Scales of the Serpent

by Richard A. Knaak

  Yes, he could sense the dark presence gathering strength. It was in conflict, on the one side not desiring to be stirred up, on the other eager to see if somehow this could be used to its advantage.

  Mendeln gripped the dagger tighter, aware that he could not let the latter happen. The dragon had warned him of the potential repercussions should that terrible thing come to pass.

  And then…a black form arose above the spot, a sinister form quickly swelling to the height of a tall man. Still muttering, Mendeln cautiously stepped back. So long as the patterns he had drawn remained whole, the spirit could not escape them without his assistance.

  The shadow solidified, taking on the vague appearance of a particular figure. Tall, pale, and bearded.

  The high priest of the order of Mefis—or Mephisto—Malic himself.

  Grimly satisfied, Uldyssian’s brother met the dire spirit’s unblinking gaze. Malic recognized him; that much was immediately clear. Mendeln could sense the smoldering hatred behind the emotionless face and saw the shadow of a hand—an inhuman hand—briefly emerge from the misty, translucent robes.

  Whether or not the ghost could strip Mendeln’s flesh from his bones—as Malic had done to Master Ethon when alive—the son of Diomedes did not know. He did not intend to give the specter the chance to test that.

  “You know who I am, priest,” Mendeln muttered. “You know that you are not permitted to act or speak in any manner without my permission or guidance. Nod your understanding.”

  Malic slowly did, his eyes never leaving his summoner’s.

  Satisfied thus far, Mendeln turned to the purpose of his having called up this ghoulish figure. “Malic…your master is no more…”

  For the first time, he registered a brief reaction. The spirit flickered out of and back into existence with a swiftness that the untrained eye would not have noticed. There was also a momentary shift of the dead eyes.

  “Yes, priest, Lucion is dead.” Not exactly true. Uldyssian had caused the demon to cease to exist. According to Rathma, there was something different about such a fate, although Mendeln did not yet understand the vagaries of such things. “And do you know who now sits in his place? Do you know?”

  The ghost was utterly motionless. Mendeln frowned, having expected much more from Malic. Trag’Oul had warned him that those existing in the “afterdeath” state were not necessarily averse to attempting to cross back over or seek vengeance on those whom they hated. Malic knew him, knew that he was Uldyssian’s brother.

  The sooner Mendeln was able to judge if Malic could be of use, the better. “It is Lilith, his sister,” he informed the specter. “You may recall her in another guise, priest, that of the lady Lylia.”

  This time, the ghostly figure wavered and his eyes widened beyond human ability. His mouth opened…and continued to open, stretching more than a foot down. Mention of Lilith, especially her mortal guise, had finally done the trick. After all, it was she who had actually slain the priest.

  Mendeln was astonished by the ghost’s continued violent reshaping. He had been forewarned by his mentors that spirits were not bound by their mortal states, that they could appear in a variety of twisted forms attesting to their deaths, their anger, or their intentions—

  Intentions…

  Mendeln spun around, already mouthing new words, those given to him as a quick defense against the unthinkable. At the same time, he thrust the dagger as far ahead of him as he could, drawing sharp slashes in the air.

  With a frustrated hiss, the shadow of a morlu collapsed to dust. A second of the creatures, made the more macabre by this fiendish reconstruction of burnt ash and dirt, nearly had its fleshless hands upon him. Mendeln turned the dagger around for use as a weapon and touched the chest of the undead.

  The second morlu also collapsed back into dust.

  But the third struck him hard on the shoulder with a piece of rotting timber. Mendeln grunted and fell back out of reach. The morlu stumbled forward, bits of it flaking off as it moved.

  These were not truly the monstrous warriors who had accompanied the high priest, for Mendeln himself had made certain that the creatures could never be raised to fight again. No, what stood before him were constructs animated by Malic’s evil. Still, even if only that, this morlu had the brute force not only with which to slay Uldyssian’s brother, but then assist its creator in enabling the ghost to free himself.

  And if that happened, Partha would be only the first of many places to suffer horribly…

  The morlu swung, but his aim was erratic. Mendeln leapt to the side, easily evading it. If that was the best the beast could do—

  Then, Mendeln recalled just where Malic’s ghost stood in relation to him. As the morlu attacked again, the son of Diomedes threw himself in an entirely different direction. It meant landing hard on congealing trash, but that was a small price to pay to keep the priest’s plan from succeeding.

  Indeed, Malic had come within inches of freeing his spirit. Had Mendeln been herded just a little more in the previous direction, then his boot would have scraped away a part of the patterns securing the specter.

  The morlu loomed over his intended victim, but now Mendeln had his bearings. He held fast the dagger point down and cried the words of banishment that the dragon had taught him.

  The last of Malic’s puppets crumbled. The timber clattered next to Mendeln’s head.

  Rising, Mendeln turned back to face the high priest. “No more of such tricks!” he commanded. “Raise up another and I will cast you to a place that will make your violent death seem so pleasant by comparison!”

  It was an exaggeration, Mendeln not having learned how to do any such thing, but if worst came to worst, he could at least dismiss the shade.

  Malic, his appearance once more “normal,” wavered. At last, the ghost dipped his head once. Mendeln silently cursed himself for having fallen for the priest’s diabolical distraction. While Rathma and Trag’Oul had warned him that a powerful priest such as Malic might be able to circumvent the rules of the summoning, Mendeln doubted that even they had expected such a startling maneuver. Great had been the power granted Mephisto’s high priest, even in death.

  But Mendeln would have no repeat of that. As the ghost hovered, Uldyssian’s brother bent low and made corrections to the patterns. He then repeated other words given to him by Trag’Oul and—on a hunch—altered some others to further add to what he believed a better spell.

  Rising, Mendeln addressed the spirit again. “Malic, you heard what I said. She who slew you is not masquerading as the Primus. You are eager for revenge; why not toward her?”

  It was no difficult matter to feel the priest’s abrupt interest. Mendeln decided that it was time to permit the ghost to speak.

  “Well?” he asked of Malic.

  The high priest’s voice came out as a vicious rasp that made Achilios’s so much more alive by comparison. “Brother…of Uldyssian ul-Diomed…what will you…have of me?”

  “Knowledge of the temple near the capital. Its dangers and hidden secrets. Those things that Lucion made that Lilith now controls…”

  The ghost laughed, a jarring cough with no humor in it. “Brother of Uldyssian ul-Diomed…you ask more than…can be told…” The translucent figure gave a smile. “…but it can be shown…”

  This was not part of what the dragon and Rathma had discussed with Mendeln. There had been no explanation of what to do if Malic sought to accompany his summoner. Still…now that he had the specter under control, Mendeln saw the value in having the priest for constant questioning.

  The only trouble was…how to accomplish this. He did not want to go back and ask the others. Mendeln considered for a moment, then turned the dagger to where the pyre had burned strongest. He focused on what it was he desired, willing the dagger to draw it to him.

  The blackened ground underneath Malic’s vague form shook as if the body of the priest himself were about to rise up from the ashes like the morlu. Instead, though, what at last erupted
to the surface was a small, white fragment like a pebble. It paused once it was free of the soil, then rolled directly to Mendeln’s waiting hand.

  He straightened, studying the object. The largest bone fragment remaining of the high priest.

  Mendeln touched the blade’s tip to the bone. He then muttered a binding spell akin to what he had utilized to keep Malic sealed within the patterns. The words used were again Mendeln’s own combinations, but something just felt right about them.

  He prayed that he had not made a fatal mistake.

  Clutching the fragment, Uldyssian’s brother studied the patterns on the ground. Then, with one quick sweep of his foot, he destroyed them.

  The ghost let out a sigh. He lost all form. Now no more than mist, Malic suddenly swirled into the bone fragment. Once he was within, the fragment flared bright once, then returned to its normal state.

  Mendeln carefully checked to make certain that Malic had done nothing sinister. Detecting no fault in his spellwork, he finally exhaled in relief.

  But before he could actually relax, from the direction of the town there came excited cries. Whether or not they concerned Mendeln, he did not wish to discover. His task here was at an end. As Trag’Oul had previously instructed, Mendeln used the dagger to draw a circle in the air, then two small symbols within.

  Yes, I sense you…came the dragon’s voice.

  The next moment, Mendeln stood in the familiar darkness. He was surprised to not see Rathma.

  “I’ve done all you asked,” he told the stars.

  They changed position briefly, then, as ever, became the half-seen leviathan. Yes…all that was asked…and much that was not expected…

  “What do you mean?” Mendeln could think of only one thing. He produced the bone fragment. “I know that you only sought information from the priest’s shade, but I realized that questioning him would take too long and there might be other points that would come up later, when it was too late. I judged that the best course was to risk taking him with me. Was I wrong to think so?”

  Whether you are wrong, the Balance shall show, responded Trag’Oul calmly. But how you managed the feat is what most interests me…

  “I merely followed the teaching of both you and Rathma and adjusted as I believed would work. Thankfully, I was not wrong.” Mendeln frowned. “Did I do wrong?”

  Rather, it should be said that you did the impossible…but then, the brothers ul-Diomed have been revising the meaning of that word over and over…

  Mendeln did not understand. All he had done was attempt to follow through a logical procession. Why would Trag’Oul, to whom so much was possible, say otherwise?

  Nevertheless, the dragon went on. You offer new hopes and potential with this direction you have taken. I have observed the binding on the stone; I cannot foresee the priest’s ghost freeing himself.

  “I am glad to hear that—”

  But do not mistake his alliance for obedience. The shade will seek to undermine, if he can, for his own ends…

  There was no opportunity for Mendeln to reply, for Rathma materialized next to him, the demoness’s son fighting to keep his normally disinterested expression intact. Mendeln had become experienced enough reading the ancient spellcaster to know that what news he brought was not good.

  “He is nowhere to be found,” Rathma reported, more to Trag’Oul than to Mendeln.

  You have gazed upon all planes?

  “Naturally. I have also summoned him in a hundred manners, some of which put me at risk. It was necessary to do so, though the results were not as I wished.”

  The dragon was oddly silent for a time. Then, You realize, my friend, that there are few other paths…

  Rathma nodded. “Yes, the most preferable one is that somehow he has passed on to that place from which even you could not summon him back. Certainly, it would be his reward for what he had so far done.”

  His reward…yes…that would be the best hope…

  “But you find that as unlikely as I do.”

  Mendeln had listened to their back-and-forth long enough. “Who? Is my brother in danger? Is that of whom you speak?”

  Rathma’s aspect grew as grim as Mendeln had ever seen it. “No. It is your friend, Achilios. I can find no trace of him. None.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Possible…barely. Potentially devastating, definitely.”

  “Does Lilith have him?” Mendeln’s mind raced as he attempted unsuccessfully to determine just what the demoness would do with the archer.

  “If that were so, I would be much relieved,” her son replied frankly. “No, Mendeln, I fear someone else has him and it may be my father.”

  “Inarius?” But the moment after he spouted the angel’s name, Mendeln recalled the odd inflection in Rathma’s voice when uttering one word. “But wait! What did you mean by ’may’?”

  There was silence, made the more ominous by the stirring of the stars above them. Whatever Rathma had hinted at, Trag’Oul understood exactly and did not like.

  And if it so disturbed even the timeless entity, it meant ill for not only Uldyssian, but likely all of Sanctuary.

  “I mean…” Rathma began slowly, looking very weary. “I have charted path after path concerning my father and cannot fathom any reason that he would take your Achilios so blatantly. His presence would explain one short period of mystery, but certainly not this. This is not how Inarius works…”

  Even though Trag’Oul was stable, he yet radiated his concern, too. No…it is not…

  “And if that is the case, it may be that we are all already doomed.” The son of Lilith declared the end of Sanctuary with barely any inflection. “For if it is not Inarius who has taken Achilios…then I fear that it was another angel…”

  “Another angel? Surely, a demon instead!”

  “No. That I have made certain of. No denizen of the Burning Hells could have taken him without leaving their foul touch behind. Only with my father have I seen such absence of signs.”

  The stars that were Trag’Oul grew more and more agitated, as did Mendeln. They all knew what it meant if another angel was present.

  The High Heavens had discovered Sanctuary.

  The end of the world was imminent.

  Nineteen

  There was no word from Mendeln and certainly none from Achilios. Uldyssian feared for both of them, but could not let their absences hinder him any longer.

  The edyrem marched. Marched in the direction of Istani. The closer they got to the smaller city, the more Uldyssian took precautions, especially when it came to scouting. Not only did he stretch his abilities to their utmost, but for the first time he dared send out others even farther beyond. They, in turn, maintained contact with him and those nearest, creating a sweeping field that, besides its main function, Uldyssian also hoped would keep any of those who had volunteered from suddenly vanishing or being attacked.

  With barely a day more to Istani, Uldyssian remained tense. The supreme temple lay not all that much farther away; he had no doubt that they were already preparing for his coming. The sooner the edyrem finished with Istani, the better.

  Serenthia joined him at the lead. “Should we even stop? I know that you’ve gone back and forth about it since we began moving again, but the main temple is so close…”

  “I know. I’ve been considering something.” Uldyssian finally summoned Rashim to him. “I’ve a mission for you, if you will accept it.”

  “Of course, master!” the Hashiri eagerly replied.

  Wincing at the man’s willingness to take on what might be a deadly task, Uldyssian explained, “I want you to find four others and race as quickly as you can toward Kalinash.”

  This startled both Rashim and Serenthia. “Kalinash, master?” the Hashiri repeated. “Surely Istani?”

  “No. Kalinash. Ride for a full day and keep seeking with your mind as I’ve shown. I want to know if there’s any movement at all from that direction.”

  Understanding now came to th
e others. “Aaah, yes, master,” Rashim replied. “I will pick the others and be gone as quickly as the wind!”

  “Rashim…always take care. Return as soon as you can. Don’t go any farther.”

  “I will obey, master.”

  Serenthia nodded in approval. “You fear a trap.”

  “They know that we’re coming. There could already be an army or worse heading toward us from the south. Why else wait until we’re pounding at the gates?”

  She mulled this over for a moment, then answered, “Because they have something even more terrible awaiting us there?”

  “That may very well be the case,” Uldyssian agreed, “but I can’t take the chance that we’re being outflanked.”

  “No…you’re right. Rashim is good; if there’s anyone coming, he’ll definitely alert us, Uldyssian.”

  “That’s what I hope.”

  True to his word, Rashim and his chosen set off but minutes later. Uldyssian had not allowed the rest of his followers to even slow during that time. The mass of bodies was so great that they stretched for a mile in the jungle and for the first time, Uldyssian formally thought of them as an army, too. The term had drifted into and out of his mind over the course of events, but with the confrontation with the Triune close at hand, he decided that he had to treat them as such. Discipline had to be at its utmost; otherwise, even with the advances made lately by many—including the newest converts—the edyrem’s combined powers might not yet be enough to defeat Lilith and her pawns.

  Not that Uldyssian was all that certain that victory was assured even if they were.

  The day wore on. He sensed Rashim now and then, a simple touch from the Hashiri’s mind enough to let Uldyssian know that all was well with the scouting party and that nothing had so far been detected. It was very possible that Kalinash was entirely ignorant of events. Uldyssian certainly hoped so.

  When evening came and the edyrem halted, he summoned Saron, Timeon, Jonas, and all the others who had some sort of commanding role and reemphasized the importance of coordinating every aspect of their journey from this point on. For the first time, the children and weaker among them were slowly being ushered to the rear, where a select group of the stronger would assist in protecting them. The rest of the edyrem were divided under Uldyssian’s most trusted.