Diablo: Moon of the Spider

by Richard A. Knaak

  Over the centuries, there had been much debate among the Rathmians as to the limits of their involvement in the affairs of the world, but never could Zayl recall anyone’s suggesting anything as mad as what Karybdus proposed.

  “What I did …,” he murmured. “What happened … is in no manner equivalent to what you are doing, Karybdus!”

  “Your mother and father might beg to differ.”

  Without realizing what he did, Zayl leapt to his feet. “My parents perished because of my mistake! I am the one who destroyed the ship and all aboard! I take the blame for that, just as I always have!”

  His skeletal hand caught a startled Karybdus by the throat. The other necromancer gasped and tried to pull the fleshless fingers free. “My lord!” he grated. “If you would …”

  An oppressive force tore Zayl’s fingers from his adversary’s throat before slamming the younger necromancer to the floor again. Try as he might, Zayl could not so much as move a finger.

  Karybdus rubbed his raw throat. “It is a pity you cannot see reason.” He held Zayl’s dagger ready. “I am truly sorry for what I must do. I have the highest respect for your capabilities, Zayl, even if they are misdirected.”

  “Yours—are—misdirected—,” the prone figure managed.

  “His will’s impressive,” remarked Lord Jitan.

  “Yes. After he is dead, I won’t bother summoning his shade. It would be too stubborn.” Karybdus tsked. “I find my fellow Rathmians make terrible servants. His parents were much the same after I raised them up. I was forced to send them back quickly. Such a shame, truly.”

  Zayl let out an enraged gurgle at this newest revelation, the most he could muster under the relentless onslaught by the empowered noble.

  Leaning over him, the armored necromancer said, “Fear not. You will soon be able to discuss your guilts and motives with them. Farewell.”

  Zayl braced himself. Slain by his own dagger, there would be no hope for resurrection, even should some trustworthy necromancer find him in time.

  The chamber suddenly darkened. It was not, however, any simple shadow that fell upon the room, for instead of black, it was a deep but very obvious crimson.

  From Aldric, there was a stunned oath; from Karybdus, a sharp intake of breath. Zayl sensed the other Rathmian withdraw the dagger.

  “That’s it, then! Isn’t it?” called the noble. “The second phase of the moon!”

  “Yes.” Karybdus’s footsteps marked his departure from his frozen adversary. “The cycle of the Moon of the Spider is at its apex. It is time for you to receive the full gifts of Astrogha!”

  “Don’t—,” breathed Zayl, trying to warn Aldric. “Not—what it—seems!”

  But Lord Jitan did not hear him. Still grinning, he positioned himself next to the altar. On the other side, Karybdus thrust Zayl’s weapon into his belt, then pulled free the sacrificial blade. He proffered the dagger—its point covered with Sardak’s cold, congealing life fluids—to the noble.

  “Let me touch the center of the pattern with this,” explained the Rathmian to Aldric. “Then, hold the artifact directly over your head. Make certain that it almost touches your skull.”

  Try as he might, Zayl could utter no more warnings. He watched helplessly as Jitan complied.

  The moment the blood touched, the arachnid design stirred as if alive. At the same time, a crackling sound like a mixture of thunder and lightning filled the chamber. Outside, the wind howled.

  Yet, through a tiny crack in the ceiling, the light of the moon somehow shone down.

  Shone down … and struck the artifact at the very same point that the blood had.

  The electrifying aura around Aldric increased a hundredfold. He stood like a wild banshee, his expression monstrous in its delight. Everywhere, the transformed servants bowed their horrific heads low to the ground. Their hisses sounded almost like words—or rather, one word.

  Astrogha.

  “Unbelievable!” Lord Jitan shouted gleefully. “I can feel the power coursing through my system! I can sense where each of the spiders are! I can feel them emerging from the shadows to march upon the city! I can feel—”

  His mouth suddenly went slack.

  The sphere above his head had cracked open.

  And in perfect imitation of the image on the outside, eight long, vile limbs ending in blood-red talons stretched down and caught the noble’s head in a viselike grip.

  “Sorcerer! Karybdus! What’s the meaning of this? Something’s gone dreadfully wrong! Help me!”

  But Karybdus merely stepped back and watched. “Nothing has gone wrong. Everything is as it should be. I am very sorry that this must be done, but this must be done.”

  “But—” Lord Jitan got no farther.

  The spider’s limbs thrust hard into his head.

  He shrieked for several seconds, his cry dying off in a pitiful sob. Blood spurted from the wounds, and although it was clear that by the end he had to be dead, he did not fall, any more than the soldiers in the forest had.

  The chamber continued to crackle with otherworldly energies. Zayl felt the pressure holding him to the ground lessen, but not enough to allow him to rise.

  Karybdus came around the altar. Still holding the sacrificial dagger, he approached Aldric Jitan. The spider that continued to emerge from within the sphere was several times larger than the previous ones and had eight clusters of eight burning orbs atop its squat head. Sharp, tearing mandibles, not fangs, sprouted from its mouth.

  From within Karybdus’s cloak, his own spider crawled up upon the necromancer’s shoulder. Zayl could not help notice the similarities, even if perhaps his rival did not.

  “Zarakowa ilan tora Astroghath!” the gray-haired Rathmian intoned. He drew an eight-sided image with the dagger, then added, “Istarian dormu Astroghath!”

  Myriad energies played around the noble. The huge spider set itself in place. Yet, unlike the smaller ones, it did not simply sit atop, but enveloped a good portion of Aldric’s skull.

  And from Aldric’s twisted lips, there came a horrific sound, laughter such as no human had ever uttered.

  “I am to this mortal plane returned!” hissed an awful voice not at all akin to the noble’s. “I am from the foul prison freed!”

  Karybdus knelt before the figure. “Welcome back, my Lord Astrogha … welcome back.”

  But the thing within the shell that had once been Lord Aldric Jitan did not even look at Karybdus. Both the man’s and the spider’s many eyes looked instead at Zayl.

  Looked instead at Zayl, with hunger.

  NINETEEN

  Despite their numbers having been halved, the guards at the gates facing the greater forest were not so very concerned. There was little to fear from this direction save a few marauding wendigos or other beasts of the forest. Of course, had they been on patrol like those who had ridden out with Captain Mattheus, they might have been more anxious. Since the return of the men with the Lady Nesardo, there had been no sign of the rest of the riders, including the adjutant himself.

  Thus it was with some relief—and yet some trepidation—that a sentry up on the wall spotted a lone rider approaching. His plumed helm gave him away long before his face became visible in the torchlight.

  “’Tis Captain Mattheus!” the man above shouted. “Open the gates! ‘Tis the captain!”

  Others scrambled to comply. With so few men left, it was necessary for two to climb down from the wall to aid in opening the huge wooden gates that were the first protection of the capital.

  General Torion’s aide silently rode inside. One of the soldiers ran up to take the reins of his steed.

  “Sir,” the man blurted, staring at the mount’s head. “What ails the animal? Does he have an injury that his skull must be bound up like that?”

  The officer’s cloak covered most of the top of the horse’s skull and neck. To the soldier who had asked, it was a wonder that the steed could even see from beneath such a bundle of cloth.

  “An in
jury, yes,” answered the rider. Still holding the reins, Captain Mattheus glanced back at the gates. “Douse the torches and lamps.”

  Those nearest him stood perplexed. The man who had sought the reins finally asked, “’Scuse me, sir, but did you say to put out the torches and lamps?”

  The brim of the officer’s helmet hid the eyes as Captain Mattheus looked down at him. “Douse the torches and the lamps. Put out all fires.”

  “What’s this about dousing everything?” asked an approaching figure. His armor was in better condition than that of the other soldiers and he bore insignias that marked him as commander of the watch. “Captain Mattheus, sir!” The newcomer quickly saluted. “It’s you who orders this?”

  “Douse the torches and the lamps,” the rider repeated. “All fires.”

  “Are we at risk of an attack?”

  There was a pause, then, “Yes. An attack. Douse all fires. Quickly.”

  The commander of the watch turned to the others. “You heard him! Stefan! Get those torches on the wall! You three! The lamps! Hurry!”

  Throughout it all, Alec Mattheus watched from the saddle. Each time a flame was extinguished, he nodded.

  As the last of the torches was being put out, the commander of the watch asked, “Any further orders, captain?”

  The adjutant eyed the man’s covered head. “Remove the helmets. Toss them aside.”

  “Beg pardon, sir? That really an order?”

  The rider nodded once. “An order.”

  With a shrug, the other officer signaled the men to do as commanded. Only Captain Mattheus kept his helmet on.

  When all the men were bareheaded, the captain abruptly urged his mount on. Completely confused, the soldiers at first simply watched him ride off.

  “Any other orders, sir?” the commander finally shouted.

  “Remain at your positions” was all the figure said before vanishing into the darkness.

  Once Captain Mattheus was gone, the officer in charge turned to his men. “Get those gates shut again! You heard! There’s an attack coming!”

  There was some fumbling in the dark, but they soon had the gates secured. The commander, who had served directly under General Torion during the first months of his career, went over the orders he had been given. He knew that Alec Mattheus was highly respected by the general—the captain would not have been made Torion’s adjutant if he had not been—but, considered with a few moments’ thought, none of the man’s orders made any sense. It was only out of respect for who he was that the commander and the others had obeyed Mattheus to the letter.

  But still …

  “The hell with orders, even from one such as him,” grumbled the officer. “Someone find me my helmet! Stefan! Get those torches lit again!”

  “But Captain Mattheus said—”

  “I’m takin’ responsibility! You heard me! Gerard! You get over there and—what the devil makes you so jumpy?”

  The other soldier peered into the shadows behind him. “I thought I heard something!”

  “I’ll not be having any man scared of shadows on the walls when there’s an attack brewing! Boromir! You take his place right—”

  Something the size of a cat moved past the boot of the man to whom the commander had been speaking. Before its shape could register, the commander noticed another moving toward Gerard.

  “There’s something on me back!” Stefan suddenly shouted.

  With that, dozens upon dozens of black shapes poured out of the night—black shapes, the commander of the watch belatedly noted, that had evidently climbed up over the outer wall and into the city without any of them noticing.

  Cries rose from other men. The officer drew his sword as three more shapes converged on him. As they neared, he skewered one, but the other two split ranks, coming at him from opposing sides. He knew that by the time he dealt with one, the other would be upon him.

  His eyes adjusted enough to the gloom to finally see the creatures for what they were.

  Spiders … a veritable sea of giant spiders …

  The cries died almost as quickly as they rose. To that which controlled what had once been Alec Mattheus, they had been music. Perched atop his head and all but hidden by the plumed helmet, the spider caused his host’s mouth to momentarily rise up at the ends in a parody of a smile.

  The way was clear. The others had entrance into the city.

  Soon, they would all have hosts. Soon, the Children of Astrogha would once more flourish …

  “That one is of no concern to you, my lord,” Karybdus remarked. “His death is overdue. I shall slay him in your honor.”

  “No.” The voice now had a raspy quality to it, one that stirred every nerve in Zayl’s body. The possessed Aldric tossed aside the shell that had been the Moon of the Spider like so much garbage and strode easily toward the captive necromancer. Unlike the other spiders, this one had complete control over his host. When the mouth of Lord Jitan moved, the mannerisms were not all that different from the living man’s. “No. He is to be preserved.”

  Frowning, Karybdus replied, “As you desire, Lord Astrogha, as you desire.”

  “My children, to the city of men, go,” Astrogha said to both. “They will of their hosts drink and become one. My power will again grow! A god I will be again!”

  “A god—you never were!” Zayl finally managed to say. He glared at the macabre figure. “Only a lowly demon, Astrogha! That’s all you’ll ever be! A footstool for Diablo, the true Lord of Terror!”

  The spider’s body pulsated. A look of righteous fury swept over Jitan’s contorted face and one hand went up, a dark ball of flame materializing above the palm.

  But the flame was quickly snuffed out by the closing of the noble’s fist. Through his host, Astrogha smiled again. “From my Lord Diablo, I would never that title take! His vassal I am, but ruling in his name, he will not mind! This kingdom of men will be made over in my image, but it will be to serve the ultimate desire of the great Diablo …”

  Zayl looked to his counterpart. “Karybdus! Can you not see yet the insanity you unleash? Is this what you want?”

  “It is exactly what I want. It is exactly what is needed for the world.”

  “This will send the Balance reeling to the side of darkness!”

  The armored Rathmian shook his head. “No. It will not. The Balance will be preserved.”

  Zayl gaped at him, wondering how even at his maddest Karybdus could possibly believe that.

  “Enough is the talk,” rasped Astrogha. The demon turned back to the altar. “The hold is not yet true. There must more time be.”

  “The timing will be perfect,” Karybdus, eyes lowered, smoothly assured the demon.

  But in those eyes, Zayl saw what Astrogha did not. Karybdus did indeed intend to preserve the Balance. He planned some betrayal of the demon … but when would it happen? Surely not before countless lives were lost to the minions of this false god.

  Zayl was tempted to tell Astrogha this, but he doubted that the demon would listen. Like so many of his hellish kind, the spider was vain to the point of utter self-denial. That someone would be able to outwit him would be beyond his comprehension.

  But, if anyone was capable of doing it, it would be Karybdus.

  The possessed noble returned to Sardak’s ravaged body. Astrogha dipped a finger in the congealing life fluids and brought it to Aldric’s mouth to taste. “So long ago, since such nectar I have tasted! So long ago, since trapped in that accursed bubble!” With a sudden rage, the noble shoved the corpse off the side. “An injustice, it was! A crime, it was!”

  “They did not understand,” Karybdus murmured, placating the creature.

  “Understand, they did not!” agreed Astrogha. “Gave to some great power, much knowledge … and only asked a few souls and blood for such! Small, compared to mortal greed!” He turned to gaze at Zayl. “But others, jealous they were of me! Tricked my own into betraying me, then creating that”—the demon indicated the discarded casing—�
��here, where the planes are most close, where easiest it is to bind to my greatness.”

  And when Astrogha manifested next, the sorcerers were waiting for him. At the cost of their own lives, they sealed him inside.

  But Astrogha’s followers stole away what was soon called because of its appearance the Moon of the Spider. After much calculation, they determined that at certain times through the centuries, the planes of the mortal world and Hell touched just right so that the forces of the latter could be used to free their lord. However, they also needed something that already bound the demon in part to their own realm.

  His children’s blood.

  It was possible for demons and mortals to mate, generally to the horror of the latter. Yet, few there were of such children that survived to adulthood. If they did not die in childbirth, they were generally slain soon after by those who knew them for what they were. But, despite his own appearance, Astrogha’s get looked more human than most and many were even beautiful or handsome to behold. Thus, they survived where others did not. For the servants of the spider, this presented a bounty … at least for a few generations, when the intermingling of normal mortal blood with that of Astrogha’s line reduced the ties to the demon until they were all but nonexistent.

  Undaunted, the priests did the only thing that they could. Whenever someone was discovered with even a hint of the heritage, they were secretly taken and slain upon an altar. By intricate spells, their living blood and heart were preserved indefinitely. Other spells refined the blood in the hopes that when the proper phase came, it could all be used as if pure.

  But such butchery could not go unnoticed forever. There were those—the Sons of Rakkis in particular—who discovered the cultists living among them. With the questionable assistance of sorcerers such as the Vizjerei, the Sons of Rakkis located the hidden temple beneath what had then been a church. The location had served as a nexus of forces reaching even into Hell, perfect for the cultists’ use. The soldiers and spellcasters put an end to that use, freeing the sacrifices and slaughtering all but a few of Astrogha’s followers.