Ричард Кнаак - The Veiled Prophet

He let their excitement go unchecked, despite some concern on the part of both Mendeln and Serenthia. They were rightly wary about confronting the mage clans, who had, as far as anyone could tell, avoided interfering in the struggle.

Uldyssian was also wary but at the same time confident. He had it in his mind that the mages, obviously no puppets of the Cathedral of Light, would be interested in a possible alliance. If not that, then certainly they would do their best to lessen the sect’s influence over the masses.

It was worth the gamble to Uldyssian and, since the capital was somewhat on their path toward Inarius’s sanctum, not so troublesome a detour in his mind.

His makeshift army left at first light, pushing through the dense vegetation with little effort. When a river had to be forded, what was easier than using magic to bring together tree trunks to create a bridge or, as some of the more skilled did, simply propel oneself over and land on the other side? When the terrain grew treacherous, how much simpler was it to have small groups of edyrem stand together and literally rip a path through?

At no time did Uldyssian discourage such displays of power among his people. The more confident, the more comfortable they were with their powers, the better chance they would have of surviving in battle, much less winning.

Mendeln, naturally, did not look at all pleased, but he kept his counsel to himself, which satisfied his brother. The edyrem made great progress the first day and the next. They had quite a distance still to go, but Uldyssian calculated that the rate at which they trekked would not give even Inarius’s missionaries much time to raise others further against their cause.

Still, he pushed the edyrem’s pace just a little more…and a little more…and a little more…

Just before dark on the fourth day, they came upon another river. The edyrem began crossing. Uldyssian was at his most cautious and set several sentries in place.

Yet it seemed that his concern was unwarranted. They were not attacked, and no one was caught by the river. When the last of his followers had made it over, Uldyssian ordered them on, while he stood and surveyed the area of the river with more than just his eyes.

And still there was nothing.

It made no sense to use the last few minutes of dim light to take them farther from such an obvious source of water. With reluctance, Uldyssian called a halt. He set up the usual perimeter and then, recalling the attack, placed additional sentries a bit deeper into the jungle. All of his guards remained in contact with one another.

Even with that done, he still summoned Saron for one more precaution. “I want you to find four others and begin a continuous patrol of the camp itself. Reach out with your minds. You need to be aware of any sensation that seems at all out of the ordinary.”

“Yes, Master Uldyssian. I understand completely.” The Torajian bowed and immediately went off to locate the ones he needed. Uldyssian vowed to himself to have Jonas and another band take over after a couple of hours. He wanted all his sentinels to be fresh of mind.

But as the night lengthened, Uldyssian began to wonder if he had just had a case of nerves. The nearer they got to the capital, the more his task there began to weigh upon him. It was very possible that confronting the mage clans might even get them at least to side temporarily with Inarius. Better the enemy they thought they understood, rather than Uldyssian’s unknown and unpredictable powers.

That they would find themselves in a far worse situation if the edyrem were beaten would be something he would have to impress upon them.

But all that had to wait until they reached their destination. Uldyssian finally gave in to his exhaustion, his last thoughts concerning his overzealous precautions. It had only been his nerves—

A bright white light suddenly erupted in his face, blinding him. Uldyssian let out a shout, but his voice was so muted that even he could barely hear it. He reached out with his thoughts to Serenthia and the others—but could not find them.

There existed only the light…only the light and then, gradually, a wondrous figure from whom it was clear the blazing illumination originated. Far taller than any human, he strode confidently toward Uldyssian, his breastplate gleaming and the tendrils of pure force that were his wings flaring a rainbow of fierce colors.

And as he neared the son of Diomedes, he transformed into the leader of the Cathedral of Light, the Prophet.

“Uldyssian ul-Diomed,” came the musical voice. The youth stood just about the former farmer’s height but seemed somehow still to be able to gaze down upon him from well above. His luminous silver-blue eyes penetrated to Uldyssian’s very soul, making the human feel as if he could hide nothing. “My errant child…”

Uldyssian belatedly leapt to his feet. He stared into the Prophet’s beautiful, perfect face—unmarred by scar, wart, or even the slightest beard—which was framed by glistening, golden locks that fell far past his shoulders. “I’m no acolyte of yours, Inarius, and certainly not your child!”

“No…” the beatific figure agreed with a glorious smile full of perfect teeth. “But you are the child of the child of the child several times over who was begat by my even more errant son, he who now calls himself Rathma.”

Uldyssian had been told of a blood link between himself and the angel, but if there was one, it was as far removed from him as if he were related to the animals that he had raised. If Inarius thought to spark some familial bond, then the angel was sorely deluded.

“I do not seek to call family to family,” the Prophet remarked with unsettling accuracy, “but I do come to you with power to grant you absolution even now. You need not continue on this path of sin after sin, my son. I can still forgive you.”

His statements might have been considered mere audacity by Uldyssian if not for the jarring fact that not only was it still impossible to reach out to the others, but even the encampment could not be found. Uldyssian was completely surrounded by the light emanating from his adversary. Even when he took a step back, nothing changed. The ground itself was enshrouded by the celestial illumination.

“You see,” continued Inarius, spreading his hands in a fatherly fashion, “there is no more reason to continue the bloodshed. The outcome is inevitable. Besides, it is not ultimately your fault. You were led astray by her, she who shall not be named, and your only mistakes were due to your own inherent deficiencies. You are mortal; you are weak. I mean that not as insult; all humans are weak. It is why they must be led toward the light.”

It was not the words as much as something in the Prophet’s tone, his manner, his very being, that made Uldyssian want to believe. He had felt much the same when confronted by the demon Lucion in his guise as leader of the Triune. Inarius, though, was a thousand times more compelling. Uldyssian had a desire to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness—

For what? he suddenly wondered, his anger burning away his awe at the angelic figure. I asked for none of this!

“Fury is a demon’s lover, my good Uldyssian. To give in to it is to abandon thought and heart.”

“Spare me all that! What have you done with them? Where are the others?”

The Prophet nodded approvingly. “Concern…now, there is a goodly aspect. You would do well to be concerned about those who mistakenly follow you down this path, for what you decide may condemn them, too.”

Serry! Mendeln! Jonas! Saron! Uldyssian located no trace of any of them.

He lunged for Inarius, at the same time summoning his power. Yet the Prophet was no longer where Uldyssian expected him. Instead, the angel stood just to the side. He watched dispassionately as the human fell forward.