Richard Knaak - Scales of the Serpent

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.”