As Zayl expected, the officer looked dubious. “You are telling me that Lord Aldric Jitan, a senior-ranking member of the Council of Nobles, intended to have you sacrificed, my lady? To what, if I may ask?”
“A spider demon of some sort! It—”
He cut her off. “Clearly you are still under some enchantment of this foul one! Either that, or your mind, distraught by the trials it’s gone through, has mixed this man up with the Lord Jitan!”
“He will not listen to reason,” Zayl told Salene. “It might be best if you—”
“Reason?” scoffed the leader. “I’ve heard nothing remotely resembling reason!” Surprisingly, Captain Mattheus sheathed his sword. “It is obvious to me that this situation is more delicate than I’d desire. We’ll have to take both of you back to the general, where he’ll get all this nonsense out of your head—if you’ll pardon me for saying so, Lady Nesardo!” Before she could protest, he went on, “As for you, necromancer, you’ve bought yourself a reprieve …a temporary one at best. Brennard! Bind that cur’s wrists behind him! Yorik! Your horse for the lady! Double up with Samuel. His horse is the largest and strongest beast!”
“Aye!” shouted the men in question. Brennard, a bearded veteran with a scar across his nose, walked up to Zayl as if the latter were Diablo himself.
“Hold your mitts behind you,” he gruffly ordered.
The necromancer obeyed. Brennard swore when he got a closer look at Zayl’s right hand.
“Captain! It’s rotted away to the bone! There’s little else but that and some sinew!”
“Well? What did you expect from one of his kind? It’s still a hand! And don’t you worry, if he tries anything, his reprieve’s up! You understand that, Master Zayl?”
At that moment, another howl echoed through the night. Some of the soldiers looked around anxiously.
“Damned beasts are actin’ up again,” muttered Yorik, who had dismounted.
“Just a bunch of hounds calling to the moon,” their leader interjected. “If there’s anything unnatural about it, the cause stands before you.”
Zayl paid him no mind, the Rathmian more interested in the moon itself. It was all he could do to keep his concern masked. The limbs of the sinister shadow now spread nearly to the bottom.
So, the Moon of the Spider was both an artifact and a phase of the lunar orb. Jitan had one already and now the second had nearly come into phase. Zayl could only guess what would happen when the true moon resembled the representation.
He knew that, at the very least, it would spell catastrophe for the city.
“Eyes where I can see them,” the captain insisted. He and the rest of the soldiers appeared oblivious to the unsettling sight above.
Zayl could not go back to the city after all. There evidently was no more time. He had to return, and return quickly, to where Karybdus and the noble worked their dire deeds.
He twisted slightly, causing the pouch at his side to jostle.
Captain Mattheus instantly focused on the bag. “Brennard, see what’s in there.”
Brennard looked none too pleased, but he moved to obey. However, as his fingers touched the pouch, an angry voice shouted, “Just who do you think you’re manhandlin’ there?”
Brennard leapt back. Several of the horses snorted, and more than one stirred nervously.
“Do I go layin’ my mitts on you?” continued Humbart. “Do I? I should say not! Of course, the fact I don’t have any shouldn’t matter—”
The horses began to shy. Yorik fought to control his.
Zayl threw himself toward the unmounted Yorik, colliding with the distracted man. Although much wider and heavier than the slim Rathmian, Yorik tumbled back.
With a single, smooth motion, Zayl leapt onto the saddle. He reached his skeletal hand out and his dagger flew up from the ground and into his hand. A gaping Brennard watched the scene unfold without so much as moving a muscle.
The only one to react, in fact, was Captain Mattheus. He drew his sword and started after Zayl. “Samuel! You’re in charge of the Lady Nesardo! Take her back with the rest of the men! You six! After me! I want that cur!”
Salene reached for the necromancer. “Zayl! Take me with you!”
He shook his head. “You must warn General Torion! Tell him something terrible will happen tonight! He must guard the walls with flame! Warn him to watch for spiders!”
“Zayl—” If she said anything else, he could no longer hear her.
The horse he had stolen was an excellent runner—as the Rathmian had suspected—but so too were those of the men chasing him. Zayl cursed that part of the Balance that seemed to insist upon his being pursued by one foe after another. Captain Mattheus and his men were a special thorn in his side, for they pursued him out of ignorance. He strove to save their lives, yet they saw him as the monster, not the elegantly clad and nobly born Lord Jitan.
Karybdus must laugh at my antics, Zayl thought bitterly. I have been as merely a flea to him.
The wolves continued to howl. Zayl glanced again at the moon, the shadow upon which more and more resembled a gargantuan arachnid seeking to devour it. The Rathmian feared that he was already too late.
Captain Mattheus and his band silently raced after him, swords at the ready. The soldiers spread out among the trees, each trying to follow a path that would enable him to catch up to his quarry. General Torion would no doubt decorate the man who brought him Zayl’s head.
Deeper and deeper into the forest the necromancer rode, never quite able to lose his pursuers. Paradoxically, it was not so much for his own self that he desired to do so. There was yet the risk that Lord Jitan’s grotesque servants might also be hunting for him, and Zayl feared that the unsuspecting captain might ride right into them. Yet, there was nothing he could say or do that would make the soldiers turn back. Nothing, that is, except turn himself over to their “mercy.”
With that in mind, Zayl urged his mount to greater swiftness. He glanced again at the moon, saw that the shadow had all but engulfed it, then focused on the dark landscape.
A frown crossed his features. Only now did he notice the utter quiet of his surroundings. The wolves—indeed all the animals—had ceased their anxious calling.
Unable to resist, the Rathmian looked up yet again at the shadowed moon.
But as he did, something ahead made his horse shy. The trained animal suddenly reared. It was all Zayl could do to even hold on. His steed kicked wildly at the darkness, then jerked around.
The necromancer tumbled off.
With a frightened whinny, the horse headed back in the direction of the capital. Zayl, meanwhile, rolled several yards away, finally pausing next to a thick bush.
Even as he struggled to his feet, he heard the clatter of other hooves and a shout from Captain Mattheus. The patrol was nearly upon him.
Scrambling forward, Zayl slipped around the nearest tree. He planted himself against the trunk, relying on his black garments and, especially, the cloak to allow him to blend into the landscape.
A rider went past. Not the captain, but a wary-eyed soldier almost as huge as the wendigo. The man slowed his horse just past where the necromancer hid. He glanced over his shoulder, staring straight at his quarry.
But not seeing him. So long as Zayl stood still, he had a very good chance of being missed.
At last, the soldier looked away. Eyes searching the path ahead, he urged his mount to a slow but steady pace. The two gradually disappeared into the woods.
As Zayl left the protection of the tree, from his side came Humbart’s low tone. “What’s happening, lad? Damn, I hate being bound up in here …”
“Hush, Humbart! We are back farther into the forest. I will let you know if anything happens.” After a pause, Zayl added, “And thank you for your timely interruption.”
“Weren’t nothin’. Now be careful. There’s something not right around here …”
The skull was not referring to the moon, but rather an uneasy sensation that Zayl no
w also felt. Something was in the vicinity and converging on his very location. It did not feel like the servants of Lord Jitan and yet …
“Halt! Stand where you are!”
Captain Mattheus and another man rode into sight. Zayl cursed; whatever he had sensed had distracted him from his other predicament.
He turned to run … only to find another rider coming up from that direction. The necromancer raised his dagger, but before he could cast any spell, he was struck hard in the back.
He landed face-first. Before Zayl could rise, an armored boot pushed him back into the dirt.
The clink of metal warned him of another’s approach. Seconds later, he heard Captain Mattheus growl, “Finally! Let’s be done with this! Roll him over! Make it look like he fought back and had to be slain!”
“Aye, captain.” The soldier who had knocked the Rathmian down threw him on his back. The face of Captain Mattheus leered at him from his left.
“Scum! The general will be quite happy to hear about your death.”
Zayl attempted to call his dagger to him, but some force kept it from coming. He glanced in the direction it had fallen and saw one of the officer’s boots atop it.
“We’ll have none of that,” Torion’s subordinate muttered. To the soldier, he added, “Finish it! Now!”
The other man held a sharp sword over Zayl’s chest. The soldier raised his arms as high as he could, preparing to bury the point deep in the necromancer’s heart.
Zayl attempted to cast a spell, but both his breath and his mind proved insufficient for the task. Hopes fading, he readied himself for the journey to the next stage of existence. The necromancer prayed that Rathma and Trag’Oul would deem his efforts in this one worthy.
Then, Captain Mattheus looked beyond his captive, growling, “What is that?”
The next instant, one of the soldiers shrieked. A horse whinnied. Something scurried past Zayl’s head, too small to be one of Jitan’s transformed servants, but radiating a presence akin to them.
“Get it off of me!” cried another unseen soldier.
Someone swore. There was the scuffling of hooves—as if one of the mounted men attempted to ride off—followed by a horse’s grunt and another human scream.
The soldier standing over Zayl hesitated. He looked in the same direction as his captain.
The necromancer caught the soldier’s legs with his feet, sending the soldier falling back.
Captain Mattheus reacted. Forgetting whatever it was that was attacking his party, he lunged at Zayl. The tip of his sword buried deep into the soil where the pale spellcaster’s throat had just been.
Two more dark forms scuttled past the rising necromancer. Zayl caught just enough of a glimpse to understand the vile threat to them all. A quick glance at the moon—and the shadow completely enveloping it—was enough to verify his worst fears.
A cry broke out from the man he had tripped. As Zayl turned, he witnessed a horrible sight. All but covering the hapless trooper’s face was a black, furred form with eight legs, inhuman orbs, and savage fangs.
The same sort of parasitic spider he had seen atop the mutated servants.
Despite the soldier’s best efforts, he could not peel the arachnid free. Captain Mattheus, however, suddenly moved in and stabbed the creature through the torso. Unfortunately, he also slew the soldier in the process.
“Damn! Damn!” The enraged officer whirled on Zayl. “Call them off, sorcerer! Call them off and I’ll spare your life! This is your last chance!”
“They are not mine to command, captain! They serve the Lord Jitan … at least for now.”
But Torion’s man clearly did not believe him. Alec Mattheus slashed at Zayl even as those under his command struggled in vain for their lives. Soldiers knelt or even lay on the ground, desperately pulling at the viselike grips of the monsters atop their heads. Most of the horses had run off, but two lay frozen, their heads also covered by the parasites.
Then, one of the soldiers first attacked abruptly stilled. He looked unchanged, which surprised Zayl, who had expected a transformation akin to that of the noble’s followers. Instead, the man, a spider’s limbs horribly buried in his skull, slowly rose and turned to where the Rathmian and the officer stood.
“You would be wise to run, captain,” urged Zayl. “Run for Westmarch with all the strength you have in you! Run as if the Prime Evils are behind you, for you would not be far from the truth!”
But Captain Mattheus proved an obstinate man. “Don’t try to frighten me, sorcerer! A blade through your black heart will stop your spell and free my men!”
Again, the necromancer dodged his blade. The soldier prepared another lunge—and a spider leapt onto his shoulder. The captain tried to brush it off, but he might as well have been trying to remove his own arm.
Another jumped onto his back.
“Away, damn you!” he shouted. In his attempt to deal with the one behind him, he knocked off his helmet.
Zayl realized the fatal mistake. “Captain! The helmet! Put it back on before—”
Instead of listening, Captain Mattheus slashed at him.
The spider on his shoulder leapt up onto his head.
The officer screamed as its taloned limbs instantly burrowed through flesh and bone. He made one feeble attempt to tear the creature free, then dropped to his knees.
Well aware that it was too late to save the man, Zayl tried to flee. He shook off two arachnids trying to cling to his cloak, but managed only a step before a new danger confronted him.
The soldiers, each with a parasite guiding him, now blocked his path. The eyes of the men stared blankly at the Rathmian. Each soldier held his weapon ready.
Summoning his dagger, Zayl thrust the gleaming weapon toward the possessed figures. As he hoped, they pulled back from the illumination.
But from behind him, a powerful hand struck his arm, causing his grip on the dagger to falter. The light dimmed.
Zayl was seized from behind. He heard Captain Mattheus’s voice in his ear.
“Don’t bother to struggle, sorcerer. You’re only prolonging the futility.”
The captain’s voice.
But Lord Aldric Jitan’s words.
EIGHTEEN
Salene had no difficulty seeing General Torion. The man in charge of returning her to Westmarch brought her right to his commander, bypassing several guard stations in the process.
No, Salene had no trouble seeing the veteran soldier … but convincing him of the veracity of her story was an entirely different matter.
“Lord Jitan?” muttered the general. He started to take her by the shoulder, then thought better of it. Instead, he sat down on the edge of his desk and frowned at the noblewoman. “Let me summon a priest, Salene! Clearly, the black knave’s still got you under a spell! The only threat to the security of Westmarch comes from him!”
“But Jitan—”
“While I dislike the arrogant bastard—and for more reasons than that he, too, seeks your hand—there’s no proof to match your words, and the say-so of one noble against another isn’t sufficient anymore. If it was, the cells would be full of the entire aristocracy!”
Stepping up to him, Salene put one slim hand on his chest. She gazed into his eyes. “Torion … at least make certain that the guards on the outer walls are doubled. Zayl said something about spiders—”
Again, he cut the noblewoman off. “First, I hardly think we’ve much to worry about spiders, Salene. Perhaps if this were Lut Gholein or the necromancer’s own foul Kehjistan, a swarming of Poison Spinners might be concern for the farmlands, but what little we’ve got in the way of deadly spiders is hardly worth a panic—”
“A poison spider decided the heir to the throne, Torion.”
“If so, it’s proving a fortuitous decision, but that’s not my point. Besides, even if I’d like to assuage you, I couldn’t. It’s not only the patrols searching for your damned sorcerer. With the grand exhibition of strength planned for the morrow, I’ve alr
eady drawn more than half the men from the walls who are generally assigned there. The king wants a fresh, strong force present when he displays himself to that mongrel bunch seeking his crown. If they—”
But now it was the Lady Nesardo who interrupted. Her expression aghast, Salene blurted, “The walls—the outer walls—they’ve been stripped?”
“Only for tomorrow’s gathering. Mostly toward the forest, too, where there’s not much to worry about save a few wendigos and maybe a band of brigands.”
“The walls …” She tried to think. “Justinian asked for this?”
“An unorthodox decision, but a workable one. He’s right about the need for a show of strength on his part, and this is the only way to gather enough trusted men in time.” He exhaled. “Salene, in some ways it’s like Cornelius reborn! He has his quirks, but the lad’s coming into his own, truly.”
The noblewoman could still not believe what she was hearing. “Justinian …,” she murmured. “Justinian commanded it …”
Torion suddenly stood up, his gaze looking past her. “And speaking of Justinian, here comes Edmun Fairweather now.”
Turning, Salene all but collided with the chest of the king’s aide. Edmun Fairweather took a step back and, with a courteous smile, bowed to the noblewoman. “The lovely Lady Nesardo! This is a golden opportunity! The king was just speaking of you!”
“And we were just speaking of Justinian,” added Torion. “What can I do for you, Edmun?”
“Actually, general, the point of my visit stands between us! His majesty, in order to best show the nobles the backing he has, wished to speak with the most prominent of them, the great lady here! I’ve been riding high and low throughout the city, looking for her!”
His declaration sounded so outrageous to Salene that she nearly called him on it, but at the last moment thought better. Besides, it suddenly occurred to her that Justinian might be more persuadable than the general when it came to reinforcing the walls, especially if he coveted her backing so much.
Diablo: Moon of the Spider Page 24