The Veiled Prophet

XV

“Make a pact with Inarius?” Uldyssian could scarcely believe his ears, and from the look of his brother, neither could Mendeln. Uldyssian wondered if perhaps the centuries had finally caught up with the Ancient. His mind had surely gone. How else to explain such a mad suggestion?

“One might as well deal with Diablo, I know…and we may yet have to do that. I would willingly accept any other suggestion, but in the light of things, I see no other course.”

“No!” Mendeln stepped between them. “There is another chance. Another angel. Tyrael.”

“Is the very reason that the High Heavens now descend upon Sanctuary. Do not think that my father or the demons are alone in their mastery of manipulation. Tyrael—and it dismays me yet to hear you verify that it is he who is here—would see no contradiction in his role as a warrior of light by twisting his words and leading you and likely Achilios to believe him kindly and benevolent!” Rathma’s cloak fluttered almost nervously, an effect more pronounced by the fact that there was no wind. “All he has desired during his time here is to create more chaos that will keep those interested in the world’s survival at one another’s throats, the easier for them to be judged by the High Heavens and erased from existence.”

“Not possible!” Mendeln blurted. “I spoke with him. He was concerned over Inarius’s madness and the fear that demons were gaining control over humanity. He—”

“The truth can hide many lies within it.” The Ancient’s shoulders slumped. “To Tyrael, we would be monsters, things that should have never existed. Therefore, we are not worthy of trust or truth. All that matters is our annihilation, so that we do not blemish creation. No…we must seek alliance with my father, and quickly.”

Uldyssian could not believe that they would get anywhere with the Prophet. There had to be another way. “What about the dragon? Can’t he do anything?”

“He has. He warned me of the High Heavens coming.”

“And that’s all? He’ll do nothing else?”

Rathma glared. “I did not say he would remain idle. Even now, he attempts to blind them to Sanctuary’s true location. And if that fails, he will try to bar their way with his power.”

But judging by Rathma’s tone, it sounded unlikely that Trag’Oul would succeed.

There was one other question that bothered Uldyssian, and that concerned Inarius himself. “Why does this other angel go through such subterfuge? Is your father so powerful?”

“By himself not, but he has tied his essence to the Worldstone and draws upon it like a leech. It has made him far, far stronger, such that even the Three will deal cautiously with him.”

“Diablo!” Suddenly, what had happened to Uldyssian in the capital’s water system could be seen in a different light. “He tried to trick me into allowing him into my mind—or my soul! I fought him off, though.”

“The Lord of Terror was in Kehjan?” Inarius’s son considered. “I have this terrible feeling that there is more going on there.”

“Much more,” agreed Mendeln. “For it was the Prophet who sent me to Malic!”

It was impossible not to draw the only logical conclusion. The master demon in the city. Inarius tied to Malic. The sinister creature in the tunnels. “They’ve a pact,” Uldyssian muttered. “Those three had a pact.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And it included the slaughter of most of those who actually rule Kehjan!”

“Ah, how Tyrael would laugh…if he laughs at all.” Rathma spat. “So, either by his manipulation or by the plots of my father and the demon lord, all is falling into place for the High Heavens. The greatest city on Sanctuary, the nexus of power that might have stood, at least for a time, against an army of angels, is in utter chaos. It is made more ironic in that I am certain that neither Inarius nor Diablo sees the matter as anything more than the chess game between themselves.”

The thought was a sober one, for it now made it even more unlikely that Inarius would hear reason.

Uldyssian started, realizing that he had suddenly begun considering an alliance with the Prophet something desirable.

“Will he speak with us?” he finally dared asked.

Apparently, he even surprised Rathma with his change of heart, for the Ancient eyed him for a moment before answering. “It may be that he will…though what that will lead to could be not at all what we wish.”

Meaning that Inarius was just as likely to try to kill them as to listen.

“If there is to be any hope of approaching him, though,” continued the angel’s son, “it must be me who does it. The bond between us is tenuous but better than the feud between you and him.”

It was not how Uldyssian would have preferred it, but he saw the truth of Rathma’s words. “How’ll you do it?”

“I will simply go and speak with him…and now, in fact.”

And with that, Rathma vanished.

Startled, Uldyssian reached out a hand to the Ancient but was too slow. “Damn him! There’s more we needed to discuss!”

“Indeed,” returned Mendeln. “What do we do about Achilios? He serves this angel unwittingly or unwillingly, but he serves him nevertheless.”

There was no question in Uldyssian’s mind what to do. “We act in whatever way necessary to see to it that the edyrem are all safe. That means we return to them immediately.” He gestured for his brother to draw near, in the process returning the dagger. “And if that means we have to fight this Tyrael, then so be it.”

Mendeln only nodded. Uldyssian thought of Serenthia and the others. He sensed their general presence not all that far from the siblings, yet it was all but impossible to specifically locate Cyrus’s daughter.

And as Uldyssian concentrated, he worried what that might mean for her.

They vanished from their location and reappeared instantly among the edyrem. Startled shouts arose from those around them as the sons of Diomedes materialized. Wary of accidental attacks, Uldyssian shielded the pair—a good thing, since a moment later, a fireball sought to incinerate them.

“Stop!” cried Saron from somewhere. A moment later, the Torajian fell on one knee before Uldyssian. “You are back! We had feared the worst, Master Uldyssian!”

“I also, Saron.” Uldyssian patted the shorter man on the shoulder, then quickly surveyed those around him. “Where’s Serenthia?”

“I have not seen her in some hours. To be honest, Master Uldyssian, I was concerned, but she did once touch my mind and say that she was preparing the way for us.”

“And what does that mean?”

The Torajian shrugged. “At the time, I assumed that she referred to our march on the capital. We—we sought to rescue you.”

“For which I’m grateful.” Uldyssian concentrated harder, but still he could not sense Serenthia.

However, he did note something else to the north, something that reminded him of Achilios.

Thoughts racing ahead, Uldyssian absently said, “Stay with them, Mendeln. Do what you can.”

“Uldyssian! Do not—”

But it was already too late. Uldyssian left the edyrem, materializing instead in the jungle to the north. His eyes adjusted to the dark surroundings…but not soon enough.

The invisible force struck him like a battering ram, sending Uldyssian flying. If not for the son of Diomedes taking the precaution of shielding himself even before he arrived, he would have been very dead. As it was, Uldyssian crashed through first one thick trunk, then another, completely shattering both. The third finally stopped his flight, but not without nearly cracking in two.

He was not even given time to recover. Two arrows struck him, and despite the fact that they should have been far less of a threat than the magic, one penetrated his protection. Fortunately, it was slowed enough that it left only a shallow wound…a wound directly over his heart.

He tore the arrow from him, then rolled to the side. Uldyssian knew that a trap had been set for him. It had been no mistake that he had sensed Achilios but not Serenthia. That had enabled her to strike before he could orient himself.

But why they were trying to kill him was not entirely clear. The angel who manipulated them played a game nearly as twisted as Inarius’s. Achilios had managed to avoid successfully assassinating him earlier yet now seemed quite convinced that Uldyssian had to perish.

What was the point, though? Rathma had said that the hosts of the High Heavens were bearing down on Sanctuary. Why, then, did this Tyrael wish to bother with one particular human, no matter how powerful?

In asking that question, Uldyssian realized that he knew the answer.

But what mattered most was stopping this madness. He leapt to his feet. “Serenthia! Achilios! It’s me! It’s—”

Another tree bent over and sought to smother him in its thick foliage. As Uldyssian began ripping his way free, blue flames engulfed the branches.

The heat momentarily seared him. Sweating, Uldyssian waved a hand and sent a cold blast of air all around him. The flames died instantly, the blackened branches and leaves a dread reminder of what had been intended for Uldyssian.

Despite his concern for both his friends, he was also fast becoming angry. Serenthia and Achilios had come much too close to actually harming him. They were not even giving him an opportunity to try to tell them the truth. What did they think of him that they wanted his death so badly?

Strengthening his shields, he took a step forward and tried once more to talk reason. “Serry! We need to speak. The angel with you is as deadly as Inarius. Perhaps deadlier. He wants to destroy the entire world—”

“Spare us your pretense, high priest!” came her voice. “We know what you are and what you’ve done. By Uldyssian’s memory, we’ll make you regret all the lives you’ve stolen, especially his!”

He cursed, understanding at last what—or, rather, who—they thought him to be.

Malic.

How the angel had managed that, Uldyssian did not know. Still, what mattered was that the son of Diomedes now knew just why the two were so adamant about killing him.

And there was no manner by which he could think to convince them that he was himself.

The spear caught him under the ribs. Distracted by Serenthia’s revelation, Uldyssian had left himself open. His shields should have still held, but as he fell back, wounded, Uldyssian had no doubt that Tyrael had done something to assist the weapon in reaching its target. That also would have explained the arrow’s luck earlier.

Pain coursed through him. His head pounded. He gripped the spear and burned it to ash. Panting, Uldyssian put a hand over the wound, healing it.

His frustration mounted. He could not just stand there, letting them take chance after chance to slay him. The overall situation was far more important than this fight. Uldyssian had to put an end to things…even if it meant harming one or both of them in the process.

Or even doing something worse.

He straightened—and immediately, another arrow raced toward him. This time, though, Uldyssian had been expecting it. He threw his power first into reducing the bolt to ash, then striking where the archer had surely stood.

The trees and undergrowth for yards ahead flattened under the force of his spell. A scream arose, but it was feminine and came from another direction.

“No!” Serenthia shouted. She leapt out of the jungle, hands raised toward Uldyssian. The trees he had just flattened went soaring back at him.

He managed to deflect the first few, but while that was happening, Serenthia summoned a new spear and threw. Uldyssian managed to catch the spear just inches from him, then tossed it point first into the soil.

As it struck, a wall of dirt erupted. It rose several yards and immediately solidified.

Tree after tree slammed into the wall, but, strengthened by Uldyssian’s power, the dirt barrier held. The makeshift missiles struck with what sounded like a thunderclap.

Before Serenthia could attempt anything else, Uldyssian slapped the air in her direction. It struck the merchant’s daugher as if he had actually hit her himself. With a groan, she fell backward.

Taking a deep breath, the son of Diomedes looked around. Sensing no other threat, he rushed to Serenthia’s side.

She lay sprawled amidst the ruined undergrowth, her head tilted to one side in a manner that at first made Uldyssian fear that he had injured her badly. However, a quick study revealed nothing threatening.

The merchant’s daughter moaned. Her eyes opened, and she saw Uldyssian leaning over her.

An epithet worthy of a demon escaped her lips. She tried to move, tried to use her power, but Uldyssian had already prepared for that. Serenthia quickly found that she could do nothing.

“Please be calm, Serry,” he murmured, deciding that calling her by her childhood name might serve to alleviate her suspicions. In truth, her expression did immediately grow confused, yet the wariness did not completely disappear. “It’s me—it’s Uldyssian, I swear!”

“No…he said…I saw the carnage in the capital. He showed us what happened…and that it was Malic’s ghost seizing body after body…including yours!”

“The angel lied,” he bluntly replied.

“But…no…” Her eyes shifted ever so slightly.

Uldyssian sensed the figure behind him but made no move. Instead, the former farmer muttered, “At this close range, you should be able to hit me dead on, Achilios.”

“And if he even tries,” remarked yet another voice, “I shall send him back to where he came from.”

“Mendeln?” Serenthia gasped.

With the utmost care and casualness, Uldyssian looked behind him. As he had noted, the pale figure of the archer stood right behind him. A few leaves still clung to the undead’s body. Achilios had another dirt-encrusted shaft ready to fire, but even as Uldyssian watched, his childhood friend lowered his bow.

Just barely visible behind Achilios, Mendeln held the ivory dagger point down. The mystical weapon glowed faintly like moonlight.

“Mendeln…” rasped the hunter. “You…you don’t know…the truth…This is…is not Uldyssian! This is that…that creature…Malic!”

“No, this is my brother,” Mendeln replied calmly. “I would know Malic if I saw him, no matter what the body. I’ve learned that.”

“But—”

“The angel lied to both of you,” Uldyssian interjected. “He used you for pawns.” As he spoke, he released Serenthia from her invisible bonds. She eyed the hand he offered her with suspicion but finally grasped it.

“I believe it’s actually him, Achilios,” Serenthia said. “I really do.”

Her admission only seemed to anger the archer. “He nearly made…made me…do it again! I almost…killed you!”

Mendeln joined them. Keeping the glowing dagger by his side, he added, “I do not know if the angel wanted Uldyssian dead even now. I think that he is merely maximizing chaos wherever he can in preparation for the coming of the armed host.”

Both Serenthia and Achilios looked at the brothers in total bewilderment.

“What armed host?” the hunter asked.

Uldyssian explained. His friends’ expressions transformed swiftly to horror as understanding hit them hard.

“All of the world?” the dark-tressed woman exclaimed. “Nothing…no one left?”

“If Tyrael and the angels have their way. The other alternative seems to be enslavement by the demons…or by Inarius.”

“This can’t be happening. That means all we’ve done has been for nothing, Uldyssian!”

He shook his head. “No, Serry. I won’t believe that. I plan on fighting until the end. This is our world, not Inarius’s, the angels’, or the demons’!”

“What of…of Rathma?” asked Achilios grimly. “Can he…can he persuade Inarius…to join with us? Is that…even possible?”

“Is that even desired?” Uldyssian retorted. He vehemently shook his head. “I think Rathma’s doomed to failure, but he’s got to try—and in the meantime, we need to prepare.”

“For the angels’ coming,” Mendeln concluded.

But Uldyssian shook his head again. “No—no, I think first for Inarius, actually.”

space

Rathma had never been inside the Cathedral of Light, but he had heard tales of it. It was everything those tales had said, but despite that, he was not in the least impressed. All the glory, all the grandeur, focused around the megalomania of his father, not good, as it pretended.

The guards lining the corridors did not see him walk among them, nor did even the senior priests. He had not sought to materialize directly in Inarius’s sanctum, for his father would have taken that for a sign of disrespect. While Rathma did indeed have no respect for the angel, he felt that now was not the time to push that particular point.

The zealous guards stationed at the doorway to the Prophet’s sanctum stared as blindly as the rest. The cowled figure strode right past them and, a moment later, through the doors themselves.

Rathma did not announce himself as he entered the vast, elegant chamber. Inarius knew full well that his offspring was there.

Indeed, a moment later, the voice Rathma so despised echoed through his head and heart. MY WAYWARD SON…AND HAVE YOU COME TO BEG FORGIVENESS FOR YOUR SINS?

The angel materialized in his full, grand glory just a few feet above Rathma. His wings were spread wide across the chamber, the full spectrum of their energies filling the marble room with an astounding array of colors. Despite himself, Rathma had to admire the beauty inherent in what his father was, if nothing else.

“You can spare us both that constant question, can you not, Father?”

BUT IF THAT IS NOT THE REASON, THEN WHAT? WHEN LAST WE SPOKE, YOU REJECTED FOREVER THE LINK BETWEEN US. THEREFORE, IF YOU DO NOT SEEK FORGIVENESS, I SEE NO REASON FOR ANY FURTHER AUDIENCE.

“There is a very good reason, and you know it!” the Ancient said, his vast cloak fluttering. He raised a fist toward the angel. “The whole of Sanctuary is in imminent threat of destruction. There is only one hope to save it—”

COMBINE MY MIGHT WITH THAT OF THE HERETIC ULDYSSIAN AND HIS RABBLE, NOT TO MENTION YOURS AND PERHAPS WHATEVER HANDFUL OF THE FIRSTBORN STILL HIDE UNDER THE ROCKS? Inarius’s disdain was clear in his tone. PERHAPS ADD EVEN THE BURNING HELLS TO OUR RANKS? OR MAYBE THE SO-CALLED MAGE CLANS?

As he spoke, the angel glowed ever more brilliantly, so much so that Rathma had to shield his eyes. Rathma struggled against the ever-present urge to kneel before his father. Inarius gestured toward the images in the ceiling, his gauntleted hand twisting as if he sought to grasp each and every one of them.

IN THE HIGH HEAVENS, I WAS ONE AMONG MANY. AGAINST THEIR HOST, I WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO STAND. He looked down at his son once more. BUT WE ARE IN MY WORLD NOW…MY WORLD! ITS LIFE…ITS DEATH…ARE AND HAVE ALWAYS BEEN MINE TO DECIDE, LINARIAN!

This was turning into a conversation that Rathma and Inarius had had too often already during the ages. The Ancient had always suspected his progenitor of teetering on madness, but now he began to see that the angel was utterly insane.

Nonetheless, Rathma continued to try. “Father, you know that Tyrael has found Sanctuary—”

NO! The winged figure descended to just a few inches above the immaculate floor. THE PLOY FAILED! THE TRUTH BECAME KNOWN TO ME! TYRAEL IS NOT HERE; TYRAEL WAS NEVER HERE. AND EVEN IF HE WAS, NOT A THOUSAND OF HIM OR ANY OTHER COULD STAND AGAINST ME, SO LONG AS I AM BOUND TO THE WORLDSTONE! NO, LINARIAN, TYRAEL IS NOT HERE. YOUR TRICKS HAVE BEEN UNVEILED TO ME. YOU WORKED IN LEAGUE WITH ALL THE REST. YOU ARE NO MORE TO BE TRUSTED THAN THE LORD DIABLO, WHO THINKS TO BLIND ME TO HIS TREACHERIES BY OFFERING HIS OWN “ALLIANCE.”

The words verified some of Rathma’s suspicions and fears concerning recent events. “Then…then the slaughter of innocents in the capital is in great part your doing! You have left the mage clans in confusion and anger and made Sanctuary that much more unstable. You play into Tyrael’s hand, do you not see that?”

ALL PLAYS INTO MY HANDS, YOU MEAN. THE CITY IS TURNED AGAINST THE HERETIC, ULDYSSIAN, AS ARE MORE AND MORE OF THE FLOCK THROUGHOUT THE REALM. A very human laugh escaped the celestial being, a laugh filled with mad triumph. THEN LORD DIABLO OFFERS ME WHAT HE BELIEVES WILL IN THE END GARNER HIM DOMINATION OF MY WORLD AND MAKE THE HERETIC’S LEGIONS SOLDIERS FOR DAMNATION. HE PROVIDES ME WITH THE PATH TO THE VERY CHAOS I DESIRE UPON SANCTUARY, THE BETTER TO SWEEP IT CLEAN AND REBUILD IT WITH THE PERFECT ORDER IT WAS MEANT TO HAVE SINCE THE BEGINNING.

Rathma had earlier sensed Uldyssian’s reluctance when the Ancient had suggested seeking a pact with Inarius, and although the angel’s son had expected little, he saw that even Uldyssian had underestimated just how impossible success might be. Rathma’s father lived in a world of his own, but it was not even Sanctuary…it was a fantasy within his own mind.

And because of Inarius’s blind madness, everyone else would suffer.

Rathma made one last, desperate stab. “Father, Tyrael is not—”

He got no farther. Inarius gazed down upon him with eyes that were not even remotely human but blazing energy. At that moment, Rathma realized the gap between even himself and what his sire was. It was a jest of the cosmos that they were father and son; there was more of a physical bond between Rathma and a toadstool.

WHETHER NO TYRAEL OR A THOUSAND THOUSAND TYRAELS, THIS WORLD IS MINE, LINARIAN! MINE.

A sensation of extreme claustrophobia overwhelmed Rathma. His father swelled in size, rapidly growing into a giant.

No…the entire room matched the angel, which meant that it was the angel’s offspring who was transforming. Without Rathma even being aware of it, Inarius had shrunken him down to the size of a rat—and then even smaller.

The winged figure alighted, then reached out to his son. A smoky sphere immediately formed around Rathma. The Ancient battered his cage with all the magic he could muster, but for naught. Alone against his father, he was nothing.

The tiny sphere flew up from the floor and onto Inarius’s open palm. By the time it did that, it was no larger than a pea.

YOU ARE SO VERY MUCH LIKE YOUR MOTHER, Inarius said. A SHAME, THAT.

With that, he cast the sphere and Rathma into the void.