The Veiled Prophet

V

Zorun Tzin grinned with almost childlike pleasure at his success. He had hoped to use this particular spell—one carefully plotted out over a period of months for another purpose—to cause enough commotion to distract the Ascenian, but never in his wildest dreams had the mage expected such success. Truly, his power was greater than even he had ever assumed.

The deaths did not in the least bother Zorun. He knew exactly who had been in the wagons and that there would be some repercussions, but no one would trace the killing of Master Fahin to him. They were more likely to set the blame at the feet of Uldyssian ul-Diomed, something that Zorun would encourage. The rumors of the Ascenian’s might and violent nature were, after all, widely known.

It would also make the mage’s capturing of the renegade all that more impressive…if he bothered even to tell the council. Thoughts had been circulating in his head, thoughts involving the gaining of much, much power.

Power enough so that all other mages would bow to him.

As far as Zorun could sense, no witnesses had survived. All proceeded as planned. He had kept a furtive, and necessarily distant eye on Uldyssian for several days, and the encounter with the merchant had proven just what the bearded spellcaster desired. The Ascenian had willingly separated himself from his herd and set things in motion just exactly as Zorun required them.

Just to be on the safe side, though, the mage ordered the guards, “Go out and make certain that there are no survivors. Quickly, now.”

They obeyed with some reluctance, clearly not comfortable with all he had done. Zorun watched them hurry out toward the ruined wagons. Again unbidden came the thoughts of what he could do with the power the Ascenian supposedly wielded. Of course, that made the guards a situation he would have to rectify.

The underbrush to his left shook as a hulking form dragged its burden toward him. Zorun had no difficulty recognizing Terul’s too-small head.

“Ah! You have him! Splendid, Terul!”

The servant grunted, then brought the body closer. Daring at last to summon light, Zorun studied the Ascenian up close. “Not much to look at. A farmer, as they said. Hmmph! Still, more valuable than gold, eh, Terul?”

But the giant was gazing past his master. A deep frown spread over Terul’s ugly countenance, and his thick brow wrinkled in apparent thought.

“Maybe not good, they come back,” he suddenly declared in one of the most complete sentences that Zorun had ever heard him speak.

Terul’s blunt comment reinforced the mage’s own earlier concerns. He eyed the distant forms of the guards as they searched among the wreckage for any life. The mage came to a decision. “Yes. I wonder if I can continue the spell…”

He bent down to the pattern he had earlier drawn in the soft ground. Part of it had been marred by his foot, but Zorun easily remedied that. He had drained himself with his earlier effort, yet somehow he felt that he still had enough for one last task.

Raising his staff over the pattern, Zorun Tzin gestured. He had designed this spell to be one where chanting was not necessary, for any noise might attract the attention of the target, or, in this case, targets.

The runes along his staff glowed slightly. A moment later, illumination began to emanate from those in the pattern as well.

From the vicinity of the wagons came the rustling of leaves and branches. The shadowed figures of the guards gave no indication that they noticed anything amiss.

Zorun whispered a single word. “Jata.”

As they had done before, the trees that still had branches and vines bent down. They reached with deadly accuracy for the six soldiers.

The first had no chance to scream. The vines wrapped around his mouth and throat and branches bore him into the foliage. A comrade nearby turned—

Branches seized him. He managed a cry for help, which warned the others. One guard made a leap for him, but the second man was already rising above the ground.

Their leader pointed in Zorun’s direction. The four remaining fighters started toward him, their intentions obvious. However, two managed only a step before they were taken, and another barely more than that. They chopped at the insidious vegetation, but even with their sharp weapons, they could not make enough headway.

The officer was the last to disappear. He swore an oath at Zorun that colored even the mage’s ears. Then the vines that encircled his neck tightened so much that he choked to death.

The trees dragged the remains above and out of sight. They would be deposited some distance from the area, where animals would remove any trace of them. Naturally, Zorun would also blame their deaths and disappearances on Uldyssian. As with the others, the Ascenian would be unavailable to protest his innocence.

Satisfied, the mage lowered his staff and kicked dirt over the pattern. He suddenly weaved uncertainly, his exertions too much even for him.

Fortunately, Terul was there to catch him. With the giant’s assistance, Zorun mounted his horse. The servant then retrieved the still body of Uldyssian ul-Diomed.

Taking a sip of wine from a sack, Zorun Tzin nodded. The night’s work had indeed gone well. He had bagged his quarry much more easily than even he had imagined. The mage swore not to be so humble about his own greatness in the future.

Zorun also finally swore not to tell the mage council that he had succeeded. He would just explain to them that Uldyssian had been waiting for him, that the Ascenian had, in his madness, slaughtered both those in the merchant’s caravan and the council’s noble guards. It would mean looking like a failure in the council’s eyes—something that they would enjoy—but Zorun would know the truth, and that was all that mattered. After all, why should he turn over such a prize to them, who would only squabble over it? Better that Uldyssian ul-Diomed would be in the hands of one who best knew how to make use of his supposed gifts.

Zorun steered his mount around. “Come, Terul,” he commanded, leaving to the servant, who had also mounted up, the task of guiding both his horse and the one bearing the Ascenian back to the city. There would be no difficulty entering Kehjan unnoticed, not even by the council. He was Zorun Tzin, after all.

“The soldiers’ horses,” rumbled Terul abruptly.

“Hmm?” The mage once again had to marvel at his servant’s awareness. Yes, surprisingly, Terul was correct again; something had to be done with the extra horses. The council might wonder how all six animals had survived unscathed when their riders had not.

Of course, that was a situation more easily remedied than all previous. Zorun reached into a pouch and removed a small tube. He placed one end to his lips and blew.

The horse before him jerked, then collapsed in a heap. Two others fell just as easily. By the time anyone came across them, the potion in their bodies would have rotted away a good part of their carcasses. They would look as if Uldyssian ul-Diomed had cruelly slaughtered them along with the rest. Such a touch would only strengthen Zorun’s story, which he was already formulating for the fools on the council.

“That should do very well, eh, Terul? The mage council will appreciate that I salvaged what little I could, don’t you think?”

Terul grunted agreement.

Weary but feeling quite pleased with himself, Zorun Tzin rode on. Behind him, Terul tugged on the reins of Uldyssian’s horse and, with a last grin at the unmoving figure, followed the mage.

In a place that was not a place, what seemed glittering stars swirled over an immense, black emptiness. Had there been someone to see those stars, he would have noticed in each a gleaming, mirrorlike scale.

And in each of those glittering scales, he would have seen a moment of his life. From the very beginning on into adulthood…and perhaps even the very end. Indeed, the lives of all who had ever been born on Sanctuary could be found among these scales.

The scales of what some might call—if they saw them arranged just so—a dragon but which was so much more than that.

His name was Trag’Oul, and he had existed since this world had been molded by the refugee angels and demons. The essence of creation that they had stolen to forge Sanctuary had included what was him. He had grown as the world had grown, and his fate was tied to Sanctuary as much as was that of the humans now populating it.

Because of that and because he knew the threat to Sanctuary of both the High Heavens and the Burning Hells, he had, with some hesitation, taken on a pupil, the very son of Inarius. He had called him Rathma after the Ancient had rejected his birth name, Linarian. Trag’Oul had found him quite the willing student and had imparted to him wisdom even the angels and demons lacked. And all the while Rathma learned, the two had, over the centuries, strived to keep Sanctuary from completely tipping to one side or the other of what Trag’Oul called the Balance. The Balance represented the equilibrium of the world. A descent into utter evil meant terrible destruction; a turn to the complete absence of evil meant stagnation and decay. The middle, where good and evil coexisted but neither had the great advantage, was, in their minds, the best and only choice.

But most of all, maintaining that Balance meant keeping the High Heavens from discovering the existence of the world, as the Burning Hells already had. The demons were kept in check not only by Inarius’s efforts but by the dragon’s as well. If the angels entered the fray, though…

Rathma, I would speak with you, Trag’Oul said to the darkness.

The cloaked figure suddenly stood below the shifting stars. “I am here.”

We must prepare for the unthinkable.

“Must we? I am not so certain just yet.”

For one of the rare times in his existence, the dragon was caught off-guard. And why do you think such a thing?

Rathma’s cloak fluttered around him as if it were an extension of his thoughts. “If the High Heavens know about Sanctuary, why have they not swooped in en masse? There seems no point in delaying that.”

They are studying Inarius and the Burning Hells, evaluating their positions.

“Sensible…but not if you include the hunter, Achilios, in the situation. He tried to slay Uldyssian, you know.”

Which makes it more likely that it is your father who controls him. I fail to see your point. The stars reshaped themselves, becoming again a constellation resembling the long, serpentine creature of myth.

“It was not my father. I know that now with all certainty. I know where he is and what he has been doing. It was not he.”

Then we are back to the belief that the High Heavens is aware of Sanctuary.

Rathma’s brow rose. “Or but one of its august host.”

But one? The stars realigned themselves as Trag’Oul digested this. But one? Who, though, would come in secret, rather than immediately reveal Inarius’s betrayal to the Angiris Council? There is none.

“There is one. There is he who was closest to my father, as close as blood, despite neither having any. Yea, I might call him uncle, Trag, for as the angels count them, he and Inarius are considered brothers.”

You cannot mean Tyrael.

There was a moment of silence, as if both expected that speaking this angel’s name would cause him to appear. After a time, though, Rathma finally spoke, in a voice that, for humans, at least, could have barely been heard.

“Yes. Tyrael. I believe that the Angel of Justice has come on his own to judge his brother’s crimes…and, in the process, Sanctuary.”

Uldyssian awoke. At least, that was the best he could describe his change in condition. In truth, he felt somewhere midway between that and unconsciousness. His head swam in a manner that disconcerted him, making it impossible to focus.

But despite that disorientation, Uldyssian felt certain of one thing.

Inarius surely had him.

He could imagine no one else who could so easily trap him…and that made the figure who stepped before him all the more odd. He was dark of skin, with a long beard well kept. His eyes, though, were what garnered the most attention, for they pierced the fog of Uldyssian’s mind as nothing else was able to do.

“You hear me, Uldyssian ul-Diomed? You hear me? I’ve kept you unconscious for the entire trip back, so you should be coherent enough now to respond.”

Uldyssian tried to answer, but his tongue felt too huge, and his jaw seemed not to work. He managed a nod, which satisfied the robed figure.

“Good! Understand, then, that I am your captor. I, the great Zorun Tzin!”

He said this as if Uldyssian should know him and appeared slightly put off by the prisoner’s lack of recognition. Zorun Tzin sniffed disdainfully, then went on. “They all feared you, but you proved quite simple to take, truly. I sometimes still wonder if it was even worth all I did, all I betrayed…”

Once again, Uldyssian tried to speak, with the same results.

“You shall be talking soon enough, rest assured, my friend! There is much I would learn about you before I decide just what should be done.”

A huge figure lumbered past behind the spellcaster’s back. For some reason, the brutish form seized Uldyssian’s attention more than his captor.

Zorun glanced back. “Terul! Bring me that small black chest on the third shelf. Now!”

Zorun’s servant stalked off to obey, but not before meeting Uldyssian’s gaze. The captive felt the urge to say something but knew the futility.

“Does Terul upset you with his appearance?” the mage asked, misreading Uldyssian’s reaction. “There are far worse things in the world. He’s the least of your concerns, Ascenian…and I am your greatest.”

He raised a staff that Uldyssian only now saw and muttered something. Various runes of the staff flared.

A scream echoed in Uldyssian’s ears, but it took him a moment to realize that it was his own. Pain suddenly ravaged his body, as if every inch of his skin were slowly peeled away.

“It is only sensation now,” explained the robed figure, “but soon it will be reality. I give you this demonstration to encourage you to be forthcoming with whatever answers I desire. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes!” That he could speak now in no manner pleased Uldyssian. All that mattered was the pain. His head still swam, enabling him to pay attention only to Zorun Tzin, nothing else. He still did not even know his surroundings, other than the bit of stone floor beneath the spellcaster’s sandaled feet.

With a sweeping gesture of the staff, Zorun caused the pain to ease. From his left, the giant, Terul, returned with the box his master had demanded earlier. The servant did not give him the container but rather held it before Zorun.

The mage opened the box with the lid toward Uldyssian. Zorun eagerly peered within, then removed something. Clutching the tiny object in his free hand, the bearded Kehjani indicated that Terul should shut the box.

“Replace it on the proper shelf,” he commanded the giant. As Terul departed, Zorun held up his hand for Uldyssian to see what lay in the palm.

Uldyssian tried to gasp, but it appeared that his captor had again sealed his mouth. He knew what lay in the spellcaster’s hand, knew it far better than Zorun likely did.

It was a small piece of the same type of crystal as that of which the Worldstone was composed.

Whether it was actually from the monstrous artifact itself, Uldyssian could not say. He only knew that he had never seen such crystal anywhere else. If it were actually a piece, the son of Diomedes could only assume that Lilith, one of the Ancients, or some demon or angel had stolen it away from the caverns. Perhaps it had been part of one of the floating crystals constantly shattering around the main stone, or perhaps it had been stolen at the time of the Worldstone’s creation. He could not say.

Indeed, all that mattered was that it was here, in the hands of Zorun Tzin.

“You sense the power inherent in this? Interesting. Perhaps you are more as the council said, after all. You like my little stone? It cost a dozen lives for me to obtain it, and in the decade before I became aware of it, apparently it cost twice that! All master mages or their agents. It is incredibly ancient, that much I know…and very useful for my spellwork, as you shall see.”

He squatted down. Uldyssian’s eyes followed, and for the first time he noticed the edge of some pattern written in chalk. It was likely the very pattern that held him in check. Zorun placed the crimson stone on one particular symbol, which flared as the crystal touched it.

“You would do best to be very cooperative,” Zorun said as he straightened. “The stone will amplify the effects of everything I desire, including your pain.”

The mage raised his staff. Again, the runes glowed.

Uldyssian screamed. Now it felt as if he were being turned inside out. He saw no change, but his attempts to deny the pain went for nothing.

As abruptly as the agony had begun, it ceased. Uldyssian would have let his head slump over if that choice had been allowed him.

The Kehjani chuckled. “What you experienced, Ascenian, can actually be done to you. I can turn your insides into your outsides. The stone is powerful enough to enable me to do that. I know, for I have tested it in that regard.” He let that fact sink deep into Uldyssian’s muddled mind. “An easy thing it would be, in fact—”

At that moment, Terul rushed into view. Zorun was not at all pleased by this interruption, but he listened as the giant tried to relate some imminent news.

“Upstairs…” the servant grunted. “Robes…”

The mage’s expression radiated understanding. “Members of the council? Is that what you mean?”

Terul’s tiny head bobbed up and down.

Zorun stroked his immaculate beard. “They cannot be here about the guards, as they’ve accepted the explanations for their deaths. Did they say anything to you at all about the reason for their visit?”

In reply, Terul could only shrug.

“Imbecile! Dolt! I shall have to deal with this immediately!” With a snort of frustration, Zorun waved the hulking figure aside. However, before departing, the spellcaster paused to say to Uldyssian, “This will give you a moment to put to order all information you will relate to me, Ascenian. I suggest you have it all ready for when I return. The questioning will begin in earnest then.”

The mage vanished from sight. Terul remained behind, the servant watching the direction in which his master had gone.

Then an odd change came over Terul. The giant’s expression twisted into something more knowing. His eyes once again radiated the extreme intelligence that Uldyssian thought he had briefly witnessed before.

Terul bent down and seized the crimson stone. A look of avarice spread across his grotesque features. Up close, Uldyssian noticed something else, a pair of odd lesions, almost burns, near the left ear. They looked very recent.

“Mephisto smiles upon me,” the servant rumbled as he gazed up at the prisoner. His manner of speaking was now more polished and in contradiction to the mind that such a small head suggested.

Evidently, there came some sound that Uldyssian could not hear, for Terul paused to glance to the side. Then, apparently satisfied that it meant nothing, the giant returned his attention to Uldyssian. His eyes stared deeply into the captive’s, and more than ever, Uldyssian was convinced that Terul was far more than Zorun Tzin assumed him to be.

And possibly a deadlier threat to the son of Diomedes than the mage was.

“Even this body, with all its brute strength, will burn out much too soon,” Terul informed him. “I thought it would last a great deal longer, but perhaps the lack of a proper brain has something to do with it. It would be interesting to find out more concerning that. Later, of course.”

Uldyssian had no idea what the giant was talking about, only that it was hinting of a direction that he did not like in the least. He tried to focus on his powers, but Zorun’s pattern kept his mind foggy where that was concerned. The spell enabled him to listen to whoever was in front of him but allowed little more than that.

“Poor Durram,” Terul went on. “He provided me with more than I dared hope, but I knew that I wasn’t going to make it to you, regardless of how quickly I raced through the jungle. I thought to cut you off near the capital—I knew you must go to the capital—but in pushing the priest’s body so hard, I only burned it out more swiftly.”

Terul’s face continued to contort as he spoke in the unsettling, highly educated tone, and in the midst of those contortions, Uldyssian briefly felt as if he recognized something. Unfortunately, the spell on his own thoughts caused it to be a fleeting recollection.

The giant must have misread something in Uldyssian’s face. “Fear not for that fool’s imminent return. His arrogance, which I fueled by stirring all his spells to greater accomplishment, has left him open to more transgressions revealed than he imagines.” Terul cocked his head. “And lest you suppose my chatter all this while idle, you might notice that the pattern below you has been slowly adjusted for my needs.”

Even as he said it, Uldyssian felt powerful energies shifting around him. They constricted his will even more and amplified the effects on his mind to such a point that had an army poured into the chamber, Uldyssian doubted very much that he would have even noticed.

Indeed, there was for him only Terul. Nothing else existed for Uldyssian save the sinister servant…who spoke to the prisoner as if they had known each other for far longer than a few moments.

And somehow Uldyssian was certain that they had. He fought anew against the pattern’s spells, struggling by physical, magical, and mental means to do something, anything.

One of Terul’s overly shaggy brows rose. His dark eyes glittered enviously. “Such strength…the bitch chose well when she chose you, I will give her that much.”

His words sent Uldyssian’s tension to new heights. Terul could only be speaking of Lilith. Yet how could he know of the she-demon?

Uldyssian managed to recall what the giant had said earlier, that he had used a priest called Durram to reach this point…used his body. That meant that this was not actually Terul, not even a living being, then, but some malign spirit possessing the giant.

No, not possessing. That inferred that somewhere deep within, the servant yet remained. From what Uldyssian could see, this creature had engulfed Terul’s spirit. Nothing, absolutely nothing, of the giant existed.

And now the malevolent shade intended to do the same with the son of Diomedes.

At that moment, the giant’s eyes widened in pleasure. “Ah! All ready!” He gave Uldyssian a monstrous grin. “With the stone and the reset pattern, I will not have to worry about burning you out. I shall be whole at last! And your body will be the one with which I will raise a new sect, one where I and I alone am supreme Primus! Mephisto will reward me well, perhaps make me master of all men.”

His tone again reminded Uldyssian of someone. It was at the edge of his memory…

“And wearing your body will be much more comfortable than wearing simply the skin of someone, say, like Master Ethon of Partha?”

His captive managed to gape. It all made terrible sense.

Terul laughed as recognition at last came to the prisoner. “Yes, I wanted you to know me well before I engulfed you, Uldyssian ul-Diomed.”

Uldyssian would have shaken his head in disbelief and horror if that had been at all possible. The resurrection of either Lilith or her brother would have been only slightly more monstrous in his eyes.

Terul was possessed by the spirit of the High Priest of Mefis…Malic.