Karybdus made a clenching motion … and each pile crumbled to dust.
“Now, you need not worry, my lord.”
Utterly at ease again, Aldric nodded and moved on to the altar. Behind him, Karybdus’s steely eyes surveyed the area once more, then the necromancer followed.
Salene, expression still blank, trailed the Rathmian.
“You are a fount of wonders, spellcaster,” murmured Sardak, his eyes wide. “Taming a wendigo, of all things! What a yarn I could make of that in the taverns!”
“I did not tame it,” Zayl returned, fingertips still touching those of the fabled beast. “Perhaps you might say that I released it from a curse.”
“How absolutely poetic! They should write a fairy tale about it.”
From the crook of the necromancer’s arm, Humbart’s hollow voice suddenly piped up, “’Tis not the first time he’s done such a marvel! When you travel with this lad, you come across all sorts of interesting things …”
“I prefer to keep my adventures to the taverns, thank you. This is far too much excitement …”
As fascinated as his companions were by this encounter, what interested Zayl far more was the overwhelming “coincidence” of the wendigo’s finding him again. They were far from where he had last encountered the furred giant. More to the point, there had been no reason for the wendigo to even be looking for him, much less coming to his aid at such an opportune time.
As a devotee of Rathma and a servant of the Balance, Zayl did not believe in pure coincidence.
Sardak asked the question that was likely on all their minds. “So … now what do we do with it?”
“‘Tis a ‘he,’ you blessed fool! Don’t call him an ‘it’! ‘Tis rude!”
The skull was indeed correct, and Zayl was surprised that he himself had not previously noticed.
Sardak was not impressed by Humbart’s knowledge. “Well, I say again, now what do we—”
The rest of his question was cut off by the wendigo himself, who, with a series of grunts, pointed, then started off in that direction.
“We are to follow,” the necromancer declared.
“Follow that? What about Salene?”
“I suspect that we will find her at the end of the wendigo’s trail.”
The other human kept his weapon aimed at the giant. “It better not be the beast’s larder we find …”
As they moved on, Zayl’s thoughts shifted from the wendigo’s propitious arrival to Karybdus’s trap. The other necromancer seemed prepared for him at every turn. Karybdus had not only expected Zayl to follow, but had known by what method and where best to arrange his attacks.
Yet, conflicting desires seemed evident in the traps. Both the malevolent force that had pulled Zayl from the cell and the legion of undead had clearly sought to make him a part of whatever they were. Karybdus, though, had made it quite clear that he preferred Zayl removed from the equation entirely, one way or another.
“There’s something goin’ on up ahead,” remarked Humbart from his arm. “I can sense it—can’t you, lad?”
“Yes.”
The wendigo added a few grunts of his own, then pointed up a hillside. Zayl and Sardak followed him there.
And from their vantage point, they saw the entrance to what had to be where Karybdus had taken Salene. Zayl eyed the stone sentinels with foreboding, then surveyed the rest of the entrance. Around the opening, several of the grotesque man-spiders scurried across the rock face and the trees of the forest, all obviously keeping watch for intruders.
“Are we too late after all?” Sardak asked, his sword hand shaking.
Zayl looked to the sky. “I believe not. The day is only giving way to the night. I think that they must wait for the moon to be in a certain position. Still, the time is surely growing short.”
The other human started forward. “Then, let’s get going!”
It was the wendigo who pulled him back, the huge paws lifting Sardak up with surprising gentleness for a creature previously so bloodthirsty. He set the struggling swordsman down next to Zayl, then gave Sardak what could only be described as an admonishment.
“Try not to be so foolhardy,” added the necromancer. “We must wait for a better moment, when their concentration cannot be turned to us without detriment.”
“But they must know that we’re coming anyway! Surely those monstrosities we fought returned to report their failure! Why wait? Best we go in with weapons ready! They won’t be expecting the audacity!”
He was desperate to save his sister, and Zayl could hardly blame him. “We will find another way. Of that I promise you, Sardak.”
“But what?”
At that point, the wendigo grunted, pointing to an area on the opposite side of where Salene was being held.
“Not quite certain,” muttered Humbart. “But I think he’s got an answer for us …”
He was not the only one, either, for as the wendigo began leading them in that direction, Zayl thought very carefully about the ways of the Rathmians … and how even Karybdus might think him in one place when he was in another.
Karybdus stiffened. He looked over his shoulder at the entrance, gaze narrowing.
Lord Jitan caught the action. “Something?”
“The trap was sprung, but the prey escaped.”
“Which means that this Zayl is on his way? How did he escape so many? Is he bringing a military force from the city?”
“No, he would not work that way. I cannot ascertain what actually happened. There seems a confusion spread across the minds of the survivors.”
“A necromancer spell. You told me about it. Surely you can break it.”
Karybdus frowned. “It is not a spell, just … a general confusion.” The gray-haired Rathmian sniffed. “And absolutely nothing to concern yourself with, my lord. We shall expect Zayl to come, and when he does, he will be dealt with.”
“Like he was supposed to be in Westmarch?” asked Aldric, looking up from his inspection of the altar. “By Cornelius? By those dead cultists?”
The necromancer did not look perturbed by yet another attack on his abilities by Aldric. “Cornelius still has his part to play. It was because of him and our erstwhile Edmun that the trap was sprung by the Zakarum. That the Church failed to act swiftly enough when they knew that there was a Rathmian among them is a failing of theirs. They were warned that he would be dangerous. Cornelius also has made certain that General Torion has focused all his attention on Zayl.” Karybdus cocked his head. “All in all, I would say that Cornelius has actually done very well for us, my lord.”
“As you put it, I suppose so. You’ve got a labyrinthine mind, sorcerer. I’d hate to play chess with you. I wouldn’t know whether I was winning or losing.” The noble glanced at Salene. “So, is it time yet?”
In response, Karybdus snapped his fingers. Salene immediately walked over to the altar and, as if settling down in her bed for the night, calmly and readily lay back on the stone structure.
Sheathing his dagger, Karybdus withdrew from his belt one of the cult blades. It had been this that he had been searching for when the Lady Nesardo had made her timely appearance. Karybdus had seen it as a sign that his work for the Balance was destined to succeed.
Several of the noble’s transformed servants scuttled into positions surrounding the altar and the ritual’s participants. They looked as eager as Aldric.
“The power will soon be yours, my lord,” the necromancer intoned. “Power and a legion of followers at your beck and call. All in one fell swoop.”
From within the Rathmian’s cloak emerged his eight-legged familiar. The huge arachnid climbed up to Karybdus’s shoulder, perching there.
Aldric raised up the Moon of the Spider expectantly. As he lifted it above his head, the artifact began to glow.
“There, my lord. You see? It is the beginning of the first phase.”
“Gut her already, then!”
“Patience. There are words to be spoken first.” Moving
to the opposite side of the altar, Karybdus held the sacrificial dagger over Salene’s prone form. He glanced up once at the artifact, then, seemingly satisfied with what he saw, started muttering. The only word that his companion would have recognized was the name …Astrogha.
From the transformed servants, there arose a low but steady hiss, a chant by the Children of Astrogha. The parasitic spiders atop the head of each seemed to watch the necromancer’s work with growing anticipation in their inhuman orbs.
Karybdus brought the dagger down.
The cut he made on Salene’s throat was a tiny one, superficial at best. It drew only a few drops of blood, but the Rathmian seemed quite satisfied. He made certain that the tip of the blade was bathed properly, then stretched his arm toward Aldric.
The noble lowered the Moon of the Spider just long enough to let the bloody tip touch the center of the arachnid pattern. The legs of the image twitched.
“It is pure,” declared Karybdus. “It is the blood of Astrogha.”
Bathed in the awful illumination of the artifact, Lord Aldric Jitan’s face was terrible to behold. His lust for what the necromancer had promised him erased all vestiges of humanity from his aspect.
“Get it done with, then,” he all but hissed.
But Karybdus instead looked to the side, to the shadows. His own countenance was a mask, revealing nothing about his true emotions. “He is here.”
“Who? That damned Zayl again?” Aldric looked to several of the creatures, who immediately broke ranks and, with many an angry hiss, headed for the entrance.
“He is closing. He has no choice but to use the path by which we came, but he will not simply walk in. There will be spells he will set into play …” The armored necromancer reached out with his heightened senses. Like a bird of prey sighting fresh meat, Karybdus fixed on one point near the right side of the entrance. “In fact, I must commend him. He is here already.”
“I see nothing.”
“But you will.” Karybdus made a gesture in the air.
A needle-sharp lance of bone—the Talon of Trag’Oul—materialized before him. It shot forth in the direction in which the Rathmian had been gazing.
As the Talon reached the entrance, there was a rippling in the air. Outlined in it was a cloaked and hooded form.
A cloaked and hooded form through whose chest the Talon now buried itself.
Lord Jitan grinned. “Ha!”
Three of the remaining servants rushed forward to see if the target somehow still lived. Sacrificial dagger in hand, Karybdus stepped from the altar. “Most curious. He is certainly dead, but I still sense his living presence …”
The noble also moved closer to the still body. “He must be dead! No one could survive—”
A harsh cry filled the chamber, echoing from every direction. Aldric, Karybdus, and the servants spun around, seeking the source.
A huge chunk of marble came crashing down on several of Lord Jitan’s followers.
Karybdus let out a curse and brought up his own cloak just as the dead body suddenly shriveled and a pungent cloud burst from the putrefying remains. The cloud trebled in size in mere seconds, enveloping several of the creatures who had been closing in on the corpse.
The nearest of them hissed, then let out a hacking sound. It managed to turn from what remained of the corpse … then fell limply to the floor. Two more had only time to register the first’s death before they, too, collapsed from the poisonous vapors.
At the same time, Zayl and Sardak charged out from one of the shadowed corners of the chamber, appearing so suddenly that they seemed to have walked through the very stone. A cloakless Zayl reached out and from the crumpled figure that Karybdus had assumed him something arose under the voluminous garment. As it flew up, it carried with it the cloak, revealing that what had been thought human had been, in fact, another of Aldric’s mutated men. A dagger wound in the back revealed that the creature had been dead long before the Talon had impaled it.
Sardak drove his blade through another monster, then stepped up by his sister’s side. “Salene! Salene! Wake up!”
Lord Jitan turned at the call. “You! Leave her be, you tavern rat! She’s ours!”
Swearing, Sardak lunged at the noble. Although he held a powerful artifact in his hands, Aldric reacted instinctively, diving away from the thrust.
Turning back to his sister, Sardak slapped Salene hard. She moaned and turned her head toward him, but otherwise did not respond.
Like a shrouded specter, Zayl’s cloak, held aloft by his dagger, returned to the necromancer. He pulled the black garment free, then tossed it over his shoulders. As if alive, the cloak dressed itself over him even as the dagger returned to his hand. Zayl had used the blade, tied to his life, to distract his foe. He had known that the other Rathmian would sense that life force and assume, logically, that since there was no other entrance, it had to be Zayl.
Of course, neither Karybdus nor Lord Jitan had known about the secret priest tunnel in the back, one with which the wendigo was apparently very familiar. It had enabled the rescuers to sneak in so close.
There were many questions Zayl had concerning the wendigo and his fortuitous actions, but, for now, they had to wait. Not just Salene’s but their own lives were still very much in danger.
Sure enough, even as he thought that, he saw Karybdus—the hem of his cloak still over his nose and mouth—draw a circle, then add two slashes across it. Zayl felt his strength failing and immediately countered with the same symbol, while adding a third slash perpendicular to the others and dividing the circle perfectly. His strength immediately returned.
A shadow abruptly loomed over Zayl’s foe. Karybdus glanced up, then threw himself as far as he could from where he had been standing. Another chunk of marble crushed in the floor, barely missing him.
Even as the missile landed, the wendigo fell upon the Children of Astrogha, pummeling one to jelly with a single blow. Two others leapt atop him, biting down hard, but their vicious fangs could not pierce the thick hide and their poison simply stained the fur.
Zayl joined Sardak. “Take her from here! Quick!”
“I can’t wake her! She’ll have to be carried!”
“Let me see.” The necromancer leaned close. Such a spell was not among those taught to novices, but over the years Zayl, like Karybdus, had learned several on his own. Rathmians accepted any spellwork that aided the Balance provided it did not cause the caster to become corrupted.
He put his right hand—still gloved—over her face. An intake of breath from Sardak was a grim reminder that what lay within the glove would not soon be forgotten.
Zayl quickly muttered words of a spell that, in its original incarnation, had been designed to summon a shade from its eternal slumber. He had long ago modified that spell so that now it performed a more simple awakening—stirring to consciousness those under enchantments.
The only trouble was, it did not always work.
But this time, Trag’Oul was with him. Salene moaned, then her eyes fluttered open.
She promptly screamed. “Look out!”
Aldric Jitan, the Moon of the Spider blazing in his hands, glared like an angry deity at the trio.
Sardak threw himself at the treacherous noble before Jitan could unleash whatever vicious spell he planned. The point of his sword buried deep in his foe’s shoulder, causing the other to howl and nearly drop the sinister artifact.
But in protecting Zayl and Salene, Sardak left himself open. Distracted by his target, he did not see the attacker to his side. The eight-limbed horror seized Salene’s brother and tore him from the ground before Zayl could react.
The fangs sank into Sardak’s throat.
“Sardak!” Salene cried, raising a hand to her brother. “Oh, Sardak, no!”
From her outstretched palm erupted a bolt of fire. It soared across the chamber, striking Sardak’s fiendish assailant with such force that it ripped the creature from the floor. Sardak himself was untouched by the fo
rce flung by his sister. As the fiery mass that had once been one of Jitan’s servants collided with a far wall, Sardak clutched at his throat and stumbled back a few steps.
Salene pulled from Zayl’s grip. On unsteady legs, she ran to her brother, catching him just as he was about to collapse.
The necromancer tried to follow her, but suddenly two of the dead monstrosities pushed themselves up and closed on him. Glancing past them, Zayl saw Karybdus, his expression detached, holding his dagger and gesturing not only at the risen pair, but others slain by the intruders.
Cursing, Zayl thrust for the head of the first undead. As the blade sank deep, the creature shuddered, then went limp.
At which point, the second undead twitched … and promptly exploded.
With a cry, Zayl flew back against the altar, striking with such force that every bone shook. Head throbbing, vision unfocused, he could do nothing but lay where he was. In the confusion that was his mind, it slowly registered to him that once more Karybdus had proven the wilier one, raising the dead, then unleashing the violent energies of a slain corpse. In truth, the two-pronged attack was a sinister variation on Zayl’s own spell, expertly played.
Through blurred eyes, the necromancer surveyed the scene. The rescue had now very much gone awry. Sardak lay dying in Salene’s arms, she oblivious to a grim Karybdus’s approach. The wendigo was now aswarm with Lord Jitan’s fiendish creatures, so much so that they had at last brought the beast to his knees. Zayl himself was still unable to rise or do anything to aid his companions.
Jitan started toward Salene, but Karybdus pointed at the wendigo, commanding, “Deal with that thing! I will make the woman ready!”
The noble grinned. Clutching the Moon of the Spider tight, Aldric pointed it at the furred giant.
But as he did, a brilliant light suddenly flashed in front of him. Lord Jitan let out a growl and used the artifact to shield his eyes.
At the same time, the wendigo somehow found the strength to stand. With an ear-shattering roar, he threw his attackers from him as if they were nothing. One that managed to cling on he tore off by the neck, then tossed with all his might to the floor. A single slam of his fist left his final foe a lifeless pile.
Diablo: Moon of the Spider Page 22
