too late for him.

  The bolt cut past his throat, scarring the neck and continuing on. Mendeln faltered in mid-word as he grasped at the stinging but shallow wound.

  Behind him, the arrow hit the tree he had just abandoned.

  Achilios lowered his bow. “You should be…slain…you know that.”

  His declaration caused Mendeln to hesitate. What the hunter said was true. Uldyssian’s insistence that Achilios had meant to miss came back to the younger brother. Mendeln had wanted to believe then, but the near killing of Serenthia, with its more questionable intentions, had made him think twice. And when Achilios had come for him, then surely it meant that there would be no third reprieve.

  Yet there had been, and Achilios himself was able to point that out.

  “I find it hard to believe,” he dared at last reply, “that you would spend so much time not quite slaying your targets.”

  This earned him a dry chuckle from the undead figure. “It was by sheer will…and not a little…luck the first time. Even more so…with…with her.” If the blond archer could have shed a tear when speaking of Serenthia, he surely would have now. “And you…you only required three…three shots because you’re…so damned obstinate, Mendeln.”

  “What do you mean?” It was proving harder and harder for Mendeln to bring himself to start over his dark spell. If not for the raspy voice, the hints of dirt that he could see on the face, and the knowledge that under the collar that covered Achilios’s throat was a gaping hole, the son of Diomedes would have felt as if he and the archer were just having one of the many talks they had had as youths.

  “I came…to talk. You made that…very difficult. I finally fired…fired the one shot…to show you that if I wanted…to kill you…I could. You didn’t pay it…any…mind at all.”

  “There were circumstances, as you might recall. The last two times you appeared, you tried to put arrows into Uldyssian and her. I remained unconvinced that anything had changed.”

  The archer shook his head, unveiling part of his gaping throat wound in the process. “And so…I fired a second…a second time…to prove again…that…I could’ve killed you…or at least wounded…wounded you…if I’d wanted to.”

  Mendeln lowered the dagger. “Not yet convincing enough, I would have to say.”

  “No…apparently not.” Achilios’s expression suddenly tightened. “You…you tried to…to bury me…Mendeln. There was…was a moment then…that I wanted to…kill you.”

  The dagger came back up. “And now?”

  “It was…it was only…for a moment…and I still…I still wouldn’t have…done it.”

  There was something so believable in his voice that Mendeln finally put away the dagger. “Did you escape? Is that why you are back now?”

  “No…I didn’t…escape. He…he changed his…mind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was…I was to kill you all…especially Uldyssian and…and Serenthia…because of what…what you were becoming.”

  This was already obvious to Mendeln. “And so?”

  “Now…now he wishes…wishes otherwise.”

  “Wishes otherwise? I am not certain that fills me with trust! And who is he, exactly, Achilios? Other than an angel, I mean!”

  “Someone who might be…our only hope…against Inarius,” the undead archer replied. His gaze suddenly shifted past Mendeln, who felt the hair on his neck rise. “The only hope.”

  IF IT IS STILL POSSIBLE…came a voice that sounded too much like that of Inarius. FOR IT SEEMS THAT ONE OF THE THREE HAS NOW ENTERED THIS WORLD.

  Spinning around, Mendeln faced the angel. It was not Inarius, of that he was somehow certain. There was so much that reminded him exactly of Rathma’s father, yet he knew somehow that this was not him.

  But more important was what the celestial being had just said. “One of the Three?” Uldyssian’s brother blurted. His mind raced. The only “Three” that he could think of were the patron spirits of the Triune, spirits who were, in fact, actually—“No!” Mendeln vehemently shook his head. “You cannot mean—”

  The faceless figure gave an almost imperceptible nod. YES, ONE OF THE DEMON LORDS HAS COME TO SANCTUARY.

  This was not how it was supposed to be. From time immemorial, all had proceeded as Inarius intended. Whenever some slight trouble had reared its head, the angel had attended to it with a draconian efficiency that would have left even his brethren reeling. He had learned from that one foolish error, learned from falling prey to his lover’s false words. Since that distasteful event, Inarius had never let anything go beyond his immediate control.

  Until now.

  The angel, still in the guise of the Prophet, stalked his sanctum as his emotions grew unchecked. Uncertainties that he had not experienced in centuries seized hold of him.

  Oris had come in search of her counterpart, who she did not know was no longer even dust on the floor. Inarius had granted her no more than a minute with him but had paid her words little attention during that period. His blunt comment that Gamuel was to be forgotten left her pale, but he did not care. Human concerns were trivial compared with his own.

  The night had grown old by this point, and although he was eternal, the passing of the last few hours only served to make the Prophet more anxious. In the past, there had never been a situation that had required more than a few moments’ consideration on his part. Now his mind could not function, save to repeat over and over his recent failures.

  THERE HAS BEEN A MISTAKE! he insisted to himself. THERE HAS BEEN A MISTAKE! A FAULT NOT MINE!

  The mortal Uldyssian had dealt with the Triune, just as Inarius had wanted. The next step should have been the simple downfall of the angel’s pawn. Inarius’s agents had turned so many people against the edyrem that in the end, the abominations would surely fall.

  But Uldyssian himself could not be st
opped…and he was coming for Inarius…coming for him…

  Glancing up at the glorious panorama that sought, in a feeble manner, to describe the perfection of the High Heavens, the angel started. He could have sworn that one of the figures had moved. Inarius stepped back, studying the painted form.

  No, it could not have moved. It had only been his own imagination—

  The face of the Prophet twisted in fury. His fears melted away at the same time, melted away with little difficulty, for they were not exactly his own.

  “I know you now,” he declared to the empty chamber in his human voice. “Your little games will not work on me, demon! You forget with whom you deal!”

  I deal with a traitor, a liar, and a murderer, said a voice that, despite Inarius’s claim, sent a slight chill through him. It’s almost like dealing with one of my brothers.

  “Insolent as ever.” Inarius sought out the darkest shadow and faced it. “So very insolent.”

  The shadow moved. Within it, a figure vaguely coalesced.

  Inarius showed no sign of anxiety when that figure became another winged warrior he knew so well. “You are not Tyrael, and I am not afraid of him.”

  Are you not? Then why do I resemble him?

  “Because you are a fool, demon.”

  This brought a chuckle. Then, as the other “angel” moved forward, he shifted form again. Now he was a human, but not just any. He was Uldyssian ul-Diomed.

  The Prophet bared his teeth. “Again, you are a fool. You have some reason for approaching me. Do so without the theatrics!”

  The shadow in the corner suddenly spread forth, all but enveloping the false Uldyssian. As it did, his form distorted. The demon grew less distinct and certainly far less human. He became as much imagination as substance, and as he did, Inarius again felt unsettled, though he dared not show it.

  The shadows now encompassed most of the chamber in the direction where the dark being stood. The angel was aware that beyond his sanctum, his followers were suddenly experiencing fears that they did not even know they had. The guards at his doors would be trembling, and there was even a good chance that some had fled their positions. More than a few of his priests would likely be on their knees already, praying that the darkness touching their souls would soon leave them.

  They did not know how fortunate they were, for the demon who visited Inarius could have done much worse. It was only that he, like the angel, dared not fully reveal himself.

  There were those even the Lord of Terror feared.

  The thing in the shadows towered over Inarius. At times, the demon had a shape that was reminiscent of a twisted mix of man and animal. Yet it was the face that most stirred the fears within, for it kept shifting. Inarius saw a skull with horns. Out of the eyes and jaws oozed blood. That horrific countenance became a melting head whose flesh was being constantly devoured by black flies and great worms. A more reptilian face then appeared, feminine and much like that of another demon Inarius had known.

  But even Lilith’s visage vanished a moment later, to be replaced again by that of the other angel. As the Prophet frowned, the demon laughed and changed again. Now empty shadow greeted Inarius, and for inexplicable reasons, this disturbed him more than any of his visitor’s other forms.

  Is this better, oh Prophet?

  Ignoring the mockery, Inarius quietly replied, “When previously we faced each other, Lord Diablo, it was agreed that it would be the last time.”

  There are always more last times, Inarius. Although not so many as there used to be.

  “And is that the reason for your coming?”

  The demon’s shape continually shifted in small ways, as if Diablo had no true form of his own. Each alteration, no matter how small, touched some chord with Inarius, although he ever kept his emotions masked. Diablo fed off the slightest fear.

  My reason for coming is simple. His name is Uldyssian.

  “Ah, of course. You and your brothers spent so much effort creating the Triune! I did warn you that it would fall.”

  Through no effort of yours.

  Now it was the angel’s turn to mock. “Are you so certain? You would do better to take a closer look.”

  He sensed the demon’s fury and felt a wave of fear seek to take hold of him. Aware now, though, that it was Diablo’s effort, Inarius shielded himself against the dark lord’s power. The effort proved quite a strain, but Inarius succeeded.

  Yet had both he and Diablo been human, their hesitation during the moment that followed might have been seen as two exhausted adversaries needing to draw a breath and recover.

  Inarius was aware how powerful the demon lord was and knew that part of his own success came from Diablo’s need to shield himself from other eyes. That, at last, revealed to the angel just why he had been visited so suddenly.

  “So…that is it,” the Prophet murmured, more confident now. “You are afraid of losing everything. The Lord of Terror is afraid.”

  I fear nothing! the emptiness that Diablo currently used as his face retorted. No more than you, that is!

  “All goes as I desire—”

  Taloned paws scraping across the immaculate marble, the demon moved closer, the vast shadow swelling with him in the process. Somehow, even lacking eyes, he managed to stare into Inarius’s mind. I tasted your fear, angel. There would have been nothing for me to devour if what you say is true. This mortal, this Uldyssian, he has become more than any of us would imagine. He risks all that either of us desires of Sanctuary!

  Inarius could not prevent a frown. “Two different desires, I might point out.”

  But with one overriding link. Diablo leaned close. There was a hint of that other angel’s countenance before the emptiness returned. Neither of the destinies we fight for will happen if this mortal continues along his path.

  The Prophet turned away from his unwanted guest, but not because of fear of Diablo. Rather, he saw too well the demon lord’s point and could not help but consider it.

  As often as Inarius had threatened to wipe clean Sanctuary and begin anew, in truth, he did not wish to go to such an extreme. He had molded the world to his liking for far too long. He had grown too…comfortable.

  The demons, of course, sought Sanctuary and, especially, its humans, for another, more base reason. They saw in humans the warriors that they needed to tilt the struggle in their favor.

  And as Diablo had said, if Uldyssian managed to keep raising his people beyond what even Inarius had imagined their limits, then very soon neither he nor the demons would have say over man.

  THAT CAN NEVER BE! Inarius thought angrily. He turned back to the demon, who had stayed silent during his considerations. “You are offering an alliance.”

  The Lord of Terror laughed harshly. You make it sound as if such a thing were unthinkable, angel! I recall that you have made pacts with my kind more than once.

  Inarius could certainly not argue with him there. As in those other times, though, he intended that the advantage would be his. He had learned from his one mistake, learned from Lilith.

  And against the cunning of Lilith, even Diablo paled. A pact could be manipulated. Diablo would certainly try it.

  With practiced ease, the Prophet went to his favorite couch and settled there, as if the figure before him were a supplicant, not a master demon. He sensed Diablo’s anger at this insult but knew that the Lord of Terror needed his resources, his Cathedral of Light, for whatever he planned.

  Still, Inarius was curious about what Diablo had to offer this alliance. “I will listen.”

  Clearly restraining his powers, the monstrous being explained, Through a minion of mine, I have learned of one who would be eager to help us. Indeed, he is near and already eager for Uldyssian’s blood…or body, that is.

  “Body?”

  Yes…and for it as his reward, he will be the key to eliminating the threat this mortal makes.

  “Of what use is another demon?”

  Diablo grunted at what apparently was Inarius’s ig
norance. He is not demon, though his mind is worthy of one. He is a man…or, rather, was. Alone, he will fail, but with both of us to guide him, he cannot but succeed.

  “A mortal against another mortal?” It made an ironic sense to Inarius, and if a mortal was Diablo’s pawn, he would be that much easier for the angel to manipulate later. “And who is this man who no longer is?”

  You knew him well…so very…when he was the high priest of Mefis.

  Mefis. Mephisto. Yes, Inarius knew very well of whom the demon lord spoke. “Malic?” The Prophet allowed a slight smile to grace his mortal countenance. “Malic.”

  Yes. Diablo allowed a face of his own—a less disturbing one, of course—to shift into focus…and with the angel shared another smile.

  Eleven

  Mendeln was hiding something, that much Rathma sensed. As he materialized among the marching edyrem—startling not a few—he felt a part of his pupil’s mind hidden from him.

  Immediately, he reached out to Trag’Oul to inform the dragon of this.

  I know it already, the creature replied. And whatever method with which he shields it is immune to even my inquiries.

  But that’s not possible! Rathma knew of no manner by which the mortal, even as gifted as he was, could achieve such a feat.

  No, it is not, agreed the dragon. For him.

  Rathma also noted that Mendeln was doing his best to ignore him. This infuriated the Ancient more than he could believe.

  “Mendeln ul-Diomed, we need to talk.”

  Uldyssian’s brother glanced back. “We are nearly at the gates of Kehjan. It’ll have to wait. I am trying to figure out how to avoid a war.”

  “Any blood spilt between the edyrem and the mage clans is insignificant against the true danger.”

  “Not if some of that blood belongs to Uldyssian!” Mendeln snapped with unusual vehemence.