Scales of the Serpent

16

Mendeln had never stood atop a mountain before.

He did not like it in the least.

The wind howled and snow covered everything. However, nothing, not even the chill air, really touched him much. He supposed that he had Rathma to thank for that, if gratitude was the proper emotion for being dragged off to this desolate spot to face a figure whose very name filled Uldyssian’s brother with dread.

“And what assistance am I to be against an angel?” he asked not for the first time. Mendeln had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind.

“Whatever it turns out you can supply,” was Rathma’s response, the same one he had used to answer the prior questions.

Mendeln folded his arms tight, if only out of habit, not from being cold. “Where are we?”

“Near where I brought your brother. Near to the vicinity of the Worldstone.”

What little Mendeln had learned of this “Worldstone” had filled him with new awe and not a little uncertainty. To have created such a thing, the angels and demons must have utilized fantastic magic and energy.

He was about to ask Rathma another question when the ancient nephalem raised a hand to cut him off.

“My father approaches. Be wary.”

To Mendeln, it was an unnecessary warning. How could he deal with the arrival of an angry angel with anything but wariness?

The wind suddenly picked up, so ferocious now that it nearly shoved Mendeln from his position. He did not like the thought of tumbling down the mountainside, no matter what he had learned from the dragon and his companion about the many states of life. At the moment, Mendeln still preferred the “living” stage too much to abandon it just yet.

The snow also increased. A storm raged about them. Rathma pulled free his dagger and muttered something, but the storm remained intense.

Then, an ear-splitting thunderclap shook them further, a thunderclap immediately followed by dead silence. If not for being able to hear his own breathing, Mendeln would have believed himself now deaf.

And then he noticed in their midst a golden-haired youth.

“I am disappointed in you, my son,” the robed figure stated in a voice of pure music.

“As you ever have been since my birth, my father,” Rathma replied, his generally bland tone with a hint of an edge in it.

The newcomer looked away from the pair, instead seeming more interested in the general landscape. “And have you seen your mother of late?”

“No. I have been fortunate in that regard. I wish I could say the same concerning you.”

Now Rathma had his attention again. “Your insolence is unbecoming. Be grateful that I have not deigned to punish you for your past sins.”

Mendeln watched the pair, still uncertain, despite what he had heard, that this was indeed Inarius. He knew that the angel was master of the Cathedral of Light and had heard of the Prophet’s general description, but to actually see the young figure was disconcerting, to say the least.

As if sensing this, Inarius turned his gaze to the human. Suddenly, Mendeln had no more doubts. The eyes were enough to stop him in his tracks. He could not even say what color they were, just that to have them look his way made Mendeln almost wish to drop down on his knees in worship. That made him again wonder just how much help he would actually be, should Rathma truly need him. If he was this weak merely because of a look…

To his surprise, a slight chuckle escaped Rathma. “Not so insignificant, are they?”

“And that may be their downfall,” returned the angel coldly. “You and your kind had no place here. Nor do these. If they cannot be contained, they must be removed…” He turned from them as if they were nothing to him. His sandaled feet left no impressions in the snow. “Sanctuary must be purified…”

Rathma was uncharacteristically emotional. “For who, Inarius? For who? All there would be then is you! Must all else in this world bend to your will or be expunged for their defiance?”

“They exist by my will, therefore, yes…” The Prophet turned to them again. As he did, Mendeln noticed that he momentarily left the edge of the mountaintop, yet did not fall. “This is a debate we have had before, Linarian…”

Rathma pulled his cloak tight around him. “That name I have rejected, as I have you and my mother.”

The Prophet shrugged. He glanced briefly at Mendeln, then again at his son. Without warning, Inarius suddenly said, “You know why I am here.”

“Of course.”

“You were forbidden.”

“Fate decreed otherwise,” Rathma returned.

The angel spread his arms and his face contorted. His hair stood on edge and he grew larger and larger. Fire radiated around him. “I am Fate here. I am the yea or nay for all that exists in Sanctuary—”

“Beware!” Mendeln’s companion warned, not that Uldyssian’s brother needed to be alerted. The son of Diomedes drew his own dagger, a thing seemingly so insignificant in the sight of Inarius’s abrupt and staggering transformation.

I AM THE ULTIMATE JUDGE OF WHAT IS AND WHAT SHALL BE! declared the angel, his mouth no longer moving. The words struck Mendeln much as Trag’Oul’s had, but without the dragon’s consideration for their effect on a mortal body and mind. It was a struggle to maintain his stance, but Mendeln knew he dared not falter.

From the angel’s back burst what at first Mendeln took for magnificent, fiery wings. Yet as they spread wide, he saw that they were more astounding than even that. The wings—so different from the feathered ones that Mendeln had most of his life imagined on angels—were actually strands of light that moved almost as if with animation of their own. They writhed and shifted like serpents or tentacles, a very contrary suggestion to what the angel represented. Inarius’s body and face contorted. A breastplate formed over his torso. The handsome, youthful visage sank into darkness beneath an immaculate hood, once within, finally transforming completely into shadow. It was as if there was no true physical substance to him. All vestiges of Humanity vanished as a heavenly warrior suddenly hovered beyond the mountain’s edge, one gleaming, gauntleted hand pointing accusingly at the angel’s rebellious offspring.

I SPOKE WITH YOU OUT OF MEMORY, BUT THAT TIME IS PAST FOREVER NOW! YOU WISH LINARIAN DEAD, THEN SO BE IT! THERE IS NO TIE BETWEEN US!

“Was there ever ?” Rathma shouted back, ivory dagger held before him like the strongest of shields. Mendeln followed suit, hoping that it was not a futile gesture.

THE STONE AWAITS ME…Inarius gestured. AND I AM DONE WITH YOU!

The mountaintop exploded.

The force unleashed by the angel ripped up snow, ice, and rock in great chunks. Mendeln expected to be tossed away with them, but for the moment, the area around him and Rathma remained intact. Not much else did, however. Dirt and snow flew everywhere and Mendeln likely would have been crushed if his own weapon had not suddenly emitted a pale light that now enveloped him. He glanced at his companion and saw that Rathma was likewise protected.

But with rock and snow crashing about him, Mendeln did not know how much longer the two would be safe. Above them, Inarius pointed with his other hand—and Mendeln felt the ground beneath him collapse.

“Remember what you have been shown!” shouted Rathma.

But all Mendeln could think about was that he no longer had any footing. His fear of falling had at last become a reality. Rathma vanished from his sight, the other’s footing also torn out from under him.

As he fell, Mendeln caught sight of Inarius, the angel watching the destruction with what could only be called detachment. Even his own offspring was of no consequence to the winged being. After all, Rathma had committed the ultimate sin; he had defied his father.

Clutching the dagger tight, Mendeln sought some way to save himself. Then, a hand clutched his collar, slowing his descent. He knew instantly that it was Rathma.

As the avalanche continued, Rathma set him down on a small outcropping still holding. The shrouded figure then alighted next to him.

“This is not over!” he called.

Not at all surprised, Mendeln prepared himself for the worst. Inarius would not leave this task incomplete.

And sure enough, the winged warrior fluttered into sight. Inarius—his face more of a brilliant armored mask—inspected the two.

Mendeln felt the angel focus on him. He prepared for the end—

WHAT HAS HE DONE? demanded Inarius. WHAT HAS HE DONE…AND HOW?

Only after a moment did Mendeln realize that Inarius spoke of Uldyssian. He had no idea just what about his sibling so concerned the angel, but suddenly feared anew for Uldyssian’s life.

WHAT HAS HE DONE? Inarius repeated. WHAT HAS HE DONE TO THE STONE?

From behind Mendeln, Rathma shouted, “He has done the undoable, Inarius! He has done the undoable!”

The angel hovered in silence for a moment. He started to gesture at the pair, then lowered his hand. THEN…HE MAY HAVE CONDEMNED YOU ALL…

And with that, the winged being soared high into the sky, dwindling to a dot in less time than Mendeln could count to the number one. Then, in a flash of light so brilliant it momentarily blinded the human…Inarius disappeared.

The devastation wrought by Rathma’s father—so easily, Mendeln dourly thought—began to settle around them. The entire top of the peak had been radically altered. Now, it looked as if the mountain had grown a giant, three-fingered paw with jagged claws on two of the digits. He and Rathma stood on the outer edge of the third, a drop of well over a thousand feet merely one step away.

One question burned to be spoken by Mendeln. “Why do we live? We were clearly nothing to him, whatever your beliefs before we came here! Why do we live?”

“We were not nothing to him, son of Diomedes,” the ancient figure responded, dusting off bits of dirt and snow. “If we had been, we would have been dead without ever knowing he had arrived. It is because of what we—and your brother most of all—represent, that my dear father paused to speak at all. Certainly not for me alone, as we have spoken all we can, lo, these many centuries past. He also came in part out of curiosity surrounding you, Mendeln ul-Diomed, and what a jest it was when he found that he could not bend your knee to him…”

“Could not—” Mendeln felt queasy in his stomach. He had defied the angel’s will?

“Did you not know that? I thought you aware.”

Seeking not to think about the subject anymore, Mendeln asked, “What is it that he kept mentioning? Did I hear him say the Worldstone ? I know that it was mentioned by you or Uldyssian when the pair of you returned, but I never understood completely about it! Just what did Uldyssian do that so—so—shocked —him?”

Rathma’s expression darkened. “That will take a bit more explaining. Suffice to say, we are near that which is vital to the conclusion—whatever that conclusion will be—of our struggle. The Worldstone is a thing that only one like my father should be able to alter in even the least way—and, therefore, could my mother—yet your brother did just that! The Worldstone is different now, in even a manner Inarius cannot believe, hence his reaction.”

At first, Mendeln took hope from this, but then he recalled the angel’s parting words. Then, he may have condemned you all…

Mendeln surveyed what even the least of Inarius’s fury had done to a gigantic mountaintop and shuddered. “Rathma, what does he mean by his last?”

Lilith’s son held his dagger high, as if using it to search for something. Mendeln waited impatiently as the tall figure first turned in a circle, then replaced the otherworldly weapon in the vast confines of his cloak.

“What he means has to do with the same reason that we, who could not make the stand that I hoped—and evidently did not need to since Inarius made no adjustment to the stone that I can divine—are still alive. Why should he bother with two paltry deaths when, if he reaches the conclusion to which I sense he is leaning, he will then remove everything at once and start his Sanctuary anew?”

Only now did Mendeln truly grasp what he realized Rathma and Trag’Oul had been saying all along. “Rather than…rather than allowing Lilith…or humans…to act beyond his dictates…you are saying that the angel could…would utterly destroy our world?”

“And then build anew to suit his megalomania, yes.”

Mendeln could not even imagine such power in one being’s control. “He can… do this?”

“He can.” Rathma began drawing a circle in the air, a circle that expanded instantly. As it did, Mendeln saw that within it was utter darkness…the path, he knew, to Trag’Oul’s realm. “He has that power…” the angel’s son continued, sounding for the first time very, very weary. “He has that power a thousand times over…and will be more than willing to use it…” Lilith materialized on the throne, her image only briefly that of herself before she cast the illusion of the Primus over her. The demoness sat in the darkness, utterly silent. Had any been there and able to gaze upon the face she now wore, they would have come away unable to read the emotions coursing through her.

After several minutes, she suddenly rose and departed the Primus’s personal chambers. The guards outside jolted to attention. Although they had been at their positions as demanded, they had assumed—rightly—that their master had not been inside. Still, none questioned this miraculous appearance…for this was the Primus, after all.

At least, to their eyes.

Lilith remained expressionless as she strode throughout the vast temple. There seemed no rhyme or reason to her path. Priests, guards, novices, and other acolytes paid homage to her along the way, each seeming to try to bow or kneel lower than those before.

Then, in the great hall where the statues of Mefis, Dialon, and Bala stood, she paused. Around her, more of the faithful hesitated in their own tasks, cautiously wondering just what the Primus did.

She looked up at each of the statues…her eyes lingering longest on that of Mefis.

And then…after staring at the spirit’s vaguely crafted visage, Lilith allowed the Primus’s own to smile ever so slightly.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, that’ll be the way of it. Oh, yes…”

One of the more daring priests stepped up to her. Hands clasped together and head low, he said, “Great Primus, is there any service I may be to you?”

Lilith glanced at him, noting his youth and good build, not to mention the fact that he had been the only one with backbone enough to approach her. “Tell me…what is your name again, my son?”

“Durram, Great Primus.” He wore the robe of a devotee of Dialon and she already sensed that the darkness of the Lord of Terror had touched Durram despite his humble facade. He was ambitious.

“I will summon you to my chambers later to speak with you,” she told him, forcing herself not to give him a beguiling smile. Lilith had a need to burn off certain frustrations and Durram looked just perfect for the task, not that he would know until it was too late.

The priest bowed lower than any of the others. Inside, the demoness sensed he was congratulating himself on his daring. She wondered how he would feel after their “discussion.”

But minor pleasures had to be pushed aside for the moment. Having come to a decision, Lilith was eager to implement it. Once again, the proverbial closing of one door had led to another opening.

“I must go,” she informed Durram.

“I will await your summons, Great Primus.”

Lilith could not forgo a brief feminine chuckle, but Durram did not hear it. As she passed the bowing priest, she blithely commented, “Durram. Clear the vicinity. An accident is about to happen.”

To his credit, Durram was quick to obey. As he shouted the warning, Lilith strode off. She waited until she had reached the corridor leading back to the Primus’s chambers, then glanced over her shoulder.

There was a resounding crack—and the statue of Mefis suddenly toppled from its high perch.

Had it fallen moments earlier, at least a score of humans would have been crushed or badly injured. As it was, the statue’s collision with the marble floor sent huge chunks flying in every direction. Durram had done well in directing the others away, but a few were still within range of the deadly missiles.

The demoness gestured—making certain that some of the guards and others nearby noticed—and those who were about to be struck were saved. The pieces turned to light ash, then faded, not even leaving a trace upon their supposed victims.

The dust began to settle. To one of the guards, Lilith commanded, “All are well. It remains only to clear the rubble. The priest Durram will oversee it.”

The awed guard nodded. “Yes, Great Primus!”

“I must go and meditate on this event…and consider what form the new image of Mefis must take.”

No one questioned her. In fact, she knew that word was already spreading—with Durram’s aid—of the Primus’s holy warning that had saved so many. Once again, they had witnessed a miracle.

But Lilith had not warned them for their sake. After all, she had been the cause of the statue’s collapse. She had been simply reassuring the Primus’s grand status in the temple, for what she planned soon would push these humans to the limits of their wills…and likely cost many their lives. Of course, as they would have willingly given those lives for their Primus and she was now him, that was a negligible point.

The demoness took one last look at the statue. Turning from her followers, she allowed herself a slight smirk, then whispered, “So sorry, Father…”

The Prime Evils—especially Mephisto—would be helpless to do anything against her. They so feared the High Heavens discovering Sanctuary that they would let it fall into her claws. No doubt they would think that they could retake it later, but Lilith understood the Worldstone well enough to make that an impossibility. With a world of suddenly vibrant nephalem at her command, the demon lords would discover that they had best worry about saving their own realm.

Yes, first the Burning Hells and then the High Heavens.

That made her think of Inarius, always skulking about. She knew his weaknesses as well. There was nothing to fear from him…

Still clad as the Primus, she returned to the darkened chambers. Once there, she paused. Despite the lack of light, the demoness could sense traces of webbing in the room. Someone had been here during her absence, someone who should have known better. She had actually noted some of the traces earlier, but her mind had been concerned with weightier matters. Now, though…

“Astrogha!” Lilith called in Lucion’s powerful voice. “Get in here, you damned spider!”

“This one is here,” retorted the arachnid a breath later from the shadows above. “What is it the great Lucion wants?”

There was a change in the other demon’s tone that Lilith did not appreciate, a defiance. “You have been misbehaving. You have been masquerading.”

“This one has been taking up the mantle that the great Lucion has forgone too much of late…so much so, in fact, that others insisted that Astrogha fill the void.”

She knew exactly what the spider had been up to. Lilith was concerned with only one thing, even more so considering the shift in the other demon’s mood. Astrogha represented the only impediment still existing in the Triune. It had been the demoness’s hope that Uldyssian would have removed him at the same time as he had the foolish Gulag, but Astrogha had proven wilier.

“And filled it like a rabbit pretending to be a lion. There were plans in place that Astrogha did not need to know, but that his interference utterly disrupted! How would the Three consider that ?”

There was shuffling from the shadows. Glimpses of the other demon became apparent. “That, a fair question might be, great Lucion…a question this one would not be above asking himself to them…”

Which meant that Astrogha had already survived interrogation by one of the Prime Evils, no doubt his own lord and master, Diablo.

“There can be only one Primus, one master of the Cult of the Three, spider…”

“Yesss…this one agrees…and only awaited your return to resolve that… Lilith.”

True spiders did not spit webbing from their mouths, but, then, Astrogha’s form was but an aspect. He was no more truly one of the eight-legged creatures than Lilith had been Lylia.

The foul spray spread over the dark chamber, Astrogha seeking to assure that there would be no chance of missing his prey. When he had divined that Lilith had taken her brother’s place, the demoness did not know nor did she care. She had even expected this possible scenario…and so, before the webbing could engulf her, created a green inferno that burned away the other demon’s attack. Sharp hissing accompanied the destruction of the webbing—

But Astrogha, too, had evidently assumed removing her would demand more effort, for suddenly there were spiders everywhere. Even Lilith could not evade them all. They bit her wherever they could, spilling into her Astrogha’s foul venom. The arachnid had learned the need for haste from his experience with the mortal, Uldyssian, but he still forgot that he dealt with no ordinary demon. This was the daughter of Mephisto…

With but a thought, Lilith pushed the surge of venom back into each of the spiders, then added her own to the mix. The sinister creatures began tumbling off her body in great numbers.

Astrogha hissed angrily and another wave of webbing shot forth, this time snaring Lilith’s right side. However, suddenly appearing as herself, she laughed and sliced away the sticky substance with the claws of her left hand.

“I find the best way to rid a place of vermin is to burn them out,” she mocked. “Don’t you agree?”

The demoness snared one of the fallen tendrils. The end burst into green flames which raced up toward the shadowed Astrogha, at last revealing his macabre form to her.

Astrogha hissed and spat, seeking to douse the unnatural flames. His webbing only fueled Lilith’s fire, though, and in seconds he was surrounded by it.

“This one will devour your flesh and drink your soul,” he snarled. The arachnid’s multiple eyes flared crimson.

Lilith faltered. There was a new presence in the chamber, one she knew too well. She almost turned to look behind her…then stopped.

“When next you seek to remind me of my father,” she cooed, “you had best be certain you bring the real thing, not some desperate illusion, servant of Diablo…”

Lilith magnified the flames. Astrogha shrieked as they licked at his hairy form.

“You are a fool, Mephisto’s daughter!” he declared, pulling back as best he could. “And therefore welcome to this fool’s nest forged by Lucion! Savor it…for what little time remains…”

A new and utter blackness enshrouded the spider. Lilith willed the flames forward…but when they reached the corner, there was no longer any Astrogha.

With her mind, she searched the whole of the temple, but found no trace. Astrogha had not merely fled to safety; he had fled the Triune entirely. Lilith was not overly concerned; she should have slain Diablo’s servant, but he clearly would be of no consequence, anymore. Now the Cult of the Three completely belonged to her.

No, Lilith thought with a smile as she dismissed the remnants of the struggle to oblivion and once more, as the Primus, assumed her place on the throne. No longer the Cult of the Three. There is only One. There is only Me.

Feeling quite pleased with herself, she had a sudden desire for the priest Durram’s company. There was time enough for a little entertainment before she dealt with dear Uldyssian. He had forced her to a decision that, in retrospect, would accelerate her dreams to fulfillment. All she needed were a few morlu…

Lilith giggled at her own thought. Perhaps more than few…

Astrogha had no regrets about fleeing the temple. He had not expected to be able to defeat the daughter of a Prime Evil, although his effort had allowed him to gauge her for another possible confrontation. She was welcome to the Triune and she and the mortal, Uldyssian, were welcome to the other. Astrogha had not outlived other demons by not knowing when it was best to let others deal with his problems. Let them battle it out, perhaps with the angel, Inarius, also throwing himself into the mix. The survivors—should there be any—would find themselves weakened, of that he was certain. Then…then the spider would pick up the pieces. The notion of a cult such as the Triune still made sense, but one more focused. On himself perhaps.

Yes, Astrogha liked that thought. From the ruins of this debacle, he would gather humans of his own. There were always those with an almost demonic lust for power. Unlike Lucion, though, Astrogha would maintain tight control over his minions. That had been the trouble; Lucion had lost order, had allowed himself to rely too much on others. Then, when he had finally taken personal control, something had obviously gone wrong. The son of Mephisto had somehow perished.

No, Astrogha would not make Lucion’s mistakes, nor Lilith’s. Already he could imagine his slaves spreading out to both sides of the world, his symbol—the spider—raised over city after city. There would come the day when no one would recall the Triune or the Cathedral of Light. It would be the cult of Astrogha that finally conquered Sanctuary and made humans its slaves…all for the Prime Evils, of course, and especially, his master.

All for them…eventually…