Diablo: Moon of the Spider

by Richard A. Knaak

  Those few fled across the sea, where they bided their time and awaited the moment of destiny. With them, they brought the preserved hearts and some of the purified blood. When at last the moon itself came into alignment, they cast the spell—and only too late discovered that they had planned insufficiently. The weaker blood did not serve its entire purpose; it freed Astrogha, yes, but made him only a ghost of himself, far too weak to battle the Vizjerei who discovered his return.

  “Forced I was to flee back here in the hope of true blood of my children to bind me better to this world again,” hissed the spider. “Smelled it even from across the Twin Seas …”

  The Sons of Rakkis were no more—their fall a mystery even to the demon—but Westmarch as a kingdom now flourished. The surviving followers hid the weakened demon in the ruins of his old enemies’ mountain stronghold, then sought out those of the blood.

  But the Vizjerei followed more quickly than even Astrogha had imagined they could. Most of his human puppets were slain and the sorcerers used their last strength against the demon; they lacked the power to destroy him, but they did manage to seal him again in the orb. That done, they placed his guardianship in the hands of one of their own already slain, then came to this place where Zayl was now a prisoner with the intention of destroying it.

  “It was built to best enhance the link between the planes,” Karybdus kindly explained to his counterpart. “To destroy it would have weakened that link to the point where even pure blood would have no longer sufficed to free him. But, for some reason, they failed.” The older necromancer tsked. “So, that is the reason for the corpses I found here.”

  “My vengeance works slow sometimes, but works nonetheless,” mocked Astrogha, again tasting the life fluids. “They entered, only to be bitten by the smallest but deadliest of my children. Perished, they did. I felt it even in my accursed limbo …”

  Karybdus glanced up at the ceiling. “My lord, the time of the next phase is nearly upon us. You would do to make preparations.”

  “Yes, correct you are.” Astrogha reached a gore-soaked hand toward Zayl. “Come to me, my chosen one …”

  Both Rathmians stared in utter confusion. Zayl it was who recovered first. He recalled both his horrific journey to the netherworld and his encounter with the undead priest in the underground temple.

  “It was you,” he blurted. “You who stole me from the prison cell, who guided the undead worshippers in the hidden temple …”

  Karybdus looked at him as if he had joined the demon in some special madness. “What are you speaking of? I am the one who raised the dead of Astrogha below House Nesardo … and what is this about the prison cell?”

  The captive necromancer met his counterpart’s gaze. “Are you not then privy to all that occurs? I would have thought otherwise. You raised the dead, but Astrogha guided their hand afterward. They knelt to me, Karybdus! Called me ‘master’! I did not understand why until now.”

  “You are making fanciful tales! Astrogha was imprisoned in the orb! He could not affect this plane from in there!”

  Zayl sneered. “But so close to the proper phase, when the planes are so in sync, he could do some things … and without realizing it, you helped him with your own efforts!”

  “For which a reward you shall receive,” the demon promised through Lord Jitan. “Once this finer vessel is mine and my full glorious self has taken over …”

  “But the vessel I provided you is perfect, my lord,” insisted the gray-haired Rathmian. “He is of the blood. He has the latent ability for sorcery! He is—”

  “He is not this one.” Aldric’s tongue licked his lips. “This one is so much better. Long have I studied him. Perfect, he is.”

  “But he is not of the blood.”

  “For this, necessary it is not.” Astrogha beckoned to Zayl. “Come …”

  Against his will, the captive spellcaster stood. Karbydus did his best to hide his emotions, but Zayl, adept at reading one of his own kind, saw the growing consternation. Whatever plan the other had in mind to rid the mortal plane of Astrogha was made all the more difficult by the demon’s choice of Zayl as its ultimate host. A skilled necromancer, with all his arcane knowledge, would make the spider much more formidable. All that Zayl knew and could do would be at Astrogha’s foul command.

  For all his vaunted reputation, Karybdus had blundered terribly.

  But the errors of his rival in no way assuaged Zayl. As he moved helplessly toward the macabre figure, he desperately tried to come up with some defense against Astrogha’s possession. Once the spider’s legs burrowed into his skull, the Rathmian would cease to exist as a separate entity.

  Try as he might, Zayl could come up with nothing. Curiously, though, for all his fear for his soul, his greater concern was for the innocents of Westmarch … and, most of all, for Salene Nesardo.

  The possessed Lord Jitan seized him by the shoulders, holding him in place.

  With a horrific sucking sound, the monstrous arachnid atop the noble’s head pulled free its limbs. Blood and other fluids dripped from both its legs and the terrible, gaping wounds lining Aldric’s cranium.

  The spider—Astrogha—crouched briefly, then leapt onto Zayl’s hooded head.

  The Rathmian tried to shake the fiend off, but the demon held tight. With one leg, it kicked off the hood, the only shield of any kind left to its prey.

  At the same time, Aldric Jitan suddenly shook. His grip on Zayl failed. The mismatched eyes rolled inward … and the ambitious aristocrat’s corpse tumbled to the floor in an awful heap.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Zayl saw Karybdus shifting position, but otherwise the other necromancer did nothing but watch. If he intended to do anything to stop the demon from gaining all that Zayl offered, it seemed it would wait until the latter was already dead.

  The frozen spellcaster felt the tips of the legs caress his skull. In his head, the voice of Astrogha resounded. Yes, perfect you are … we will be one … and all will become my children …

  Pain coursed through Zayl’s head …

  The spiders came from everywhere.

  At first, they flowed over the unprotected wall, but then the sentries—now hosts for the Children of Astrogha—reopened the gates, the better to let the swarm through.

  The sea of arachnids poured into the nearest buildings, slipping through cracks much smaller than their bodies. Within moments, shrieks from inside those buildings filled the night—short-lived shrieks.

  And as some of the children found their hosts, the rest moved on. This human city was vast. There would be enough for most of the swarm.

  Besides, those that did not find them here … would simply move on to the next human habitation.

  General Torion debated riding back to the palace and retrieving Salene from the company of the king, but thought better of it. In Justinian’s care, at least there would be no doubt as to her safety. Besides, to return might have insulted the young king, something Torion did not want to do at this delicate juncture.

  Having dealt with his lord’s requests, the veteran commander had no other pressing duties, but found he did not wish to return to his quarters just yet. The day’s affairs had wound him too tight.

  At last, Torion decided to make his rounds. He really did not have to perform them anymore, for good men like Captain Mattheus and others generally did them for him, but the familiarity of the old routine would help him relax.

  He considered riding to the western gates, but finally chose the ones on the northeastern edge. Those were the ones facing the vaster forest and the mountains, the ones most stripped of men. Now would be a good time to teach those left that, even though they had the quietest section, their smaller numbers demanded greater diligence.

  Sentries on duty at points along the way saluted him sharply as he passed. Like them, Torion was wearing his helmet. He disliked the unwieldy thing, but the rain had started up again and the visor actually served better to keep the water out of his eyes than any hood.
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br />   However, as he neared the gates in question, Torion noticed several things amiss. The first was that the area ahead seemed far darker than it should have been. Even in the worst weather, there were always a few oil lamps lit, if nothing else. There was also a strange shifting of the shadows, as if they were alive

  Then, he heard the first scream.

  “By Rakkis!” The general drew his sword and urged his mount forward. However, the well-trained steed, instead of obeying, balked. Try as he might, Torion could not get the animal to go more than a few steps … at which point it always retreated again.

  Another cry reached him. Something moved in the shadows, something roughly the size of a cat … but with too many legs.

  What had Salene told him? A tale about … spiders?

  “Impossible …,” he muttered. “Impossible …”

  But it was best not to take chances. Something was terribly wrong.

  He looked back over his shoulder toward where he had seen the last sentries. “Alarm! Alarm! Possible intrusion at the gates! Intrusion at the—”

  A heavy object fell upon the head of his mount. As the horse shrieked, another object dropped onto Torion’s arm. Torion had a glimpse of several legs and multiple eyes.

  He cut the creature through the back with the edge of his blade. It hissed, then fell from his body. But even as it did, two more dropped upon the general’s shoulder.

  Still shouting, Torion batted off one. “Alarm! Alarm!”

  From down the street he heard the calls of other soldiers. However, the first to appear did so from the direction of the gates. The man, a subofficer Torion recognized, walked awkwardly toward the struggling rider.

  Something warned the general that not all was as it seemed. “You there!” he cried, slaying the other creature. “What’s going on? What’s happened to the rest of your men?”

  The soldier did not reply. He continued to close on his commander. Behind him, two others materialized from the dark. They moved in the same jerky manner.

  Torion tried to turn his horse around, but now the animal stood as still as a statue. He saw that one of the spiders rested atop its head. Torion angrily slashed at the creature, tearing it free of the horse—

  And leaving most of its eight legs still embedded in the unfortunate animal’s skull.

  Torion had only a moment to register the terrible image before the horse collapsed. He tried to throw himself to the side, but did not quite make it.

  He hit the street with a harsh thud. Pain coursed through his left leg. The veteran soldier tried to move it, only to find it pinned under the body of the horse.

  Another spider leapt on his chest. He attempted to slap it off, but the beast held on to his glove with its fangs. Torion gave thanks that the spider had not managed to bite through, for he was certain that the fangs were highly poisoned.

  More spiders crawled over him. Why none had bitten him yet, General Torion could not say, but he suspected the answer was not one he would have liked.

  A figure loomed over him. The subofficer. With his free hand, the man reached for Torion’s head.

  No, not his head … but rather his helmet.

  The general twisted away. As the soldier leaned forward for a second attempt, Torion saw that the man’s helmet was slightly askew.

  Underneath it, there was movement.

  With all his might, the struggling commander thrust up at the soldier. The blade caught the man in the throat. The helmet tumbled off.

  As with the horse, a spider perched atop the dead soldier’s head. Torion did not have to guess what it was doing there.

  He tried to pull back as the body fell, but still his leg was caught. Torion cursed, aware that his options were running out.

  Then, light filled his gaze. There were shouts of consternation, but also of determination. The arachnids atop him suddenly scattered as a torch came near.

  “We’ve got you, sir!” called a soldier, seizing his arms.

  “Keep your helmets on tight!” he warned. “Watch the shadows! Don’t let those spiders get close!”

  Even as he said it, a cry alerted him that for one man, the warning had come too late.

  There was also a clash of arms. As the general was lifted to his feet, he saw two soldiers doing battle with a pair of the possessed men from the gates. The latter still moved oddly, but somehow they managed to not only parry every strike, but to counter with their own attacks.

  Torion counted the men with him. Seven still trustworthy. A quick scan of the shadows warned him that they would soon not be near enough.

  “Retreat! Retreat! Keep those torches and lamps toward them! Hurry!”

  Most of them obeyed quickly enough, but the possessed soldier fighting one man suddenly reached up and batted the latter’s helmet free. Immediately, a spider leapt atop the hapless fighter, sinking its limbs into his skull with an audible cracking sound. The soldier dropped to his knees for a moment, then, with the same glassy stare, stood up and followed his former opponent.

  “Move back, damn you!” Torion continued. He eyed their surroundings. “Clear those buildings, quickly!”

  But from within came cries that told the general he was too late for the occupants. Swearing, he started to back up farther, then came to a halt. He stared momentarily at a window next to him.

  “You there!” Torion shouted at a frightened soldier. “Your lamp! Hurry, man!”

  All but tearing the light out of the other’s hands, General Torion threw the lamp at the window. The brass lamp smashed through, breaking in the process and spilling its oil everywhere.

  Flames erupted inside, some of them quickly eating away at a curtain on the broken window.

  The flames revealed several of the spiders clearly for the first time. Torion had never seen their like before, although they had some resemblance to the fabled Spinners. As far as he was concerned, though, they were nothing but grotesque demons, and if the flames drove them back, as they seemed to, then he wanted all the fire he could muster.

  Even if it meant burning down all of Westmarch.

  “That other lamp! Into that building!” He had no care about those within, for by now they were either dead or worse.

  Flames rose on both sides of the street. A few of the foul arachnids caught fire. The rest pulled away.

  Torion prayed that the incessant rain would not dampen both the fires and his hopes. His plan appeared to be working. The flow of monstrous spiders had ceased. They milled around as if not certain what next to do.

  Then, one of his men grunted and fell over. Behind him stood what at first appeared to be just another soldier. Only when the figure looked up again did Torion see that the helmet did not quite fit, as if the man attempted to hide something underneath it.

  Before anyone could stop him, the possessed soldier ripped off the helmet of the man he had stunned. From the standing figure’s back leapt a spider. It landed on the prone sentry and immediately bore its limbs into his head.

  Torion suddenly realized that the danger to the city was on a much greater scale than he had imagined. This soldier had not come from the gates. He had joined the party from farther back.

  The general charged the pair, running the standing one through the throat before he could react, then burying his blade in both the head of the man on the ground and the parasite atop it. Another soldier finished off the spider trapped in the helmet of the first.

  Freeing his blade, Torion stared at the tide that was again flowing toward them. “Retreat! Damn it, retreat! And I want every man to flatten his helmet to his skull! Any man not doing so risks execution! Understood?”

  He did not wait to hear if they did. The rain was still light enough for the torches to have some effect, but the battle was lost here. Torion cursed, aware that the reinforcements he needed were much deeper into the center of the capital, sent there by his own order at the king’s request.

  The king! Torion seized a man. “Grab a horse! Ride to the palace and warn his majes
ty! Tell him that the entire city is in danger! Tell him we need every man available, especially those he requested for the assembly tomorrow! We’ll hold the way as best we can!”

  As he sent the messenger off, screams arose from other parts of the city.

  “They’re everywhere,” muttered the veteran campaigner. “They’re everywhere …” But they seemed to especially come from the direction that Salene had said they would. Torion almost regretted not having told the messenger to bring her back so that he could question her more about this insidious invasion, but then imagined the noblewoman falling prey to a spider. No, he would never risk that happening. Best that she stay where she was. In the palace, she would be secure.

  Besides, once Justinian received the message, surely help would soon be on the way …

  TWENTY

  The first, distant scream sent Salene leaping to her feet in horror. If she could hear it here in the castle, that did not bode well for the city.

  Justinian seized her hand, and although a part of her tried to summon the power that she had used on Torion, nothing happened. The king pulled her back down onto the dais, forcing her next to him.

  “You should really calm yourself! All we have to do is wait here until it’s the right time! Then, everything will be all right. You’ll see …”

  “All right? But your majesty, what about the people? What about all those people who suffer? What about all those innocent deaths?”

  For a moment, the uncertain Justinian that she recalled suddenly reappeared. His hand shook. He quickly glanced to the side, where the specter of Cornelius drifted. Cornelius, who spoke not his own words of wisdom, but the tainted words of Karybdus.

  There was more whispering, again nothing that the Lady Nesardo could understand. The anxiety swiftly left Justinian’s face. Exhaling, he looked to Salene. “Now, you see? You even had me worked up for a moment! Just as I told you, it’ll be all right! Father said so, and he knows. He always knows.”

  Salene had tried to explain the truth about the late king’s ghost, but Justinian had not believed her. Nevertheless, she tried a second time. “Your majesty, I believe you when you say that is your honored father, I do, but I tell you again that he is under a spell! He speaks the lies of the necromancer, Karybdus! Your father would never have allowed such carnage, for any reason! He loved the people! He protected them! Now, Cornelius is being forced to speak against his own will—”