At that point, the first of the screams began.
Augustus Malevolyn’s hand shook at the sound, but not because of any fear or regret. It was just that he had never heard such a soul-tearing cry, not even from those he had tortured, and the suddenness of it had simply startled the hardened veteran. When the second, the third, and fourth arose, Malevolyn found them not at all disconcerting. He even raised his goblet toward the halfburied dagger and Xazax’s unseen lord.
And as he did, the shrieks outside became a chorus of the damned, scores of men crying out at the same time, pleading for some escape. From all around the camp the agonized screams assaulted the general, but he took each in stride. The men— his men—had each sworn more than one oath that they would serve him in all things in all ways. Tonight, he had taken that oath to heart, accepting their sacrifices—quite literally—for the better of his quest.
He turned toward the tent flap again. Mistaking the human’s reaction, the mantis warned, “It is too late to save them. The pact has been accepted by this one’s infernal lord.”
“Save them? I merely wished to toast them for what they have given in order to garner me my destiny!”
“Aaah . . .” responded the demon, clearly seeing the true General Malevolyn for the first time. “This one is mistaken . . .”
And on went the screams. A few sounded quite distant, as if some of the men had tried to flee, but they could not flee from something eating away at them from within their very souls. Some, obviously very loyal, called out to their commander, pleading for help. Malevolyn poured himself another goblet, then sat down to wait for the finish.
Gradually, the last of the screams died down, leaving only the nervous whinnying of the horses, who could not understand what had happened. That, too, though, ceased as the heavy silence of the camp affected them as well.
The sudden clank of metal against metal made him look at the demon again, but Xazax said nothing. Outside, the clanking increased, growing both in intensity and nearness. General Malevolyn finished the last of his wine and stood up.
The noise outside abruptly stopped.
“They await you . . . warlord.”
Adjusting his armor, especially his helmet, General Augustus Malevolyn stepped outside.
They did indeed wait for him, their ranks perfect. Several held torches, so he could see their faces, the faces he had come to know so well over their years of service to him. They all stood there, Zako, Lyconius, and the rest of the officers, each with their men behind them.
As he stepped into their sight, a cry of salute rose up among the throng, a cry monstrous, brutal, in its tone. It made Malevolyn smile, just as a somewhat closer glance at the foremost visages further enthused the commander. No matter how dark or light their skins had been before, they now had a pale, pasty look to them. As for their mouths, their battle cry had revealed teeth now fanged and tongues long and forked. The eyes—
The eyes were completely red—blood red—and burned with such evil desire that they could be seen even without the aid of a torch. They were not human eyes, but rather eyes that, at least in malignance, more resembled those of the mantis.
Garbed in the very husks of his loyal soldiers, these horrific warriors would be his new legion, his path to glory.
Xazax joined him outside the tent, the hellish mantis no longer needing to be concerned about secrecy. After all, here he stood among his own.
“All hail Malevolyn of Westmarch!” Xazax called out. “All hail, the Warlord of Blood!”
And once again, the demonic horde cheered Augustus Malevolyn.
So far from the encampment, Galeona heard nothing, but the witch did sense the striking of the sinister spell. Long associated with the darker aspects of her art, she knew that such incredible emanations of hellish sorcery could only mean that her fears had come to fruition. She had been right to depart when she had or else the enchantress would have certainly joined the fates of Augustus’s unsuspecting warriors.
Xazax had underestimated her for the last time. The mantis would have used others to deal with her in order to break the blood pact that they had made some years back. He had chosen the general for his new ally, the demon having always hinted that a new warlord would be of more interest than simply gaining empty armor. Galeona should have realized months ago that he had never intended to continue with their own alliance any longer than necessary.
Yet, what had made him so suddenly choose Augustus over her? Could it really have been fear? Ever since that night when the monstrous insect had nearly done the unthinkable—slain her outright despite the repercussions of directly breaking their pact—the witch had tried to think of what could so disturb a creature of Hell. What fear had sent him scurrying straight to Malevolyn?
In the end, it did not matter. Both Xazax and Augustus could have one another for all she cared. After what she had discovered during her brief spellwork earlier, Galeona had decided that she, in turn, needed neither of the two treacherous creatures. Why settle for always looking over her shoulder when she could be the one who truly commanded?
The sorceress glanced down at her hand as she rode, not the first time she had done so. In her left palm, Galeona held a small crystal which through spells she had tied to her intended destination. So long as the crystal glowed, the enchantress knew that she remained on the right track.
So long as it glowed, she knew that she could find the fool she intended to make her puppet.
In betraying her, Xazax had made one terrible error in judgment. For some reason that she could not yet fathom, the demon could not by himself detect the ancient warlord’s armor. He needed human assistance, which had been one of the foremost reasons the two of them had first joined together. That had been why, when he had believed that he knew where the prize lay, the cursed mantis had abandoned her for General Malevolyn. It should not have been at all surprising to her since Galeona had considered doing much the same, but for Xazax, the error would prove a costly one.
The demon no doubt believed that the armor could be found now in nearby Lut Gholein, the location they had last determined it would head toward. Even she had assumed that much until her last spell. Where else could it be but within the coastal kingdom? A lone traveler either needed to find a caravan there willing to take him on or wait instead for a ship heading on from Lut Gholein to one of the more western lands. Either way, Norrec should have still been within the city walls.
But he was not. At some point, he had left, choosing to forego sanity and apparently ride out into the desert at a pace that surely had killed his mount. When Galeona had discovered his new location, it had stunned her; the veteran fighter practically stood under Augustus’s very nose. If the general had agreed to letting her cast a search spell when she had originally offered, the armor might very well even now be his. He could have already been approaching Lut Gholein clad in the crimson garb of Bartuc, his loyal witch at his side.
Instead, Galeona now hoped to convince this other fool that he should use it . . . under her masterful guidance, of course. He looked to be a manageable sort of oaf, one she should readily be able to wrap around her finger. He also had a not unreasonable countenance, one in some ways the witch preferred to her former lover. That would make the task of maintaining control of her new puppet not so great a chore.
Of course, if Galeona found some better method by which to harness the astonishing power of the enchantments, it would also not bother her much if she had to do away with this Norrec. There were always other men, other fools.
On and on she rode, her only concern that Xazax might choose to interrupt his activities with Augustus to pursue his former partner. Of course, that would go against their pact, too, which would endanger the demon as well as her. More likely the hellish mantis would forget her for now, satisfied that he had his grand prize. Later he would no doubt find the means by which to sever their ties—not to mention her head and limbs.
He would be too late, though. Once she had her pawn ensnar
ed, Galeona would see to it that Xazax, not she, would soon lay scattered over the landscape. Perhaps she would even have Norrec bring the insect’s head to her, a pretty trophy with which to begin to rebuild the collection that the sorceress had been forced to leave abandoned tonight.
She peered around, looking for some sign of her prey. In order to lessen the risk of riding around nearly blind because of the darkness, the witch had cast a spell enhancing both the visions of her horse and herself. It enabled the animal to pick a path that would avoid accidents and predators while giving Galeona the ability to better hunt for the soldier.
There! Reining her mount to a halt, the sorceress stared at the distant, shadowed form of a rocky hill. The crystal indicated that her path continued directly that way. Galeona rose in the saddle for a moment, searching for any other likely spot and finding none. As a seasoned warrior, the fool certainly had enough sense to look for reasonable shelter and the small hill before her looked to be the only such choice for many miles around. He had to be there.
Eager now, Galeona urged the horse on. As they neared, she thought she saw a figure just to the left of the hill. Yes . . . most definitely a man seated under an outcropping, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms resting atop the knees.
He jumped up as the witch approached, for one clad in heavy armor his agility and speed surprising her. Galeona could see him peering back, trying to make her out in the darkness and so far failing. No, not an unpleasant face at all, the guileful sorceress thought. Better than she had recalled from their encounter on the ship. If he would just prove himself to be reasonable, to listen to her, then they would have no troubles with one another and she would not have to so soon begin the search for his eventual replacement.
“Who is it?” Norrec called. “Who are you?”
She dismounted a short distance from him. “Only a fellow wanderer . . . no one who means you harm.” Now Galeona simply used the crystal to illuminate the area, let him see the good fortune that had just stepped into his miserable little life. “Someone looking for some warmth . . .”
The witch manipulated the gleaming stone, letting its light cross both her face and torso. She saw his interest immediately. So much the better. He looked to be one readily led around by the nose in return for a few readily given pleasures. The perfect dupe.
His expression suddenly changed and not for the better. “I know you, don’t I?” He approached, towering over her. “I need to see your face again.”
“Of course.” Galeona held the crystal nearer to her features.
“Not enough light,” Norrec muttered. “I need more.”
He held up his left hand—and in the palm of the gauntlet there suddenly formed a tiny fireball that outshone the crystal a hundredfold.
Galeona could not stifle a gasp. She had expected an uninitiated fool, a fighter with no grasp of sorcery. Instead, he had summoned flame without so much as an effort, something still beyond many well-schooled apprentices.
“That’s better . . . I do know you . . . your face, anyway! On the Hawksfire!” He nodded in immense satisfaction. “I dreamed of you there!”
Recovering, Galeona quickly replied, “And I dreamed of you, too, that time! Dreamed of a warrior, a champion, who could protect me from the evils pursuing me.”
As she hoped, her words and tone had an immediate effect on the man. His look of distrust did not completely fade, but now she saw also sympathy—and pride that she looked at him as her savior. The witch pressed nearer to Norrec, staring adoringly into his eyes with her own, halflidded ones. She surely had him enticed by this point.
“You’re in danger?” A protective look crossed his face. He peered beyond Galeona, as if already expecting to see the villains who chased after her.
“They don’t know I escaped them just yet. I . . . I dreamed of you again last night, knew that you had to be near, waiting for me.” Putting a hand on his breastplate, Galeona leaned forward, but inches between her full lips and his own.
He did not rise to the tempting bait, instead considering some other matter. “You’re a sorceress,” Norrec finally responded. “What’s your name?”
“Galeona . . . and I know from my dreams that my knight is called Norrec.”
“Yes . . .” The fighter smiled at the title she had given him. “Are you a powerful sorceress?”
The witch let her hand trace the seams on the armor. “I have some talent in that . . . and other fields as well.”
“I could use a sorceress,” he muttered almost to himself. “I wanted one to help me deal with this armor . . . but that’s not so important any more. I’ve had time to think, time to put matters in their proper order. There’s things I need to do before I go on any further.”
Galeona only half-paid attention, already planning ahead. Norrec definitely did not sound as simple a man as the enchantress had first imagined, but he had at least taken her story to heart and accepted her as a companion, if nothing else. As she learned more about him, Galeona would strengthen that tie. He had already revealed some weakness to her charms; the rest of what she desired the witch would gain soon enough.
Of course, if she could help Norrec with whatever concerned him, show her puppet of what valuable assistance she could be, that would shorten her own task. While Galeona did not understand his statement concerning the armor itself, these other matters he had mentioned— whatever they might be—she could surely aid him in accomplishing.
“Of course, I’ll help you in any way I can, my knight! I ask only in return that you protect me from those who would do me harm.” She turned her gaze briefly to the desert. “They’re powerful and have dark arts at their command.”
Galeona had wanted to test his reserve, to see the extent he felt sure of the power he apparently wielded. Yet, even to her surprise, Norrec shrugged, then almost casually answered, “Warriors, magic, demons . . . I’ve no fear of any of them. Those under my protection will come to no harm.”
“You’ve my gratitude,” she whispered, leaning up and kissing him hard.
He pulled her away, not out of any disgust, but because he seemed not to have any interest at the moment in what she had offered him. Instead, Norrec appeared once more lost in his other concerns.
“I’ve thought about it,” the fighter finally told the witch. “Thought about why I ended up here of all places. It has to be somewhere near. It tries to keep hidden and from me it can do it . . .” He looked down at her again, something in his eyes suddenly unnerving Galeona a little. “But you might be able to find it! You found me, after all! You can probably succeed where Drognan failed.”
“I’ll do what I can,” the dark-skinned enchantress returned, curious as to what so demanded the man’s attention. Something of value to her, too, perhaps? “What are we looking for?”
His expression indicated that he found it surprising that she did not already know. “ Horazon’s tomb , of course!” Something in his face changed as he spoke, something that made Galeona look at him again—and this time see a face that she did not entirely recognize. “My brother’s tomb.”
Sixteen
An entire world existed beneath Lut Gholein. No, corrected Kara, not a world, but something that seemed at least as large as, if not larger than, the regal kingdom far above her. The curious and unsettling figure she had identified as an impossibly old Horazon had led her down one confusing corridor to the next and to the next and so on until the necromancer had actually gotten dizzy trying to keep track of her path. She had climbed up and down stairs, walked through door after door, and passed room after room until at last Horazon had brought her to this single chamber, this well-lit and wellfurnished bedroom, and told her to sleep.
Kara did not even remember lying down, but now she found herself atop the soft bed, staring up at the intricately-sewn canopy there. She had imagined her quarters aboard the King’s Shield to be the finest she would ever use, but these set even those to shame. Curiously, the elegant furnishings, while clearly of anot
her time, another place, looked as if they had been made only yesterday. The great wooden bed appeared perfectly polished, the sheets crisp and clean, and the marble floor beneath spotless. The same went for the nightstand next to the bed and the chair in the far corner. On the walls had been hung richly-woven tapestries of decidedly Vizjerei tastes, fantastic creatures and images of astonishing spellwork, all crafted by an expert artisan. If not for the fact that she was presently a prisoner in the lair of a possibly dangerous madman, the enchantress would have felt quite comfortable indeed.
She dared not stay here. While legend had always spoken of Horazon as the brother considered the lesser of two evils, he nonetheless not only remained an ambitious Vizjerei who had once, too, commanded demons to serve him, but who also clearly had lost his sanity over the centuries. Kara wondered how he had even survived for so long. The only records of such extensive life-extending spells had always included the summoning of unearthly powers to help cast them. If Horazon had turned again to demons for his needs—despite his constant mutterings to the contrary—then that would not only explain his present condition but also gave Kara even more reason to find her way out before he returned.
Still clothed, the anxious dark mage slipped out of the bed, heading immediately to the door. It did no good to try to see if Horazon had cast any spells upon it, for his entire sanctum emanated magic to such a staggering degree that she wondered why every spellcaster for hundreds of miles around could not have sensed its presence. Then again, perhaps that same magic explained why they did not. If even a portion of that might had been directed toward hiding Horazon’s domain, then the greatest mages in all the world could have stood at its very doorstep and still not noticed the wonder at their feet.
Deciding to take the risk, the necromancer tugged at the handle, only to find the door unmoving. She tried again, with equally dismal results.
Diablo #1: Legacy of Blood Page 24