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.