"Richard A. Knaak - Diablo 01 - Birthright" - читать интересную книгу автора (Knaak Richard A)

DIABLO ®
THE SIN WAR
PROLOGUE
The world was young, then, and only a few knew it as Sanctuary or knew that not only did angels and
demons exist, but some of them had caused Sanctuary to be in the first place. The names Inarius, Diablo,
Rathma, Mephisto, and Baal—to name a powerful and often dread few—had not yet been whispered on
mortal lips.

In this simpler time, ignorant of the eternal battle between the High Heavens and the Burning Hells,
people struggled and prospered, lived and died. They could not know that even then, the eyes of both
immortal sides would soon covet their potential and thus begin a conflict that would spill over into the
centuries to come.

And, of all those most terribly ignorant of Sanctuary’s awful destiny, Uldyssian ul-Diomed—Uldyssian,
son of Diomedes—could be said to have been the most blind. Blind, though he would be himself at the
center of what scholars of the world’s secret history would come to call the Sin War.

It was not a war in the sense of men-at-arms—though there were those, too—but rather a trying, a
testing and taking, of souls. A war that would forever eradicate the innocence of Sanctuary and those
inhabiting it, changing all, even those not aware.

A war that was both won…and lost…

From the Books of Kalan
First Tome, Second Leaf

ONE
The shadow fell across Uldyssian ul-Diomed’s table, enveloping not only much of it, but also his hand
and his as-of-yet-undrunk ale. The sandy-haired farmer did not have to look up to know who interrupted
his brief respite from his day’s labors. He had heard the newcomer speaking to others in the Boar’s
Head—the only tavern in the remote village of Seram—heard him speaking and prayed silently but
vehemently that he would not come to Uldyssian’s table.

It was ironic that the son of Diomedes prayed for the stranger to keep away, for what stood waiting for
Uldyssian to look up was none other than a missionary from the Cathedral of Light. Resplendent in his
collared silver-white robes—resplendent save for the ring of Seramian mud at the bottom—he no doubt
awed many a fellow villager of Uldyssian’s. However, his presence did nothing but dredge up terrible
memories for the farmer, who now angrily fought to keep his stare fixed on the mug.

“Have you seen the Light, my brother?” the figure finally asked when it was clear that his potential
convert planned to continue to ignore him. “Has the Word of the great Prophet touched your soul?”

“Find someone else,” Uldyssian muttered, his free hand involuntarily tightening into a fist. He finally took a
gulp of his ale, hoping that his remark would end the unwanted conversation. However, the missionary
was not to be put off.

Setting a hand on the farmer’s forearm—and thereby keeping the ale from again touching Uldyssian’s
lips—the pale young man said, “If not yourself alone, think of your loved ones! Would you forsake their
souls as—”