Scales of the Serpent

10

Not again! Not again!

Those two words repeated themselves over and over in Uldyssian’s head. First Achilios, then Mendeln, and now, Serenthia. One by one, those nearest to him had been lost. It in no way eased his pain that he now suspected what had happened to his brother. Surely the morlu, using some spell, had materialized around Mendeln and stolen him away just as they had done to Serenthia.

But what had happened did not matter. Only somehow trying to save Serenthia. The temple had plotted well; most did not even notice that she was missing. The edyrem were all too busy trying to maintain some order without using their powers…a command given to them by Uldyssian. Even they would not have noticed anything amiss around Serenthia.

But now, alerted silently by Uldyssian, they straightened in disbelief. Eyes turned to where the ravenhaired woman had stood.

And to Uldyssian’s astonishment, Serenthia and her kidnappers reappeared.

She stood as if some mystical spirit summoned to the mortal plane. Around her there once again glowed the aura. Her hair flew about, as if caught up in a storm. A grim smile crossed her face.

The glow about her shot without warning toward the figures holding her hands. Hissing escaped both the young girl and the elderly male, an inhuman hissing. In the blink of an eye, their skin burned away and as it did, both their shapes and height severely altered…until the two morlu stood revealed before the masses.

“Behold the true face of the servants of the Triune!” Serenthia shouted. “Behold the evil hidden from you all these years!”

The morlu that had been a child shifted one hand behind it, the bestial warrior’s reflexes like lightning. The hand came forward again, in it a curved blade as long as Uldyssian’s forearm.

But Serenthia merely eyed the hideous creature as he attacked. The blade dissipated to ash as it reached her chest, leaving the dust to blow back in the startled morlu’s black eye sockets.

Serenthia let go of the undead warrior…who suddenly flung up and over the crowd as if a leaf caught in a tremendous gust. He rose higher and higher, finally crashing into the roof of a building some distance away.

While this had gone on, the second morlu had remained oddly still. The reason for that Uldyssian knew was again Serenthia. Her aura continued to surround the hapless fiend, who could do nothing as she pulled free his own weapon—and then, with one smooth strike, beheaded him.

As the corpse toppled, she looked to Uldyssian. “The Triune has declared itself! They leave no choice! We must move against them immediately!”

He felt her determination mingle with his own. Well aware of the things that the priests might have had in mind for Serenthia, Uldyssian’s anger grew by the second. Still, he swore that he would keep control. Uldyssian wanted no repeat of what had just happened.

“People of Hashir!” he shouted. “This is the truth of the temple! This is—”

His head suddenly filled with what he quickly realized was sinister whispering. At the same time, Uldyssian felt a pressure in his skull, as if something sought to squeeze it to pieces. There came unbidden the brief image of a gaunt, bearded man who, despite his elderly appearance, radiated a darkness akin to that of the late, unlamented Malic and was surely another high priest of the Triune.

Summoning his strength, Uldyssian managed to force the pressure away. Far in the temple, Uldyssian sensed the high priest’s consternation.

Serenthia was suddenly at his side. She placed a hand against the back of his head, cradling it. “Uldyssian, my love! What are they doing to you?”

He could not speak, for just then a violent pain coursed through him, so sharp that his heart nearly ceased beating. Vaguely, he registered that Serenthia was still calling to him. Farther away, there were concerned shouts from others.

Shouts…and then screams. Despite his own dilemma, Uldyssian yet managed to sense that there were more morlu in the immediate vicinity. He tried to rise, but the pain was too intense. Uldyssian managed at least to look up at Serenthia—only her face looked distorted, out of sync.

His ears filled with more shouts, more screams. At some point, the sky had turned red. Uldyssian could make no sense of it—

Then, Serenthia cried out as something dark briefly covered her gaze. She fell back from Uldyssian, who would have tumbled to the stone street if not for another pair of hands seizing him tight.

“I have you,” promised a voice in his ear.

Mendeln’s voice.

Before he could react, the world spun around. The cries and other sounds receded, as if Uldyssian now heard them from the end of a vast tunnel.

At the very last, he heard Serenthia call his name—and then darkness swallowed him.

Darkness and stars. Arihan had absolutely no idea what had gone wrong. Everything had been in place and all the servants had known their roles.

Capture the woman, the Primus had commanded. Capture her and you place a yoke around the male. Arihan had immediately seen the wisdom of that. One glance through a scrying globe had been enough to reveal just how much the fool cared for his companion. To keep her from harm he would give his soul…exactly what the Triune desired.

But all accounts had indicated the woman far weaker than she had just revealed. In Hashir, she had displayed abilities that even Uldyssian ul-Diomed had not. Arihan would have sworn that she was actually even more powerful than the man the sect had been battling. Two morlu had not been enough, even cloaked as they had been by a spell given to him by the Primus.

Through the scrying globe, the priests from Hashir’s temple were frantically asking what was going on. They had no idea yet that the plan had turned into an utter disaster for them. The morlu were evidence enough that the Triune had a darker side than it exhibited and with passions as they were at the moment, Arihan foresaw a violent rush upon the temple that would only end with a bloodbath.

A painful noise in his head finally made the high priest return to the globe. A harsh exhalation escaped Arihan when he saw what those in charge of Hashir had now wrought. Some fool had decided that, since he had not reacted to the unfortunate turn of events, then they had better do something themselves.

And so the cretins had sent out the rest of their morlu after the peasant and his followers, not thinking how the Hashiri would react to this further revelation of the Triune’s true calling.

They are deserving of their fate, the imbeciles! Ignoring any further contact with the priests, Arihan instead surveyed the damage their attempt was causing. Twenty morlu had materialized as if out of thin air among the populace, accompanied by twice that many Peace Warders. However, given orders by those without any good sense, the warriors of the temple were not simply seeking Uldyssian ul-Diomed and his core followers, but anyone near them.

The high priest frowned, noting a sudden absence of one particular subject. Where was the peasant leader? Where was Uldyssian?

Arihan could certainly see where the woman was. She stood at the center of things, reveling in the carnage and looking as if an angel reborn. A blazing aura continued to surround her and seemed to spread to other followers even as he watched. They began to beat the morlu and Peace Warders down.

Hashir is lost! Lost! The bumbling fools had done it, not Arihan. He had followed the plan to the letter, the perfect plan of his master.

Now…if only the Primus would see it that way…

No sooner had he thought that than Arihan tried to smother the thought.

Too late.

My Arihan…I would see you before me…

The high priest of Dialon stifled a shiver. He had served the Primus well these many years. There might be some pain involved, but the Primus would certainly not waste such a valuable servant.

Arihan rose from the stone floor of the meditation chamber he had usurped for his efforts. He dismissed the scrying globe and doused the oil lamps in the walls with the wave of a hand, then, uncharacteristically, rushed from the room. Now would not be a good time to let the master wait, even for a moment. Let him see that the high priest did not fear to come to him.

The same stolid guards let him pass into the private chambers. Arihan tramped bravely through the darkened outer room, ignoring little sounds around him that he had never noticed in the past. What he could not ignore, however, was a silky material that draped his face just before he reached the inner door.

The high priest spit out what was in his mouth and wiped away the rest. The gauzy material reminded him of a spider’s webbing, but that could not be. The Primus had always been very fastidious, even in his torturing. Whatever the filmy substance was, it surely had a logical purpose.

As Arihan wiped the last away, the door opened to admit him. He stepped through immediately.

“My Arihan…” came the Primus’s voice. “So good it is that you have come…”

His face a perfect mask, the high priest bowed toward the voice. “Ever I am at your service, most Holy One.”

“Ahh, yesss, but how good is that service?” An unsettling green light materialized above the throne, at last revealing the Primus. Although the figure on the throne smiled, there was what Arihan took for strain in the effort.

“All you’ve asked, I’ve done,” the high priest cautiously returned.

“And where is the female? Is she on her way to me at this very moment?”

“Nay, my lord. She is lost because of the fools in Hashir. They underestimated her. It was no fault of mine that the plan did not succeed, Great One.”

The Primus’s gaze grew terrible. The smile reversed itself. “And is it mine, then?”

Arihan caught himself. “Of course not! Never could such a thing be! The priests in Hashir were inept in their execution of your grand plot! They misused the morlu and their guards and have brought worse havoc down upon themselves. I fear, most holy lord, that the temple there is lost.”

“This one is most, most disappointed, my Arihan.” The Primus rose. As he did, the high priest noticed a spider on the wrist of the right hand. It was at least twice as large as the one he had seen on his last visit and surely should have been noticeable by his master. “Most disappointed. Assumptions were made. Promises were made…” Arihan’s master shivered and looked up. “Promises were made…”

“The female…she was stronger than expected,” the priest offered. “At least as strong as the male. That was something no one knew.”

Much to his relief, the Primus brightened. “Yesss…that could be useful. He would understand that this could not possibly have been foreseen.”

Exactly who this other was of whom he spoke, Arihan did not know, but the Primus’s reaction sent a chill through the high priest. There were only three beings that the son of Mephisto would fear…his father and the other two Prime Evils.

To assuage them, even the Primus would need a scapegoat. Arihan suddenly wondered how best he might flee, well aware that his chances of success in that direction were likely nil.

Another spider appeared, this one crawling out of the Primus’s collar just as had the one during the previous audience. Arihan belatedly noticed other small and very agitated forms scurrying over the throne…and even over his own feet. What were all these spiders doing here and why did his master react with such indifference to them?

“My Arihan…” the figure before him murmured. The Primus reached out to the high priest, who had no choice but to step nearer.

So close, though, Arihan now noticed something wrong with the Primus’s eyes. He had seen Lucion’s true eyes…and these were not them. In fact, so near, it was possible to tell that each was actually composed of three or four separate ones…and all were as crimson as fresh blood.

“Most Holy One,” he began, seeking some word that would mean his salvation. “It is possible that this woman—”

But the Primus shook his head. “No, my Arihan. No. The plot—my glorious plot—should have triumphed! He will demand the reason why and she may not be enough—”

“’He,’ O Great One?” the human blurted, trying to stall for time. The many spells he knew were unlikely to work here, but Arihan had to attempt something. Unfortunately, it was impossible to concentrate for another reason. There were too many spiders, either crawling on the throne, the walls, the Primus—and himself, Arihan discovered—or dangling from the ceiling. Some of them were as large as the high priest’s hand or even larger.

And at last Arihan recalled what those spiders indicated. He knew what stood before him, disguised as his master. He had never seen the demon, but had, as a young priest, read of him and heard the rumors that the creature dwelled deep in the recesses of the grand temple.

“Our lord Diablo, my good Arihan…” the false Primus answered to his question. “He it will be that demands not only a reason why, but the one who failed!” As he spoke, the figure’s handsome face began to rip away. Loose threads erupted where the flesh split, threads of silk.

Spiders’ threads.

And underneath, was a hairy monstrosity that once Arihan would have gladly summoned, a demon who served the true lord of the high priest’s order.

“Great One!” he gasped. “Let me go with you to speak with the wondrous Diablo! Together, we can—”

The robe tore apart as a huge, somewhat manlike shape with eight limbs expanded. Arihan’s desperate suggestion was cut off as four clawed hands seized him and pulled his face within inches of a savage pair of mandibles. Saliva dripped on the high priest’s immaculate garments.

“Together we shall go, yes, my Arihan, but to present your head on the platter! The head only, yes…for the rest of you this one will need for strength when facing the grand and magnificent Diablo!”

The mandibles sank into the high priest’s throat, ripping out everything. Arihan had no chance to utter even a gurgle. His head flopped to the side, barely held by some bits of bone and sinew.

Astrogha swallowed the mouthful, then shifted the body to begin sucking out the precious fluids. What the human did not understand was that the demon had actually done him a tremendous favor, killing him so quickly. Lord Diablo might have made him suffer longer, torturing the puny mortal until he was satisfied that he not only knew everything, but had put Arihan through all that entertained the master of terror.

But in the process of that, the high priest might have implicated Astrogha in the failure. Even despite having prevented that scenario, the arachnid would have to do some quick thinking to save himself.

And as he supped, one notion already formulated. Lucion was still absent, Lucion who should have noticed what was afoot and come to add his power to the effort. Yes, somehow this would be steered again toward Lucion…and the female with Uldyssian ul-Diomed, also. Arihan had spoken the truth when he had said that she had revealed more than even the demon had expected. She would become the other focus of Astrogha’s defense…

At last satiated, he threw the carcass down for the children to finish. Already, Astrogha could sense Diablo awaiting word of his success.

The demon glanced down at the high priest’s grotesque corpse, already covered by spiders. “Consider yourself fortunate, my Arihan…consider yourself fortunate…this one may yet envy your fate…yes, envy and plead for it to be so merciful…”

With that, Astrogha opened the way between places, reaching forth into the Burning Hells…

I have awaited you…came the dread voice. The edyrem looked up as one, sensing the call. It was not from the master, but from she who was closest to him. That was enough. Romus waved his hand and they surged toward Hashir. Even those minding the smallest children followed, for the edyrem did not leave anyone behind. The weakest among them would be better protected staying with the rest, even if that meant following them into a struggle…

And so, there was left only one figure standing in the jungle, one figure who wished with all his might to join the stream of bodies flowing toward the city gates. However, Achilios could not do so, not without creating greater catastrophe.

It’s…as they said… she’ll take up the reins if he’s gone. The archer had not wanted to believe that, but he should have known that Rathma and the dragon were correct. They seemed to be correct about all things.

No…not all. They had been wrong about him. They felt that he would be utterly obedient to what they said. Not because they demanded that obedience, but because they assumed the rightness of their decisions made no objection possible.

But even if a dead man now walking, Achilios was still Achilios. He had considered other courses of action that skirted the choices made by Lilith’s son and the thing called Trag’Oul.

He had Serenthia to consider…and that was the most important matter of all.

Achilios looped his bow tight over his shoulder, then started running. Death had not slowed him, and in fact, he could cover ground much, much faster now. He left little if any trail and could avoid nearly all obstructions.

From Hashir came screams and the clash of metal. Rathma had granted him abilities necessary to the cloaked one’s demands and so Achilios knew what was going on inside even better than Uldyssian’s edyrem. He also knew very well who was leading the struggle. That made the hunter increase his already astounding pace.

Around the outskirts of Hashir’s territory he ran, pausing only to avoid the homes of those who lived beyond the city’s walls. At all times, Achilios kept one sight in focus; the three towers of the temple. As with Toraja, the Triune preferred a location that gave them access through a separate gate. To Achilios, that should have been enough to warrant suspicion from anyone concerning them, for what reason would a noble and loving sect have need of a path of escape?

Of course, to be fair, before his own slaughter, Achilios doubted that even he would have paid much attention. Life had a way of blinding people. Only death seemed to truly open the eyes…

The gateway he sought finally came into view. One side was already open. The senior priests obviously did not trust their chances at this point. He wondered if they actually thought that their masters would welcome them with open arms after this fiasco. Then again, perhaps the Triune’s true lords would…and then promptly flay all of them alive.

Achilios decided to save the demons the trouble. Freeing his bow, he reached for an arrow—and found himself staring at a startled Hashiri woman carrying a basket.

The moment she registered him, the woman shrieked. Achilios could imagine her shock and selfloathing filled him. However, for all he hated how he was, there remained greater priorities.

“Run…home…” he rumbled. “Go!”

She did not need more coaxing. Spilling the basket and its contents on the jungle floor, the woman rushed away.

The incident already forgotten, the undead archer notched an arrow—

And was promptly tackled by a heavy, armored form.

The dagger that sank deep in his chest would have killed him, if he had not already been dead. His attacker started to lean back, clearly confident of his strike. The vague outline of a morlu filled Achilios’s gaze.

The archer grinned, a sight he was certain would have been ghastly to any living person. “Too little…too late.”

With a strength now as inhuman as that of the morlu, Achilios threw the bestial warrior high into the air. The morlu collided with a tree, cracking the latter in two.

Achilios, well aware how little that would stop his adversary, was already on his feet. The bow came up and a shaft went flying even as the armored assassin rose from the tangle.

With utter accuracy, the bolt hit one of the black eye sockets. As the morlu grasped for it, Achilios fired at the remaining socket.

Grunting, the helmed creature batted away the oncoming missile. However, Achilios had already expected that. His shot had only been to distract. The bow fell to the ground as the hunter pulled free a long knife. He leapt toward the morlu as the latter finally pulled free the one bolt, a sucking sound accompanying its removal.

The knife, honed sharp and wielded by an expert, severed the armored creature’s head from the neck.

Achilios kicked the twitching body aside. He grabbed the head even as one of the morlu’s hands sought for his leg.

Hefting the head, the archer threw it deeper into the jungle. Turning back only long enough to retrieve his bow, Achilios raced past the torso, which sought in vain to regain its footing. The foul magic animating it would last only a short time longer, too short for the morlu to save himself by retrieving his head. Achilios wondered if the same thing would hold true should someone remove his. Perhaps, if somehow the crisis passed and the others no longer needed his questionable aid, he would test it out himself. After all, what was there left for him? No love, no life…

The hunter grimaced. As an animated corpse, he had become very maudlin. All that mattered was fulfilling his mission and then dying again. Everything else he could leave to Uldyssian, Mendeln…and, if there was still hope, Serenthia.

If there was still a Serenthia.

The morlu had been a warning that the woman’s scream had alerted some of those he sought. Achilios stuffed the knife in his belt, then readied another arrow.

By this time, four wary figures had emerged through the gate. Three were guards, the last a priest he estimated somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy. The guards faced different directions, evidently checking the safety of the immediate area.

The priest—his robes that of Bala—stared in the direction of Achilios.

The hunter let the bolt fly. With darkness to shadow it, it should have cut down the robed figure. Instead, the priest raised a hand—

Achilios’s arrow exploded in midflight.

But the archer had already expected that something might happen. Barely had he let fly the first than he shot a second. As Achilios had surmised, the priest had quick reflexes, but not that quick. The second arrow burrowed deep into the robed chest, its momentum sending the prey falling.

The guards turned in his direction. One shouted something and two more came through the gateway.

Achilios fired three more bolts in rapid succession. One bounced off the breastplate of his target, the second caught a guard in the arm, and the third pierced the throat of its quarry.

The two survivors retreated to the new pair. They looked convinced that they were being attacked by more than one person, exactly as he had wanted. Achilios retreated from his location, blending into the darkness in a manner that he could only do by being dead.

There was no sign of another morlu, which possibly meant that the rest were involved in the chaos. That increased Achilios’s chances of finishing the special task he had set upon himself. All he needed now was to continue pressing those seeking flight from Hashir.

But at that moment, he sensed something else in the jungle, something as unsettling to it as he was.

The ground below him heaved up, as if about to erupt. What at first he mistook for the upturned roots of the nearby trees shot up and around him. Only after the first had snared his leg did the archer see them for what they actually were.

Tentacles…the tentacles of some huge, grotesque creature burrowing through the soft dirt.

A creature that was not of Sanctuary.

As a second tendril snared his bow arm, Achilios cursed himself for forgetting the true patrons of the Triune. The priest he had shot had been a servant of Baal, the Lord of Destruction. Foolish of the archer to forget the man might have summoned another servant of the Prime Evil, a servant not in the least human.

Still, whether or not the dead priest had summoned this denizen of the Burning Hells was a moot point. What was important was escaping it; no easy task. It already had both of Achilios’s legs and one arm and he had still not seen more than the tentacles. Instead, the only measure he had of his foe was that the ground everywhere around him continued to shake, as if whatever lurked below it was gargantuan.

Reaching the knife would have driven a living man to terrible wrenching pain, but Achilios was thankfully beyond such mundane sensations. Thus, he was able to grip the blade just as another tentacle sought his wrist. Twisting, Achilios slashed at the tip, watching with satisfaction as the faithful edge cut through.

A low, thick thundering arose from beneath him. The jungle shook violently. If not for the very tentacles holding him, Achilios would have fallen on his back.

“Hurt you…did I?” he rasped triumphantly.

In response, another, thinner tendril shot out, wrapping like a whip around his throat. The appendage constricted.

Fortunately, unlike most, Achilios no longer breathed. He did not actually even draw breath when speaking. The power that animated him also gave him voice. Hence, while having his neck snared did slow Achilios further, it did not incapacitate the hunter as it would have a living being.

He took immediate advantage of the demonic creature’s misconception, slashing with the knife at not only the tentacle snaring his throat, but his other arm, too. Both times, Achilios struck true. A black substance resembling tar dripped from the cuts. The two appendages were instantly withdrawn.

Achilios wasted no time in assaulting the others. One received a shallow line across its width, but before he could do more, both retreated below the soil.

The hunter allowed himself a brief smile as he righted his balance. No beast had ever had the final laugh against him; that triumph, however short-lived, had been the archdemon Lucion’s alone.

Still, it was best not to simply stand there. Achilios plucked up his bow—

Again came the thundering that the archer had decided was the demon’s roar. A quake that toppled most of the trees near him also sent Achilios tumbling. This time, he lost not only the bow, but his knife.

“Damn!” he gasped. “Damn!”

And out of the ground burst a dozen tentacles of varying length and size. Whether they belonged to one monster or another did not matter, only that suddenly they snagged him by the legs, the arms, the torso, and the throat.

There was nothing he could do. Against their combined might, Achilios might as well have been a newborn baby. At this point, there was only one question as to his fate. Would the beast tear him to pieces—which might or might not actually finish the undead hunter, although it would certainly make him useless—or instead drag him down into the ground, a much more daunting prospect. Achilios had been buried once; he found the idea of a second interment frightening.

The tentacles tightened. Achilios felt his body strain. Dismemberment was the decision made by his captor. The archer perversely wondered if he should thank the demon for that choice.

A brilliant golden light suddenly turned the jungle brighter than day. Achilios felt a warmth such as he had not known even before death and which, because it actually did warm him, stunned the archer that much more.

But if it warmed Achilios, the light did much more to the beast. Now the thundering reached an ear-splitting crescendo. The tentacles shook and Achilios noticed burning flesh.

The demonic appendages shot back into the ground. The jungle shook…then stilled.

The golden light vanished…leaving a puzzled and very disturbed Achilios. He lay there for a moment, uncertain if either would return. When neither did, the archer stood.

However, no sooner had he done so, than Achilios experienced an odd sensation. Had he been living, he would have thought it vertigo.

His legs gave out. The world swam. Achilios tried to reach his bow—

And then all was blackness.