Diablo: Moon of the Spider

by Richard A. Knaak

  But no guard shouted out and at last the necromancer left the sight of the church. Only then did Zayl glance back. When he saw that no one was in sight, he allowed himself a brief exhalation, then continued on his trek.

  Zayl had ignored the first inns, they being unlike those Sardak claimed this Edmun would likely frequent. Now, however, less glorious establishments rose ahead, and in these the spellcaster took an immediate interest. He looked at the nearest two, then chose the one on his left, that one being the noisiest and most disreputable-looking.

  Barely an eye glanced his way as he entered, surely a hint of the depths to which those before the necromancer had fallen. Even those who did not know Zayl’s calling could generally sense how different he was from most travelers.

  Music, laughter, and argument assailed his ears, which one the most strident, he could not say. Zayl strode among the patrons, surreptitiously eyeing them in search of one who resembled this “king’s man.” It would have been much easier with Sardak beside him, but while Zayl was gone from the estate, he preferred that the half-brother remain with Salene.

  Still, it soon enough became apparent that no one here could possibly be King Justinian’s personal aide. The Rathmian turned around and—after narrowly avoiding a drunken merchant with a girth the size of Trag’Oul’s—stepped out once more into the rain. Pulling his cloak tight, he proceeded on to the next tavern.

  But that, too, proved a waste of his efforts, as did the next two he entered. Zayl understood the difficulty of his task, yet, once again he counted on Rathma’s claim that the way would come to him. Some clue as to finding the elusive Edmun would soon reveal itself, of that the black-clad figure was certain.

  Zayl had not told Salene of another, just as pressing reason he wanted to go out alone. Away from Nesardo, the necromancer would be free of the interfering forces of the house and thus perhaps be better able to sense his mysterious adversary, this Karybdus, without having to rely on the questionable Edmun at all. Should that happen, Zayl intended to immediately close in on the other’s location—again, a very good reason for keeping Salene far, far away.

  He suddenly collided with a sturdy form clad in the hard leather of a mercenary. As startled as much by his lapse of concentration as he was by the actual collision, Zayl glanced up into the tall figure’s half-obscured face.

  “Captain Dumon?” the necromancer blurted.

  But a scant moment later, he realized that it was not his fellow survivor from Ureh. There was quite a resemblance, but also enough differences to mark this other fighter as someone else.

  “You should keep an eye on your path at all times,” returned the Rathmian’s unexpected companion. His voice was unusually cultured for one of his calling.

  “My humblest apologies …”

  The mercenary grinned. “I’d make you buy me a tankard at Garrett’s Crossing just for the inconvenience, if I had the time. Best drink in the city at Garrett’s. Everyone goes there.”

  Zayl started to reply, but, with a friendly nod, the large man moved on. The necromancer paused to watch him for a moment, then went on his own way.

  He came across a cluster of inns of various quality and paused. Zayl was aware that his hunt for Edmun was like looking for the proverbial needle. Unfortunately, his other quest, the one in which he had had more hope, was also proving fruitless. Despite a continuous mental probe, there was no hint of any other spellcaster, Vizjerei or otherwise.

  Of course, he could always just go to the palace itself and ask for the elusive Edmun. Zayl smiled ruefully at the thought of such a move. The guards would take one look at him and either cast him in the dungeons or send him fleeing from Westmarch.

  The wind picked up again. Zayl clutched his cloak tight, keeping the hood close. The wooden sign over one doorway swung wildly, each movement accompanied by the squeak of metal. A particularly loud squeak made Zayl briefly glance up—

  And then glance again.

  Garrett’s Crossing.

  Zayl abruptly glanced over his shoulder, certain that someone stood behind him but finding only drenched air. He looked back at the sign.

  Expression set, the necromancer pushed open the door and went inside.

  Garrett’s Crossing was an establishment well above the Black Ram in quality, but certainly not on the level of one of the elaborate inns that Zayl had seen earlier. The patrons clearly had coin to spend, but not so lavishly. Still, there was music playing and much good-tempered laughter. The tavern area was well-filled, which meant that even a dour-looking figure such as Zayl caused little notice as he wended his way between tables.

  But his gaze caught no sign of the elusive Edmun and he began to silently berate himself for having believed that he would find the man here. The Rathmian started to turn to the door—

  And at that moment, from a back hall, a man who matched Sardak’s description of the king’s aide stepped out. He looked flushed, clearly the result of drink … and something more. A moment later, that something more slipped past Edmun in search of her next client.

  Justinian’s confidant adjusted his clothing. Zayl took the opportunity to move in on him.

  The other looked up as the necromancer neared … and let out a howl of dismay. He pointed a condemning finger at Zayl.

  Now the entire room noticed the Rathmian.

  Edmun whirled away. Zayl moved to follow.

  But from every direction, crimson-armored figures wielding gleaming swords suddenly burst into the tavern. They pushed aside patrons without care, even shoving over tables full of drink and gambling.

  Zayl’s quarry darted past one pair unmolested. The Zakarum closed ranks and converged on the necromancer. Behind them, Zayl saw a robed figure guiding the efforts, his expression one of zealous devotion to his cause … a cause that, for the moment, centered on capturing the Rathmian.

  Zayl quickly drew a symbol resembling a sleeping eye in the air, accompanying his gesture with several muttered words.

  To his senses alone, small, black spheres formed in the air above the charging men. The spheres immediately plunged down, covering the heads of the men.

  The charge faltered. Armored figures suddenly collided with one another or crashed into tables and startled patrons. The cohesive line splintered, Zakarum’s holy warriors now staggering blindly in a dozen different directions. Even their robed leader flailed around angrily.

  The blindness would not last long, though. Ducking down, Zayl slipped past a lumbering guard, then into the densely packed crowd watching. Not unexpectedly, the latter parted for him without hesitation, no one wishing to touch a necromancer.

  Out into the rain he ran, but not to escape. Instead, Zayl twisted around the corner of the building and headed toward the exit he believed Edmun had used.

  Sure enough, the door in question swung haphazardly in the wind. As for Edmun himself, there was no sign, but the Rathmian could sense his trace. Now that he had found his quarry, the necromancer would not rest until he had a chance to question the king’s man.

  Turning a corner, the Rathmian caught sight of the drenched figure in question leading a horse out of some stables. Zayl focused, intending to repeat the spell he had used on the Zakarum.

  But as he started to gesture, a party of armored riders suddenly swarmed between him and Edmun. Zayl’s initial thoughts were that another band of Zakarum had come upon him, but while the garments of these men were red, it was not the blood color of the Church.

  He attempted to turn the focus of his spell upon them … and only then realized that others came at him from behind.

  Heavy, armored bodies brought the Rathmian crashing to the ground. Zayl heard a voice shouting orders and then a mailed fist struck him hard in the temple.

  He felt nothing from that point on.

  TEN

  The more and more she thought about it, the more Salene regretted being talked out of journeying out into the city with Zayl in search of Justinian’s man. Zayl hardly knew Westmarch and he had alre
ady been attacked more than once because of her, which the noblewoman still greatly regretted. She was not one to let others fight her battles for her, not even those like Polth, who had been paid to do so.

  And so, Salene determined that she would go out and find the necromancer before something terrible happened.

  It was not difficult to slip past Sardak. For all his care for her, her half-brother trusted her too much. When she retired for the evening, Sardak accepted her kiss on the cheek and wished her well. He then went to his chambers—near hers—and promised that he would come the moment she called him.

  But the noblewoman waited only long enough for the house to quiet, then, clad in an outfit similar to what she had worn to the crypts, wrapped a cloak about her and snuck out of her room. In order to even better avoid Sardak’s hearing her, she took a route that brought her past Zayl’s chambers. It required a longer trek, but at least no one would be wise to her departure.

  Or so she thought.

  “Bundled up well for a stroll through the halls,” rang out a voice from behind the necromancer’s door.

  Salene tried to ignore the unseen speaker, but then he began humming loudly and off-key. Desperate, the Lady Nesardo slipped into the room to quiet him.

  “No more, Humbart! Sardak will hear you!”

  “And why should he not?” returned the skull only slightly more quietly. “You’re not to be going out there and you know it, lass!”

  “Zayl is risking himself for my life in a city he knows nothing about in search of a man he would recognize only from my brother’s dubious description! I cannot fathom how I let him journey out there on his own!”

  “You’d be surprised how resourceful the lad can be. If this Edmun’s beyond the palace gates, he’ll locate him.” Then hesitation crept into the skull’s voice. “Still, it is a big city …”

  “And I know it far better.”

  “But you shouldn’t go out alone, either, my lady.”

  She remained defiant. “I’ll not risk Sardak out there for my decision.”

  “It wasn’t him I was thinkin’ of.” Somehow, the fleshless head jostled. “Pick me up and we can be on our way …”

  “You?”

  “Lass, I searched for gold and hunted men for most of my mortal life! And I know Zayl better than anyone! You want to find him, and find him fast … you’ll need me.”

  He made sense … and that worried Salene. “I don’t know …”

  “If you’re fearful about carrying me around in the crook of your arm for all to see, just grab that sack next to me. ’Tis what Zayl uses when we’re travelin’. All I ask is that you take me out now and then so I can get my bearings.”

  Not certain what else to do, she complied. As she opened the sack, the noblewoman asked, “You’re certain you can lead me to him?”

  “He and I are bound together by more than magic, my lady—gently there!” The last referred to her attempt to put the jawless skull in the pouch without losing her grip on him.

  Once Humbart was settled within—and arranged right side up—Salene carefully shut the bag and tied it to her belt. The skull was surprisingly light against her hip. “Are you all right there?”

  “As good as I can be …”

  Salene grimaced. She had talked to the skull as if he were alive, which he was not. However human Humbart Wessel acted, he no longer was.

  It proved easy for Salene, familiar with the routine of her own home, to slip past the few servants on night duty. Before long, she and Humbart reached the darkened stables. Accustomed to being self-reliant, the Lady Nesardo had little trouble saddling a mount. She did not run into another soul until reaching the outer gates, where only a single guard stood duty.

  “You really want to go out in this, my lady?” questioned the armed man. He had served her ten years and so did not even think to actually suggest that she turn around and go back to the house. The Lady Nesardo did what the Lady Nesardo chose. That was all there was to it.

  “Yes, Dolf. Consider this like the year my mother died.”

  “Aah.” Expression set, the guard opened the way for her. As she rode through, he muttered, “A better outcome for this venture, I hope, my lady. Rest assured, no one’ll know, especially your brother.”

  When they had ridden some distance from the Nesardo estate, Humbart suddenly asked, “Now what did you both mean back there?”

  “When my mother grew ill, Dolf recalls me riding out each night, supposedly in search of someone who could heal her.”

  “And that wasn’t the case?”

  Salene shook her head, in her mind revisiting that dark time. “No, at least not later. First I sought the aid of a Vizjerei, hoping that he could teach me how to save her. That failed.”

  The skull hesitated, then: “Where there’s a first, there’s a second … What was it?”

  “It was the first time I went in search of a necromancer.” The skull could not see the tears beginning to mix with the rain dotting her face. “Then, I thought that if I couldn’t have her alive, I’d have her raised from the dead, to stay with me always.”

  Again, Humbart hesitated. “You didn’t find one, did you, lass?”

  “No … and for her sake, I’m glad I didn’t …”

  The skull wisely did not comment.

  The rain lessened slightly as they left the vicinity of House Nesardo, something that did not get past Salene. Even before Zayl had pointed it out, she had known that her home was the nexus of ancient powers. That had not bothered the noblewoman so much in the past, but now something was focusing those same powers against her.

  Zayl had insisted on going on foot, something she had not understood but that now surely gave her some advantage. As swift and catlike as the necromancer could be, he would still need far more time to cover any area than Salene.

  Under the hood of her travel cloak, the noblewoman peered out at the first establishments coming up ahead. She sincerely doubted that she would be so fortunate as to discover either the Rathmian or his whereabouts on her first foray, but, at the same time, Salene dared not pass any place by.

  “Best to get started,” she muttered, but as Salene began to dismount, from the pouch came a whisper.

  “The lad’s not been here for some time. Move on.”

  She paused, asking in the same quiet voice, “How do you know?”

  “We’re bound to one another, as I said,” came the curt reply. “Ask no more. Just take my word: I know he’s not around here. Move on.”

  Salene remounted. Whenever she would come to an inn or a tavern, she would put a gentle hand on the pouch. The skull would then respond with a single word—always, much to her dismay, “no.”

  This allowed them to proceed faster, but at the same time it disturbed her to discover how deep Zayl had already gotten into the city.

  Her concern grew tenfold as they passed the great cathedral of the Zakarum. The wary guards looked not at all bothered by the harsh elements, concerned only with watching for the heretics they believed everywhere. The necromancer surely would have caught their eye, even if for his appearance alone.

  “Slowly …,” Humbart suddenly muttered. “It’s not been long since he was near.”

  Her pulse raced. This close to the Zakarum, that could not be a good thing.

  “Hold up here,” continued her companion in the same low tone. “Best check the nearest establishments. His trace is strong.”

  She pulled in front of an inn and tavern called Garrett’s Crossing. Tying up her horse, she adjusted the pouch in which the skull lay, then started toward the entrance.

  But just as she reached for the door, a large figure stepping out all but barreled into her. The man—a professional fighter from his general appearance—seized her by the arms just in time to prevent her from falling backward into the wet stone street.

  “Here now, little one! You’ve got to watch yourself better!” He all but picked her up and set her down next to her mount. “I could’ve hurt you!”
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  “No harm’s done,” she returned, attempting to get past him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

  Somehow, the giant figure managed to keep in front. Although his features were half-obscured by his hood, there was something about him that reminded her of good, lamented Polth.

  It softened her attitude toward him, even when he again kept her from entering. “That’s no place there for the likes of you, my lady. They’re still clearing things up from the trouble.”

  Trouble? Salene heard a slight sound from the pouch and quickly tapped it as she had seen Zayl once do. Humbart immediately quieted. “What do you mean? What happened?”

  Her new companion rubbed his chin. Leaning down in an almost conspiratory manner, he replied, “Seems there was a dark one, one of those sorcerers who raise the dead, in there. He was looking for someone, too, they say. But what he didn’t know was that the Zakarum were looking for him at the same time.”

  It was all the noblewoman could do to keep from gasping. She prayed that the darkness and the foul weather kept her expression from this talkative stranger. “So the Church captured him?”

  “The necromancer? Nay, he showed them how blind the Zakarum could be all right—literally—then slipped out after the man he’d been hunting.”

  The exhalation of relief escaped Salene before she could stop it, but, fortunately, the man did not notice. “Quite a lot of excitement,” she finally managed to say. “Yes, you’re correct. I won’t look for my friend in there.”

  “Aye. If I may say so, my lady, any friend of yours is more likely to be a guest of the great General Torion than a patron of a squalid place like this.” The leather-clad man nodded. “You’ll pardon me, but I’ve got to be going. A good evenin’ to you, my lady …”

  With that, he finally stepped out of her way and descended into the storm-soaked street.

  Salene hesitated by the entrance, but not because she any longer wanted to go inside. Something the man had said struck her.