The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet by Richard A. Knaak Read Free Book Online Page B

worse to Serenthia to hear Achilios also mention her in such terms. Yes, the noblewoman was beautiful, but Cyrus’s daughter knew that she could attract the attention of men, too…with the exception of the one she wanted.
    “She just left. I think I saw her return to the inn.”
    Achilios rubbed his chin. “I wonder how that went over with Uldyssian. He said that he wanted her to stay away, so that she wouldn’t be drawn into the situation any more than necessary.”
    Serenthia had a twinge of hope that perhaps Lylia had angered Uldyssian with her visit, but immediately after suspected that such was not the case. Like most men, he had surely forgiven her once she had gazed up at him or smiled.
    She recalled Achilios’s question. “I haven’t seen Mendeln. In fact, I haven’t seen him in two days. Has he been to his brother, even?”
    “Not since early three days ago, from what I know,” answered the archer, much perturbed now. “And when I rode out to the farm, I found young Justivio—Marcus ul-Amphed’s second son—doing the chores there. He said that Mendeln paid him for the work without explaining where he planned to go.”
    Serenthia could understand why Mendeln might have left the farm in the hands of someone more competent than himself, but that he had not ridden to his brother’s side immediately after—and then stayed there—she could not fathom. Mendeln was very loyal to Uldyssian and when he had heard the news concerning his brother he had denied the charges with far more vehemence than any would have expected from the scholarly sibling.
    “I worry about him, Serry,” Achilios went on. “I doubt that he can imagine the world without Uldyssian—which is not my way of saying that Uldyssian is in any danger of being condemned for those awful crimes! No, I’m speaking only of Mendeln. He’s not been the same since we—since that day.”
    It almost sounded to Cyrus’s daughter as if Achilios had been about to speak of something other than the murders, but what could possibly compare, she could not say.
    “It could be that he is with Father,” Serenthia finally suggested. “I haven’t been there since this morning.”
    “Perhaps…I wonder…” The hunter’s gaze shifted away, as if something else had come to mind. He gave a minute shake of his head, then added, “You should go on with your visit with Uldyssian, Serry. I’ll find Mendeln soon, I’m certain. You just don’t—”
    His mouth snapped shut and his eyes now stared wide and disturbed at something beyond his companion. Fearful that she already knew just what that might be, the black-tressed woman followed his gaze.
    The party of riders had just reached the edge of the village. They rode slowly and confidently, looking as if they owned all they surveyed. There was no mistaking them for what they were, the glistening silver robes and breastplates obvious sign enough even without the golden sunburst set in the center of the latter to definitively mark them as of the Inquisitors of the Cathedral of Light. All wore round, crested helmets atop their heads save for the lead rider, whose thick gray mane was draped by a golden hood. Behind him flowed the rest of the shimmering cloak, the bottom hem nearly blinding the horse behind his own. The cleric was clean-shaven, as were all those who served directly under the Prophet. This was not mere personal choice, but a purposeful decision. After all, the Prophet himself himself wore no beard…and, if rumor be true, looked young enough to be this cleric’s grandson despite supposedly being much older.
    The party numbered a dozen at least, a number that startled both onlookers. Dorius had given every indication that he had expected two at most and none of them of such authority as he who now dismounted.
    The Master Inquisitor—Serenthia knew that the distinguished figure could have no lesser role—surveyed Seram as if uncertain that this backwater could be his destination. He suddenly