“Really, am I going to have to silence you again, Lady Nesardo? You know how fond I am of you, but to speak against my father so? You accuse him of being nothing more than a puppet! And of the good Karybdus, too!”
She gave up. Justinian could not or would not believe that anyone could command his father, even in death. Worse yet, he saw the necromancer as a trusted adviser! How long had Karybdus planned this travesty?
More screams pierced the thick walls of the palace. The king took another sip of wine, then offered her some.
From another direction and far nearer came words of argument. Justinian cocked his head in curiosity. Salene leaned toward the voices, trying to hear. The frustration in one of them matched her own spent emotions. She hazarded a guess that someone was trying to warn the king, but could not gain entrance.
Moments later, Edmun Fairweather slithered inside. From an innocuous servant, he had become to the noblewoman a fiend as evil as Lord Jitan or Karybdus. She suspected that he willingly participated in the horror now taking place outside.
“What was that disturbance, Edmun?” asked the king.
“As expected, a soldier from the watch. Said he was sent by General Torion. I informed him that you were not to be interrupted at this time. He raised a fuss. I finally had the guards arrest him and throw him in a cell for the night. With your majesty’s permission, of course.”
Justinian considered. “Well, if it must be. Still, see that he’s made comfortable and given food from our kitchen, Edmun. The man was only doing his duty, after all. He didn’t know better.”
“As you say, your majesty—”
The Lady Nesardo could not hold back. “Edmun Fairweather, I understand why the king acts so, but what about you? You must realize what is happening! Will you stand idly by while this horror takes place?”
His expression remained bland, but his eyes flickered dangerously. “I live only to serve my lord. He commands, I obey.”
“And you are splendid in your loyalty, dear Edmun,” Justinian said, beaming.
The servant bowed graciously, then departed.
Salene frowned. For some reason, when Edmun Fairweather talked of his loyalty to his lord, she had the feeling that he referred to someone other than the king.
Aldric Jitan? Perhaps. Karybdus? Unlikely. She could not see Edmun so devoted to a necromancer.
She grimaced. She was getting nowhere worrying about such things. Salene had to act.
But how? When she had wanted to leave, Justinian had prevented her with ease. He seemed to be able to wield magic, while her own powers—granted, often unpredictable anyway—now appeared to be failing her utterly. She was certain that it was something the king was doing … but what?
Ever aware that the shadow of Cornelius listened to all, Salene said, “I meant to ask before, your majesty: Is such skill with magic something that’s run through your family? I’ve heard no legends …”
As the noblewoman had hoped, Justinian was quite willing to talk about himself to her. Perhaps he even thought that she had begun to have interest in him. She did not like toying with the king, but saw no other choice.
“No, no. Nothing of the sort. This is really something of my own! A special gift I received.” His hand started to rise to his throat, where, for the first time, Salene noticed a black chain. Whatever the chain held lay atop his chest. “Would you care to—?”
Salene heard the sudden whisper that cut the king off and had no doubt what it concerned. Verifying her suspicions, Justinian quickly shifted his hand to his cheek. He pretended that it had always been his intention to merely scratch his face, as he continued, “I believe, that is, that I’m the first to display the talent. Perhaps on my mother’s side. She was descended from royal blood from Lut Gholein, you know. All sorts of mystical things go on there, I’m told. That’s where it traces from, yes.”
Justinian looked quite pleased at what was to her a very unconvincing explanation. Salene nodded as if she believed him, but her thoughts stayed fixed on the chain and what hung from it. Whatever it was, the noblewoman believed it to be not only the source of the king’s new abilities, but the loss of her own.
More cries arose. They were now nearly constant. Her hand trembling, she said, “Your majesty, I believe I would like some wine after all.”
“But of course!” The king reached up to the table and took a second goblet. He filled it, then turned to her.
As he did, Salene reached for the goblet. Their hands collided, sending the cup and its contents spilling over the floor. Justinian instinctively grabbed for the fallen goblet.
Lunging, the Lady Nesardo seized the chain and tore it free.
“What—” was all the young monarch could manage before Salene tugged away the object under his shirt. The noblewoman immediately pulled out of his reach.
The object dangling from her hand was a triangular bronze medallion upon which had been engraved an eye surrounded by what appeared to be teeth. The medallion radiated the same kind of dark energies that Salene felt whenever she had to journey through the old dungeons of her home. Clearly, this artifact had not been created with good intentions in mind.
“Give me that!” snapped Justinian, grabbing for Salene. “I need it!”
His arms closed on her—
And suddenly Salene stood behind him.
How she had suddenly gotten there, even she did not understand. Justinian whirled, his face now frantic. More and more he resembled the son of Cornelius as she knew him—afraid and uncertain.
“You’ll ruin everything! It was all planned so well!” He lunged for Salene a second time.
For a second time, she vanished from one location and appeared in another, this time near the doors. However, now Salene saw that the medallion had momentarily flashed when she had desired to be away from Justinian.
In fact, she also felt the magic flowing through her once again. The medallion, it seemed, was a complex creation. For Justinian, who truly had little or no inherent ability for magic, it gave him just enough to make him think himself invincible. Unfortunately against the powers unleashed by Karybdus and Aldric Jitan, Justinian’s skills would prove quite laughable.
However, for one with latent power, such as herself, apparently the medallion could do much more. It enhanced her abilities to the point where she could focus her spells as never before.
Which meant that she might at last be able to do something—but only if she fled the palace.
Hands seized her from behind in a viselike grip. She felt hot breath upon her neck and heard Edmun Fairweather’s foul voice say, “And what do you think you do, my lady?”
Justinian clapped his hands. “Praise be that you’re here, Edmun! She took the medallion!”
“So I see, your majesty …” In whispered words for Salene alone, he added, “But my Lord Astrogha will not allow this!”
Pressing her against his chest with one hand, he pulled the other back.
The king looked panicked again. “Edmun! There’s no need for that! Just take the piece from—”
Not waiting to find out what her assailant intended, Salene attempted to do what she accidentally had to Zayl. She touched Edmun’s hand with her own and focused her fury into that touch.
But if the noblewoman expected to singe his hand enough to free herself, what happened was far more startling. There was a rumble, as when a fire leaps to life … followed by a shriek from the man behind her.
As Salene tore away, a tremendous wave of heat washed over her. She stumbled a few steps, then turned and witnessed the results of her attack.
Edmun Fairweather was a living inferno. Flames entirely engulfed him, yet touched nothing else, not even the floor beneath him. The fire had spread so quickly that the king’s aide was still very much alive … but not for long.
Continuing to scream, Edmun dropped something. To Salene’s horror, it was a dagger very much akin to the one with which Lord Jitan had intended to sacrifice her.
My Lord A
strogha … Edmun had whispered. That the spider’s influence reached this far stunned her. How long had Edmun served the demon?
Yet, what mattered was that he would serve no more. The treacherous aide took two steps toward her, then, with a feeble groan, fell. The eager flames continued to consume his twitching form, yet the carpet underneath was not even sooty.
With a choking sound, Justinian fell back onto the throne. He sat there, just shaking his head over and over.
“Father … Father …,” the ruler of Westmarch finally uttered. “What do I do?”
Hearing that, Salene quickly turned to confront the shade. She would not have Karybdus’s foul words come filtering through the mouth of Cornelius’s ghost.
But although the specter of the old king remained, the taint that reminded her of the necromancer did not. Cornelius suddenly seemed free of Karybdus’s influence. Salene could only assume that whatever spell had been cast upon the old king, removing the medallion from his son had somehow severed it. Moreover, upon hearing the whispered words next spoken, Justinian’s expression hardly hinted that Cornelius still followed Karybdus’s instructions.
“I did what?” The son blanched. He shook his head in renewed horror. “But I never meant—I only did what I thought would make you proud—”
“Your majesty!” the Lady Nesardo interrupted, her use of the term meant for both. “Lord Torion sent a messenger! You need to speak with him as quickly as you can! The city will be overrun by creatures …” She went on, explaining everything she could in as little time as possible.
“Yes, of course!” Justinian responded once she had concluded. His fingers tapped nervously on the throne’s arm. “The men for the demonstration, they should be of help! We must clear the affected areas … Guards! Guards!”
It took more shouting to summon the soldiers, Edmun Fairweather apparently having sent them far away. The king gave several anxious commands, more than once glancing at where the ghost of his father stood. Fortunately, only he and Salene could see the specter.
Finishing with the soldiers, Justinian again cocked his head toward his father. “Yes! Yes, he should be!”
“What is it, your majesty?”
“Torion! The general must know that help is on the way! He must understand that he has to hold on! Blazes! Where is that messenger?”
Salene fingered the medallion. A daring thought occurred to her. “There may be another, swifter method …”
To his credit, he understood immediately. Understood and rightly feared for her. “You can’t be serious, Lady Salene! Best to dispose of that foul thing at once! You saw what a cursed fool I was with it—”
“I’ve no other choice, your majesty … We’ve no other choice.”
“I forbid it!”
Salene ignored his protests. Shutting her eyes, she clutched the medallion tight to her breast, trying to ignore the chill she felt from it. In her mind, Salene pictured Torion. She had no idea how to actually transport herself to him, just hoped that whatever natural instinct had brought out the skill would enable her to—
It was raining on her.
Shouts filled her ears as she focused on her surroundings. There were fires burning, many of them halfheartedly because of the never-ceasing rain. A scream stirred her to the bone.
Then, she saw the general.
Torion stood outlined by one fire, shouting orders to archers whose bolts were being tipped with rags. Salene guessed that the rags would next be soaked in oil.
From behind her, she suddenly heard a low hiss.
Without hesitation, the noblewoman turned and thrust out her hand. A ball of fire burst from it—just in time catching a huge, black form leaping for her head.
Squealing, the giant arachnid dropped to the ground, its legs curling in as it burned.
“Salene!” Torion came rushing up to her. “It is you! Damn, woman! What in blazes are you doing in the middle of all this? You get back—”
“Torion, be quiet! You have to listen!” When he finally clamped his mouth shut, she quickly told him all that had happened.
“Damn it! I should’ve known! I should’ve! It was too good to be true about the boy!”
“It couldn’t be helped!” Salene insisted. “Not with Edmun, Lord Jitan, and Karybdus all plotting it!”
“Well, good riddance to Master Fairweather, anyway—”
Their conversation was interrupted by more screams. A flow of spiders appeared out of the shadows to the left of the defenders. Two men were caught by the abrupt tide. The spiders swarmed over them. As per Torion’s instructions, their helmets were bound tightly to their heads. Unfortunately, finding no manner by which to remove them, several of the spiders finally bit the pair.
The effects of the virulent poison were instantaneous. The men screamed and tore at their bites. Harsh spasms shook their bodies.
A breath later, they were dead.
General Torion swore. “Get those torches over there! Bring another barrel of oil! We lose this section and we’ve got to back up nearly to the palace!”
It was a choice of burning the capital or falling victim to the spiders. Salene understood exactly the terrible decisions that Torion had to make.
Then, her eyes alighted on one of the barrels of oil. She glanced down at Karybdus’s foul amulet, then back at the oil.
“Torion! Have them stand away from that barrel … and the one next to it!”
It was to his credit that he obeyed with only a glance at her. The veteran soldier quickly cleared his men away from the barrels, then nodded.
Not certain at all about what she hoped to do, Salene nonetheless concentrated on both containers. At the same time, she tightly clutched the medallion.
As if shot by a catapult, both barrels flew up into the air, then dropped unerringly toward the thickest concentration of the macabre arachnids.
Just before they landed, she pointed at each.
Bolts of flame shot from her hand. They darted toward the barrels with such swiftness that the noblewoman dared not even blink for fear she would not see the results.
The explosions came almost simultaneously. A fiery rain spilled down upon the area … and over the spiders. The creatures perished by the scores, roasted alive as quickly as the one that had earlier assaulted her. The shrill hisses they made as they burned made more than one person there cover their ears.
With a gasp, Salene bent over. Her last effort had spent her. There were limits to what she could do, even with the medallion.
Torion saw her collapse. “Salene! Are you ill?”
“I—I’m fine! I just—just have to rest—” She fell against him.
“Small wonder, after that display! How did you—”
She shook her head, indicating that she would not speak of it with him.
With an understanding nod, the commander looked over her head to one of his men. “You there! Water for the lady! Hurry!”
“Torion—,” the scarlet-tressed woman managed murmured. “Did I—did I stop them?”
He turned her toward the inferno. A few of the spiders in that direction still lived, but they milled about in confusion. The rest were charred heaps. “You’ve bought us time, aye, Salene. You’ve done that.”
“But only time.”
“Unless they stop coming, yes,” he admitted.
There was only one thing left for her to do, then, the very thing that she should have done in the first place.
“I’ve got to go to him.”
“Hmm? Him?” General Torion pulled her straight. His eyes glowed in the light of the fires. “You don’t mean that devil of a sorcerer—”
“His name is Zayl.” Her voice softened. “Just Zayl.”
“Salene, I forbid it!”
She raised her hand to him. He instinctively pulled back, then grimaced.
“You can forbid me nothing, Torion. I have to go to him. It’s our only hope!”
“Then, I’m coming with you!”
The noblewoman st
epped back. Her body still cried for rest, but she could not have that luxury. “You’re needed here. Westmarch is counting on you, Torion …”
“Salene!” He started for her.
Gripping the medallion tight, the Lady Nesardo imagined Zayl. She saw his brave, pale face, his studious eyes, and the brief smile he had shown her. She even envisioned his right hand ungloved, no longer seeing it with revulsion, but with understanding.
There was a terrible wrenching in her gut. The air felt forced from her lungs—
Salene collided with hard, wet earth. The force with which she struck sent the medallion flying from her hand. Even as she rolled to her left, the dazed noblewoman heard a sound like someone dropping a rock into a lake.
Her momentum sent her tumbling along for several more seconds. She was finally able to grasp on to a bush rubbing against her face. Her legs flung forward, but her overall momentum finally stopped.
For a time, all Salene could do was try to get as much air as she could into her lungs. The cold ground, the chill rain … none of that mattered. Her head felt as if the hooves of a hundred horses—riders included—were running back and forth over it.
Then, a bright light somewhere ahead caught her attention. She blinked, trying to focus on it. As she did, the pounding in Salene’s head subsided and her breathing regulated.
And with her return to something resembling normalcy, Salene recalled Zayl.
Fear for him gave her the strength to push herself up. Her wet hair clung to her head and shoulders. Wiping some away from her face, she looked around. Curiously, despite the rain and mist, there was light enough for her to see her immediate surroundings.
Unfortunately, what she did not see was the medallion. Where it might be was soon painfully obvious. Not far from her, a wide stream, swollen from the downpour, cut across the landscape. She recalled the sound that she had heard.
Diablo: Moon of the Spider Page 28
