Diablo: Moon of the Spider

by Richard A. Knaak

  The forest dweller’s ferocious gaze fixed on Zayl’s rival, whose attention was on Salene. Hefting the crushed body, he aimed at the armored figure.

  But, as if warned by some sixth sense, Karybdus turned and saw the corpse flying toward him. Once again, he threw himself to safety.

  As he did, the wendigo ran to Zayl. One meaty hand picked up the helpless necromancer.

  “No …,” gasped Zayl. “Not me … the others …”

  Seeming to obey, the giant ran to Salene and her brother, However, with one arm already filled, he could take only the noblewoman.

  “Sardak!” she cried. “I can’t leave him!”

  Her protest went unheeded by her rescuer. With two humans in hand, the wendigo raced for the front entrance.

  “After them!” Zayl heard Karybdus shout. “Send the creatures after them, my lord!”

  There was an angry bark from Aldric Jitan, then a series of eager hisses marking the charge of his servants. Zayl tried to call to the wendigo, but his words came out as little more than a croak.

  They left the temple for the dark sanctuary of the forest. Behind them, the Children of Astrogha gave chase. Aware that he could do nothing else at the moment, Zayl finally surrendered to the wendigo’s will. He heard Salene sobbing for her brother, and regret filled him. Sardak had proven a brave, capable man, one who had thought nothing of sacrificing himself for a half-sibling born to privileges that had been denied him in his youth.

  The Rathmian’s head suddenly jerked up. A half-sibling.

  At least partly of the same blood.

  Of the same blood …

  Aldric Jitan let out a string of colorful epithets that impressed even the well-traveled Karybdus. The gray-haired necromancer let the noble unburden himself before finally interrupting.

  “Calm yourself, my lord. The situation is not so dire as you think.”

  The mismatched eyes burned. “Not dire? That Zayl’s got more lives than the proverbial cat! How can you be so calm? He’s made you the fool more than once.”

  “Learning is never foolish. From Zayl I have learned much, and for that I honor him. He is more resourceful than even his reputation indicated.”

  “Resourceful?” Aldric let out a harsh bark. “Always with the understatements! That was a wendigo, my friend! A wendigo! Where in blazes did he get one of those animals?”

  Karybdus nodded. “As I said, resourceful. Even innovative, although not enough.” The Rathmian permitted himself a brief frown. “As to the wendigo, if I may say so, you had a perfect opportunity to remove the creature as an impediment. What happened?”

  “It was that damned light! Didn’t you see it? I swear, it was as bright as the sun!”

  “A bright light?” Pursing his lips, the necromancer commented, “Surely another trick of Zayl’s, or even the woman’s. She has in her a vast reservoir of untapped power. It would be interesting to study her.”

  “It would be more interesting to have her here for the sacrifice! The point of convergence has passed us by!” The noble almost looked ready to use the Moon of the Spider on Karybdus. “My moment’s been taken from me!” His expression turned anxious. “I’ll start dreaming again, too …”

  Karybdus put up a gloved hand to calm him. “All is not lost, my lord. We have enough to begin. All can go on as planned.”

  “But how?”

  The Rathmian gestured at two of the remaining servants, then pointed at a crumpled form not all that far from the altar.

  Sardak.

  “I was quick to act the moment I saw that he was bitten. The blood is still warm in his body, and my spellwork keeps any more from spilling out of the wounds.”

  Aldric eyed Sardak’s corpse as he might some vermin discovered in his food. “That bastard? What good is he to us other than one less piece of trash to deal with? The man’s a wastrel and a drunkard …” Lord Jitan rubbed the wound he had received from that very same wastrel. “I’d say toss his remains outside, but we’d probably attract more wendigos …”

  “Such a valuable commodity I would not waste on them.” As the creatures lifted up Sardak, Karybdus added, “Not when it can allow us to achieve our goals. He is her half-brother. The blood she carries, he also does, in part.”

  Now at last, his companion understood. A look of childlike glee spread across the arrogant noble’s face. “He can be the sacrifice? Even dead?”

  “He is actually at the edge of death.” The Rathmian waited until the body had been set upon the altar, then drew the sacrificial dagger. “And that is all we need.” The armored spellcaster looked to Aldric. “If you will take your proper place, my lord?”

  Grinning more widely, Lord Jitan obeyed.

  SEVENTEEN

  Still held tight in the wendigo’s grip, Zayl’s view of the mist-enshrouded forest was a nightmarish and often out-of-perspective series of images. Black forms scuttled and scurried among and in the trees behind them, a hissing pack of wolves whose sole purpose now was slaying the giant and the necromancer … and even possibly Salene.

  The noblewoman had grown silent, either exhausted by the escape or simply grieving for her brother. Whether or not she could hear him, Zayl had no intention of speaking to her about Sardak. That might lead him to blurt out his deep fear, that Sardak had inadvertently given Karybdus and Lord Jitan exactly what they wanted. For the sake of not just Sardak’s soul but everyone else’s as well, Zayl had to hope that Salene’s brother had perished from the poison in his attacker’s fangs before Karybdus could do anything.

  Only the fleshless head of Humbart Wessel, firmly packed in the pouch at Zayl’s side, had dared any initial comment, and his had consisted of “What the devil are we doing? Is there an earthquake? What’s happening?”

  However, after several minutes of not receiving an answer, even Humbart had finally quieted.

  The wendigo seemed not at all wearied by carrying two full-grown humans—and a skull—but neither did their pursuers appear daunted by how swiftly the forest dweller ran despite his burdens. They kept pace, but could not catch up. Zayl’s hopes grew as a few began to lag behind …

  Then, without warning, two fell upon the wendigo from ahead. Salene screamed and even Zayl let out a gasp as both were thrown free. The necromancer landed just shy of a tree trunk, his catlike reflexes enabling him to recover almost instantly. He pushed himself up and searched for Salene. Instead, the Rathmian was greeted by the unsettling sight of the wendigo struggling with a creature on each arm and one on his chest, and turning to face the rest of the hunters.

  Drawing an arched symbol in the air with his dagger, Zayl focused on the two at the head of the approaching pack. The pair suddenly stopped, glanced back at their cohorts … and with the same zealousness with which they had hunted the trio, turned on their fellows.

  Under Zayl’s spell, the two creatures tore into the nearest possible targets, ripping at chests, biting at throats. The combatants rolled into some of those behind, further adding to the chaos of the moment.

  Taking advantage of the momentary respite, Zayl rushed toward where he believed Salene had landed.

  At first, he did not see her and thus feared that some other servant of Jitan—perhaps one of the creatures who had leapt on the unsuspecting wendigo—had already taken her, but the rustling of branches to his right finally alerted Zayl to her whereabouts.

  Unfortunately, they also revealed that the noblewoman was running back in the direction of her brother.

  Moving stealthily, the necromancer followed. Farther back, the roar of the wendigo mixed with the savage hisses of the hunters. Zayl wished that he could have done more for the forest dweller, but he had to stop Salene from her evident madness. If Sardak had perished before Karybdus could make use of him, then the villains would still need the Lady Nesardo.

  Salene ran wildly, in her frenzied state obviously not entirely certain of her path. Zayl followed as if born to this very forest, easing around the trees and nimbly avoiding branches and upturned
roots.

  The Rathmian soon closed the gap. Salene did not seem to hear him. Zayl, on the other hand, heard every gasping, frantic breath … and now and then the muttering of her half-brother’s name. Salene was driven by Sardak. She would not stop trying to reach him until there either was no strength left in her body or Zayl managed to catch her.

  He reached out, trying to grab at her cloak—

  A nightmarish form rose out of the forest ahead of her. The creature seized a startled Salene in a four-arm grip. The fangs went for her throat—

  And a second later, the horror squealed. A fire seemed to blossom from its back. Quivering uncontrollably, it released the noblewoman and tumbled back onto the ground.

  The fire died even as the creature did. Salene, the glow in her hand already fading, briefly stared at the ruined form … then rushed on.

  But the struggle had taken long enough to enable Zayl to catch up. His right hand closed on her arm. “My Lady Nes—”

  She looked over her shoulder, her expression terrible to behold. Salene instinctively put her own hand—again glowing—on his gloved one.

  The glove burst into flames.

  Had it been his left hand, Zayl would have suffered cruelly. As it was, he was forced to release her, then quickly peel the fiery garment off.

  The sight of his fleshless appendage finally made Salene falter. She stared at the hand, the burning glove, and then into Zayl’s eyes.

  “I didn’t mean—I—”

  “There is no need for apologies,” he interjected in a low tone. “Now come with me! Quickly!”

  Using his gloved hand, he tried to lead her toward Westmarch, but Salene slipped out of his grip.

  “No! Sardak needs me! He needs me!”

  Gritting his teeth, the Rathmian responded, “Sardak is dead, and he gave his life trying to save yours, my lady! Do not let his—” The word “sacrifice” almost escaped Zayl’s lips, but at the last moment he caught it. “—courage be for nothing! We must head for Westmarch!”

  “We dare not go there! Torion—”

  “Will not let harm come to you. He will protect you any way he can, my lady.”

  She put her hands on her hips in defiance. “And what about you?”

  “I will make do. Now—”

  Salene turned away. “No! There must be somewhere else!” She glanced back again, the strain of events clearly showing. “Besides, I can feel him! He needs me!”

  Feel him? Was her relationship with Sardak so close that she could sense if he was alive or dead? Sardak had hinted something of the same earlier. That renewed Zayl’s concern that Karybdus might be able to use the dying brother in place of his original sacrifice.

  But Zayl could take no chances. For her sake and much more, Salene had to come with him.

  With her gaze once more turned from him, Zayl brought up the dagger.

  “Forgive me for this, Salene,” he whispered.

  He touched her on the back of the head with the hilt. Salene let out a slight gasp and fell forward. Leaping, the necromancer just managed to grab her.

  “What did you do?” asked a voice from his side. Humbart, aware of the danger of distracting his friend, had stayed silent throughout the entire struggle, but now finally thought it safe to speak up. “I can’t see it, but I know you’ve done something to the lass!”

  “Quiet, Humbart. I have no choice.”

  The skull grumbled, but otherwise said nothing.

  When he turned her face to his, her eyes were open. Zayl waited until he was certain that they would not blink, then whispered, “You will come with me, Salene Nesardo. You will return to the city. Even if I should fall to harm, you will do your utmost to return to Westmarch and give warning to General Torion.”

  Torion would listen to her. More to the point, he would, as Zayl had earlier said, protect Salene from danger. There was no greater shield than love.

  He released his hold on her. Salene straightened. Her eyes continued to stare unblinking, but she turned toward the unseen city. Zayl nodded, then started in that direction. Salene moved when he did, her actions exact copies of his own. Aware that Karybdus had also enchanted her so, he felt much guilt even though there had truly been no other choice.

  Silence suddenly reigned in the forest, whether a sign for good or ill, the hooded spellcaster could not say. The wendigo had become as dedicated and respected a companion as Captain Kentril Dumon had been in Ureh. The forest dweller had risked his life more than once for Zayl and, because of Zayl, for Salene and Sardak as well.

  It made him more determined than ever to reach the capital, no matter what the risk to himself.

  He did not at all contemplate returning by means of the passage leading to the depths below House Nesardo. Assuming that the cavern still existed in some part, there was the danger that the undead followers of Astrogha still haunted it. While Zayl believed that the magic that had resurrected them had faded, he did not want to chance Salene’s life that way.

  No, it would have to be through the front gate, if only for her sake.

  A howl filled the silence. It was followed by another and another and another …

  “Now what’s that?”

  “Quiet, I said, Humbart! I—”

  Only then did Zayl notice, though the day had faded away, a light shining down from the sky.

  The Rathmian looked up and beheld the moon … but a moon such as even he had never witnessed. It was round and full at a time when it should not have been and seemed so very much closer than was right.

  And over the upper edge, a peculiar, almost menacing shadow had begun to spread.

  A shadow with eight limbs trailing down.

  “Odyssian’s Wedge!” snapped the necromancer. He picked up his pace, nearly running. Salene, caught up in his spell, obediently matched him.

  “So this isn’t good, whatever it is,” complained Humbart. “Wish I had two more legs to lend you…”

  Zayl did not answer him. The wolves continued to howl and others of their ilk joined them. Zayl also heard owls and other nighttime birds calling. The creatures of the forest sensed the unnatural change in the moon.

  His gaze shifted back and forth, even up as he hurried along, but he saw no sign of pursuit. It was possible that the wendigo had slain them all—no doubt himself perishing in the process—or that the surviving creatures had lost the scent and now chased a false trail. Those were the choices for which Zayl held out hope.

  The third and final choice was the one that he most feared. It was possible that Jitan’s servants had returned to their master because Zayl and Salene were no longer of primary significance to either the ambitious noble or Karybdus. If Sardak’s blood was indeed sufficient to their vile task … then, in running from them, Zayl had ensured their triumph.

  He stopped dead in his tracks. Salene imitated him.

  The necromancer took a step in the direction of the ruins and Karybdus. Immediately, the noblewoman followed.

  This would not do. Thrusting his maimed hand at her, Zayl commanded, “Salene, hear me! You will go on without me! The spell upon you—”

  A branch snapped. The necromancer spun, expecting either the demonic hunters or, perhaps, by some miracle, the wendigo.

  Instead, he heard the snort of a horse.

  Armored riders suddenly charged in from all sides, all with weapons drawn and pointed in the general direction of the Rathmian. They rode in a tight circle around him, somehow always keeping him in their sights.

  But one rider came much too close to the still Salene. Fearful that she would be injured or cut, Zayl started to pull her near.

  “Get your filthy demon hand off her, necromancer! And drop that dagger!”

  As the other soldiers reined to a halt, an officer with a plumed helm rode up. Zayl had never seen the man before, but the latter’s contempt for the Rathmian somehow bordered on the personal.

  “Fate is surely with me!” he crowed. “The elusive Zayl, at last! I finally came to the concl
usion that you were no longer in the city, which was why I volunteered to lead this hunting party myself! Still, I never thought my luck would be so good!” The officer drew his sword and looked ready to behead the necromancer. “Now, we can be rid of your evil doings!”

  “Listen to me!” Zayl protested. “The kingdom is in danger! You must—”

  “Silence, cur!” shouted one of the other soldiers. He made a wild swing at the necromancer, who was forced to jump back or be cut.

  Salene imitated his action.

  The patrol leader swore. “How dare you play her like that? Remove whatever enchantment you have upon her, sorcerer, if you even hope for any mercy!”

  Rather doubting that he would be granted mercy under any circumstances, Zayl nonetheless willingly obeyed. Whatever his own fate, he would do what he could to save Salene.

  A simple gesture with his hand was all that was needed. The noblewoman coughed. Blinking, she slowly registered the presence of not just the necromancer, but the armed party as well. Her gaze focused specifically on the lead rider.

  “Alec?”

  “Captain Mattheus, please, my lady.” He touched the front brim of his helmet in respect to her. “And may I say that I am pleased that you look unharmed by this wretch.”

  “Who—Zayl?”

  “My lady,” interjected the hooded spellcaster. “It is essential that you go with these men to General Torion and tell him what we have witnessed—”

  “Be still, you!” growled the soldier who had swung at Zayl earlier. This time, the flat of his blade caught the Rathmian on the shoulder. With a grunt, Zayl stumbled a few steps forward before regaining his balance.

  Salene grew livid. “Stop that!” she roared, chastising the soldier. The man looked nonplussed. Turning to the captain, Salene added, “Alec—Captain Mattheus—Zayl is my friend and just saved my life!”

  “He is a heretic and a danger to the kingdom—”

  “A heretic, is he? And are you now a warrior of the Zakarum Church? And what danger is he, pray tell? It’s only because of him and Sardak—” Salene faltered. “Poor Sardak …” She stiffened. “If it’s a villain you seek tonight, Captain Mattheus, then you should look for Lord Aldric Jitan! He meant to have me sacrificed tonight!”