Ричард Кнаак - The Veiled Prophet

But as had happened the last time he had attempted to slay his persecutor, the shaft flew completely through without pause. Achilios cursed yet once more; this very fiend had once enchanted his arrows so as to enable them to slay a huge, tentacled demon called the Thonos. They also had remained enchanted so that they would pierce any protective spell Uldyssian might have worn.

And so Achilios had prayed that perhaps they might also still work against the winged figure.

As if nothing had happened, the armored spirit repeated his command. COME…WE ARE FAR FROM DONE YET.

To Achilios, that could mean only one thing. “Not her, too! Not Serenthia—”

Against his will, his mouth suddenly clamped shut. The hunter’s legs started forward of their own accord. In the same manner, Achilios’s arms dropped. The bow dangled in his one hand, utterly useless.

Unable to do anything but obey, the undead archer followed the angel deeper into the jungle.

“Uldyssian!”

Mendeln seized his brother just before the latter could strike the ground. Panic such as Uldyssian’s brother had not experienced since his parents dying filled him. He watched the blood pour from the wound, which, if it had not hit the heart, certainly had come close enough.

Uldyssian’s body shook violently, and his eyes gaped up at the dark jungle canopy. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but what it was Mendeln had no idea.

Through the younger sibling’s mind went all that Rathma had taught him, but nothing seemed right for the moment. There had been a spell that had enabled Mendeln to reattach the arm that one of the Triune’s servants had severed, but that would certainly not do. Uldyssian and the others believed that Mendeln had healed himself after he had put the limb back on. Yet no one knew that the limb was not alive but animated. It was as dead as Achilios, moving only because of his magic.

It would not have even been possible for him to do that if he had not reattached the limb within the first hour of its loss. Any longer, and Mendeln could have done nothing. No, not even that spell, which on the surface had looked like healing, could avail him now.

And he did not want to resurrect Uldyssian as he had Achilios.

His thoughts went to Serenthia, whose skills were nearly as great as Uldyssian’s. She might be able to save his brother.

Where is she? Mendeln suddenly wondered. Surely she, of all people, had sensed what had happened? Why was there not a crowd of edyrem already swarming the pair?

Uldyssian coughed up blood, and then his body jerked even more violently.

The arrow burst into flames, the cinders spilling over Uldyssian’s blood-soaked shirt. From the wound poured out a peculiar, thick liquid, which Mendeln at last recognized as what remained of the arrowhead.

And as the last of it poured out, the wound shrank and shrank…then finally sealed.

Uldyssian coughed again, but this time, it sounded only as if he cleared his throat. His eyes opened.

Mendeln gaped. “Uldyssian! This cannot be! You were—you were—”

“Where—” The elder son of Diomedes tried again. “Where is—is he?”

“Who?”

“Achil—Achilios…”

Only then did the arrow’s origins register with Mendeln. Still holding Uldyssian tight, he stared out into the jungle, searching. Of course, he saw nothing, but these days, that meant little.

He suddenly considered the terrible accusation Uldyssian had just made. “Surely not! This was a trick, some ploy of Inarius’s or possibly even the Triune. Achilios would never—”

With some effort, Uldyssian stood on his own. Mendeln marveled at his recuperative powers.

“The arrow belonged to Achilios, Mendeln. I know that. It’s obvious to me, and it should be obvious to you. He fired it. It was intended to kill me swiftly.”

Still hoping to deny that their friend would ever have any part, even involuntarily, in Uldyssian’s murder, Mendeln pointed out, “If it had been him, there would be no doubt of your death. From a hundred paces in the thickest woods, Achilios could slay any creature with a shot directly to the heart. This one was close, yes, but—”

“Achilios meant to slay me,” his brother insisted. However, Uldyssian’s expression softened. “But you’re right. He couldn’t have missed unless he prayed to.”

The conflagration that Uldyssian had started now rose high. That this, too, had not brought the other edyrem running perplexed Mendeln, until he watched his brother douse the fire with a simple wave of his hand. All that remained as memory were some scorched trees.

“It was you, then,” he murmured to Uldyssian. “You are the reason no one, not even Serenthia, has come to our aid!”

Uldyssian grimly checked his chest where the arrow had struck. His right hand flared a faint gold as it passed over not only the area but wherever his blood had spilled. Mendeln shook his head in amazement as he watched.

In mere seconds, the stains vanished, and even the rip in his tunic repaired itself.

“In the beginning, I did it to keep anyone from joining us while you summoned the dead. I didn’t want anyone else witnessing that, Mendeln. They’ve already seen enough to fear you.”

Mendeln did not entirely believe that Uldyssian’s reason was purely the protection of his brother, but he kept silent on it. “And when you were shot?”

“I assumed it would’ve vanished…unless that which turned Achilios into an assassin chose not to let it.”

“Inarius?”

With a harsh, humorless chuckle, Uldyssian turned back to camp. “You don’t believe that any more than I do, do you, Mendeln? Not like him at all. Something as powerful as he, maybe…”

His words only served to leave Mendeln cold. “You know that if it is such, we are lost.”

But his brother, already walking, casually replied, “One angel, two, or a hundred. I’ll bring them all down. All of them.”

And as Mendeln stared at his sibling’s receding back, he knew that Uldyssian meant it.

space

Serenthia stood waiting for them at the perimeter, the former Parthan brigand, Jonas, at her side. As Uldyssian neared them, Saron—a dour Torajian who, with Jonas, acted as Uldyssian’s de facto officers—joined the other two.

“Did something happen out there?” Serenthia immediately demanded. “It felt as if—”

“We finished with Mendeln’s work, that was all. It took more than we expected.”

“And were there answers?” she pressed.

Glancing past the trio, Uldyssian replied, “The Cathedral was behind this. Inarius is placating the people and spreading vile rumors about what we do. He’s trying to turn Sanctuary against us.”

Jonas frowned. Saron remained dour, his mood having never truly lightened since the death of his cousin at the hands of the Triune. They had been closer than brothers, perhaps even closer than Uldyssian and Mendeln.

“We should march on the great Cathedral itself, master,” he stated.

With a nod, Serenthia added, “That’s not without merit. Strike at the heart before it gets any worse. We can’t do as we did with the Triune, cutting away at it methodically. Inarius isn’t permitting us that chance.”

Absently rubbing his chest where the arrow had penetrated, Uldyssian considered their view. Mendeln, who had finally joined him, made a noncommittal noise.

“No,” Uldyssian finally decided. “Not yet. We’ve one more place we’ve got to go before we march on Inarius. Just one more.”

“Where’s that to be, Master Uldyssian?” asked Jonas.

“The capital…we’re going to the city of Kehjan to see the leaders of the mage clans.”

News of his decision spread fast among the edyrem, and a sense of excitement filled the encampment. Many among Uldyssian’s flock had never been to the capital. Discussions broke out everywhere about what Kehjan the city was like. Those few who had been there did their best to describe it, but from what Uldyssian heard, they all had differing memories.