Diablo: Moon of the Spider

by Richard A. Knaak

  Sardak gritted his teeth. “What of it? Nothing matters more to me than Salene. Either jump in or get the hell out of my way so I can!”

  “Sardak—”

  Without warning, Zayl’s companion struck him with the back of his hand. It was not enough to injure the necromancer or even stun him, but it put Zayl off balance for a moment.

  That was all the time Sardak needed to leap down into the hole. Zayl stretched a desperate hand toward Salene’s sibling, but too late. He heard Sardak’s dwindling grunts and curses, then silence.

  The Rathmian gripped his ivory dagger tight. “Be ready, Humbart.”

  “How?” grumbled the skull.

  Zayl dropped into the hole.

  He tumbled madly down the gap, bouncing harshly against the jagged, uneven walls. Several times, the necromancer would have suffered bruises and injuries if not for his cloak. The Scale of Trag’Oul shielded him against such. He wondered how Sardak, who had no such protection, fared, and cursed the man for his foolishness.

  Then, just when it seemed that the fall would last forever, Zayl was tossed into open air. He barely managed to twist his body in order to land without striking his head. X’y’Laq might have obeyed him to the letter when it came to the protective runes, but the demon was clever enough to have still left some fault.

  Strong hands gripped him by the shoulder. Sardak pulled him to his feet. Other than a bruise on his right cheek and a small cut on one hand, Salene’s brother looked untouched.

  “How’s your head?” demanded Sardak quickly. “Clear?”

  “Yes, and you seem none the worse—”

  Sardak cut him off. “I’ve always been lucky in certain matters, you know that! Can you cast spells?”

  Zayl frowned. “I can, but why?”

  The necromancer’s companion pointed past him. “Because I think that mob might be more than my sword can handle.”

  Zayl glanced over his shoulder … and beheld a shadowy band of robed figures converging slowly but surely upon them. There was that in their movements that made the Rathmian frown. He held up the dagger and summoned from it more light.

  And in that light, Zayl beheld the faces of the dead.

  “Gad!” blurted Sardak. “Even more disgusting bunch than I thought!”

  There were dozens within view and more shapes in the distance. That there remained any flesh upon them was a sign of the power that they had served … and the other power that had resurrected them now.

  Karybdus.

  Zayl could sense that the other Rathmian had been here … which meant that he likely already had Salene in his clutches. He had also evidently expected that Zayl would follow and, like a puppet on strings, the latter had.

  “Any suggestions, spellcaster?”

  In response, Zayl cast the spell for the Teeth of Trag’Oul. The sharp projectiles immediately formed in midair, then shot toward their intended targets with horrific accuracy.

  But just before they would have impaled the foremost of the desiccated ghouls … they vanished again.

  “By the Cursed Eyes of Barabas!”

  “Not what you expected, was it?” growled Sardak, clutching his sword so tight his knuckles lacked any color.

  Zayl should have expected that Karybdus would put in place countermeasures for his spells. Again, the younger necromancer had proven himself the fool.

  And as the undead encroached, Zayl noted another dire sign. What remained of their tattered garments marked them all as of the same, for each one wore a robe upon which could still be made out the symbol of the spider—a symbol enhanced by the glittering giant the necromancer’s light revealed hanging from above. Even though made only of jewels and crystals, it seemed very, very much alive.

  The monstrous horde suddenly stopped. The foremost figure reached out a gnarled, bony hand.

  We have waited for your return, master … come, join us … join us …

  It was the voice of one of the decaying priests from Zayl’s dream … and he and the rest of the dead were beckoning to the necromancer.

  FIFTEEN

  “Do you know this lot?” blurted an anxious Sardak.

  “Only from my nightmares.” Zayl held the dagger before him, momentarily keeping the undead worshippers at bay. “Keep behind me.”

  “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere else.”

  From the pouch, Humbart piped up, “What’s going on out there, lad?”

  It was Sardak who answered, “You really don’t want to know.”

  The skull went silent.

  The priest gave Zayl a grisly smile. But come, master! Your loyal acolytes await you!

  To emphasize this fact, all but he went down on one knee. As they did, they began chanting a single word over and over.

  Astrogha …

  Sardak leaned near the necromancer. “What do they mean by that? What’s an ‘Astrogha’?”

  Zayl indicated the immense spider image. “That, I believe.”

  “So, why do they chant it to you?”

  The Rathmian shook his head. “I have some notion, but I would rather not say.”

  “If it means my sister’s life, damn you—”

  The ghoulish figure before them reached into his torn robe. From a ruined mass of innards and bone he pulled forth the wicked dagger that the necromancer had held in the dream. Master, if you would but complete the sacrifice, you will finally be made whole …

  “I am very much whole, thank you. It is time for you to go back to the grave.” Zayl held his own blade forward. “All of you, go back to the grave!”

  Again came the macabre smile. But we cannot … not without you …

  “I don’t like the sound of that, spellcaster.”

  His own opinion mirroring Sardak’s, Zayl quickly muttered, “Touch the tip of your sword against that of my dagger.”

  “Eh? Why?”

  “Do it and do it quickly, for the sake of your sister, if not your own life!”

  Sardak obeyed, so eagerly that he nearly severed the Rathmian’s index finger in the process. The moment that the two blades touched, the glow about the ivory dagger spread over the tip of the sword, then engulfed the rest of Sardak’s weapon.

  Salene’s brother eyed his altered sword. “I’ll be damned!”

  “If we do not survive this, that’s very likely.”

  The members of the undead horde were already back on their feet. The priest frowned as best as his ruined face allowed. Master, you are the chosen one … you cannot deny your true destiny … and we will not let you.

  Zayl would have liked to ask him just exactly what that destiny entailed, but the priest suddenly lurched forward … and with him came the rest of the terrifying throng.

  “Damn and double damn!” growled Sardak.

  The clawing hands of the ghouls reached for them, reviving once more the necromancer’s memories of lost Ureh. Zayl’s expression hardened.

  “Not again …,” he muttered under his breath. “Never again!”

  The Rathmian thrust.

  Karybdus could shield the creatures against many a spell, but nothing he could cast could protect them from the dagger’s might. Blessed by the dragon, it was the first and last defense of any necromancer. Thus it was that when the priest met him, it was to find the ivory dagger cutting through his robe and slashing against his ribs.

  With an inhuman gasp, the ghoulish cleric grabbed at the cut area, then pulled back into the mob. Other undead eagerly took his place, ignorant of what had happened. Zayl was only too happy to show them, cutting through the decrepit throats of one pair and jamming the blade’s point between the ribs of another.

  Against the strong magic of the weapon, the ghouls died as men would have died. They collapsed, then were trampled by those behind them.

  Zayl had expected to have to defend Sardak, but his companion proved astonishingly skilled with the sword. Sardak thrust time and time again, severing heads and limbs and cutting down as many if not more of their monstrous foe
s than the Rathmian.

  But still the ranks appeared undepleted. All already bore the marks of violent death and Zayl could only suppose that they had perished at the hands of enemies of their “god.” Karybdus had used their lust for vengeance to raise them up. That he had managed to raise so many said much about the limits—or lack thereof—of his abilities.

  But … if Karybdus had raised them up, why did they insist then on calling Zayl “master”?

  The question vanished from his thoughts as the undead swarmed the pair. Zayl cut again and again and though the ghouls gave way, he still saw no end in sight.

  “They just keep coming!” shouted Sardak, beheading yet another fleshless nightmare. When the hands of the headless corpse continued to grasp at him, he sliced both off at the wrists. Salene’s brother then kicked the weaving torso back into its fellows.

  “Keep fighting! Do not falter!” Zayl racked his brains for something that would take the attention of the horde from Sardack and him.

  His gaze alighted on the huge spider statue hanging from the ceiling.

  “Rathma, guide my hand …” He brought his dagger around in a great arc, momentarily driving back Karybdus’s hellish minions.

  Eyes fixed again on the arachnid—and especially the uppermost part—the necromancer conjured.

  The Den’Trag—the Teeth of Trag’Oul—formed again, but this time Zayl did not send them against the undead. Instead, the shower of missiles flew up at the spider.

  Several clattered hard against the jeweled figure, but Zayl was unperturbed by this. The body had not been his target.

  Karybdus had protected the undead from most of a necromancer’s spells, but he had not thought to spread that protection throughout the temple. The ancient chains fashioned to look like webbing had withstood centuries of nature, but against the mystical Teeth, they had no protection whatsoever. The barrage ate away at the links, ripping through until at last the heavy weight of the idol proved too much.

  With a snapping of chains and a tremendous groan, the right side of the jeweled arachnid broke free. The huge idol swung like a great pendulum—

  The reaction by the undead astounded even Zayl. First, they froze where they were as if suddenly no longer animated. Then, as the spider crashed into the wall of the cavern, the ghouls began to wail.

  Seizing a startled Sardak by the arm, Zayl cried, “Now! Now!”

  Vast chunks of stone and earth rained down on both the horde and what Zayl assumed had once been their secret temple. Row upon row of benches were crushed. Several score of undead were buried under the onslaught, but many more still moved untouched.

  Yet, all they continued to do was wail their grief at the idol’s destruction.

  As for the jeweled spider, the collision proved too much for it, also. The hindmost leg was the first to break, the giant segment crashing down upon the center of the temple. A stone altar whose bloody past the necromancer could readily sense cracked into a hundred pieces.

  A second leg snapped in twain, one part tumbling into the crying throng, the other flying past Zayl and Sardak and striking another wall of the cavern. That, in turn, sent more rock and earth collapsing.

  A tremor shook the area. Salene’s brother shouted, “The whole damned chamber’s falling apart, spellcaster!”

  “We must run through the temple! I believe it to be the way out!”

  Sardak snorted. “You ‘believe’?”

  Suddenly, a figure caught Salene’s brother across the face, sending him sprawling. The Rathmian whirled and found himself facing the priest.

  Desecrator! the ghoul declared. Blasphemer! You cannot be his vessel! You are not worthy of such an honor! I will not permit it!

  He drew the sacrificial knife and lunged. Zayl’s right hand caught the priest’s bony wrist. The two combatants’ countenances came within inches of one another. The revenant emitted a musky, dry odor, one with which the necromancer was long familiar and therefore untouched.

  “Where is she?” demanded Zayl. “Is she with Karybdus? Where has your master taken the woman?”

  My lord is Astrogha! I have no other!

  The Rathmian tried again. “Karybdus, I said! Where is the other necromancer?”

  At the making of the Moon …, the priest proudly informed him. Already ensuring my lord’s return! The vessel chosen for my lord’s return will not be so great an offering, but it will serve him better than you!

  The undead inhaled, something unnecessary for one in his decayed state. Zayl tore himself away.

  From out of the mouth erupted hundreds of black spiders. The first few who landed on Zayl immediately bit into the cloak draped over him.

  But all who did quickly turned a pasty white and crumbled to ash. Still, that in no manner deterred their successors, who sought to chew their way through. The cloak sizzled where they bit, a sign of the creatures’ potent venom.

  The grotesque priest inhaled for a second time—then let out a startled gurgle. A few limp spiders spilled from his lipless maw. He stared down at his ruined chest and the shimmering point protruding from it.

  Sardak pulled his sword free, the enchantment granted it by Zayl still strong.

  “That’s for Salene …,” he snarled.

  The ghoul dropped to his knees. His head fell to one side, snapping off. The arms collapsed, then the rest of the torso joined them, leaving but a jumble of bones, dried flesh, and bits of cloth.

  Zayl gave Sardak a look of thanks. He shook off the last of the spiders, which had all perished the moment that the priest had.

  The two men raced down the rows of stone benches and past several wailing ghouls. None of the others made so much as a feeble attempt to stop the duo. The only ones the two were forced to fight were those that they could not go around. Most perished swiftly to either a slash from Zayl’s dagger or a thrust by Sardak. Around them, the chaos grew as more pieces cracked by the collapsing idol fell loose.

  But if the undead were, at the moment, of no concern, something else was. No matter where they looked, neither man could find the way out.

  “It has to be here,” insisted Zayl. “All logic demands it be so.”

  Sardak tapped the tip of his blade against solid rock. “But it’s all real! Maybe that’s why all those lunatics perished here! They had no blasted escape route!”

  The Rathmian could not believe that. The high priests, at least, would have had a path to freedom, even if they had not had the opportunity to use it.

  Of course! He had been thinking in terms of the cultists, but they were merely the dead raised up by a spell. It was Karybdus who had plotted all this and, therefore, he who had made certain that Zayl, should he have survived the horde, would not see the truth.

  Or see the way out, rather. As Zayl had done to the guards in the house, so had Karybdus done to him. Zayl could only marvel at the other Rathmian’s skill. He had laid down some variation of the blindness spell, one which both men had blundered into without realizing it.

  “Step back, Sardak.”

  As his companion obeyed, Zayl raised the dagger. Under his breath, he muttered the counterspell to the blindness.

  Behind him, Sardak abruptly said, “Spellcaster … they’ve stopped wailing.”

  Which meant, Zayl understood, that the undead were regrouping. They would surely be upon the two in moments …

  There! The necromancer sensed the spellwork. “This way, Sardak! Quickly!”

  “You’re going to run right into that—I’ll be damned!”

  The last referred to Zayl, who, to his comrade’s view, had simply vanished through the rock.

  A breath later, the necromancer found himself in an ancient tunnel. Determining that there was no immediate threat, he looked back for Salene’s sibling.

  Thankfully, Sardak materialized. He paused to touch his chest, as if surprised to find himself in one piece. “Neat trick, that.”

  “The work of the one we seek. Karybdus.”

  “He’s got Salene? Not Ji
tan?”

  “I would venture that they could be found together.” Zayl watched the wall through which they had come. There was no sign of the pursuing ghouls. As he had hoped, they, too, could not see the truth.

  “Do we just leave that lot in there? What if they decide to go to the surface?”

  A rumble shook the tunnel, one that the hooded spellcaster sensed was centered in the chamber that they had just departed. “There is little fear of that. The cavern continues to collapse. It will bury many of them again. Besides, I suspect they were raised simply because of me and, now that I am passed them, they may already be returning to their graves.”

  “Thank the heavens for that.”

  Curiously, as Sardak said the last, Zayl felt a peculiar sensation. He looked behind himself, but the tunnel was still empty.

  “Something the matter?”

  Zayl did not bother to ask the other if he had seen anything. The necromancer marked it down to his growing anxiety concerning Salene. So many precious minutes wasted …

  But had they been? What had he heard about the Moon of the Spider? From the dream and other fragments, its true nature was perplexing, but at least part of it had to do with a certain stage of night. Certainly, the grisly priests had spoken of it so.

  And, as far as Zayl recalled, night was still several hours away.

  “I think we are not yet too late!” he immediately informed Sardak. “But we must still hurry!”

  “Hurry to where?”

  “That, I do not yet know, but I have a notion as to how to discover the answer!”

  A muffled voice arose from the pouch. Zayl paused to open it and remove the skull of Humbart Wessel.

  “Glad that’s over with,” muttered the hollow voice. “And glad I am not to have had to witness it all!”

  “Was there something you wanted, Humbart? Quickly now!”

  “Only that you’ve got a better chance of finding her if you use me, remember?”

  “Use him?” Sardak looked dubious. “What are you going to do, set him on the ground and let him sniff it like a hound?”