The lance quickly withdrew. Kara gasped, collapsing. Blood spilled over her blouse. Norrec froze momentarily, then, knowing he could do nothing for her if he, too, perished, the veteran fighter turned to confront their attacker.
Yet, what greeted his horrified eyes proved to be no warrior, but rather a thing born of nightmares. It most resembled a towering insect, but one clearly spawned in more hellish climes. Pulsating veins crosscrossed its grotesque form. What he had taken for a lance had actually been one of the creature’s own appendages, a lengthy, sicklelike arm ending in a deadly point. Beneath the sickles, savage skeletal hands with claws opened and closed. Somehow, the massive horror managed to sup port itself on two lengthy hind limbs bent back in the manner of the mantis it so resembled.
“This one came in search of a treacherous, wandering witch, but such a prize will serve better! Long has this one hunted for you, for the power you wield . . .”
Even dazed, Norrec knew that the demon—for what other creature could this be—meant the armor, not the man.
“You killed her!” he managed to reply.
Blood dripping from one sickle, the mantis dipped his head. “One less mortal makes no difference. Where is the witch? Where is Galeona?”
He knew her? Norrec did not find that at all surprising. Even half under the spell of the armor, he had known that much of her story had been lies. “Dead. The armor killed her.”
An intake of breath indicated to him that the demon found this startling. “She is dead? Of course! This one sensed something amiss—but did not suspect that!”
He began to emit a peculiar, rattling noise which the soldier at first thought anger. Only after a time, however, did it become clear that the monstrous insect laughed .
“The bond is severed, yet still this one roams the mortal plane! The tie is broken, but the blood spell preserves! This one could have slain her all along! What a fool Xazax has been!”
Norrec took the demon’s enjoyment as a chance to look at Kara. Her entire chest had turned crimson and from where he stood he could not tell if she even breathed. It pained him to have her, the one who had tried to save him, die before his very eyes without being able to do anything about it.
Spurred on by anger, Norrec took a step toward the mantis—or at least tried to do so. Unfortunately, his legs, his entire body, refused to obey him.
“Damn you!” he roared at the suit. “Not now!”
Xazax ceased laughing. The deep, yellow orbs fixed on the helpless human. “Fool! Think you to command the greatness of Bartuc? This one thought to peel the armor off your cold corpse, but now Xazax sees this would have proven a terrible blunder! You are needed—at least for the time being!”
The mantis raised one spearlike tip toward the breastplate. Immediately, Norrec’s left hand reached out, but not in defense. Instead, to his horror, it touched the demon’s own appendage as if in acknowledgment.
“You would be whole, would you not?” Xazax asked of the suit. “You would desire the return of the helm separated from you so long ago? This one can take you to it . . . if you like.”
In response, one booted foot stepped forward. Even Norrec knew what the lone movement meant.
“Then go we shall . . . but it must be done quickly.” The mantis turned and started off.
Norrec had no choice but to follow, the armor soon marching alongside the demon. Behind the desperate soldier, Kara bled away the last drops of her life, but he could do no more for her than he could for himself. In some ways, Norrec envied the pale woman. The necromancer’s suffering had already all but ended; his would only get worse. His last hope had been crushed.
“Heaven help me . . .” he whispered.
The mantis apparently had sharp hearing, for he immediately fell upon the hopeless words. “Heaven? No angel will there be to help you, fool of a human! Too afraid, they are! Too cowardly! We walk the world in numbers, the demon master awakes, and the human stronghold of Lut Gholein prepares to suffer a horrific end! Heaven? You would do better to pray to Hell!”
And as they continued on toward their destination, Norrec could not help but think that on this the demon might just speak the truth.
* * *
Kara felt her life ebbing away, but she could do nothing about it. The demonic creature she had seen had moved with inhuman swiftness. Perhaps she had saved Norrec, but even that the necromancer doubted.
She drifted along, each drop of blood leaving her body bringing her close to taking her next step in the overall scheme of the balance. Yet despite her deep beliefs, Kara wanted nothing more at the moment than to return to the mortal plane. She had left too much undone, had left Norrec in a position that he could not possibly survive without her aid. Worse, demons walked her world, further evidence that every follower of Rathma was badly needed. She had to return.
But such choices were generally not given to the dying.
“What should we do?” a voice in the distance asked, a voice that Kara felt she knew.
“He said that we should give it back when we felt we must. I feel we must.”
“But without it—”
“We will still have time, Sadun.”
“He may have said so, but I don’t trust him!”
A brief, throaty chuckle. “Trust you to be the only one capable of not trusting one of his grand kind.”
“Save the remarks . . . if it’s got to be done, let’s do it.”
“As you say.”
Kara suddenly felt a great weight upon her chest—a weight that felt so good that she eagerly welcomed it, took it into her very being. It had a tremendous familiarity to it that caused her to reminisce about little things, such as her mother feeding her fruit, a butterfly the color of rainbows landing on her knee while she studied in the forest, the smell of Captain Jeronnan’s freshly cooked meals . . . even a brief glimpse of Norrec Vizharan’s weathered but not unhandsome face.
The necromancer suddenly gasped as life enfolded her again.
She blinked, feeling the sand, the wind. Thunder rumbled and somewhere distant she heard what seemed the sounds of battle.
“It did . . . as he said . . . it would. I should’ve . . . used it . . . on myself.”
Kara knew that voice now, although it had changed some from just a few seconds before. Now it sounded more as she would have expected it to sound—the rasping words of a dead man.
“I know . . . I know . . .” Sadun Tryst retorted to some silent response. “Only her . . .”
Opening her eyes, the enchantress stared up at the solemn forms of the grinning revenant and his Vizjerei companion. “What—how did you find me?”
“We never lost . . . you. We let you . . . go . . . and followed.” His eyes narrowed. “But here in . . . Aranoch . . . we knew you . . . were around, but . . . could not see . . . you . . . until now.”
They did not know exactly where she had gone when Horazon had led her down into his underground sanctum. The spell binding her to them had kept them in the general area, but both the sanctuary’s location and its incredible magic had left the revenants baffled. She could have been directly underneath and neither would have noticed.
Her strength returning, the dark mage tried to push herself up a bit. Something slid from her chest. Kara instinctively caught it with one hand and marveled. Her dagger!
Tryst’s smile had taken a decidedly bitter turn. “The bond is . . . broken. The life force . . . we took . . . is yours. . . .” He looked frustrated. “We have . . . no more . . . hold . . . over you.”
The necromancer looked down at her chest. Blood covered most of the blouse, but the horrible wound inflicted on her by the demon had sealed over, the only sign of its earlier presence a circular mark, as if someone had tattooed Kara there.
“Looks . . . much healed.”
She covered the area up again, glaring at the undead, despite the fact that he and Fauztin had just gifted her with a second chance at life. “How did you do that? I’ve never heard of such a feat
!”
The wiry corpse shrugged, his head tipping to the other side. “He—my friend . . . said that the dagger . . . was a part . . . of you. When you were . . . bound to us . . . some part of you . . . came with. We returned it . . . to make you alive.” He grimaced as best he could. “Nothing keeps . . . you tied to . . . us any more.”
“Except one thing. Norrec.” Kara forced herself up. Tryst stood back, but, to her astonishment, Fauztin lent a hand. She hesitated at first, but realized that the revenant only meant to help. “Thank you.”
Fauztin blinked . . . then rewarded her with a brief, tight-lipped smile.
“You bring life . . . to the deadest of . . . the dead . . . now . . . we’re even . . .” Sadun Tryst jested.
“What about Norrec?”
“We think . . . he nears . . . Lut Gholein.”
Even though they had saved her, the necromancer could not let them slay their former friend. “Norrec is not responsible for your deaths. What happened to you he could not prevent.”
The two stared back at her. At last, Fauztin blinked again and Tryst replied, “We know.”
“But then why—?” Kara stopped. All along she had assumed that they hunted their murderer, who, naturally, could only be Norrec. Only now, looking at the duo, did she understand that her misconceptions had led her astray.
“You do not pursue Norrec in order to exact revenge on him—you pursue Bartuc’s armor .” Although they did not answer her, she knew that she had not been wrong. “You could have told me!”
Tryst did not reply to that, either, instead abruptly announcing to Kara, “The city is under . . . siege.”
Under siege? When had that happened? “By who?”
“One who . . . also seeks . . . to raise the dead . . . or at least . . . the bloody specter of . . . Bartuc.”
Where did all these madmen come from, Kara wondered—and that made her think of the ragged figure from whom she had most recently escaped. Turning around, she looked for some sign of the Arcane Sanctuary, but to no avail. The desert sands swirled in the wind, the dunes looking as if they had remained untouched for years. Yet, somewhere around here the earth had opened up and deposited her and Norrec on the ground.
Not caring what the revenants might make of her peculiar actions, Kara called out, “Horazon! Listen to me! You can help us—and we can help you! Help us save Norrec—and put an end to Bartuc’s legacy!”
She waited, the wind whipping her hair and sand stinging her face. Kara waited for Horazon to materialize or at least send her some sign that he listened.
But nothing happened.
At last, Sadun Tryst broke the silence. “We can’t . . . wait here any longer . . . while you call . . . more ghosts . . .”
“I’m not calling—” the necromancer stopped. Of what use trying to explain to the revenants that Horazon had survived the centuries and lived, albeit as a madman, under their very feet? For that matter, why had she even hoped that Bartuc’s brother would join with them in this dire venture? He had already shown that, if it had been up to him alone, Norrec would have perished along with the armor. Some legends concerning Horazon had painted him as a hero in comparison to his brother, but this same hero had also summoned demons, bending them to his will. Yes, his war against Bartuc had definitely been about self-preservation as much as anything else. There would be no aid from the ancient Vizjerei.
“We go . . .” Tryst added. “You come . . . or not . . . your choice, necromancer.”
What else could Kara do? Even without Horazon, she had to go after Norrec. The demon must have taken him to the one besieging Lut Gholein, but for what reason? Did they hope to destroy what remained of the veteran fighter’s own mind, enabling the ghostly memories of the Warlord of Blood to completely take over? A terrifying thought for all people everywhere, not simply poor Norrec. Many scholars had assumed, quite rightly, that, had he defeated his brother, Bartuc would have wreaked his evil upon the rest of the world until it had all fallen under his heel. Now, it seemed, like Kara, he had a second chance to succeed.
As a follower of Rathma, she could not permit that— even if it meant having to kill the armor’s host. The thought left her cold, but if the balance after all required Norrec to be slain, then so be it. Even her own life did not matter if only it meant that she put an end to the danger.
“I will come with you,” the necromancer finally replied.
Fauztin nodded, then pointed in the direction of Lut Gholein.
“Time is . . . wasting . . . he says.”
The revenants flanked Kara as the trio set off, a fact which did not escape her. The wind had already wiped clean much of Norrec’s trail, but Tryst and the Vizjerei had no apparent trouble following. The bond to what had murdered them enabled the pair to follow anywhere, any place.
“What about the demon?” Kara asked. He had designs on the armor, too, and would certainly fight anyone who sought to take it away from him.
Tryst pointed at her dagger, which now hung from the dark mage’s belt. “That . . . is our best bet.”
“How?”
“Just use it . . . and pray.” He looked as if he intended to say more, but Fauztin gave him a glance that silenced the smaller of the ghouls immediately.
What secret did they still hold from her? Had she underestimated them? Did they still plan to use her as a puppet? Now was certainly not the time to hold back anything that might mean the difference between victory and death.
“What do you—”
“We’ll deal . . . with the armor . . .” Sadun commented, cutting her off, “and Norrec.”
His tone indicated that there would be no further conversation on this or any other subject. Kara considered trying anyway, but decided not to aggravate relations with the duo. The revenants acted in no manner she could readily predict, going against everything she had been taught about their kind. Half the time, they acted as if they still had hearts that pumped, blood that flowed. The rest of the time, they moved on with the silent determination for which such undead had been fabled. Truly, a unique situation. . . but then, everything about this matter had been unique.
Deadly, too.
She pictured Norrec in her mind, wondering what he must be going through at the moment. The image of the demon overshadowed the fighter, causing the necromancer to bite her lip in concern. There also appeared in her mind the shadow of a third figure, the one who now led the assault on the coastal kingdom. What part did he play? What did he gain in all this? He could not simply desire to have Norrec become a second Bartuc—that would be the same as signing his own death warrant. Bartuc had never either willingly served nor allied himself with any other mortal.
She would have the chance to discover the answers to her many questions soon enough. As to whether she would live long enough to appreciate those answers— Kara had severe doubts.
Nineteen
More than an hour had past and sti ll Lut Gholein had not given up the armor. General Malevolyn barely contained his righteous anger, wondering if they had already found it and thought that somehow they could use its magic against him. If so, they would be sorely mistaken. The armor would never work for their cause and, if tampered with, would likely strike out at those investigating it. No, Bartuc’s legacy belonged to him and him alone.
In keeping with his threat, his demon horde continued to assault the walls. The grounds near Lut Gholein had been littered with the mangled remains of not only those who had earlier failed to reach the gates, but also several who had fallen from above. The demon archers had proven in many ways superior shots to even the men whose bodies they now inhabited. In addition, the six catapults that he had brought along now wreaked more havoc in the city itself. Protected by demonic sorceries, the siege machines, in turn, suffered no damage from Lut Gholein’s return fire.
He watched as those at the nearest catapult prepared yet another fiery gift for the inhabitants. General Malevolyn had saved the weapons for just this, showing his adversaries that
he would permit them no respite. Either they gave him what he desired or even their high walls would not save them—not that he would let such limited barriers save them in the end, anyway.
And the end was very near. Lut Gholein, the general decided, had just run out of time. He would let the catapults fire their present volley, then give the command for his full forces to strike. The people within thought that their gates would hold against the invaders, but even now they underestimated the might of demons. It would be a simple matter to remove the one obstacle to the horde’s entrance into the city . . . and from there would begin a day of death so bloody that Lut Gholein’s fall would be spoken of in terrified whispered by all other men for years to come.
Once more, the crimson armor of the Warlord of Blood would cast the shadow of fear across the entire world.
Augustus Malevolyn suddenly stiffened as an unsettling sensation filled him. He quickly turned to look behind him, certain that he had to see who—or what— approached from the rear.
And over a dune came a familiar sight, Xazax moving along the sand. That the demon had dared come so near to Lut Gholein during the day puzzled the general—until he saw who walked beside the monstrous insect.
“The armor . . . ” he whispered almost reverently.
Forgetting his demon soldiers, forgetting Lut Gholein, Malevolyn charged toward the oncoming pair. In all his life he had never experienced so glorious a moment. Bartuc’s armor came toward him. His greatest desire had at last come to fruition!
Why the simpleton who had stolen it from the tomb still lived to wear it, only Xazax could say. It amazed Malevolyn that the mantis had let the man live this long. Perhaps Xazax simply had not wanted to bother with carrying the suit back himself and had forced the fool to bring it along. Well, for that deed, the least the general could do would be to grant the armor’s present wearer a relatively quick and painless death.
“And what prize is this you bring, my friend?”
The mantis sounded quite pleased with himself. “A gift surely proving this one’s intentions match those of the warlord. This one gives you one Norrec Vizharan— mercenary, tomb robber, and host for the glorious armor of Bartuc!”
Diablo #1: Legacy of Blood Page 29
