Scales of the Serpent

For all the loyal and very patient fans

of the world of Sanctuary.

Prologue

…The world was forever changed by the second coming of the nephalem, but changed most of all

was the first among their kind, Uldyssian ul-Diomed. Wanting nothing more than the simple, worthy

life of a farmer, he was now forced to become a catalyst for upheaval. Through him would be

revealed some of the truth concerning Sanctuary, as the world was called by those who most vied to

control it. Through him did others learn of the eternal war between the angels and demons through

the guises of the Cathedral of Light and the Temple of the Triune.

And knowing Uldyssian as a threat to all they planned, both the Cathedral and the Temple in their

own ways worked to either beguile him into becoming their puppet or destroy him utterly. Worse,

betrayed by what he had thought love, Uldyssian became a danger to himself, for he risked becoming

blind to what was happening around him even as he sought to free humans from the yoke of those

believing themselves the race’s rightful masters.

But although Uldyssian felt that the entire fate of Sanctuary rested on his weary shoulders, he could

not know that there had been others fighting for centuries against his same enemies, fighting them

despite what had seemed for centuries the hopelessness of their cause.

He could not know this, which was probably for the best…for they, in turn, were not certain if he

should be welcomed…or destroyed, just as the angels and demons believed.

From the Books of Kalan

Fifth Tome, First Leaf

One

The city of Toraja burned…

While never able to approach in magnitude or glory great Kehjan to the east, Toraja had still been

known far and wide for its unique sights catering to the pilgrim and the inhabitant alike. There was

the vast, open market just beyond its northwestern gate, where anything from the known lands could

be bought or sold for the right price. Near the city center lay the centuries-old, intricately sculpted

gardens, where one could admire the spiral trees or the Falo Blooms, the fabled flowers with more

than a dozen variations of bright color on each petal and a scent that perfumers could never match.

Beyond that stood the towering Arena of Klytos, home of the Nirolian Games, attracting visitors from

even the sprawling capital.

But all those legendary sites, often filled to capacity, were empty this one terrible eve. Indeed, there

was only activity in a lone part of the city and the hint of that could be witnessed from as far as a mile

away in the deep jungle surrounding walled Toraja.

Toraja burned…and at the center of the conflagaration lay the Temple of the Triune.

The flames illuminated the sky well above the three-towered, triangular structure, the largest temple

of the sect other than the main one near Kehjan. Black smoke billowed from the foremost tower, the

one dedicated to Mefis, one of the three guiding spirits. The huge red circle representing both the

order and love—Mefis’s supposed sphere of influence—hung lopsided. Cast of iron, the immense

circle now threatened those below as the damage from the fire ate away at its remaining supports.

The original constructors had never imagined that such a fate would ever befall the structure and so

had not added additional support.

If calamity imminently threatened the tower of Mefis, it had already claimed that of Dialon, to the

right. The proud ram’s head—symbol of determination—still hung high, but above it the structure

was a collapsed ruin. Oddly, little of the upper level had actually fallen to the streets below; most of

the stone and wood rubble lay piled atop, as if the tower had somehow imploded.

Hundreds of figures swarmed the area around the steps, those nearest the entrance clad in the azure,

gold, or black robes of the three orders. With them stood scores of hooded, breast-plated figures—the

temple’s Peace Warders—armed with swords and lances. The faithful of the Triune fought against a

crush of bodies whose foremost ranks were dressed in simple peasant and farmer clothing of the

upper lands far to the northwest of the great jungles. The pale skin and tighter garments of these first

figures was in sharp contrast not only to the mainly swarthy servants of the temple, but also those

making up most of the successive waves behind the lead attackers. Indeed, the bulk of the movement

against the Triune consisted of natives of Toraja itself, marked by their loose-fitting, flowing, red and

purple garments and long, black hair bound to the back.

Although it was the attackers who wielded the majority of the torches, the flames consuming much of

the nearby sections of the city were not, for the most part, their doing. In fact, no one could for

certain say how the first fires had begun, only that they seemed to initially work in favor of the

priesthood…and that had been enough to turn what sympathies there had been for the Triune into

anger.

That anger was all the impetus needed to urge Uldyssian to take down the temple without further

delay. When he had initially arrived in Toraja—and once he had gotten over his astonishment at so

many people packed into one place—Uldyssian had thought to gradually influence the citizenry into

simply ousting the priests and their underlings from the city. But for such a heinous act—in which

dozens of locals and even some of his original followers had perished—no remorse or sympathy

remained in the former farmer’s heart.

I came to this city hoping to teach, to convert people, Uldyssian bitterly thought as he strode toward

the steps. But they forced this upon all of us instead.

Without seeing him, the crowd parted. Any of those touched by the power within Uldyssian—the

power of the nephalem—could sense his nearness. The momentum of the crowd paused as they

realized that Uldyssian had something in mind.

He had not been the cause of the devastation so far embracing the temple. That had been the results

of the more primitive efforts by some of his enthusiastic followers, such as Romus, one of the lead

Parthans. Romus was one of a handful of the most advanced among Uldyssian’s acolytes. Partha had

been the second place to witness the miracle of Uldyssian’s gift, after his own village of Seram.

However, unlike Seram, where the son of Diomedes had been cast as a murderer and monster, the

Parthans had welcomed his abilities and embraced his simple but honest beliefs.

Uldyssian was not the image of a crusading prophet as fables usually went. He was no angelic,

ageless youth like he who led the Cathedral of Light—the rival sect to the temple—nor a silver-

haired, benevolent elder such as the Primus, whose servants now awaited Uldyssian’s wrath.

Uldyssian ul-Diomed had been born to be a tiller of soil. Square jawed and with rough-hewn features

half-draped by a short beard, he was strong of build due to his hard life but otherwise unremarkable.

His sandy-colored hair hung unkempt down to his neck, any attempt at neatness lost in tonight’s

chaos. Uldyssian wore a plain brown shirt and pants and weathered boots. He carried no weapon save

a knife thrust into his belt. Indeed, he needed no weapon, he himself far deadlier than the sharpest

blade or the swiftest, truest arrow.

Or even a squad of Peace Warders, who at this very moment charged down the steps at him. Behind

them, a priest of Dialon imperiously barked orders. Uldyssian had no special hate for the fool, for he

knew that the cleric simply mouthed the words of his superior, secreted somewhere deep in the

temple complex. Nonetheless, both the warriors and the priest would suffer for their zealous loyalty

to the foul sect.

Uldyssian let the guards come nearly within weapon’s reach, then, without so much as a blink, sent

the entire contingent flying in different directions. Some collided with the pillars at the top of the

steps, their bones audibly cracking, while others flew all the way back to the bronze doors

themselves, where they dropped in twisted heaps. A few went hurtling to the sides, landing with a

harsh crash at the feet of the waiting throng, who broke out into cheers at this display of their leader’s

power.

An archer next to the priest fired. He could not have made a worse decision. Uldyssian frowned, the

only outward hint of the terrible memories flashing through his mind. He relived again his friend

Achilios’s stand before the demon Lucion, who, in the guise of the Primus, had created the Triune to

corrupt and control Mankind. Still as vivid as the moment it had happened was the hunter’s shot,

which, at the demon’s desire, turned about and pierced Achilios through the throat.

Uldyssian now did the same for the bolt fired at him. Without hesitation, it arced around, racing back

up. The archer looked aghast…but he was not the target.

The arrow drove through the chest of the priest as if passing only through air. It continued on, still

accelerating, until it reached the door bearing the circular symbol of Mefis. There, driven by

Uldyssian’s will, the arrow impaled itself in the center of the circle in a perfect bull’s-eye, burying

deep in the metal.

It all happened so swiftly that only now did the priest’s body waver. He let out a gurgling sound and

blood poured not only from the wound, but mouth as well. His expression went slack…and then the

robed figure toppled forward, rolling down the steps in a macabre tangle of loose limbs.

The archer dropped his weapon and fell on his knees in abject shock. He stared at Uldyssian, awaiting

his doom.

A deathly calm pervaded the vicinity. Uldyssian strode up to the guard. Beyond the one stricken

warrior, the rest of the temple’s defenders grimly sought to regroup. The blood of several of

Uldyssian’s more impetuous converts decorated the area, giving proof to the Peace Warders’

determination to let none pass alive.

Jaw set, Uldyssian placed a hand on the shoulder of the kneeling guard. In a voice that boomed as if

thunder, the son of Diomedes said, “Let this one be spared…as an example.” He glared at the other

Peace Warders. “The rest can join their Primus in Hell.”

His words provoked some slight confusion on the part of the armed guards, who could not know that

Uldyssian had slain Lucion. This was not the first time that Uldyssian had noticed such reactions and

he could only assume that word had not yet reached the outer temples of the Primus’s unexplained

absence. The senior priesthood had evidently smothered all hint of the calamity from their own flock,

but Uldyssian would make certain that soon the truth would be known to the entire world.

Not that it would matter to those in Toraja. After this night, the Triune would be but a cursed word to

many of the locals…as, very likely, would be his own name.

He eyed the guards and the priests. “You’ve spilled enough of other people’s blood. Now pay with as

much of your own.”

One of the Peace Warders suddenly gasped. A seam opened on his throat…and out of it poured

blood. He tried to cover it with a hand, but that hand, too, bled profusely. Other tears spread over his

body, as if invisible swords slashed him from every direction. From each gushed more blood.

The men beside him started to retreat, but first one, then another and then another suffered similar—

but not identical—rips and slashes over their bodies. Blood even seeped from beneath breastplates

and under helmets and hoods.

The first man finally fell, a crimson pool as large as his head already staining the once pristine marble

beneath him. His collapse was quickly followed by that of another…and then temple guards and

priests fell in numbers. They suffered a hundredfold the terrible wounds that they had inflicted upon

not only Uldyssian’s people but years of secret victims before them. Not one was spared among the

band upon whom Uldyssian had set his baleful gaze.

And from positions elsewhere among the defenders, dark-hearted Peace Warders suddenly lost all

nerve. They began to abandon the ranks and the priests did nothing to stop them, for they, too, were

shaken by the unworldly might of the lone, insignificant-looking figure.

The crowd roared anew at what was surely a sign of absolute victory and surged forward again. The

remaining Peace Warders were swamped, and as Uldyssian had declared, they received no mercy.

Uldyssian continued on past the terrible struggle, more concerned with what lay within the walls.

Peace Warders and minor priests meant nothing; the true threat awaited him deep in the sanctum of

the master cleric, who answered directly to the Primus and, thus, knew the foul truth concerning the

Triune’s origins and goal.

The three doors confronted Uldyssian now, the ram of Dialon, the circle of Mefis, and the leaf of

Bala all at eye level. The arrow he had sent flying through the priest still quivered in the middle door,

the one he now chose through which to enter despite detecting that it had been barred from the inside.

A wrenching groan erupted from the door. The entire piece shook as if about to explode. Instead,

though, it finally flung back, swinging so hard that two of the hinges tore out of the stone and the

door ended up dangling lopsided.

Behind him, Uldyssian could sense several of his followers all but at his heels. He could no more stop

them at this point than could have the Peace Warders. They were too caught up in the desire for

retribution.

That suddenly bothered him. Uldyssian understood the reasons for their anger. When he, his brother

Mendeln, their friend, Serenthia, and the Parthans had entered Toraja little more than two weeks

before, it had been as weary travelers awed by the spectacle around them. Uldyssian had come with

the intention of peacefully revealing the gift to all those willing to partake of it, but from the very

beginning, the Triune had reacted as if a nest of vipers had suddenly hatched in their midst.

Two days after the crowds began to gather around him in the marketplace—most simply to hear his

tale—the Torajian Guard had come to forcibly usher his followers out of the city and drag the former

farmer himself to some undisclosed place of arrest. There had been no explanation given, but it had

rapidly become clear that the orders had come directly from the temple.

Until that moment, Uldyssian had begun to believe that Toraja might turn out to be like Partha. Then

again, perhaps the two were more similar than he had first thought, for had not the Triune struck at

him there, as well? Under the command of the high priest of Mefis—sadistic Malic—friends had

been brutally slaughtered and Uldyssian himself had nearly been marched off a helpless prisoner.

A scream broke out from behind him, cutting to an abrupt end his reverie. Uldyssian whirled.

Two people lay sprawled dead on the tiled floor and three others were badly wounded. Small metal

stars stuck out from their throats, chests, and other parts of their bodies. The corpses were Parthans,

and the loss of more of those who on their own had trailed a then reluctant Uldyssian into the deep

jungles especially shook him.

With an angry gesture, he sent a wave of air throughout the chamber. His action came just in time,

freezing a new mass of metal stars—their flight apparently triggered by some mechanism in the walls

—in midair. Uldyssian let most of the deadly missiles clatter harmlessly to the floor, but sent a few

back into the slots from which they had come in order to prevent others from launching. That done,

he raced to the stricken figures.

The dying were all Torajians and one of them was very familiar to Uldyssian. Jezran Rhasheen had

been the first local to approach the pale stranger speaking in the square, the dark-skinned youth the

only son of a nearby prominent merchant. There had been no real reason for him to so willingly listen

—much less accept—Uldyssian’s words, for Jezran had obviously wanted for nothing in his life. Yet

he had listened and listened well. When Uldyssian had offered to share his gift with any Torajian

willing, it had been Jezran who had immediately stepped forward.

The dying boy looked up at the looming figure. As with all Torajians, to Uldyssian the whites of

Jezran’s eyes seemed much brighter and more vivid. He knew that the illusion was due to the latter’s

dark skin, but still found the sight arresting.

Jezran managed a sickly smile. He opened his mouth…then died. Uldyssian swore, knowing that the

wounded youth had already been beyond even his skills.

But the others might not be. Realizing this, Uldyssian gently set Jezran’s head down, then spun to the

next victim, immediately placing his palm against the Torajian’s forehead.

The man let out a gasp. With an unsettling sound, the vicious stars popped out of the wounds…which

then sealed. The Torajian grinned gratefully.

Uldyssian did the same for the third victim, a woman, then glanced bitterly at Jezran’s corpse. Two

alive, but one dead. So much for my vaunted gift…

“He holds no anger against you,” said Mendeln from behind Uldyssian, his sibling’s voice utterly

calm even in the midst of calamity, “and now better understands the truth concerning everything than

either of us.”

Mendeln was slighter of stature than his elder brother and had always been more studious. Although

he had accepted from Uldyssian the same touch as the rest of the converts, in Mendeln, something

different appeared to have happened. Uldyssian could sense none of the same force flowing through

his sole remaining sibling as through him; instead, there was a shadow growing within Mendeln, yet

one that Uldyssian could not say originated from anything evil.

However, neither could he say that it had been spawned by anything good.

Staring into his brother’s penetrating black eyes, Uldyssian snarled, “I only understand that he and so

many others are dead…but whether it’s more my fault or the Triune’s, I doubt I’ll ever decide.”

“That was not to what I was referring—” But Mendeln got no further. Uldyssian shoved past the

black-robed figure and resumed his trek into the temple. The others followed at his heels, ever

leaving around Uldyssian’s brother a gap akin to that which they made for their leader. However, in

Mendeln’s case, of late it was as much out of an unwillingness to be near the sallow figure as it was

respect for his place. Even the untouched could detect the oddness of the younger son of Diomedes.

“I’ve shown you the gift,” Uldyssian declared to those behind him, while at the same time mentally

seeking out hidden dangers ahead. “Remember to use it. It’s your life. It’s you.”

At that moment, he sensed them coming. A chill ran down his spine and he prayed that his people had

listened…or else many more were about to perish terribly.

He turned to face the path ahead again. The vast chamber in which they stood was the central

gathering place for the faithful before the sermons of the three orders began. Towering statues of the

Triune’s guiding spirits stood watch over the separate entryways leading to where each of the orders

met. They were robed, ethereal beings with only vague countenances. Bala on the left, with its

hammer and the bag containing the seeds of all life. Dialon on the right, bearing at its breast the

Tablets of Order.

Mefis in the middle…always Mefis…carrying nothing but cupping its hands as if about to gently

receive an innocent baby.

A baby to be slaughtered, Uldyssian always imagined.

And with such an image burning in his mind, he thrust out a warning hand to the rest just as all three

doors opened and the grotesque, bestial figures in ebony armor came rushing forth. They screamed

their bloodlust as they waved their weapons high, and although there were far fewer of them than the

invaders, they were no less daunting, especially to Uldyssian, who knew of them best. There was that

about them that did not speak of mortal flesh anymore, but rather something long overdue for the

grave. Uldyssian sensed the sudden dismay among his followers and knew that he had to show them

that, while sinister, the morlu were not indestructible.

But before he could strike, a brilliant, blinding light flared before his eyes. Letting out a cry,

Uldyssian staggered into one of those just behind him. Once more, in his concern for the others, he

had overestimated himself. He should have expected the priests to have something cunning yet

planned in conjunction with this new attack.

A pair of hands dragged Uldyssian out of the way just as a heavy form collided with his right side.

Uldyssian spun around, then tumbled to the floor.

As he fought to clear his vision, horrific cries rose all around. The terrifying sound of crunching bone

sent renewed chills through him. He heard a deep-throated laugh and recognized the demonic voice

of a morlu savoring the carnage he caused.

Uldyssian had not expected to find any of the Triune’s ghoulish servants in Toraja. He had assumed

that their kind was for the most part relegated to the vast temple near the capital and that those who

had followed Malic had been exceptions sent out due to the Primus’s interest in the son of Diomedes.

Now Uldyssian wondered if each of the temples had its own contingent, which boded ill. That meant

far more morlu than he could have ever imagined existing…

His eyes began to focus. It infuriated Uldyssian that for some reason he could not speed up the

process. Too slowly, shapes began to coalesce.

And one of those shapes—filling his gaze—was a morlu reaching for him.

For his bulk, the armored figure moved astonishingly swift. He seized Uldyssian by the collar and

dragged his prey up to eye level.

Black pits were all that existed physically of the morlu’s eyes, yet Uldyssian knew that they saw him

better than any mortal orbs. He had witnessed enough during the bitter struggle in Master Ethon’s

home to understand just how malevolent and powerful were the forces that animated the ebony-

helmed fighters.

“You…are the one…” his assailant grunted in that voice that could not quite pass for that of anything

living. “The one…”

Steeling himself, Uldyssian concentrated—but again a brilliant light flared before his eyes. Once

more, he was completely blinded.

The morlu laughed harder—and then let out a peculiar grunt. He released his hold on the unseeing

Uldyssian, who just managed to keep from falling and cracking his skull on the floor.

Shaking his head, Uldyssian focused his every effort on seeing. The world came into focus once

more…and there he beheld Serenthia, a spear gripped tight in her hands, skewering the morlu as if he

wore no armor nor weighed an ounce. The spear blazed silver and Serenthia’s black hair fluttered as

if alive. Her blue eyes, always radiant, now burned with utter determination. Her normally ivory skin

was flushed and her red lips were twisted in grim satisfaction. Uldyssian did not doubt that she

imagined Achilios’s death as she drove the spear deeper into the twitching, armored figure. She had

only just before Achilios’s murder come to love the hunter after years of seeking Uldyssian’s favor,

knowledge that still filled him with shame.

One of the very first to accept Uldyssian’s gift, Serenthia was now also among those most proficient

in drawing it forth. Again, Uldyssian knew that much of that ability had to do with her loss, but even

he was astonished by her amazing effort now.

The morlu clawed desperately at her, the hungry grin now replaced by something approaching fear.

The spear allowed Serenthia to hold him at bay.

She looked anything but the daughter of a country merchant now. Her simple cloth blouse and skirt

had given way to the wrapped, colorful dress of a Torajian woman. Indeed, with her long, sleek raven

hair, she looked as if she carried some of their blood in her. The dress was designed to flow loose at

the legs, and instead of boots, Serenthia also wore the strapped sandals more common to the people

here.

The morlu shook violently, his massive form abruptly beginning to shrivel. Within the space of a

breath, he looked even more late for the grave, only his wrinkled white skin now enshrouding his

bones. Yet, still Serenthia kept him impaled. Her expression took on an unsettling eagerness…

“Serry!” Uldyssian called, using the childhood version of her name that he had only recently ceased

favoring. He feared where her outrage was taking her.

His voice cut through the din…and through her fury. Serenthia glanced back at him, then, with a

shiver, the morlu again. A tear slipped unbidden from her, one that had Achilios written on it.

She tugged on the spear, which slid easily out of her foe. The armored villain dropped like a puppet

suddenly bereft of strings. Bones and armor scattered across the marble tile.

Serenthia looked at Uldyssian with relief and gratitude. He said nothing more to her, only nodding his

understanding as he rose to see to the others.

As he feared, the trap had claimed more lives. There were bodies strewn about and although many

were morlu, so, too, were there Torajians and Parthans. Uldyssian saw the slack face of a Parthan

woman who had been there on the day when—near the town square where first he had preached—he

had healed a young boy with a malformed arm. That brought bitter memories of the lad and his

mother, Bartha, for they had both perished when the townsfolk had come to his defense against

Lucion. The boy had been one of the demon’s several random victims and Bartha—stalwart Bartha—

had died of a broken heart soon after.

So much blood…he thought. So much of it due to me…and their belief in what I bring to them…

But then silence swept over the chamber and Uldyssian realized that the fighting was again, for the

moment, over. The morlu had not laid waste to the intruders; it was the beasts of Lucion who had

been utterly decimated. They had taken lives—too many lives—but not so much as their own

numbers.

That in itself was a miracle, but far more important, the others had taken up both his and Serenthia’s

example. It had not been weapons alone that had brought the morlu to bay, but the same gift that

Uldyssian wielded, albeit on a less focused scale. One warrior had been neatly severed in two, the cut

so clean at the waist that it looked as if all the morlu needed was for someone to put him back

together to reanimate him. Another lay far above, his corpse dangling limply over Mefis’s

outstretched hands. Scores more lay scattered about in all sorts of macabre conditions, a striking

image that, despite their own losses, Uldyssian hoped would bring heart to his surviving companions.

Surveying the dead again, Uldyssian suddenly choked. The triangular tiles covering the floor were

now splattered in black bile…or whatever it was that passed for morlu blood. But mixed with it was

the precious life fluids of those who had either acted too slowly or had hesitated in their trust of their

gift. Uldyssian mourned each and cursed once more the fact that all his vaunted might could not

resurrect them.

And that, for reasons he did not understand, made him look again for Mendeln.

He found his brother hovering over not their dead comrades, but rather two morlu who had somehow

become twisted around one another. Uldyssian’s brow arched at this enterprising action and

wondered just who among his followers had managed it.

Mendeln looked up from whatever it was he was doing. His generally unperturbed expression now

took on a darker cast.

“This is not over,” he announced needlessly. However, it was his next words that most set the elder

son of Diomedes on edge. “Uldyssian…there are demons here.”

No sooner had he said it than Uldyssian also sensed their nearby presence. The foulness of the

morlu…themselves of demonic make, although of mortal flesh…had masked from him the dire fact.

Uldyssian also sensed just where they were…and that they awaited him.

He had faced other demons besides Lucion, none of them proving as much a threat as the Primus

himself. Yet, that these new ones waited so patiently—something hard for all but the most cunning of

them to do—further stirred his suspicions. They knew of him, knew what he had become…

He had only one choice. “Mendeln—Serenthia—keep watch on the others! No one is to follow me.”

His brother nodded, but the woman frowned. “We won’t let you go alone—”

Uldyssian stopped her with a glance. “I don’t want another Achilios—no one follows, especially you

two.”

“Uldyssian—”

Mendeln took her arm. “Do not argue with him, Serenthia. This must be.”

He said it in such a manner that even his brother paused to look at him. Mendeln offered nothing

more, though, as had become typical of him of late.

However enigmatic the statement, Uldyssian had already learned to heed such comments. “No one

follows,” he repeated, staring down everyone. “Or it won’t be the wrath of demons you face.”

Hoping that they would listen but still fearing that some—especially Serenthia—might yet disobey,

Uldyssian crossed the threshold of the door through which Dialon’s followers would have gone. The

moment he was clear, the door slammed behind him, just as he knew that so too did the other pair.

He had sealed the way, at least temporarily. Even Mendeln and Serenthia would find it difficult to

overcome his effort. So long as he could, Uldyssian would keep the path to the underground chambers

—the area where worship of the Triune’s true masters took place—barred from anyone else. Too

many had perished for him already.

He sensed the demons nearer, although their exact locations were not known. In truth, they were only

a part of the reason that Uldyssian wanted only himself at risk.

Perhaps that had been what Mendeln had meant, Uldyssian suddenly realized. Perhaps with his own

strange abilities his brother had also detected the more subtle yet distinctive third presence awaiting

Uldyssian…a presence that was much, much more powerful than a mere senior priest and known so

very well to both of them.

A presence that could only be Lilith.

Two

All around Mendeln, the voices whispered. The awful truth concerning this place was best known to

him, who could hear the victims’ own words.

So many, he thought. So many wrongly done in. The Balance is much askew because of this place

alone.

Uldyssian’s brother did not understand exactly just what “the Balance” was, but knew that the

horrible events that had taken place in the inner recesses of the temple over the past years had

certainly befouled “it.” That disturbed him even more than all the deaths this night, although their

cumulative effect was no good thing, either.

And then there was also Lilith…or Lylia, as he, Serenthia, and most painfully of all, Uldyssian, had

known her.

Serenthia stalked back and forth like an impatient cat, her eyes ever on the doors so effectively

“locked” by his brother. The rest of Uldyssian’s followers eagerly spread through the chambers,

tearing apart the grand trappings as they went along despite the fact that the fires consuming other

portions of the building would eventually do the same here. Mendeln, aware that victory was truly

not theirs yet, paid great heed to the voices, even those of the dead priests and Peace Warders. Not

the morlu, of course, for they were creatures long dead and so from them there was only emptiness.

He listened very carefully, focusing on some that seemed more relevant than others.

How simple we were, Mendeln thought almost wisfully. Farmers and brothers in a small village,

destined to live out our lives tilling the soil and raising livestock. It was Lilith’s fault that it had come

to all this, Lilith, who had chosen Uldyssian to be her pawn in some otherworldly struggle between

demons and angels over a pitiful little rock called by them Sanctuary.

Mendeln’s world.

He did not consider either himself or his brother to be champions of Mankind, but Uldyssian

especially had been cast into a role he could now never discard. The fate of everything apparently

depended upon what he chose to do. Mendeln could only try to be there to lend whatever

questionable support that he could.

His musings were interrupted by a deep sense of foreboding. The voices cut off, save for one that did

not belong with them. It was stronger, alive, and one that had comforted Mendeln as much as it had

guided him through his own mysterious transformation.

Beware the hands of the Three…it said. They grasp for everything, then crush it in their all-

consuming grip…

Mendeln’s brow wrinkled at this esoteric comment. Of what useful knowledge was such—

“Serenthia!” he shouted with more animation than any had heard from him in days. “All of you! Stay

back from the statues—”

But his warning came too late for some. As if of living flesh, the gargantuan effigies bent forward.

Bala’s heavy hammer came down on two Torajians, crushing them beneath it. Dialon battered away a

hapless Parthan with the edge of one of the tablets.

Mefis…Mefis seized a woman and squeezed hard. Even Mendeln found himself nauseated by the

monstrous results.

With a scraping of stone that echoed through the huge chamber like the combined moans of the dead,

the statues descended among the invaders. The once confident band now retreated back to the doors

through which they had come, but those doors, too, were also now shut…and not because of

Uldyssian.

“Lilith…” he gasped just as massive Dialon turned a stony gaze his way. The colossus raised his

hammer. “Very much Lilith…”

Through the empty worship hall he strode, eyes and other senses ever on alert. Androgynous effigies of

Dialon stared down at Uldyssian, who thought that the supposedly benevolent images looked more mocking

than anything else.

What great demon are you, Dialon? he grimly wondered. What’s your true name?

In the outer chambers, torches in niches in the walls had well illuminated everything. In here, though,

only a few round oil lamps dangling from the arched ceiling gave any light and that not much.

Moreover, the path ahead looked even darker, finally fading into utter blackness perhaps ten yards or

so ahead.

Yet still Uldyssian moved on. He passed by and under the huge statues, entering the passage that he

knew would lead him to her.

Just as she desired.

The beautiful, aristocratic vision that had first graced his wondering eyes what seemed so long ago

still remained strong with him even after the discovery of the dread truth and the subsequent betrayal.

The thick, long blond tresses, often artfully bound atop the head as befitting a noble-woman, the

glittering emerald eyes, the slim perfect lips—they would never leave his imagination.

But with them also remained the nightmarish recollection of an inhuman seductress, a creature with

scaled flesh, vicious quills for hair, and a tail like the reptile she resembled.

“Lylia…” he muttered, the name both a curse and a yearning. “Damn you, Lilith…”

Something scurried over his foot. Startled more because he had not sensed it rather than from the

thing itself, Uldyssian squinted. It was only a spider, albeit a fair-sized one. It was hardly surprising

to find such a creature in this place. Uldyssian immediately forgot it, his concerns with vermin much

larger and more deadly.

The last of the failing oil lamps gave way. Darkness prevailed. All this was a show for him, he

realized. He had come hunting what he considered evil and so they were granting him the appropriate

mood. This was in some ways a game to them and that knowledge further infuriated the human. They

cared nothing for all the lives lost, not even of those who had willingly served them.

Something got into his face. He swatted at it, then felt a tiny creature crawling on the back of his

hand. Uldyssian brushed it off, aware that it was a second spider.

Deciding this was a move in the game he could do without, Uldyssian summoned light.

The first time he had managed this feat, it had been due, Uldyssian later understood, to Lilith’s

presence. Now, it was as familiar to him as breathing. But the pale white glow he called into being

now was not nearly as powerful as it should have been. The sphere barely revealed the stone corridor

more than two yards ahead. He could sense much farther than that, but natural instinct made him

want to see it, too.

While it was possible for him to increase the sphere’s intensity by concentrating more on it,

Uldyssian would then be able to focus less on his surroundings. This was not like the battle with

Lucion, where as much of what Uldyssian had achieved had been due to outrage as it had natural

ability. He needed to move with utter caution, for Lucion’s cunning was nothing compared with that

of his devilish sister.

The corridor stretched farther than it should have, at least according to his senses. Whether illusion or

not, Uldyssian would find out soon enough. Lilith would not let him wait much longer.

He let out a sharp cry as what felt like a fork jabbed the skin at the back of his neck. His flailing

hands knocked off a furred form with many legs.

The arachnid scurried out of the illumination. As he rubbed the burning patch of skin, Uldyssian

noticed that the path behind him had also grown dark. The light from the chamber had been

completely cut off.

The wound began to throb. Uldyssian berated himself for letting something so mundane as a spider

get through defenses that morlu, and thus far, Lilith had not.

Or…had she?

Focusing his will on the wound, Uldyssian quickly expelled whatever the creature had left in him,

then completely healed the location. He could thank the high priest Malic for the trick, having

watched the villain eject Achilios’s arrow from his back before attending to the wound itself.

But even as the son of Diomedes finished, over him flowed a swarm of multilegged creatures with

sharp fangs and claws. Growing up on a farm, he was used to all sorts of insects and arachnids, but

none such as these. They moved with vile purpose, attacking as quickly as they could in as many

places as possible. They bit through garments and even through boots, while others crawled over

them to find flesh of their own to attack.

At first, his reaction was simply human. He swore and tried to wipe them off as quickly as possible.

The spiders made his attempts laughable by even clinging to the hands that sought to remove them.

Within a heartbeat, Uldyssian was all but covered by the swarm.

Then, reason managed to return. Taking a deep breath—while avoiding swallowing any of the tinier

vermin—Uldyssian concentrated on the floating sphere.

Now at last, the fiery ball flared bright…in fact, a thousand times greater than before. At the same

time, heat enveloped Uldyssian and his unwanted pets.

However, where the heat only warmed the man, it seared the spiders.

They shriveled rapidly under the relentless scorching. Shrill cries—in some ways too close to human

—assailed Uldyssian’s ears. By the dozens, then hundreds, tiny, burnt corpses tumbled to the stone

floor.

Sweating more from effort than heat, he finally reduced the globe’s fury to a more tolerable level.

Around him rose a stench more reminiscent of decay than burning. Uldyssian kicked at one pile of

vermin, which scattered into ash.

But as his foot descended to the floor again, it found no purchase. Instead, it sank into the stone as if

into water.

Uldyssian suddenly sensed the immediate presence of one of the demons, but that knowledge came

too late. Something snagged his sinking leg, trying to completely draw him into the floor. A thick,

slow, malevolent laugh echoed in the corridor.

Something formed just at the edge of the sphere’s light. It looked to Uldyssian like a grotesque,

inhuman head made from the stone itself. A fissure opened, one that spread into a crude, bestial grin.

“Waant…” it said hungrily, then chuckled again.

Whatever held Uldyssian’s leg dragged him toward the ever-expanding maw. Two other, smaller

fissures opened up behind the mouth, forming eyes of a sort.

“Huuuungrrryyy…” the demon rumbled merrily. “Waaant…”

Recovering from his astonishment, Uldyssian gritted his teeth and leaned forward. The demon

chuckled again, perhaps thinking that its prey wanted to end this quickly. Uldyssian did, of course…

just not the way the creature desired.

He slammed a fist into the watery stone. The power of the nephalem enabled him to send a shock

wave that coursed over his macabre attacker much the way the spiders had over him. Uldyssian had

not had any idea if what he intended would work; he only knew that focusing his will and

determination on a goal had saved him more than once.

The demon let out a roar of outrage and pain as the wave of pure force finished sweeping across him.

The mouth twisted into a sinister frown and the eyes glared.

“Gulag kills!” it rumbled needlessly.

The walls rushed in on Uldyssian, who only now understood that everything around him had become

part of the bestial demon.

He let out a pained groan as the stone crushed against him. Pinned and with his bones already feeling

as if they were breaking, Uldyssian almost gave in to his destruction. However, once again her visage

appeared in his mind, beautiful but also monstrous…and utterly mocking his failure.

Straining every muscle, he pushed against the crushing forces, pushed against them…and finally

won. The walls receded enough for him to get his hands in position, at which point Uldyssian shoved

them apart as hard as he could.

From Gulag, there was a sound that Uldyssian could only guess had to be of consternation. It was

doubtful that anyone had ever escaped the beast’s grasp.

Seizing upon the change in fortune, the son of Diomedes reached down and took hold of the liquid

stone in both hands. It should have slipped through his fingers, but the power of the nephalem again

prevailed over that of Gulag. To Uldyssian, the demon felt like a slithering serpent minus the bones.

It writhed in his grip, but could not slip free.

“Is Gulag still hungry?” he mocked.

Although clearly confused, the creature was either still confident of his might or simply too dull

witted to realize that he faced no mere human. Uldyssian hoped for the latter, but could not discount

the former, which meant that the sooner this ended, the better.

With a titanic tug, he drew Gulag nearer. As the demon flowed toward Uldyssian, once more the man

felt something clutch not only the one leg, but the other, too.

As this happened, Gulag let out another bestial roar. The walls and the rest of the nearby floor rose

and poured toward Uldyssian in what was clearly a rush to smother the resisting prey. Uldyssian held

his breath instinctively, then stared at the part of Gulag he held in his hands. It felt like skin or

parchment…and that helped him decide what to do next.

As he had done before, Uldyssian pulled his hands as far apart as he could, only this time maintaining

his grip on the sinister creature.

Like the parchment he had chosen to imagine it to be, the essence of the demon came apart with an

awful ripping sound. Gulag let out a cry resembling the roar of a raging river. The walls and floor

flailed about, finally causing Uldyssian to lose his grip and sending him falling.

But that was all that the demon could muster. Uldyssian’s attack had done him in. The rip continued

to spread, running quickly along Gulag’s length and not even ceasing its momentum when it reached

the deep maw and sinister orbs.

Gulag was literally torn in two. The halves quivered like pudding. A moan escaped both—

Then, with one last rumble…the demon melted.

His form lost all substance. Gulag completely liquified, puddling on the floor. A faint slime covered

the walls and ceiling, but otherwise they were normal again.

The stone was once more solid beneath Uldyssian’s feet, solid, if sticky. An odor akin to rotting

garbage assailed him.

Something else caught his attention. Where once the corridor ahead had seemed endless, now another

bronze door beckoned but a short distance away.

Stepping cautiously through the sticky sludge that had once been the demon, Uldyssian advanced on

the door. He waited for the next threat to strike him, but nothing happened. The embossed image of a

gentle Dialon stared back at Uldyssian from the door.

Uldyssian frowned. Another image, almost so indistinct as to be invisible, seemed to lay beneath that

of the benevolent spirit. He squinted—

With a gasp, Uldyssian looked away. Although he had just stared directly at it, he could not

remember any exact detail of the awful vision, only that it had horrified him as nothing else had. He

thought he recalled a glimpse of curled horns and of teeth as sharp as daggers…

Shaking his head, Uldyssian forced the disturbing memory away. He dared not concentrate on the

fiendish vision. Somehow, as faint as it had been, it yet drew from deep within him some childhood

sense of terror. Every nightmare that had ever haunted Uldyssian as a young boy had, at least for a

moment, returned as fresh as ever.

Steeling himself anew, Uldyssian raised his hand toward the door. He knew better than to touch it.

Even if Lilith had done nothing to it, surely the senior priests had cast some dire spell.

As if propelled by an angry ghost, the door flung open. Uldyssian stepped through.

The chamber was vast, possibly more so than even the great hall. Much of it was shadowed, the only

illumination other than his sphere being torches set to best display a marble dais upon which stood a

stone platform a little more than the length of a man and tilted slightly to the right.

And on that platform—that altar—lay a grisly sight that had once been a man when still it had owned

its flesh and organs.

Uldyssian did not try to hold back his revulsion. Although it did not surprise him to find evidence of

human sacrifice, the freshness of it shook him to the core. This very day, even as he and his followers

had stormed the temple, a soul had been slaughtered in order to curry the favor of a demon.

Then, he noticed a slight movement in the far upper corner above the platform, movement by

something that had been hidden from his immediate detection. From what little Uldyssian had seen of

it, it was a creature reminiscent of a gigantic, furred spider…but also…also somehow a man. The

second demon? Uldyssian recalled the swarm of spiders and suspected that this was the source. If so,

it was a far more cautious and cunning beast than Gulag.

He started toward its location…then noticed the other figures moving toward him from the dark

recesses in the back of the chamber. He had wondered when the senior priest would act. From what

Uldyssian had gathered about the Triune’s inner workings, in all the lesser temples the three orders

were overseen by one cleric chosen from either Mefis, Dialon, or Bala. Below him were three lesser

priests who ministered for each the separate faiths. Only in the main temple by Kehjan could be

found the three high priests—two now, with Malic recently dead—who governed the entire sect in

the name of the Primus.

A heavyset, bald figure in gray and bloodred robes gestured almost indifferently at Uldyssian.

Immediately, a dozen acolytes whose own garments represented all three orders raised their hands

palm up and began chanting.

Uldyssian felt an incredible coldness surround him, but his mere desire for it to be gone quickly

ended the problem. The priests faltered in their chanting, only their master seemingly unperturbed by

their failure. He glanced with disdain at the nearest pair, who nervously took up the spellwork once

more and were quickly joined by their brethren.

“Be silent,” an impatient Uldyssian murmured.

The chanting ceased, although the priests continued for a few second more to open and close their

mouths, it gradually dawning on them that their voices had been stripped away.

A curious chuckle momentarily escaped the senior priest. He drew from his robes a small, azure

stone. This was apparently a signal for his underlings to do the same.

The last time Uldyssian had faced someone wielding such stones, it had been Malic and he had

revealed those gems to be some manner by which to summon demons to his will. During that

struggle, Lilith had secretly taken a hand, eliminating immediately what possibly would have been

the most deadly and adding her strength to what he had believed strictly his own when he had battled

the rest. While Uldyssian trusted more in his own power now, he saw no reason to invite threat when

it could be removed quickly enough.

He made a fist.

One of the lesser priests screamed as the gem he held flared to fiery life. To their credit, the rest

reacted instantly, flinging the stones from their palms. As it was, three others still suffered burns to

some degree, but nothing as terrible as the first. He fell to his knees, sobbing and clutching the

blackened cinder that had been his hand.

The senior priest chortled, again an odd reaction. He had not been affected in the least, having tossed

away his gem even before Uldyssian had finished the fist.

Frowning, Uldyssian stared at him…stared at what stood there beyond mortal vision.

And then he knew…

The elder priest seemed to recognize this in turn. “I think they are not needed any more,” the bald

man announced. He looked to his lackeys. “You may die.”

They stared at him, entirely baffled. Uldyssian felt some sympathy for them…but not much. They

had willingly taken the blood and souls of the living for their dark masters.

The priests collapsed as one. They did not scream, having no time to draw another breath. There was

no mark on their bodies, save the earlier burns.

For some reason, Uldyssian immediately surveyed the shadows where the spider demon had hidden.

He knew instinctively that the shadows were now empty, their unsettling inhabitant having evidently

fled elsewhere during the confrontation with the robed figures.

“Dear Astrogha is most obedient,” the senior priest said in an oddly feminine voice. “When his

Primus commands him to leave instantly, he does so without question.”

“And does he realize that his Primus is no longer Lucion, but Lucion’s sister?” Uldyssian stared into

the other’s eyes. “Does he, Lilith?”

She leered at him in a manner that would have likely been very seductive if not for the fact that her

body was that of a sweating, corpulent man. “Fear makes many blind, as does love, my love…”

“There’s no love between us, Lilith. Only lies and hate.”

The priest pouted. “Oh, my dear Uldyssian, is it because of this poor dress I wear? That can be

remedied. We are alone and the fool’s served his purpose…”

Wild, green flames erupted around the bulky figure. Uldyssian raised an arm to shield his eyes from

the intense brightness that accompanied the unnatural fire. As his gaze adjusted, he watched the

priest’s garments and hair quickly curl and turn to ash. The man’s abundant flesh blackened and

baked. Fiery gobbets dropped from him to the floor, revealing sinew, muscle, and bone.

The face burned away, in its place a mocking skull still briefly retaining the eyeballs. However, those

shriveled into the sockets even as the horrific figure stepped toward the human.

“I want to look my best for you, after all,” the burning skeleton cooed. By now, the flames had eaten

away at everything but bone and even that was quickly vanishing. Yet, underneath the crumbling

bone, Uldyssian caught flashes of emerald green cloth and ivory skin. The legs broke away, from

them blossoming an elegant skirt beneath which glimpses of feminine feet became more and more

obvious. The rib cage burst forward, in its place the bodice of what was a familiar, elegant gown that

also revealed a very feminine form.

The back and the top of the dark skull broke as rich, golden hair flung out, then cascaded down. Last

to vanish of the unfortunate priest was the burnt face. The jawbone dropped, then the rest.

Arms outstretched, she stood before him in all her glory. Despite what he had claimed, Uldyssian felt

his heart wrench. Unbidden from his lips came the name by which he had best known this wondrous

figure. “Lylia.”

She smiled at him in what he recalled the exact same manner the first time their eyes had met. “Dear,

sweet Uldyssian!” The beautiful woman reached forth her slim, perfect hands. “Come, take me in

your strong arms…”

His body flinched forward before the reality struck him. The son of Diomedes swore, which amused

his companion.

“How colorful a turn of phrase! That’s a side you should nurture, dear Uldyssian! It adds character!”

He clenched his fists so tight the knuckles whitened. “No more taunts, Lilith! No more charades!

That face isn’t yours, any more than it is the priest’s or the Primus’s! You stand before me, then do so

as yourself, demon!”

She giggled. “Whatever your tastes, my love!”

Unlike her dramatic discarding of the priest’s body, the shift from “Lylia” to the true Lilith was

almost instantaneous. A crimson aura momentarily surrounded the aristocratic beauty—and in the

next breath the demon herself stood there.

Enough of a facial resemblance existed that no one could doubt that the two females were one and the

same, but that was the only link. Lilith stood taller, as tall as Uldyssian, in fact, and moved about on

splayed hooves instead of feet. Her body was dark green and hideously scaled and the lush golden

hair had been replaced by the quills. Those quills ran all the way down to the reptilian tail, an

appendage climaxing in wicked barbs.

Her fingers—four, not five—ended in curved claws. The hands moved tantilizingly across her torso,

reminding him that she still had the ample curves that had enticed the mortal so. If anything, they

were more lush and, worse for Uldyssian, unclothed. Even hating her so much as he did, he could not

help surveying her body. Such was her power.

One of the hands finally led his gaze up to her face. Yes, she still looked akin to Lylia, but only in the

structure. Lylia had not had sharp teeth designed for shredding or burning red orbs lacking any

pupil…

“I’ve missed your touch, my darling,” Lilith whispered, her forked tongue licking over her lips. “And

I know that you have missed mine…”

Uldyssian knew that she was seeking to keep him off his guard and the unfortunate thing was that she

was close to succeeding. He had not realized just how much actually confronting her would affect

him. Lilith, on the other hand, had obviously known all too well.

Then, Uldyssian thought about all the deaths instigated by her mad ambitions and most of the desire

faded. To the demon, the lives lost had been minor matters. She had cared nothing for Serenthia’s

father, for Master Ethon and his son Cedric, or Bartha, or any of the scores of Parthans and Torajians

thus far slaughtered. Certainly Lilith had not had an iota of remorse even for the priests she had

slaughtered, including the missionaries whose bloody demise had begun the chain of events.

Most of all, she had cared nothing for her brother, the true Primus. Clearly his destruction had merely

been so that she could seize the power base that he had created in the Triune. However, that prize was

one she would not long be able to savor, if he had his way.

“This temple’s fallen, Lilith,” Uldyssian declared. “What those with me haven’t torn down the flames

your puppets set loose will consume. The same fate will befall the next and the next…until the great

one itself near Kehjan is the last. Then…it’ll join the rest. You’ll serve as Primus for a very short

time.”

“Will I, my dear Uldyssian?” Her tail slapped lightly on the floor, sending odd bits of the senior

priest scattering. Lilith leaned forward, letting her ample bounty display itself unhindered. “But how

splendid…as that is exactly what I want!”

Her pronouncement startled Uldyssian. Belatedly, he realized that his mouth hung open. Face

flushing, he closed it, then tried to gather his thoughts. Yet again, Lilith had proven her mastery over

him with but a few words.

“Yes,” the succubus said, smiling widely. Her inhuman eyes flashed with enjoyment at his

consternation. “I want you to take down the Triune! I want you to put an end to the temple…”

“But—” Uldyssian finally managed. “That makes no sense whatsoever. Now that you control the

Triune…”

“Ahh, but it makes perfect sense, my love! It makes perfect sense! It is a sign of my affection for you

that I tell you all this, which even my unlamented brother’s servants do not know! Yes, my little

nephalem…you will destroy the temple for me…and the Cathedral of Light, too…”

But if Lilith desired something of him, Uldyssian desperately thought, telling him would surely make

the man want to do just the opposite…

She either read that thought—not impossible for her—or simply understood his mind better than he.

“Oh, but my dear Uldyssian! You will not have any choice in the matter! You see, if you do not do

your best to stir your nephalem powers to greater life—and also those latent in the fools that follow

you—I will have the Triune utterly crush you! Do you think that this is all my poor brother gathered

to him? There is so much more! My brother was very clever, his only mistake was in underestimating

me—”

Suddenly, Lilith stood face-to-face with Uldyssian. How she had gotten so near without him aware of

it, he could not say.

“—just as you, too, always have, poor darling!”

Before Uldyssian could stop her, the demon kissed him soundly. She had done the same in the past

and so he should have been prepared for it. With as much irritation at himself as hatred toward her,

Uldyssian grabbed for Lilith, but the demon slipped from his grasp.

“I won’t do as you plan, damn you!” he growled. “I’m through playing your puppet! I’ll not create an

army of nephalem ready to do your bidding!”

That was what she truly wanted, he knew too well. She had been among those who had created

Sanctuary, but for her murderous ways—including slaying most of her companions—she had been

exiled by her lover…an angel, if Lilith could be believed about anything. Those murders had

revolved around the children—the first nephalem—born through the unions of the renegade demons

and angels. Uldyssian could grant her credit for wishing to save them, but now it seemed that all their

descendants mattered to her was as fodder or soldiers to use in her mad campaign of vengeance.

“Will you not?” she teased. “Will you not, dear love?” The demoness pulled back. “Then, why have

you not attacked me yet?”

Lilith had him again…but for the last time, Uldyssian swore. He stretched out a hand toward her—

The air around the demoness started to ripple…but Lilith was no longer there. Instead, Uldyssian felt

her materialize behind him.

“Much improved, my darling Uldyssian…much improved.”

He did not turn to face her, instead merely concentrating on where she was.

But…again, he was too late.

Now Lilith’s voice echoed throughout the chamber, though she herself was nowhere to be seen.

“However, you still need a little more practice, I think! After all, you must be your best when facing

the power of the Triune…much less sweet, treacherous Inarius.”

Try as he might, Uldyssian could not sense Lilith anywhere and that told him just how insufficient all

his might was. He had expected to be able to face her much better than this, but, as before, both

emotionally and physically she had played him perfectly.

“Come and face me, Lilith!” Uldyssian shouted as he turned in a circle. He sought her in every dark

corner, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing save her voice, projected from far, far away.

“All in good time, my love. A little more practice first. Why, you can start by perhaps still saving

some of your friends! You have so few left already…”

Her voice faded away. Caught up in his anger, he did not at first pay heed to her last comments.

Then…then Uldyssian felt the terrible threat without, a threat he could only assume that Lilith’s

cunning skills had shielded from his “vaunted” perceptions.

Rather than keeping Mendeln, Serenthia, and the rest safe, he had left them right where the demoness

had wanted them.

Three

In a place that was not a place, the black-shrouded figure stared beyond his empty surroundings into

that realm called Sanctuary by the knowledgeable few. He noted the terrible strife overtaking the city

of Taraja and had already begun calculating the possible repercussions.

“He is moving too quickly,” the shadowed man said to the emptiness. “Too irrationally…”

He moves as he must…as do we…

The voice would have stilled the heart of most, for it was as much presence as it was sound. Yet, the

one to whom it spoke merely nodded, for he had known the speaker so long that even its uniqueness

had become too familiar.

Failure had also become too familiar, and he did not want to face it again. Failure threatened the

Balance and despite centuries of learning to focus his emotions inward—where they could be

controlled—a deep frown slowly spread across his marblelike countenance.

“Then…we must become more active…”

As he spoke, above him there suddenly glittered what seemed to be stars. Yet these stars moved,

gradually forming an immense, serpentine figure, a creature half-seen, half-imagined…and to most,

completely myth.

A dragon…

More active than the initiating of his birth brother? the stars asked, the tone invoking irony.

“More…” the shrouded figure returned defiantly, “although Mendeln ul-Diomed is far exceeding my

expectations. I would almost swear that he…”

Is directly of your blood, yes…it would also explain why she chose the elder sibling for her goals.

You sensed the strength slumbering in them. So would she.

“My mother would, you’re correct. So, too, would my father…” His frown deepened. “Yes, so, too,

would my father.”

The stars swirled, briefly losing resemblance to the fabled beast. Of whom we have heard nothing…

The man nodded, his focus once more attuned to Sanctuary. “Yes, and that troubles me more than

anything.”

As it should…The shape coalesced again. Yes…a more active role must be taken, just as you have

said…

Wrapping his voluminous cloak about him, the hooded figure prepared to leave. “As I said,” he

murmured more to himself than to his vaguely seen companion. “Even if it means revealing my

survival to both my parents…”

Mendeln expected to die. He watched as the hammer fell, knowing that he would never move swiftly enough

to escape it. None of the words in the strange tongue that he had begun to learn in his dreams came to him. A

crushing death was to be his imminent fate, and although he tried to be as detached to that realization as he

had become to so many other fateful moments of late, Mendeln nonetheless felt an overwhelming bitterness.

He had believed that some other destiny awaited him—

Someone collided with him. Both figures tumbled to the side just as Dialon’s hammer smashed into

the marble floor, creating a fissure of broken stone more than half a dozen yards in length.

“Next time don’t dream. Act,” muttered Serenthia in his ear. She leapt to her feet before Uldyssian’s

brother could offer any kind of thanks…and with good reason. Dialon’s effigy turned on her, almost

as if, despite the unreadable expression, the statue was furious at Serenthia for taking from it its prey.

Serenthia took aim with her spear, throwing it with accuracy enhanced by her powers. It drove

through the giant’s chest much the way Uldyssian had earlier sent the arrow through the priest’s.

At first, Mendeln thought her heroic action had been all for nothing, for Dialon moved unperturbed

by the gap in its torso. After all, it was only animated stone…

But then fine cracks quickly spread forth from the hole, racing along until they covered the statue’s

body with what looked almost like a web. As the effigy raised its hammer, portions of the giant began

breaking off.

Serenthia gave out a warning cry to those in the vicinity of Dialon. They backed away just in time,

for the hand wielding the murderous tool chose that moment to break off. As even the statue itself

watched, both dropped to the floor, shattering in pieces that spread throughout the chamber.

No sooner had Dialon lost its hand, then the rest of the limb followed. That opened the floodgates,

huge chunks of the stone goliath dropping like rain. The effigy looked down at its crumbling body—

and the neck snapped.

As the head crashed in front of Mendeln and Serenthia, what was left of Dialon joined the wreckage.

But there were two other giants with which to contend, two giants making savage sweeps across the

chamber as they hunted the tinier figures. However, Mendeln gave thanks to whatever watched over

the humans, for despite their attempts, the behemoths were having little good luck since the initial

slaughter. He wondered at that until he saw the hand of Mefis bounce off of the air just before Romus

and a small band of Parthans and Torajians. The bearded man—a villain reformed by Uldyssian—

looked to be the guiding force of this group. He stared at the menacing figure, almost seeming to defy

it to break through.

There was still a good chance that it might just do that. Mendeln decided that it was time he lent his

hand to the matter rather than stand around gaping while others merely struggled to survive. The

shadowy gift that he had been granted had to be of some use now…

Words finally flowed through his head, words in that archaic language first glimpsed on the stone just

outside Seram. They were the ones Mendeln knew that he had to speak and so Uldyssian’s brother

did just that.

Hands formed into fists, the statue battered at the invisible barrier. Yet, as the first blows struck, the

giant was repelled. Cracks materialized in the giant body and chips broke off as if something unseen

had fought against the effigy with the same violence with which the latter had attacked Romus’s band.

Mendeln allowed himself the ghost of a satisfied smile. Undeterred by the damage to it, Mefis

renewed its assault. Yet, each hit caused more and more damage. Driven by whatever dark force had

animated it, the giant would not cease. It did not understand that the magic Mendeln somehow knew

was making it the instrument of its own destruction.

Romus, on the other hand, evidently understood. He gestured for those with him to remain calm and

wait out the situation. The statue of Mefis was strong and that tremendous strength—turned on itself

—quickly reduced the giant to a precarious state. At last, great portions of the statue already piled

around its feet, Mefis collapsed.

That left only Bala…or, it would have, if the third of the great statues had not suddenly frozen. The

robed figure—in the act of leaning down to swat three Torajians with the tablets—teetered, then

tipped over. But Bala did not fall in the direction his balance would have demanded. Rather than

plunge forward—toward his would-be victims—the effigy went against common sense and dropped

backward.

Only as it smashed to pieces on the floor did the reason for its sudden and peculiar destruction

become obvious. Uldyssian, his aspect even more grim than Mendeln’s, stepped through the immense

pile of shattered stone, the path ever clearing ahead of him.

Mendeln did not like what he read in his older brother’s eyes. He had not made it clear to Serenthia

that Uldyssian faced not merely a pair of demons, but Lilith herself. Had she known that, the

merchant’s daughter would have attempted to plunge in ahead of even the demoness’s former lover.

After all, Lilith was as guilty, if not more so, in the death of Achilios than Lucion—who had merely

been the physical cause. Lilith it had been who had drawn all of them into this.

Lilith, whose memory would no doubt tear at Uldyssian’s heart until he was dead.

Mendeln’s brother glared at the losses caused by the statues. “Damn her…”

Fortunately, Serenthia had turned to help one of the injured. That gave the siblings a moment to

confer.

“Nothing was resolved…” Mendeln offered.

“Nothing…” Uldyssian continued to survey the dead. “Too many…”

The younger brother refrained from making any comment. He understood that his own recent

opinions concerning death did not always sit well with Uldyssian.

What sounded like a great rumble of thunder shook the temple. Uldyssian glanced up, his expression

hardening yet further.

“The fires and other damage have taken their own toll. The temple’s about to collapse.” He stepped

past Mendeln. “Leave now!” he shouted to the rest. “Our task is done here!”

It was a measure of the utter command Uldyssian had that no one even hesitated. The dead were left

where they were. It was not that they were so readily forgotten, just that the survivors knew that their

leader would not have ordered them out without good reason. Some helped in carrying the wounded

away, whom Uldyssian would surely attempt to heal later.

Mendeln turned his gaze back to his brother…and his studious gaze noted a sudden strain in the

other’s expression.

“Uldyssian—”

“I said that we all need to leave now.” Uldyssian’s voice remained even, but the vein in his neck had

begun throbbing.

There was a second rumble, but much more muted. Mendeln noted an increase in the throbbing.

“As you say,” he finally replied as calmly as possible. “But the doors are sealed—”

“No, not anymore.”

Mendeln took his brother’s reply as truth and, sure enough, he turned just in time to see the formerly

sealed doors fling themselves open just as the first of Uldyssian’s followers reached them. None of

the others questioned this; they had the utmost faith that he would see them through anything.

“They need to move faster…” Uldyssian growled under his breath.

Nodding, Mendeln increased his pace. “Do not lag,” he called to the rest. “Be wary but swift.”

From farther on, Serenthia caught his eye. Her own gaze informed Mendeln that she understood the

truth concerning the situation. Like Uldyssian’s sibling, she did her utmost to quietly usher out the

others.

Another rumble briefly shook the temple. Cracks appeared in the walls and ceiling, but otherwise the

edifice remained fairly intact. The only fragments on the floor were the result of the earlier conflicts.

Mendeln felt the warm night air rush at him as he neared the outside. Aware of what they faced, he

counted each step as if they were as important as the beats of his heart. It would have been simple to

tell the others to run, to flee from the area before it was too late, but that would have only caused

more calamity.

Flames illuminated the outdoors. In their awful light, Mendeln glimpsed some other parts of Toraja.

The tree-lined streets were most obvious, their foliage the home of the serka—small simians revered

by the populace. There were also the tall, rounded buildings with their columns carved to resemble

one powerful beast standing atop another. The work was so intricate that some of the animals almost

seemed to be gazing in concern at the conflaguration surrounding them. In truth, there would be no

stopping the fire from consuming the immediate district, not that Ulydssian would have cared. The

serka had long fled the area and everything else here bore the mark of the Triune.

The mix of Parthans and Torajians spilled out beyond the temple grounds. Mendeln finally took a

glance back at the giant structure.

Only to his eye was the constant quivering evident in the dark. Flames now covered most of the roof.

Crevasses ran over the face of the building and no doubt lined every other part of it as well. Some

columns farther on had cracked in half and fallen down. A major fault ran across the base on the

western side.

It should have collapsed by now, he decided. It should have collapsed on our heads…

But it had not and the taut-faced figure coming up next to him was the sole reason why. Sweat poured

over Uldyssian and his breathing came in rapid gasps. His gaze darted left and right, as if he sought to

take account of everyone.

“No one remains behind,” Mendeln assured him. “No one living, that is. Even the last of the brethren

have fled.”

“Into the…jungle…if they know what’s good for…them,” Uldyssian managed to grate. He stood

there, obviously weighing his decision.

“It is safe to let go,” his brother softly assured.

Nodding, Uldyssian exhaled.

With a terrible roar and a wrenching of stone from stone, the Torajian temple caved in on itself.

Massive blocks of marble tumbled into the courtyard. Bursts of flame shot up into the night as the

open air fed their fury. Gasps arose from several of Uldyssian’s followers. Romus let out an oath.

Huge chunks of marble continued to spill over the area, yet none of them came close to where the

band stood. Even now, some part of Mendeln’s brother kept the devastation in check.

Finally, it began to settle down to a mere catastrophe. The fires continued to burn, but the ruins now

surrounded them in such a manner that they would not spread much farther. Again, Mendeln knew

that this could be no coincidence.

Uldyssian looked past Mendeln, who at the same time sensed what lay behind him. As he turned, the

rest became aware of the mass of figures filling the streets. The bulk of Toraja’s remaining citizenry

stood before Uldyssian and his flock and in that crowd Mendeln noted a variety of emotions.

A grand figure in flowing red and golden robes separated from the crowd. He wore a scarf over his

long, bound, silver-colored hair and an intricate gold ring in one nostril. The sunburst design of the

ring indicated his high status. The man was lanky and appeared old enough to be the brothers’ father.

In his left hand he clutched a tall staff with markings etched in silver running along its length.

“I seek the stranger from the high lands, the Ascenian called Uldyssian.” “Ascenian” was, Mendeln’s

party had discovered early on, the term the jungle folk used for the pale inhabitants of such regions as

Seram and Partha. The actual meaning was lost even to the locals, but it had come to mean anyone

with skin and looks akin to the sons of Diomedes.

Uldyssian did not hesitate to reveal himself, although a few of his converts gave verbal protest at this.

Their fear for him was not unwarranted; in addition to the leather-padded soldiers Mendeln noted

among the newcomers, there were certainly representatives of the mage clans in the vicinity. They

were keeping discreet, though, for although Mendeln knew that they were there, not once did he see

anyone who resembled one of the powerful spellcasters. They had their own, internal matters with

which they sought to deal; Uldyssian was not yet a problem to the jaded masters in Kehjan.

But after tonight, Mendeln suspected that they would be reaccessing their stand.

“Uldyssian, son of Diomedes, stands before you with empty hands,” Mendeln’s sibling replied, with

the same respectful formality.

The elder nodded. “I am Raoneth, Councilor Senior of Toraja. Speaker for the people—” He paused,

obviously noting the many darker faces among those following Uldyssian. “—but not for all, it

seems. There are many known to me among those who stand with you, Ascenian, a fact that is a

marvel and a concern. I was told that only the lower castes found your word of interest and that you

promised them the riches of those whose stations are well above…”

“I promise the same thing to everyone,” Uldyssian interjected, his tone only slightly hinting of the

anger Mendeln knew he held against those who had spread such rumors to the Councilor Senior.

“The chance to achieve what we were meant to be, regardless of our birth! I offer something more

than even kings can attain, Lord Raoneth, if one will just listen! I offer what the Triune—and the

Cathedral—would never desire for their flocks…independence from their utter mastery!”

Raoneth nodded again. His thin lips pursed and it was evident that he did not entirely like or dislike

what he had heard. “The Triune has these past nights been accused of dire crimes, the least of which

are too horrendous for me to declare openly here, Ascenian! I have proof from sources as well that

you are a danger to the lives of those over whom I watch—”

“You want more damning proof of the Triune’s crimes, Councilor Senior? It lies within those ruins,

preserved despite the collapse.”

For the first time, Lord Raoneth looked uncertain. Mendeln, too, was impressed. If he understood his

brother as the other did, then even though Uldyssian had let the temple finally fall, he had still

shielded the inner chambers from the tons of tumbling stone. An astonishing feat and one done for

good reason, it now seemed.

“Perhaps that may be the case,” Raoneth finally went on. “But that does not in itself excuse the case

against you, Uldyssian, son of Diomedes.”

“Uldyssian’s no villain!” came a voice that sounded much like Romus’s.

Something flew out of the dark, aiming right for Lord Raoenth’s unprotected forehead. The

Councilor Senior had only time to gape as the projectile reached him—

And halted just before it would have shattered his skull.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Uldyssian muttered, sounding incredibly exhausted. The makeshift missile—a

sharp, apple-sized fragment from some corner of the temple—crumbled. A pile of soft ash formed at

Raoneth’s sandaled feet.

“By the—” the elder man began, then clamped his mouth. Mendeln suspected that, like many

Torajians, he had likely been about to call upon the Three…Mefis, Bala, and Dialon. It had been pure

reflex, though, Lord Raoneth not radiating any of the darkness that true converts of the Triune would

have. He had been an innocent dupe like the rest…

“I’m sorry,” Uldyssian repeated. He turned toward his followers. Although his eyes swept over the

entire throng, his brother had no doubt that the one who had used his power to hurtle the missile now

felt as if Uldyssian’s entire focus was upon him. “Let that never happen again. This isn’t the point of

the gift we have. To fight for the truth, yes, to fight for our right to be what we are destined to be, yes,

but not for mayhem and murder…then we’re no better than the Triune.”

He returned his gaze to the Councilor Senior, who only now looked up from the ash. To his credit,

Lord Raoneth’s momentary gaping when he had seen his death approaching had given way again to

determination to protect his city and his people.

Uldyssian spoke before the other man could. “We’re leaving Toraja, my lord. For the rest of the

night, we’ll camp beyond the walls. Tomorrow, we’ll be gone. I came here to try to do some good,

but that good’s now mixed with something you and I both find distasteful. That’s not what I want…

that’s not what I ever want.”

The Councilor Senior bowed his head slightly. “You are beyond my power, Ascenian. For you to

leave Toraja in no more devastation than what has been wrought this night…I can only thank the

stars. No soldier shall raise a weapon to you or those who choose to follow you out, not if they do not

wish to answer to me. I will brook no more bloodshed.”

“One thing only, Lord Raoneth.”

The man looked wary.

“The Triune is no more here. If it grows in Toraja again—like a weed can—I’ll return.”

Once more, Raoneth pursed his lips. “If the evil is as you said, that weed I will personally pluck clean

from my city’s soil.”

That appeared to satisfy Mendeln’s brother. Uldyssian did not look at his followers. He merely

started toward Lord Raoneth and they, in turn, flowed behind him. The larger mass that had

accompanied the Councilor Senior quickly gave way, hundreds of eyes watching with as many

emotions as the converts—several of them once friends, neighbors, and family—passed through. The

Torajians among Uldyssian’s flock eyed their fellow locals with equal intensity, although in their

case they radiated the determination of the newly converted. No one was going to tell them that they

might have chosen wrong.

The Councilor Senior bowed his head again as Uldyssian reached him. The latter nodded in turn.

Neither spoke, words now past use. Mendeln surreptitiously eyed the Torajian leader. Raoneth was an

interesting figure himself; ghosts flocked around the man, but whether family or foes, there was not

time enough to determine. That so many did was all that mattered; it bespoke of Raoneth’s strong

presence. Had the man chosen to follow so many of his citizens in accepting the gift within, Mendeln

suspected that Raoneth would have quickly become one of Uldyssian’s most promising candidates so

far.

And perhaps that is good reason to be glad he did not join, the younger brother considered. Raoneth

had been a leader; he might chafe at having to follow.

The crowd continued to give way. Even among the soldiers, there was a mix of expressions. Some

looked full of distrust, others full of curiosity.

We will grow in numbers, it occurred to Mendeln. Likely, Uldyssian knew this as well. We will grow

in numbers even before we leave this throng behind. There would be others, too, who would sneak

out during the night to join the camp beyond the walls. Mendeln calculated that not only would all the

lives lost tonight be gained back, but that ten times that quantity would be added yet.

“So many,” he murmured.

“Yes. So many,” Uldyssian replied. At that moment, whatever their own personal changes, the

brothers understood one another absolutely. They both acknowledged the growth of what Uldyssian

had started, acknowledged that each day would bring more and more into the fold.

And both knew, as well, that all those added souls might yet not be enough…that everyone here and

everyone to come might simply end up dead.

Four

There was no flaw to the Prophet, not that any could see. He looked so young to his followers, yet his

words were wiser than those of any ancient sage. His voice was pure music. He had not the trace of

stubble on his young countenance, one barely seeming out of childhood. Those who had the privilege

of seeing him close always came away with the impression of handsome, almost beautiful features,

yet, their descriptions would have varied based on their own preferences. All would have agreed,

though, that his hair, which fell well past his shoulders, was the gold of the sun and that his eyes were

a luminescent mix of blue and silver.

He was slim and athletic in the manner of an acrobat or dancer. When the Prophet moved, it was with

such grace as even a sleek cat could not match. He was clad in the silver-white robes of the Cathedral

of Light, his feet sandaled.

At the moment, the Prophet stood in his glory, having just completed a sermon to more than three

thousand eager pilgrims. Behind him, a choir of some two hundred—all of them as perfect in face

and form as humans could be—sang the closing praises. The audience remained enraptured, as

always. Although the sect had other locations elsewhere, the prime cathedral just north of the capital

had a constant flow of newcomers mixing with the local worshippers. After all, here was where the

Prophet himself lived. Here was where one could hear his personal words.

I must change that, he thought as he accepted the homage of his followers. All should know my words

personally. Perhaps through a sphere held high by the priests of each location during sermons…

He locked away the notion for another time, his own interest on a matter far removed from his

present circumstances.

The mortal Uldyssian ul-Diomed and his ragtag followers were on the move again.

Long, golden horns blared as he finally turned from the dais. The choir shifted their singing to mark

his departure, never once missing a single note. The members were from all castes, all races, but in

their joyous harmony one would have had great trouble telling any of them apart.

He was met by two of his senior priests, Gamuel and Oris. Oris had her hair bound back and although

she looked old enough to be his grandmother, her expression could not hide her attraction and love

for him. The Prophet could see still how the oval face had once rivaled any of the young ones in the

choir, but as with the singers, he had had little interest in the female priest then or now. He was also

certainly not inclined toward any male aspect, such as broad-jawed Gamuel’s. No, only one being—

one female—had ever stirred his passions so…and she was now anathema to him.

“A rich, magnificent speech as usual,” Oris cooed. Despite her demeanor around him, she was one of

the most able of his servants. Besides, the Prophet could hardly blame her for her admiration. She

was only human, whereas he was so much more.

“It sounds so terribly redundant to agree with her on this subject, but, I fear I must again, Great One!”

added Gamuel, bowing low. He had once been a warrior and stood half again as wide as his master,

but no one doubted which of the two was the more powerful. The Prophet had chosen Gamuel for his

role because, in the remotest manner possible, he had been the one mortal most reminding the

Prophet of his true self.

“It was good,” their master conceded. By the priests’ standards, all of his speeches were perfection,

but even he had to admit that there was a bit more to this one than many previous. Possibly that had

something to do with the current flux; the status quo of which he had become used to suddenly no

longer existed. In truth, that both infuriated…and enticed…him.

“One sensed the mood shift when you spoke of the Triune,” Oris went on, her mouth wrinkling as she

pronounced the last word. “There are new rumors of trouble concerning them and some fanatic from

the Ascenian regions.”

“Yes. His name is Uldyssian ul-Diomed. He has caused the temple much trouble in Toraja. We

should hear official word of that very soon.”

Neither priest registered much surprise at this knowledge. They had both been around long enough to

understand that the Prophet was privy to things that they could never even imagine. Still, he always

had them report whatever they heard just as a matter of form. There was always the remote chance

that something might escape his notice.

Gamuel shook his head. “So near. Will this…this Uldyssian…seek to war against the Cathedral, too?”

“You may assume that, my son.”

“Then, we should move against him—”

The Prophet gave the priest the sort of look that a father gives a naive but favored son. “No, good

Gamuel, we must move with him.”

“Holy One?”

But the Prophet said no more. He strode away from his top acolytes toward his private quarters. No

one followed in his wake, the glorious master of the Cathedral of Light insisting no servants ever

attend him unless summoned. No one questioned this quirk; they were all too enthralled by his holy

presence.

For ceremony and the sake of his acolytes’ concerns, helmed guards kept watch at the elegantly

carved, twin doors. The six stood as statues as he neared.

“Be at peace,” he told them. “You are dismissed for the evening.”

The senior guard immediately went down on one knee. “Holy One, we shouldn’t be leaving our

posts! Your life—”

“Is there anyone here who could possibly threaten it? Is there anyone I should fear?”

They could not argue with him there, for all knew that the Prophet wielded powers unbelievable. He

could defend himself far better than they could. Even the guards understood that they were for show,

yet their devotion always made them hesitate to leave.

“Go with my blessings,” the ivory youth declared, adding a beatific smile to encourage them to

depart. “Go, knowing that you are all in my heart…”

They flushed with pride even as they grudgingly obeyed. The Prophet did not watch them leave. He

walked directly to the doors, which flung open by themselves to admit him and then swung tightly

shut once he had passed through.

There was little in the way of furniture in the otherwise sumptuous chamber the robed figure entered.

A plush, down couch was where his followers assumed the Prophet slept…those who assumed that

he slept at all. Beyond that stood several crested, marble stands atop which perched an enviable

collection of the finest vases and glass sculptures from throughout the world of Sanctuary. Fresh

garlands of flowers draped the walls and vast, tapered rugs with the most intricate, handcrafted

patterns covered much of the shining marble floor. The walls also bore magnificent paintings of the

natural beauty of every imaginable land, each personally dictated to the various artists by the golden-

haired figure.

But above lay what most of those with the rare privilege of entering the Prophet’s private sanctum

thought the true focus. An immense mural covered the ceiling from end to end, each portion of it

filled with fantastical images. Creatures thought only myth, landscapes almost surreal, and most of

all, a host of exquisitely rendered, ethereal beings flying about through the use of vast, feathered

wings sprouting from near their shoulders. The figures were male and female and all clad in gossamer

robes; each had features that would have been the envy of the most beauteous princess or dashing

prince. To the careful onlooker, it was evident that they were not merely part of the scenery, but

rather that they were the ones molding it.

They were angels, as humans portrayed them at least. The Prophet, more the wiser, acknowledged the

artisan’s exceptional attempt, but an attempt was all it truly was. A mere mortal could not have

grasped the true essence of such beings. A mere mortal could not conceive of creatures who were not

exactly physical in nature, but instead harmonic resonances.

Yes, a mere mortal could not conceive of angels as they truly were, but the Prophet could.

After all, was he himself not among the greatest of angels?

It happened in a flash of brilliant light a thousand times quicker than a blink. The chamber shook and

it was as if a violent wind current erupted from the very spot upon which the gold-tressed figure

stood. Gone in an instant was the Prophet, who, for all his perfection, was a mere shadow of the

awesome truth. In his place stood a looming, hooded figure with vast wings of flame. Within the

hood there was no face, instead a radiance—formed from the blending of both light and sound—so

wondrous that it would have been almost blinding to most humans. What appeared to be long, silver

hair draping around it was also no more than pure light and sound mixing together.

He was clad in breastplate and robes, the former a shimmering copper, the latter as if sewn from the

very rays of the sun. In mortal terms, what had been the prophet seemed now some divine warrior,

and in truth, he had faced many a harsh battle against the demons of the Burning Hells.

So many, in fact, that the angel, Inarius, had finally spurned the eternal war between the High

Heavens and their monstrous foes and set about finding a place for himself far from the struggle.

With him he had taken others of like mind, all weary of winning this victory and losing the next, over

and over and over.

I SEARCHED FOR PEACE AND WAS GRANTED ITS ILLUSION…Inarius thought bitterly. I

FOUND MY SANCTUARY AND NAMED IT THUS…

But his mistake had been, long before founding Sanctuary, to ever accept the entreaties of a pack of

demons also no longer caring which side won. He had compounded that error by falling for the

seductions of their leader, whose every words had mirrored his own resolution. It was because of the

comingling between the two—and among their followers as well—that Sanctuary had become not

only a refuge, but a necessity.

Because of her…all this had become…

WOULD THAT I HAD NEVER MET YOU, LILITH…WOULD THAT I HAD NEVER SEEN OR

TOUCHED YOU…

But he had and all his regrets were simply that…regrets. Even he could not go back and alter the past.

The flight from the High Heavens and Burning Hells, the search for a place for the renegades to live,

the creation of Sanctuary…they were all an indelible part of history.

As was Lilith’s betrayal.

Inarius gestured and a fiery line split the ceiling down the middle. The chamber shook as a gap

opened in the center of the mural.

Without hesitation, the angel soared up into the air and out through the gap.

He had no fear of being noted. The mortals were naturally blind to his presence and his power

shielded him from any others who might have been otherwise able to detect the celestial being.

Inarius no longer even had to worry about the High Heavens sensing either him or Sanctuary, for he

felt at last that his powers were vast enough to keep even the Angiris Council oblivious, especially

with the everlasting war to further distract their attention.

And so, for the first time in centuries, Inarius soared high into the sky. He let his wings spread wide

as he soaked in the sensation of being utterly free. It had been foolish of him to wait so long to finally

fly again. Certainly, it had not been due to fear. No, Inarius realized that Lilith’s betrayal of him—

even more so than the heinous slaughter of the other angels and demons—had struck him to the very

core. Only for that reason had he kept himself confined to such mortal cloaks as the Prophet and

others.

NO MORE…NO MORE…AFTER THIS FARCE IS AT AN END, ALL HERE SHALL KNOW OF MY

GLORY, AS IS RIGHT…After all, if not for him, none of this would have existed. It was his right, his

duty, to keep Sanctuary on the course he had planned. Lilith would be punished, the demons would

be ousted, and the troublesome mortal would become nothing but a fading memory. Sanctuary would

be as he envisioned it…or he would destroy it and begin anew.

The angel arced suddenly, soaring past the gargantuan cathedral and within seconds over the capital.

Kehjan the city was vast enough to be a land unto itself and there were some who argued that the

surrounding regions had been named for it, not the other way around. Such trivial matters were of no

interest to Inarius, but he did find the lights from the capital interesting in a crude fashion. They

vaguely reminded him of the brilliance of the High Heavens, a place of eternal illumination.

I WILL MAKE OVER SANCTUARY ONCE THIS INCIDENT IS AT AN END, he swore. I WILL

MAKE MY OWN HIGH HEAVENS, ONE THAT WOULD BE ENVIED BY THE FIRST! It would

require much sacrifice, especially by his mortals, but it would be done. He had too long suffered

silently in squalor when, by rights, he could have lived as more befitting his role. He would create a

paradise untroubled by petty feuds—

Without warning, a sensation of familiarity struck him so hard that, for a moment, the angel veered

off course. Inarius corrected his flight instantly, then immediately turned about.

He had thought it her at first, but her presence was already known to him. No, this was another.

Inarius felt what to a human would have resembled a fast pounding of his heart. First Lilith…and

now one once nearly as close to the angel as she had been.

Above the cathedral again, the glorious figure paused to survey the dark lands surrounding him. Yet,

a thorough survey of every direction revealed nothing. The brief glimmer was the only hint of this

new return.

BUT, THEN, HE IS CLEVER, EVEN IF EVER MISGUIDED…AFTER ALL, HE MAY BE OF HER

CREATION…BUT SO, TOO, IS HE OF MINE…

The resurrection of yet another old—and apparently living—memory would change nothing,

however. As Inarius descended into the chamber and the ceiling began realigning itself, he already

knew that, when the time came, he would treat the other just as he intended his former lover.

Even if it was his errant son.

Uldyssian rose from the simple blanket upon which he slept to a sea of new faces staring apprehensively in his

direction.

“I couldn’t get them to stay any farther away,” Serenthia apologized as she came on his right. Her

dark hair was bound back and she walked more like a soldier than a merchant’s daughter. Despite her

growing proficiency with her powers, she continued to carry her spear in an aggressive grip.

“It’s all right, Serry,” he replied automatically, only afterward realizing that he had slipped back to

her childhood name.

Her expression tightened and moistness appeared around her otherwise stern eyes. Only three people

had consistently called her by that name once she had grown up. Two of those were dead, the last

Achilios.

Rather than try to correct his error and likely compound the situation, Uldyssian focused on the

newcomers. They were of all castes and ages and, as he knew would be the case, there were many

children with them. The last greatly concerned Uldyssian just as it had when the Parthans had brought

along their own offspring. Children had already died and those deaths more than any tore at his heart.

Yet, no matter his entreaties against such, families still joined him.

I should be better able to protect them, he thought bitterly. If not for the children, then who most am I

doing this for?

He never delved deeper into that question, for the answer ever revolved around him. He did this for

those who followed his path, true, but also because of outright vengeance. There was no denying that

at all, no matter how base such a reason was.

And that made seeing the new children only worse.

Straightening, Uldyssian accepted a water sack from Serenthia. He drank some of the cool liquid,

then poured more of the contents over his head in order to wake himself up. Uldyssian did not care

what the newcomers thought of his actions; if such a little thing turned them from him, then they

were not ready.

But no one left. They all stood patiently waiting. He hid a frown, having secretly hoped that some of

the parents would take their young and ease his guilt a little.

“You all come to me for the same reason, I hope,” Uldyssian declared. “You know what the gift

means…”

Several heads bobbed up and down. Uldyssian estimated more than a hundred newcomers. They

filled most of the clearing where he slept. His own followers had blended back into the jungles,

watching both hopefully and warily. Each convert was to the others a new miracle.

He saw no reason to waste more time with speeches. He had promised the Councilor Senior that he

would take his followers away from Toraja, and Uldyssian had always been a man of his word.

The son of Diomedes stretched forth a hand to the nearest, an older woman whose head was protected

by a multicolored scarf. Uldyssian sensed her wonder and fear warring with one another and realized

that she had come here alone.

“Please…” he murmured, recalling his own long-dead mother. “Please come to me.”

She did not hesitate, which was a credit to her more than him. The woman was thin and had a

pinched face, but her eyes were a beautiful brown and he suspected that in her youth she had been

quite alluring.

No one questioned what an elderly person was doing among the rest. Age did not seem to matter

much when it came to the gifts, save that those below ten years seemed to take longer to develop any

sign of success. Possibly this was some natural factor to keep them from harming themselves or

others, as could sometimes be noted with some animals.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Mahariti.” Her voice was strong. She did not want others to consider her a foolish old crone

unworthy of this moment.

Nodding his approval, the former farmer took her left hand in his. “Mahariti…open your thoughts to

me, your heart to me. Close your eyes, though, if you wish…”

She left them open, as he had expected. Again, Mahariti rose in his estimation…

A peculiar buzzing filled the air.

Uldyssian had but a single breath to react. He glared at empty air.

A moment later, three spinning objects converged on his location—and crashed against an invisible

barrier as if against walls of iron. The deadly objects tumbled to the ground, where they were

revealed as arced pieces of metal with small, glittering teeth all along the edges. Had they struck

Uldyssian, he had no doubt that he would have been dead in an instant…and possibly with his head

lying unattached to his body.

From among the waiting figures burst two unkempt, insignificant-looking men. Yet, as they charged

Uldyssian, their forms shifted and they became Peace Warders.

From nowhere, one produced a short lance that he threw at the son of Diomedes. The sharp tip had an

odd red tinge to it. At the same time, the second cast another of the savage metal weapons.

But before Uldyssian could act, the whirling weapon abruptly turned and headed back to its wielder.

It caught him in the chest, cutting through the metal breastplate, then the cloth, flesh, and bone

underneath. The Peace Warder went flying back among the Tarajians, who just managed to avoid his

bloody body before it crashed in an ghastly pile.

Uldyssian concentrated on the lance, but although it slowed, it did not stop. The red tip could only be

demonic in origin. Serenthia leapt forward, using her spear to knock it off course. It went spinning

past him.

Before the other Peace Warder could do anything else, some of the new Torajians seized him. He let

out an oath, which turned into a cry of pain as the crowd began to tear him apart.

This was not what Uldyssian had in mind. This was not battle, but butchery. “Stop!”

As he spoke, he used his abilities to gently move aside those holding the Peace Warder until only the

villain himself remained. The Peace Warder tried in vain to regain his limbs. He stood at an angle

that should have made him fall on his back, only Uldyssian keeping that from happening.

The warrior’s every muscle strained as Uldyssian loomed over him. One hand twitched and the son of

Diomedes noted that a dagger hung near the fingers.

“I can let you take that dagger, if you like,” he said without emotion. “But it’ll do you no good.”

Yet, still the man struggled for the feeble weapon. With a sigh, Uldyssian straightened the Peace

Warder, then let the one arm move.

The hand immediately grasped the blade. The Peace Warder raised the dagger up—and to

Uldyssian’s startlement, slashed his own throat.

A hush fell over the throng, but as Uldyssian—stupefied by the suicide—let the bleeding man drop,

he saw that they assumed that their leader had caused the warrior to slay himself. They thought that

the fatal strike had been Uldyssian’s punishment and proof of his power over such assassins.

Still managing to hide his shock, Uldyssian stared at the Peace Warder. The man gurgled twice, his

body twitching…then stilled.

All the while he wanted only to kill himself! He’d failed and knew no other course…Such fanaticism

astounded Uldyssian. Perhaps the man had believed that he would suffer some more terrible fate, but

somehow, that seemed doubtful. In fact, Uldyssian had been toying with the notion as to how to let

the assassin live. Enough had perished last night, and now with the coming of the new day, more

bloodshed had happened. He was sick of it all.

But you chose this course, he reminded himself.

“Master Uldyssian! Master Uldyssian!”

Uldyssian gratefully looked to Romus, any interruption welcome. The former criminal pointed

behind himself, where two other Parthans were dragging a limp form toward the rest.

A third Peace Warder. Only now did Uldyssian think of the fact that the first attack had come from

farther back.

“We found him just within the jungle,” explained Romus, rubbing his bald pate.

As the other Parthans dropped the body, the cause of death became very evident. Someone had

expertly cut down the assassin with an arrow to the base of the neck, apparently relying on honed

talents rather than still questionable powers.

It was yet another death, but one that could not have been avoided. The Peace Warder had brought it

on himself. “Good work, Romus.”

“Wasn’t my doin’, Master Uldyssian.”

The other two also shook their heads. Uldyssian digested this for a moment. “Then who?”

But no one took credit.

Frowning, Uldyssian knelt by the body. The shot had been an excellent one, as he had earlier noted,

the work of a obviously skilled archer. A slight shift in direction and either the shot would have

missed or the armor would have deflected it.

There was a dark substance on the shaft. Uldyssian rubbed some of it off. His brow furrowed in

perplexity.

It was moist dirt…moist dirt covering most of the arrow, as if someone had once buried the bolt.

Five

He was cold. Even in the steaming jungle, he was cold. In fact, he was never warm anymore except

when near them…or perhaps her. Yes, he thought it was likely her. Who else could it be?

It had been a risk, taking such action, but the Peace Warder might have otherwise escaped. Whether

that counted for something, his dulled mind could not say, but he had decided it was best not to take a

chance. An arrow through the neck had done the trick.

But now he had to move away as quickly as possible from the others. He dared not be seen. They

would identify him as a threat…and he was not so certain that they were wrong.

The bow slung over his shoulder, the figure pushed through the thick plant life. Now and then, when

he was forced to lean against a trunk, he left in his wake fragmented handprints of dirt. Soft, moist

dirt. It seemed no matter how much he tried to wipe his hands clean, there was always more.

He suddenly tensed, aware that he was no longer alone. Something large but lithe slipped through the

jungle, aware of his own movement even though he had thought his steps silent. One hand slowly

went for the bow—

A savage, feline countenance with two long saber teeth thrust through the brush ahead. The jungle cat

snarled.

But just as quickly, the snarl turned into a hiss. The beast recoiled.

He lowered his hand. He should have known that there would be no danger. Like all animals, the cat

could sense the wrongness of him.

As much out of disgust for himself as it was impatience to end this little farce, he took a step toward

the great feline. The cat immediately retreated an equal distance, spitting as it moved.

“I have no…time…for you…” It was the first words he had spoken in days and the croaking sound of

it repelled him as much as it seemed to the animal. Without any more pretense, the massive cat spun

around and fled, his tail between his legs.

The bowman stood there for a moment longer, drinking in the creature’s reaction. It only verified his

own thoughts of what would have happened if anyone had seen him.

But he had to stay near. Not only because he wanted to, but because something compelled him. Even

now, the urge to turn about grew stronger. It would not be too much more before he would have to

turn back. He could even count the number of steps left, but still he knew that he would try his best to

add just one. An innate stubbornness demanded that much independence of him.

The cat was long gone. Shoving aside a broad leaf the size of his head, he moved on.

Behind him, on the leaf, he left yet another dirty print.

It took well into the morning to deal with all the new converts, but despite his promise, Uldyssian refused to

leave until everyone understood just what it was he had awakened in them. That did not mean that they would

be able to wield any power, but at least there was a chance that it might somehow serve them should danger

rear its head…which he felt it would soon enough. Fortunately, other followers, especially the Parthans—who

had been able to practice longer—would be constantly trying to encourage their Torajian brethren.

“Nephalem” had been Lilith’s word for what they were becoming, but that word not only left a bitter

taste in Uldyssian’s mouth, but also did not fit right…at least where he was concerned. From the

Torajians, he had come across another title, an ancient one that even sounded a little like the first.

“Edyrem.” It meant “those who have seen” and to Uldyssian that was a perfect description of him and

the rest. He had already used it this very morning and seen how easily it slipped off the tongue.

Already, many were using the term rather than the old one…

They left the vicinity of the city the moment he was done. Despite the sun being high in the sky, it

seemed almost like dusk. The foliage was so thick that the light came for the most part in minute

shafts. That was not entirely undesirable, for the jungle already sweltered. The Torajians did not mind

it so much, but most of the Ascenians—Uldyssian included—were already covered in sweat.

The one obvious exception was Mendeln, naturally. He trudged through the jungle as if more

comfortable in it than even the locals. With his dark garments, Uldyssian’s brother should have been

dying under the sweltering heat, but not one drop of moisture had so far formed on Mendeln’s calm

countenance.

Uldyssian’s gaze shifted to Serenthia. She, like him, showed signs of the heat, albeit not quite so

severely. He looked at her closely, seeing for the first time how beautiful she was as a woman, not

simply a friend he had always thought of like a sister. How he envied now Achilios’s place in her

heart, a place he had once held, but had squandered. Any thought of making an advance toward

Serenthia Uldyssian quickly crushed; he still felt directly responsible for the archer’s terrible demise.

Serenthia paused to drink from her water sack, but as she lifted the opening to her lips, her grip

slipped. The sack fell, its contents spilling all over the ground.

He reached for his own. “You can drink some of this.”

Retrieving the sack, Serenthia shook her head. “Save yours. We passed a stream just a few yards

back…and besides, this’ll give me a chance to deal with some private matters.”

“Someone should go with—”

She gave him a grateful smile. “I’ll be fine. You’ll probably be able to see the top of my head most of

the time.”

That still did not satisfy Uldyssian, but he knew better than to argue with her. Signaling the others to

keep moving, he stood firm where he was. “I’ll be right here. I won’t go anywhere.”

Again, Cyrus’s daughter smiled. Uldyssian found he liked when she smiled at him.

Serenthia rushed off. A few of the others wanted to stay with Uldyssian, but he politely refused their

company. Despite the shifting greenery and the shadows caused by the thick foliage, Uldyssian did

the best he could to keep some part of her in sight at all times. As she had said, the stream was right

beside them; in fact, others had used it before Serenthia. There was really no reason to be

concerned…

But then, that was not the first time that he had thought that…and been proven horribly wrong.

Serenthia bent down, for the first time vanishing from his field of vision. Uldyssian held his breath…

then exhaled as she rose again.

She glanced over her shoulder and with a wave of her hand, commanded him to look away. Despite

his trepidation, he finally obeyed.

There was a rustling of leaves, then silence. It occurred to Uldyssian that he could use his powers to

check on her location, but suspected that Serenthia would, with her own, notice him doing just that.

However, considering her present circumstances, the former farmer shied away from doing so.

There was a muffled sound from Serenthia’s direction. Uldyssian peered around for her. With relief,

the dark-haired woman’s head reappeared. Seconds later, Serenthia slipped back to join him.

“I was worried…for a moment,” he admitted.

Much to his surprise, her eyes brightened at this comment. Serenthia put a hand to his cheek. She

smiled almost shyly.

“I like that,” the merchant’s daughter finally murmured.

Then, her face reddening, Serenthia rushed on, briefly leaving a befuddled Uldyssian to try to

understand just what the incident meant, if anything. Then, forcing such dangerous thoughts from the

forefront, he hurried after the rest of the party.

They did not head toward the capital, as some thought, but rather, farther south, toward where the main

temple lay. It was not what Uldyssian would have chosen, but Lilith had forced his hand. Despite her acting as

if she wanted him to destroy the Triune, he somehow felt that if he went directly for their supreme

headquarters, it would be more than the demoness expected. Uldyssian hoped in that manner to throw her off

guard.

Unfortunately, he also suspected that he was still playing into her hands.

The makeshift army paused near a river that, according to the Torajians, flowed between the southern

gates of the city and the lands owned by the Triune. Uldyssian saw the river as the perfect guide for

the rest of their journey. Romus and some of the others located the best area for the camp and the

nephalem started to settle down for the night.

Recalling the river reptiles that Achilios had caught, Uldyssian made certain that not only did his

followers steer clear of sleeping too close to the water, but that no one went alone to it for any reason.

Even then, those small groups who did head to the river were to alert other people of the fact first.

“We should be able to fear nothing,” he remarked sarcastically to Mendeln. The two sat alone near

one of the many fires. “That’s what these powers should mean, but look at us…”

“They are learning rapidly, Uldyssian. Have you not noticed that the more converts you gain, the

more of your followers increase their abilities and quicker?”

“They need to! I’m marching them into a war with demons and magic and who knows what else!” He

buried his head in his hands. “Will they be ready for that, Mendeln? You saw how it was in Toraja…”

“The lesson of Toraja is burned into all of us, brother. The next time will be different.”

Uldyssian looked up, his eyes narrowing. “The next time. What did the Torajians call the place?”

“Hashir. It is smaller than Toraja.”

“But somehow I doubt it’ll be any easier.”

Shrugging, Mendeln replied, “What will be will be.”

The younger brother stood up, and with a pat on Uldyssian’s shoulder, walked off. Uldyssian sat

there, watching the flames and recalling the ones engulfing the temple and parts of Toraja. Would it

be like that all over again? How many would perish this time? He had felt so determined after

Lucion’s destruction, but Toraja had taken much of that from him, not that he let anyone other than

Mendeln truly know that.

“You shouldn’t fret so, Uldyssian. It’s not good for you or for those who follow you.”

He looked up to see Serenthia step into the light of the fire like some night spirit. Her hair flowed

loose and Uldyssian was surprised at just how long and lush it had gotten.

“I thought you were asleep,” he replied.

“Sleep…” Brushing back some hair, she sat down next to him. “I don’t sleep as much as some think,

Uldyssian.”

That was something that he could understand, often suffering it himself, but to hear that Serenthia

shared the problem worried him. “You should have said something…”

Her eyes glistened in the light of the fire. “To you? How could I bother you, when you’ve got so

much with which to deal?”

As she spoke, she leaned against him. Her nearness both stirred him and added to his guilt.

“I always have time for you,” he heard himself say.

Serenthia touched the back of his hand. “If there was anyone I’d turned to, you know that it would be

you, Uldyssian. And you know that I would be there for you, also. I’ve always been there for you…”

He remembered all the years that she had followed him around, waiting for the farmer to notice the

young girl who had become a woman. Uldyssian had, but unlike most of the other men in Seram, not

in the manner in which Serenthia had hoped.

But now, at a time when he least wanted to, he was noticing her as she had once dreamed.

She leaned closer…too close. “Uldyssian—”

Caught between desire and loyalty to a lost comrade, Uldyssian tried not to look directly into her eyes

—

And, in doing so, saw something all but shadowed by the nighttime jungle.

With a gasp, he leapt to his feet.

“Uldyssian! What is it?”

He instinctively looked down at her, then quickly returned his gaze to the wilderness. However, all

that met his eyes were darkened trees and vines. Nothing else. Nothing remotely resembling a human

shape.

Nothing, certainly, resembling a figure with a pale face draped by blond hair, a figure whom he had

taken for someone long dead.

“Achilios…” Uldyssian whispered. Without thinking, he took a step toward the jungle.

“What did you say?” asked Serenthia, suddenly standing in his path. “Did you see something out

there?”

“No…nothing…” He could not tell her that he had just seen a ghost, a dead man walking. After all it

had only been his own guilt that had manifested the vision. They had left Achilios buried far, far

behind them…

To his further dismay, Serenthia put her palms on his chest. She looked up at him. “Uldyssian—”

“It’s late,” he interrupted, backing up from her. “We should do the best we can to sleep, Serry.” He

purposely used the other name this time, hoping it would douse the volatile situation.

She frowned, then nodded. “As you say.”

Uldyssian expected her to say more, but she suddenly turned and headed deeper into the

encampment. He watched her vanish among the others, then sat down by the fire again.

Staring at the jungle, Uldyssian suddenly probed the shadows. There was nothing, though, and he had

not thought that there would be. It had been his own regrets, nothing more.

Achilios was dead…and for that reason alone, Uldyssian could never allow things to grow between

Serenthia and him.

Mendeln jolted to a sitting position, the sensation of something awry filling him. He hated when that

particular sensation occurred, for it usually presaged imminent disaster for all. Quickly peering around, he

saw no reason for his concern, but that did not assuage him in the least. His brother and he dealt with far too

many dangers that kept themselves hidden until ready to spring upon the pair.

Moving silently, Mendeln rose from his blanket. Unlike most of the others, he did not sleep near the

fires, preferring somehow the quiet dark of night over the protective light of the flames. Another

change from the young boy who had always huddled closest whenever the last glimmer of day had

passed.

His first concern was Uldyssian. With catlike movements, he stepped among the sleeping edyrem—

as they were now apparently to be called—until he located his brother. Uldyssian slept fitfully and

alone, Serenthia nowhere in sight. Mendeln felt mildly disappointed about the last. With Achilios

dead, he had hoped that the two would find one another. Certainly, they deserved a little bit of

happiness. Of course, his brother likely still felt too much at fault over the hunter and Serenthia had

long ago given up trying to catch Uldyssian’s eye.

Would that my concerns would all revolve around something so mundane as love, Mendeln finally

thought. Matters would be so much more simple.

But if it was not any imminent danger to Uldyssian, then what troubled Mendeln so? As he wended

his way back to his sleeping place, he considered the event again. No dream of significance came to

him. No sound had touched his ears. By rights, he should still be fast asleep.

Mendeln looked about and only then noticed that the area was devoid of his own companions. There

was always a ghost around, some shade who could not immediately detach itself from his presence.

The party had left Toraja not only with new converts, but also several dozen specters who, for the

most part, had perished in the struggle. Many had disappeared along the way, but a few new ones had

joined during the day’s march. Most of those had been unlucky hunters or travelers who had fallen

victim to the dangers of the jungle. Like the rest, they appeared to be wanting something from

Mendeln, but when it became clear that he would not give it to them, gradually faded away once

more.

But rarely did all of them disappear.

Curious, Mendeln headed to the edge of camp. He could see far better than anyone else in the dark,

but still all he noted was more and more shadows.

And yet…was there a slight movement well to his right?

“Come to me…” he whispered. The first time he had spoken such words, it had summoned the ghosts

even closer to him. Normally, Mendeln kept from summoning them, but if this specter had

significance to him and his brother, it behooved him to find out.

But the shape did not drift forward, and in fact, the more Mendeln eyed it, the less certain he was that

he had seen correctly. Now it did resemble some fern or other plant, not a man…

But the sensation continued to press at his mind. Exhaling in exasperation, Mendeln entered the

jungle. He knew that he took some risk, for while the insects that plagued most of the others stayed

clear of him, he did not know if the same held true for the huge carnivores of whom the Torajians

spoke.

In his eyes, the jungle at night was lovelier, like a beautiful, mysterious woman. The dangers hidden

by the dark made that woman only more thrilling. As he forayed deeper, Mendeln marveled that such

imagery would occur to him. Yes, he was definitely no longer the frightened child he had been even

after growing up.

The shape Mendeln had noticed had to be near, but now nothing he saw even remotely resembled it.

Had it been, after all, his imagination or had whoever he had seen retreated once discovered?

A hand touched his shoulder.

He spun about…and found nobody behind him.

“Who are you?” Mendeln whispered.

The jungle remained steadfastly silent. Too silent, in fact, for a place where the calls of the daylight

were often but a murmur compared to those beginning once the sun was gone. The jungle held more

life in it than a thousand Serams, yet none of that was apparent now. From the smallest to the largest,

the fauna was conspicuously absent.

But no sooner had Mendeln thought that when the leaves to his left rustled…and a form moving on

two legs slipped by at the edge of his vision.

“Spare me your tricks and games!” he growled. “Show yourself or else!” Mendeln had no idea

exactly what “or else” might be. In past circumstances of danger, he had suddenly spouted words in

an ancient tongue he had never known, words of power that had saved him more than once. However,

whether those words would protect him from the lurker, he was not so certain.

It moved again, this time to his right. Mendeln automatically spouted a word—and a brief, gray glow

filled the immediate vicinity.

But what he saw was not at all what he expected.

“No…” Uldyssian’s brother rasped, refusing to accept what that momentary glow had revealed.

“No…”

It had to be a delusion…or a trick, he thought. Yes, that made sense and hardened his resolve.

Mendeln could think of only one being who would do such an obscene thing.

“Lilith…” And here he was alone, a fool overconfident in his feeble abilities. No doubt the demoness

was readying the fatal blow. How would it come? Mendeln would perish in some monstrous manner,

naturally, his death drawn out.

Oddly, death itself did not disturb him. It was the part just before that which Mendeln wished to

avoid.

He would not show her any fear. If somehow he could use his demise to help or at least warn

Uldyssian, then that was something. “Very well, Lilith. You have me. Come and do what you wish.”

Words formed on his tongue. His hopes rose slightly. He knew that the words’ power would give him

some chance to at least stave off the inevitable…

Something whizzed past his ear. There was a grotesque, bestial howl, followed by a dull thunk, as if

something had collided with one of the many trees.

Mendeln peered in the direction of the howl and saw something sinister standing against one of the

thick trunks. When he saw that the thing did not move, he finally approached it.

It was a morlu…a morlu with an arrow through the throat just where the helmet and breastplate left

only half an inch of space. Mendeln started to reach for the arrow, its presence stirring another

nightmare—

The morlu lifted his head, the black pits staring at Mendeln. The warrior grasped for Uldyssian’s

brother.

The same words that he had earlier used on one of these fiends in the house of Master Ethon spilled

from Mendeln. As they did, the morlu’s grasping hands twitched wildly. A gurgle escaped the pale

lips.

The morlu slumped again, only the arrow pinning him to the tree keeping the bestial figure from

falling at Mendeln’s feet.

Without hesitation, Mendeln put a hand over the monstrous warrior’s chest. Other words, again first

used in Partha, sprang easily from the lips of Uldyssian’s brother.

Most would have been unable to see the small, black cloud that rose from the morlu. It hovered over

Mendeln’s palm. He stared at the foulness for a moment, then snapped shut his hand.

The cloud vanished.

“No more will you be raised to do evil.” Whatever darkness animated a morlu, gave it semblance of

true life, would not be able to resurrect this particular corpse. Mendeln had made certain of that.

But there still remained whatever had initially rescued him from the Triune’s servant. Mendeln

finally touched the arrow, noting with mild dismay that there was dirt all over the shaft. Just like the

arrow that had slain one of the Peace Warders.

“It cannot be…he is dead…”

But life is only a robe which all wear but fleeting…

Though the thought flowed through his mind, Mendeln by no stretch of the imagination believed it

his own. He had felt that other presence in his head before. It had always guided him, yet, now what

it said only made Mendeln more anxious.

“No!” he growled at the darkness. “He is dead! To think otherwise is evil! He is buried! I was there! I

chose the spot! I chose—”

He had chosen to bury the body very near an ancient structure bearing the same sort of markings as

the stone near Seram. Mendeln gaped at his own naivety. Why did he think that he had chosen that

very location? Something had urged him to do it and he had blithefully acquiesced.

Shaking his head, Mendeln backed up—

And collided with another form.

Uldyssian’s brother spun around…and stared into the pale, dirty face of Achilios.

Six

Astrogha was a demon of ambitions. He had sat near the taloned hand of Diablo, the greatest of the

Prime Evils, and had learned well. It had always chafed him to be subservient to Lucion, but then

Lucion had actually been the son of Mephisto so there had been little he could do about it.

But Lucion acted strange of late. In his persona of the Primus, the archdemon had always done things

in a certain manner, but since his return from some mysterious foray, that had changed. Had Astrogha

not known better, he would have sworn that it was no longer the son of Mephisto who sat upon the

Primus’s throne. That was impossible, surely, for who could ever masquerade as Lucion?

The demon shifted in his shadowed web, located now in one of the high towers of the Triune’s

supreme temple. Astrogha had chosen the one dedicated to Dialon, naturally, that being the spirit who

was, in fact, his master, Diablo. Around the brooding demon crawled his “children,” sinister black

spiders of every size, some as big as a man’s head.

Astrogha was a demon of many incarnations, many shapes. For this moment, he wore a form both

arachnid and human, a macabre mix of the two. He now had eight limbs, broader and thicker than any

spider, which could be used as arms or legs, depending on circumstance. All ended in clawed digits

perfect for rending soft flesh, the better to stuff it into a maw with not only fangs, but jagged teeth

that looked as if they had been filed. Astrogha’s torso was generally humanoid in design, but rounder

and broader at the shoulder. He could make it otherwise, should the mood suit him.

Atop his head were eight more smaller limbs, each ending in human hands. They were good for

dragging prey closer to his mouth and for plucking tiny vermin from his black-furred body for the

occasional snack in between.

His eyes were crimson orbs clustered together, each lacking any pupil. With them, Astrogha saw in

almost every direction and beyond the sight of most mortals or even demons. With them, in fact, he

could see back somewhat into the Burning Hells, where he would now and then report to his lord and

master.

Astrogha was overdue to give such a report. He did not like stirring Lord Diablo’s ire, for it would be

a simple thing for the great demon to reach out from beyond to squash Astrogha like a bug.

The arachnid had hesitated to report because he was still trying to assess the change in Lucion. If

Lucion was no longer fit to command, then someone would rightly have to step in and take his

place…but that would prove difficult, considering Mephisto’s role in this. The other Prime Evil

would not take kindly to his offspring’s role being usurped…unless the results of that proved most

promising.

And so Astrogha was debating plots of his own. This human, this Uldyssian, represented both

tremendous potential and threat to the cause of the Burning Hell. Humans could become the weapon

the demons needed to at last seize total victory from the sanctimonious angels, yet the tendency

toward good in them might make them ally themselves with the High Heavens…until the piousness

and rigidity of the winged warriors sickened their stomachs as much as it did the demons’.

Astrogha lifted the limp arm from which he had been sipping and drank what was left of the blood

within it. The children hungrily scurried over the rest of the emaciated corpse, a young acolyte of the

temple no one would miss. Lucion had always permitted him to take the occasional innocent, for did

not a demon have to eat, too?

But as he drained the last, a sudden, intense fear overtook Astrogha. The demon flung away the arm,

at the same time as the children were rushing for the deepest recesses of the corner—not that any

shadow could conceal either him or them from the cause of their terror.

Barely audible voices filled the chamber. There was a frenetic tone to them that raised the bristled fur

covering his grotesque body. Astrogha could sense their pleading, their hopelessness. Their torments

were such that he, who had caused so much terror himself over the centuries, shook hard.

Then, eyes that could see beyond Sanctuary now beheld a huge form seemingly halfway between

realities. At first, it flowed toward him like an inky shadow, but as he caught better sight of it, he

made out faces both human and demonic and all in midscream. The faces constantly melted into one

another and none were ever perfectly defined, but rather more as if out of a nightmare.

As the hideous specter neared, Astrogha then caught glimpses of a fiery red shape, huge fists with

black talons, and a horrific countenance that was in part a rotting skull with blazing eyes that burned

into the arachnid’s own. Monstrous, curled horns—like those of a ram’s gone amok—topped the

thick-browed, scaled head. That shape vanished, to be replaced by a skeletal form in rusting armor

and in whose arms it carried rotting organs covered in maggots. Then, that was without warning

replaced by a reptilian beast with a maw like a huge frog and a tongue four times forked. The mouth

looked wide enough to swallow a man…or an arachnid as big as one…

The reptilian visage slipped into and out of his eyesight, mixing constantly with the shrieking heads.

Yet, at last there came a powerful voice, with each word sounding like the crunching of a spider’s

tasty flesh. “Astrogha…Astrogha…I have awaited your word, you pathetic worm…”

The demon in the web took hope at the mildness of the summoner’s anger. “Forgive me…forgive me

for my lateness, my lord Diablo…”

The murky form shifted, most of it fading into shadow. Even Astrogha never cared to see his master

in all his terrible glory. Some demons had been driven mad by such an audience. Astrogha was

stronger than most, but the one time he had been granted a full visualization—and that for only a few

seconds—it had left him shivering for years.

“What of this little mud ball you call Sanctuary?” Diablo demanded without preamble. His voice

touched every nerve in the spider’s body, each syllable like a thousand tortures. “I grow impatient for

results from my nephew…”

There was the opening that Astrogha needed! “Great and glorious Diablo, whose very name sends

nightmares to the angels, this one has at all turns your desires followed as best can be done! Ever

have I offered noble Lucion my word, my advice, but he listens not! True, the son of Mephisto has so

many pressures upon him! It is so hard for him to direct all, to constantly plan alone…”

There was a harsh grating laugh that made Astrogha wish that he had ears to cover. Even then,

though, that would not have kept the laugh from causing him to quake.

“The little bug has notions of his own on how the worms of this mud ball should be persuaded to our

just cause? Notions my nephew would not hear?”

“Yes…they have gone unspoken. It is…difficult for this one or any other to understand what noble

Lucion thinks and so offer advice to him. His planning grows erratic. He sets a trap for the leader of

these mortals, then leaves myself and Gulag—who is but a stinking puddle now—to fend for

ourselves against might both angelic and demonic…”

“So powerful…” Diablo’s tone left no doubt as to his interest. The destruction of his brother Baal’s

minion was of no significance save that it gave some credence to the belief that the humans would

prove very useful soldiers.

“This one would have continued the struggle—Astrogha fears only his master—but Lucion then cast

me out and sealed from my view his confrontation with this Uldyssian!”

“And the mortal is not ours even then?”

“Nay! He even just this last eve as Sanctuary counts time ravaged another temple! Yet Lucion not

only seems not to care, but this one has not seen him of late…a second inexplicable absence! Our

mortal servants are left to their own minds—no good thing coming of that—and this one must sit and

wait and sit and wait, when there is much that could be done!”

He expected Diablo to comment, but only silence met the arachnid. That silence stretched longer and

longer and the more it did, the more anxious Astrogha became.

At last…

“You have something in mind, little bug?”

“Yes, my lord Diablo…if this one may be permitted to act freely…and possibly beyond what the

noble Lucion would prefer.”

There was another silence.

“Tell me, crawler in the shadows, tell me, my Astrogha…”

And, with barely concealed glee, the arachnid did just that.

Mendeln was unusually silent even for him, enough so that Uldyssian noticed. He glanced at his brother as

they trudged through the jungle, noting how Mendeln kept his gaze fixed directly ahead. It was as if he feared

that he might see something undesired if he looked anywhere else.

Unfortunately, there was too much troubling Uldyssian’s own mind for him to continue to

concentrate on Mendeln. It only partially had to do with the dangers ahead. There was also the

incident with Serenthia.

She had been open to his advance, that much had been obvious, and he realized more and more that

he wanted to pursue the matter. Yet, that meant trampling on the memory of his best friend…

With a grunt, Uldyssian tried to dismiss the subject from his mind yet again. There were too many

threats merely from the land around them, much less the Triune, to become so distracted. Constantly,

he probed ahead, seeking anything that might endanger the others. More than once, Uldyssian had

mentally fended off predators. He had also sent several poisonous snakes and one huge constrictor

slithering in other directions. It was a constant task; the jungle held so much potential danger that he

could scarcely believe it.

At times, the trail turned as dark as night. Footing often proved tricky even for Uldyssian, who was

better able to detect the shifting ground. Despite his own powers, he found he had to also rely on a

pair of Torajians, Saron and Tomo. They were cousins, Saron the elder by five years, and had

ventured farther in this direction than any of their fellows. They were nearly as skilled hunters in their

environment as Achilios had been in his and were chief among those securing food for the rest.

“Watch for the jagged leaf of the tyrocol bush, Master Uldyssian,” Saron told him, pointing to the

thick, reddish plant to their left. “To cut yourself on them is to invite its strong poison…” To

emphasize that fact, the elder cousin used a spear to lift the lower leaves. The rotting corpse of a

small, furred creature lay underneath. Tiny, crimson lizards who had been snacking on the remains

darted for the safety of the underbrush.

“Kataka,” Tomo offered. “They resist the poison, but it fills their skin. They can eat the tyrocol’s

victims and are poisonous to others because of what they ingest.”

Uldyssian had sensed some threat, but discovering that it was a plant he had to avoid and not some

creature made him vow to double his efforts. He believed that he could reject the bush’s poison, but

what about those not yet coming into their powers?

“Let all know of the tyrocol,” he commanded Romus and several others. It was not the first such

pronouncement that Uldyssian had made and he knew that it would not be the last. It seemed that

everything in the jungles had some hidden—and ofttimes malevolent—aspect to it.

Their intended destination remained the smaller city of Hashir. As they marched along, they kept a

special eye out for any trace of the Triune’s servants. Uldyssian was certain that the three assassins

had not been the only ones left. In fact, he somehow felt that the Triune had some part to play in

Mendeln’s behavior, but trusted that, if it was necessary, his brother would certainly let him know the

truth.

Certainly…

“You seem so lost in thought.”

Uldyssian glanced to his side, startled by Serenthia’s sudden nearness. That he had not noticed spoke

volumes concerning the state of his mind. “I have to keep all of them safe and there’s so much here in

the jungle compared to home.”

“Yes, Seram seems so peaceful in comparison.” She frowned. “Or at least, it used to be.”

That stirred up his guilt again. “Serenthia…about Cyrus and what—”

“Go no further, Uldyssian. What happened was not your fault. You were hardly aware of the powers

within you, much less how to control them.”

Her attempt to placate him did nothing to help Uldyssian. Nevertheless, he nodded gratefully.

“Nor do I blame you for Achilios,” the woman went on, her glittering eyes snaring his. “Achilios was

a good man, but independent. He chose to do what he did. He wouldn’t blame you any more than I.”

“Serenthia—”

Her hand slipped over to his, touching the back so very softly. “Please don’t worry about me so

much, especially where Achilios is concerned. I mourn him as a lost friend…but perhaps not the

lover I thought he was.”

This admission nearly caused him to stumble in his tracks. “What are you saying? The two of you—”

“Uldyssian, Achilios always cared for me, but you know I”—she glanced away for a moment, her

cheeks red from other than the heat—“had other feelings. When I thought that there was no more

hope…I think I turned to him for comfort…for…I feel so guilty…”

He waited, and when she did not go on, he murmured, “Now you’re the one who shouldn’t.”

Uldyssian shrugged, not certain if his next words made sense or not. “You brought happiness to

Achilios. He died thinking that you and he were one. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Her hand slipped closer, tightening on his. Uldyssian did not draw back. A part of him felt like he

once again betrayed his friend, but another was pleased by what he had heard.

But before matters could go any further, Mendeln interjected himself into their presence. Uldyssian’s

brother wore an expression that boded no good.

“There is something in the jungle,” he quietly announced. “Can you feel it?”

His attention brought back to their current situation, Uldyssian now did. He could not fathom what it

was, but it was very close. He signaled Tomo over to him.

“Do you know this region? Is there anything we should beware?”

The Torajian considered. “We are beyond where my cousin and I hunt, Master Uldyssian, but I recall

a little about the area. It was said that jungle spirits frequent this location, but those are only stories

our grandmothers told us!”

“Jungle spirits?” Mendeln seemed to find this of particular interest. “Why here? What is so different?”

“There are ruins here, Master Mendeln.” As with many of Uldyssian’s Torajian followers, Tomo

seemed uncomfortable speaking directly with the younger son of Diomedes. “Ones so old the

markings are all but washed away. They are nothing but curiosities…”

“We should avoid them, anyway,” suggested Serenthia. “They’re away from the river, aren’t they,

Tomo?”

“Oh, yes, mistress.” Serenthia was treated with nearly as much reverence as Uldyssian. Tomo and

some of the other younger converts also seemed quite smitten with her. “Two or three hours through

dense jungle! Not worthy of the time!”

Mendeln looked disappointed. “So far as that?”

“Well…perhaps not so far as that,” the Torajian reluctantly admitted. “But far enough!”

Unless they had something to do with the Triune—which evidently they did not—Uldyssian had no

use for the ruins. He gestured ahead. “We keep moving. Hashir’s our goal. Nothing else.”

Yet as they started on again, Uldyssian continued to sense something from the general direction of the

unseen ruins. He had no idea exactly what it was, but it felt very, very old and somewhat dark of

nature. Curiously, there was also a feeling of…of fury…that seemed to be growing with each passing

moment.

Almost as if whatever it was had taken notice of them.

Uldyssian tried to ignore what was happening, but the fury continued to swell with each passing

breath. He finally pulled aside Serenthia and Mendeln and was not at all surprised to discover that

they felt it, too.

“We have attracted its attention,” his brother agreed. “It is awakening from its death…”

“And what does that mean, Mendeln?” Uldyssian demanded, suddenly growing weary with the

mysteries surrounding his sibling. “Just what do you understand about this?”

“More than you, it seems,” the other snapped back, his abrupt vehemence matching Uldyssian’s own.

“I do not walk around oblivious to everything but myself!”

“No, you walk around speaking to shadows and making vague comments, all the signs of madness—”

The eyes of both brothers went wide as they both noticed their odd anger at one another. Uldyssian

glanced around them and noticed that many of his followers had paused to stare aghast at the

unexpected confrontation.

“It is feeding us its fury,” Mendeln declared. “and in the process feeding from that…”

“Get everyone as close to the river as is safely possible,” commanded Uldyssian to Romus and

others. “Everyone must keep their thoughts calm and if they feel any anger—about anything—they’ll

keep it smothered or answer to me!”

He was not certain if any of the others would be affected, but did not want to take the risk.

Serenthia brightened. “Tomo! Is there anywhere to cross the river? I thought someone mentioned an

area ahead.”

The Torajian frowned. “I know of none, mistress, but there could be…”

“I’m certain that I remember right.” She looked to Uldyssian. “I’m sure of it. The sooner we find it,

the better!”

Uldyssian was glad for her suggestion. A crossing would let them better get to safety. The intensity of

the ancient fury was still growing. In fact, he had some slight worry that even the other side of the

river would not prove sufficient to escape it.

But at the moment, Uldyssian had no other choice for his people. He waved them on, staying his

ground and staring in the direction of the ruins and their malevolent inhabitant. Uldyssian kept his

will focused, determined not to let the dark thing play with his emotions.

Mendeln stepped up next to him. “Go on with the rest, Uldyssian. I will stand watch here.”

“You take Serenthia and lead the others on,” the older brother demanded in turn.

“There is no time for argument—” Mendeln snapped his mouth shut. Uldyssian knew that they had

both nearly started another fight. Perhaps it would have been wiser for the pair to retreat, but he felt

that so long as the inhuman fury concentrated on them, then the others were in less danger.

Evidently, Mendeln was of a like mind, for he said almost at the same time, “We will stand together,

as shields for the rest, then.”

They said no more, both shoulder-to-shoulder, staring into the jungle.

But Uldyssian noticed a subtle shift in the monstrous rage. While part of it still focused on the

brothers, some of it yet followed along with the fleeing band. He concentrated…and knew exactly

why.

“Serenthia!” Uldyssian gasped. “It’s turning its evil toward her!”

“But why—” Mendeln began.

Uldyssian did not know why and had no interest in wasting time discussing the devastating

discovery. More and more, the dark force turned its attention to the vicinity of their companion.

He knew of only one way to prevent that from continuing. His aspect grim, Uldyssian strode toward

the distant ruins. At the same time, he pushed his will ahead, demanding that whatever lurked out

there concentrate on him and him alone.

The jungle darkened as he bore toward the hidden site. The cries of the animals and insects faded into

the background. As Uldyssian progressed, he noticed that the trees and other plant life took on a

shrouded appearance, as if some shadow other than that cast by the foliage above now settled over

them. Limbs took on the appearance of skeletal arms and all the leaves suddenly reminded him of the

poisonous plant Tomo had pointed out.

He stumbled over a protrusion in the ground. Glancing down, he saw that it was a piece of stone, but

one not naturally formed. Uldyssian extended a hand and the stone flew up into it.

It was from some shattered carving, part of the upper face of what looked to be a woman. What there

was to view had an ethereal beauty to it—

A harsh force struck him full, sending Uldyssian flying against a nearby tree. Only his abilities kept

his back from snapping in two. The stone went tumbling from his hand…but where he had hit hard, it

landed gently on the soil.

At the same time, Uldyssian sensed that he was not alone. However, whatever stood with him was

not any mortal being. It was not, he knew, even alive in any normal sense.

And this close, Uldyssian understood that it was demonic in origin.

He had slain demons before, but never had he thought what might happen to them after they were

dead. He had supposed that they simply ceased to be. Yet, what Uldyssian faced was more akin to a

ghost or angry spirit, not a living demon.

How was that possible?

That was not important, though. Protecting Serenthia was. “You’ll leave her be!” he abruptly

growled, standing. “You’ll leave them all be!”

There was a feeling of immense bitterness and hatred…but not aimed directly at Uldyssian. For him,

there was more of a sense of irritation, as if he was merely in the way from what needed to be done.

He decided to become more than that to the angry essence. Staring at the trees before him, Uldyssian

pointed.

The jungle exploded, trees collapsing and bits of plant raining down on everything save Uldyssian.

Where once the landscape had blocked his way, now a perfect, oval path lay open.

And at the end of it, just visible, was a stone structure tilted at a precarious angle. The roof—once

angled, Uldyssian thought—had been crushed in as if by a huge fist. The windows—three in all—

were odd in their design, having five sides to them. It appeared as if the building had been carved

from stone the color of bone…the same stone as the fragment of face.

Tomo had severely miscalculated the distance of the ruins from Uldyssian and the edyrem. They had

virtually been on the very doorstep.

Uldyssian squinted. Near the left side, the side from which the structure tilted away, was a small gap

in the ground that he realized was another window. If that was the case, then at least another floor lay

buried beneath. That bespoke of not only the great age of the building—for it must have taken

centuries to bury the rest—but also some powerful catastrophe that had initially befallen the area.

Every muscle taut, Uldyssian closed in on the building. Tomo had described it as a place with

markings all but worn away by the elements, but to the former farmer’s heightened senses, there were

still symbols and illustrations quite evident on the face. What the language was, he did not know, but

the images were at least somewhat recognizable. Many looked as if they were of the same ethereal

female, only now on a few she was accompanied by a tall, almost menacing figure. Yet, between the

pair there was no sign of menace…but something more resembling love.

The two never looked quite the same in any relief, but there was just enough to make Uldyssian

certain it was always the original duo. Recalling how easily Lilith could wear other guises, he finally

assumed that, if these were anything like her, they probably had a thousand shapes from which to

choose. These had likely just been favorites.

At that momenet, a voice whispered in Uldyssian’s ear, but its words were unintelligible. He

hesitated, then took a step forward.

An image flashed through his head. A beauteous woman with wings—of fire?

The face had looked familiar, but only after a moment did he recall it as the one from the reliefs and

the shattered carving. None of the works had done justice to what he had just seen, though…and

again Uldyssian knew that even the vision had only shown him a shadow of her true glory.

Uldyssian took a cautious step forward…only to be met by a second vision. Here was the winged

woman with the male who, while strikingly handsome, had skin of absolute white and two ice-blue

orbs without pupils. They stood together in what was clearly a scene of deep affection, despite

obvious differences between them.

Again came the whisper, the words no more understandable than before. Suspecting what would

happen next, Uldyssian nonetheless moved on.

It was the unearthly couple again…but now the winged woman lay torn to shreds on the ground. The

male, his legs ruined and his back cut open so deep that he should have been dead, crawled toward

her. A green ichor poured from his wounds. He bared teeth that were as sharp as those of the river

reptiles. The male pounded the ground in growing rage and the tears dropping from his face sizzled

when they touched anything else.

Behind them, fallen at the angle that he had first seen it, was the white structure…all four stories of it.

Something had crushed in the roof, as Uldyssian had already noted, and then had demolished the base

on the right as well. The landscape beyond was also in ruins, but in place of the jungle, trees akin to

those of which Uldyssian was familiar from Seram dominated…or had until their destruction.

The vision…the longest of all…faded. As Uldyssian shook his head to clear it, he felt the presence

that he had been combatting suddenly reach far past him…for Serenthia.

Recalling himself, Uldyssian sought some manner by which to redraw the thing’s attention to

himself. On a hunch, he eyed the ancient building. It did not take much of his power to start the

edifice shaking. Bits of stone quickly began breaking off.

But no sooner had he started than he was battered to the ground by what could only be described as

pure rage. Uldyssian cried out from pain, realizing that he had obviously underestimated the

malevolent force’s determination. In his head, he heard howling and more words he could not

understand. There was also a sensation of terrible loss, which under the onslaught, did not in any way

cause him to sympathize with his attacker. Uldyssian had no idea what had provoked the spirit,

wraith, or whatever it was, only that he had to stop it from hurting Serenthia…and him, too.

Straining, Uldyssian lifted his head. Through his tearing eyes, the land took on a surreal effect. In it,

he almost imagined that he saw the male figure—a demon, he felt sure—standing over the ruins like

a protective and enraged guardian.

And a moment later, that guardian reached a giant hand toward him.

It did not take imagination to know what might happen if that hand enveloped Uldyssian. The human

focused on shielding himself.

But the giant vanished, replaced by a savage onslaught of broken branches, loose stones, and more…

the refuse of Uldyssian’s own earlier action to clear the path. The pieces struck at him from all sides,

guided by such force that they pressed closer and closer despite the human’s tremendous efforts. The

jagged ends of branches scraped the air within an inch of his face. Rocks flung past Uldyssian’s eyes

at a speed far greater than that of the swiftest bird and more than enough to crack a skull. He felt the

ground below shake up and down, as if something beneath sought to reach up and take him…

He had demanded that the demonic essence pay heed only to him and now Uldyssian had been

granted that demand. All he had to do now was survive…if possible.

But if he did not, then surely it would pursue Serenthia again. Uldyssian had to assume that, in its

madness and outrage, the demon had somehow left some part of itself behind after it should have

died. That part now evidently wanted Serenthia to replace its lost mate.

He had to end this. If Lucion, a powerful demon, had been unable to stop him, then surely Uldyssian

could defeat this undead presence.

Again, he concentrated on the ruins. They seemed a distinct link to the demon. Forcing one foot

forward after the other, Uldyssian tried not to notice how much closer the attacking fragments got

despite his efforts…not even when one branch caught him over the brow, leaving a minute but telling

trail of blood that he had to blink away while never losing sight of his own goal.

The ancient building shook anew, this time harder than ever. A portion of the right wall cracked off,

sending what little remained of the roof into the trees. One of the windows lost all definition as

portions of the border crumbled.

The voice shrieked in Uldyssian’s head. Something grasped his ankle, jarring Uldyssian’s attention

despite his best efforts.

A fleshless hand—human-looking save for the fact that it had four digits and long, long nails—tore at

his skin. Only then did it flash through Uldyssian’s mind that the male figure in the visions had had

hands just so. A demon’s hands.

A second hand thrust out of the soil, this one still covered by a bit of ragged skin as pale as the bone.

Uldyssian pulled away from the first, only to fall backward over some unseen obstacle.

Out of the ground burst a misshapen thing, the demon who was and was not dead. His bones were not

bones as humans knew them, for they were segmented differently and what should have been the rib

cage was solid. It amazed Uldyssian that this demon had bones at all—the hideous beast Gulag

apparently having none—but his ilk seemed to come in a monstrous variety with no two alike.

The head tilted at one angle and the jaw hung slack. There was nothing handsome about the creature

anymore, the carrion eaters—a centipede made a hasty retreat into an eye socket—still working after

so long.

Then, to Uldyssian’s greater surprise, Mendeln—whom he had assumed had wisely stayed with the

rest—stepped past him. There was an unsettling aura about his brother.

Mendeln stood before the macabre creature, arms spread wide. He shouted something in a language

that Uldyssian did not understand…but suddenly realized was close in tone to what the demon had

been spouting.

The ghoulish figure hesitated. Although the eyes were gone, he gave every indication of staring at

Mendeln in something approaching surprise.

But if the demon radiated surprise, so, too, did Mendeln, who clearly expected something more to

happen. He shouted out another word, one that, despite being unknown to Uldyssian, sent chills down

the older brother’s spine.

This had more of an effect, but still clearly not quite what Mendeln had hoped for. The macabre

figure teetered like a drunken fighter, then righted himself. The sense of menace grew, but also one of

uncertainty, as if the demon was not quite sure what to do, either.

“He still lives…” murmured Mendeln more in fascination than anything. “No…he clings between life

and death fueled by a desire for revenge…and a loss so great he still cannot accept it…”

Uldyssian did not care for the reason, only that they had to stop the fiend. Steeling himself, he

glanced at the ruined structure yet again.

The walls cracked apart. The building let out a groan…and finally crumbled much as the temple in

Toraja had.

But even then, the demon did not fall.

Uldyssian rose, but before he could prepare anything more, Mendeln put out a hand to stop him.

“Wait! See!”

Suddenly ignoring the intruders, the skeletal figure slowly turned toward the rubble. He raised his

monstrous face skyward and let out a roar that Uldyssian recognized as deep anguish.

A small object shot up from near Uldyssian and Mendeln. It flew directly into one of the demon’s

outstretched hands.

It was the shattered female face.

The demon held the sculpture up and the empty hand reached to caress the piece…and then, to the

astonishment of the brothers, both simply faded away.

Expecting some trick, Uldyssian leapt forward. Yet he could now barely sense the demon’s presence.

It was as if the creature had retreated beyond the mortal plane.

“He has gone back to that place between places,” Mendeln muttered. “It is over.”

“But why did it begin? What stirred that thing to life—or whatever you’d call that?”

His brother shrugged. “As I said. Vengeance…and loss.”

Uldyssian recalled the visions that he had had about the otherworldly couple, both so distinctively

different from one another. A demon and…and an angel, perhaps?

But that was ridiculous. Uldyssian could not imagine a more unlikely scenario. He dismissed the

notion, more concerned with another aspect of the situation. “Serenthia. She’s safe now, right?”

“It would seem so. You protected her well, brother.”

That reminded Uldyssian of something else. “Yes, and you protected me—”

“But not so well.”

Waving that aside, Uldyssian growled, “You know what I mean, Mendeln! I’ve been patient, but

something’s touched you that has nothing to do with the gifts I’ve shown the rest! You’ve changed!

Sometimes, I’m not even certain to whom I’m talking!”

The younger brother bowed his head. “Neither am I,” he whispered. “Neither am I.”

“We’ve got to have this out between us,” Uldyssian persisted. “I’ve got to know what’s happening to

you…and how it might affect those with us. There are too many things at stake!”

“Yes…I agree.” Mendeln glanced back at the crushed building. “But not here. Not now. Tonight.

When all others sleep.”

“Mendeln—”

Uldyssian’s brother raised his hands palm forward. Almost pleading, he added, “It must be in the

night…and only the two of us.”

Mendeln clamped his mouth shut. Uldyssian knew that he would get no more out of him. Still,

“Tonight, then. Tonight and no later. I mean that, Mendeln.”

The other nodded, then turned and walked back. Uldyssian stood for a moment, watching Mendeln’s

retreating form. Then, without effort, someone else invaded his thoughts.

Serenthia…

And with her gently smiling face burning into his mind, Uldyssian forgot about demon spirits and

mysterious brothers. All that mattered was returning to the others and making certain that she was all

right.

After that? Uldyssian could only pray that Achilios—wherever he was—would forgive his friend’s

weakness.

Seven

As the sun settled over the horizon, the edyrem began to look for a place to camp. Mendeln, who had

steered clear of his brother after the ruins, studied his many companions with an unusual anxiety. He

lagged behind as they pushed toward the chosen location—a relatively clear area about ten minutes’

walk to the river—then paused by a trunk as if taking a breath.

They had found the crossing of which Serenthia had earlier claimed to have heard about from

someone else. A convenient crossing it had been, wide enough to enable several people to

simultaneously move to the other side. By the time he and Uldyssian had reached the others, more

than a third had already made it, Serenthia apparently leading the way.

She had been most delighted to see Uldyssian, delighted enough to run into his arms. If not for

Mendeln’s presence, he suspected that the embrace might have led to something more right there.

The battle against the creature in the ruins had obviously changed Uldyssian’s mind about her and it

seemed Serenthia had no more qualms concerning the late, lamented Achilios.

And that now bothered Mendeln more than the danger that they had this day faced.

The last vestiges of daylight had given way to the torches and—more and more—glow lights many of

the fledgling edyrem were now able to cast. Some of those Mendeln watched looked much too

confident with their minor success; a glow light would scarcely fend off Peace Warders, morlu, or

demons.

At last his opportunity came. All eyes were focused on other matters and Uldyssian could only see

Serenthia. Mendeln slowly backed into the jungle.

He went headed not toward the river, but rather back along their trail. Despite his heightening

anxiety, Mendeln’s breathing remained calm. It was as if he were two men in one body, the

newcomer adapting to whatever change around him as necessary.

Mendeln counted each step. Twenty. Fifty. A hundred…

At precisely that many, the figure he had been expecting to meet appeared from around a tree as if by

magic…which very likely was the case.

“Always…timely…Mendeln…” The voice, so familiar, carried with it now a raspiness, as if the other

constantly needed to clear something from his throat.

Mendeln suspected that what needed to be cleared out was dirt.

“I promised I would meet you at the appointed time…Achilios.”

A short, harsh chuckle escaped the half-seen figure. The archer took a step closer.

Mendeln did not gasp, having done enough of that the first time he had been confronted by the dead

man. After all, before him stood his good friend, even if that friend had a gaping hole in his throat,

the edges of which were lined with congealed blood and more dirt. Uldyssian’s brother did not bother

to wonder how the blond hunter could even speak, considering that awful gap. Achilios existed now

because of some force beyond mortal ken, a force surely powerful enough to give voice to the cold

corpse it had animated.

But that description seemed cruel to Achilios, Mendeln suddenly decided. Achilios was no shambling

ghoul nor a fiend like the morlu. The spark that was the archer did indeed still make house in his

remains; there was no doubting that. True, the flesh was as pale as the whites of Achilios’s eyes—

which were completely white now—and there always seemed to be bits of fresh ground spilled over

him, but it was still the man the sons of Diomedes had always known. Achilios even showed

embarrassment over his condition; even now he tried to wipe his hand clean so that he could clasp

Mendeln’s.

Rather than let the archer continue a useless task, the black-clad figure reached out and seized the

grimy hand. He shook it as he would have if both were still back home and nothing had changed for

either. Not even death.

The shadow of a smile escaped Achilios. Even in his present state, he was a handsome man, lean like

the prey he had so successfully hunted…until Lucion. Mendeln had always envied the blond hunter

his looks, although the latter had never been vain about them. It had been the perversity of fate that

he, who could have had so many women, had desired the only one who had not wanted him…until

just before his slaughter. “Braver than…you used to…be…”

“You are my friend.”

“I am as dead as these tree dwellers I caught.” Achilios reached behind him and brought forth a brace

of tailed beasts the size of cats and obviously related to them. He set his catch by Mendeln.

The scene both amused and saddened Uldyssian’s brother. Even in the state that he was, Achilios

could not keep from his calling. Perhaps, Uldyssian’s brother thought, it was because it allowed him

to play at his former life, to pretend that terrible events had never happened.

“And how may I explain this bounty when I return?” Mendeln gently joked. “All know my prowess

with hunting. I am fortunate if I can catch a mushroom, as quick and cunning as they are.”

Achilios grimaced. “I…thought of…that…but…I hunted, anyway…”

Again, he attempted to brush himself clean. Yet, although even in the dark Mendeln could see the dirt

fly from the archer’s pants, boots, and shirt…it almost immediately seemed to be replaced by more

simply forming from nothing on Achilios’s very body.

“I have spoken with Uldyssian,” Mendeln finally interjected, as much to put an end to Achilios’s

perpetually futile effort as it was to bring the conversation around to the matter at hand. Not the

original conversation that they had planned, but the one he now felt superceded all others. “and I have

come to a decision. It is time he was told of your presence. I will bring him out here to—”

“No.”

Mendeln had expected argument and while he respected his friend’s awful position, this was

something that could not be avoided. “Uldyssian is your friend, just as I am. He will see beyond what

has happened to you—”

The archer’s expression tightened, the white eyes narrowing dangerously. “No…Mendeln…it can’t…

be that way…don’t say…any more…”

There was that in Achilios’s tone that suddenly made the hair on the back of Mendeln’s neck rise.

Nevertheless, he grew defiant. “I will not keep this any longer from him—or Serenthia, for that

matter! At the very least—”

“At the very least,” intoned another voice behind him. “Doing that might cause great catastrophe…”

Mendeln spun around. He knew that voice. It had haunted him long enough, after all…

The tall figure was clad in a dark, cowled cloak that emphasized a face nearly as pale as Achilios’s.

At a glance, he otherwise looked like any man…save that his features were, despite their angular

structure, far too perfect.

“Who are you?” Uldyssian’s brother demanded. “I know you, but not your name!”

The newcomer nodded. “Yes, we have come to know each other quite well, son of Diomedes…and I

thus apologize for what I must do. Unfortunately, you leave me no choice.”

“What are you blathering about?” Mendeln backed away from the figure, only to collide with

Achilios. Grimy fingers seized his arms, holding him in a literal death grip. “I say again! Who are

you? Who?”

“A stubborn fool, that is what I am,” returned the other with a grimace. He raised a hand toward

Mendeln.

In it was a dagger…a dagger that, to Mendeln’s eye, seemed not to have been forged from metal, but

rather something akin to ivory.

Bone?

His tormentor uttered three short words and although Mendeln did not understand them, he still knew

the language, of course. It now constantly flowed through his head.

The dagger flared bright, illuminating the cowled face yet more. It was as Mendeln always dreamed

it, yet seeing it now, he saw just how ancient it was despite a general appearance little older looking

than his own.

“As for a name, once I was called else by my mother, but now I am known as…Rathma.” He gave

Mendeln an apologetic nod. “And now, we must be going.”

“Going? Where—”

But before Uldyssian’s sibling could finish, both he and the being called Rathma vanished.

Only Achilios remained, just as the archer had known would happen. He stared at his empty hands,

empty of the man he had gripped, but not of the infernal dirt.

“Sorry…Mendeln…” he finally murmured to the empty jungle. With some reluctance, he took up his

catch again. “It had…to be…done…”

Suddenly, a sound in the distance made him look toward the camp. Moving in utter silence, Achilios

vanished into the dark. He could not let anyone see him, especially Uldyssian, whom he suspected

was the approaching figure.

And even more than his old friend, he dared not let her know he was near…

Uldyssian stopped suddenly, aware that something was wrong. He had come in search of his brother, who had

promised answers, and had been directed by one of his followers in this direction. Uldyssian had immediately

sensed Mendeln’s nearness…and then the next moment had not.

At first, he wondered whether this was some trick of his sibling, some new ability. Uldyssian had no

idea what sort of powers Mendeln had nor their cause. He recalled how Lucion had tried to make

Mendeln seem like a demon himself or at least someone corrupted by one. Those memories haunted

Uldyssian, for despite knowing better, he wondered whether there had been some truth to them after

all.

Resuming his trek, Uldyssian finally located just where he had last sensed his brother. However,

there was no trace that he could detect of Mendeln’s abrupt departure and that made Uldyssian worry

even more. Mendeln was not the sort to play games, especially not of this type.

Unable to find his sibling through his abilities, Uldyssian resorted to a more basic approach. He

called out Mendeln’s name, first as a whisper, then more pronounced when the initial attempt failed

to garner results.

But still Mendeln did not appear.

Recalling the dangers of the jungle—both natural and otherwise—Uldyssian’s anxiousness grew.

Yet, he noticed no hint of anything out of the ordinary.

Bending down, Uldyssian ran his fingers across the soft earth. At the same time, he finally summoned

a sphere of soft blue light. Under its illumination, Uldyssian looked for any prints.

He found two that were certainly not his own. They seemed paused just a yard to his left. The stance

seemed that of one person waiting for another…but then why was it facing away from the camp?

Surely, Mendeln would have faced the other direction instead.

Then, another area just to the side of the first caught his eye. Only now did Uldyssian notice that the

ground had been turned up as if someone had moved about much in a very short space. He could not

tell with any certainty which way the feet had faced here, but the disturbance of the soil made him

suspect that here was where something had gone amiss.

Here was where Mendeln had suddenly vanished from his brother’s supposedly superior senses.

Standing again, Uldyssian took a step deeper—

“Here you are!”

He glanced over his shoulder as Serenthia emerged from the jungle behind. With the light away from

his face, she could not possibly see the brief look of consternation that he quickly buried. Mendeln

had just disappeared; the last thing that Uldyssian wanted was to have the other person dearest to him

in the vicinity. Who was to say that the same danger did not remain, waiting the chance to steal her

now, too?

“Serenthia…what are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you, naturally.” She took hold of his arm, the pressure of her fingers sending his blood

racing. “And I’m going to ask you the same question…this is no place to be alone.”

“I thought I heard something,” Uldyssian responded lamely. “I was wrong, I guess.”

She leaned close to him, staring into the wild. “You were afraid it was that—that demon—from

across the river, weren’t you?”

He knew that he should not lie, but nonetheless, he answered, “Yes. I thought that.”

At first, that seemed to satisfy her, but then the merchant’s daughter suddenly asked, “Uldyssian,

have you seen Mendeln?”

“Mendeln?”

“When I went looking for you, I also asked about him. I assumed that the two of you might be

together.” Her grip tightened as she continued surveying their dark surroundings. “I thought…I

thought I sensed him here…but I must’ve been wrong.”

Uldyssian smothered a curse. Of course, of all the others, Serenthia had come the closest to matching

his abilities. Why would she not then be able to do as he? But the fact that she had gained that gift

meant that it was harder—no, impossible, Uldyssian decided—to keep her from the truth.

He put his other hand on hers. “Serenthia…I did come out here looking for Mendeln. We were

supposed to meet. He wanted to tell me about…about what he’s been having to deal with. The

changes he’s been going through…”

She did not press him on those details, more concerned with the most immediate one. “Then, where is

he?”

“I don’t know.”

Her fingers squeezed his arm with astonishing strength. Serenthia quickly looked left and right, as if

Mendeln would suddenly appear. “But he has to be nearby! I was right when I thought I sensed him!

You did, too, didn’t you?”

“I did…and then he simply wasn’t…there.” Stating that now, so bluntly, shook Uldyssian to his core.

His brother—his only surviving family—was nowhere to be found.

Her voice firm, the dark-haired woman declared, “We’ll search the entire area! He can’t be far! He

knows he can protect himself, too! We’ll find him, Uldyssian…” She touched his cheek. “I promise

that we’ll find him…”

But although the two of them spent the next several minutes utilizing their abilities as best as

Uldyssian knew that they could, they found not the slightest trace. By this time, other voices began

rising from the direction of the camp, foremost among them Romus’s.

“Master Uldyssian! Master Uldyssian!” The onetime brigand—a low, silver light drifting before him

—stumbled into their presence. The bald Parthan exhaled in tremendous relief. “Praise be! We’d

feared the worst, we did! Jorda noticed you absent and when no one could find you—” He suddenly

stopped short as he drank in the nearness of the two.

Despite the Parthan’s conclusion being not entirely amiss, Uldyssian did not want such an image to

overshadow his search. “We’re looking for my brother,” he informed the man. Then, in what was

clearly to him evidence of his desperation, Uldyssian actually asked, “Have you seen Mendeln?”

“Nay! I can’t fathom when last I did, either,” Romus replied with a low bow. “Perhaps…perhaps he

merely walks to enjoy the night, him being the way he is—” The Parthan faltered when Uldyssian

gave him a reproving look. Most of the edyrem assigned to Mendeln a host of bizarre and mysterious

activities, the vast majority of which were the product of their imaginations.

Unfortunately, the few that were not were enough to disturb most folk, even Uldyssian.

But that had nothing to do with finding his brother. As others igorant of the situation gathered behind

Romus, Uldyssian feared that their presence would only further complicate the situation. If something

had taken Mendeln—and that thought shook Uldyssian far more than even he could have ever

expected—then who was to say that it might not grab others as well. Mendeln was, in truth, stronger

than any of the edyrem, yet apparently he had not had a chance…

“I want everybody back in the camp,” he commanded. “Go! Now!”

“But Master Uldyssian!” protested Tomo, now standing near Romus. “We must not leave you alone

out here!” That Uldyssian likely could defend himself better than a thousand of his followers did not

seem to occur to the Torajian nor any of the rest, judging by the many heads bobbing in agreement

with Tomo.

“Return to the camp…”

Romus shook his head, blurting, “What of your brother, Master Uldyssian? If he is lost as you fear—”

Now the newcomers knew why their leader was out in the jungle during the night. No matter how

great their uneasiness around Mendeln, they knew his importance to Uldyssian.

“They’ll not go now,” murmured Serenthia. “The only way to get them to return to the camp is to do

so ourselves…”

“I can’t! Mendeln needs me!”

She put a soothing hand on him. “I know that, Uldyssian. I know that better than anyone else! But

think…can you really help him right now, with everyone distracting you?”

Serenthia had the truth of it; all that his legions of followers did right now was to keep him from

concentrating.

“We’re all heading back,” Uldyssian suddenly ordered. “Make sure that everyone is accounted for,

Romus.”

The Parthan nodded, although obviously still perplexed. “But, your brother, Master Uldyssian—”

“Will be found, Romus.” Uldyssian put an end to any more questions by striding past his lead

acolyte, Serenthia accompanying him on his arm.

But although he took up a stalwart aspect in front of the others, Uldyssian dearly wanted to turn

around and rush through the jungle calling Mendeln’s name until he found him. He could not imagine

what might have happened. He had sensed nothing amiss. Surely…surely Mendeln was merely lost,

somehow, and would turn up before long.

But what if he did not?

“Calm yourself,” Serenthia whispered reassuringly. She leaned her head close to his. “When all have

settled down, we can work together to find Mendeln.”

“Work together?”

“Combine our powers together in a manner we haven’t tried yet…I think it possible…”

He took hope from her suggestion. They might be able to amplify the effect of their search. Surely

then, they would locate Mendeln.

But would whatever she had in mind work?

“We can only try, Uldyssian,” she murmured, as if reading his thoughts. “You and Mendeln worked

together to help me, didn’t you?”

He nodded, glad that she did not know how close the demonic presence had actually come to

reaching out to her.

Once they returned to the encampment, it was all Uldyssian could do to wait for the rest to finally go

to sleep. The sentries he did not concern himself about; they would not see what he and Serenthia

attempted. The two had moved off to a secluded side of the camp. They would still be vaguely noted

by those on duty, but not their actual activities. He wanted no one interfering, not even if only to

volunteer their help.

Serenthia sat across from him. Both had their legs folded, and as touch had always worked when

Uldyssian had introduced new people to the gifts within them, they held hands. Uldyssian felt some

guilt at how much he enjoyed such closeness to her. He had not felt this way about anyone since…

since Lilith.

Smiling at him, Serenthia said, “I’ve no idea how to start…except maybe I could reach into you the

way you did me and the others the first time.”

“Try that.” He would have been willing to do it himself, but so far Serenthia had made perfect sense

with her suggestions. Considering his state of mind, Uldyssian was more than happy to let her take

the lead throughout this.

Serenthia shut her eyes. Uldyssian did the same. He felt her briefly squeeze his hands and returned

the action.

Suddenly…it felt as if he were two people in one.

The swiftness with which the merchant’s daughter successfully touched his mind—and his soul—

startled him. There was a momentary hesitation, then Uldyssian sensed her invite him to do as she

had. His thoughts, his emotions, reached out to hers. For a breath or two, it was as if a pair of animals

sized up one another. Then, growing more confident, Uldyssian pushed forward.

He and Serenthia melded together. It was not a perfect blending of their selves, for Uldyssian kept up

certain barriers—especially those concerning his feelings for the woman before him—and sensed that

Serenthia likewise barred some access to her inner thoughts. Yet, they were still linked strongly

enough to now attempt what she had proposed.

Let me…came what, to his imagination, sounded like her voice. Let me try to guide us…

No sooner had Uldyssian given his silent agreement, than suddenly it was as if his eyes were open

again. Yet, now he soared through the surrounding jungle…and in several directions simultaneously.

Moreover, it was as if day had arrived, only day lit by a golden sun. Everything was a glorious

yellow…

And with him…very much part of him as he was of her…raced Serenthia. Their speed was greater

than that of the swiftest bird. As one, they coursed mile upon mile around the region, not only

backtracking the previous day’s trek, but moving well beyond what they would cover tomorrow.

Uldyssian noted important points along the journey ahead that he hoped to recall well enough to pass

on to his followers, while at the same time seeing how if the edyrem had made certain changes, they

could have covered more distance earlier.

He saw creatures of the forest, night dwellers now uncovered by the golden illumination. Yet, they

neither sensed his approach nor even knew that they were no longer cloaked. Some he had never seen

before, and their exotic nature fascinated the son of Diomedes despite the present circumstances.

But even after what was the most meticulous hunt imaginable…Uldyssian discovered no trace of

Mendeln.

Finally, despite the headiness of their success, he could stand it no more. Uldyssian felt Serenthia’s

surprise when he began to withdraw to the camp. The scenery flashed by and although Uldyssian

continued to watch and study, yet again he discovered no clue.

And then…the former farmer once more sat across from his companion. Uldyssian did not know

when he had opened his eyes, but both he and Serenthia sat staring at one another as if having done

so for hours. Very reluctantly, he disengaged one hand in order to rub his brow. She did the same.

“I’m sorry,” Serenthia finally said. “I thought we’d find Mendeln for certain.”

“So did I.” However, despite that terrible failure, Uldyssian was not altogether sad. It was not only

because he and Serenthia had discovered a new, fascinating ability…but also because they had been

drawn together as no two people surely ever had. One glance at her face was enough to tell him that

she felt much the same.

Uldyssian immediately shook his head, angry at himself for becoming distracted by such things when

his brother was in terrible danger. The attempt, however successful in itself, had failed. That was all

that mattered.

Serenthia leaned forward. “Uldyssian—”

He wanted to stay with her, but knew that to do so would keep his mind from fully focusing on

Mendeln. With an abruptness that made Serenthia gasp, Uldyssian jumped to his feet and left.

He regretted the action almost immediately, but did not even consider turning back. Uldyssian dared

not let himself become distracted again. Only Mendeln mattered…providing it was not already too

late.

That thought made him shiver anew. Mendeln gone. First Achilios, now this.

Uldyssian looked up to the dark, shrouded sky, raising a fist at the same time. He wanted to shout, but

aware how that would stir up the others anew, forced his voice down to a virulent hiss.

“Damn you, Lilith! Damn you for beginning all this!”

The jungle remained silent, but somehow Uldyssian was certain that she heard his bitter oath…heard

it and laughed merrily.

“Don’t…give up…hope…”

The voice was barely a whisper, yet it pierced the fog in his brain. Uldyssian turned about, seeking

the speaker…and finding no one.

Brow furrowed, he stared at the emptiness for several seconds, then grimaced. Now, on top of

matters, he was imagining voices…or rather, one voice in particular.

Achilios’s.

“Damn you, Lilith…” Uldyssian repeated, seeing in his mind both his brother and the dead archer. “If

Mendeln’s gone, too…”

But he had no threat against her in which, at the moment, even he believed.

Eight

They remained in the area the next day…and the next after that. Uldyssian did not sleep once, fearing

that any respite would lessen his chances of finding Mendeln. The longer his brother remained

missing, the longer the odds that Mendeln was still alive.

Saron and Romus, accompanied by Tomo and a small mix of other Parthans and Torajians, finally

dared approach him late on the succeeding day. They found Uldyssian where he often was, standing

at the edge of the camp with eyes shut and hands curled into fists. Around him, noticeable only to the

eyes of edyrem, glowed a silver aura.

The aura vanished before either of the first two could summon the courage to speak. Uldyssian turned

to face the group.

“Tomorrow…” he muttered. “If nothing by then…I promise it’ll be tomorrow.”

Saron, thin and wiry, bowed low. “Master Uldyssian, it is not that we wish to abandon your brother…

if Tomo, who is like a brother to me, were missing, I would search just as you do, but—”

“But searching the same ground over and over and over is futile. I understand, Saron. I can’t risk

everyone else by forcing them to wait here.” He looked among those who had come, both men and

women. These were many of his most promising, with enough control now to be a threat to the

majority of human foes. Even perhaps a morlu or a lesser demon. Yet, they were lost without him.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, starting to turn back to the jungle. “Thank you for understanding.”

The Parthans nodded while most of Saron’s people bowed. As they trudged off, Uldyssian refocused

his efforts. There had to be somewhere or something that he had missed. Some clue that whatever

had taken Mendeln had left behind.

But continually he came up empty-handed. Finally, as the sun set, Uldyssian retired to eat. He did not

even notice of what his meal consisted, his attention entirely on seeking some new course of action.

Belatedly, Uldyssian noticed that Serenthia sat across from him. Since his wordless departure from

her, they had stood apart. He knew that she would have liked to have been with him, even comforted

him, and the fact that he felt the same ripped at his heart. Yet, for more than one reason, the son of

Diomedes refused to give in to such things.

He went back to searching as soon as his food was gone. Taking his cue from the effort he and

Serenthia had put in together, Uldyssian let his mind reach out far beyond what his eyes could see.

Alone, he could not survey the jungle in quite so dramatic a fashion as the two of them had, but still

Uldyssian felt certain that he covered the areas that he studied as thoroughly as possible.

But still he did not find even so much as a hint of what had happened.

In the end, there remained only one other hope, something that he had not wanted to attempt for it

endangered not only him. However, it was the single possibility that Uldyssian thought at all yet

likely.

And so, stretching himself to his limits, he reached out to the distant ruins…and that which lurked

among them.

The effort proved not quite the strain Uldyssian had believed it would be. He could only assume that

perhaps his efforts with Serenthia had further unfettered the potential of his abilities. Uldyssian

marveled at this, even as his thoughts propelled him within range of the demonic presence’s ancient

abode.

But once there, Uldyssian immediately noticed the lack of any sign of Mendeln. More curious, he

also noticed how faint the specter’s trace was, so much so that at first he could not even sense it. If

the presence was the source of his brother’s disappearance, surely Mendeln could have easily fought

back against such paltry power.

Nonetheless, Uldyssian continued to probe the ruins. As he did, he finally sensed the presence stir

somewhat…but without radiating any of the violent emotion from the first encounter. In fact, it was

almost as if the demon now wished to relay something to him.

To enable it to do that, though, would require Uldyssian to let down some of his guard. He studied his

adversary as best he could, sensing only weakness…and urgency. There was no hint of threat. At last,

desperate to find some clue, however remote, Uldyssian relented.

But as he began to open himself up, someone suddenly shook his physical form. Immediately, the

ruins—and their malevolent inhabitant—receded into the dark…and Uldyssian found himself once

more poised at the edge of the camp.

Serenthia stood beside him, her eyes wide with fear. “Uldyssian! Are you mad? I nearly didn’t break

the link between you in time!”

“I finally had some hope!” he snapped back, registering what she had done. “A clue to Mendeln—”

“Not from that evil thing! Think! Why would it tell you anything to help you? Why?”

He started to reply, then hesitated. Uldyssian had no good explanation and the more he thought about

it, the more he knew that Serenthia’s point had much merit. Why would the creature do anything to

assist in the hunt? In his desperation, it was very likely that all Uldyssian had been doing was giving

the demonic presence a chance for vengeance against him.

And, after that, surely it would have once more tried for Serenthia…

Running his fingers through his hair, he muttered, “You’re right. Damn it, you’re right, Serenthia…”

“I’m sorry. Really I am.” She looked deep into his eyes. “You’ve done everything for Mendeln that

you could…that anyone could. What more is there?”

Again, Uldyssian had no good answer.

“You’re tired,” the merchant’s daughter continued. “You need rest.”

He nodded. Suddenly, it was all Uldyssian could do just to stand. Even he had to admit that nothing

good would come of attempting any more searches today.

“I promised the others that we’d leave tomorrow,” he informed her. “Tell them that we’ll do so at

first light.”

“I should stay with you—”

“No. Please tell them, Serenthia.” With that, Uldyssian purposely retreated to a spot near the closest

of the fires and immediately laid down. He eyed the flames, noticing belatedly that Serenthia still

watched him. Finally, her expression masked, she walked away to do as he had requested.

Uldyssian shut his eyes. Even though he was so very tired and had agreed to get rest, he knew that he

would not sleep. How could he? His brother was very likely dead. Uldyssian already knew that he

would spend the entire night going over every search for the hundredth time, seeking some error he

had made. Over and over he would analyze everything that he had done—

A soft hand on Uldyssian’s shoulder gently shook him awake. He stiffened and a grin started to cross his face,

for he had just been dreaming that Mendeln had returned unharmed. However, glancing up, his smile faltered,

for he saw that it was Serenthia awakening him…and that above her, light had begun filtering through the

foliage.

“I had them let you sleep as long as possible,” she quietly told him. “The others are nearly ready to

depart.”

An intense feeling of guilt washed over him, as if he had somehow betrayed his brother by actually

sleeping. “You should’ve woken me much sooner!” Uldyssian blurted, his anger unreasonable even

to himself. After all, the woman leaning over him was almost as concerned about Mendeln as he was.

“I need to do one more search! I think that this time I can find—”

His companion frowned sadly. “If I thought you had any chance at all, Uldyssian, I’d be there at your

side. You know that. I can see it in your face, though. You don’t have any new idea, do you? You just

want to search and search, isn’t that right? Search until you find him…”

“Yes…no…but…”

“You’ve done all you could for Mendeln…just as you did for Achilios. We have to move on, even if I

don’t want to any more than you. For the sake of all the rest…and you, too…there’s no other choice.

Mendeln would be the first one to tell you that. You know he would.”

There was nothing more he could say. Uldyssian rose, took one look at the jungle, and then

summoned Tomo to him.

“Can we make it to Hashir in four more days?”

“If we walk long and hard, Master Uldyssian. I would prefer to say five, if you please.”

“We make it in four.”

Tomo bowed. “Yes, Master Uldyssian.”

“We make it in four and we lose no one else along the way. I want that understood.” The son of

Diomedes fought to keep his tone even. “No one else.”

“Yes, Master Uldyssian.”

Uldyssian looked at Serenthia. She gave him a determined smile and repeated his oath. “No one else.”

With her at his side and Tomo in his wake, he marched to the head of the already waiting throng.

Tomo rushed to Romus and Saron, whispering animatedly to the pair. What Uldyssian had demanded

would quickly spread to the rest, just as he wanted.

Once in the lead, Uldyssian nodded back at his followers, then continued on. Silently, the edyrem

flowed after.

They made great distance that day, driven for the most part by Uldyssian’s determination to now get as far

away as he could from where his brother had vanished. By the end of the trek, even he felt every muscle

scream. Guilt at how some of the others, especially the women and children, had probably suffered made him

promise to the weary group that the next day would go much easier.

But it did not. Barely had they begun their trek when a storm swept across the jungle, a violent storm

that forced Uldyssian to finally call a halt.

“It looks to last the whole day!” shouted Romus, shielding his eyes from debris torn up by the wind.

The rain coursed down like a thousand battering rams, forcing people to take what shelter they could.

Those with a better sense of their abilities created invisible barriers above themselves and others, but

the longer and harder the rain fell, the more those weakened or dissipated entirely.

“Keep everyone together!” Uldyssian cursed the storm, certain somehow that it was working in

league with Lilith and the Triune.

Serenthia struggled to hold on to his arm. “Something must be done about it! You must do something

about it!”

Her words brought back undesired recollections. Lilith—as Lylia—had at one time suggested much

the same thing. Then, it had concerned the storm clouds over Seram and its surrounding region. That

storm had been dispersed, but he had later discovered that it had been more due to the demoness’s

work than his own.

“No…” Uldyssian growled, not wishing to relive that time in any way. “No…I can’t…”

A nearby tree creaked ominously. Leaves and jagged branches flew through the air. A woman

screamed as a terrible gust tossed her back into her companions. Children cried. Despite all that they

had been given, despite all that they had learned, even the most talented of the edyrem began to give

in to their fears and exhaustion.

Uldyssian knew that he should attempt something, even if only to remind the others of what they

were capable. The band was not long from Hashir. They had to be ready to face what might be a

more terrible foe despite the temple’s smaller size, for surely Hashir would be forewarned.

Yet, his will was weak, worn as it still was by Mendeln’s loss. He shook his head, fighting with

himself—

Without warning, Serenthia let go of him. Uldyssian grabbed for her but missed. To his surprise, she

stepped into the most open area around them, where the storm threatened worst. Although already

drenched to the skin, Cyrus’s daughter stood proud and tall. She held high the spear, brandishing it at

the sinister black clouds.

“Away with you!” Serenthia shouted at the top of her lungs at the dark sky. “Away!”

Seeing her there, doing futilely what he might actually be able to accomplish, filled Uldyssian with

incredible remorse. Mendeln would not have wanted him acting this way because of him. If there was

any hope that Uldyssian could stop this raging tempest, then it behooved him at the very least to

make the attempt—

But that thought died as something incredible unfolded. Like some warrior goddess, Serenthia

continued to not only defy the elements, but demanded that they bow to her. She waved the spear as

if ready to toss it into the heart of the storm…

And then…and then the rain slowed, finally ceasing altogether. The wind died down to a mere

whisper. The black clouds faded to gray and then began to disperse.

The others—Uldyssian included—stood awestruck by this miracle. An aura surrounded Serenthia, a

brilliant golden aura. Yet, she stood as if unnoticing of this or any of the other phenomena. Instead,

she continued to demand obedience from the sky…and received it.

The last of the clouds melted away. A hush settled over the dense jungle, not even the multitude of

insects usually present letting out so much as a single sound.

Arms dropping to her sides, Serenthia let out a gasp. Her body shook and the spear dropped from her

grip. At the same time, the aura disappeared.

Slowly, very slowly, Serenthia looked over her shoulder at Uldyssian. Her face stone white, her

breathing rapid, she managed to blurt, “I…did it…didn’t I?”

He nodded, feeling both shame and exhilaration. Serenthia had done what he should have

instinctively chosen to do. In the process, she had revealed a level of power that only he had so far

exhibited. She should not have had to put herself through so much…but the fact that she had just

proven what Uldyssian had always preached finally stirred him to life.

“Yes…you did it,” he said proudly and so loud that all those around them could hear. “You did what

any of us are capable of!” He faced the edyrem. “And I, who claim so much, offer my deepest

apologies that I did nothing—nothing—at all…”

But Serenthia was the first of many to protest his failure. No one said why they bothered to defend

him, but to Uldyssian it obviously had to do with Mendeln. He felt grateful for the care and support

and swore that he would not let himself fall again, if only for their sake.

Still, he could not feel but thrilled by Serenthia’s triumph and advancement. There had always been a

hint of disbelief among his followers whenever Uldyssian had insisted that he was no more mighty

than any of them. Now, even the least among the Parthans and Torajians knew that they could

achieve so much more. Even Serenthia, for all that she had done this day, had not yet reached his

level.

“The storm is gone!” Uldyssian shouted. “And, in honor of that, it’ll be you, Serenthia, who gives

command for the rest of us to continue the march! You!”

A wide smile spread across her still wet countenance. Serenthia plucked the spear from the ground,

then pointed in the direction of their goal.

“Onward to Hashir!” she called with gusto.

A cheer erupted from the others. Serenthia looked Uldyssian’s way once more. He nodded, indicating

with his chin that she should begin the trek. If anything, her smile grew wider yet. Shoulders proud,

she started walking.

After giving her a few paces, Uldyssian followed. Romus and the other edyrem joined after. The

mood of the makeshift army rose to new levels. Uldyssian sensed their confidence; here was now the

force that had taken Toraja’s temple and would do the same to Hashir. Here was the beginning of

something that the Triune would now truly fear. Here was something, he started to believe, that even

Lilith would be unprepared to face.

And perhaps…perhaps…here was something that somehow might help him yet find Mendeln…

Arihan had not lived half as long as his late counterpart, Malic—who himself had supposedly had not one, but

more than two lifetimes granted him by the master—but he looked almost old enough to have been the dead

high priest’s father. Arihan, who had once been a thief, a liar, a cutpurse, and a murderer—and now used

those skills more often as high priest of Dialon—did not believe in the vanities that Malic, partly Ascenian by

birth, had so often displayed. Malic had been a peacock, wearing not only fine clothes but maintaining a face

and form not truly his for many, many decades.

Born of low caste in the deep recesses of the capital, the gaunt, thick-bearded Arihan had expected

that one day the lead cleric of Mefis would, in his arrogance, overstep himself. That prediction had

recently come to pass, but Arihan wisely kept his glee hidden from the others. It was one thing to

maneuver for position in the hierarchy, another to be pleased with a failure that affected the Triune

even more than it had the fool who had perished because of it. This Uldyssian ul-Diomed was of

significance to the sect’s ultimate objectives and Malic’s tremendous debacle had ruined any chance

of ever seducing the peasant to the cause. Now, a more harsh course of action would need to be taken.

Arihan had been ready to offer his services in pursuing the matter immediately after Malic’s demise,

but something strange had happened that had caused him to hesitate. The Primus, ever predictable in

his perfection, of late acted as if not quite himself. He had grown very reclusive and subject to

lengthy, inexplicable absences. More confusing, he gave commands to his followers that seemed just

as likely to create havoc among the priests as they did to better enable them to coordinate their efforts.

Yes, there was something amiss…but Arihan had no idea how best to approach that difficulty. He

certainly was not about to register his concerns with either of his counterparts, especially Malic’s

novice—but highly ambitious—replacement. If only—

A particularly ugly Peace Warder suddenly stood in the high priest’s path. So caught up in his

thoughts, Arihan nearly collided with the dolt.

The Peace Warder was obviously mad, for he seemed unconcerned about his transgression. “The

Lord Primus wishes to speak with you, High Priest Arihan. Immediately.”

“Where is he?” the bearded elder asked, his monotone voice belying his sudden anxiety.

“Awaiting you in his chambers, venerable one.”

Arihan gave the man a dismissive nod and strode down the long marble hallway at a pace that

indicated confidence but not disrespect. He passed several more Peace Warders standing at attention

along the way, the guards as resolute as statues. For some reason, that stirred his concerns more.

The sentries at the doors to the Primus’s inner sanctum gave way without any preamble, which made

the robed figure feel as if he was already late. The Primus did not like tardiness; Arihan recalled at

least one incident when such a sin had left the sinner bereft of his beating heart.

All was darkness as he entered the chambers. The doors slammed shut behind him with a harsh

finality. Arihan blinked, trying to accustom his eyes to the black rooms. He knew in which he would

find his master, but what was the reason for having no light whatsoever along the path? Generally,

there was at least an oil lamp or dim torch.

The priest took a step forward…and something about the size of a cat scurried over his sandaled foot.

Arihan let out an uncharacteristic yelp, which only served to add to his tensions. How did it look for

the high priest of Dialon—or rather, Diablo—to be startled by something so small and unseen? He

served the master of terror! Arihan hoped and prayed that something had distracted the Primus’s

attention at that moment…

He could now see just enough to wend his way to the innermost chamber. It occurred to him that

perhaps he could have conjured a light, but the Primus wanted darkness for a reason, whatever that

might be.

As Arihan reached the doorway to his master’s sanctum, it opened by itself. A dim, unearthly

illumination greeted him. Arihan glanced down at his narrow hands, which were now the green of

decay.

“Enter, enter, High Priest Arihan!” the Primus called, his voice oddly excited.

Doing as commanded, Arihan stepped toward the throne. As he neared, he saw the Primus, a giant,

bearded man both younger and older in appearance than him, study the newcomer with a strange

fascination. Again, Arihan wondered about the recent changes in the personality of the figure before

him. He had always known what to expect…but not this time.

As was custom, the priest went down on one knee just before his master’s feet. He knew that the

Primus was indeed the scion of Lord Mephisto, but always thought of him by his mortal title, not his

name.

Never as Lucion.

“Great and powerful Primus, son of the most regal Mephisto, your loyal attendant, Arihan, is here at

your request. How may I serve thee?”

A short, erratic chuckle escaped the vicinity of the Primus. Arihan fought not to look up in surprise at

this disconcerting sound. He had never heard the master laugh so…so madly.

Almost as quickly as he thought it, the priest smothered the blasphemy. It was not proper to think ill

of the Primus, not proper and not wise for one’s health.

“Rise! Rise, High Priest Arihan!” the seated figure commanded almost jovially.

Arihan obeyed. He tried to keep his expression and gaze respectful. Perhaps this was a test. Perhaps

his master wanted to see how dedicated and loyal Arihan was.

“I am yours to command, most glorious one.”

“Yes…yes, you are…” The Primus leaned against one of the armrests of the throne. “This—I am the

Voice of the Triune, am I not?”

“But, of course, most glorious one.” Arihan felt his brow begin to furrow in concern and perplexity,

but fought the action away. He would keep a face of calm adoration, no matter what peculiarity the

Primus next exhibited.

Yes, surely this was some sort of test…

The Primus fidgeted. Then, as if aware of how he looked, his aspect grew stern. “High Priest Arihan!

Do you have anything to say?”

“N-nay, most glorious one! I but await your word on what it is you wish of me!”

“Very good…very good…” A small, black form—a spider, Arihan realized—crawled up out of the

Primus’s collar. The leader of the Triune paid no mind to the vermin, even when it began making its

way up his neck. “This—I have a plan to bring the mortal to our cause, High Priest Arihan. A

masterful plan! But it must be implemented quickly, for it involves our brothers in Hashir.”

“Hashir?” repeated the priest, trying in vain to keep his gaze from shifting to the arachnid. It now

crawled on the Primus’s jaw, still apparently undetected.

“Hashir…yes, Hashir will be the perfect place to turn this all around…”

Arihan bowed to the Primus’s wisdom. If he had a plan, then surely it would come to wondrous

fruition.

The spider now crawled near the ear, two legs even probing within. Try as he might, the high priest

of Dialon could not help but stare at it.

Spiders…there was something about spiders that Arihan had once known. What was it—?

With astonishing reflexes, the figure on the throne suddenly snatched the arachnid up. The Primus

clenched his hand, crushing the creature within.

“There is something wrong, my Arihan?”

It was the first time since the gaunt man had entered that his master had not used his title. Although

unsettled, Arihan managed to shake his head.

“So good…so good…” The hand remained clenched. The Primus smiled wide…something he had

never done before. “You are to be my agent! This is what you will do that will bring the human

Uldyssian to our side…whether he wishes to come or not.”

Arihan bowed his head and listened as the Primus outlined his intentions. He listened and all thought

of the master’s recent quirks were quickly buried deep in his mind. After all, Arihan lived to serve the

Primus; in the end, that was all that mattered.

That…and the knowledge that even if there might now be a hint of madness in the son of Mephisto,

the Primus could still crush Arihan as simply as he had the spider.

Nine

Darkness surrounded Mendeln, darkness that felt as if it went on forever. Uldyssian’s brother

suspected that if he ran and ran as hard as he could for as long as possible, he would find no change

in things. It would still be dark and empty. A part of him was unnerved by that…but another part was

morbidly fascinated.

Still, his concerns for Uldyssian overrode that fascination and the longer Mendeln stood alone and

silent in the darkness, the more impatient he became to return…if such a thing was possible. He was,

after all, very likely a prisoner.

Why this betrayal, Achilios? he asked himself. Why steal me away when I only wanted to reunite you

with the others? What reason could you have for stopping me?

“Because what you would have done would have had very unfortunate repercussions,” replied the

voice he knew so well from his own mind.

A shape emerged from the darkness, a shape that yet still seemed very much a part of it. The tall, very

pale man with the features too perfect. The cowled figure stood a full head higher than Mendeln,

something the younger son of Diomedes had not earlier noticed.

“What repercussions? What? Speak some sense! What repercussions?”

But instead of answering those questions, the other turned from him and looked up…not that

Mendeln saw anything different when he, too, stared in that direction. There was simply more of the

darkness.

The stranger—no, he had called himself Rathma—quietly asked the emptiness, “Well? Can you sense

what she is about?”

And the emptiness answered.

No…she is well shielded in this regard. There is perhaps only one who knows best how to infiltrate

that shield and learn the truth…

Rathma frowned. “And we cannot exactly expect my father to be of assistance…as he is more likely

than even her to try to reduce me to dust.”

There is that small matter…

Mendeln’s head throbbed each time the second voice spoke, as if his mind was not strong enough to

fully accept its presence. He clutched his temples, trying to regain his balance.

Forgive me…the voice said, its intensity much reduced. I will endeavor to keep within your bounds…

Rathma helped Mendeln straighten. “The first time he spoke to me, I thought my head would split

open.”

“Did not mine do so?” Mendeln blinked, again seeking the source of the voice. “Who is it who

speaks to us? I have heard him before, too!” To the darkness, he suddenly railed, “Show yourself! I’d

know all my captors!”

“But we are not your captors,” Rathma quietly returned. “Hardly that. Nor, definitely, your enemies.”

“Not my friends, to be sure! Or else why take me from Uldyssian’s side, where I should always be?”

Because, if you wish to be there for him when you most need to be, you must be with us now…

“More riddles? Who are you, speaker in the shadows? Cease hiding from me!”

Rathma tsked. “There can be no going on with explanations until he sees you, my friend,” he said to

the emptiness. “But recall that he is mortal.”

He is not so much less than you, Rathma…

“I never said otherwise.”

Listening to the pair, Mendeln sensed how long they had clearly known one another. There was a

bond here as great as that between him and Uldyssian…

Know me, then, Mendeln ul-Diomed…the voice declared, keeping its intensity to a low booming in

his head. Know me as Rathma here does…

And suddenly there were stars in the darkness above, a blazing multitude of stars that swirled about

as if caught up in a tempest. They filled the area above to the point that Mendeln had to shield his

eyes. At first there seemed no rhyme or reason to their movements, but quickly they began to spread

apart and settle into certain areas. As they did, Mendeln noticed that a shape began to form, a shape

only half-seen, yet seen enough to finally identify it.

It was a creature of myth, a thing in fairy tales and stories, but never truth. Uldyssian had cheerfully

frightened Mendeln with tales of such when the latter had been a small child…and Mendeln had

savored every story.

But now…now to see such a giant, especially one composed of stars…Mendeln stood gaping and

speechless.

It was a dragon. A long, sinewy, serpentine dragon beyond epic proportions.

The dragon has chosen you…those words or ones very close to them had been etched on the stone in

the ghastly cemetery Mendeln had found himself in while staying in Partha. The dragon has chosen

you…

The celestial creature shifted, its “eyes” a startling array of smaller stars. Know me…it repeated.

Know me as Trag’Oul…

“The One Who Is Forever,” added Rathma, almost blandly despite the astounding spectacle. “At

least, that is one meaning. There are several.”

But Mendeln barely heard that, for as the dragon spoke, he constantly shifted…and in doing so,

revealed a more stunning facet. Within each of the “scales”—the stars—Uldyssian’s brother beheld

short glimpses of life…his life. There he was as an infant, in his mother’s arms. Mendeln cried out at

the sight of her, the pain of her loss—of his entire family’s loss—suddenly renewed.

He forced himself to look beyond that moment and thus witnessed one scene after another as the

years of his pitiful little mortal existence raced along in what was for Trag’Oul surely the blink of an

eye.

Trying to shake free of his feelings of insignificance, Mendeln beheld the fantastic entity as a whole…

and in doing so noticed that not only was his life displayed before him, but so were hundreds, no

thousands more.

We are all there, Mendeln realized. All of Humanity, from the first on…each scale…each scale is a

measure of some part of us…

And among those lives, his eyes somehow fixed upon Uldyssian. In fact, the images of the brothers

intertwined constantly, which made sense, of course. Whether together or alone, they were bonded by

more than simply blood.

Yet…as the years of their lives swiftly progressed down the “body” of the giant, the two lives grew

more separate. Mendeln saw the discovery of the stone near Seram and his brother’s seduction by

Lilith as Lylia. The images flashed faster and faster. Partha. Lucion. Achilios’s death. Toraja.

Serenthia. And on and on until—

Trag’Oul shifted again and the lives of the sons of Diomedes became lost among the sea of other

existences. The human let out another cry and stared at what passed for the face of the dragon.

No more should you perceive, Trag’Oul told him. For beyond that is the realm of possibilities, where

what you see are the paths that choices not yet made determine. It would be a danger to yourself and

to this world to try to choose from them before life has assisted you in the decision…

He was speaking of the future. The dragon not only reflected the past and present, but what could be.

The incredible immensity of the being stretched above him only now struck Mendeln. He sensed that

Trag’Oul only revealed to him—and even Rathma—a most minor portion of himself. Turning to the

cowled figure, Mendeln blurted, “What—?”

“What is ‘he,’ you want to ask?” Rathma gestured at the ever-shifting form. “Even Trag’Oul does not

entirely know. He has existed since just after the beginning of creation, although not quite as we

sense him now.”

No…that came later…Whenever the dragon spoke, the scales flowed and shifted, constantly

displaying other lives, other times. That came with the finding of the Shards…with the molding of

Sanctuary by the renegade angels and demons…

Mendeln had no idea what the leviathan was talking about save that it had mentioned demons. He

glared at Rathma, whose features had, for the past few moments, greatly reminded him of another…

too much of another, in fact.

And then it struck Mendeln like a bolt through his heart. He knew exactly who it was.

“You and she!” Uldyssian’s brother grated, anger exploding. He pointed a condemning finger at the

figure, who stood as motionless as death. “You and she! I can see it in you! You are hers! Hers!”

Mendeln summoned words of power, words that he was well aware he had gained from the very one

he sought to attack.

Rathma raised a hand. In it materialized the ivory dagger that Mendeln had seen before his

kidnapping. As the last of the words escaped Mendeln’s lips, the dagger flared bright.

So near the unnatural illumination and with his eyes now accustomed to the darkness, Mendeln was

instantly blinded. He let out a cry and stumbled back.

He has adapted to your teachings well, Rathma…

“Almost too well. I was nearly too late. But his mind…his spirit…are not yet utterly in tune with the

Balance.”

Discovering yourself before the offspring of Lilith can be rather disconcerting. You must consider

emotions, Rathma. Sometimes I believe you have taken my teachings too much to heart, my friend…

Mendeln paid no mind to their discourse, his only concern recovering his sight. He continued

stumbing back, somehow hoping to escape the demon before him.

“I am no demon…at least not in the full sense, Mendeln ul-Diomed,” Rathma declared, again

seeming to read his thoughts.

“Get out of my head!”

The cloaked figure began to coalesce before Uldyssian’s brother. “We are beyond that, my student.

You proved yourself receptive to what I offered that day when you were shown the stone near your

village, the stone that was the first of your tests.”

“Tests for what? To see if I would become servant to a demon?”

Above, the stars abruptly shifted. Looking up, Mendeln thought that the face of Trag’Oul seemed

almost…reproving. You are much too absolute at times, Rathma. Explain more. Tell him of his

bloodline. Tell him about Lilith…

“I was going to.” For the first time, there was a hint of emotion—irritation?—in the cloaked figure’s

tone. “You know I was.”

Eventually…More reshaping of the stars, more displaying of different lives. Never the same ones.

Always eventually…

Rathma suddenly sighed. “Yes, perhaps I do hesitate, despite what I have said about the need for

haste.” To Uldyssian’s brother, he calmly explained, “Mendeln, son of Diomedes, who himself was

son of Teronus, who was the son of Hedassyian…I tell you now that you are of my own blood, my

own offspring…and, thus, in turn, the one you know as Lilith…”

And Inarius, too, recall…

“He will know of Inarius soon enough.” Rathma watched Mendeln closely, the dagger held ready.

But there was neither a renewed attack or even protest from Mendeln. The skills he had gained

through Rathma were enough to enable him to gauge the truth of the other’s words. “You do not

lie…” rasped Uldyssian’s brother. “You’ve made certain that I would know it!” He shook his head.

“Uldyssian and I—we are of her?”

“As are so several others, the generations that have passed being of great number. And as I said, you

are also of mine,” Rathma pointed out, finally lowering the ivory blade. “Which number far, far

less…”

Mendeln sought to put this all together. “Is that why she chose him and you me? Because it was

easier to play games with those closest to your infernal blood?”

Irritation once more crossed Rathma’s face, but before he could speak, the stars once more briefly

swirled, then re-formed into Trag’Oul. Peace, the dragon murmured as best as he could. If Rathma

can be called a demon, so, too, can you and every human. Theirs is where in part all of you come…

but also there are the angels to consider…and their role is no less significant in your creation…”

Demons and angels…The notion that he—that everyone—was descended from such sounded so

ludicrous. Yet once again the abilities with which Rathma had imbued him made it impossible for

Mendeln not to see that all of this was truth.

It all only verified what Lilith herself had revealed in the course of matters. Mendeln had always

secretly denied her claims, believing them lies used to undermine Uldyssian’s defiance somehow. But

the only lies involved were to myself, it seems…

“Very well. You know that I must believe you. What does that matter? I will be your pawn no more

than my brother will be hers!”

Rathma let out an exasperated sigh. For him, Mendeln realized, these small slips represented major

displays. “We seek no puppets. That is my mother’s way…and my father’s, it appears, also. No,

Mendeln ul-Diomed, what we seek is nothing less than any who can stand against what has been

destined to come to pass since the very beginning…”

Above, the dragon stirred. In some ways, Trag’Oul was to Mendeln a far more emotional being than

the man with whom he trafficked. Therefore, when the leviathan spoke, Mendeln had no trouble

sensing the urgency Trag’Oul sought to relay.

Rathma speaks of his father’s folly, the dragon explained. The folly of keeping Sanctuary secret from

those beyond. The Burning Hells know already…and thanks to Lilith’s insanity, the High Heavens

will also soon discover this realm…

Through Lilith, Uldyssian—and thus, Mendeln—had learned the name given their world by those

who had founded it. The demoness had also mentioned something of its earliest, highly turbulent

history, too, yet she had never spoken much, as far as he could recall, of what would happen if those

from whom the refugees had fled would all come to know of Sanctuary’s existence. He had supposed

that not an important point, anymore, but it was obviously a very, very vital one. Indead, dread spread

through Uldyssian’s brother, so much so that he was barely able to blurt out, “And so?”

And so, even if Lilith is foiled and Inarius offers peace…an improbable thing…it is very likely that

Sanctuary and all within it—being that which not even the most powerful of either side could have

once imagined—will still be destroyed.

“But why?”

There was that in the shifting of Trag’Oul that hinted to Mendeln how disturbed even the great

creature was concerning what they discussed. It is what the demons and angels do whenever they

come across a potent potential advantage. They fight over it until they destroy the very thing they

desire…a fate, sadly, that is better than becoming the fodder for either…

“That is why we need you, Mendeln ul-Diomed,” added Rathma, nodding to the mortal. “That is why

we truly need you to stand with us…of your own free will, naturally.”

Mendeln swallowed.

Hashir came into sight near noon on the last of the four days that Uldyssian had demanded of his edyrem.

They had crossed the vast jungle with a swiftness that no one before them surely had. So Tomo, Saron, and

many of the other Torajians claimed…and Uldyssian had no reason to doubt them.

Distant Hashir, as seen from his vantage point, could be no more than half the size of Toraja, but

Uldyssian felt that taking the temple there would require a hundred times the effort. Still, he hoped to

avoid unnecessary bloodshed…if that was at all possible at this point.

“I want to enter the city in peace,” he told Serenthia and the others. “I want them to see as Toraja did

that we mean no harm to those not seeking to harm us. That’s essential.”

“The Triune knows we’re headed this way. They’ve had time to work on the populace. It could be

that the people’ve been poisoned against us,” the merchant’s daughter pointed out. “Our greeting

might not be so gracious as in Toraja.”

Romus and several others nodded. Nevertheless, Uldyssian was steadfast in his decision. “We’re not

the Triune nor the Cathedral. We show empty hands to Hashir…but fill them if need be.”

Uldyssian had the majority of his followers wait in the jungle just out of sight of the first settlements

near the city. He chose a party of fifty to come with him, Serenthia and Tomo among them. Romus

he left in charge, trusting most in the reformed villain.

As with each time that Uldyssian had shown such faith in him, Romus fell to both knees and took the

other man’s hands. Touching his forehead to Uldyssian’s fingers, the Parthan tearfully said, “Master

Uldyssian, I’ll not be letting you down. Not ever. By you, I’ve been saved from myself. That’s a

greater gift than I’ve ever been given.”

“You’ve earned what you have.” Uldyssian bade the Parthan to rise. “If we’re not back by tomorrow

morning, you know what must be done.”

Romus gritted his teeth and his hands formed fists. “But you’ll be coming back, Master Uldyssian!

You’ll be coming back…”

Uldyssian wished that he felt so confident. The closer that they had gotten to Hashir, the more he had

considered leaving Serenthia and everyone else in the jungle and merely walking into the city by

himself. Then, if there was some plot afoot, at least none of the rest would be caught in it with him.

But Uldyssian knew that Serenthia would never have allowed him to make her stay behind. Nor, for

that matter, would the rest of his edyrem have permitted him to go without someone to watch his

back. They were as possessive about his safety as he was about theirs regardless of how much

stronger Uldyssian was than the whole of them combined.

The whole of them save Serenthia, perhaps. By the time they had reached the vicinity of Hashir, she

had become true second in command and her word was nearly as respected as his own. Her counsel

had become invaluable to him…just as she herself had.

And that was why, the night before reaching Hashir, he had finally given in to his emotions and hers.

Even Achilios’s shade could no longer keep him from her. Their coupling had lasted long, the pent-

up fury as much for what had been lost as what was now found. There had been comfort, too, in the

familiarity between them, the only familiarity that Uldyssian had left in his life.

She stood at his side as he led the smaller band toward the city gates. Uldyssian had purposely mixed

his party half Torajian and half Parthan. The Hashiri, as Tomo said the locals were called, eyed the

lighter-skinned members with something approaching awe, many possibly never having seen an

“Ascenian” before.

Whether that was true of the guards at the arched gate was not evident, for they stood with wary faces

and taut muscles even as the newcomers approached. Other traffic flowed in and out through the gates

—wooden carts pulled by oxen, robed pilgrims on foot, and well-dressed merchants on horseback,

just a few examples noted in passing by Uldyssian. All got short but studious glances by the sentries

as they crossed the threshold. One, a plumed figure who had to be the officer in charge, eyed the

foreigners but said nothing until they were next to step into Hashir.

“Do you carry goods for the market?” he asked, even though it should have been obvious that they

did not. When Uldyssian answered for everyone with a shake of his head, the officer then peered at

the various individuals. “Pilgrims, then. Where is your town, Ascenian?”

“I’m from the village of Seram. Others here are from the town of Partha and the city of Toraja.”

The man grunted. “Torajians I can recognize, Ascenian. Partha and Seram…these are places I do not

know.” He finally shrugged. “Obey all laws and Hashir will always welcome you.”

“We thank and respect Hashir for its generosity,” Uldyssian returned, having learned the reply from

Tomo. Lowlanders, as Uldyssian and the Parthans thought them, always expressed gratitude to a new

city upon arrival in it.

His knowledge of the proper response took some of the stoniness out of the guards. The officer

waved them past.

Hashir was similar in style to Toraja and from what Uldyssian had learned the former was actually

the foundation of the larger city. At some point in the past, Hashir had sent out the explorers who had

built Toraja, named after a hero in lowland epics. Uldyssian found it ironic that Toraja had outgrown

its birthplace despite its seemingly remote location.

The tree-lined streets were there, but lacking the small creatures so venerated in Toraja. Instead, a

variety of colorful birds appeared to have staked claim to the rich foliage, some of the avians exotic

even to Tomo’s people.

“The Hashiri are said to bring back whatever beautiful birds they find on journeys, the better to color

the skies of their home,” the Torajian explained wide-eyed. “I always thought that was bragging of

theirs, for Hashir now lives in Toraja’s vast shadow…but such marvels! See that one?”

Uldyssian had to admit that the birds made for a wonderful, ever-shifting tapestry, but the noise their

combined voices made—not to mention the tremendous amount of residue they left in their wake—

did not overly enamor him of them. Instead, they made him yearn once more for the soft sounds of

the more singular songbirds back home.

Their party continued to gather stares from the Hashiri and among the men Serenthia was a

noticeable choice of views. Uldyssian felt a mild jealousy come over him. He managed to quell the

desire, but constantly watched in case someone tried to become too familiar.

The Hashiri were dressed very similar to the Torajians, save that many wore silver sashes around

their waists, and for the upper castes, nose rings of that very metal. There were other travelers as

well, including a few yellow-skinned merchants from east of Kehjan. With their narrow eyes and

unreadable expressions, they seemed almost feline. The Parthans among his group were especially

fascinated by them, not that the Torajians did not also express interest.

The jungle lion was the patron symbol of Hashir; stylized versions perched atop many a column or

gateway. The artisans had given the lion a savage grin that reminded Uldyssian too much of a demon,

even though the stone creatures were supposed to be guardians against such.

Then there came into sight that which made all else in Hashir fade from Uldyssian’s mind.

Above the rounded buildings ahead loomed the familiar triple towers of the Triune.

Uldyssian wanted to go directly there, but striking at the temple would only alienate the citizenry

against him, who, so far, appeared not to have been warned against them. The last meant that what

had worked in Toraja could still work here after all.

The market was an oval region situated at the main thoroughfare in the city. Twin fountains set on

opposing ends bubbled enthusiastically. Tents and carts filled the vicinity, their exotic wares even

briefly taking some of Uldyssian’s attention from the temple.

He finally spotted that for which he had been searching. In the center of the market was a raised stone

platform used for public gatherings and where even now would-be prophets preached to any who

would listen. Most had audiences numbering only in the handfuls, if that much.

“On the right,” he told the others. “That’ll be our spot.” Even some of the ragged speakers paused as

he neared, although Uldyssian was certain that it was due to his pale appearance, nothing more. He

nodded politely at one, who rewarded him with a sneer.

The edyrem took up positions that Uldyssian had arranged in advance. A few, such as Serenthia,

stood with him, while the rest became his initial audience. Uldyssian had learned the last part from

Toraja, where some of the preachers there had secretly supplied their own cohorts as “converts,” the

better to attract others wondering what drew the “crowd.” He did not consider his choice having

anything to do with fakery; the edyrem, after all, were true believers who had joined him because of

his previous speeches.

One or two locals drifted close even before he could clear his throat, no doubt merely interested in his

foreignness. That suited Uldyssian fine. Tomo and his cousin had done the same in their city, as had

others.

“My name is Uldyssian,” he began, his voice amplified by his powers. From every direction, heads

turned toward him. Uldyssian kept his voice even and friendly—one man to another. In his case, he

knew it was more him than his speechmaking that would attract people. “And I ask only that you

listen for a moment.”

A few more Hashiri trickled toward him. The edyrem in the audience subtly shifted positions,

enabling the locals to better view Uldyssian. As more and more newcomers added themselves, his

followers pulled back. They would speak to the listeners only if asked questions. Uldyssian wanted

his presence alone to be the reason anyone chose to gain the gift.

He started to tell them about his simple life and how he had been no greater a man than any of them.

Even before Uldyssian reached the part where he had discovered his powers—leaving out the detail

of Lilith—those listening numbered more than his party, with others constantly streaming toward the

area. Serenthia glanced at him, her smile giving him more confidence. Hashir started to promise to be

like Partha, a place full of acceptance, not fear and hate.

Not like his lost Seram.

The crowd in the market was now mainly his. Uldyssian gazed out at the faces, many of them clearly

ready to learn of the gifts within themselves. Giving the throng a cursory search, he also detected no

enmity, no treachery. He had expected there to be at least one servant of the Triune among his

listeners, but could find none. Perhaps, he thought, they had holed themselves up in the temple,

preparing for battle.

If so, they would find it coming soon enough.

Nearly every other activity in the market had ceased. The rest of those preaching had long fallen

silent and at least one stood among Uldyssian’s audience, his expression as rapt as several of the

others.

As he neared the conclusion of his speech, Uldyssian created a glow light. Gasps arose from the

crowd. He dispersed the light, but the point had been made. What he spoke of was not mere fantasy

nor trickery. Magic, yes, but one that he now pointed out was possible for anyone there, if only they

would see.

The city guards who had been patrolling the market when first he had arrived now stood at the outer

edges. They watched the proceedings with what were supposed to be disinterested faces, but

Uldyssian noted a couple who seemed caught up in his words. The others merely did their duties and

he saw no threat from them. Uldyssian continued to keep watch out for the Triune, but they remained

absent.

At last, he finished, offering, as he always did, to show any who desired what their potential might

be. As expected, there was a moment of hesitation and then the first brave soul—a young woman

whose face was half-concealed by a veil—stepped forward. Uldyssian repeated the same steps he had

with his converts in Partha and Toraja and was not at all surprised when the woman gasped with

delight and immediate understanding.

Her reaction caused a sudden flow forward by most in the front of the throng. The edyrem standing

with Uldyssian moved to create some sort of order. Even then, he faced a sudden sea of outstretched

hands, each supplicant wanting to be next.

They all imagine it differently, Uldyssian thought as he chose one. But they all see it the same once

it’s been awoken. No one looks at it as if it were a way to take advantage of others. He had wondered

about that more than once. Was it because he was the messenger? If it had been someone like Malic,

would the edyrem now be a force willingly embracing the evil of the temple?

Uldyssian could not believe that. As he greeted the man before him, he sensed nothing evil. Surely,

the gifts could never be tainted.

But then, Lilith, Malic, and Lucion had all thought otherwise…

The crowd continued to swell. It was suddenly all Uldyssian could do to concentrate on his efforts.

People were clearly spreading the word, for there were more in front of him than there had been in all

the market at the beginning. Not even Partha had shown such eagerness. There, it had taken the

healing of a child. In Toraja, it had needed more. But with Hashiri, it was almost as if the populace

had expected his coming.

Uldyssian choked back any sign of his dismay. He quickly searched the crowd again, something that,

with so many potential converts with which to deal, he had ceased doing.

He found them immediately. They were mixed into the crowd, especially among the later arrivals.

They had waited for his concentration to be pushed to the brink before joining.

Peace Warders.

Without their uniforms to mark them, they were as any of the rest in the crowd. Once again,

Uldyssian had grown overconfident. He had dared the Triune to act and they had obliged him.

But getting assassins close and enabling them to succeed were two different matters. Uldyssian easily

picked out the foremost three. However, when he probed for weapons, Uldyssian found none. Did

they hope to strangle him? Why send unarmed men against him, who could easily strike them down?

Or could he? Doing so would make it appear that he was attacking simple pilgrims. He noted two

more behind the three. Five men and still their purpose was unclear. They pushed as hard as possible

to reach him, even though they had to assume that he now kept an eye on each. What was the Triune

hoping to achieve?

And suddenly, he knew.

Uldyssian pulled back from the eager supplicants. Even as he turned, with his mind he sought out

Serenthia.

She was there, but not alone. Two figures, a small girl and an elderly man, held hands with her.

Likely, Serenthia had sought to bring them to him. However, her expression—mostly puzzlement—

indicated that she was just becoming aware of something amiss.

To his own heightened senses, there was very much wrong. He could see them for what they were

even though they wore the semblances of others and seemed impossibly small and weak in

comparison to their true, foul selves.

Morlu.

Uldyssian reached out for Serenthia, his power simultaneously rising up to strike the disguised

creatures.

But in the next second, the morlu vanished…and with them, Serenthia.

Ten

Not again! Not again!

Those two words repeated themselves over and over in Uldyssian’s head. First Achilios, then

Mendeln, and now, Serenthia. One by one, those nearest to him had been lost. It in no way eased his

pain that he now suspected what had happened to his brother. Surely the morlu, using some spell, had

materialized around Mendeln and stolen him away just as they had done to Serenthia.

But what had happened did not matter. Only somehow trying to save Serenthia. The temple had

plotted well; most did not even notice that she was missing. The edyrem were all too busy trying to

maintain some order without using their powers…a command given to them by Uldyssian. Even they

would not have noticed anything amiss around Serenthia.

But now, alerted silently by Uldyssian, they straightened in disbelief. Eyes turned to where the raven-

haired woman had stood.

And to Uldyssian’s astonishment, Serenthia and her kidnappers reappeared.

She stood as if some mystical spirit summoned to the mortal plane. Around her there once again

glowed the aura. Her hair flew about, as if caught up in a storm. A grim smile crossed her face.

The glow about her shot without warning toward the figures holding her hands. Hissing escaped both

the young girl and the elderly male, an inhuman hissing. In the blink of an eye, their skin burned

away and as it did, both their shapes and height severely altered…until the two morlu stood revealed

before the masses.

“Behold the true face of the servants of the Triune!” Serenthia shouted. “Behold the evil hidden from

you all these years!”

The morlu that had been a child shifted one hand behind it, the bestial warrior’s reflexes like

lightning. The hand came forward again, in it a curved blade as long as Uldyssian’s forearm.

But Serenthia merely eyed the hideous creature as he attacked. The blade dissipated to ash as it

reached her chest, leaving the dust to blow back in the startled morlu’s black eye sockets.

Serenthia let go of the undead warrior…who suddenly flung up and over the crowd as if a leaf caught

in a tremendous gust. He rose higher and higher, finally crashing into the roof of a building some

distance away.

While this had gone on, the second morlu had remained oddly still. The reason for that Uldyssian

knew was again Serenthia. Her aura continued to surround the hapless fiend, who could do nothing as

she pulled free his own weapon—and then, with one smooth strike, beheaded him.

As the corpse toppled, she looked to Uldyssian. “The Triune has declared itself! They leave no

choice! We must move against them immediately!”

He felt her determination mingle with his own. Well aware of the things that the priests might have

had in mind for Serenthia, Uldyssian’s anger grew by the second. Still, he swore that he would keep

control. Uldyssian wanted no repeat of what had just happened.

“People of Hashir!” he shouted. “This is the truth of the temple! This is—”

His head suddenly filled with what he quickly realized was sinister whispering. At the same time,

Uldyssian felt a pressure in his skull, as if something sought to squeeze it to pieces. There came

unbidden the brief image of a gaunt, bearded man who, despite his elderly appearance, radiated a

darkness akin to that of the late, unlamented Malic and was surely another high priest of the Triune.

Summoning his strength, Uldyssian managed to force the pressure away. Far in the temple, Uldyssian

sensed the high priest’s consternation.

Serenthia was suddenly at his side. She placed a hand against the back of his head, cradling it.

“Uldyssian, my love! What are they doing to you?”

He could not speak, for just then a violent pain coursed through him, so sharp that his heart nearly

ceased beating. Vaguely, he registered that Serenthia was still calling to him. Farther away, there

were concerned shouts from others.

Shouts…and then screams. Despite his own dilemma, Uldyssian yet managed to sense that there

were more morlu in the immediate vicinity. He tried to rise, but the pain was too intense. Uldyssian

managed at least to look up at Serenthia—only her face looked distorted, out of sync.

His ears filled with more shouts, more screams. At some point, the sky had turned red. Uldyssian

could make no sense of it—

Then, Serenthia cried out as something dark briefly covered her gaze. She fell back from Uldyssian,

who would have tumbled to the stone street if not for another pair of hands seizing him tight.

“I have you,” promised a voice in his ear.

Mendeln’s voice.

Before he could react, the world spun around. The cries and other sounds receded, as if Uldyssian

now heard them from the end of a vast tunnel.

At the very last, he heard Serenthia call his name—and then darkness swallowed him.

Darkness and stars.

Arihan had absolutely no idea what had gone wrong. Everything had been in place and all the servants had

known their roles.

Capture the woman, the Primus had commanded. Capture her and you place a yoke around the male.

Arihan had immediately seen the wisdom of that. One glance through a scrying globe had been

enough to reveal just how much the fool cared for his companion. To keep her from harm he would

give his soul…exactly what the Triune desired.

But all accounts had indicated the woman far weaker than she had just revealed. In Hashir, she had

displayed abilities that even Uldyssian ul-Diomed had not. Arihan would have sworn that she was

actually even more powerful than the man the sect had been battling. Two morlu had not been

enough, even cloaked as they had been by a spell given to him by the Primus.

Through the scrying globe, the priests from Hashir’s temple were frantically asking what was going

on. They had no idea yet that the plan had turned into an utter disaster for them. The morlu were

evidence enough that the Triune had a darker side than it exhibited and with passions as they were at

the moment, Arihan foresaw a violent rush upon the temple that would only end with a bloodbath.

A painful noise in his head finally made the high priest return to the globe. A harsh exhalation

escaped Arihan when he saw what those in charge of Hashir had now wrought. Some fool had

decided that, since he had not reacted to the unfortunate turn of events, then they had better do

something themselves.

And so the cretins had sent out the rest of their morlu after the peasant and his followers, not thinking

how the Hashiri would react to this further revelation of the Triune’s true calling.

They are deserving of their fate, the imbeciles! Ignoring any further contact with the priests, Arihan

instead surveyed the damage their attempt was causing. Twenty morlu had materialized as if out of

thin air among the populace, accompanied by twice that many Peace Warders. However, given orders

by those without any good sense, the warriors of the temple were not simply seeking Uldyssian ul-

Diomed and his core followers, but anyone near them.

The high priest frowned, noting a sudden absence of one particular subject. Where was the peasant

leader? Where was Uldyssian?

Arihan could certainly see where the woman was. She stood at the center of things, reveling in the

carnage and looking as if an angel reborn. A blazing aura continued to surround her and seemed to

spread to other followers even as he watched. They began to beat the morlu and Peace Warders down.

Hashir is lost! Lost! The bumbling fools had done it, not Arihan. He had followed the plan to the

letter, the perfect plan of his master.

Now…if only the Primus would see it that way…

No sooner had he thought that than Arihan tried to smother the thought.

Too late.

My Arihan…I would see you before me…

The high priest of Dialon stifled a shiver. He had served the Primus well these many years. There

might be some pain involved, but the Primus would certainly not waste such a valuable servant.

Arihan rose from the stone floor of the meditation chamber he had usurped for his efforts. He

dismissed the scrying globe and doused the oil lamps in the walls with the wave of a hand, then,

uncharacteristically, rushed from the room. Now would not be a good time to let the master wait,

even for a moment. Let him see that the high priest did not fear to come to him.

The same stolid guards let him pass into the private chambers. Arihan tramped bravely through the

darkened outer room, ignoring little sounds around him that he had never noticed in the past. What he

could not ignore, however, was a silky material that draped his face just before he reached the inner

door.

The high priest spit out what was in his mouth and wiped away the rest. The gauzy material reminded

him of a spider’s webbing, but that could not be. The Primus had always been very fastidious, even in

his torturing. Whatever the filmy substance was, it surely had a logical purpose.

As Arihan wiped the last away, the door opened to admit him. He stepped through immediately.

“My Arihan…” came the Primus’s voice. “So good it is that you have come…”

His face a perfect mask, the high priest bowed toward the voice. “Ever I am at your service, most

Holy One.”

“Ahh, yesss, but how good is that service?” An unsettling green light materialized above the throne,

at last revealing the Primus. Although the figure on the throne smiled, there was what Arihan took for

strain in the effort.

“All you’ve asked, I’ve done,” the high priest cautiously returned.

“And where is the female? Is she on her way to me at this very moment?”

“Nay, my lord. She is lost because of the fools in Hashir. They underestimated her. It was no fault of

mine that the plan did not succeed, Great One.”

The Primus’s gaze grew terrible. The smile reversed itself. “And is it mine, then?”

Arihan caught himself. “Of course not! Never could such a thing be! The priests in Hashir were inept

in their execution of your grand plot! They misused the morlu and their guards and have brought

worse havoc down upon themselves. I fear, most holy lord, that the temple there is lost.”

“This one is most, most disappointed, my Arihan.” The Primus rose. As he did, the high priest

noticed a spider on the wrist of the right hand. It was at least twice as large as the one he had seen on

his last visit and surely should have been noticeable by his master. “Most disappointed. Assumptions

were made. Promises were made…” Arihan’s master shivered and looked up. “Promises were

made…”

“The female…she was stronger than expected,” the priest offered. “At least as strong as the male.

That was something no one knew.”

Much to his relief, the Primus brightened. “Yesss…that could be useful. He would understand that

this could not possibly have been foreseen.”

Exactly who this other was of whom he spoke, Arihan did not know, but the Primus’s reaction sent a

chill through the high priest. There were only three beings that the son of Mephisto would fear…his

father and the other two Prime Evils.

To assuage them, even the Primus would need a scapegoat. Arihan suddenly wondered how best he

might flee, well aware that his chances of success in that direction were likely nil.

Another spider appeared, this one crawling out of the Primus’s collar just as had the one during the

previous audience. Arihan belatedly noticed other small and very agitated forms scurrying over the

throne…and even over his own feet. What were all these spiders doing here and why did his master

react with such indifference to them?

“My Arihan…” the figure before him murmured. The Primus reached out to the high priest, who had

no choice but to step nearer.

So close, though, Arihan now noticed something wrong with the Primus’s eyes. He had seen

Lucion’s true eyes…and these were not them. In fact, so near, it was possible to tell that each was

actually composed of three or four separate ones…and all were as crimson as fresh blood.

“Most Holy One,” he began, seeking some word that would mean his salvation. “It is possible that

this woman—”

But the Primus shook his head. “No, my Arihan. No. The plot—my glorious plot—should have

triumphed! He will demand the reason why and she may not be enough—”

“’He,’ O Great One?” the human blurted, trying to stall for time. The many spells he knew were

unlikely to work here, but Arihan had to attempt something. Unfortunately, it was impossible to

concentrate for another reason. There were too many spiders, either crawling on the throne, the walls,

the Primus—and himself, Arihan discovered—or dangling from the ceiling. Some of them were as

large as the high priest’s hand or even larger.

And at last Arihan recalled what those spiders indicated. He knew what stood before him, disguised

as his master. He had never seen the demon, but had, as a young priest, read of him and heard the

rumors that the creature dwelled deep in the recesses of the grand temple.

“Our lord Diablo, my good Arihan…” the false Primus answered to his question. “He it will be that

demands not only a reason why, but the one who failed!” As he spoke, the figure’s handsome face

began to rip away. Loose threads erupted where the flesh split, threads of silk.

Spiders’ threads.

And underneath, was a hairy monstrosity that once Arihan would have gladly summoned, a demon

who served the true lord of the high priest’s order.

“Great One!” he gasped. “Let me go with you to speak with the wondrous Diablo! Together, we can

—”

The robe tore apart as a huge, somewhat manlike shape with eight limbs expanded. Arihan’s

desperate suggestion was cut off as four clawed hands seized him and pulled his face within inches of

a savage pair of mandibles. Saliva dripped on the high priest’s immaculate garments.

“Together we shall go, yes, my Arihan, but to present your head on the platter! The head only, yes…

for the rest of you this one will need for strength when facing the grand and magnificent Diablo!”

The mandibles sank into the high priest’s throat, ripping out everything. Arihan had no chance to

utter even a gurgle. His head flopped to the side, barely held by some bits of bone and sinew.

Astrogha swallowed the mouthful, then shifted the body to begin sucking out the precious fluids.

What the human did not understand was that the demon had actually done him a tremendous favor,

killing him so quickly. Lord Diablo might have made him suffer longer, torturing the puny mortal

until he was satisfied that he not only knew everything, but had put Arihan through all that

entertained the master of terror.

But in the process of that, the high priest might have implicated Astrogha in the failure. Even despite

having prevented that scenario, the arachnid would have to do some quick thinking to save himself.

And as he supped, one notion already formulated. Lucion was still absent, Lucion who should have

noticed what was afoot and come to add his power to the effort. Yes, somehow this would be steered

again toward Lucion…and the female with Uldyssian ul-Diomed, also. Arihan had spoken the truth

when he had said that she had revealed more than even the demon had expected. She would become

the other focus of Astrogha’s defense…

At last satiated, he threw the carcass down for the children to finish. Already, Astrogha could sense

Diablo awaiting word of his success.

The demon glanced down at the high priest’s grotesque corpse, already covered by spiders. “Consider

yourself fortunate, my Arihan…consider yourself fortunate…this one may yet envy your fate…yes,

envy and plead for it to be so merciful…”

With that, Astrogha opened the way between places, reaching forth into the Burning Hells…

I have awaited you…came the dread voice.

The edyrem looked up as one, sensing the call. It was not from the master, but from she who was closest to

him. That was enough. Romus waved his hand and they surged toward Hashir. Even those minding the

smallest children followed, for the edyrem did not leave anyone behind. The weakest among them would be

better protected staying with the rest, even if that meant following them into a struggle…

And so, there was left only one figure standing in the jungle, one figure who wished with all his

might to join the stream of bodies flowing toward the city gates. However, Achilios could not do so,

not without creating greater catastrophe.

It’s…as they said…she’ll take up the reins if he’s gone. The archer had not wanted to believe that,

but he should have known that Rathma and the dragon were correct. They seemed to be correct about

all things.

No…not all. They had been wrong about him. They felt that he would be utterly obedient to what

they said. Not because they demanded that obedience, but because they assumed the rightness of their

decisions made no objection possible.

But even if a dead man now walking, Achilios was still Achilios. He had considered other courses of

action that skirted the choices made by Lilith’s son and the thing called Trag’Oul.

He had Serenthia to consider…and that was the most important matter of all.

Achilios looped his bow tight over his shoulder, then started running. Death had not slowed him, and

in fact, he could cover ground much, much faster now. He left little if any trail and could avoid nearly

all obstructions.

From Hashir came screams and the clash of metal. Rathma had granted him abilities necessary to the

cloaked one’s demands and so Achilios knew what was going on inside even better than Uldyssian’s

edyrem. He also knew very well who was leading the struggle. That made the hunter increase his

already astounding pace.

Around the outskirts of Hashir’s territory he ran, pausing only to avoid the homes of those who lived

beyond the city’s walls. At all times, Achilios kept one sight in focus; the three towers of the temple.

As with Toraja, the Triune preferred a location that gave them access through a separate gate. To

Achilios, that should have been enough to warrant suspicion from anyone concerning them, for what

reason would a noble and loving sect have need of a path of escape?

Of course, to be fair, before his own slaughter, Achilios doubted that even he would have paid much

attention. Life had a way of blinding people. Only death seemed to truly open the eyes…

The gateway he sought finally came into view. One side was already open. The senior priests

obviously did not trust their chances at this point. He wondered if they actually thought that their

masters would welcome them with open arms after this fiasco. Then again, perhaps the Triune’s true

lords would…and then promptly flay all of them alive.

Achilios decided to save the demons the trouble. Freeing his bow, he reached for an arrow—and

found himself staring at a startled Hashiri woman carrying a basket.

The moment she registered him, the woman shrieked. Achilios could imagine her shock and self-

loathing filled him. However, for all he hated how he was, there remained greater priorities.

“Run…home…” he rumbled. “Go!”

She did not need more coaxing. Spilling the basket and its contents on the jungle floor, the woman

rushed away.

The incident already forgotten, the undead archer notched an arrow—

And was promptly tackled by a heavy, armored form.

The dagger that sank deep in his chest would have killed him, if he had not already been dead. His

attacker started to lean back, clearly confident of his strike. The vague outline of a morlu filled

Achilios’s gaze.

The archer grinned, a sight he was certain would have been ghastly to any living person. “Too little…

too late.”

With a strength now as inhuman as that of the morlu, Achilios threw the bestial warrior high into the

air. The morlu collided with a tree, cracking the latter in two.

Achilios, well aware how little that would stop his adversary, was already on his feet. The bow came

up and a shaft went flying even as the armored assassin rose from the tangle.

With utter accuracy, the bolt hit one of the black eye sockets. As the morlu grasped for it, Achilios

fired at the remaining socket.

Grunting, the helmed creature batted away the oncoming missile. However, Achilios had already

expected that. His shot had only been to distract. The bow fell to the ground as the hunter pulled free

a long knife. He leapt toward the morlu as the latter finally pulled free the one bolt, a sucking sound

accompanying its removal.

The knife, honed sharp and wielded by an expert, severed the armored creature’s head from the neck.

Achilios kicked the twitching body aside. He grabbed the head even as one of the morlu’s hands

sought for his leg.

Hefting the head, the archer threw it deeper into the jungle. Turning back only long enough to

retrieve his bow, Achilios raced past the torso, which sought in vain to regain its footing. The foul

magic animating it would last only a short time longer, too short for the morlu to save himself by

retrieving his head. Achilios wondered if the same thing would hold true should someone remove his.

Perhaps, if somehow the crisis passed and the others no longer needed his questionable aid, he would

test it out himself. After all, what was there left for him? No love, no life…

The hunter grimaced. As an animated corpse, he had become very maudlin. All that mattered was

fulfilling his mission and then dying again. Everything else he could leave to Uldyssian, Mendeln…

and, if there was still hope, Serenthia.

If there was still a Serenthia.

The morlu had been a warning that the woman’s scream had alerted some of those he sought.

Achilios stuffed the knife in his belt, then readied another arrow.

By this time, four wary figures had emerged through the gate. Three were guards, the last a priest he

estimated somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy. The guards faced different directions, evidently

checking the safety of the immediate area.

The priest—his robes that of Bala—stared in the direction of Achilios.

The hunter let the bolt fly. With darkness to shadow it, it should have cut down the robed figure.

Instead, the priest raised a hand—

Achilios’s arrow exploded in midflight.

But the archer had already expected that something might happen. Barely had he let fly the first than

he shot a second. As Achilios had surmised, the priest had quick reflexes, but not that quick. The

second arrow burrowed deep into the robed chest, its momentum sending the prey falling.

The guards turned in his direction. One shouted something and two more came through the gateway.

Achilios fired three more bolts in rapid succession. One bounced off the breastplate of his target, the

second caught a guard in the arm, and the third pierced the throat of its quarry.

The two survivors retreated to the new pair. They looked convinced that they were being attacked by

more than one person, exactly as he had wanted. Achilios retreated from his location, blending into

the darkness in a manner that he could only do by being dead.

There was no sign of another morlu, which possibly meant that the rest were involved in the chaos.

That increased Achilios’s chances of finishing the special task he had set upon himself. All he needed

now was to continue pressing those seeking flight from Hashir.

But at that moment, he sensed something else in the jungle, something as unsettling to it as he was.

The ground below him heaved up, as if about to erupt. What at first he mistook for the upturned roots

of the nearby trees shot up and around him. Only after the first had snared his leg did the archer see

them for what they actually were.

Tentacles…the tentacles of some huge, grotesque creature burrowing through the soft dirt.

A creature that was not of Sanctuary.

As a second tendril snared his bow arm, Achilios cursed himself for forgetting the true patrons of the

Triune. The priest he had shot had been a servant of Baal, the Lord of Destruction. Foolish of the

archer to forget the man might have summoned another servant of the Prime Evil, a servant not in the

least human.

Still, whether or not the dead priest had summoned this denizen of the Burning Hells was a moot

point. What was important was escaping it; no easy task. It already had both of Achilios’s legs and

one arm and he had still not seen more than the tentacles. Instead, the only measure he had of his foe

was that the ground everywhere around him continued to shake, as if whatever lurked below it was

gargantuan.

Reaching the knife would have driven a living man to terrible wrenching pain, but Achilios was

thankfully beyond such mundane sensations. Thus, he was able to grip the blade just as another

tentacle sought his wrist. Twisting, Achilios slashed at the tip, watching with satisfaction as the

faithful edge cut through.

A low, thick thundering arose from beneath him. The jungle shook violently. If not for the very

tentacles holding him, Achilios would have fallen on his back.

“Hurt you…did I?” he rasped triumphantly.

In response, another, thinner tendril shot out, wrapping like a whip around his throat. The appendage

constricted.

Fortunately, unlike most, Achilios no longer breathed. He did not actually even draw breath when

speaking. The power that animated him also gave him voice. Hence, while having his neck snared did

slow Achilios further, it did not incapacitate the hunter as it would have a living being.

He took immediate advantage of the demonic creature’s misconception, slashing with the knife at not

only the tentacle snaring his throat, but his other arm, too. Both times, Achilios struck true. A black

substance resembling tar dripped from the cuts. The two appendages were instantly withdrawn.

Achilios wasted no time in assaulting the others. One received a shallow line across its width, but

before he could do more, both retreated below the soil.

The hunter allowed himself a brief smile as he righted his balance. No beast had ever had the final

laugh against him; that triumph, however short-lived, had been the archdemon Lucion’s alone.

Still, it was best not to simply stand there. Achilios plucked up his bow—

Again came the thundering that the archer had decided was the demon’s roar. A quake that toppled

most of the trees near him also sent Achilios tumbling. This time, he lost not only the bow, but his

knife.

“Damn!” he gasped. “Damn!”

And out of the ground burst a dozen tentacles of varying length and size. Whether they belonged to

one monster or another did not matter, only that suddenly they snagged him by the legs, the arms, the

torso, and the throat.

There was nothing he could do. Against their combined might, Achilios might as well have been a

newborn baby. At this point, there was only one question as to his fate. Would the beast tear him to

pieces—which might or might not actually finish the undead hunter, although it would certainly make

him useless—or instead drag him down into the ground, a much more daunting prospect. Achilios

had been buried once; he found the idea of a second interment frightening.

The tentacles tightened. Achilios felt his body strain. Dismemberment was the decision made by his

captor. The archer perversely wondered if he should thank the demon for that choice.

A brilliant golden light suddenly turned the jungle brighter than day. Achilios felt a warmth such as

he had not known even before death and which, because it actually did warm him, stunned the archer

that much more.

But if it warmed Achilios, the light did much more to the beast. Now the thundering reached an ear-

splitting crescendo. The tentacles shook and Achilios noticed burning flesh.

The demonic appendages shot back into the ground. The jungle shook…then stilled.

The golden light vanished…leaving a puzzled and very disturbed Achilios. He lay there for a

moment, uncertain if either would return. When neither did, the archer stood.

However, no sooner had he done so, than Achilios experienced an odd sensation. Had he been living,

he would have thought it vertigo.

His legs gave out. The world swam. Achilios tried to reach his bow—

And then all was blackness.

Eleven

Uldyssian had heard the voices for several moments now and although a part of him sought to react

to them, his body would not obey.

“He has still not opened his eyes,” came what he vaguely noted as Mendeln’s voice. But that was not

possible; Mendeln was lost to him. Uldyssian recalled thinking that he had heard Mendeln earlier, yet

that, too, had to have been his imagination.

Have patience, young one. Her strike was as subtle as it was heinous…

Even unconscious, Uldyssian jolted the moment that the second speaker voiced himself, for the

words resounded in both the head and soul of the son of Diomedes. He must have moaned at the

same time, for that which sounded like Mendeln suddenly grew excited.

“Did you see? He stirred! Uldyssian! Listen to me! Come to me! By our father and mother, you’ll not

leave me like this!”

Mention of his parents finally caused Uldyssian to actually wake. He remembered how he had felt

when Mendeln had vanished; if this was indeed his brother, he could not very well let him suffer so,

not if it was in his power to do anything.

And then there was Serenthia…

That proved more than enough. With a cry, Uldyssian struggled free of the last vestiges of

unconsciousness. Immediately his body was wracked with terrible pain. He rolled about and perhaps

might have hurt himself in the process if not for hands grabbing him by the shoulder in order to keep

his body still. Yet again he heard Mendeln.

“Be at ease, Uldyssian! Be at ease. It will pass…most of it, anyway…”

There is much within that will take longer. The demoness is a poison deep in his blood…

“And I could have stopped her, if only you’d all have let me!” snapped Uldyssian’s brother. “I

could’ve prevented so much!”

Not then. You would have been slaughtered and Uldyssian more in her grip…

“But you said that she went in unsuspecting of the betrayal! That alone—”

A third voice intruded just as Uldyssian forced his eyes open. Vague shapes and much darkness

greeted the battered man’s gaze.

“My mother is very adaptable, Mendeln ul-Diomed. You saw how quickly she turned potential defeat

of her plan into a new and possibly more terrifying path toward her ultimate goals. Now she is nearer

than ever to victory…and Sanctuary that much nearer to cataclysm.”

Some of the agony subsided, enough so that Uldyssian could finally focus. The first thing he saw

gladdened his heart, for it was his brother. Mendeln wore an uncharacteristically broad grin and

Uldyssian knew that he wore the same.

“I thought you lost forever,” the older brother told the younger.

“As I you.”

“Your sibling was always safe,” the third speaker interjected. In some ways, his voice was very

similar to Mendeln’s in both tone and speech, yet there was something about it that bespoke of great

age and a person who was not entirely human…if at all.

And when the figure joined Mendeln in gazing down at Uldyssian, the latter saw that this was no

mere mortal. The face was too handsome, the features too perfect. Most of all, though, the eyes held

more than great age…they were so ancient that Uldyssian immediately suspected the worst.

“He is no demon,” Mendeln quickly stated, recognizing his brother’s reaction.

“Although Lilith is my mother,” added the stranger.

With an animalistic growl, Uldyssian sought to grab the speaker. However, his body was too weak.

Worse, intense pain coursed through him again, forcing him to lie back.

Only then did he notice the stars. Their positions were so different from what Uldyssian was familiar

with, that he momentarily forgot the demoness’s offspring.

“Where—where are we, Mendeln?” Uldyssian finally asked. “I don’t recognize any of those.”

It was the son of Lilith who responded. “You are somewhere and nowhere.”

Such answers only served to stir Uldyssian back to anger. He did not trust being in the vicinity of a

being who claimed Lilith as the one who had begat him. “And who are you? If not a demon, then

what are you?”

“My name is Rathma,” the stony figure answered without preamble. “Although that is not the name

given to me at birth, but rather the one placed upon me by another after parting from my parents’

ways. It means ’keeper of the Balance’ which is also my function and duty.”

Uldyssian had no idea what Rathma spoke about and cared less. “But Lilith is your mother…”

“And Inarius is my father. Yes, I see that name also fills you with dread. I bear no grudge for that, for

both have become anathema to me as I am to them. As to what I am, I am a nephalem…one of the

very first, in fact…”

The revelation should have struck Uldyssian harder than it did, but quickly he realized that it had not

because, horribly aware of who Rathma claimed for his lineage, there was no other possible answer.

“You…you are like us…”

Rathma shook his head. “No, I am unlike you or any of those who follow you. I cannot explain, but

what you call the ’gift’ has metamorphosed. There are abilities that I have that you do not just as you

bear some I am lacking. I suppose this should not so surprise me since I am from the very first

generation birthed on Sanctuary…”

So long ago as all that, Uldyssian thought in awe.

Lilith’s son nodded as if having read the mortal’s mind, then added, “There are few of us remaining,

for when only my father was left of the original refugees, he was strict in his punishment of those

who used their powers. He insisted that his perfect world, his Sanctuary, would remain as he desired

it…” Rathma shook his head. “But for one who is eternal, my father should have known that nothing

stays static.”

That is enough for now, came that other voice from both within and without Uldyssian. He pushed

himself up, seeking the source…and his eyes for some reason looked to the stars above. For the first

time, Uldyssian imagined that he even saw a shape formed by the celestial lights. Not a complete one,

but enough to give the illusion of a vast, half-hidden beast. A reptile—no—something more than that.

It was long and sinewy like a great snake, but the head reminded him of another creature straight out

of myth—

A dragon…yes, it looked like some sort of serpentine dragon…

The stars shifted…and it seemed to Uldyssian that the half-seen behemoth now stared back at him.

Though we would all wish it otherwise, you are not well enough yet for more strain…

Uldyssian swallowed, unable to believe his eyes, his mind, and his heart. “What—what are you?”

“He is Trag’Oul, brother,” Mendeln explained quietly. “Born in creation, defined when the angels

and demons who came here formed Sanctuary. He is more its guardian than any other can claim.”

A simplified description, albeit most accurate…

Oddly, the introduction of this celestial creature was not what most demanded Uldyssian’s attention.

Hearing the dragon, then his brother, and recalling how Rathma had spoken…he felt as if he were

listening to three extensions of the same being. Uldyssian looked from one to the other and the

feeling only increased.

“Mendeln,” he muttered. “Mendeln, I want to leave here now. Both of us, I mean.”

“But we cannot, Uldyssian…at least not yet. There is so much to learn and you need recuperation.”

Rathma stood next to the younger son of Diomedes. “He speaks the truth. It would be unwise at this

juncture.”

Uldyssian swallowed. Rathma and Mendeln looked more like brothers than he and his sibling did.

The dark garments, the pale faces—and the nearly unblinking gazes—added further to the horrific

effect.

Forcing himself to his feet despite the torture to his body, Uldyssian growled, “Mendeln! Look at

you! Look at him! Listen to him and that—that thing!—and then yourself! They’re doing something

to you!”

He felt his power rush through his body, fueling his emotions and strength. They had been wrong, his

kidnappers. He was more than fit despite their games.

Raising his hands toward his brother, Mendeln replied, “No, Uldyssian! You must not do that—”

It was too late. Certain that not only were he and Mendeln trapped here for dire purposes but that his

sibling was being turned into something to serve the dragon’s and Rathma’s needs, Uldyssian

unleashed the raw forces within.

“You said he was too weakened by her to do this!” Rathma shouted, evidently to Trag’Oul.

He is different! They would all be different! They are no more nephalem than you are human! They

are more—

But the fantastic creature got no further, for then it was that the dragon’s empty realm shook as if

some giant hand sought to turn it upside down. Uldyssian knew that he was the cause but did not

care. He had to free Mendeln and him from this black prison—

As if responding to his thought concerning his dark surroundings, the elemental forces bursting from

Uldyssian took on a blinding brightness. Above, Trag’Oul roared. Rathma uttered something in a

language unknown and momentarily the brightness lessened. But Uldyssian, fearing that if his effort

failed then all was lost, threw his will into restoring the light.

Around him, the very blackness suddenly began shredding as if torn cloth. Utter white at first

replaced it…then a mountainous landscape erupted full-blown.

Mendeln called out to Uldyssian, but the two looked now to be separated by miles. Fearing to lose his

brother again, Uldyssian attempted to draw back within him the energies he had released, but it was

as if they now fought against him. The new landscape began to shiver and shake and seemed as ready

as the blackness to shred apart.

But finally, Uldyssian managed to contain his powers. The effort sent him to his knees. His heart

pounded and for a time his breath came in short gasps.

Then, slowly, he registered colder, drier air and soil much harder than that of the jungles. After

having grown accustomed to the hotter climate near Kehjan, the change left him shivering. Only

belatedly did Uldyssian finally regain enough control over his abilities to adjust himself to this new

environment.

And new it was. He had thought at first that he had returned to the vicinity of his village, but nowhere

around Seram were there mountains so great. In fact, nowhere that he had been looked like this

region.

The sky was overcast, but Uldyssian could still see far enough to marvel at the landscape. No,

definitely not near Seram, Kehjan, or anywhere else of which he had heard. Perhaps Mendeln might

have—

Mendeln! How could he have forgotten about his brother? Spinning in a circle, Uldyssian looked for

any sign.

But he was alone in the strange land.

“Mendeln!” Uldyssian roared. “Mendeln!” When he received no answer, the son of Diomedes

switched tactics. “Rathma! Where are you, damn you? You want me—you and that thing—well here

I am! Me for my brother! What say you?”

His voice echoed throughout the mountains. Without at first realizing it, one particular peak caught

his attention. It was taller, vaster than the rest, almost as if a king among kings. The more he looked

at the mountain, the more he felt drawn toward it.

With a colorful curse at Rathma and Trag’Oul, Uldyssian turned his back on the peak. Nothing good

could come of it, not if it somehow sought to call to him. He trod up the sloping land, glad that he had

not switched to the garments of the Torajians. They were thin and airy, not suitable at all for this

region. Even though he could keep himself warm, just wearing shirt, pants, and boots gave him

additional mental comfort.

Uldyssian reached the top of the hill upon which he had found himself and searched both with his

eyes and power for any nearby settlement. However, if there were any in the region, they were hidden

from him. All he saw or sensed were trees, hills, and the mountain again.

Uldyssian stiffened.

Yes, there it was. Not any mountain, but the very same peak from which he had been retreating.

“More games!” He glared at the overcast sky, seeking the dragon. “I told you! Stop this now! Come

for me if you want me!”

Again his voice echoed over and over, but still there was no reply. Uldyssian finally decided to get

their attention.

Mustering his will, he clapped his hands together as hard as he could.

The resulting sound was like thunder, so loud, in fact, that it shook the trees and ground. Over and

over it repeated, as if some massive but invisible storm swept through the area.

He waited, this time certain of success…but after several breaths, Uldyssian still stood alone.

“Damn you, Rathma!” Uldyssian roared. This time, though, his fury was spent. The echoes perished

after only three or four repetitions.

Defeated, he knelt down by a rocky growth and buried his face in his hands. Each time Uldyssian

began to believe he could face those arrayed against him, he was proven wrong.

Without warning, the ground shook again and for a moment Uldyssian thought that his efforts had

caused some collapse or tremor. He leapt to his feet, not certain exactly what he planned to do, and

saw that the shaking was confined to his immediate location.

More to the point, centered directly beneath the outgrowth.

He started to back away—only to find the ground rising up behind him as well. Ahead, the outgrowth

swelled. It stood almost twice as tall as Uldyssian and nearly as wide. One part jutted above the rest,

giving it some resemblance to a head.

And then two eyes opened up in the “head,” two eyes a deep rich brown and almost human. They

glanced left, then right, then down at Uldyssian, who stood awestruck.

There was shifting in the dirt and grass that made up the mound. The outgrowth took a step toward

him, huge chunks of stone and more breaking away. Another step…and more collapsing dirt and rock.

The thing now had two thick, solid legs. It paused, then began shaking itself like a wet hound. More

dirt and stone flew away, some of it toward Uldyssian, who awoke from his astonishment just in time

to deflect the most dangerous ones.

First one arm, then the second, formed. The earthen giant looked at the blunt end of the initial

appendage. Stony fingers suddenly cracked through, a full hand created less than a breath later. The

same then happened with the other arm.

Uldyssian backed up against the dirt wall behind him, but did not otherwise act. If a demon was about

to attack him, then this thing was a slow-witted one. It seemed more like a sleeper waking than any

threat.

The giant flexed its fingers, then surveyed its body as if seeing it for the first time. The eyes shifted

and Uldyssian could have sworn that there was a tremendous sadness in them.

It spoke. Through a crevasse suddenly forming near the bottom of the head, the creature spoke.

“Wwwho arrre yyyooou…” it began slowly, each syllable sounding as if the thing was clearing a

throat of centuries of disuse. “Whhooo are you…” it repeated stronger. “That calls a name…that calls

a name I haven’t heard for…so very, very long?”

As the voice cleared, Uldyssian recalled what he had noticed about the eyes. The voice, while still

very gravelly, was also almost human.

“Who are you,” the being said a third time. “Who calls the…name of Rathma?”

“My name is Uldyssian ul-Diomed and if you are a servant of Rathma’s, then beware, for I’ve no

love for your master!”

The giant studied Uldyssian, who now stood in a battle stance. Yet, something held Uldyssian back,

prevented him from striking the first blow.

A grating, rumbling sound suddenly issued forth from the bizarre creature. Slowly it evolved into

something recognizable…laughter.

“So glad I am…to have awakened for a time…if only to hear this…” The thing shook his head,

sending more fragments flying. “Rathma! No sense of humor…in that one! He would be…offended…

and for me! No, little Uldyssian ul-Diomed! Ha! Such a…long name for my…dry throat! I am no

servant of…the dour one…I was…am…Bul-Kathos…”

He announced this as if Uldyssian would know the name and marvel at it. But as the former farmer

failed to react, Bul-Kathos lost some of his own humor.

“The name…the name means nothing to you…has it been…has it been so long…” He studied hard

his earthen and stone body. “Yesss…there is little of me and…much more of the world! What I

dreamed for…what I decided must befall…me…is working well…even the forgetting…by mortal

men…”

The wall behind Uldyssian collapsed. Uldyssian expected some sort of trick, but instead the giant sat

down on a patch of ground that rose up to create a seat for him. Bul-Kathos eyed the empty area

between him and Uldyssian.

“The years…they must number a thousand…or more.” He glanced up at the intruder. “Tell me, little

Uldyssian ul-Diomed, know you…know you the names Vasily…and Esu?”

“The names mean as little to me as that of Bul-Kathos,” Uldyssian admitted. “But all would be

preferred to be known by me than that of the monstrous Rathma!”

It initially appeared that Bul-Kathos did not hear the last, for he looked to the ground once more and

muttered to himself. “No Vasily…where are you…my brother?” A slight, sardonic chuckle escaped

the giant. “But no Esu, either! How that would irritate…her…” As quickly as the humor came, it

disappeared. “If even she…still rages…”

Uldyssian cared little for the creature’s ramblings. All that mattered was that this Bul-Kathos—

whatever he was—knew of Rathma. Perhaps somehow this could aid Uldyssian in rescuing Mendeln.

He focused on one comment the other had made. “Bul-Kathos, you speak of a lost brother. I’ve one

also missing. His name is Mendeln and he is a victim of Rathma! If you could in some way aid me—”

Bul-Kathos looked up. “Rathma has…no victims. He is not…Esu…never Esu…if she still lives…”

Uldyssian finally gave up. Bul-Kathos had obviously long ago abandoned touch with others…and

perhaps even himself. If the strange being was no threat, then it was time for Uldyssian to move on.

And again, his eyes shifted to the towering mountain. This time, Uldyssian wondered if he should go

to it.

But as if reading his intention, the macabre figure, suddenly animated, leapt up. “Your path…lies

elsewhere…young one…not there…”

That only made Uldyssian even more determined to reach the peak. “And why not there?”

“Because…it is forbidden…for you.”

To be told that further infuriated Uldyssian. Thrusting his chin out defiantly, he returned, “A good

enough reason to journey to it, then.”

Bul-Kathos swelled in size and an ominous shadow crossed his earth and rock face. Even the eyes—

the almost human eyes—now held a threat. “No. You will not.”

The giant moved toward Uldyssian, and as he did, more stone and dirt fell away. Now, although he

still looked as if created from the very ground, Bul-Kathos wore the vague semblance of a bearded

warrior. His skin was the brown of the soil and his hair the green of grass. There was nothing hesitant

anymore about his movements—

Nor about his intentions toward Uldyssian.

Bul-Kathos raised a fist and in it formed a huge, stone club. He swung at the mortal’s midsection.

But the club deflected off an invisible barrier quickly created by his target. Uldyssian already sweated

from effort; the giant’s strike had nearly penetrated.

“You are more than you seem,” rumbled Bul-Kathos. “A nephalem I would call you, young one, if

not for the fact that I and Rathma may be the last…”

“The last of your age, maybe,” retorted the son of Diomedes. “But time has long passed you just as

you’ve pointed out.”

“But no matter how many centuries, I yet recall my duty well! And so Mount Arreat will remain

forbidden for you and all else who would desecrate its interior!”

He struck the ground with the club and the land shook so much that Uldyssian toppled. More and

more the earthen creature gave way to an ancient warrior. Clad in kilt and sandals and with a golden

band around his head, Bul-Kathos resembled some barbarian deity…a barbarian deity who radiated

raw force such as Uldyssian had never faced, not even from Lucion.

“We swore that the way to the mount would be forever sealed from those like Esu,” continued a

furious Bul-Kathos, “who would’ve used that within to further ravage a weakened world! And though

the others may be more of the soil than even I desired to be, in their memory and our oath I’ll

continue to fulfill my sacred duty!”

He struck the ground again and Uldyssian, who had nearly gotten to his feet, fell back. Uldyssian

turned that tumble into a roll, a wise maneuver as the club next shattered the stones atop which he

had just lain.

“I am not the master of the elements that Esu was, young fool, but Bul-Kathos wields much might of

his own!”

“And speaks about it even more!” snapped Uldyssian in turn. From his awkward position, he still

managed to focus on his adversary. The giant made for a hard-to-miss target…

There was a sound like a thunderclap. The area between the two exploded, as if the very air had

caught fire. Both combatants were thrown far from one another.

Uldyssian struck a tree, jarring his bones so hard he thought that they were all shattered. Despite that,

he managed to immediately fall forward into a crouching position and seize a handful of dirt. He

threw the handful high in the air and concentrated.

The dirt broke apart, becoming a whirling, blinding force that assailed the giant just as he regained

his own balance. However, Bul-Kathos did not recoil, but rather inhaled…and sneezed. The

whirlwind broke apart and the dust formed in a tight ball that landed in the warrior’s brown palm.

With a bellowing laugh, Bul-Kathos raised his hand and the dirt stretched two directions, creating in

the blink of an eye a spear with a tip that gleamed like a diamond. He threw the spear at Uldyssian.

Again, the former farmer raised a shield, but this time it was not quite strong enough. The spear

slowed, yet did not halt. Uldyssian pressed, but the missile caught him in the left shoulder. He cried

out as the point penetrated—

Bul-Kathos was suddenly before him, the giant gripping the spear with both hands. He obviously

intended to drive the spear deeper, for Uldyssian had managed to keep the wound fairly shallow.

“You were warned! If only you’d not refused to turn away, young one! I’m sworn to do what I must

now!”

Uldyssian clutched the upper edge of the spear.

Lightning crackled along the length of it, racing to where his foe held the weapon. Bul-Kathos let out

a roar as the powerful energy engulfed him.

Gritting his teeth, Uldyssian shoved the spear from the wound. Falling back, he touched the bloody

opening, which immediately sealed.

The pair paused. Both Uldyssian and Bul-Kathos gasped for air as their gazes met.

“A fine battle!” the giant almost cheerfully called. “It breathes new life into me, recalls me the

magnificent challenges I once faced daily…”

“You may find amusement in this, but I don’t!” Uldyssian snapped. “A friend is dead, my brother is

lost, and the woman I love and those who trust in me might all be dead now while I waste my time on

this!” He suddenly straightened. “Continue with your game, if you wish, Bul-Kathos, but I’m done

with it all! Very well! Keep whatever foul secret you guard in that mountain to yourself!”

“I can’t trust that you’ll not be returning, young one, and though ’tis in part my own folly that you

know of Arreat and that she houses something, I cannot let you live!”

The giant clasped his fists together, but before he could do whatever it was he planned, a figure

materialized between them.

“But you will let him live, old ox. Not only live, but come with me to the depths of Mount Arreat…”

Bul-Kathos blurted the name before Uldyssian could. “Rathma!” Then, as the other’s words

registered, a scowl spread across the giant’s gravelly features. “Inside the mount? Am I mad from

isolation and only dream you? You’d never suggest such a thing!”

“I am as real as you, Bul-Kathos.” To prove his point, Rathma thrust a gloved finger into the taller

figure’s chest. “And, perhaps, even more so,” he added, his glove coming away covered in ground

and grass. Rathma shook his head. “I thought you would outlast even me…”

“I may yet, if you persist in this! How does this one come to need to visit the mount?”

“Because my mother has returned.”

It was all Rathma had to say. Bul-Kathos’s face changed utterly. He spat, but instead of water, mud

landed on the ruined ground. Uldyssian realized that Rathma had the right of it concerning the giant;

Bul-Kathos looked much more like them now, but what the son of Diomedes had first seen was the

truth. Bul-Kathos existed more as spirit; his true body had long ago been replaced by the soil in

which he had lain.

It bespoke how very old the giant was and how very long he had likely stood sentinel over this

mysterious peak.

“Lilith…” Bul-Kathos spoke her name like someone who had just discovered that they had

swallowed poison. “She still bears the murders of my parents on her shoulders! They would’ve never

let Inarius slay us, as she said he would, Rathma! I’m sure of it—”

“And I am not…but that is neither here nor there. My mother saved us only to become hers, a fate

that would have been worse than death, trust me. As for my father…in the name of his sanctimony,

he is capable of things just as terrible…”

That stilled the huge warrior completely. “Aye, I know that too well…”

“Then you understand why I shall now take Uldyssian to see Mount Arreat’s secret.”

Bul-Kathos nodded. “Aye…and no one else’ll stop you. If they still stand, that is. I’ve let any who

can hear me know that the way must be clear for you and yours…”

With a swirl of his cloak, Rathma turned to Uldyssian. “Well, son of Diomedes, you wanted to see

what lay in the mount. Come and I will show you.”

But something else concerned Uldyssian far more. “Where is my brother? Where’s Mendeln?”

“With Trag’Oul. It must be so for now. Events are rushing forward even swifter than I had imagined

that they could and he, too, must be ready to aid in the struggle.”

Despite Rathma’s indifferent tone, Uldyssian felt every fiber of his being go taut. “What is it?”

“It is,” the ancient being said with a sigh, “what it has been. My mother. Lilith. I underestimated her.

She has adapted once again…”

“What? What has she done?”

Rathma’s gaze shifted to Mount Arreat. “She has gained control of your edyrem, of course.”

And before Uldyssian could respond…they both vanished from Bul-Kathos’s side.

Twelve

Mendeln worried about his brother. He had no idea where Uldyssian had vanished to and the being

called Trag’Oul was of no help whatsoever.

He is where he must be, just as you are where you must be, the dragon had each time answered to his

question.

Where Mendeln was bothered him almost as much as the location of his sibling. He no longer stood

in the empty darkness that seemed Trag’Oul’s domain, but rather in a wasteland, a place where there

had been much carnage long, long ago.

The landscape and sky were utterly gray and not the slightest hint of wind graced his cheek. Dust

covered what Mendeln assumed were ancient buildings of some sort, buildings scattered far from one

another. They all bore some similarity to one another, though. Some stood nearly whole, others were

barely skeletons. In addition to the buildings, there were also signs that this place had been rich in tall

trees and other flora as well. Now, though, there were only the petrified traces of that once lush time.

Every plant, however, great or small, had perished at the same time that this settlement had come to

ruin.

As had the inhabitants. Mendeln sensed the dead. They had died long, long ago. Longer than even

legendary Kehjan had existed, yet they were not fully at rest.

He awaited some word from Trag’Oul, but the celestial creature was as silent as the grave. A

frustrated Mendeln finally stalked toward the nearest of the ruins, where he began dusting off the

upthrust corner of one.

Not at all to his surprise, the archaic words of the language Rathma had burned into his head were

just barely visible. These, however, meant nothing to him, not even after Mendeln sounded them out.

He understood the “letters,” but they added up to nothing comprehensible.

Straightening, he muttered, “And so what do we have here, then? What?”

The legacy of the demoness’s previous crusade…came the answer immediately.

Mendeln shuddered, but not only because of what the dragon had said. Since Uldyssian had pointed it

out, even he now recognized the similarity between his voice and that of the leviathan…not to

mention Rathma, also. How long ago and how deeply had they infested his mind?

That question almost made him rebel against any further movement here, but the threat of Lilith and

his concern for Uldyssian overrode the hesitation. In truth, thus far Mendeln had not experienced

anything actually sinister at the hands of those who claimed that they wanted to be his mentors. In

fact, if he recalled his own mind, they only acted on desires already stirring within him for the past

few years.

And if learning from them could help save both his brother and his world…it behooved Mendeln to

do whatever was necessary.

He stepped to the next ruins, the trek taking barely more than a heartbeat. Mendeln was aware that

this was not right, that the distance should have taken much longer. However, he was grateful that he

would not have to take what would have possibly been hours just to traverse his immediate

surroundings.

The second structure was much more intact than the first. A quick dusting revealed more unknown

words. This time, however, Uldyssian’s brother did not so quickly give up. He repeated each rune

with care, trying them in different vocal variations. Perhaps pronunciation was the mistake, he

wondered. Perhaps—

Suddenly, the word before him made sense. A name, or at least a noun. Pyragos.

Quite pleased by his success, Mendeln spoke the word out loud. “Pyragos!”

Instantly, the ground around the ruined building shuddered. Mendeln stumbled back, already

regretting his rash action.

From below burst a grotesque, fleshless form with wings stripped of the membranes that had once

given them the potential for flight. The head was shaped like a bull’s, even with two savage horns

that interlocked in the middle. The fiend leaped up, dry dirt and what might have been drier skin

dropping from it. Mendeln was immediately put to mind of the demonic presence that he and

Uldyssian had fought in the jungle.

But something concerning this situation was not quite the same. First and foremost, the skeletal form

rising up from its grave was shorter than the one in the jungle and its frame was much more petite

overall despite the vast wings. Staring at it, Mendeln would have sworn that it was—or had once been

—female.

Less certain than a moment before, he yet again repeated the name. “Pyragos?”

In reply, the ground to his right shook. In fact, the entire landscape suddenly convulsed. He cursed

himself as he leapt back. Once had been ignorant; twice had been utterly foolhardy.

Out of the wasted landscape rose a legion of monstrous corpses, none of them completely human and

all nearly bone…or some equivalent to it. In fact, there were many that to his eye seemed more

merely empty garments or shadowy images. They came in all shapes, all sizes, to his eye registering

as once male, female, and…simply other.

But there was something about them that did not seem right. Mendeln had faced ghosts before and

these were not such. He put a hand to the foremost, a winged thing with horns that, from its slight

size and certain characteristics, Mendeln judged once female. The hand went through, not so great a

surprise, but the sense of former life was not there.

They are the memories of angels and demons, came Trag’Oul’s voice. Their deaths so terrible that

their shadows are forever burned into this place…

Not real spirits. Mendeln wondered if either group had what he would have called a soul, but

suspected not. Perhaps that was another reason they both coveted and distrusted humans…

Then…among them he sensed the coming of others. Misty forms milled around and even through the

macabre memories, misty forms with which Mendeln was more familiar. These were true spirits, true

souls.

But…of whom?

Show yourself to me! he demanded. Show yourself!

They did. A legion of men and women, many of them astonishingly perfect even in death,

overwhelmed the visions of demons and angels. Mendeln recognized them for who they were, for

their perfection was as Rathma’s.

The children of Sanctuary’s founders. The first nephalem and the immediate generations after.

The ghosts of the nephalem stood motionless, as if awaiting his next action. Mendeln had no notion

as to what that might be and Trag’Oul appeared silent on the subject. Evidently, it was up to Mendeln

to make his own path.

But with an endless array of dead before him, what was that path?

He looked to the foremost of them, a woman of such dark beauty that she made his heart beat faster.

Her silver eyes stared into his without blinking.

Hoping that he was not making a fatal mistake, Mendeln reached out a hand.

The female nephalem immediately bowed her head so that the top of it hovered directly before his

fingers.

Acting on a hunch, Mendeln let the fingertips graze the lush, black hair. Immediately, he felt a force

surge through him and a voice—a distinctly feminine voice—said to him, I was Helgrotha…

He pulled the fingers back. The nephalem raised her head, the silver orbs again staring into his own.

Curiously, although he had only heard the name—her name—Mendeln discovered that he now knew

much, much more about her. He could imagine her as she had once been, from her birth to her death.

Once, she had been nearly as powerful as Rathma and had watched over those creatures who lived

during night as opposed to the day. She had been kind, but also firm in her protection of those for

whom she had cared.

He stood there, wondering what next to do. The dead waited with him, forever patient, even if he was

not.

“And what am I to do with you?” Mendeln demanded. “Will you march against Lilith for me? Will

you? Will even one of you do this?”

The woman raised her left hand to him. The action startled Mendeln, who took another step back. But

the specter did not attack. Instead, in her hand materialized a long, narrow object. A bone.

She offered it to him.

Having no idea what he should do with the grisly gift but certain that it would be folly to refuse it,

Mendeln gingerly gripped the piece of bone.

“Thank you?” he blurted.

But even as the last word slipped from his lips…what had once been a nephalem called Helgrotha

faded like a dying wisp of smoke suddenly caught in a breeze. Mendeln looked around and saw the

rest of the ghostly legion vanish in like manner.

No sooner had they faded away, than the ruins, the visions of demons and angels—the entire

wasteland—followed suit.

A moment later, Mendeln did the same, suddenly reappearing in the dark emptiness with which he

was starting to become too familiar.

Say the word again. Say it, son of Diomedes…

“Pyragos?” Mendeln instantly felt a coolness in his hands, an almost refreshing coolness. He glanced

down and saw the bone shimmer. It took all his will not to drop the fragment.

It is the first word of summoning and this the item that will better bind you to the powers involved in

such an act.

The nephalem’s bone twisted, reshaped. It grew slightly shorter and much slimmer. One end

narrowed to a point, then flattened. The edges grew sharp.

The shimmering dulled but did not completely fade. Mendeln stared at what he held.

A dagger…an ivory dagger such as he had seen Rathma wielding.

They have accepted you who hears them—the children of angels and demons slain so foully—

accepted that you will keep Sanctuary from becoming either the fury of the Burning Hells or the

oppressive order and worship of the High Heavens. They who were the first birthed in Sanctuary and

are, because of that, still more of it than either Lilith or Inarius can understand, forever open the link

between the phase of afterdeath and that of living…

“‘Afterdeath’?” Mendeln repeated, but the glittering stars did not further explain that term and

Mendeln finally understood that he should define it as best he could on his own.

Take up the dagger in one hand, Trag’Oul then commanded. When Uldyssian’s brother had done so,

the celestial leviathan added, Turn it point down to your palm.

Mendeln did not like where this was going, yet he still obeyed. “Great Trag’Oul—”

Prick your palm, son of Diomedes…

“But—”

It must be done…

He had come this far, Mendeln thought. Besides, all the dragon asked of him was a slight jab, nothing

more. What harm could come of that?

What harm, indeed…

Mouth grimly set, Mendeln did as instructed. He pulled the point away almost as soon as it touched,

so swiftly, in fact, that at first he wondered whether he had actually punctured the skin.

But a tiny red dot did form, so miniscule that Mendeln expected Trag’Oul to command him to try

again. The dagger still hovered an inch or two above the palm…

Then, to his shock, a thin stream of blood rose from his hand to the blade’s tip. Only magic could

explain this defiance of nature. The tiny stream covered the point…then continued to flow up,

covering more and more of the narrow end of the blade and heading slowly but inexorably toward the

hilt.

Mendeln could only imagine how much blood it would take to reach that point and started to pull his

hand away.

Leave it…

Mendeln wanted to disobey, but did not. It was not that Trag’Oul had just cast some spell over him,

merely that he yet trusted in the dragon that no harm would come to him.

But when did I start to trust him? Before he could answer that question, the first drops touched the

handle.

The blood already flowing continued its journey, but no more rose from Mendeln’s palm. In fact,

when he sought the small wound, he could find nothing.

Watch…

His gaze returned to the dagger, where the blade was now colored crimson. Yet, the crimson grew

more faded with each passing moment, until finally it disappeared.

The dagger is bound to you and you are bound to the dagger. Through it, you are bound to them and

through them, the Balance.

“What is this Balance?” Mendeln called to the stars. “You speak of it and I think of it, but I have

never known what it truly means!”

The stars moved, briefly erasing any semblance to a beast. When they returned to their proper

positions, Trag’Oul replied, The Balance is the even distribution of Light and Dark. Its essence is

most significant to Sanctuary, but it goes beyond, to all of creation. A world where Dark rules would

burn itself up. A world where Light commands would eventually stagnate. If either gained enough

control of Sanctuary so that the other could not match it again, then that would be the end of all

things…

There was sense to what the leviathan said, or at least Mendeln saw it that way. Yet…“But should we

not ever strive for good over evil?”

Light and Dark are not necessarily good and evil, son of Diomedes. Yes, good must outshine evil, but

if the knowledge of evil is erased utterly, even good may turn on itself…

“Even still, I would never side with any demon!” Such a notion seemed incredulous.

What almost appeared mirth touched Trag’Oul’s “voice.” “Never” is a word rarely attained in fact.

And would you ever join the cause of an angel…such as Inarius…who would keep Humanity bent low

in prayer to him?

The dragon had him there. From all he had learned, Inarius’s notion of what was right meant absolute

obedience to him.

Mendeln shook his head. “I cannot believe that we must suffer two such forces without any hope…”

Did I say there was not? The High Heavens and the Burning Hells create their own notions of their

absolute might. The dragon paused, then added, They will someday find that they are far from the

ultimate masters of all things created…

Uldyssian’s brother seized upon the other’s words. “Are you saying that there is something more,

something greater?” He recalled something that he had wondered about earlier. “The spirits of the

firstborn; they have not moved on, but where do all others go? Where do the souls of my people go?”

To their rightful place…to beyond the reach of both the High Heavens and the Burning Hells and this

universe of tragedy they have wrought…

“What does that mean? How do you know all you say?”

We know because we know…

Mendeln noted the “we” and somehow felt it did not include Rathma. Were there others like

Trago’Oul? Was that possible?

But the celestial beast said no more on the subject and Mendeln knew that, if he asked such

questions, Trag’Oul would not answer him. Still, some of what the dragon had said just prior gave

him hope again.

“Then, there is truly a chance for Sanctuary to be more than what they would have of it…” Mendeln

clutched the dagger, which felt so right in his hand. It was not a weapon—although it could easily be

used as such—but one key toward freeing Humanity’s destiny from the angels’ and demons’

perpetual war.

However, that was only if he and Uldyssian managed to somehow help prevent Lilith and the

mysterious Inarius from succeeding with their own plots.

The angel bothered him most. “This Inarius…Rathma’s father…what does he do now?”

For the first time, Trag’Oul radiated uncertainty. Lilith is a creature of many plots and although

difficult to always ferret out, her mark is generally quite noticeable. Inarius, on the other hand, plays

the game more subtly. It may be that we are already destined to fail against him, for he may have

moved to defeat her and us simultaneously. Rathma can judge him better, but even he is uncertain as

to how well…

Which was a lengthy way to tell Mendeln that the angel was as much an enigma to his mentors as he

was to the human. “But we know he acts as the Prophet, whose face stands unveiled for all to see!

Surely, we can calculate his actions thus—”

Inarius stands utterly veiled even surrounded by a multitude of eyes. What is seen of the Prophet is

never necessarily what he is, even more so than the Primus, who has been not one but at least three…

And here he brought up another point that had troubled Mendeln even before Rathma had whisked

him away. “The demon Lucion was the Primus and he is no more. It is Lilith who wears that mask,

surely.”

But would Lilith have created such chaos in Hashir?

She would not have and Mendeln knew that. He had wondered at what had seemed irrational even for

the demoness.

“Another commands?” Uldyssian’s brother finally asked. “Another demon? That could work in our

favor! If even indirectly this third interferes with her plots—”

It does not…in fact…it has accelerated it.

That did not bode well. With both him and Uldyssian gone, that left only Serenthia to watch for the

demoness. Still, in many ways, Cyrus’s daughter was likely far more capable than Mendeln.

“Serenthia will guide the edyrem. They trust her. They will follow her in all things—”

The stars yet again shifted, then resettled. Mendeln had learned quickly that this was a sign of the

dragon’s displeasure. Yes…they will heed the commands of your companion in the absence of your

brother…and thus become Lilith’s more and more…

Mendeln let out a growl of frustration. “What are you not telling me? What is it you know?”

There was an unusual hesitation…and then Trag’Oul replied, Uldyssian’s edyrem believe that they

follow your friend, but in doing so, they actually follow the demoness.

“Follow—no!”

Yes…it is Serenthia of Seram that they see before them, but she is in truth Lilith and has been so since

some days ago as Sanctuary counts time…

“Serenthia…” Mendeln fell down on one knee, so struck was he by the news. His mind raced back to

Partha and Malic, who had worn the skin of another. “No…Serenthia…no…it cannot be…”

The skin of another…Lilith wearing Serenthia’s skin…

Hashir might have been far smaller than Toraja, but the mark the edyrem left upon it—especially within the

temple—far exceeded what they had done in the first city. The temple still stood, but it was awash in blood.

The high priests had been made special victims, their bodies now hanging from the ruined pillars standing at

the building’s front. The power of the edyrem had allowed bolts a foot long to drive into the thick marble…

after going through the soft flesh first.

Each of the priests had their arms held directly over their heads. The metal bolts had pierced the back

of the hands, which had been first clasped together. Bolts had also been driven through the throats

and torsos.

The suggestion for such a visual display had come from the woman now leading the edyrem. The

priests had stolen away Uldyssian, Serenthia had vehemently claimed, and one by one they would be

hung so until some voice among those remaining revealed where he was.

But all the priests perished, each swearing that they did not know what had happened to the mob’s

leader. Serenthia had seized upon that to further scour the area for supporters of the sect, especially

among city leaders.

Three days after Uldyssian and his followers entered the city, Hashir was, in many ways, little more

than a scar.

The populace hid while this happened, fearful of both the temple and the newcomers. However, on

the fourth day, Serenthia—her long hair flowing wildly in the wind—went to the market center and

proclaimed in a voice that echoed throughout the city that she had now brought peace and hope to

Hashir. This was naturally met with some wariness on the part of the locals, but the edyrem ushered

many out of their homes so that they could see that she spoke the truth.

To her captive audience, Serenthia offered the same as Uldyssian, but not immediately. The Hashiri

had witnessed the might of the foreigners and so not a few were tempted. Yet, Serenthia did not show

even those the way, although she among all the edyrem should have been able to do so.

Instead, in the very temple they had conquered and even as the bodies of the priests fed some of the

local birds, good Romus found himself summoned for an audience with the master’s first acolyte. He

had no idea what Serenthia wanted of him, save that, if Uldyssian were no more—as was the rumor

vilely spreading through the ranks—then she was their only hope of not only continuing on, but even

merely surviving.

Serenthia had taken for her temporary quarters those of the local high priest. Romus, who had always

been poor even when he had been a brigand, could only marvel at the silken wall coverings and gold-

laced tapestries as he entered. Some of the regret that he had had for the harshness of the edyrem’s

actions in Hashir faded as he considered the Triune’s massive, ill-gotten wealth.

A moment later, he stopped short. Serenthia lay stretched across a reclining couch, her gaze on a

parchment in her hands. Her long, lush hair cascaded down her shoulders and even enshrouded part

of her face. She was a breathtaking sight to behold even in her battle-worn garments, especially to

Romus, who had been infatuated by Serenthia almost since the first he had seen her in the Parthan

square.

He finally managed to clear his throat, which made her immediately glance up.

“Romus!” The smile that lit up her face kindled the fire in his heart. Had Serenthia asked him to

singlehandedly fight a pack of the savage creatures called morlu, he would have willingly leapt into

the fray. “I feared you wouldn’t come!”

“How could I not, mistress? Anytime, for anything, all you need do is call and faithful Romus will

rush to obey…”

She sat up. “How poetic! But come! Why are you standing all the way over there by the doorway?”

Serenthia patted the couch. “Join me here!”

Bowing low, he hastened to approach. At the couch itself, the onetime thief hesitated, but again

Serenthia smiled and patted it.

He seated himself, leaving a respectful space between them. Romus looked at his mistress and

immediately found his gaze captivated by her glittering green eyes. A small part of him vaguely

wondered why he had once thought them blue. Surely, he could not have been so mistaken…

“Romus…you were one of those closest to Uldyssian besides myself.”

It took him a moment to notice the past tense. “We’ll find him, we will, mistress! Have no fear of

that!”

She shook her head. “No, dear, loyal Romus…even though I’ve said so to the people, I don’t think

we will. Like his brother, I fear Uldyssian’s lost to us forever!”

It was unthinkable. The master had defeated terrible demons and legions of warriors! Nothing could

take him so easily…and yet…

“Some say…mistress…some say that they saw his brother near him just before he vanished…

perhaps…”

“A disguise, like that worn by the two monsters who attacked me.” Serenthia shuddered, which made

Romus want to comfort her in his arms. “No, a demon took Uldyssian, of that I’m certain.” Her green

eyes bore deeper into his. “One almost took me even. Before Hashir.”

He was aghast. “Mistress! When?”

“In the jungle. When Uldyssian ordered us across the river. You recall?”

“Aye…” Romus gritted his teeth. In some ways, it bothered him even more that she had nearly been

taken than it did that Uldyssian was now missing. He found it impossible to imagine the edyrem

without her.

“Uldyssian…and even Mendeln…protected me then. Since they vanished, I’ve worked as hard as I

can to protect everyone else, but…I must tell you something, for your ears alone, dear Romus.”

“What? What?” Without realizing it, he slid closer until they were nearly touching.

“I am afraid. Afraid. I can protect the others, but who is there now to protect me?”

The answer escaped him before he realized how it sounded. “Me! I’ll always be there to protect you,

mistress!”

Before his face could redden too much from shame, Serenthia suddenly put a soft hand to his cheek.

She smiled. “You would? Would you really, Romus?”

It all began pouring out. “I’d give my life and soul for you, mistress! I’d stand against all the powers

of the Triune! I could never let anything happen to you!”

He expected her to throw him out for daring to speak so when it was evident to all how much the

master had meant to her.

And yet…

“Romus…” Serenthia whispered, her lips so close that he was nearly ready to sacrifice his life just to

kiss them once. “Romus…you’ve no idea how much that means to me…”

She caressed his cheek again, then, almost reluctantly, leaned back. The former brigand was unable to

stop himself from exhaling sharply.

“If you mean what you say…and I so very much hope that you do…this gives me another idea…”

Still recovering from before, Romus managed only a grunt of inquisitiveness.

“You know how Uldyssian introduced others to the gift. But with me, he delved deeper…and that’s

why I think that my abilities grew faster than anyone else’s.”

“Very likely, very likely,” he replied, glad to have a safe subject to discuss.

“I think…no…I know…how he did it. They were private moments, when he could focus on me

alone. You did notice that there were times when he and I were gone for hours?”

Romus recalled some such periods and felt for the first time a jealousy that the master had been able

to partake in them with the woman before him. “Yes…mistress…”

“Good!” Her eyes seemed to glow brighter than the torches in the chamber warranted. “Will you do

me the honor of doing as Uldyssian did with me? It’ll mean hours together, for which I apologize, but

with both him and Mendeln gone, someone else must step up…and I suppose you could better protect

me while I protect you…”

He could hardly deny her. “I’m yours, mistress. To my very soul, I’m yours. Teach me, if you think

me worthy…”

“I find you very worthy,” Serenthia returned in what from any other woman would have sounded coy

to Romus. Not the mistress, though. Not her.

Steeling himself, the brigand finally tore his gaze from hers. She wanted him merely as a fellow

comrade, nothing more. Everything that she had suggested made perfect sense; Romus should have

felt honored for that alone. If the master was indeed never returning, as she clearly believed, the least

that his loyal follower could do was to see that his legacy lived on.

Feeling better about his decision, Romus bowed his head. “When shall we start, mistress?”

Her smile curled higher. “Why not now?”

“Now?” He thought quickly. “Saron and some of the others’ll need to know, mistress, so they can do

without me…”

“They are capable of that already. You need go and tell them nothing…not even after tonight…”

Her hands went to his and when she touched them, a flush went through Romus. Trying to recover,

he looked to the doors and only then noticed that they were shut.

“I want us alone…the better to concentrate,” Serenthia explained. “You understand the need for

privacy, don’t you?”

“Yes…yes, mistress…”

She giggled, which caused his face to again flush. “And one more thing, dear Romus…” Her fingers

intertwined with his. “You need never call me ’mistress’…”

Thirteen

It sounded to Uldyssian as if something immense was breathing.

The cavern in which he and Rathma stood stretched so high that the stalactites forming above had

managed to grow many times the length of a man. The stalagmites had done fair, too, rising like squat

giants from the floor.

Ulydssian felt as if he stood in the mouth of a hungry beast. The “breathing” only added to that

disconcerting sensation.

It was the stalactites and stalagmites that were also the source of illumination for the tremendous

chamber, for radiating from deep within each was a ghostly crimson light whose source he could only

imagine. While he was grateful for their brightness, they, too, contributed to Uldyssian’s

overwhelming sense of unease.

“This is as far as I can risk bringing us by other than physical means,” Rathma commented with his

usual detachment. “You can sense why, I think.”

But now that he was getting over his astonishment at where he and his undesired companion had just

materialized, what Rathma had proclaimed just before their arrival once more seized hold of

Uldyssian.

Lilith had control of the edyrem…

Stirred anew by anger, he seized Rathma by the collar of his cloak. “What did you mean by what you

said before?” Uldyssian growled as he shook the demoness’s son. “How did it happen? How did she

do it?”

“You refer to my mother and her usurping of your followers,” the other said needlessly. “She is

cunning and keeps herself well shielded, but I have gradually considered that she must have

possessed the woman Serenthia at some point when she was out of your sight in all ways. From there,

it was a simple task to—”

Head pounding, Uldyssian roughly released Lilith’s son as he thought of just when it might have been

that the demoness had taken the merchant’s daughter. One incident immediately came to mind.

Serenthia had gone to get water and for once, he had not used his abilities to monitor her. She had

bent behind the lush plants and…and a moment later had gasped.

And fool that he had been, Uldyssian had taken her response to his concern at face value. He had

forgotten the twisted ways of Lilith…

“Serenthia…” he whispered. “It can’t be…she can’t be dead…”

“And she is not.”

Confusion, hope, and distrust warred for mastery over Uldyssian. “What do you mean? It’s Master

Ethon and his son all over again! That foul witch wears Serry’s skin like a damned dress! She

slaughtered her then stripped her of her flesh!”

Rathma shook his head. “No…for the game my mother’s chosen to play, she cannot disguise herself

so. Such a technique, while definitely demonic in nature, allows only a limited ability. Enough to fool

some priests or household servants for a time, but not for extended periods and needs. For this, Lilith

required a more careful, more delicate touch. She has literally had to make herself and the woman

one. My mother is like a haunting spirit that now guides each movement of the body, yet your

Serenthia is still within, but very, very deep asleep.”

Uldyssian’s heart, which had felt to him a moment before as if it had ceased beating, now pounded

with renewed life. “Then, she’s all right? If we can cast out Lilith, Serenthia will be herself again?”

“That, I cannot promise, son of Diomedes. Her slumber must be very strong, so that Lilith can also

have some access to her memories and thus better perpetuate the lie. Even if my mother is ousted, I

cannot in full honesty promise that your friend will be restored.”

“I should’ve never been taken from Hashir! I’ve got to go to her immediately, then! Send me from

this place or show me how to do it myself!”

But Rathma remained steadfast. “Had you been left in the situation from which we took you, you

would have at this point been nothing more than a shell acting on Lilith’s behalf. She is constantly

altering her plots as the moment invites, hence the difficulty of predicting her next move. Having

taken the woman’s body and seeing the foolish attack by whoever in turn played her role as Primus,

she obviously decided that you could not be trusted to lead as she wanted. In fact, my mother is the

reason that you were so weakened at the last moment. Clad as someone so dear to you, you let her

through much of your guard. She infiltrated your body and soul, manipulating your thoughts and

actions. If we had not taken you when we had, Hashir would have proven the point where Lilith took

utter mastery over you, as well, Uldyssian.”

“So, instead she has it over Serenthia and the others,” Uldyssian retorted. “Your help seems more

trouble for me than it’s worth…”

Rathma acknowledged his comment with a slight tilt of his head, adding, “I have erred much too

much. I agree. But alone you would have fallen quickly to her. There is still opportunity to remedy

this, if you will just listen.”

“Serenthia—”

“Will be lost forever if you try to separate her from Lilith at this juncture. As distasteful as I, too, find

it, my mother must be given her free hand for the moment. But only for the moment.”

Such a vile thought did not sit at all well with Uldyssian. He could not imagine what would become

of Serenthia and the rest under the wicked guidance of the demoness. Yet, he had to admit that

confronting Lilith would be a monumental task; how could he keep from injuring or possibly even

slaying Serenthia?

“What can we do?” he finally demanded of the pale figure. “Tell me that, at least!”

Rathma gestured ahead to where a passage at the far end beckoned. “We can go on to where we

should.”

It was the sort of answer that Uldyssian had unfortunately expected. Still, as much as possible, he

intended that matters would from here on go as he wanted. With that in mind, he strode off at a quick

pace past the other.

Taller and longer of leg, Rathma quickly caught up to him. Lilith’s son then kept pace, perhaps trying

to make Uldyssian not feel so guided.

They journeyed through a mazelike series of corridors that someone had meticulously carved out

long, long ago. The corridors had no illumination, but Rathma pulled free his dagger, uttered a word

in the strange tongue he had used previous, and suddenly the blade shone. Because of that alone,

Uldyssian finally fell back a step behind his companion.

As they made their way, Uldyssian could not help but feel that someone or something watched them.

He did not broach the subject with Rathma, for fear of the answer that the other might give.

Uldyssian had enough with which to concern himself already.

After what seemed the dozenth meandering passage, Rathma finally looked back at him. “We are

nearly there. I ask that you pay careful attention to yourself…”

The black-clad figure did not clarify what he meant. Uldyssian resolved to continue to keep on his

guard. What else could he do? The breathing sound that he had first heard in the outer cavern was not

so loud it pounded in his ears. Whatever it was that they sought, it was very likely also the source of

the ominous sound.

Then, but a few steps after Rathma’s warning, what felt like a wave of intense heat washed over

Uldyssian. Yet, the heat rolled through him from within, not without. He felt his pulse quicken and all

his concerns—Serenthia, Mendeln, the edyrem, and the rest—magnified at least a thousandfold. His

step faltered and it was all he could do to smother a moan.

Ahead, Rathma continued on as if unmindful of his plight. That only upset Uldyssian more. How

could the fool not see that they wasted their time, that they faced insurmountable hurdles? How could

he—

Rathma’s warning came back to him. Shaking with effort, Uldyssian forced away the rising fears, the

worries…and suddenly the heat within dissipated.

“You are better again?” the cowled figure asked without looking back.

“You could’ve given better warning than you did!”

Still facing the path before them, Rathma shook his head. “No, regrettably, I could not.”

Uldyssian might have argued that, but then a faint red gleam arose from the far end of the corridor. At

the same time, there came a sound like shattering glass that reverberated through the passage.

Uldyssian stepped up next to Rathma, who slowed his own pace.

“Stay near me when we enter the chamber. Our way is not completely clear.”

“Not even for you?”

“This place is of my father’s making.”

His words were punctuated by another loud crash. Keeping wary, Uldyssian did as he was bade. His

pulse raced again and although he knew that it had to do with what lay farther on, he was unable to

calm himself.

“What is it?” Uldyssian finally had to ask.

“The making and unmaking of us. Inarius’s ultimate yoke for humanity. You shall see…”

As they drew closer, the crimson gleam—and the slow but incessant breathing—grew even more

pronounced. Whatever lay within the chamber glittered as bright as a sun. Rathma muttered

something and his dagger dulled. However, Lilith’s son did not put the weapon away.

“Be wary…” Rathma warned as they reached the end of the corridor. “Take each step slowly.”

Together, they entered the new cavern. However, immediately the light became so glaring that even

when Uldyssian shielded his eyes, it was impossible to see beyond his own feet.

And then—“We are under attack!”

The warning from Rathma barely came in time. A high-pitched squeal almost deafened Uldyssian.

Acting on instinct, he immediately created a barrier above him.

There was a heavy thump and an angry shriek. Uldyssian heard the flapping of wings. It was swiftly

followed by scratching and more squealing. He was under assault by more than one of the foul

creatures.

Uldyssian spun around so that he faced the tunnel. That enabled him to just barely see. Out of the

corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a leathery wing.

From elsewhere, Rathma called out. Uldyssian did not understand him and so assumed that the

ancient figure was casting some sort of spell. That reminded him that he, too, supposedly had

fantastic abilities. Swearing under his breath, Uldyssian listened for the next approaching attacker.

The sound of wings from his left was all that he needed. He thrust a hand in that direction.

Whatever flew at him let out another squeal. Whether this was designed to shatter his eardrums or for

some other reason, Uldyssian now used the cry against the creature. He repelled the squeal, letting it

strike back with several times its original intensity.

From the direction of his foe came another shriek, followed by the thumping of a body against what

Uldyssian believed rock. The shrieking continued, but with a pained tone to it. Thumping

accompanied the cry, as if the winged beast was going through convulsions.

Rathma somehow cut through the multitude of squeals. “Uldyssian! Back up to my voice!”

Uldyssian obeyed. An anxious breath later, he collided with what he hoped was the pale figure.

The ivory dagger flashed before Uldyssian’s pained eyes. Before he could react, he heard Rathma

chant something.

The dagger flared, blinding Uldyssian. He wondered if he had been duped all along, that Rathma had

brought him here at Lilith’s request so that she could humiliate him one last time before he perished.

Yet after that moment of blindness, Uldyssian’s eyesight not only returned, but became normal…

something even he, with his powers, had not been able to accomplish. Now he could see well enough

to turn from the tunnel.

And what he saw left him dead in his tracks.

The cavern he stood within dwarfed the previous one. It dropped deep below as well as rose high

above. Rathma and he stood on what was actually some wide, ancient platform carved from stone. It

was several yards long and at the end stretched to each side. Uldyssian realized that if the creatures

had driven him much farther to the right, he would have fallen to his doom.

A low wall lined the platform and at the corners were small constructions built like step pyramids.

Atop each glowed a tiny—and in this chamber—insignificant light.

The chamber’s own color reminded Uldyssian of a living heart fresh with blood. He only studied that

aspect for a moment, though, for that which was the focus of this place now demanded his absolute

attention.

It resembled some of the crystalline formations that, as a boy, Uldyssian had found in the small caves

at home, but none of those had stood well over a hundred feet high—perhaps even more than two

hundred, since the base was too deep down to view—consisting of several monoliths jutting in a

dozen different directions. Unlike the formations he recalled, this behemoth had a harshness to its

look, with its jagged appearance and frightening crimson color.

Each facet of the gargantuan formation contained thousands of minute ones. From within it emanated

not only the illumination that had so burnt Uldyssian’s eyes, but, deeper yet, flashes of multicolored

lightning. The overall light from the great crystal not only extended the entire length and breadth of

the cavern—itself vast enough to fit the village of Seram and its surrounding lands within at least

twenty times over—but looked as if it seeped through the very stone walls.

With each burst of lightning, the formation pulsated and at last Uldyssian understood the source of

the “breathing.”

There came another ear-tearing, shattering sound. Uldyssian looked up and for the first time noticed

that smaller fragments of the crystal—”smaller” as in only two or three times his height and width—

floated around much of the cavern in seemingly random directions. The harsh noise had come from

two such pieces colliding. The broken fragments spilled around—and then began to re-form in

different designs.

All this Uldyssian drank in in only a few scant seconds. Then, a more immediate and highly

grotesque sight took Uldyssian’s attention from the astounding crystal. Four winged furies with heads

resembling skinned hounds dove down at him from various points above. The creatures had savage

teeth and ears long and wide. Their snouts were fat, with wide nostrils. The only thing the heads

lacked were eyes. There were not even gaps where the eyes should have been. It was almost as if

whatever had created them had forgone such on purpose.

Perhaps that was not far from the truth. Of what use were eyes in this place, where only Rathma’s

magic had enabled Uldyssian to see anything. Of better use were the huge ears and the nostrils, which

could ferret out any prey entering.

Each of the beasts had a wingspan of at least six feet, and like the bats they somewhat resembled in

shape, those wings were also their hands. Yet, unlike bats, the claws of these aberrations were each

longer than Uldyssian’s hand and so razor-sharp that to be cut by them even once would surely cause

a gaping, dangerous wound.

Uldyssian cupped his hand. A blue energy formed over his palm. He threw it at the nearest of the

fiends.

The blue energy engulfed its target…and vanished in a puff. The winged fury shook its head, stunned

but otherwise unhindered. Certainly not turned to ash, as Uldyssian had assumed it would be.

Startled by this failure, he barely recovered in time to re-create the shield. Even that was not as strong

as it generally was, and with three—then four—assailing it, Uldyssian began to sweat.

It was Rathma, naturally, who supplied an answer. From farther in, Lilith’s son—his vast cloak

seeming to provide him with the same protection as Uldyssian’s barrier—shouted, “Your powers are

dampened here! It is the effect of the crystal! You must focus harder, whatever you attempt!”

Cursing the other for not having told him this before they had entered, Uldyssian concentrated more

on the barrier. By now, seven of the bizarre beasts fluttered about him, each seeking to shred his

flesh. Up close, he saw that they had no true bodies whatsoever. There were the shriveled remnants of

a torso and what might have been vestigial legs. The creatures were essentially composed of wings

and head. Uldyssian wondered whether they even ate…then decided such a question was one for

which he would prefer not to have an answer.

Mouths snapped at his face, sometimes coming much closer than he desired. Forcing himself to calm

down despite the frenzied efforts of his attackers, Uldyssian wondered how best to defend himself.

What he had assumed a deadly attack had failed miserably. Uldyssian had to choose well, for when

he struck, his shield would also weaken. Even with his recuperative powers, he doubted that he would

survive long should even one beast manage a slash.

In the end, there was only one strategy that came to mind, a variation on something he had done

earlier. Drawing himself up, Uldyssian took a deep breath…and whistled.

To his own ears—and hopefully to Rathma’s as well—all he did was let out a long, loud, single note.

Certain that his efforts would again be muted by the massive crystal, the son of Diomedes

concentrated as much of his will as he dared—possibly even more—into the whistle. As he did, he

felt a wing brush against his shoulder…

But in the next instant, just as what felt like a claw touched his arm, every winged monster around

Uldyssian let out a bloodcurdling shriek. They pulled back from him, then whirled around as if

entirely mad. Two immediately collided, but instead of merely separating, tore at each other as they

had at the human. Another crashed into the rocky wall of the cavern, then repeated the accident over

and over until it finally crashed on the floor.

Three others simply dropped to the ground, where they screeched and shook their heads as if trying

to remove something.

“I would not have believed it if I had not witnessed it,” Rathma called in his ear. The cowled figure

stepped up next to Uldyssian. “What you did should not have been possible for you in this of all

places.”

“I just followed your advice. I just concentrated harder. It worked.”

“It should not have…especially not to this degree. Look around you, Uldyssian ul-Diomed. Look

around you and see the truth of that.”

Uldyssian did as he was bade…and his eyes widened at the results of his desperate attempt.

More than three score creatures either flew or lay in states of chaos. Two collided with floating

fragments. Several fought furiously with one another, while others on the ground twitched wildly. At

least two were savagely biting themselves to such a degree that their deaths were certain.

Then, two in aerial combat dropped. A moment later, some of those on the floor stilled. As Uldyssian

looked around, the cavern’s denizens one by one simply fell to the ground…and died.

“I don’t—I don’t understand…”

Rathma shrugged as if it should all make perfect sense to anyone. There was a red scar on his chin

and a tear in his garments just above where Uldyssian supposed his heart should be. The creatures

had gotten closer to slaying the ancient being than they had the son of Diomedes. “You recalled their

similarity to bats, obviously. You imagined that, if you whistled loud and used the power within to

amplify it, you would at least injure or confuse some…yes?”

“Yes…but…I thought I might succeed with those before me, but…”

“You should have been fortunate to do that, even with my warning.” Rathma shook his head.

“Uldyssian ul-Diomed, you are not what you should be.” He looked over his shoulder. “And the

reason for that must have to do with you…”

That to which Lilith’s son referred was none other than the vast, menacing crystal. Even with bat

creatures perishing all around them, Uldyssian could not help but again stare in fascination at it.

Never could he have imagined such a thing existing.

“What is it?” he at last asked. “Why is it here?”

Rathma gestured at the floating giant. “It is the reason why no nephalem or anything akin to it has

risen lo these many centuries, my friend. It is the reason why you and yours should not exist! You

stand before the curse of all the descendants of those angels and demons who forged Sanctuary! You

stand before the Worldstone…”

Merely hearing the name sent an involuntary shiver through Uldyssian, as if some part of him should

have always known of this incredible artifact…known of it and rightly feared its existence.

Even with the aid of Rathma’s spell, the Worldstone was hard to eye directly. Uldyssian discovered

that he could best observe it by glancing slightly to the side. Even then, it sparkled as if reflecting a

hundred red suns.

“Inarius thought the nephalem a disease, a disgrace to what he was. To him, we should have never

been. He only agreed to consider our fate as opposed to erasing us from existence because of the

protests of the others. I feel that he would have yet chosen to follow through with his original

intention if not for my mother murdering the other refugees. That act altered everything. Had Inarius

exterminated us afterward, then he would have been all alone, something which even he could not

stand. Yet, the notion of the nephalem disgusted him and that is why he took the Worldstone—which

had been created in great part as a manner by which to hide Sanctuary from the eyes of the High

Heavens and the Burning Hells—and altered its resonance.”

Uldyssian had been trying to follow Rathma’s tale as best as possible, but did not understand the last

at all. “What does that mean? What would that do?”

“What it means is thus; in addition to secreting this realm, the Worldstone also began a steady and

subtle dampening process. Each succeeding generation of nephalem became far less powerful than

the previous, until, in very short order, those next born were bereft of any ability. Soon, only a few

from the first generation—myself and Bul-Kathos, to name the obvious—survived. The gifts—or

curse—of our forebears was forgotten. Inarius began reshaping Sanctuary to his satisfaction…and to

his iron rule.”

Uldyssian could feel the Worldstone’s radiance and did not doubt that it had the ability to utterly

smother his powers. Yet, why was it not doing so now?

“This is the work of Lilith,” Rathma quietly declared.

“Do you read my mind?”

The demoness’s son shook his head. “I read…sensations. It is almost like reading thoughts, but far

more accurate, for thoughts can be filled with lies.”

Once again confused, Uldyssian turned back to the subject at hand. “What’s she done?”

“Clearly, my mother altered the resonance of the Worldstone again, so that now its effect is minimal

and limited more or less to Mount Arreat, if that. Even in its presence, you were able to overcome it.

With the Worldstone no longer a hindrance, the natural process enabling the nephalem powers could

now flourish. You are the result of that…the first, anyway.”

The more he stood near it, the more Uldyssian sensed the Worldstone’s emanations. He imagined

them a thousand times greater…no, a thousand thousand times. What Rathma had said made more

sense. With such mighty forces sweeping over Sanctuary, his kind would surely never have come into

existence. Only Lilith’s interference had changed that.

He suddenly cursed the artifact, hating it for having smothered the potential of all humans, hating it

for failing that duty and forcing him and his followers into their current desperate situation.

Then, something occurred to him. “Rathma…could it be altered again?”

“A question I have pondered and the true reason we are here, son of Diomedes.” The black-cloaked

figure gestured toward the Worldstone. “What would you have of it? Would you return to what you

once were? Make yourself somehow more mighty? Tell me, Uldyssian ul-Diomed…”

Uldyssian would have liked desperately to unmake all that had happened to him, to somehow return

to the day before Lilith had entered his life and begun his trials. Yet he doubted that even the

Worldstone was capable of that. At most, it would remove from him and the others the nephalem

gifts. Unfortunately, it would not remove the threat of the Triune, now surely determined to deal with

those defying its will and existence. Moreover, he doubted that the angel Inarius would let things be,

either.

Which left only one option…

“Can the Worldstone really be altered to make us more powerful?”

“No, not directly, but it can be altered to encourage the gifts’ growth. That would, in essence, result

in much the same of what you desire.”

To Uldyssian, that was all that mattered. “Tell me what I can do.”

“This is the Worldstone. For you to achieve what you desire, you must think it. The crystal will either

accept your will or deny it.”

“That simple?”

Rathma grimaced. “No…not in the least.”

Tired of his companion’s murky and often contradictory statements, Uldyssian turned his complete

focus on the huge crystal. The Worldstone pulsated almost hypnotically.

You must think it…Rathma had said. Uldyssian tried to clear his thoughts, then concentrated on what

he wished.

We need to be stronger, he told the Worldstone. We need our powers to grow faster…

The Worldstone did not outwardly change in any way, but Uldyssian felt something within start to

shift in response to his probing. He repeated his desire, emphasizing the need for more power and

quickly.

But the slight shifting of—of the resonance?—went no further. Try as he might, Uldyssian could not

do more. Although he forced every iota of his will upon the Worldstone, in the end it was he who fell

back gasping and defeated.

Rathma’s gloved hands took hold of his arm. Sweating and furious, Uldyssian glared at his

companion.

Lilith’s son wore an expression of utter shock.

That, in turn, left Uldyssian momentarily gaping. He had never seen such a show of raw emotion

from Rathma.

“What’s wrong?” he finally managed to ask. “Is there danger?”

“The Worldstone…” the pale figure whispered almost reverently. The narrow eyes darted from

Uldyssian to the gleaming artifact and then back to the human. “I wanted to see…but I never

expected…it was a theory…no more than that…no more…”

Again, he made no sense to Uldyssian, especially after a glance at the gargantuan crystal revealed

nothing changed. “What’re you talking about? I failed.”

“Do not look with your eyes…look with your mind and soul.”

Brow furrowed, Uldyssian stared again at the Worldstone, but this time also delved into it using other

senses. He still found nothing different; the Worldstone reverberated as it had before, not even the

slightest—

No…there was a hint of a change, so intricate that it was no surprise that he had earlier missed it. But

such an alteration could hardly cause any worthwhile effect…could it?

“I did something after all. Not much. Will it mean anything?”

Rathma uttered a sound, then murmured, “Observe the structure of the artifact, Uldyssian. Observe it

at the very core. You can do that…”

Uldyssian concentrated more…and found himself staring deep within the Worldstone. He saw the

fine, crystalline pattern that made up the fantastic formation and marveled at the minute details. Tiny,

five-sided segments multiplied endlessly and formed the stone’s most basic structure. Uldyssian

could not help but admire their perfection. That the artifact had been created as opposed to being a

natural formation astounded him so much that he briefly forgot the trouble it had caused him.

But none of this had to do with his search. He was about to give up when one small area near the

heart caught his attention. There was something not right about it. Immediately, Uldyssian knew that

this was the source of the alteration in the Worldstone’s resonance. He thrust his mind deeper, seeing

more detail—

Seeing where the rest of the Worldstone was composed of a five-sided pattern, this one part had six

edges.

What had been perfect, was now flawed…impossibly so.

He withdrew immediately. “Lilith’s work—”

“No, son of Diomedes…your work.” Rathma’s gaze burrowed into him. “My mother altered the

resonance through a spell, which affected outcome but not structure. I expect you to do the same, or

more likely, fail. It was a desperate chance, but one I felt worthy. You had been cast this near the

Worldstone for a reason, I thought…”

“It was an accident that I came here.”

“Have you not discovered yet that there are no accidents?” the shrouded figure returned. “I did not

know what to expect, but certainly not this. Uldyssian ul-Diomed, you have altered the very essence

of the Worldstone, something that should not be possible…” Rathma frowned. “And whether that

means good or ill for our hopes, I fear that we can only wait…and pray…”

Fourteen

Achilios stirred. He did not wake, for the suggestion of waking itself referred to sleep, which was an

impossibility for one in his state.

Yet he had not been conscious. As the archer slowly pushed his face from the muddy jungle soil, he

wondered what had happened to him. Achilios recalled the tentacles of the Triune’s demonic servant

starting to pull him asunder, but after that, it was all a blank.

Thinking of the beast, he leapt to his feet. Achilios gave thanks that, despite the lurid tales he had

heard as a child, he was at least a very agile dead man. He supposed he should be grateful to the

dragon for that, but in some ways being so near to alive, and yet not, left a bitter coldness inside.

Near to alive was not the same as being alive.

Then, memory of what he was actually doing in this part of the jungle came back to him. Achilios

spun around to face Hashir.

But the edge of the city closest to his location was in ruins.

He stared without blinking—another habit of the living he no longer required—trying to decipher just

how long it had been since the destruction. The gates, the walls surrounding them…those had been

smashed as if by giant fists. Within, two of the triple towers had been destroyed, one not even visible

anymore from his point of view. The sole remaining tower—Dialon’s, if Achilios was not mistaken—

leaned precariously. A hint of smoke rose from the area below the towers.

This destruction happened at least a day, maybe two, Achilios estimated. Hopefully, no more than

that.

Yet, even that was too long. She would not be here. At first chance, she would have ordered

Uldyssian’s followers on…but to where? He no longer understood her plan, not that any of it

mattered that much to him now. Only one thing was of importance to the hunter, no matter what

Trag’Oul or Rathma might insist otherwise.

Serenthia—his Serenthia—had been possessed by the damned demoness.

At the thought of what Lilith had done, Achilios seized up his bow. He imagined Uldyssian’s

treacherous lover in his sight. An arrow through the heart. An arrow imbued with the magic of the

serpentine dragon…

But that would mean slaying Serenthia as well.

Despite what he knew they would insist, Achilios felt that there had to be another way. Serenthia was

not dead, her flesh peeled off so neatly by demonic magic so that Lilith could parade in it. No, the

woman he loved was still there, albeit deep asleep. Somehow, she had to be stirred awake so that she

could battle Lilith from within while others fought the demoness from without.

Somehow…

First, you’ve got to track her down, you dolt! He had no idea how much of a head start Uldyssian’s

followers had or whether they were proceeding to the same destination as originally intended. All

Achilios could do was what he did best. Follow his target.

It was daytime, which meant that the living were about. However great the devastation on this end of

Hashir, the common folk would still need to eke out a living, be it hunting, farming, or fishing.

Achilios was grateful that no one had come across his body, lest he find himself forced to dig out of

yet another grave, or worse, trying desperately to douse the fires of a pyre. His lone encounter with

one of the locals had been enough to make Achilios wary of any repeat. He was too recognizably

dead even on his feet. Equally frustrating was the fact that, thanks to his collapse, he had more dirt

than ever caked on his body. A quick attempt to brush some of that away had proven nearly as futile

as removing the original coating. It seemed that the soil in general believed that Achilios belonged to

it and refused to give up attempting to put him under again.

He would not allow it to do that until he had done everything he could for his beloved.

Like a shadow, the hunter slipped through the jungle around Hashir. Twice, he came across some of

the inhabitants, but they were slow of wit compared to him and Achilios readily avoided detection.

He finally managed to reach the area beyond the ruined gate, where he hoped that he would find clues

to those he sought.

That actually proved easier than he thought. The edyrem had grown in numbers again, so much so

that the trail they left was like that of a herd of the giant animals with the snakelike noses that the

lowlanders used for some chores or rode almost like horses. Even a blind man could have followed

the mass exodus he confronted.

But what surprised him was that they were not headed, as they should have been, on the route that

would take them to the main temple. Instead, they were veering even farther south, to an area he

knew nothing about.

What was Lilith up to?

Achilios shoved on. Whatever it was did not ultimately matter. He would catch up to them no matter

where they journeyed.

Hopefully, by then he would have some plan…

They are returning…

Those three words cheered Mendeln more than he could have imagined. He looked up from the task

the dragon had set for him, learning how to even better focus his will through the astonishing dagger.

It had been going surprisingly well. He was amazed at his inherent ability to manipulate the tool,

especially considering how short a time it had been his.

But now, all interest in the blade vanished as he stood up and looked around. “Where? Where?”

And suddenly, Uldyssian and Rathma stood before him. His brother appeared as relieved as he. The

sons of Diomedes hugged one another while Rathma gazed on stone-faced and a sense of amusement

radiated from the celestial serpent. The many images of life continually flashed into and out of view

as the creature undulated.

Be not so disdainful of familial affection, my good Rathma, Trag’oul remarked so that all could sense

him.

“My experience with such has not been the best and you should know that.”

Mendeln and Uldyssian separated. The first thing out of Uldyssian’s mouth was, “Serenthia…Lilith’s

possessed her…it happened before Hashir…”

“As I also understand it, although at first I feared that she had been slain like Master Ethon.”

Mendeln gave the starry being a short look of frustration for that temporary shock. Still, Serenthia’s

current situation was not all that much better. “We must find a way to force the demoness out…”

“That will not be so simple,” interjected Rathma. “I know of old how tight my mother can cling to

that which is of use to her…as you might also recall, Uldyssian ul-Diomed.”

Uldyssian bared his teeth at the tall figure. “I don’t give a damn! I’ve got to save her…and the others,

too! At the very least, they need to be warned!”

Rathma looked to the dragon. “Trag?”

Her influence is already mounting. Uldyssian is weakened in the eyes of his edyrem.

“And whose fault is that?” Mendeln’s brother roared. He shook a fist at the stars. “Who took me

away? Who kept me from going to her?”

Had you returned immediately, in the condition that you were in, she would have easily subdued

you…

“He speaks the truth,” Rathma added. “She had already infested you with her darkness. A return to

Lilith at that time would have only served to allow her to complete her spell.”

Mendeln understood just what they were saying, but felt the need to defend his sibling. “Why could

we have not done more, then?”

“You should understand better than that,” returned Lilith’s son bluntly. “Trag’Oul cannot be known

to exist, neither by my dear parents nor the Burning Hells or High Heavens. For the greater good of

all Sanctuary—and for its very survival—he must always be hidden from their sight in order to help

make certain that the world remains in Balance.” Rathma took a breath, then added, “As for me, my

fate lies elsewhere, as I have known all along. I can say no more.”

It was hardly an answer to satisfy Mendeln, much less Uldyssian, but both had come to know that

they would get no more from Rathma.

In fact, Uldyssian was clearly growing impatient to do something…anything. Mendeln had seen his

brother like this on a few rare occasions and feared what would happen if they delayed further.

“All is not without hope,” he started to tell Uldyssian. “There is another who is even now—”

But he got no further. Uldyssian blurted, “Small wonder that Inarius and the demons have been able

to play with our world for so long! You do nothing but interfere with those who’re no danger to you

and stand idle against those most of a threat!”

Mendeln put a calming hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Uldyssian…”

But the older sibling ignored the younger. “Tell me, Rathma! Did we accomplish anything with the

Worldstone? Has anything changed?”

“Most certainly, but how much must be deduced by careful observation—”

“I’ve observed enough! I—”

HOLD!

Although Trag’Oul’s outburst happened only within them, it was as if thunder had just exploded.

Even Rathma clutched his head in pain from the loudness.

The angel is active.

Those words brought the three others to attention. Uldyssian glanced at Mendeln, who indicated he

should instead study Rathma.

The pale figure was, if anything, more pale than ever. Yet it was not fear that Mendeln sensed in the

other. Rather, he believed it something more akin to resignation.

“It is settled, then,” Rathma said.

That is your choice. I have always said that…

“No…it is my father’s choice…never mine…” Rathma eyed the two mortals. “But perhaps…perhaps

I have been overanalyzing…perhaps…” His narrow eyes narrowed further as they focused on

Uldyssian.

Mendeln’s brother vanished.

“What did you do?” Mendeln demanded. He could not sense Uldyssian anywhere.

“I sent him where he needed to be.”

Loyalty stirred within the younger brother. “Then, I shall go with—”

“No…I will need you for the confrontation.” Rathma’s resignation grew more pronounced. “I trust

you’ve been educating him swiftly, Trag?”

As much as can be done. You are not bound to this…

“Aah, but I am. Come, Mendeln.”

Well suspecting that he had no choice in the matter, Mendeln still wanted to know into what he was

being forced. “And where do you take me when I would be at my brother’s side? Where?”

Rathma spread his cloak wide, his look now that of death itself. “I would take you to the place I

would rather be farthest from. I would—no—I must, I am sorry to say, bring you with me…to stand

before my loving father…”

Uldyssian stood in the jungle.

At first, he welcomed the sight. Rathma had finally given in and sent him where he needed to be.

Then, Uldyssian noticed that he was once more missing Mendeln.

He shook a fist at the thick canopy above. “Damn you again, Rathma! You’re no better than those

you disclaim as your parents!”

But neither Lilith’s son nor the great beast responded. Uldyssian concentrated on Mendeln, trying to

first draw his brother to him, and then when that failed, attempting to return to the emptiness that was

Trag’Oul’s domain.

But still nothing happened.

Before he could consider what else to try, Uldyssian sensed something that completely took his

attention from his brother.

Serenthia—Lilith—both of them—were nearby.

Aware that for the moment there was nothing that he could do for Mendeln, Uldyssian immediately

focused on the new situation. Trust Rathma to throw him into the thick of things. Why was Lilith’s

son not here to deal with his mother? What could be more important than that?

But that could not be a concern for Uldyssian. What mattered at the moment was to make certain that

the demoness did not sense his presence. Throwing everything he could into shielding himself from

her sight—and hoping that he knew what he was doing—Uldyssian cautiously moved on. If it was to

be him alone against his former lover, then so be it. He would not let her continue her evil…

It was now nightfall, something that at first disconcerted him. Time in the dragon’s realm seemed to

pass oddly; he had expected it to be much earlier in the day. Still, the cover of darkness would surely

assist Uldyssian, who wanted to stay out of sight of his followers until he could gauge what influence

Lilith might have already had on them.

While it was tempting to confront her in front of the others, Uldyssian doubted that such a maneuver

would work in his favor. With Lilith it was best to render her harmless first…somehow. Only then

could he worry about the rest of the problem.

As he approached the encampment, it was evident that the ranks of the edyrem had swollen since

Hashir, something that did not please Uldyssian as it might have once. Most of the newcomers would

be of Lilith’s making, although he wondered how she had accomplished that. The fact that the

demoness had chosen him for her dupe had made him assume that she needed him to easier awaken

the gifts within other humans, but the large number of new edyrem Uldyssian sensed gave the lie to

that…so it seemed.

Uldyssian circled the area, surreptitiously seeking evidence of Lilith without her noticing him in turn.

He did not have complete faith in his ability to stay hidden from her for very long.

The jungle sloped down, giving him at last a fairly good view of the main part of the encampment.

He gazed with only the barest interest at the hodgepodge of tents, blankets, and lean-tos. Somehow,

he doubted that Lilith would deign to sleep in one of those. Still, he knew that she had to be close—

A structure in the very midst of the edyrem made Uldyssian freeze. A large stone building

illuminated by torches stood before him. At first he thought it some old hunter’s lodge, but as

Uldyssian eyed the building further, he noted more than just the sharply pointed door frame and the

oddly angled roof. The fluted columns, the scrollwork on the door, they all added up to one thing.

Albeit smaller and more ancient than any he had seen before, this was obviously some sort of temple.

Even as that registered, his eyes—augmented by him to see well in the night—caught sight of

something that further chilled his blood.

There was a relief of Serenthia’s face atop the entrance.

Her expression was that of a glorious and understanding goddess, not a human woman. Even though

the face looked as if it had always been a part of the building, clearly it was new.

He understood immediately what it meant. Through Serenthia, Lilith was creating a cult focusing on

her. In fact, although Uldyssian could not be entirely certain from his vantage point, it seemed that

the more he studied Serenthia’s face, the more there appeared subtle hints of another mixed with her

features.

And then he recognized to whom they belonged. Lilith. It was obvious that she already intended to

make herself their mistress in body as well as spirit. At some point, she could then cast off

Serenthia’s form, perhaps even return as “Lylia” somehow.

Fighting his smoldering anger, Uldyssian wondered about the ancient temple. It could not be

coincidence that had brought Lilith to it; she did not work that way. This structure had been her

intended destination.

That realization further sent a chill running through Uldyssian. Something was to happen here,

something integral to the demoness’s desires…

Most of the edyrem began settling down for the night, no doubt exhausted from their arduous trek.

There were more sentries than ever, far more than should have been warranted. More disturbing to

Uldyssian was their manner, which seemed colder and wary of even their slumbering comrades. The

guards were a mix of Parthans and lowlanders, some recognizable by face to him. Most were male,

but a few women—equally dark of expression—also walked among them.

Even without trying, Uldyssian could sense a shadow over their souls, a taint that bespoke of Lilith.

Without warning, one of the sentries glanced in his direction. Biting back an epithet, Uldyssian

strengthened his shield and backed deeper into the jungle. Frowning, the guard took a step toward his

hiding place.

You see nothing, Uldyssian thought at the man. Merely the jungle. It was all your imagination…

He had never attempted to influence another in such a manner and hoped that by attempting to do so

he did not give himself away. The sentry stood looking for a moment more…then grunted and

returned to his post.

Slipping farther on, Uldyssian berated himself for his carelessness. He had come too close to

revealing his presence…and to a guard. Had it been Lilith, surely Uldyssian would have been

discovered.

Was Lilith inside the temple? Unable to sense her properly, Uldyssian could only assume so. Taking

the utmost precautions, he tried harder to probe the structure.

Tried and quickly failed. There was a shroud of sorts around it, making whatever was going on inside

undetectable by anyone, even him. That only served to make Uldyssian even more anxious. What

would Lilith desire so much to hide even as she insisted that it took place surrounded by those with

the potential to sense it?

He feared he had some idea…and that forced a decision upon him. Lilith surely could not act until

most of her “followers” were sleeping. If Uldyssian could reach the building undetected—

There was a sudden movement to his left. He barely secreted himself in time to avoid being seen by a

figure passing by. Uldyssian caught his breath as he recognized the bald man striding at the edge of

the camp.

Romus.

Uldyssian dared not let the moment slip away. Concentrating, the son of Diomedes reached out to the

Parthan.

Romus smothered a gasp. With casual movements, he turned toward the jungle, then slipped out of

sight of the camp.

A breath later, the two men faced one another. Romus could not hide his startlement. “Master

Uldyssian? We thought you dead! Where were you?” He hesitated, then added, “It is you and not

some phantom, yes?”

“It’s me. Praise be, Romus! You of all people I could use now!”

The former brigand blinked, then returned, “I am at your service, Master Uldyssian, surely!”

Nodding in gratitude, Uldyssian pulled his companion farther away from the camp. “First, I must

know something, Romus…how did the edyrem fare in Hashir?”

“It was a bloody thing! The temple had magic and might greater than we could’ve imagined! Aye,

there were some lost, Master Uldyssian, Tomo among them.”

Tomo. Uldyssian mourned all those slain, but he had come to know eager Tomo better than many.

“How fares Saron?”

“He’s sworn to avenge his cousin’s death with a hundred of the Triune’s when next we come upon

them…”

The blood kept flowing. Uldyssian blamed himself, but he also blamed beings like Lilith, Inarius, and

Rathma for thinking so little of mortal life.

They would pay. They would all pay…with Lilith first.

That brought him back to another question that had to be answered quickly. “That ancient structure.

How does it come to be that you’re all here, near it, and not on your way to the main temple?”

Romus’s face lit up. “’Twas Serenthia! She had a vision and saw this place! Such a new and

wonderful power! Even you’ve never had that, have you, Master Uldyssian?”

“No.” Uldyssian doubted that any of the edyrem had experienced such an ability or possibly ever

would. “No…and I fear that neither has Serenthia.”

“What do you mean?”

“Romus, has she…has Serenthia seemed different?”

“Different?” The bald man shrugged. “When you vanished, she took up the struggle and saved many

of us who might’ve joined Tomo! She brought spirit back to us, Master Uldyssian, when we thought

you were no more!”

Lilith had done her work well, judging by Romus’s rapt expression and marveling tone. Uldyssian

had returned just in time.

He took the man by the shoulders. Romus had come far from the disreputable figure that had watched

him from far across the Parthan square. “Listen to me. Nothing is what it seems. You believe that

Serenthia’s been guiding all of you since my disappearance—”

“Aye, of course—”

Vehemently shaking his head, Uldyssian went on, “You’re all being tricked, Romus! That is

Serenthia in body in there, yes, but what you hear and see is the work of a demon, the sister of the

foul Lucion! You know of whom I speak!”

The edyrem’s visage clouded. “You speak of Lilith, of whom we’ve all heard, aye. Can it be true that

you’re saying Serenthia’s her in disguise! It can’t be!”

“She possesses Serenthia. Serenthia is there, deep in slumber. What you’ve seen, what you’ve

experienced, I promise you, Romus, that the true Serenthia would have had nothing to do with it…”

“Nothing…aye…” Romus looked down in thought.

Uldyssian could not give him the luxury of digesting all of this. “Romus…Romus, is Serenthia inside

that place?”

“Aye. She should be.”

“Do you know what she plans there?”

The edyrem shook his head. “Nay, but I and some others are to come to her near midnight. Ser—She

says that there is a matter of import for us to discuss.”

“The sentries I saw. Have they had special contact with her?” After Romus nodded, Uldyssian

explained, “We must be wary of them. They may be under her spell.”

“It’s to be us two alone, then, Master Uldyssian? You can be trusting in me!” Romus’s tone all but

pleaded for Uldyssian to believe in him.

Uldyssian not only believed in him, but Romus, unfortunately, needed to play a pivotal role. He could

still get near Lilith without being suspected. Uldyssian required the former brigand to distract Lilith

enough so that he could then strike at her while her defenses were down.

He explained such to Romus, then asked, if the man was still willing, what he knew of the building.

“’Tis an old chapel or monk’s abode, she said,” Romus answered. “Serent—She told us that it was a

sign that we were directed to it. Said it would mark the beginning of a turn for all of us…”

Again, Uldyssian felt a cold chill. “Would she see you before the time she requested?”

“I could find reason, Master Uldyssian.” The Parthan shivered. “Poor Serenthia…”

“If you can keep the demoness from noticing, I’ll make my way in. Then, you leave.”

“But what about you?”

For what Uldyssian had in mind, he wanted no one else near. It was possible that forcing Lilith from

Serenthia would wreak destruction on the immediate vicinity. “Just get as far away as possible.

Understand?”

Romus reluctantly nodded. They talked over the details a minute or two more, then, with a short bow,

he returned to the camp. Uldyssian had kept their plan as simple as possible, aware how even the

slightest complications could worsen the situation several times over.

Romus did not immediately go to the temple. As dictated, he first found reason to speak with the

nearest sentries and direct them elsewhere. Uldyssian did not wish to be forced to injure any of them

simply because they had been entranced by Lilith.

By the time Romus had dealt with the guards, night had well established itself and from most corners

of the encampment there came only silence. Many fires had all but died down. A few glow lights

hovered around the area, a hint of the growing proficiency of the edyrem. Fortunately, most of the

lights were dim, the better for their creators to sleep.

At last, Romus headed toward the ancient structure. The two edyrem standing duty hesitated only a

moment before admitting him. As one of the most senior of Uldyssian’s followers, Romus was

probably now second in command. That made his inclusion in Uldyssian’s plan invaluable.

The thick, wooden door creaked closed behind the bald man. Uldyssian counted under his breath,

giving Romus time to establish his conversation with the false Serenthia. According to the Parthan,

until tonight’s impending gathering, she had intended to be alone.

Finally, Uldyssian deemed that enough time had passed. Any longer, and he risked Romus’s life.

There remained only the two guards, both of whom eyed the area before them with a distrust

amplified by Lilith’s hold over them.

Not wishing to hurt anyone unnecessarily, Uldyssian concentrated on the two men, then slipped

toward them. The guards continued to stare ahead. They now neither heard nor saw anything. Even

when he hurried past them, they did not move.

There was no other entrance to the building—the only other openings being small air slits well above

—but Romus had explained that there was an outer chamber before the one in which Lilith had

arranged her sanctum. All Uldyssian needed to do was reach it. Then, there would be no more reason

for stealth…only for swiftness. He would have one chance and one only.

At his direction, the door opened just enough to admit him. Uldyssian muffled any creak, lest the

demoness be warned by even that.

The chamber he entered was utterly empty, whatever decor or artifacts likely long removed by

thieves or the departing builders. Uldyssian cared not for what use the edifice had been, only that

voices rose from the room beyond.

Romus’s…and Serenthia’s.

“…and yes, Romus, we’ll soon be on our way to the Triune’s main temple. I swore by Uldyssian’s

death that I’d complete his quest. First the Triune, and then, definitely, the Cathedral of Light…who

may be an enemy worse than those we now fight.”

“I apologize again,” the Parthan responded to her. “But I, too, wish to fulfill Master Uldyssian’s

legacy. I thank you for reassuring me.”

“Not at all. Is there anything else?”

Uldyssian dared risk Romus no longer. Aware that he also did not wish to harm Serenthia’s body, the

son of Diomedes threw all his will into repeating what he had done to the guards outside. He fixed on

the feminine voice…

A silence enshrouded the building, a silence finally broken by a gasp from Romus. “Master

Uldyssian! She does not move! She stands as if a statue!”

Uldyssian entered. The first thing he noted was Serenthia, as beautiful as he remembered her, poised

like a goddess with one hand extended to Romus. A beguiling smile that had never been worn by the

merchant’s daughter gave ample proof that Lilith was in truth within the woman.

Then, a second, more awful sight behind her attracted his attention.

An altar.

An altar stained by centuries-old blood.

He might have thought it merely macabre coincidence, but atop the gray, stone slab had been set a

long dagger and a goblet. Worse, there were also runes drawn on the stained surface, runes freshly

made.

Tonight, the altar would have drunken for the first time in generations.

Despite the risk of Lilith escaping his power, Uldyssian could not help but look up. Above the altar,

the face of whatever spirit or demon that had been carved there had been artfully replaced by that

unsettling combination of the two females, with a bit more of Lilith recognizable.

“Master Uldyssian?”

Romus’s pensive voice finally brought him back to the present. The Parthan stepped back as

Uldyssian faced the frozen figure.

Up close, Uldyssian could see the tiny hints that the woman with whom he had grown up was not

truly there. Besides the smile, the eyes had a harsh cunning that he recognized too well.

“It’s over, Lilith…” he breathed. Uldyssian put his palms on the woman’s temples. He was not

certain what he needed to do, but if he could reach Serenthia, somehow, he felt that she would help

him force the demoness out. “It’s all over…”

Something hard cracked against the back of his head.

The world spun about. Through blurred eyes, he saw Romus leaning toward him, the Parthan with a

fanatical expression and a heavy stone apparently taken from somewhere in the chamber in his hands.

The fresh blood on one end of the stone belonged to Uldyssian.

“You’ll not harm my Lilith!” Romus snapped, his face twisting into something evil. “You’ll not!”

And as Uldyssian collapsed, he heard Serenthia’s voice…and Lilith’s all-too-familiar laugh.

“Well done, my love…just as we planned…”

Fifteen

Uldyssian awoke to find his limbs bound to the altar stone. That in itself was unnerving enough, but

when he attempted to use his powers to free himself…nothing happened.

Then, he heard the familiar laugh again.

“My dear, dear sweet Uldyssian,” Serenthia cooed. Only, it was not Serenthia, the son of Diomedes

reminded himself, but Lilith. “So naive. So trusting.”

A face appeared over him, but it was not the one that he expected. Rather, Romus glared down at his

former friend. “You should’ve never come back, Master Uldyssian. Never.”

“Romus! Are you mad? This is the demon, Lilith, here, not Serenthia!”

The Parthan shook his head. “No…you’re wrong. It’s both of them. My Serenthia and my Lilith. I’ve

both of them…”

Footsteps presaged the appearance of the demoness. Brushing aside some of Serenthia’s long, dark

hair, she leaned lovingly against Romus’s shoulder. “And I have you, dear Romus! How much more a

loyal lover than you, Uldyssian, who could not see all that was offered! I could have been anyone you

desired, including what you see…but you spurned my love and my offer…”

“All you wanted was a puppet to lead the creation of your magical army so that you could take

Sanctuary from Inarius!” Uldyssian looked to Romus. “When she finds someone even more useful,

you’ll be tossed aside! Think, Romus! This isn’t you! This isn’t!”

“You know nothing of my life before your coming to Partha, Master Uldyssian! I answered to no

one! I was feared by all! You took that away from me and made me one of your sheep! But she’s

reminded me of who I really am”—he leaned close, his eyes wide and deadly. His expression was

manic—“and I adore her more for it!”

There was no hope talking to the Parthan. Lilith had completely seduced him, seeking deep within

that lingering darkness that had once entirely engulfed Romus…and now did so again.

Uldyssian tried to pull his left hand free, but the bonds held. Romus smirked. Lilith pouted her lips in

mock sorrow for their prisoner.

As Uldyssian fought for time and some manner of escape, he asked, “So, has she been using you to

bring forth the new edyrem? That’s all she really wants! She can’t do it so quickly herself. It’s the

nature of the gifts; they’re a human thing and she’s not, Romus!”

His words fell on deaf ears. “She chose me. She chose me from all of them because she saw how

powerful I was and that I could be stirred from the illusions you cast upon us. Since, Hashiri, I’ve

shown others, both new and old, the same, and each day, there’s more.” He grinned. “They treat me

like a god…”

Lilith leaned close, first kissing Romus on the cheek, then licking it. He responded to her action like a

cat, rubbing his face into hers. The scene sickened Uldyssian on more than one level; not only for

Serenthia’s sake, but the Parthan’s, too. This was not the Romus he knew.

“And after tonight,” the demoness murmured to Uldyssian as she continued her seduction, “they will

all see the truth, dear Romus! Isn’t that so?”

“Are you going to use him?” the former brigand eagerly asked.

She chuckled at his question. “Now that would be marvelous, but no. His blood would be no good. In

fact, it might have the opposite effect, adding his taint. No…I need someone whose life force would

magnify that which I desire, dear, sweet Romus…and there’s truly only one person in my mind for

that.”

The Parthan suddenly gaped. His eyes widened even farther, to the point that they looked like those

of a frog.

With a shiver, he slumped forward, sprawling over a stunned Uldyssian. As he did, his back became

visible.

A long, crimson puddle oozed out of the wicked hole in his back.

Lilith held up the dagger that Uldyssian had noted before his betrayal. Romus’s blood dribbled down

the blade and over the hilt. Lilith paid no mind as red spots formed on her hand. Instead, she used her

free hand to stroke the Parthan’s bald head.

“He was a delight…I’m sure Serenthia enjoyed it, too. Pity he was so perfect for the role.”

“You’re mad, Lilith!”

Her expression tightened. “No…I am justified, dear Uldyssian! Justified! I saved the children and for

that good deed I was cast out into emptiness! Inarius thought that I would never find my way back…

but I did, I did!” She returned to caressing the dead Romus. “He was so determined to prove himself

to me and her. He came right in and told me how you’d called him into the jungle and that he’d

pretended to still be your friend!” Lilith smiled. “I will admit your timing startled me, my love. I

smell another’s work in that. Have you been talking to my darling Inarius? Hmm?”

Even though Uldyssian had more than once thought Rathma no better than his parents, something

made him hold back from telling the demoness the truth. “I had a short conversation with him. He

misses you and begs your forgiveness. Then, he wants to kill you.”

The face above him contorted into one that held no sanity whatsoever, a spectacle made all the more

terrible by the fact that it was Serenthia’s.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the madness once again vanished behind a mask of seduction.

“Such a jest, dear, sweet Uldyssian! No, I don’t believe that Inarius would ever have use for you! He

thinks himself without flaw, and thus, in need of no one but himself to set things as he sees them!”

Lilith grinned. “And so he shall sit oblivious on his throne even as the walls of his glittering cathedral

come raining down around him!”

Uldyssian doubted that the angel would be so complacent, but Lilith clearly shared Inarius’s

megalomania. She could not imagine her plots unraveling, especially due to the interference of any

mere mortal.

The trouble was, in that last case, it seemed that she was correct. Uldyssian could feel the power

within him trying to burst free, but something held it in check. He could not sense any spell on him,

but the work of the demoness could be very, very subtle.

“Still struggling,” she commented. “How admirable is your determination…or is it that you just wish

to one more time hold me in your arms?” Lilith leaned close enough to kiss him, and although once

Uldyssian had wanted those lips against his, he was now revolted. Not for himself, however, but for

Serenthia, whose body was now the demoness’s plaything.

The lips moved to his ear, where Lilith whispered, “Not too long, my love, and you will hold me

again. When I cast the spell using poor Romus’s blood, you shan’t be immune, either! You’ll finally

see matters as I desire, then…”

He wanted to spit in her face. “Why didn’t you do this in the beginning?”

A throaty chuckle. “Because a dupe who thinks he is doing good is the best cover for my plan! But

we’ve gone far past that point and you’ve gathered so many followers! When the opportunity arose,

how could I resist? Now, you’ll gather new converts knowing exactly what is demanded of them—

allegiance to me!”

Uldyssian tried to grab her, but his struggles remained futile. Lilith laughed again and backed up the

better to admire his efforts. She brushed against Romus’s body, still half-sprawled over her prisoner.

With a weak growl, the Parthan abruptly pushed himself up. He grabbed Lilith by the arm that held

the dagger. Blood splattered on Uldyssian.

Any hope by Uldyssian that the Parthan’s startling act would save both of them quickly died as the

demoness twisted around and grabbed Romus by the throat. To his credit, the former brigand, his

eyes bearing none of the fanaticism of her control, tried to burn her with his power. His hands glowed

bright and smoke arose where they touched Lilith.

But she only laughed, and with one squeeze of her hand, crushed in his windpipe.

Already suffering a massive wound, Romus perished instantly. This time, Lilith let his still form

collapse on the stone floor.

Both hands now awash in the Parthan’s life fluids, she turned back to Uldyssian. Her ghastly smile

made even Serenthia’s countenance too terrible for Uldyssian to behold and he turned his gaze away.

“Such strong life! Yes, poor Romus’s blood will do spectacularly, my love.” Moist fingers forced his

gaze back to her. “Don’t you think?”

When Uldyssian only glared, she patted his cheek—leaving more of the Parthan’s blood—and

laughed again.

At that moment, Uldyssian sensed someone else in the chamber. He had no hope, though, that it was

someone who had come to help him and sure enough the newcomer turned out to be one of the

guards that he had earlier frozen.

The edyrem eyed Uldyssian like a vermin discovered in his food.

“The others are here, Mistress Serenthia.” He seemed unsurprised to find Romus’s body.

“They may enter. Then you and your friend keep the doorway sealed until I am done.”

The guard nodded, then vanished through the entrance.

Lilith stood over the Parthan as she spoke to Uldyssian. “You’ve no idea how many there were so

easily turned to my desire, dear love! You were so gracious, accepting all who came to embrace what

you offered, but even though your will buried what they were, it did not erase it. Turning them was

even more simple than Romus here.” Dagger still in hand, she performed a mock curtsy. “For

arranging things so well for me, I thank you!”

Still attempting to stall, Uldyssian looked around again. Despite there being only signs of Lilith in the

chamber, he suspected that once the walls had been covered with markings dedicated to beings

equally vile. “What is it about this place? You sought it out.”

“This? This place is a nexus, my love, important to the making of Sanctuary, all those centuries ago!

Here was set one of the first points of reality—you might say hammered down—that allowed this

world to hold together! There is power beyond belief here, the contribution of every angel and demon

who built this refuge, including him. So strong are the forces inherent here that you see that even your

kind sensed them and built this.” Indicating herself, she merrily added, “And this…more than three of

your lifetimes ago…is where I found my way back to Sanctuary!”

It startled him to hear that Lilith had been in his world for that long without ever being noticed. That

raised anew his fear that the demoness just might be able to accomplish all that she planned. If even

the angel who had cast her out had not sensed her in all this time…

But before he could discover more, Lilith’s turned edyrem began filtering inside. So many of the faces

—male and female—were known well to Uldyssian, which pained him further. He saw both Parthans

and Torajians and assumed that a few Hashiri were also among the gathering. All told, there were at

least a couple dozen.

“Stand along the edge of the room,” Lilith commanded.

Uldyssian used her distraction to try one last time to free himself. He had little hope of success, but

could not bring himself to merely accept what appeared inevitable—

Then, to his surprise, he sensed the magical forces binding him weaken in a few places. Managing to

cover his pleasure at this, he focused on those points…and then noticed that they were where

Romus’s blood had splattered him.

Cautiously, Uldyssian sought to exploit them. He worked at the spell holding him, gradually feeling it

unravel here and there.

But the effort went too slow. Lilith already had most of her pawns in place for whatever ceremony

she had planned and now the demoness again positioned herself above the dead Parthan.

From her lips erupted sounds that no mortal creature could utter. They were evidently words of

power, for he sensed the chamber immediately fill with invisible but potent forces rising from deep

beneath.

Something else rose…blood from Romus’s wounds. It streamed up into the air, reaching at last the

dagger. This time, Lilith desired far more than just enough to cover the blade; Uldyssian suspected

that she would drain the corpse completely before her task was finished.

As she did this, her edyrem turned their palms up. Energies from within each sparked to life over the

palms. The edyrem moved with such perfect coordination that he wondered if Lilith now utterly

controlled them.

He felt her spell upon him fade more, yet still not enough to enable him to fight her, much less her

followers, too. Time was against him. Lilith was nearly done with her grisly task.

At last, she held up for all to see the insidious dagger. Even though it was drenched in blood, there

should have been far more of the crimson fluid present. Uldyssian did not want to even think where

the rest had gone.

The binding spell continued to weaken. All he needed was a minute or two longer…

But it seemed that Lilith had no intention of giving that to him. She strode to where he lay, paying no

mind to the droplets left in her wake.

“Now it begins, my love,” she whispered, reaching to the side to take the goblet. “Retribution

begins…”

Her mouth contorted as out of it again issued those inhuman sounds—

One of the edyrem let out a cry and fell back.

Uldyssian at first thought it Lilith’s doing, that she had intended from the start to use her other

puppets as she had Romus, but then he saw that which had slain the man.

An arrow through the throat. An arrow encrusted in dirt.

Before the first body stilled, a second follower also collapsed, a shaft through his chest exactly where

the heart was located.

Lilith’s followers broke ranks as some sought shelter while others looked for the source of the

seemingly magical bolts. Uldyssian was the first to recognize their point of origin, the narrow slits

above. How the archer had managed to avoid the guards outside or to be sensed by Lilith was a much