Her foot touched the first stone.
A whispering issued forth from all around Salene, but she saw no trace of its source. The noblewoman took another step … and the whispers grew a shade louder. There was a rhythm to them, almost like singing, or chanting.
Drawn by the spider as if caught in its silk, Salene continued to descend. The chanting intensified, seeming to her to resound throughout the amphitheater. She now saw—or was she imagining?—robed figures of men and women seated upon the benches ahead of her, their expressions ones of rapture, their eyes staring unblinking at the overwhelming arachnid. The ghostly throng beat their hands together in sync with their chanting.
Midway down, what they said finally became clear. It was not a phrase, as first Salene’s subconscious had registered it. Rather, it was one word … a name.
Astrogha …, they chanted. Astrogha… Astrogha …
“Astrogha,” she whispered with them. There was something so familiar about the name, as if she had known it as well as her own, then had, for some inexplicable reason, forgotten it.
Astrogha …, the specters continued, seeming to urge her on. Astrogha …
Salene neared the bottom, the gargantuan spider god now almost hovering over her. Ahead lay an altar, faded crimson streaks lining the surface like veins.
Suddenly, on the altar lay the shade of a young woman with wide, drugged eyes. Behind her stood an emaciated priest upon whose robe was a silhouette of the spider god.
Astrogha … Astrogha, he called. We offer our gift to open the way for your coming …
From his voluminous garment he drew a wicked blade. The crowd’s chanting reached a crescendo—
A cry filled the amphitheater.
Half-caught between the past and the present, Salene Nesardo turned at the sound.
Men in armor—men as ghostly as the robed figures upon whom they fell—poured into the gathering. Swords slashed and arrows downed those who stood to block the newcomers’ path. No quarter was given.
The Sons of Rakkis are upon us! came a frantic shout. The Sons of Rakkis are upon us!
Finish the ceremony! This from the direction of the priest. As Salene glanced there, she saw that there were now two others, a woman and a portly man. It was the latter speaking. Finish the ceremony before their damned Vizjerei show up!
But the figure with the knife shook his head. No! The moon is already slipping past! The moment is lost! He handed something to the woman that Salene could not make out. Something round. Take it! It must be passed on until his time comes again …
But where? asked the woman.
Anywhere! To the far edge of the world if need be! growled the dagger wielder. In the amphitheater, warriors who had died centuries past put again to death those whose bones were also long dust. So long as those who come after us remember when it must be returned … and where!
But what about the blood? the other man insisted, pointing at the young woman chained before them. Where do we find another of her blood? It is as key as the timing and the moon!
The lead priest smiled grimly. Rakkis himself in his eagerness to create a dynasty has provided us with the potential for many! He, too, indicated the drugged woman. As with her, there will be those with the proper blood! Now go! Hurry! I sense the Vizjerei even now!
The woman nodded. With her burden and the portly figure beside her, she turned … and faded into history.
A monstrous expression smearing his face, the dagger wielder loomed over his intended victim. The moment might have passed for the young woman’s sacrifice to be of use to his “god,” but that would not stop the priest from slaying her for his own desires.
The bolt that suddenly blossomed in his throat, however, did.
The dagger fell. The priest let out a groan and toppled over the girl, who finally stirred. She let out a moan, then, her eyes focusing for the first time … looked directly at Salene.
With the Lady Nesardo’s own eyes.
The amphitheater went still.
With a groan, Salene fell to one knee. The cries of the dying faded from her ears.
It took the noblewoman more than a minute to readjust to her surroundings. Slowly, she rose and looked about. The entire edifice was as she had first seen it. Dust, cracked benches, and little more. The bodies of the slaughtered cultists did not litter the walkways, nor were there any more armored men charging in through what Salene now saw was a rubble-filled passage. All that was in the far past, where it belonged.
Her gaze returned to the altar. The woman with Salene’s eyes was no longer there, as much a lost memory as all the rest. Still shaken, Salene nonetheless summoned the courage to touch one of the faded red streaks. She knew it now for the dried blood of previous sacrifices.
“Horrible …, ” Salene muttered. “Horrible.”
“Sometimes, some horror is necessary for the ultimate good.”
She spun about and found herself facing a cowled and armored figure. His black garments and pale, somewhat gaunt face reminded her a bit of Zayl.
“You see the dead nearly as well as we,” the shrouded man commented clinically. “Perhaps, because of what you carry within, in some ways you see them even better.”
“Who—who are you? You look like—like—” Salene hesitated to go any further.
“Like Zayl?” He gave her the ghost of a smile. “That is because I am as he is, a follower of blessed Rathma … a necromancer, if you will.” The black-clad figure bowed slightly. “You may call me Karybdus.”
Salene went pale. She spun away from Karybdus—and all but ran face-first into a monstrous shape dangling from the giant, jeweled arachnid.
A spider. A living spider as large as an infant. It spat in her direction, its savage mandibles working as if the creature was tempted to take a bite of her face. Coarse black fur covered its hideous, bulbous body. Eight malevolent green orbs clustered together just above the mandibles, all of them fixed upon the stunned noblewoman.
Salene backed away … and collided with the armored form of the necromancer.
Karybdus seized her wrists, keeping her pressed against his body. With his short-cropped gray hair and scholarly face, he reminded her of some of the instructors who had tutored her in her youth. That made his every word, so casually spoken, all the more horrific.
“Now, now, my Lady Nesardo. You mustn’t be afraid of my little one here. Skaro does only what I ask of him, and he knows that you must not come to harm … yet.”
“Let me go!”
“Truly, as Rathma says, the Balance will guide you if you are patient. I come here to retrieve a small, but significant item for our task—a dagger—and I find you waiting as if eager to already be upon the altar stone.”
Gritting her teeth, Salene tried to summon up her power. If there was ever a time it was needed, it was now.
The glow she had created became a blinding sunburst. Grunting, Karybdus used one hand to shield his gaze.
Salene tore out of his weakened grip, racing in the only direction presently open to her. That it took her farther from the entrance through which she had fallen did not matter. All that did was that she get as far away from the necromancer as she could.
Behind her, Karybdus muttered something.
The earth beneath her feet rumbled. Salene let out an exclamation as fissures cracked open all around her.
Bones, ancient bones, flew up out of the fissures. There were femurs and skulls, ribs and shoulder blades. Whole pieces and fragments swirled around her as if she were caught in a tornado.
She tried to break through, but the whirling mass moved with her. Salene would slap something away only to have it flow right back to her.
Then, several pieces dropped to the ground. Atop them fell others, the bones quickly stacking up and creating square formations.
A wall of human remains arose in front of the noblewoman. Salene turned, but the same thing happened. She glanced behind her and saw that she was also barred there.
A cage
of bone now stretched well above her. The last few pieces created a top, ensuring that Salene would not even be able to climb to freedom.
She slammed her fist against the cage, and although a flash of blue energy accented her strike, nothing happened save that Salene’s hand suddenly began to throb with pain.
Calm, measured footsteps warned her of Karybdus’s approach. The Lady Nesardo turned to face him. Her captor seemed not the least irritated by her escape attempt. If anything, he appeared very satisfied.
“The blood does flow true in you. I sensed it from the first. It will open the way.”
“What are you talking about? Why are you doing this?”
He shushed her as one might a raucous child. “Please be aware that I do this all for the good of the Balance, and, therefore, the good of the world.”
From over his cloaked shoulder, the monstrous arachnid appeared. The repulsive creature crawled along Karybdus’s arm, nestling in the crook.
Karybdus gazed down at the spider, his expression finally showing emotion. He murmured to the beast as if it were a baby, scratching its back at the same time.
When his attention returned to Salene, the emotion vanished. “I must beg your forgiveness for what I am about to do. It is a variation of what we call the ‘life-tap.’ It is necessary so that you attempt no further foolishness.”
Before the imprisoned woman could react, his free hand darted through a gap in the bone prison. The gloved fingers touched her just above the breastbone.
An incredible weakness coursed through Salene. She felt as if every bit of strength drained away from her … and into the necromancer.
FOURTEEN
General Torion gasped.
Strong hands caught the commander as he slumped. The familiar voice of Captain Alec Mattheus boomed, “General! Are you all right? Can you hear me?”
“I can, so stop blasting in my ear!” Torion felt what was left of his leg strength going. “A chair! Quickly!”
The ever-efficient adjutant already had one waiting for him. A good thing, too, as the commander followed his last words by crumpling into it.
As Torion caught his breath, Captain Mattheus knelt down beside him with a goblet of his superior’s favorite wine. The general gratefully accepted the drink, downing most of it in the first gulp.
His aide leaned close. “General … what happened?”
After a moment of brooding, Torion responded, “The necromancer. He was responsible for this!”
“He was here? But nobody reported anyone other than the Lady Nesardo coming or going—”
“And do you think it was her? Would you like to make that claim to me right here and now?”
“No, sir!” Captain Mattheus frowned. “I’ve just returned from her home. The search is going on, general, but from what I already saw, it’s pretty unlikely that this Zayl is there … unless he’s in the crypts.”
Torion’s brow wrinkled. “And you came back for permission to search them?”
“Being as it’s House Nesardo and how thoroughly we might have to look … yes, sir.”
Taking another sip, the veteran officer mulled over the request. Finally, he muttered, “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. As I said, this was the necromancer’s work. Clearly he came here and stole away Lady Nesardo, so he’s not going to be found in the house.” His voice grew firmer and there was a dark glint in his eye. “Here’s what you do, Alec. I want all patrols on watch for him in the city. You can’t miss him in that outfit, but I’ll write up a more detailed description of his features that you can pass around. He may be in the company of the lady—was her brother at the estate?”
Captain Mattheus made a face. “Yes, sir. That one was there. Hard to believe that the two are related …”
“Never mind that. Sardak was at the house. So he likely won’t be found with the necromancer. Still, order the men to avoid any harm to the Lady Nesardo or anyone else traveling with the blaggard if they can help it. I want no possible innocents injured. Understood?”
The adjutant nodded. “I’ll see that she stays safe, sir. You’ve my promise.”
“Good man.” Torion felt his strength returning. “Help me to my desk.”
After the captain had done so, the commander gathered parchment and quill. Quickly, he wrote down what he recalled of Zayl’s appearance. Torion considered himself a man with an excellent memory, and the details he wrote down gave proof of that.
“Here. This’ll help.” As the younger soldier read the description, Torion added, “Find him before the Church can get a hand on him, will you?”
“I’ll bring him right back here, sir.”
The commander grunted. “If he should die trying to fight off your attempt to rescue him, Alec, I’ll understand that it couldn’t be helped.”
His expression unchanging, the adjutant looked over the description one more time. “I’d best get on this right away.”
“Do that.” With grim satisfaction, Torion watched his subordinate depart. Captain Mattheus would deal with the grave robber. No blame or suspicion would fall on Salene. Things would be as they should be and, eventually, she would see that he was the man for her—
A guard came bursting into his office. “General, sir! He’s here!”
At first Torion had the thought that the necromancer had been mad enough to turn himself in, but he knew that Zayl was not so great a fool. Rising, the commander demanded, “Who? Who?”
“King Justinian! By himself! No guards, no advance warning!”
Torion’s eyes widened. Although the change he had witnessed in his new monarch was a promising one, this action bordered not so much on courage and confidence as on suicide. True, in the old days King Cornelius had often ridden alone through the city, even stopping to visit the general, but it was far too early for the son to be doing the same. Until the prepared show of force made it clear just how strong Justinian’s position was and how capable he had suddenly become, he was in constant danger of assassination by those with blood claims to the throne.
However, that was a concern for another moment. What was important was that the king was here. “Where is he at now? Prepare an honor guard! I want—”
“But there’s no need for all that pomp,” a voice smoothly interjected.
General Torion stiffened to attention. “Your majesty! This is an unexpected and—and—”
“And totally bothersome intrusion. I know, I know.” Justinian raised a hand to stop the veteran officer’s protest. The new king was clad in a riding outfit designed in the same style as his previous outfit, save that the pants flared at the hips and a golden travel cloak protected him from the elements. To Torion, he made a splendid-looking target for any who would have wished him ill. “Please, don’t say otherwise. I suspect that what you really wish to say to me is that I’m being foolhardy coming out alone like this.”
“Your majesty, I would never speak so to you!”
This comment made the new ruler of Westmarch all but beam. “Not lately anyway, eh? Calm yourself, Torion. You’re going to have to expect a a few more radical changes from me! After all, if I am to remain king past the official coronation—or even up to it, if you know what I mean—then I’m going to have to start acting more like my father did.”
If he acts any more like his father, thought Torion, he will be Cornelius! Not entirely a terrible thing, either, so long as the boy survived the year.
Trying to regain his mental balance, the general asked, “To what do I owe this great honor, your—”
“Please, from you, no more ‘your majesty.’ You will call me Justinian. My father insisted on a first-name basis with you, as I recall.”
And it had taken Torion several years before he had grown comfortable with that command, but he did not say such to the man before him. “Aye, he did do that.”
Justinian grinned. “Then, I could ask you to do no less. I trust you as much as he did.”
Torion bowed his head in gratitude.
; The king glanced at the dumbstruck guard. “Torion, there is something I came to speak with you about. Could we do so with privacy, you think?”
He even sounds like Cornelius. “Yes, your—yes, Justinian.” To the soldier, Torion commanded, “Send the guards stationed outside my doors away, then return to your post. No one is to come anywhere near here unless I call for them. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Dismissed, then … and close things behind you.”
When they were securely alone, Torion belatedly realized that he had never offered his august visitor a seat. Slipping from behind his desk, he proffered his own. “Please, Justinian. I insist.”
“I don’t plan on being very long, but thank you.” Again with that grin that reminded the veteran soldier of his old master, Justinian planted himself in the plush, high-backed leather chair that Torion had personally paid to have made. “Very nice … it’s good to be commander of the royal forces, I see.”
“Your lamented father was very generous to me. If you feel he has been too much so, I—”
“Good grief, no! I couldn’t think of any man more worthy of your position! I know that your loyalty, your obedience to me is utterly without question, and I consider that paramount during this troubled time …”
Again, Torion bowed his head. “You’re too kind.”
Justinian suddenly glanced to the side, just as he had done in the throne room. Less disturbed by it now, the commander waited. Sure enough, a moment later, the young monarch’s gaze returned to him. “Let me get to the point, Torion. I’ve heard word of a stranger in our realm. A dangerous foreigner from across the Twin Seas …” The general tried his best not to show his surprise at the king’s knowledge, but clearly failed, for Justinian grinned wider and added, “I see you know of whom I speak.”
“There has been word—”
“And an altercation … and something drastic that took place in your own cells, from what I heard.”
Torion no longer attempted to hide his surprise. “The throne is well-informed.”
Diablo: Moon of the Spider Page 18