Despite Lilith still free, Uldyssian had to turn to the newcomer, had to see if he was dreaming…or living a new nightmare.
It was Achilios…Achilios, who was very dead.
The hunter’s too pale eyes gazed only momentarily at Uldyssian, as if just to acknowledge that the latter saw the truth. Then, Achilios, bow drawn for another shot, continued forward. Behind him, he left a trail of slightly moist dirt, the same which seemed to cover much of his form.
“Serenthia…” the dead man repeated. What little remained of his ruined throat twisted and shifted as if actually drawing the breath needed for speech. “You can…hear me…you…know me…”
Lilith had been oddly silent, but now she snapped, “There is only Lilith, dear decrepit Achilios! My! Love can be foolishly strong, can it not?” She spread her arms. “Would you like me to warm you for her, archer?”
“Spare…spare me…your pathetic…seductions,” Achilios replied, raising the bow to fire. “If I… can’t…free her one way…I’ll free her…another…she would…want that…”
“And perhaps when she, too, is dead, you’ll have the chance to win her again? How macabre and wonderful at the same time!” She leaned so that he had a clear shot at her breast. “Fire, then!”
But Achilios did not rise to her bait. “When I am…ready, witch…first…I still want…her…to come to us…”
Seeing that Lilith was focused on the walking corpse, Uldyssian readied his own attack. However, Achilios shook his head.
“No…this is not for you to…do…”
There was that in the rasping voice that made Uldyssian listen. He watched as the archer lowered the bow.
“Serenthia…” Achilios murmured. “Serenthia…please awaken…”
Lilith stood as if frozen. Uldyssian thought that she planned some new mischief, but then the demoness’s hands clutched at her throat as if to choke herself.
She screamed. She screamed so loud and with such raw agony that it would not have surprised the son of Diomedes to see the rest of the dead in the chamber rise up to join Achilios. Lilith screamed without pause, the very building shaking from her effort.
And then…and then…something monstrous emerged from her upturned mouth. They initially looked like a pit of small serpents, but Uldyssian finally recognized them as fingers. Taloned fingers.
Serenthia’s face distorted, her mouth growing twice, then three times the size of her head. The hands pushed it wider, wider…and only then did it become apparent that the scream was issuing forth from whatever was emerging, not from the woman before them.
Fearing for the merchant’s daughter, Uldyssian started forward, but again the archer forbade him. “Do not…do not stop this…if we are…to have any hope…for Serenthia…”
If it had been any other—no, if it had even been a living Achilios—Uldyssian would have paid the command no heed. Yet, somehow, he realized that his dead comrade understood the matter more than he could ever begin to. Nerves taut, Uldyssian forced himself to watch things unfold.
A grotesque array of red quills erupted from Serenthia’s monstrous maw. They pushed upward. Upward…
And with one terrible push, the demoness Lilith burst full-blown out of the dark-haired woman’s mouth.
Still screaming—but from what seemed more rage than pain—the green-scaled siren flew around the chamber several times. Below, Serenthia—now normal again—teetered dangerously.
“Fools!” bellowed Lilith, suddenly hovering. “Little-minded mortal fools! Do you think this means anything ? Do you think you’ve won at all?” She laughed wildly, then thrust a taloned finger toward Serenthia. “Careful, dears! She’s about to drop!”
With that, the demon flew up to the ceiling, vanishing just before she would have crashed into it.
Neither Uldyssian nor Achilios dared watch to see if this were another trick, for Lilith had at least spoken true when she had warned them about Serenthia. Nearly as pale as the archer, Serenthia let out a slight gasp, then fell over.
Uldyssian intended to use his abilities to keep her from striking the stones headfirst, but somehow Achilios moved even faster. Gritty arms caught Serenthia mere inches from disaster. The archer gently set her down as if she were made of fragile glass.
Serenthia exhaled…and her eyes fluttered open. She gazed up at her savior, who himself looked to Uldyssian as if he suddenly wished that he were anywhere else at the moment rather than in her sight. The archer quickly put one hand over his throat in a futile attempt to cover the monstrous sight.
“A-Achilios…” she mumbled. “Achilios…” A smile started to spread, but before it could go very far…Serenthia passed out.
“Praise…be…” muttered the dead man. He stepped back from her, only then looking at Uldyssian.
The son of Diomedes could still not believe what he was seeing. “Achilios—”
“Take…take better care…of her…next time…if only so I won’t…be back…”
The archer turned to flee, but Uldyssian seized him by the arm. Ignoring both the dirt and the cold he felt, Uldyssian growled, “You can’t leave!”
This brought a harsh laugh from the dead man. “And…how could I…remain?”
Before Uldyssian could answer, yet another scream resounded in the ancient structure. Both looked to the entrance…where, unnoticed in the heat of things, a crowd of startled edyrem had gathered.
A crowd now seeing their mistress as still as death, their master returned as if from the dead…and a man the Parthans in the group knew had been slaughtered by a demon.
16
Mendeln had never stood atop a mountain before.
He did not like it in the least.
The wind howled and snow covered everything. However, nothing, not even the chill air, really touched him much. He supposed that he had Rathma to thank for that, if gratitude was the proper emotion for being dragged off to this desolate spot to face a figure whose very name filled Uldyssian’s brother with dread.
“And what assistance am I to be against an angel?” he asked not for the first time. Mendeln had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind.
“Whatever it turns out you can supply,” was Rathma’s response, the same one he had used to answer the prior questions.
Mendeln folded his arms tight, if only out of habit, not from being cold. “Where are we?”
“Near where I brought your brother. Near to the vicinity of the Worldstone.”
What little Mendeln had learned of this “Worldstone” had filled him with new awe and not a little uncertainty. To have created such a thing, the angels and demons must have utilized fantastic magic and energy.
He was about to ask Rathma another question when the ancient nephalem raised a hand to cut him off.
“My father approaches. Be wary.”
To Mendeln, it was an unnecessary warning. How could he deal with the arrival of an angry angel with anything but wariness?
The wind suddenly picked up, so ferocious now that it nearly shoved Mendeln from his position. He did not like the thought of tumbling down the mountainside, no matter what he had learned from the dragon and his companion about the many states of life. At the moment, Mendeln still preferred the “living” stage too much to abandon it just yet.
The snow also increased. A storm raged about them. Rathma pulled free his dagger and muttered something, but the storm remained intense.
Then, an ear-splitting thunderclap shook them further, a thunderclap immediately followed by dead silence. If not for being able to hear his own breathing, Mendeln would have believed himself now deaf.
And then he noticed in their midst a golden-haired youth.
“I am disappointed in you, my son,” the robed figure stated in a voice of pure music.