The skull chuckled. “Somethin’ like that, lad.”
Zayl was not so eager. “Are you certain, Humbart? When last I used the spell, it almost cost you your animation. There are other methods—”
“That take too long or might not be specific enough! Listen now! I’ll not let that fine lady be gutted for the sake of some would-be spider god if I can help it! What kind of man do you take me for?”
“Dead?” suggested the third in their party.
“Do it, Zayl. I’ll hold myself together.”
The Rathmian no longer argued. “The decision is yours.”
He knelt down in the tunnel, then placed the skull facing the path ahead. Zayl raised the dagger above the remains of Humbart and with it drew the symbol of an eye … a dragon’s eye.
“Let us see the way, Rathma,” Zayl muttered, “for it is necessary to the Balance.”
With that, Zayl plunged the blade down.
Sardak gasped as the necromancer’s dagger sank deep into the top of the skull seemingly without impediment. The dagger flared bright as it entered, the glow enveloping the fleshless head.
The spell was not one Zayl had learned from his masters, but one which he had devised himself through necessity. Thus it was that he hoped it would see past any magical veil his counterpart had cast.
The skull began to shake, as if something within fought to free itself. From the empty eye sockets, a green illumination stretched several yards ahead of the party.
And in that illumination, forms flickered in and out of existence. Two forms: a figure cloaked in black … and the Lady Nesardo.
“Salene!” Sardak seized the nearest image, only to have his fingers slip through his sibling’s arm.
Zayl studied the noblewoman first, ascertaining her condition. The brief images indicated that Salene was in a trance. Pale of face, she walked with her arms dangling at the sides and stared without blinking at the path ahead. The necromancer frowned at this foul use of the knowledge granted by Rathma and Trag’Oul, and his gaze angrily shifted to her captor.
He had only heard descriptions of his legendary counterpart, but there could be no doubt that this was Karybdus. The short, gray hair, the wise, studious visage, and the bone and metal armor the other Rathmian had himself fashioned for epic battle against the black-hearted Vizjerei called Armin Ra.
The closest images vanished, to be replaced a few yards beyond by others of the pair. They looked much the same as the previous, with Karybdus striding along unconcerned while Salene obediently trailed behind him.
Picking up the skull, Zayl removed the dagger. Despite the separation, however, Humbart still glowed and the light from his eyes sockets continued to display a progression of images.
“Come,” the spellcaster said.
Sardak walked purposefully beside Zayl as the latter held the skull before them. Every few seconds, an image of Salene and Karybdus appeared. However unnerving the brief glimpses were, they also comforted both men. There was no change; the noblewoman and her captor simply wended their way along through the tunnel.
“I thought your kind was supposed to be misunderstood,” grumbled Salene’s brother, glaring at Karybdus. “Not evil at all—isn’t that what you indicated to my sister?”
“Karybdus’s actions do not follow the teachings of Rathma as I know them. His behavior is an aberration. I must conclude that he has fallen victim to the darkness against which he had dedicated himself.”
“He’s a ‘victim’?”
The Rathmian nodded firmly. “It must be so.”
Sardak’s responding grunt was clear indication that he was not convinced.
They journeyed through the passage for what Zayl calculated was more than an hour. Both he and Sardak were aware that they now had to be beyond the city walls, but still no end seemed in sight.
Then, at last, Zayl felt a slight breeze on his face. “We are coming to some entrance into the open.”
Sardak readied his sword.
They emerged into the forest through an opening covered by centuries of brambles and earth. From the outside, it was all but invisible, and Zayl sensed that it had been further protected by ancient wards, which Karybdus had evidently nullified.
Looking around, Sardak asked, “Do we have time to go get help?”
“I fear not. See?”
The newest vision showed Karybdus picking up his pace. Salene followed suit.
“Fine with me, then.”
Zayl put a hand on Sardak’s shoulder. “I offer you this chance to return home.”
“You could use my help, couldn’t you?”
“Yes. Someone must steal Salene away while Karybdus is occupied.”
The other man started off. “Then, let’s waste no more time, shall we?”
The way was slick from the almost constant rain and both men stumbled several times. Once, Zayl, despite his quick reflexes, nearly lost the skull, managing to catch Humbart only at the last moment.
Then, in the midst of the thick forest and with no warning whatsoever, the images simply ceased.
“What the blazes?” Sardak spun around. “Where’s the next one? There’s got to be a next one!”
The skull still glowed, yet, no matter where the Rathmian focused it, no image of Salene formed.
But, just as he was about to give up, one of Karybdus finally did.
Sardak saw it at the same time that the necromancer did and asked the question coursing through Zayl’s own mind. “Is he looking directly at us?”
“Run!” was all the necromancer risked replying.
From the forest and even the treetops, horrific figures scrambled down. The creatures from the crypt, but far, far more than before. Zayl estimated a dozen to start and, from the rustling of the foliage, knew that the numbers were much higher.
Like cats on the prowl, they bounded after the two. Sardak had taken Zayl’s warning immediately to heart, and was already several paces ahead of the slower Rathmian.
Their pursuers leapt among the branches, raced across the ground on any number of limbs, and jumped from tree trunk to tree trunk in pursuit. Virulent hisses accompanied their hunt and more than once a bush or some bit of ground near one of the men sizzled with poison expertly spat.
“Thought you’d killed most of these, spellcaster!”
“There are always more unfortunates to be sacrificed for someone’s ambitions!” Zayl had little doubt but that these were Lord Jitan’s men, either loyal servants or mercenaries. He recalled the sinister spiders adhered to the heads of the previous creatures and did not doubt that if he looked close, he would find the same with those behind them.
One dropped down on the necromancer, claws seeking to rip through the protective cloak. Zayl rewarded the monstrosity with a thrust to the misshapen head, driving his dagger through both his attacker and the parasite atop. A foul, sickly green fluid gushed from the wound but, fortunately, touched only the Rathmian’s garments.
No sooner had he rid himself of one, however, than an identical fiend fell upon him, throwing the necromancer to the ground. For a moment, the horrific amalgamation of human and arachnid features was all Zayl could see. The sharp fangs continuously dribbled and one spot of venom dropped on the Rathmian’s cheek, burning him.
Aware that Karybdus’s magic now likely protected them in the same manner as it did the ghouls, Zayl restored to a more mundane defense, jamming the fingers of his right hand directly in what served as his attacker’s throat.
For many, such an action would have brought little result, but Rathmians were trained in several forms of unarmed combat. They also knew the living body better than most, having studied its intricate workings through the use of cadavers.
His fingers jammed deep. The arachnid let out a gagging sound and only a quick turn of the head prevented Zayl from being doused with venom.
His attacker rolled away, two of its appendages clutching at the ruined throat. Zayl saved it any further suffering by stabbing it in the back of t
he neck.
From his side came several colorful curses as Sardak warned off another beast with his blade. The arachnids scattered back, but only for a moment.
“Ready to run again, spellcaster?”
But before Zayl could answer, an animalistic cry echoed through the forest. The men and their hunters had only a single breath in which to react to the eerie sound—and then a giant form came crashing into the nearest of the horrors.
With ease, the shadowy figure hefted two of its startled foes and smashed them together with such force that the cracking of their bones resounded in Zayl’s ears. As the bodies went limp, the giant tossed them toward another pair turning to meet the new threat.
One failed to avoid the oncoming missiles and was thrown with them some distance away. The second twisted around the attack, then leapt at the newcomer. At the same time, two more dropped from the trees.
But if they thought that they had their adversary where they wanted it, the beasts were sadly mistaken. One meaty fist swatted the first as if it were a fly. The two who landed upon the giant might as well have been feathers for all the effect of their drop. With an almost human snort of derision, the giant tore first one, then the other, free of its hide. As they hissed and spat at it—their poison singeing the thick fur, but doing little more—their foe simply turned them on their heads and crushed them into the ground.
This seeming invincibility sent the others scurrying back to the trees. As they fled, the giant let out a defiant howl before turning its baleful gaze at the two humans.
“A wendigo!” Sardak crouched. “I think we were better off with the spider demons!”
But Zayl believed otherwise. He took a step toward the panting behemoth, who roared viciously at his approach.
The necromancer stretched forth his left hand … and the wendigo quieted. It mimicked Zayl’s action, the two touching fingertips.
Somehow, despite the vast breadth of the wild forest, the wendigo that Zayl had healed had found him again.
SIXTEEN
Aldric Jitan would not have taken the jagged hillside before him as a nexus of power and the birthplace of the precious artifact he carried in one arm. He would not have even taken it for a building long covered by the ravages of time. The ambitious noble would have simply taken it for yet another of the far-too-many lumps of earth dotting what he soon hoped to call his kingdom.
But it hardly mattered what Jitan thought of it, for his cowled companion recognized it immediately as their ultimate destination, and that was enough to satisfy the noble. Here, another birth would very soon take place, the birth of his eventual domination over the rest of the world.
He, Karybdus, and the girl were the only ones there … the only ones still human, that is. Several of Astrogha’s children squatted around the vicinity, either watching for intruders or awaiting new commands. Lord Jitan had felt no remorse about turning nearly all of his followers into the creatures, for as a result they served him even better than before.
Pulling his wendigo fur cloak tighter, he leaned close to Salene. The Lady Nesardo was a fair piece to look at, Aldric had to admit. Much of his hatred for her had come from her defiance toward his desires. Now that she no longer acted as an obstacle, her beauty enticed him. He reached out his free hand—
“Such desires would not be recommended at this juncture,” announced Karybdus, appearing at his side as if by a spell. “Your full concentration must be upon the incantation I have taught you. You recall it all?”
“I remember every bit of nonsense,” he returned. “Even if I don’t know what much of it means.”
The pale necromancer cocked his head. “Do you desire a language lesson or the certainty of never having any more nightmares … not to mention the beginning of your triumphant reign.” Karybdus touched a gloved hand to Lord Jitan’s temple. “Think. Have there been any more nightmares?”
There had not. Since Aldric had attained the artifact, his sleep had instead been filled with lusty visions of his rule. Of what need was the Lady Nesardo, when Aldric could have for himself a hundred of the most desirable maidens in the realm? It was a shame not to taste her first, but if that was the price to pay for ultimate power, then, so be it. When it had been thought that he would need to marry her in order to gain both her house and what lay beneath it, the noble had never much considered bedding her, anyway. She had been the intended sacrifice from the beginning, nothing more.
No, all he really needed from Salene Nesardo was her heart and her blood.
“So,” the noble asked, his anticipation rising. “Where might the entrance be?”
“There.” Karybdus pointed at a particularly ugly side of the hill.
Even to Aldric’s mismatched eyes, it was clear that tons of rock and earth covered the area in question. “It’ll take this bunch weeks to move all that! We’re better off with the temple!”
The Rathmian shook his head. “You are forgetting what you hold, my lord.”
“You mean this can remove all that?”
“All you need do is command it to.”
“Tell me how, then!” demanded an eager Lord Jitan.
“Raise it over your head as if a crown. Focus your gaze on where I point. Will the way to open for you.” Karybdus allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “And it shall.”
“That’s all?” Striding to a better position, Aldric did as told. He held the Moon of the Spider as high as he could and eyed the hill.
“Do you see that crescent-shaped outcropping, my lord? Let that be where your gaze fixes. Do you have it now? Good. Command the artifact. You know what you wish.”
The noble concentrated. As he did, he heard whispering, whispering that became a chant, a chant with which he was already familiar.
Astrogha … Astrogha …
But to his mind, it became something else. It became his name. Aldric … Aldric …
And as he imagined the invisible chanters proclaiming his glory, the arachnid pattern on the artifact began to twitch. Its foremost appendages moved until they touched where the fingertips of the noble held the sphere.
The hillside rumbled.
Open for me, Aldric Jitan silently commanded. Open for me!
There was a crack like thunder … and a fissure split the hill in two. Tons of stone tumbled to the base. Those of his transformed servants nearest to the hill scattered lest they crushed by the abrupt rockfall.
The entire hillside collapsed. Mounds of rubble lay just beyond the pair.
“It is done,” Karybdus informed him. “Let but the dust settle for a minute or two.”
Aldric lowered the artifact. His pulse pounded. Adrenaline coursed through his body. “Fantastic!”
The necromancer stood near his ear. “But only a small portion of the gifts of Astrogha. Imagine, my lord, what you will be able to do when the spider god’s full, wondrous power is part of you.”
“How much longer? Damn it, man! I can’t keep waiting!”
Looking up at the heavens, Karybdus advised, “The first phase will begin in just a little over two hours. It would be best if we made our preparations.”
As he spoke, the dust finally dissipated … and the two beheld the birthplace of the sphere.
Twin statues stood within the fissure, spider-headed warriors with eight human arms, each of which wielded a different weapon. The ominous sentinels stood twice the height of a man and were carved so lifelike that even after the obvious centuries of burial, they looked ready to spring to the defense of what lay hidden within.
“Shall we enter, my lord?” Karybdus politely asked.
But Aldric was already walking toward the ancient structure. Again, the Moon of the Spider lay nestled in his arm, his other hand stroking the pearl-smooth surface as if the back of a beloved child or pet. With his monstrous servants forming an honor guard, he and the necromancer went past the dour guardians and into what was immediately recognizable as a far more vast edifice than the hill indicated.
As with the temple
, it extended well beneath the surface. The steps down which the group marched were of an iridescent substance very much like that composing the artifact. Each time Aldric set down a boot on one, shapes seemed to move within the step, eight-legged shadows akin to the one on the sphere.
Neither man carried a torch, yet the path before them remained as lit as if they stood outside. There was no discernible source of the illumination; it simply came into existence as needed. To Aldric, it was but another hint of the tremendous forces which would soon be his to command.
Then, before them appeared that which truly marked this lost place as the destination they sought: a wide, oval altar upon which the arachnid symbol had been carved.
But there was something else, something that made Karybdus uncharacteristically hiss in angry surprise.
Three skeletons lay at the base of the altar, three mummified figures whose garments looked vaguely familiar to the noble.
“Those corpses … they look like that thing in the tomb.” Aldric squinted. “Same damned flowery robes and such. What was it you called them? Vazjero?”
“Vizjerei,” the necromancer all but spat. “As I have told you, the most base of spellcasters, corrupt and ruinous men all.” Karybdus drew his dagger. “And they should not be in this ancient place. This is the only entry point, according to all my research.”
“Well, they had the Moon once, didn’t they? They probably opened up the way just as we did.”
Karybdus paused, as if calculating something. At last, his expression neutral again, he nodded. “As you say. That must be what they did.”
Something else, though, came to Lord Jitan’s mind. “Are they exactly like the ones in the tomb?”
He did not have to explain to Karybdus. The Rathmian was already drawing patterns in the air with his dagger. At the same time, he uttered words the like of which Aldric had never heard.
There was a squealing sound, as if the air had been sucked from the chamber. First one, then the second, and finally the third mummified corpse shriveled into itself. Dried bones twisted, tightening within. The bodies curled up until all that remained were small bundles that in no manner resembled anything even remotely human.
Diablo: Moon of the Spider Page 21
