Diablo #1: Legacy of Blood

by Richard A. Knaak

  Demons? Could this creature be some sort of demonic force? Could that explain why the armor had not reacted? It still left so much unexplained, yet . . .

  More than a dozen new tentacles, some with the bizarre clawed hands and some not, erupted from the sea, assaulting anew both Casco and Norrec from various directions. More adept at using the hooked pole, the lanky captain disproved his sickly appearance by swiftly tearing into two of the tentacles. Norrec proved not so fortunate, managing to push back a few of the horrors but doing damage to none.

  More and more tentacles turned from the task of ripping the ship to pieces to now dealing with the only resistance. One managed to seize Casco’s pole, pulling it free with such force that the captain fell to the deck, his bad leg giving out on him at last. Several clawed tentacles encircled him, dragging Casco toward the great behemoth.

  Norrec would have helped, but his own troubles grew worse than those of the mariner. Tentacles wound around both legs, then his waist. Two more tore the pole from his hands. The soldier found himself hoisted up into the air, his breath slowly being squeezed out of him despite the enchanted armor.

  He screamed as a set of claws raked his left cheek. Somewhere beyond his limited field of vision, Norrec heard Casco uttering oaths even as death prepared to welcome both men.

  A serpentine shape curled around Norrec’s throat. In desperation, he tugged at it, already aware that his strength would not prove sufficient to save him.

  The gauntlet flared a fiery red.

  The tentacle instantly uncoiled from his throat, but the glove would not release it. Norrec’s other hand, also glowing furiously, came up, seizing the tentacle holding him by the upper part of the waist.

  The rest of the behemoth’s limbs pulled away, leaving the startled veteran dangling by his hands high above the Hawksfire. The storm whipped him about, but Bartuc’s armor refused to give up its hold on the gargantuan monster, even when the beast sought to separate the captured tentacles. Norrec screamed, his arms feeling as if they would soon be torn from their sockets.

  “Kosori nimth!” his mouth shouted. “Lazarai . . . lazarai!”

  A bolt of lightning struck the leviathan.

  The creature shuddered, nearly succeeding in freeing itself of Norrec simply due to its throes of pain. Yet, even then the gauntlets fought to retain hold, clearly the warlord’s suit was not finished yet.

  “Kosori nimth!” the soldier’s mouth repeated. “Lazarai dekadas!”

  A second bolt caught the sea monster directly in its terrifying eye. The bolt burned away the orb with little trouble, sending a shower of hot fluids over Norrec and the ship.

  “Dekadas!”

  The areas of the tentacles under Norrec’s fingers turned a pasty gray. Serpentine flesh grew stony, petrified with startling swiftness.

  The leviathan stiffened, its many appendages remaining in whatever position they had been just after the last of the magical words had been spoken. The pasty gray coloring spread rapidly down the two tentacles the hapless soldier held, then coursed along in every direction, covering the giant’s body and other limbs in mere seconds.

  “Kosori nimth!” Norrec shouted for the third and—so he suspected—final time.

  Aflash of lightning more intense than either of the others struck the graying sea demon directly in the ruined eye.

  The horrific behemoth shattered .

  The gauntlets released their grip on the crumbling tentacles, at the same time returning control of the hands to Norrec. Suddenly bereft of any hold, the startled fighter frantically grabbed at one of the massive limbs, only to have the piece he seized break off.

  He plummeted toward the ship, his only hope that he would die crashing into the hard deck rather than sinking beneath the violent waters.

  Eight

  “Very curious,” Captain Jeronnan muttered, peering far ahead. “Seems like a lifeboat in the distance.”

  Kara squinted, seeing nothing. The captain evidently had miraculous eyesight. “Is there anyone in it?”

  “No one visible, but we’ll take a closer look. I’ll not risk a single sailor’s life just to spare a few minutes . . . hope you understand that, lass.”

  “Of course!” She felt grateful enough that Jeronnan had arranged this voyage in the first place. He had put his ship and his crew at her disposal, something the necromancer would not have expected from any person. In return, he had accepted such payment as would cover her expenses, but no more. Each time she tried to press, a dark expression would cover his countenance, warning the raven-tressed enchantress that she threatened to tread on the memory of the former naval officer’s daughter.

  It had taken two days at sea, in fact, before Kara had come to realize that he truly needed this voyage as much as she did. If the tall innkeeper had seemed boisterous before, he now seemed at times ready to burst. Even the constant hint of less than fair weather on the western horizon did nothing to dampen his spirits.

  “Mister Drayko!” At Jeronnan’s cry, a slim hawkfaced man in perfectly kept officer’s garments turned and saluted. Drayko had not acted at all bitter when his master had declared that he would be taking command of this voyage. Clearly Jeronnan’s second had great respect and devotion for the innkeeper. “Lifeboat ahead!”

  “Aye, captain!” Drayko immediately gave commands for the sailors to prepare for survivors. The crew of the King’s Shield reacted in quick and orderly fashion, something Kara Nightshadow had already come to expect. Those who served Jeronnan served a man who had lived much of his life following the strict dictates of discipline. This did not mean that he ruled with an iron hand. Jeronnan also believed in the humanity of each of his men, a rare quality in any leader in these times.

  The King’s Shield came up to the lone craft, two sailors immediately preparing lines to draw her in. Jeronnan and Kara stepped down to watch them at work, the necromancer beginning to feel uneasy about this discovery. They followed the same general route that the Hawksfire would have used; could this be a boat from that vessel? Had Kara’s quest ended so soon, her quarries at the bottom of the sea?

  “There’s one aboard her,” Captain Jeronnan muttered.

  True enough, one sailor did lie in the boat, but even as the crew worked to secure the life craft, Kara already noted telltale signs that, for this man, they had arrived too late.

  Mister Drayko sent a pair of men down to investigate. Sliding down the ropes, they gingerly turned over the body, which had been lying face down.

  Eyes that no longer saw stared up into the heavens.

  “Been dead a day,” called up one of the men. He grimaced. “Permission to send him to his rest, sir.”

  Kara did not have to ask what he meant. Out here, there were limitations to what they could do for a corpse. A ceremony . . . and then a watery burial.

  Jeronnan nodded his permission, but Kara quickly put a hand on his arm. “I need to see the body . . . it may tell us something.”

  “You think it’s from the Hawksfire?”

  “Don’t you, captain?”

  He frowned. “Aye . . . but what do you plan to do?”

  She dared not explain in full. “Find out what happened . . . if I can.”

  “Very well.” Jeronnan signaled for the men to bring the body up. “I’ll have a cabin set aside for you, milady! I don’t want anyone else witnessing what you plan. They wouldn’t understand.”

  It took but a short time to bring the body to the cabin Jeronnan had chosen. Kara had expected to work with the corpse by herself, but the captain refused to leave. Even when she gave him a rather cursory explanation of what she intended, the former innkeeper refused to depart.

  “I’ve watched men torn apart in battle, seen creatures I doubt you’ve even heard of, viewed death in a thousand forms . . . and after what happened to my daughter, nothing can ever make me flee again. I’ll watch and I’ll even help, if it comes to that.”

  “In that case, please bolt the door. We will not want anyone else se
eing this.”

  After he had obeyed, Kara knelt beside the body. The sailor had been a middle-aged man who had not lived a gentle life. Recalling what little she had learned of the Hawksfire, the dark mage grew more suspicious that the boat had been indeed from that desperate vessel.

  The men who had brought the body had quickly closed the eyes, but Kara now opened them up again.

  “What in the Sea Witch’s name are you doing, lass?”

  “What has to be done. You may still leave if you wish, captain. It is not necessary that you subject yourself to any of this.”

  He steeled himself. “I’ll stay . . . it’s just that a dead man’s stare is said to be bad luck.”

  “He certainly had enough of that.” She reached into her pouch, searching for components. Without the dagger, she could not readily summon a phantasm as she had done in Bartuc’s tomb. Besides, attempting to do so might have even made Jeronnan change his mind about letting her continue. No, what she had in mind would work well enough, provided that in the process it did not turn the captain against her.

  From one tiny pouch Kara pulled forth a pinch of white powder.

  “What’s that?”

  “Ground bone and a mix of herbs.” She reached toward the dead sailor’s face.

  “Human bone?”

  “Yes.” Captain Jeronnan made no noise, no protest, which relieved the necromancer. Kara held the powder over the eyes, then sprinkled both sightless orbs with the white substance.

  To his credit, Jeronnan kept his tongue still. Only when she next retrieved a tiny black vial, then reached for the corpse’s mouth, did he dare interrupt again. “You’re not going to pour that down his gullet, are you, lass?”

  She peered up at him. “I mean no desecration, captain. What I do, I do to find out why this man perished. He looks dehydrated, starved, almost as if he has had neither food nor water for more than a week. Avery curious state for him to be in if, indeed, he is from the ship we pursue. I would assume the captain there would keep his crew fed, would he not?”

  “Casco’s a mad, foreign devil, but, aye, he’d still see that his men were fed.”

  “As I thought. And if this poor soul is not from the Hawksfire, it behooves us to find out exactly which vessel he is from, too. Don’t you agree?”

  “Your point’s made, lass . . . forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive.” With the top of the vial now removed, she used one hand to open the jaws of the sailor. That accomplished, Kara immediately tipped the vial so that half the contents would quickly drain down into the throat. Satisfied with that, she stoppered the bottle again and leaned back.

  “Maybe you could at least tell me how you hope to find out anything.”

  “You’ll see.” She would have explained, but Jeronnan did not realize how swiftly she now had to work. In conjunction with the powder, the liquid Kara had used would have an effect lasting but a very short time and the necromancer still had the final part of the spell to cast. Any interruption from here on might waste crucial seconds.

  With her finger, Kara drew a circle over the sailor’s chest, then extended a line from there along the length of the throat, up the jaw, and finally ending at the mouth. At the same time, she whispered the words of the spell. Once that had been done, Kara tapped the corpse on the chest, once, twice, thrice. All the while, the dark mage kept track of each passing second.

  The dead mariner let out an audible gasp as his lungs sought to fill with air.

  “Gods above!” blurted Jeronnan, taking a step back. “You’ve brought him back!”

  “No,” Kara curtly answered. She had known that the captain would mistake this for a resurrection. Outsiders never understood the many facets of a necromancer’s work. The faithful of Rathma did not toy with death as some believed; that went against their teachings. “Now, please, Captain Jeronnan, let me proceed.”

  He grunted, but otherwise remained silent. Kara leaned over the sailor, looking into the dead eyes. A faint hint of gold radiated from them, a good sign.

  She leaned back. “Tell me your name.”

  From the cold lips emerged a single word. “Kalkos.”

  “From what ship do you hail?”

  Another gasp of air, then, “Hawksfirrrre.”

  “So, he is from the—”

  “Please! No speaking!” To the corpse, she asked, “Did the ship sink?”

  “Noooo . . .”

  Curious. Then why would this man have abandoned it? “Were there pirates?”

  Again a negative response. Kara estimated the time she had remaining and realized that she had better push to the point. “Did everyone abandon ship?”

  “Noooo . . .”

  “Who remained behind?” The necromancer tried to keep the anticipation out of her voice.

  Once more, the corpse inhaled. “Casco . . . captain . . .” The mouth shut, something not at all normal. The mariner’s body almost seemed reluctant to add more, but then it finally gasped, “Sssorcererrrr . . .”

  A sorcerer? The answer caught Kara off guard for a moment. She had expected to hear him speak of either the thieves who had stolen the armor or, in view of the crew’s desperate act, the two revenants who had attacked her. Certainly their presence would have sent hardened sailors fleeing to the dangers of the sea.

  “Describe him!”

  The mouth opened, but no words came out. Like the phantasm, this spell allowed only for simple answers. Kara cursed quietly, then altered her question. “What did he wear?”

  Inhaling . . . then, “Armorrrr . . .”

  She stiffened. “Armor? Red armor?”

  “Yesss . . .”

  Something she had not expected. So, apparently one of the survivors of the tomb had been a sorcerer after all. Could it be this Norrec Vizharan of which the earlier phantasm had spoken? She repeated the name to the mariner, asking him if he knew it. Unfortunately, that did not prove the case.

  Still, Kara had found out much of what she wanted to know. The last time this man Kalkos had seen the Hawksfire, it had not only been afloat, but the armor she sought remained aboard.

  “Without a crew,” she commented to a silent Captain Jeronnan. “The ship cannot sail far, can it?”

  “More than likely to go in circles, if only its master and this spellcaster remain aboard.” Jeronnan hesitated, then asked, “Haven’t you more questions?”

  She did, but none that the corpse could answer. Kara dearly wished that she still had her dagger. Then she could have taken more time and summoned up a true spirit, something that could have answered with longer, more coherent statements. Older, more skilled necromancers could have performed such a fantastic feat without the use of a tool, but Kara knew it would still be a few years before she reached that point.

  “What about him?” insisted the former naval officer. “What happened to him . . . and the rest, for that matter, lass? One day on a rough sea’s enough to kill many a man, but there’s something unsettling about the look of him . . .”

  Feeling somewhat ashamed that Jeronnan had found the need to remind her, Kara quickly leaned over the corpse again. “Where are your comrades?”

  No answer. She quickly touched the chest, felt it sink under the slight pressure of her fingers. The liquid component of her spell had begun to wear off.

  The necromancer had one chance. The eyes of a dead man often retained the last few images he had witnessed. If the powder she had placed on them still had some potency, then Kara might be able to see those images for herself.

  Without looking back at the captain, she said, “Under no circumstances must I be interrupted for the next step. Is that understood?”

  “Aye . . .” but Jeronnan said it with much reluctance.

  Kara positioned her gaze directly over the sightless orbs, then began muttering. The gold tint to his eyes seized her, pulled her in. The necromancer fought back the instinctive desire to flee from the world of the dead, instead throwing herself fully into the spell she now
cast.

  And suddenly Kara sat in a boat in the midst of a stormy sea, pulling at the oars with all her might as if the three Prime Evils themselves chased the tiny vessel. The necromancer looked down, saw that her hands were thick, rough, seaman’s hands—the hands of Kalkos.

  “Where’s Pietr’s boat?” a bearded man called out to her.

  “How would I know?” her own mouth snapped back, the voice deep and bitter. “Just row! Got us a chance if we keep headin’ east! That hellish storm’s got to end somewhere!”

  “We shoulda taken the captain with us!”

  “He’d never leave her, not even if she sank! He wants to ride with the demon master, let ’im!”

  “Watch out for that wave!” someone else shouted.

  Her head turned toward that direction, epithets such as Kara had never imagined men using spitting from her lips. In the distance, she saw two other lifeboats, each crammed tight with desperate men.

  The bearded man suddenly stood up, not the wisest thing in such conditions. He gaped at something behind her—behind Kalkos—and pointed frantically. “Look out! Look out!”

  Kalkos’s gaze shifted as best it could. The sailor continued to man the oars.

  At the edge of the the mariner’s field of vision emerged a vast, serpentine tentacle.

  “Turn about! Turn about!” Kalkos called. “Sit down, Bragga!”

  The bearded man dropped to his place. Those able to work the oars desperately tried to turn the boat around.

  Over the roar of the waves and the crash of thunder, Kara heard the distant screams of men. Kalkos looked that direction, revealing the horrific sight of scores of tentacles overwhelming one of the other boats. Several men were lifted into the air, some by the suction cups of the tentacles, others by macabre, grasping claws—almost hands—that plucked sailors from the boat as if they were flowers.

  Kara expected the sailors to be drawn to the cavernous opening that she now witnessed in the center of a massive, monstrous form, a creature much like a gigantic squid, but with only one massive orb and horrid flesh that marked it as no denizen of this mortal plane. Instead, however, the monster simply held them aloft, using its clawed appendages to attach other sailors to various suckers. The victims cried out, pleading to those in the distance to save them.