The Veiled Prophet

XVII

IT IS GOOD.

Tyrael had surveyed the situation sweeping over this false world one last time and found it to his immense satisfaction. The creatures were all at one another’s throats, and those who might cause the host some minor difficulty were in complete disarray. There was only one being in all this place that truly concerned him now, and that was the fallen one, Inarius.

The list of the renegade angel’s crimes was lengthy, but foremost among them was the very creation of these humans. Tyrael understood their origins, and the wrongness of such a thing made him shiver. Angels and demons. He could not imagine why even Inarius had not seen fit to eradicate them early on.

But that would happen soon enough. Tyrael could sense the others fast approaching, and the only question he had was why it had taken them so long. There was more to this place—this Sanctuary, as he now knew it to be called by the renegade—than appearances suggested. There was some force, some vast reservoir of power, that Inarius had come upon that might be the reason. Tyrael was still investigating that. Likely it was what had caused the delay of the host. In the long run, it would not matter.

He returned to the subject of the angel/demon spawn. Abominations they not only were, but their unsettling potential—which he recognized as easily as the demons he smelled surely had—ultimately demanded their extinction. They offered the possibility of throwing the eternal war utterly on its head, which even he could not fully fathom. True, after he had first seen them, Tyrael had briefly contemplated suggesting their use as soldiers for the High Heavens, but immediately after, the thought of any demon-tainted strain beside him in battle made him completely reject such a notion. No, the humans—and all else here—had to be cleansed from existence.

The angel drifted among the clouds that overlooked both the city and Inarius’s sanctum. He had focused much of his energy on shielding himself from the renegade’s sight and magic so that he could more readily observe events as they played out. There was little else the angel felt he needed to do; now he was content to watch and wait. Soon the others would arrive, and they would see that he had acted accordingly, opening the way for the cleansing.

Soon, Inarius’s blasphemous creation would be no more.

Malic bowed as low as the marble floor allowed. He had no choice. The face of the woman Amolia was covered in black lesions. Before he had come to this place, the specter had looked over the rest of his body and discovered the same held true for his limbs, his torso…every part. The body was nearly spent. He had little time remaining.

Finding a new host had proven harder than he could have imagined. Malic needed one that not only would hold him until he seized Uldyssian’s but also had magical ability of its own.

The trouble was, the mage clans had proven quite adept after the slaughter of their council in alerting all their ilk to just who the assassin had been. At the time, Malic had assumed that he would already have Uldyssian’s body, and so he had lost valuable opportunities. Then the mage clans’ enforcers had begun hunting for him in groups that prevented him from picking off one of their number.

Thus it was that Malic had been grateful when Inarius had given him what seemed a gift—Uldyssian’s accursed brother, Mendeln. As it had been Mendeln who had, through some arcane force, brought him back to existence, Malic had found the use of his body a priceless jest.

That incident had turned into the final debacle, though, and led him to this sorry state. He had been forced to make a new deal…and now grovel before one he hated almost as much as Uldyssian.

Inarius stood before him not as the angel but as the youthful Prophet. Malic no longer sneered at the image; he was now desperate for the first time in his life…and afterlife. This had to go as planned.

The angel was clad in gleaming silver armor that hinted of his true status. In fact, a stylized winged warrior was the centerpiece of his breastplate. Over his golden hair, he wore a rimmed helmet with an arched metal crest that ran all the way back to the base. At the Prophet’s side hung a scabbard containing a sword with a jeweled hilt.

Under other circumstances, Malic might have laughed mockingly at what he thought was such a gaudy vision. After all, the figure before him was so much more powerful than what his mortal flock saw. These trappings were nothing but stage dress so that Inarius could look that much more impressive when he destroyed the fanatical edyrem.

“I have given you more than one opportunity, Malic,” Inarius said. “Opportunities that you have squandered!”

“Circumstance was against me,” the high priest dared reply. “And, in one case, betrayal! The water demon was to have secured Uldyssian for me but chose to give in to his hunger instead.”

“A matter that you would best take up with the Lord Diablo…if you can find him.” Inarius allowed his human aspect to sneer at the absent demon. “He ended this farce of a pact quicker than I expected—which perhaps shows he has some wisdom, as I was about to turn it all against him, anyway.”

“He tried to take the Ascenian for his own purposes,” offered Malic. “Tried and failed.”

“Not unlike yourself.” The angel gazed down at the bent form. “Still, there is, perhaps, some use left in you…”

Malic glanced up. “Whatever I must do, I will!”

“That you shall—and, if possible, for that I will yet grant you the heretic’s body.”

A heavy cough escaped the high priest. Malic was unable to prevent himself from suddenly throwing up on the pristine floor.

Inarius frowned. Under his baleful gaze, the disgusting spill vanished.

“F-forgive me,” the specter managed.

“If you do as I command, I shall.” The Prophet gestured, and Malic rose to his feet like a puppet. “But that shell will no longer suffice. You need a better one.”

The entrance to Inarius’s chamber opened. Out of the corner of his eye, Malic saw an older but quite athletic woman in the robes of a senior priest standing somewhat startled at the doors. Her hand was still formed into the fist she had intended to use to knock politely.

Immediately, the woman bowed her head. “Great one, you summoned me.”

“That I did, Oris. Approach us.”

For the first time, the woman saw Malic. Her brow furrowed as she strode toward the pair. Behind Oris, the doors sealed tight.

With a fatherly smile, the Prophet said, “My loyal Oris, you know there is no one closer to me than you.”

The priestess’s cheeks reddened. Malic realized that she loved her master not only as a believer but as a woman loved a man. “I live to serve you…”

“So you do.” Inarius held out his hands to her. Oris approached him. The angel gently took hold of her by the shoulders and leaned forward.

The kiss was short and little more than a grazing of the lips. To Malic, it was clear that the kiss meant nothing to Inarius. The woman, however, stood stunned and redder than ever.

“My dear, lovely Oris,” the Prophet began anew. “Your devotion to me has been commendable.”

“Proph—Prophet! I—” She looked entirely confused by his action.

“Please, Oris. I have need of you. I wish you to help this unfortunate wretch.”

For the first time, she studied Malic closely. “What terrible disease is this that plagues her?”

“One you need not concern yourself about. What she needs most right now is your comforting hand.”

“Certainly!” The priestess turned to Malic. “Come, my young one, let me help you.”

The specter smiled. “Thank you.”

Oris had no chance to scream. If the bodies were burning out faster than Malic desired, at least his possession of a new one was taking less and less time also.

He watched as the mage’s limp body collapsed in a heap at his feet. Malic had to admit that Oris was a healthy and strong specimen. She would last longer than his previous host.

“There will be no more need of this,” the Prophet murmured, gesturing toward Amolia’s corpse.

Malic watched as the spellcaster’s body turned to dust and blew away into nothing. He was grateful not to be in it any longer. At most, he had likely had a day left.

The angel nodded in satisfaction. “That shall suffice for the time necessary. All that remains now is for you to be clad appropriately.” He casually flicked his hand toward Malic, adding, “Thus!”

The body of the female priest now also wore a breastplate and helmet. A mace with four jagged hooks on the crown hung on the left hip.

Eyeing the changes, Malic looked confused. “What’s this for?”

Inarius eyed him as if the ghost were a fool. Malic immediately put on a humble expression.

This appeared to satisfy the angel. “It should be very obvious to you, high priest,” the Prophet replied. “What else can it be for?” He smiled just as he had before betraying his loyal servant. “We are going off to war.”

“We’re not entering Kehjan,” Uldyssian informed the others. His eyes and power continued to search for Mendeln, but to no avail. “We leave the city alone.”

“After all this?” blurted Serenthia. She pointed in the direction of the slumbering army. “We could walk in and take the capital without anyone stopping us!”

“That was never the reason. The reason always had to do with Inarius. Well, he’s thrown down the gauntlet. He’s inviting us to come to him, can’t you feel that?”

They could not. Even now, as powerful as the edyrem in general had become, they could not feel the angel’s touch. Uldyssian did not like that.

“What do we do, Master Uldyssian?” asked Jonas, the gaunt Parthan ever ready to obey.

“We’re not far from the grasslands between the city and the Cathedral of Light. We turn in that direction.”

Serenthia frowned. “And then what?”

“Then we fight for our lives…again.”

Despite the abrupt change in their intended route, Uldyssian’s followers argued little when told. Yet again, they trusted in their leader and what he planned. Uldyssian hid from everyone the fact that he had no true idea what to do save face the angel himself. In his mind, the rest of Inarius’s followers were nothing. Inarius was the one who had to be defeated.

And even that might not be enough to save Sanctuary.

The edyrem wasted no time in moving on, their easy victory over the Kehjani army spurring their spirits. The grasslands, an open area in the midst of the all-consuming jungles, were believed to have been the reason the Cathedral had originally chosen a northerly location for its base of operations. It allowed for an easy path for pilgrims going to and from the shining edifice and the capital.

It now made for the perfect place for war.

As the edyrem marched, Uldyssian kept watch for any covert strikes by either Inarius or one of his minions. However, nothing happened. At first, he did not understand why the angel would let all of them travel unmolested, but as the journey progressed and still nothing happened, it slowly dawned on him just why that might be.

But it was not until Mendeln returned—with Rathma beside him—that Uldyssian was able to confirm his suspicion with Inarius’s offspring. Guiding them and Serenthia slightly away from the others, he asked Rathma his opinion.

“Yes, that is exactly it,” the cowled Ancient agreed. “You have come to know my father well. He is indeed preparing a spectacle that will show all those in Sanctuary that his is the ultimate power. He intends your defeat to be a glorious one!” Rathma shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “And that even if the world itself should exist no more than a few minutes past his victory. Such madness!”

“He might not even have the few minutes,” Uldyssian pointed out. “The angels could arrive before that.”

Rathma grew grimmer yet. “You have no idea how true you speak. They were distracted by Trag’s ploy, but that is no more. They now know exactly where Sanctuary is. Time flows differently for them, but I would say that we have maybe a day or two before they fall upon us.”

The others—even Mendeln, it appeared—looked aghast. Uldyssian could not help but gape. “As little as that? I thought maybe a week—”

“A week would be a blessing.”

“Damn Inarius for not listening! There might’ve been some hope against the angels if he had.”

Rathma said nothing. Uldyssian looked around at the others. His expression grew stubborn. “We don’t tell anyone else! If we’re all to die, better we die fighting! If somehow we defeat Inarius, then we can worry about anything else. No one else must know. Agreed?”

He received no dissension. They rejoined the edyrem and moved on.

Uldyssian had hoped to make it to the Cathedral that day, but his estimation of their pace proved too ambitious. They barely reached the edge of the grasslands just after dark. He knew that to go on was to play into Inarius’s intentions yet could not help feeling that to stop would do the same.

“He will not attack this night,” Rathma finally informed him. “My father wants the slaughter of the edyrem—and, especially, your downfall—completely visible to his followers. No, he will wait for daylight, foolish as that might seem to us.”

“If only we could reach the Cathedral during the night and still have the strength to fight him…”

The Ancient glanced out at the night-enshrouded grasslands. “I cannot say exactly why, but I feel that if you would attempt that, you would regret it. There is something out there, something best left for the light of the sun.”

Frowning, Uldyssian stared at the landscape ahead. Now that Rathma had mentioned it, he, too, noticed something unsettling about the visually tranquil grasses. The view was innocent enough; the tall brown and green grasses swayed gently in the breeze. A few creatures called out, most of them insects or the occasional night bird. There was nothing that in any manner hinted of threat.

Yet he felt that Rathma was right.

The edyrem made camp just within the jungle. Aware of how inviting the grasslands looked, Uldyssian was adamant in his decision that no one, not even the sentries, step a foot beyond the last of the trees.

But it turned out that there was one who did not obey. Once most of the edyrem were asleep, Uldyssian waited for Achilios to join them, yet as the minutes passed and the hunter did not appear, the son of Diomedes believed he knew just what had happened.

“He’s out there, isn’t he?” Uldyssian asked Rathma.

“You know him better than I.”

“Can’t you sense him?”

“No.” The Ancient looked to Mendeln. “Can you?”

Uldyssian’s brother held up his dagger, then pointed it toward the grasslands. The faint glow did not change. “I think…there is a hint…but I cannot be certain.” As he lowered the blade, he added, “But it would be like him, wouldn’t it, Uldyssian?”

Serenthia grew upset. “We’ve got to go after him! If there is something out there, it might—”

She refrained from using the word kill, as Achilios was already dead, but they shared her concern. Uldyssian put a foot into what he considered the true boundary between the jungle and the grasslands, then concentrated as hard as he could.

“He’s out there. I can’t place where, but he’s definitely out there.” A part of Uldyssian wanted to go chasing after his friend. “He’s scouting for us.”

Even Rathma showed some surprise at this. “Was that wise of him?”

“This is Achilios,” Uldyssian returned. “He makes his own choices…and he’s very capable.”

Inarius’s son nodded, then prudently left with Mendeln while Uldyssian dealt with Serenthia.

“This is ridiculous!” she blurted. “Uldyssian, he can’t be allowed to risk himself like this! I know why he is. Because he thinks that since he’s dead and I’m not, what we have can’t go on.”

“There’s a good chance that we’ll all be dead soon, Serry. I think Achilios is just doing what he can maybe to save the woman he loves. You can’t fault him for that.”

She suddenly beat her hands against his chest. “I fault him for leaving me over and over! I fault him for thinking that I don’t love him enough—”

Her fists flared with unbridled energy. If not for his own inherent defenses, Uldyssian knew that he would have been badly injured. As it was, both of them were suddenly surrounded by a green fire that originated from him.

“Serry! Stop this now!”

The merchant’s daughter shook uncontrollably, then started sobbing. The fire vanished from around her hands. As it did, Uldyssian retracted his own spell.

Or, at least, he tried to. The green flames resisted. The heat around both of them continued to increase. Sweat began pouring down Uldyssian’s face, and he heard Serenthia gasping for breath.

Gritting his teeth, the son of Diomedes focused harder. He demanded that his power obey.

And it did. Just like that, the flames ceased. Yet the effort took more out of Uldyssian than he had expected.

Serenthia shifted in his arms, bringing his attention back to her. She looked up, her face drawn from her outburst.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Uldyssian… I didn’t mean to lose control of myself…but…”

“It’s all right. I understand.”

She wiped the moisture from around her eyes. “It’s just that…I suddenly feared that I might not see him again this time.”

Her fear was a reasonable one, but Uldyssian could not tell her that. “You’ll see him again. I know Achilios. Nothing can keep him from you. You should know that by now.”

“I hope…I hope he’ll be all right out there,” the dark-haired woman murmured as she stepped away from him. “I hope he will be.”

Eyeing the grasslands, Serenthia quietly walked away. Uldyssian kept watch until he was certain that she was simply going to sleep, then turned his own attention back to the grasslands. Try as he might, he could not determine exactly where Achilios was.

“You’d better come back to her,” Uldyssian whispered. “You’d better come back to her…”

If only so that they could die together this time…

Serenthia looked as if she slept, but she did not. Regardless of what Uldyssian had said, she could not merely leave things be. Achilios had been reckless, true, but Serenthia would not abandon him because of that trait. After all, he had always been reckless, but also extremely loyal.

And so, while her body lay still, her mind went in search of the man she loved.

Serenthia soared over the grasslands, seeking any hint of Achilios’s presence. She was aware that, being dead, he did not leave a trace as Uldyssian or she might, but the merchant’s daughter was certain that her bond with the archer more than made up for that. She would find him.

The grasslands had a surreal calmness that should have set her mind at ease, but instead, Serenthia soon felt as if something watched her from behind. Yet when she reversed her view, it was to find nothing.

Finally shaking it off as nerves, Serenthia pushed herself faster and faster. Achilios could not be far.

Something to the east caught her attention. She veered toward there with ease. There was nothing visible, but then, the hunter would hardly be standing out in the open.

As she neared the area in question, Serenthia was finally able to tell that what she had thought might be Achilios was instead something else. Secure in the knowledge that she could neither be seen nor heard, Serenthia hovered over the spot, seeking the source of the strangeness she felt.

When that failed, she descended. Lower and lower she brought her view, until at last Serenthia stared into the very ground.

And then she saw the hole.

It was not truly physical but bordered between that and some plane of existence almost akin to that which she currently inhabited. The gap was wide enough to fit a man or something slightly larger, but the edges seemed in flux, as if prepared to close…or open farther.

Curious, Serenthia descended lower yet, directly through the center of the gap.

The moment she passed into it, her entire perspective shifted. Serenthia knew that she was no longer in Sanctuary, but where she was, it was impossible to say.

Something black and seemingly consisting entirely of huge, sharp teeth shot up at her.

Serenthia tried to retreat through the gap, only to discover that it was far, far above her mental form. How she had descended so deep, she did not know, but all that mattered now was to escape.

The thing closed on her, its many teeth gnashing. Up close, she saw that it had a circular mouth and two tiny, almost-blind eyes. Somehow, though, the fiendish beast clearly knew where Serenthia was despite her not being there physically.

Undulating like a snake, the creature pursued at a pace far greater than hers. Serenthia feared that it would catch up before she reached the gap, and if it did, there was no doubt in her mind that despite her lack of body, it would destroy her. It was possible that her powers would work against it, but for some reason, Serenthia suspected that it was better to run rather than fight.

But she was not going to make it. The gap was still too far away. Just below, the horrific mouth opened wide, filling her view. Serenthia smelled decay, and the fact that she could smell anything at all added to her fear that she was not safe from harm.

She wished she had her spear. With the weapon, she would have at least had the ghost of a chance. Serenthia’s desire was so intense that she could almost feel the spear in her hand—

And suddenly, she realized that she held it.

It was not actually the spear, Serenthia saw, but rather a magical representation her mind had created. Nevertheless, it gave her hope. Readying it, she aimed for the center of the creature’s cavernous maw, not hard to do, considering how wide the mouth was now.

It all but had her. The teeth gnashed eagerly. Serenthia threw, knowing that her entire will had to go into this last desperate attempt.

The gleaming spear vanished deep into the beast. Serenthia then imagined the weapon burning with fire hot enough to melt rock and, therefore, the insides of this nightmarish thing.

The wormlike beast let out a gargling sound. Its body glowed like hot coals.

It exploded.

Bits of the monster flew through Serenthia, who instinctively sought to protect herself. Ichor rained down, then dissipated.

Although she had destroyed her attacker, Serenthia’s first thought was to flee. Yet she had barely started to withdraw, when it occurred to her that there had to be more going on here than a simple den for a monstrous beast. Studying her surroundings better, the raven-tressed woman reaffirmed her belief that she was no longer in Sanctuary. However much that disturbed her, it also came to her mind that Achilios also might have discovered this “passage” and investigated it. That might be why Serenthia had not been able to trace him thus far. If she left without making sure that he was not here…

Decision made, she flew down the passage. As she did, she could not help but glance more and more at what passed for its walls. Inspecting closely, Serenthia discovered that they were not even completely solid but actually like black pitch that constantly dripped.

Then, up ahead, there came a disconcerting light, a light as crimson as blood. Serenthia slowed, suddenly uncertain about going any farther.

Once again, it was Serenthia’s deep love for Achilios that drove her on toward the monstrous light. Had she had any true flesh, it would have crawled from fear and disgust. Whatever lay ahead radiated an evil so strong that even Lilith paled by comparison.

It was all Serenthia could do to push herself to the end of the passage. Once there, she peered into the light, trying to focus on what lay within it.

And what she saw made the slaughter of the Kehjani merchants and mages insignificant by comparison. Her courage finally broke. Serenthia wanted nothing more than to return to the relative safety of her own body. With all the will she could muster, she strained to escape the magical passage and what lay at the other end.

There was a tingling sensation when Serenthia finally passed through the gap. But even when the grasslands once again filled her view, she did not slow. Serenthia did not look back once, fearing that in doing so, she would find creatures more monstrous than the worm giving chase.

She returned at last to her body.

Serenthia jolted up, her eyes already wide. She quickly spun around, certain that fiends loomed all about her. When she found nothing, the frantic woman immediately raced back to where she had left Uldyssian.

He was still there, still standing and watching the grasslands. At any other time, Serenthia would have been touched by his determination, for it was obvious that he continued to hope to find some trace of Achilios out there. However, what she had seen outweighed even her concern for the man she loved.

It was all Serenthia could do to keep from shouting as she neared Uldyssian. He turned as she arrived, his expression telling her that he sensed her tremendous anxiety.

“Serry!” The son of Diomedes took hold of her arm. “What is it? A bad dream about Achilios?”

Naturally, that would be his first thought when she came running so. Serenthia shook her head.

“No!” she gasped. Then, thinking better, Serenthia lowered her voice to a whisper. “No. Uldyssian…no dream. I—I went out there to look…to look for Achilios—”

“What?” It was clear to her that he was doing all that he could to keep from raising his own voice. Uldyssian understood exactly what Serenthia had done in order to search for the archer, and his fury was understandable. “You should’ve told me first! No! You shouldn’t have tried anything at all! What would have happened if—”

“Uldyssian, hush! Listen to me! You need to hear what I found!”

“Why? Was Achilios…was he—”

“No…though I pray that he didn’t run across it and fall victim to the guardian!” Serenthia gazed down, lost in that horrible thought. What if Achilios had discovered the magical gap and had entered? What if she had not noticed any trace of him, but he had been there, a prisoner, all the time?

“Serry! Serry!” Uldyssian forced her to focus on him again. “Come back! Now, tell me. Tell me what’s shaken you.”

“It’s…” Taking a deep breath, she tried once more. “It’s…horrifying!”

With that, the story came spilling out of her. The sensation that something was amiss, the discovery of the magical gap, her decision to investigate it, and what happened when she did.

Uldyssian was stunned…and even more furious than ever. “You should’ve turned right back!”

“Listen! There’s more. So much more. Listen!” Serenthia described the beast guarding the way and how she had managed to destroy it. Uldyssian’s brow rose at this, but he refrained from interrupting. “And then…and then I reached the end of the passage and saw them…all of them! An endless sea of them. So horrific. So terrifying!”

She became caught up in the nightmarish vision again. The grotesque, fiendish faces. The macabre, chilling forms. The incredible aura of evil…

“Serry!” Uldyssian shook her by the shoulders. “What did you see?”

The merchant’s daughter steeled herself. In a low, steady voice, she managed. “I saw…I saw into what could only be what Rathma called the Burning Hells, Uldyssian! The passage in the grasslands leads out of our world and into wherever they must exist!”

He opened his mouth in what surely would have been a denial of her words, then shut it tight. Uldyssian nodded grimly. They had all dealt with demons long enough. A magical gateway to the infernal realms was no longer a stretch of the imagination.

Seeing that Uldyssian would not argue, Serenthia forced herself to tell him the worst yet. “They were there. They were there. Thousands and thousands of them! Maybe more. I don’t know—their numbers looked endless.”

“Who, Serry? Who?”

Her eyes grew wide as saucers as she continued to envision their ranks. “An army…an army of demons. And they can only be getting ready to march on Sanctuary!”