Then…what?
Before he could answer that question, a groan from his side made him tense. A feminine groan with only one possible source.
Turning back on his stomach, Zayl attempted to crawl again. A second groan reached his ears.
“Salene…,” he whispered. “Salene…”
And suddenly, the Rathmian heard, “Z-Zayl? Zayl?”
He permitted himself a brief smile…and then promptly passed out.
Throughout the city, and especially where General Torion fought, the situation had grown beyond hope. There seemed more spiders than leaves on the trees of the entire forest, and they moved with a relentlessness unmatched by even the most dedicated defender.
In the general’s mind, it was the end of Westmarch.
But then…but then a strange and glorious thing happened. As one, the sea of arachnids came to an abrupt halt. They simply ceased moving. Certain that it was some horrific trick, the humans hesitated.
And then, before their eyes, the spiders began decaying. By the hundreds, they simply crumbled to ash. It was as if something had drained all life from them in one astonishing instant. Some were caught in mid-stride, others atop their hosts. Wherever they were seen, they perished there and then without the least warning.
Now covered in ash and bereft of any control, their victims collapsed like rag dolls. The falling bodies scattered the dust that had been the terror of the kingdom, and the rain, now pouring harder, quickly began washing away the nightmare.
Someone let out a nervous laugh. It proved contagious, spreading from one survivor to the other in the space of a few seconds. The laughter, more of a release than anything else, soon encompassed the capital.
And General Torion, commander of the king’s forces, laughed the loudest, for he knew better than any other what sort of escape had been granted to not only his people, but to the rest of the Western Kingdoms as well.
TWENTY-THREE
Voices reached his ears, both of which Zayl recognized even through the door. His gloved fingers hesitated on the handle as he listened.
“Justinian still insists on meeting him, Salene. I actually believe that he wants to give the man a medal.”
“Now what would the Church say about that, Torion? The king of Westmarch honoring a necromancer in the heart of their domain? The Zakarum elders would have fits!”
There came a chuckle from the general. “Might be worth it just to see what they’d do!”
“Well, I can tell you that Justinian will have to be disappointed. Zayl would never accept such glories.”
“And what would he accept as a reward…or should I say who would he accept?”
The Rathmian deemed this the moment to open the door before the conversation turned very uncomfortable for all.
General Torion and Salene stood just inside the sitting room entrance. Both turned in surprise toward the Rathmian. The officer was clad as he had been the first time he and Zayl had met, save that this time he wore his helmet even in the presence of the Lady Nesardo. Zayl could hardly blame him; he suspected that many of the capital’s citizenry were keeping their heads covered after the horror of the week before.
Salene’s expression blossomed when she saw the Rathmian, and he felt an unfamiliar lightness fill him. Maintaining a look of indifference despite his inner emotions, he bowed his head to her. She was clad in a wide, flowing gown of forest green and silver, with ruffled trim around the shoulders and the bound bodice. Her hair tumbled down over both shoulders and a string of pearls decorated her throat. Although Zayl had refused three invitations by Justinian IV to come to the palace, Salene had finally granted the king his request to see her. In this manner, she was able to explain matters to the satisfaction of Westmarch’s young ruler.
She was also able to promise that what she knew of his part in the night of terror would never be spoken of by her to anyone. Justinian’s guilt was great, but he had been manipulated in the most cruel fashion possible, and even Zayl saw no good coming from letting the truth be known. General Torion had the right of it when he had told them that Justinian’s downfall would only mean more bloodshed and havoc than had already occurred.
“Sorcerer,” greeted Torion.
“General,” Zayl returned, matching the other’s brevity. To Salene, however, he said, “I am pleased that you arrived back so soon, my lady.”
“Are you really?” Her eyes sought to ensnare him.
Steeling himself, the Rathmian added, “I would have hated to depart without a farewell.”
Behind her, Torion let a smile briefly escape. Burying it, he nodded to the Lady Nesardo. “I have to return to my headquarters, Salene. There’s still much to clear up and many good men to replace…”
“Yes…Alec Mattheus among them.”
“Indeed. And now that the bodies of the dead have all been given their final rest, we’ve got to get to work on rebuilding the city.” He kissed her hand. “I will be around soon. There’s much we need to discuss.” To Zayl, he bid good-bye with, “Fare you well, sorcerer…and thank you.”
The Rathmian bowed his head slightly. Only when he heard the general depart the house did he start to explain. “My work is done. It is time I moved on. There are other emanations I sense. The Balance is still threatened…”
Her eyes hardened. A look of determination filled her expression. “Then, I’m coming with you—”
“Your part is done, my lady. It was enough that you managed to use your gifts to bring us—and Sardak—back here before the last of the temple collapsed, and then insisted on taking care of my injuries. But enough is enough. It is time you lived life as most should. Your brother is but three days buried and—”
“And so my life here has concluded! There is nothing left for me but this building, which I care very little for now! Do you think that I can return to what I was after all that happened to—all that happened?”
The necromancer shook his head. “You must remain—for the good of the kingdom, if nothing else. Justinian needs guidance, and not merely from a loyal soldier like the general. He will need someone like you.”
She opened her mouth to argue more, but could not. Yet, Salene did not entirely surrender. “He’s a quick learner. He won’t need such guidance long…and his father still watches over him…thanks to you.”
Zayl said nothing, merely nodding his head. The shadow of Cornelius would guide his son for a time more before returning to his rest. Westmarch needed such stability, even if none would know the truth save Salene and Torion.
Determined to leave before matters got more complicated, the necromancer suddenly strode past Salene, moving so swiftly that the Lady Nesardo had to give chase. She caught him just as he opened one of the great doors leading out. Barnaby, whose duty it usually was to stand by for such a task, had not so curiously vanished just before the hooded spellcaster had come downstairs. Despite everything, the servants were still wary of the reputation of Zayl’s kind.
“One more thing before you go,” said the noblewoman, catching his right hand without any sign of aversion for what lay hidden in the glove.
He started to ask her what that one thing could be—and Salene kissed him lightly on the mouth.
When she pulled back, there was a hint of mischievousness in her smile. “A little color serves you well, ‘Just Zayl.’ ”
The hooded figure bowed his head, then quickly stepped out into the security of the night. At the last moment, he blurted, “Farewell…Salene.”
Tethered at the base of the outside steps was a fully laden horse, a horse once belonging to Sardak. Salene had insisted that Zayl accept the animal and what it carried, if nothing else. He had not argued with the gift. The animal and supplies would be needed where he was going.
The wind was strong, but the night was clear, for the first time since his arrival. Zayl worked at the bound reins, finding them for some reason more knotted than they should have been.
From the pouch at his side, a voice quietly sai
d, “I’d wager my life—and afterlife—that she’s still watchin’ from the doorway, lad.”
“It is no concern of ours, Humbart.”
The skull let out a snort. “Oh, aye, I believe that as much as you do.”
The knot finally loosened. Undoing the reins, Zayl leapt up into the saddle. As he did, he could not help but catch a glimpse of the doorway.
Humbart would have won his wager.
Pretending he had not seen her, Zayl urged the horse down the pathway to the gates. Not at all to his surprise, they already stood open, likely at General Torion’s suggestion. The guard pointedly found some other direction to look as Zayl approached. The necromancer quickened his mount’s pace.
But as he neared, Humbart muttered, “Look behind you, Zayl, lad. One last time.”
He did…and saw that she still stood watching.
Although Zayl gave no hint of this to his companion, the skull chuckled. “Thought so.”
The next moment, they rode past the anxious guard and through the gates. The darkness beckoned Zayl on, as ever, both companion and adversary to the necromancer.
And from across the estate of House Nesardo, a figure who resembled a mercenary with many faces but was so much more watched the necromancer and the woman he had just left.
They had been tested and had risen to that test. The watcher nodded. A pair with potential. True, he had aided a bit by guiding the Rathmian’s wendigo to where the creature could be the most help to the duo, but it had been through their efforts most of all that the evil had been vanquished.
It would be interesting to see how they fared when next brought together.
With that thought, he spread his fiery wings and, unseen by all, took to the sky.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard A. Knaak is the New York Times bestselling fantasy author of 29 novels and over a dozen short pieces, including The Legend of Huma and Empire of Blood for Dragonlance and The Sundering for WarCraft. He has also written the popular Dragonrealm series and several independent pieces. His works have been published in several languages, most recently Russian, Turkish, Bulgarian, Chinese, Czech, German, Hungarian, and Spanish. He has also adapted the Korean manga Ragnarok, published by Tokyopop.
Future works include The God in the Moon, first in the Aquilonia Trilogy, based on the worlds of Robert E. Howard. Diablo fans will be happy to know that Knaak has also agreed to write The Sin War—an epic trilogy that will explain much about the conflict. He has also contracted to do the three-volume Ogre Titans saga for Dragonlance—a sequel to his popular Minotaur Wars—and will be concluding WarCraft: The Sunwell Trilogy with Ghostlands for Tokyopop. In addition, he plans other works with the leading manga publisher.
Those wishing to find out more about his projects or who would like to join his e-mail list for announcements should visit his website at www.sff.net/people/knaak.
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WAR OF THE ANCIENTS TRILOGY BOOK ONE: THE WELL OF ETERNITY
WAR OF THE ANCIENTS TRILOGY BOOK TWO:THE DEMON SOUL
WAR OF THE ANCIENTS TRILOGY BOOK THREE: THE SUNDERING
WARCRAFT: DAY OF THE DRAGON
DIABLO: LEGACY OF BLOOD
DIABLO: THE KINGDOM OF SHADOW
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BDRK.01
OTHER NOVELS IN THE WORLD OF DIABLO
LEGACY OF BLOOD
BY RICHARD KNAAK
THE BLACK ROAD
BY MEL ODOM
KINGDOM OF SHADOW
BY RICHARD KNAAK
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Diablo: Moon of the Spider Page 32