Ричард Кнаак - The Veiled Prophet

But somehow, not one hit. As the son of Diomedes registered the animals’ presence, the horses grew oddly quiet. They stepped back, then waited.

The charioteer, who had been shouting at the beasts, grunted in approval of himself, in the mistaken belief that it had been his efforts that had enabled him to regain control. Behind the soldier, standing with one hand on the rim of the golden chariot, a young, handsome figure in equally resplendent breastplate and metal kilt peered at the cause of the near collision. Rich, dark brown eyes focused on the Ascenian in the path.

Less interested, the charioteer raised his whip to ward off what he no doubt thought a beggar or madman. However, his master grabbed his wrist.

“Prince…Prince Ehmad…” Uldyssian uttered, weaving to and fro at the same time.

“Yes, that is who I am.” The voice was strong and full of the confidence of youth.

“Master Fahin…he said to find you…” Mentally, Uldyssian began to feel more himself, but physically he was exhausted.

“Master Fahin.” The prince’s expression grew calculating. “Sehkar. Help him onto the chariot.”

“My lord,” growled the charioteer. “It was ill advised enough to take this ride without escort, but to bring this—whatever he may be—so near your person—”

“Do as I command, Sehkar.”

With much grumbling, the driver handed the reins to his master, then leapt out to deal with Uldyssian. The son of Diomedes eyed the man warily but then glanced again at the prince. Ehmad gave him a polite nod that somehow put him at ease.

“Come, you!” Sehkar commanded, grabbing for Uldyssian’s arm. Around them, a crowd had begun forming.

The soldier’s arrogant attitude drew Uldyssian’s sudden ire. He glared at the man, instinctively summoning his power.

At that moment, Prince Ehmad called out, “Treat him with respect, Sehkar!”

The charioteer relaxed his hold. Uldyssian fought down his anger and, with it, the potentially explosive repercussions.

With Sehkar guiding, the pair joined Ehmad. The prince himself assisted Uldyssian up.

“Thank you,” Uldyssian managed wearily.

Ehmad inspected him. “You are no beggar. Your bruises, they seem the eager work of someone. You mention Master Fahin. You knew him?”

It suddenly felt as if the entire world sat upon Uldyssian’s shoulders. “I was there when he…when he died.”

“You—” The noble gave him a tight-lipped smile. “It seems good fortune smiles upon me today to have run across you so accidentally.”

“It wasn’t good fortune. I wanted to find you.”

Prince Ehmad looked around them. “Indeed! I think it best we talk more at my palace. Take us there, Sehkar.”

“Gladly, and with haste,” muttered the charioteer. He cracked the whip and, as the horses started running, tugged hard on the reins in order to make them turn.

The crowds pushed back as the prince’s chariot shifted around. Prince Ehmad waved to the people, who cheered him. Uldyssian could see that their enthusiasm was real. They truly liked the young man.

He wondered how they would feel if they knew who their prince had in the chariot with him.

Sehkar cracked the whip again, then gave out a yell. The horses picked up the pace. The chariot and its riders swiftly left the crowd behind.

But not before Uldyssian caught an ever so brief glimpse of a familiar face among them, a face he had not expected to see.

The brooding face of Zorun Tzin.

HE…

HE…

Inarius had sat in utter darkness in the chambers that he used as the Prophet, sat in the silken chair staring beyond the walls. Staring at a place he had ceased calling home centuries ago.

HE…THAT VERMIN THAT SHE SEDUCED…

He did not wear the guise of the Prophet now, but more or less had resumed his true form. Inarius had no fear of discovery; an army of his acolytes could not have breached the doors, and no one with even the hearing of a bat could have noted a sound within.

ULDYSSIAN…SPAWN OF A FOOL NAMED DIOMEDES…HE DARED DO IT…

Inarius had not moved since his return from invading the mortal’s dream, but now he leapt up, wings spread in glorious fury and arms outstretched in righteous anger at this latest sin.

HE…ULDYSSIAN…HE DARED BRING ME PAIN!

It should not have been possible, but it had happened. During his intrusion into the human’s dreams, Inarius had easily manipulated the mortal’s mind, letting him believe that his powers were no more. He had done it to give Uldyssian the chance to beg for forgiveness, beg for the chance to be one of the angel’s flock again.

But instead of seeing sense, the sinner had dared strike him! Indeed, although Uldyssian imagined that his attack had failed miserably, it had, in truth, seared through Inarius, disrupting for the slightest of moments his very resonance.

For just that brief moment, the angel had been, by mortal standards, dead.

And while Inarius was not mortal, he had experienced the emptiness of a universe without him, and that had shaken his very foundation. Not even in the battles against the Burning Hells had he come so close to such a fate. Oh, he had felt pain before, especially during battles against the demons, but this had been something far different—and the work of a mere human, yet!

Uldyssian ul-Diomed had to be punished for his grave sin. His life had to be crushed, his very existence cursed by all, then, finally, all knowledge of his abilities erased from the memories of the rest of the mortals. It was the least he should suffer for all he had done.

And with him had to go the edyrem. Inarius had considered one method or another of bringing the rest back into the flock once Uldyssian was pacified, but they were tainted with the same filthy traits as Linarian, worse even. Whatever alteration on the Worldstone Lilith had done had created a thing more foul than their son.

Indeed, Uldyssian himself had also altered the Worldstone, and in a manner impossible. Inarius hesitated as he recalled that. One reason he had wanted to turn the mortal to his cause was that he wanted to make Uldyssian reverse the change in the artifact’s crystalline structure. He needed the fool to do it, because every attempt by the angel, who was not only bound to the artifact but drew upon it for his tremendous might, had gone for nothing.

NO…HE MUST DIE… THERE MUST BE ANOTHER WAY TO HEAL THE STONE… EVEN IF I MUST START WITH ONLY IT AND NOTHING ELSE IN ALL OF SANCTUARY…

A thousand methods by which to punish the human properly for his transgressions coursed through Inarius’s mind, but each had a fault. They all required the angel to confront Uldyssian directly. He saw no reason for that. Uldyssian was beneath him, not even as worthy as a worm crawling in the ground. There was no need for Inarius to debase himself by such close contact again, no need. It had nothing to do with the unexpected pain; it was merely unworthy of the angel.

But…if it was a task unworthy of him…

Inarius stared at the sealed doorway, then suddenly gestured.

The doors flung open.

GAMUEL, I WOULD SPEAK WITH YOU, MY CHERISHED SERVANT…

The powerfully built priest dropped the scroll from which he had been reading and quickly abandoned his private quarters. He had been doing his best to monitor matters concerning the capital since his conversation with Oris, feeling that the Prophet would expect it of him.

To his further astonishment, he arrived to find the doorway wide open. The guards saluted him sharply as he neared, their spirits revived by their master’s “awakening.”

“Gamuel!” Oris came charging from another corridor. “I was just alerted by a guard. When did—”

“I can’t speak now. The Prophet has summoned me!”