The Veiled Prophet

XII

Rathma.

There was no reply to the dragon’s call. There had been no reply to the dozen before it. It was as if a veil had been thrown over part of Sanctuary, a veil that covered nearly all of the land of Kehjan and was, without a doubt, centered on its same-named capital.

But by Inarius alone, such a thing was not possible.

By Inarius alone.

And from everything that Trag’Oul could sense, this veil was not the work of two angels. No, there was a combination of powers involved here that Sanctuary had not experienced since its birth.

Angel and demon working together.

The glittering stars shifted about as Trag’Oul anxiously considered this. Angel and demon working together…and with but one possible reason.

There is no choice! he insisted. There is no choice! I must act! I must go to the mortal plane.

He began to draw forth the cosmic energies that would open the way for him. Only once before had Trag’Oul entered Sanctuary, and that had been just after the slaughter of the refugees by Lilith and Inarius’s subsequent reactions. At that time, the dragon had materialized for just a few seconds, long enough to lay the groundwork for Rathma’s discovery of him. He had chosen the son of Inarius well before that, seeing in him the spark that might help save the world should the angel decide it must be destroyed.

But now Trag’Oul would need to spend far longer than a few seconds. There would be no hiding himself from either the angel or the master demon with whom he worked.

And in revealing himself, Trag’Oul knew that he also risked ensuring the destruction of that which he had so long protected.

There is no choice, he told himself again. No choice!

The gateway was nearly complete, and then the voices struck him from all directions.

You cannot! You cannot! You cannot!

At the same time, the gateway disintegrated despite his best efforts to keep it from doing so.

Filled with an unaccustomed anger, he confronted the voices. This is my burden! This is my duty! You have no say in this, none of you!

There was a moment of silence, and then, together, they responded, But we do…this goes beyond Sanctuary now. Beyond all of us who stand sentinel.

The dragon grew wary. How so? How can that be?

As ever, they answered as one, and, as before, their words struck him as nothing else could. Because the war is coming to Sanctuary, and if you interfere with what the Balance demands, it and all existence may be forfeit.

They left him, then, all the others who stood guard as he did over their separate worlds, left him with the knowledge that it was his Sanctuary whose imminent fate might decide theirs. They left Trag’Oul with the understanding that all his years of aiding the Worldstone in shielding Sanctuary from the outside had come to naught.

It was not merely one angel who had discovered Inarius’s creation. The High Heavens themselves now knew of the world.

The eternal war was coming to Sanctuary…and he had just been forbidden to do anything about it.

space

Amolia appeared before Prince Ehmad, her dark expression matching her mood. “The council is not pleased. Uldyssian ul-Diomed does his cause no favor by slighting them like this!”

The prince sat in his personal chambers, sipping quietly from a flagon. There was but one candle lit, on the small table where he now set his drink.

“It was wrong to trust in him,” Ehmad remarked with a frown. “I only just found out from a spy of my own that he’s gone and made a pact with the Prophet to bring down the mage clans and the guilds and share all the land between his followers and the Cathedral.”

The blond woman looked not entirely surprised. “I thought him a base villain. You have proof of this?”

“I do, but I must present it to the council.” He rose. “It would be best if you took me there immediately, since they are already assembled.”

“There’s been no discussion of you appearing before them. If you have something to relay, give it to me, and I’ll tell them myself.”

“That would not serve. I must face them. It is the only way.”

Amolia shook her head. Her hand toyed with a medallion identical to that worn by Kethuus and others who served the mage council as they did. “Your daring is renowned, Prince Ehmad, as is your growing presumptuousness. You have no true authority; the love of the people means nothing in the end. If you were to cease to be, they would forget you in a day. The council has no need to grant you an audience. Whatever you wish to pass on, you can pass on through me.”

Ehmad thrust a hand into his pocket. “As you say. That might be for the best, after all. They certainly would not expect it.”

“Expect what?”

The prince reached out with his other hand. Amolia moved to brush it aside, but instead Ehmad gripped her wrist tight.

“Expect me to strike from in their midst,” he answered, smiling in a dark manner, “as one of their own.”

“You’re not—” was as far as the mage got.

Prince Ehmad’s body crumpled. The other hand slipped out of the pocket…and from its grasp rolled a tiny crimson crystal.

The female spellcaster smiled exactly as the prince had a moment before. She reached down and retrieved the precious fragment, slipping it into a pouch on her belt. A gilded mirror caught her attention. She walked over to it, examining herself.

“Yes…you will do for the time. Long enough, anyway.”

“It would be wise to cease unnecessary admiration for yourself, my son,” came a musical male voice.

The mage turned to find the beatific figure of the Prophet standing over the body of the prince. A scowl crossed Amolia’s features. “It pays to adjust my thinking before moving on. The better to play the part.”

“There is only one part with which to concern yourself. That is the ultimate elimination of Uldyssian ul-Diomed. Nothing else matters,” the Prophet insisted imperiously. “And certainly not your vile tastes…Malic.”

The spirit sneered at the angel, despite the fact that the latter could likely send him permanently back to the grave. “Vile, am I? But I serve the cause of the Cathedral and its glorious master.”

“And that is the only reason you are still permitted to walk this plane. You have had a holy task set upon you; do not waste what little chance of redemption you have by making it otherwise.”

But Malic laughed regardless. “A so holy task! Such blood and slaughter are worthy of any of the orders of the Triune! You would have made as good a Primus as my lord Lucion!”

The youthful figure stretched forth an open hand toward the spirit, and suddenly Malic felt himself wrenched from the latest body he had stolen. The mage’s form weaved back and forth as he desperately sought to maintain a tie to it. Despite his efforts, the high priest was pulled forward.

Inarius closed his hand, then let it casually fall to his side.

Malic’s spirit was flung back into Amolia’s body. The specter teetered from the strain of what had just happened.

“You will know your place, sinner,” the Prophet remarked. “You will be grateful that you are deemed worthy to serve me.”

“And…and another,” rasped Malic in Amolia’s voice. “The Lord Diablo.”

The angel paid his slight defiance no mind. Instead, Inarius gazed down at the prince. “This was a good man, and I weep for his necessary sacrifice, just as I do for the guard you used to reach him and even the brigand whose shape you wore to reach the guard. I weep for all my children who must pass from Sanctuary in order to save it. Their loss will be remembered fondly by me always.”

And with that, he waved his hand over Ehmad’s corpse. As had happened to Gamuel, the prince became dust that blew away to nothing.

Malic watched silently, his breathing still heavy. He did not need to ask for the Prophet to deal with the other two bodies mentioned, for the high priest had his own methods of disposing of unwanted evidence.

That made him consider what he would have to do after this latest shell had served its usefulness. He wanted an end to this; he wanted the body that would serve him best…serve him forever.

“I still claim his corpse when this is done,” Malic reminded his tormentor. “That was the offering by you and the Lord of Terror. Do this thing as you say, and I become Uldyssian ul-Diomed. That was promised!”

“You will receive your reward for services rendered, yes. I do not lie.”

The Prophet might not lie—and Malic was not so certain about that point—but there were many variations of his truth. Malic could not see the angel stomaching his continued existence; Inarius surely intended the specter’s time in his desired body to be short.

But the high priest had notions of his own. Whatever agreement the angel and Lord Diablo had, Malic would see that it would benefit him, not mean his end.

“The council and the guilds are waiting,” Inarius stated, his form beginning to lose definition. One ethereal hand drew a series of flaming runes in the air. “Touching this pattern on the medallion will enable you to utilize its ability to transport you to them.”

Malic had already known that, but he bowed his head regardless. He had shown enough defiance; now it was time for contrition.

“Do not fail in this” were the angel’s last words before he vanished.

“I have no intention,” the specter murmured to the empty air. “Not, at least, where my plans are concerned.”

Now fully recovered from Inarius’s painful lesson, Malic glanced again at the mirror, then touched the medallion. The runes glowed.

“Soon…” he whispered, imagining Uldyssian’s face before him. “Soon…”

The swarm had finally retreated. It had not been vanquished, however. The sky had still been filled with the vicious insects, but just when the edyrem had been about to fail, the mantises had at last risen back into the sky and fled in the direction from which they had come.

The edyrem could do nothing but slump to the ground in exhaustion. Had the mage clans or the city sent out a force to attack them, there would have been some question of how many of Uldyssian’s followers would have survived.

Serenthia was as exhausted as any of the others, but she forced herself to continue walking around the encampment, appearing as a symbol of confidence for the rest. In truth, her spirits were low, and not merely because of the bizarre attack. Now Mendeln was missing. The merchant’s daughter had little doubt that the swarming had something to do with that.

They’re all gone, Serenthia thought as she kept a false smile on her lips. Saron wearily saluted her, then went back to trying to organize some of the others. Of Jonas, there was no sign, but she felt certain that he was in the midst of a similar task. Serenthia was grateful for both men’s loyalty and assistance, but they were not Uldyssian, Mendeln, or…or even Achilios. She was alone, and there was a fear that it would remain that way.

So close to the capital, the illumination caused by so many torches and oil lamps could be seen over the treetops. Out of necessity, Serenthia posted guards, all the while hoping that there would be no need of them.

When she felt that she had shown herself enough, Serenthia retired to a secluded area near the rear of the encampment. She ate a small meal that one of the edyrem offered her—they never let her cook for herself—then settled down and prayed for a decent night’s slumber and the good news of Uldyssian and his brother.

But a comfortable sleep was not to be hers. The dreams came quickly, and all of them had to do with losing Achilios again. If she did not relive his death, then she stood at the opposite end of a great gulf, stretching her hands out in vain to him as he receded farther and farther away. In every dream, the raven-tressed woman cried, and as she slept, actual tears slid down her face.

Serenthia…

Her eyes immediately opened, but whether or not she was still asleep, she could not say. It was not possible that she had heard his voice. Achilios’s voice.

But then it came again. Serenthia…

Rising, the merchant’s daughter peered into the nearby jungle.

A pale figure half hidden by the underbrush stared back at her. Serenthia almost shouted his name, so thrilled was she. Then, suddenly more wary, she surveyed those nearby. The nearest sentry was far away, and the other edyrem were asleep. Only she had heard the archer’s voice.

If it was actually him.

Suddenly cold with anger that someone might be using his image to lure her, Serenthia seized her spear. She reached out with her power, seeking any hint of another presence, but barely even finding that of the hunter.

There was only one way to settle whether or not this was actually Achilios. Aware that her heart was leading more than her head, Serenthia slipped out of the encampment.

As she neared him, the pale figure retreated deeper into the jungle. Serenthia readied her spear, more wary than ever. She continued to survey the region but still sensed no one but herself and what might be the man she loved.

When they were just out of sight of any possible onlookers, Achilios paused. Serenthia did the same.

“Is it you? Is it you, Achilios?”

He nodded once. “Yes…Serenthia.”

She was still not convinced, although her heart ached to be. “Why now? Why at this point when you fled the other times?”

The archer brushed some loose dirt from his cheek. His effort proved futile. “At first…it was so that…that I would keep you…keep you from seeing me…as I am.”

“Oh, Achilios! You know that I don’t care about—”

He cut her off with a slashing gesture. “I’m dead, Serenthia! Dead!”

She would not accept that even such a state meant the end of what had been between them. “With all that I’ve seen, with all that I’ve fought, death doesn’t scare me, Achilios.”

“So it would…would seem.” A rueful smile stretched across his face. “Why did you…have to fall…to fall in love with me…at last?”

It was more than she could take. Still clutching the spear, Serenthia rushed to Achilios. She wrapped her arms around him and held tight. He did not resist, but neither did he imitate her actions.

When it was clear that he would merely stand there, Serenthia finally looked up into his face and happened to see up close the dark, congealed gap where once his throat had been.

It made her gasp and back up, but not for the reasons the archer thought. As Achilios turned bitterly from her, Serenthia realized just how it had appeared to him.

“No! Please! It wasn’t out of fear or disgust! Achilios!” Ignoring how loud her voice was growing, Serenthia cupped his chin in her free hand and made him look into her eyes. “I was angry! Angry for what happened to you!”

He shook his head. “You’re…you’re truly…amazing.”

“I love you, that’s all.” Her eyes narrowed. “You said ‘at first’ that it had to do with not wanting me to see you as you are! What was the reason after that?”

Achilios pushed back from her. He gritted his teeth, as if seeking to keep in the answer. “For the same…for the same reason…that I tried to kill…to kill both you and…and Uldyssian! For the same…for the same reason…I’m finally with you…at last…” The undead hunter looked to his right. “Because of him…”

A brilliant light blossomed from there, one that made Serenthia immediately tighten her grip on her spear. In the midst of that light, she saw the tall figure emerge. Vast wings composed of tendrils of energy rose up behind him.

“Inarius!” Shoving Achilios back, she raised the weapon.

“No, Serenthia…” The archer grabbed her wrist. “Not Inarius…”

“Not—” She had no idea how that was possible to know, never having seen him. All Serenthia had to go by was Rathma’s and Mendeln’s descriptions, which certainly fit the celestial figure before her. True, there were minor details that she thought should have been different, but this was an angel! How many angels were there on Sanctuary, after all?

Belatedly, she recalled that there might be another, but her mind wanted to refuse that. They could not fight two angels.

“He comes…in peace.”

That stirred her anger anew. “Peace? Isn’t this the one who made you shoot at Mendeln and me?”

THAT WAS BEFORE.

The voice resounded in both her head and her heart. Serenthia’s pulse raced.

THAT WAS BEFORE, the angel repeated, the light around him—light surely visible to all in the camp—pulsating with each word. WHEN IT WAS NOT CLEAR TO ME THE COURSE NEEDED.

“What does he mean by that?”

“He will…tell you…just be…patient.”

THE EDYREM MUST BE READY, the angel answered unhelpfully. He did not exactly walk toward them but rather seemed to be closer, then closer yet, then even closer than that.

There was no face, but more something that seemed a visor made of light. The angel was impossibly tall and so bright that Serenthia had to squint a little. She was also surprised that no one had yet come running to see what was going on.

IT IS NOT MEANT FOR THE OTHERS TO SEE US TOGETHER, AND SO THEY DO NOT.

Which meant that, no matter what happened here, the other edyrem would not know the truth. That revived her wariness of the angel.

“Please, Serenthia…please listen…to him. I know…I know that’s much to…to ask…believe me.”

It was only because she was certain that Achilios spoke for himself and not because of some spell of the angel’s that the merchant’s daughter relaxed her grip—a little. “All right. I’ll listen.”

“Mendeln knows, too,” Achilios continued, sounding a bit more human. A bit more…alive. “He knows…and that is why…why he was sent…ahead.”

“To the city? By himself?”

“Mendeln is…never alone…and he of all of…us…can best find Uldyssian…if there’s…if there’s hope.”

Serenthia dared gesture at the angel. “And what does this have to do with him? Why is he now trying to help us?”

It was not Achilios but the winged figure who answered that question. BECAUSE INARIUS HAS DONE—AGAIN—THE UNTHINKABLE. HE HAS MADE A PACT WITH ONE OF THE THREE…MADE A WILLING PACT. THAT, TOO, DEMANDED MY COURSE CHANGE.

“One of the Three? Is he referring to the Triune, Achilios?”

“To the…the truth of the…Triune.” The archer grimaced. “You know…you know that demons…demons created it. You know that…the spirits of Mefis, Dialon…and Bala…are not what they…are made to be.”

“No, of course not! They’re each master demons, supposedly the rulers of—” She stopped short as the enormity of what he was trying to tell her finally became clear. “Surely not!” Her eyes wide, she looked to the angel. “One of the…one of the Three? Here?”

The angel dipped his head ever so slightly. AND PERHAPS THE WORST OF THE THREE…HE WHO IS THE ESSENCE OF TERROR…THE LORD DIABLO.

And as he said the name, Serenthia not only felt a chill throughout her body but sensed that the angel, too, fought back some anxiety. That such a mighty being as the one before her would be unsettled by merely speaking of this master demon gave indication of just how terrible this news was.

Trying to make sense of it, she blurted, “But if this demon is so powerful, how can Inarius risk any pact with him? It’s sure to lead to his downfall.”

AND IT WILL…ALTHOUGH HE DOES HAVE GREAT REASON TO FEEL THAT, IN THE END, IT SHALL BE LORD DIABLO…NAY…ALL OF US…WHO KNEEL BEFORE HIM…

“How is that possible? Was Inarius always so powerful among angels?”

There was a hesitation, as if the figure had to consider carefully what to say. POWERFUL, BUT NO MORE SO THAN ANY ON THE ANGIRIS COUNCIL… IT IS HERE…IN THIS WORLD THAT HE HELPED MAKE…WHERE INARIUS WIELDS POWER THAT MAKES THE LORD DEMON SEEK ALLIANCE…IT IS HERE WHERE HE HAS SUCCEEDED IN DISTORTING THE WORLDSTONE FOR HIS OWN GAIN, HIS OWN POWER.

The Worldstone. She knew of it from Uldyssian, knew that it was a phenomenal artifact, a massive crystal, that not only preserved Sanctuary’s presence from the outside but had been manipulated by Inarius once to dampen the latent powers of humans. Lilith had managed to alter its magic slightly, just enough to encourage the rebirth of the nephalem—or, as they were called now, the edyrem.

SOMEHOW HE WAS ABLE TO ALTER THE WORLDSTONE’S FOCUS—PERHAPS WITH THE UNKNOWING HELP OF HIS FELLOW RENEGADES—THEN BIND HIMSELF UTTERLY TO IT AND THUS ENSURED THAT NONE WHO HAD ASSISTED HIM IN ITS THEFT WOULD BE AS POWERFUL… IN TRUTH, IT IS ONLY HIS CONCERN FOR DISCOVERY BY THE ANGIRIS COUNCIL THAT PREVENTS HIM FROM DRAWING UPON ITS POWER EVEN MORE.

His words made Serenthia’s hopes plummet. “Then all this time, Uldyssian never had a chance against him? All this time, the Prophet—Inarius—has been toying with us? It’s all been for nothing?”

“No! Not nothing,” Achilios interjected, at the same time seizing her by the shoulders. “Uldyssian is the only one…the only one who might be…be able to actually defeat Inarius here!”

“But how is that possible? How?”

“Don’t…don’t you recall what…Uldyssian did, Serenthia? Don’t you…remember…what he said…happened? At the…the Worldstone?”

The Worldstone. Despite the growing turmoil of her thoughts, the raven-haired woman quickly focused on what Achilios had said. Uldyssian had seen this Worldstone. He had been brought to it by Inarius’s son, Rathma. Even Uldyssian’s cursory description of it had left her marveling that such a thing could have been created, much less exist at all.

And then Serenthia recalled what Achilios had been trying to point out.

Uldyssian himself had altered the Worldstone in its very makeup. Altered it in a manner that apparently even Inarius could not unmake.

Inarius could not unmake it.

“Uldyssian is…the one hope against Inarius,” Achilios acknowledged. “Even he…” The archer pointed at the angel. “Even he can’t alter what Uldyssian did.”

That knowledge stirred her as nothing else could. “Then we need to move on Kehjan as quickly as possible! If we awaken the others now, we can be there in just a few hours. Despite what you say, I’m certain that Mendeln can’t do this by himself. We need to be there, need to march to the gates and tear them down if we must! We’ve got to find Uldyssian!”

The angel—who had yet to give any name—suddenly stood on her other side, causing Serenthia to gasp. IF YOU WOULD DO SO, THEN YOU WOULD FALL DIRECTLY INTO THE TRAP ALREADY SET INTO MOTION…A TRAP THAT EVEN I CANNOT UNDO AT THIS POINT.

“What? What is it? Is it about Uldyssian?”

IT IS ALL ABOUT YOUR FRIEND. For the first time, the angel appeared weary. AND THE LIVES LOST THAT WILL NOW BE BLAMED ON HIM AND THE EDYREM. He raised a gauntleted hand to her forehead, without permission touching the palm to her skin. BEHOLD WHAT IS HAPPENING…WHAT WILL HAPPEN…

There was something about this angel that still caused Serenthia concern, but she had no choice but to obey as what felt like her soul was ripped free of her body. Suddenly, she raced along the landscape toward the capital. It reminded her in some ways of the search that she and Uldyssian had made using their powers. That allowed her to regain some of her composure.

Over the massive walls, her view flew, over the walls and into the vast city. Images of buildings raced past, and even people briefly appeared.

Then…and then, somewhere deep in the middle of the city, her gaze dove directly into a heavily walled gray building. She passed through stone as if it did not exist and entered first a small, torchlit chamber and then, almost instantly, a much larger, more elaborate one.

And there Serenthia beheld horror that convinced her of the angel’s every intention.