Tearlach

Diablo II Notation Basic Class Skill Item Ally Quest Area Monster Tale Iron Frenzy Hardly-Able GotDex Poorman Homocide Squad Kwikwilyaqa Terror in the Tower Guardian Thorn SenSitiveSkin nOOdists Advance Mizor I II III IV V Xanthippe I II III IV V Thaddeus I II III IV V Tearlach I II III IV V Varnae I II III IV V Amanita I II III IV V Bodiccea I II III IV V First off, let me say the Barbarian is not my favorite character. He is powerful, I know -- but while others think that's a good thing, I don't have much fun with it. My first Barbarian, way back in the days of 1.00, was a polearm whirlwinder. He was powerful, VERY powerful... so powerful I wasn't having any fun. The game turned into endless repetitions of "click around, everything dies, pick up the treasure, move on"; it was just too easy. I quit out of boredom and never made another until after the expansion came out. Trying to give the Barb another shot, I made a thrower. He was powerful, VERY powerful... until I met a physical immune. Then he was helpless (at the time, I did not know Berserk did magical damage.) Barbarians seemed either overwhelming or impotent, neither of which is fun to play. So... let's give the Barbarian another chance. Surely, I can come up with something crippled enough for the game to be a challenge. The most popular combat skills seem to be Whirlwind and Frenzy -- avoid them. This leaves the Bash - Stun - Concentrate - Berserk tree. Ah, an idea comes to me. The first item set I managed to complete was the Berserker's Arsenal. To celebrate this awesome achievement, our Barbarian will be an axe berserker. Now, what is a Berserker? In dark ages Nordic societies, a berserker was a mad fighter, tough enough to forego armor completely, but not much good for anything besides war and fighting. The name was applied to any warrior outside the mainstream of society -- bandits, pirates, duelists, professional warriors, etc. Even among the Nordic peoples, most made a living by farming and trade, and only occasionally went raiding, or "viking." When war came, or during a feud, the berserker had a place like no other. They were frightening men, and you always wanted them on your side. But no one wanted to be led by a Berserker, or have one as a neighbor during peacetime. Old Scandinavian cultures admired honesty, hospitality, courage, and loyalty -- a berserker might get one out of four. The Barbarians of Diablo II are more like the popular conception of Celts and Vikings than anything else in the real world, with some important differences. Even during peace, I doubt they farm; they're supposed to be nomads, who are usually hunter-gatherers. Their mandate from Heaven, coupled with being physically different from everyone around them, would make them very proud indeed. Most or all males are warriors, so having a berserker as a neighbor wouldn't be uncommon. As in real life, there do not seem to be female warriors, so there are probably strongly traditional gender-based roles in Barbarian culture, even more so than in the rest of the world. Because they are supposed to stay in the mountains, going on raids among the lowlanders wouldn't be as popular, and they sure don't trade much. A Barbarian would likely be arrogant, xenophobic, and sexist by anyone else's standards. So, what will our Barbarian have? The Berserker's Set, obviously. That's splint mail, a helm, and a one-handed axe. In his off hand, a shield. The Vikings described berserkers as "mad shield biters" for their way of biting the edges of their shields as the fit came over them; while they might eschew armor, a shield was permissible. A "Rhyme" tower shield will do nicely. You can't leech with Berserk, but there's plenty of potions. Switch to Concentrate for leeching if needed. Choose armor for its properties, not defense. Even Greyform would be decent. He'll need high shield blocking and resistances, or a lot of hit points, preferably both. Finally, a name: "Tearlach", a Celtic name meaning "strong and manly." Enough planning! As the Vikings say, "A man should be wise in moderation, but never too wise. His mind is freer of care if he doesn't know his fate in advance." What good does long contemplation do for anyone? Into the fray! Act 1 Chapter 1 The path was dark under skies which had not ceased raining for weeks, as Tearlach came to a fortress at the edge of the pass. Coming south through hills those not of his blood would call mountains, he knew instinctively he was nearing his goal. Demons and foul beasts had dogged his every step, becoming more frequent the closer he came to this place. The curse upon the land sprang from very near here... if not from this very stronghold. Ignoring the drizzling rain, he looked over the defenses. The fortress walls were high, as high as any his people built, strong beams woven around stout posts rammed deep into the earth. But if any demon thought these walls could keep a true son of Harrogath out, that demon needed to be taught a lesson. Many a warrior would have entered the fortress by battering through the walls, but Tearlach was by nature a master tactician, and instantly realized the attempt would be futile. His prey would be gone before he got through, fleeing into the countryside like the cowards all demons truly are. Entering by stealth, taking the evil by surprise and slaying them down to the last, would feed the eagles well. If there were eagles to be found -- the southern lands might not be home to anything so magnificent. Silently laughing at his cunning, Tearlach tossed his pack aside and leapt onto the wall, pulling himself to the top with a few mighty heaves of his massive shoulders. As he looked over the wall, he saw, not a pit of demons... but women! Small and delicate southern women, granted, but comely just the same. The whole fortress was full of women, with not a man to be seen! Shocked but intrigued, Tearlach muttered, "How can this be, with no defenders? Darkness should have overrun this place long ago." "We do pretty well for ourselves, big guy." Below him, two women stood with bows, arrows nocked and ready. "What are you doing on the wall, anyway?" "Yeah," the other said. "The gate's open." "I am a warrior of the slopes of Arreat! Never walk in the only gate; what seems a hall of welcome may become a trap of death. Those who do not heed the brazen bugle's call, but live by the strum of the lute, know not these things." Both stared at him silently. They were intrigued; Tearlach had a sense for the ways and wiles of a woman's mind. "Right," one finally said. "Well, I guess you're not demonic, so why don't you come on in?" Engagingly brazen, these southern lasses, inviting him in with them all alone out here. The women of Harrogath are never so... open. Do they treat all men this way, or was it just that long look they got up his kilt that fascinated them so? Clearly, they'd never seen a real man before. Tearlach climbed back and retrieved his gear; after a moment's thought, he hurled it over the wall, where it landed with a clang. Flexing his arms, he sped up the wall and over with a mighty leap, landing with a tremendous thud and a roar of triumph. "Uh... hi," one of the women said. "What have you got in that pack? It looks heavy." "It almost hit me on the head!" the other complained. "The proper gear of war, honest steel and strong iron... not useless things made of wood and bits of string. Are there no warriors here to defend you? Or were they all slain by the beasts plaguing this land?" "We are the Rogues! Our monastery has defended this pass for centuries." Tearlach laughed! "Women do not make monks, and monks do not make warriors! You girls need not worry, I am here, and I will free this land from the grip of darkness. So I swear, upon the Light and spirits of my forefathers!" "What is going on here?" another woman asked as she walked around a tent. And by the mountains, what a woman! Tall and beautifully pale, she had strong arms and a proud sneer on her lips; Tearlach was instantly reminded of home. Her hair, though, was not the black of moonless nights, but a fiery red, bright as the crimson rain of war. This exotic detail was both fascinating and a little frightening; he had always been told to stay away from foreign women. But what man could restrain himself in the presence of such a vision? Drawing himself up to his most impressive height, Tearlach smiled. "I am Tearlach, son of Grignr, son of Gor. Know that this land is accursed by the grip of evil, and that I have sworn by the Light and the spirits of my forefathers to free it." The red-haired woman gawked openly at Tearlach. Turning to the Rogues, she asked, "Ok, where did this come from?" "He crawled over the wall." "And almost hit me on the head with a knapsack!" "You let him over the wall?" the red-haired woman asked imperiously. "We spotted him coming in. He's kind of hard to miss. He wasn't a demon." "We let him get to the top before we stopped him." With a snort, Tearlach crossed his arms. "I assure you, beautiful one, these girls did not 'spot' me. I am a warrior born, and can slide through the forests like a --" "We, 'warrior born,' are the Sisters of the Sightless Eye! If you knew us, you wouldn't even try to enter our camp by stealth." "You think I crept in, then. Your fortress, though strong, must be guarded by something stronger than women with bows. You are very lucky I have come by, and am in such a generous mood." Tearlach smiled, to let her know he was ignoring her insinuation. For a long while, the red-haired woman didn't say anything. He was used to this; women were often shocked speechless by his sheer presence. "I hope," she finally said, "you don't think you can impress me by hitting my warriors over the head with your luggage." "Your warriors? Where are your men, lass?" "We. Are. The. Sisters. Of. The. Sightless. Eye! We have no men. We need no men. We have defended this pass ourselves for centuries, against dozens of invasions. You see us at our weakest, now. Some great evil has invaded our monastery, and turned our own dear sisters against us. Had that not happened, you would see our strength." Ridiculous, of course... but in these strange lands, perhaps the men were too weak to keep their women from getting strange ideas. No matter what this gorgeous vixen might say, she needs a man, and needs him bad. However, knowing as he did the ways of women, Tearlach realized this was not the time to address this wench's needs. Though he spoke sweetly, words do not impress where action is needed. "So, your... monastery has been taken from you. It will be a simple matter to take it back." Smirking, the red-haired woman said, "You believe so?" "Of course! What are a few demons? I have eaten worse for my breakfast." "Considering that demon flesh is deadly poison, that's very impressive." Tearlach had not known that. After a moment's confusion, he brandished his axe. "Then I will make them eat each other, and die of their own venom. Your monastery will be yours again soon, fair one. I go to conquer!" With a bold shout, he charged off... then stopped to look around. "The gate's that way," one of the Rogues told him. "I knew that! I was testing you again." As Tearlach charged out the gate with a guttural roar, Kashya shook her head. "Gods, I wish we still had the monastery. I've never had to deal with so much riffraff." "Should we have shot him when he came in?" "No, he might take one or two of them with him. Look, if he comes back, whatever you do, do not be impressed with him." "I don't think so, ma'am. He's kind of a jerk." "Hey," the other Rogue said, "maybe if we do act impressed with him, he'll kill more demons and stuff?" "WHAT!?" Kashya snarled. "You think you should just bat your eyelashes and smile for the big strong man to give us what we want? You are a Sister of the Sightless Eye! We do not rely on outsiders to give us anything! Is that clear?" "Yes, ma'am," the Rogue bowed her head. "By the Light, what's become of us? Where is our resolve? We have stood independently for over 200 years. We will get through this, somehow." "Yes, ma'am," they both replied. "I do not know what happened in the monastery, but we are not going to give up." "No, ma'am." "The Goddess has blessed us, our sisterhood is strong. Remember that. Our strength is in each other, it always has been, it always will be." "But..." one Rogue murmured, "our sisters turned against us..." "I know," Kashya said, gritting her teeth. "I don't know how. But we can't let it break us. If we do, everything we've built will be lost. This is the greatest challenge our sisterhood has ever faced, but we will survive." The two Rogues nodded. "Fine. Get back to your posts, and call out when someone tries to scale the walls. I hope he does try it again, and gets an arrow in his ass." That made the Rogues laugh. "Easy target, in that skirt." "Yeah. What's a guy doing running around in a dress, anyway?" Chapter 2 The moors outside the tiny Rogue fortress were flat and swampy, full of puddles of muddy water. For one accustomed to the clean air of the high mountains, these lowlands were naught but wearisome bogs full of pestilential insects. Growling curses at the uncaring gods, Tearlach splashed and stomped his way through the muck in search of prey. It was not long in coming: as he went past a small animal not unlike a porcupine, it flicked its tail, flinging a long quill at him. What is this? Can these pathetic excuses for mountains not provide worthy foes? A crushing blow from his axe sped the thing to its next life; it would remember never again to deal so lightly with a son of Harrogath. A few Zombies walked the moors, but they were so slow and stupid they may as well not have been there at all. The whole country was empty of worthy foes; Tearlach couldn't help but laugh at the Rogues, cowering in fear behind their walls. These lands were exactly as the tribal elders said: weaklings, walling themselves off from the threatening wilds, terrified of the merest scratch. Now that evil has come, as the age-old prophecies said it would, they have all run and hid, hoping it will go away and leave them in peace. His people know peace comes by nothing less than a sword dripping with an enemy's blood. Constant vigilance is their way, the only way any people ever breathe free. The Rogue camp wasn't just full of comely young lasses. A small caravan of merchants, fat sellers of pleasing luxuries not tolerated among true men, was hiding with them. They were "led" by a soft and smiling coin-clinker named Warriv. He spoke with a golden tongue, as all who get their meat by talking do. "Hello there! With all the strange goings-on in this part of the world, I'm not surprised to see one of your kind here." "And what kind is that, little fat man?" "Fighting men, of course! Why, men-at-arms have been coming out of the woodwork." "Why would a fighter hide in the woods? Do you sell anything worth a man's time?" "Oh, I mostly deal in foodstuffs and clothing. Nothing you'd be interested in, especially the clothing. For weapons and armor, my compatriot Gheed has a variety of wares, all beyond reproach. The Rogue's smith also has some things. She's over there." A woman smith? These women may like their "sisterhood" idea, but a woman smith is taking things too far! How could they expect a woman to pound and mold steel for them? A few barrel hoops might not be beyond one, but sword-smithing takes strength; no female could possess the sheer power needed to bend unyielding steel and make it obey. A woman trying to smith was something Tearlach had to see, if only for his own amusement. The Rogue's smith, to her credit, was larger by far than these other little wisps of femininity, with strong shoulders and tendons standing out in her arms. Her hair was blonde and short, tied out of her way behind her head. Southlanders came in many colors, in their skins, eyes, and hair; Tearlach had heard of some islands where almost all the people have blonde hair like this. Perhaps this girl was descended from them. If so, they were a sturdy stock to be sure, though not nearly so powerful as his own. She was making arrowheads as Tearlach approached, but dropped everything at the sight of him. "Oh, wow! You're a Barbarian, aren't you?" "Of course," Tearlach said, puffing out his chest. "You're claiming to be the smith here." "Yeah!" she replied, eyes wide with excitement. "I can't do as much out here, most of my tools are still in the monastery. Are you here to help us take back our monastery?" "Sure, whatever. There are many foes here, though they are of poor quality." "I'll bet they are, for someone like you! Oh wow, I never thought I'd meet a Barbarian! My dad was one, he came from the wild mountains of the north! Have you heard of a place called Sescheron? My name's Charsi. I'd love to help you any way I can. Do you need your stuff fixed? That's a nice helm, I could make those when I had my tools. I'm really good at fixing things, in wood and metal and leather or anything! That's what I do, 'cause I'm kind of clumsy with bows. Do you use a crossbow? No, wait, you probably don't, do you?" "No. A hunter seeking meat may use a bow, but they are useless on the battlefield. What kind of coward must prick a rival to death from afar with tiny sticks? And those confounded wooden contraptions you lowlanders use are too confusing. Who can make sense of all those cranks and levers? It would be quicker to tear a foe to pieces with your bare hands." "Wow, I'll bet you could, too! Oh wow, oh wow, this is so great! Do you go out on wild adventures all the time? You must have done so many amazing things! I wish I could go out with you, that would be so great! I've got plenty of swords, and there's my armor hanging over there! Do you think I could? Would that be all right?" It was good to be getting some of the respect he deserved, but escorting a starry-eyed girl around was a waste of his time. Tearlach was about to tell her to mind her place, when he noticed the Rogue's leader, the red-haired one, glaring from across the camp. Hmmm... perhaps a display of kindness towards her underlings might impress that fierce beauty, and overcome some of her resistance. "Young... Charsi, I am Tearlach, and I have sworn by the Light and the spirits of my forefathers to take back your monastery. You need not do a thing, it is all in my hands. Tell me... what is your leader's name?" "You mean Akara?" "Akara. The name is sweet but strong, and speaks truly of the one who bears it." "Um, yeah... she's really nice." "The fires of war dance in her eyes; her words are like well-honed steel. Truly, of all those here, she is most worthy." Now Charsi looked confused. "Huh?" "Her strength and pride, her nobly-endowed form... she would give many strong sons to the man who took her." "Uh... she's kind of old..." "Do not speak of your betters thus! Age has not touched her enough to wilt her beauty. True, she is my senior by a few years, but I am sure my clan would understand." "A few years?" Alarm began to creep into Charsi's voice. "Those lips, red as blood... skin white as snow... even her hair springs from the burning fires of passion within." "Wait a minute! Who are you talking about?" "Your fiery-tempered leader! Who else could I possibly speak of?" Charsi started laughing. "Oh my gosh... that's Kashya! Akara's over there!" As he looked beyond Kashya, to a sorrowful woman wrapped in a purple cloak, Tearlach's face fell. "That crone?" "She's our head priestess. She's really nice, but she's taken the loss of the monastery really hard. Kashya's the war leader and chief trainer. If you haven't talked with Akara yet, you really should. It would help her so much if she knew you were here." Off to the side, Tearlach's keen senses detected girlish giggling. Kashya was still glaring at them, tapping one foot. "Ah, yes," he muttered, "among my people, tribal elders are also not war leaders." Clearing his throat noisily, he proclaimed, "I go to visit your chief... priestess, and swear service to her. As chief, I must honor her, but have no further interest in her. None whatsoever! It would just be impolite not to speak with your most honorable elder, so I am going to do that, right now." Completely unlike Kashya, Akara had the calm and majestic presence expected of an elder, wise in the old ways. Huddled against the rain in a huge cloak, she had a hood pulled down over her face, obscuring her eyes from view. Her tent barely covered a variety of potion bottles and leather-bound tomes, with no room for her; she must think it more important to keep these things out of the rain than herself. That was a bit respectable; most lowlanders cower from cold rain like it was made of spears. "I am Akara, high priestess of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye. I bid you welcome to our camp, though we can offer you but poor shelter within these rickety walls." "I am Tearlach, son of Grignr, son of Gor. I come from the far north to your lands in search of demons to kill. It seems I have found some." "You have. A few weeks ago, our monastery was overcome by evil which struck us from within our own ranks. I cannot explain it... our sisters were possessed by demonic spirits, and attacked us during the night. Now the monastery is home to some force beyond our comprehension. Only a few have straggled in here from the wilderness, in what used to be our most remote outpost." "It is easy to explain. Your soft, weak ways left you vulnerable to corruption. Relying on magic spells and strange devices enfeebled what little resolve you ever had. You forgot and abandoned the ancient ways, and have no honor. I am sure the demons found taking your monastery from you child's play." Akara meditated on this. "Your were not taught to respect your elders, I assume." Very patiently, Tearlach crossed his arms and explained. "In the mountains of the north, a man who has lived long has suffered many hardships, and survived by strength and cunning. In the south, a man may reach a great age simply by never putting his nose out of doors. Elders are great and respected men, but lowlanders give us no cause for respect. Among us, esteem must be earned." "I see. Do you believe you have earned our esteem in any way?" "Of course not. Actions speak louder than words, and the foul beasts in your marshes would not test a stripling. I cannot believe you fear them." "Quill Rats are not a serious danger. The walking dead are more to be pitied. It is what lies behind them that we fear. There is a place of evil in the moors, a cave where demons are gathering their forces for an assault on this camp. If you wish to demonstrate your good will, that is where you will go, and empty the cave of the evil within it. If not... you will be just like the others who have come, and slain a few Zombies, thinking to impress us." Tearlach laughed. "You think I am afraid. I fear no man, no beast, and no whelp of Hell's deepest pit. That cave will be empty before I return." A house on the moors supplied Tearlach with a ring of strength, which its owner had thought to hide among the blankets on his bed. Even if the owner weren't dead (which he almost certainly was) Tearlach would have considered the ring his by right of combat. With it, he could finally wear the entirety of the legendary Berserker's Arsenal, which he had hidden in his pack. Now, this was power; nothing like the true power of a berserker's fury, but it felt damned good. Confidently, he entered the cave. There were a few walking dead in the cave, and beasts like the Yeti of home, only smaller, weaker, and brown. True demons were hiding there too, little things that ran in terror at the very sight of him. Shamans led them, and resummoned their followers after Tearlach killed them, but killing the shaman solved that problem easily enough. It was so pathetic, he had to laugh at the "sisterhood" again. These things were even weaker and more frightened than the southlanders themselves, if that were possible. One zombie gave him trouble, more for its endurance than anything else; he bashed it around the caves until it finally burst against the wall. In the Rogue encampment, Kashya and Akara were having a little talk. "Sending him into that den of evil is not going to get rid of him." "Kashya, my goal is not to 'get rid of him.' We have here an arrogant stripling who needs a few lessons in life." "He needs my boot in his... did you hear what he said about me?" "Yes, along with the entire camp. He obviously does not believe in discreet conversation. However, I know I can count on your discretion, as I have many times in the past." "You don't think he can help us... you CAN'T think that." With a sigh, Akara slowly explained, "Barbarians are renowned for their physical prowess and great ability with combat. But little else. I believe he will move against the demons or die trying, and may be too foolish to know when it is time to die. Either way, he will drive very deep into the territory our enemies hold, and possibly inflict great harm on them. Even if he does not, the alternative is to have him here in our camp, trying to work his charm on the sisters. I would rather we did not have to kill him." Kashya snorted. "You never approved of using people before." "I do not approve of my actions. But we are in desperate circumstances, and I am sure the Eye will understand. The Eye sees our plight, and knows our difficulties." "This stinks." "I agree completely. If it bothers you too much, let him work as your assistant, only tell him you are assisting him. Find some pretext to have one of your scouts 'help' him." "I wouldn't go anywhere with that lout, and I'm not asking my scouts to do something I wouldn't do. If I did send someone, he might try something with her." "So keep his amorous inclinations focused on you. That shouldn't be difficult; just insult him and tell him he's not good enough for you." Kashya smirked. "Just tell him the truth, then?" "Tell him those parts of the truth which can be told." As they spoke, both heard a great noise enter the camp. Tearlach had returned, bearing a pack full of loot and a cocky smirk. "Your cave is empty, priestess. I'll wager that didn't take nearly as long as you thought." "No, young man; your prowess is truly remarkable. A sign of our gratitude is called for." "I know what would be most fitting," Tearlach said, smiling at Kashya. Definitely looking ill, Kashya snarled, "Yeah, I'm going to teach you how to use an axe!" "What? You look here, my proud beauty, men of the Shadow Wolf tribe are born knowing more of the axe than you ever will!" "Young man..." Akara said, "even I can see your grip needs improvement. Power is all very well and good, but skill focuses that power for its best use. Kashya, I order you to give our young friend the benefit of your experience." "Fine," Kashya said. "Meet me by the chopping block in two minutes." "I do not need any lessons from --" "Young man," Akara said softly, "are you turning down the chance to be alone with her?" "Of course not," Tearlach said, with a crafty gleam in his eye. "Fair Kashya, I stand eager to learn. I look forward to it." As he left, Akara whispered to Kashya. "What are you doing? That was your chance to assign him one of your scouts!" "I am NOT going to assign one of my scouts to that meat-head! I can barely tolerate him in camp, I don't want anyone near him outside. And that is final!" By the chopping block, Kasha demonstrated something Tearlach had not seen before. She could toss a piece of wood up, and split it while it was still tumbling in the air. When he tried it, he sent the wood careening off the wall and into his own head. There was a trick to it, angling your wrist like you were throwing the axe-head instead of chopping. This gave the blow more speed and accuracy, with no loss of power. Throughout the lesson, Tearlach was on his best behavior. He smiled, assured Kashya that age had not spoiled the bloom of her beauty, and even though he never got that wood-splitting trick down right, it was probably not because she was a bad teacher. She hardly said anything, but he could tell her resolve was weakening -- she started to develop a tic in her left eye. Once again, Tearlach had to congratulate himself: he just had a way with women. Chapter 3 The moors were empty of Hell's creatures. Maybe more worthy prey lurked elsewhere, higher up in these sad excuses for mountains, so Tearlach strode upland. Fencing surrounded the moors (the "civilized" love fences and walls), but at a gap he found a Rogue plinking away at a few walking dead with her bow. One, at least, had the guts to stand alone in the open; there might be hope for these people yet. "Hail, lass. Good to see someone here who isn't afraid." "Hi there. Don't try anything, I've been told about you." Smiling, Tearlach stood a little taller. "I see a reputation is earned quickly here. A pity it's so easy. You must be waiting for me, since you're the only one in this lot with any courage. Let us advance on them! Don't worry, I'll protect your fair and tender skin -- I like it in one piece. And afterwards... maybe I'll show you one of the other ways I've made a reputation among the ladies." After a moment's silence, she replied, "I'm under orders to guard the fence." "Why?" he guffawed. "The fence has suffered no harm from the demons, they just walk around it. It is in no danger." This resulted in a longer silence. This girl must not be very smart, she look so long to reply to the simplest questions. "Those are Kashya's orders, and I'm sticking to them." "Lass, this is absurd. Kashya may be the first among you, but her reach is no greater than anyone else's. You need not fear her in her absence!" Now she stared openly at him. She must be weighing her fear of the fiery Kashya against his overpowering personal magnetism. "My orders are to protect the camp." "From here? The camp is far away, and has plenty of protectors." Shaking his head, he sighed, "I thought you had some courage in you. It seems I was mistaken." The insult hit home -- Tearlach could hear her teeth grinding. But it did not goad her into action. Instead, she replied, "This is a defensive position, to keep demons out of the Bloody Moors. I am protecting the camp." "A defensive position is useless. The enemy is slain by attacks, not defense." "Then why are you carrying a shield?" Laughing, he sneered, "So that hand has something to do! I need only one weapon for these creatures. Two would be a waste of steel." She grinned. "Then you shouldn't need me. Look out there. Our sisters are out there, corrupted by the power that took our monastery. What can steel do against something that can corrupt your very soul?" Tearlach snorted. "Kill it, of course." "Fine. You go do that. I'm staying put." No further appeals would change her decision. Tearlach could almost respect her resolve, if it wasn't a resolution to be a coward. It was drier on the plains beyond as he got higher into the pass. Little red demons and the walking dead were abundant here, but the Rogues were what got his attention. What man could ignore naked women running up to him out of the darkness, even if they did have horns and fangs? That priestess spoke of the "sisters" being corrupted, but he hadn't expected such a profound change. There must be a great evil in this land... maybe one of the Prime Evils. It was a good thing Tearlach was here, to teach that devil a lesson he'd not soon forget. Whoever it was would think twice about invading Sanctuary again while he still drew breath. Naturally, all his battles brought him copious piles of loot. These lands were rich in movable goods, with no rightful owners to be found. None were as valuable as what Tearlach brought with him, so he was glad to let the Rogues redeem them at pawnbroker's rates. This display of generosity impressed them, especially the blacksmith... whatever her name was. "So, like, I'm really grateful to you for bringing so much of our stuff back, a lot of us kind of fled without anything, and we can really use it." Gazing across the camp at Kashya, Tearlach sighed. "Aye, lass." "You know, it's hard to fight when you don't have any armor, or the decent bows... some of us had hunting bows, but the long bows were in the armory." It seemed Kashya was ignoring him, as she should. A fine woman like that would have very high standards; he would have to fight harder to meet them. "Aye, lass." Charsi bit her lip, and shifted from foot to foot. "I... don't know if you've thought about me at all... I hope you've been all right? Have you needed help?" Now Kashya was glaring at him. Such a fierce look... she will be a right hellcat when she's finally been won. "Aye, lass." "Really? I could help! I got my armor, and I've got a sword, or a hammer! The scouts say skeletons are walking out of the graveyard, a hammer would be good on skeletons!" "Aye, la... what?" The smith was already excitedly pulling her armor on. "Oh wow, I'm so glad I'm going with you! I always wanted to do something, but I was never any good with a bow! Everyone's talking about the horrible things the demons are doing, and I --" "Now you hold on there!" Remembering that he was trying to be kind to Kashya's troops, Tearlach spoke sweetly. "You need to mind your place. A warrior is born, not made. To go out there would mean your death." "But I..." "A smith is not a fighter! If you are not born to it, you'll never succeed. Mine is a glorious destiny, but yours isn't. Don't even try." Tears welled up in Charsi's eyes. "But... I..." "But what? None of us can choose our fate. Mine is to travel the world, destroying evil wherever it lurks. Yours is to be servant to a bunch of women trying to be warriors. That's the way it is, like it or not." "But..." "There's a girl," Tearlach clapped her on the shoulder and shook. "You go back to your anvil. Leave warrior's work to the warriors." On his way out of camp, a strange man Tearlach didn't recognize stopped him. "Whoa, hold on there, Mr. Meatybones! Excuse my impertinence, but these are for you!" The pale, skinny man handed him a pair of blue boots. "What's this?" "That's Gorefoot! Don't ask me why they call 'em that, I think they should be Gorefeet or Gorefoots or somethin', but they're yours all the same!" The boots were powerfully magical, Tearlach could tell. "Why should you give me these?" "Cause that's what I do, Mr. Slabchunk! I help all kinds of heroes out by holding stuff for 'em. That's why they call me The Mule!" "You have so little honor, you do not even bear a proper name?" "Sorry, no Honor here. Don't have any 5-socket weapons on me yet. The boots will do you good, and that's why I'm givin' 'em to you. Later on, when you find somethin' worth having, I'll come by and take it off your hands." "Like hell you will. What I win in battle is mine by right, and I'll have your head if you try to take it from me." The Mule laughed and laughed. "That's the spirit, Mr. Beefbrisket! Now, some advice: Shamans can't raise their friends if you rip the bodies up. Get potions out of the little guys. When you can search them for more stuff, that'll work too! Ta ta for now, big guy!" Hmmm... tearing the hearts out of the little ones might be a good way to keep them down. Not that he needed to, they were no more than an annoyance, but one less annoying demon is... one less annoying demon. The art of making healing draughts from the organs of Hell-influenced creatures was not known to these people. Even Akara, the "healer" here, had to make her potions from flowers and herbs. He was about to interrogate this honorless "mule" further, but the little bastard had scampered away, and was nowhere to be found. Out on the plains, Tearlach found a cave where evil lurked. The light of the sun is a terror to these creatures; they prefer dark places, even when the sky is overcast. The boots were a fine gift, enabling to jump great distances and run into the fray more quickly. Nonetheless, he did not like being in debt to a lowlander -- he had to give a gift in return, and Mule vanished before he could do so. Giving splendid gifts may put a man in a debt he can never repay, a typical lowlander's trick; the debt could be ignored if repaying it would mean losing honor, but it was still galling. After emptying the cave, Tearlach moved on to a secluded hollow beside the pass. It was a quiet place, sheltered from the rest of the pass, and mists seemed to collect in the deeps. A group of skeletons attacked him immediately. Some still wore fragments of clothing, Rogue's leather breastplates and the remains of their high boots. All were much less flattering now. In the deeps of the hollow, behind a high iron fence, small carved stones had been set in the earth in rows. The fencing told Tearlach this must be an important place to the Rogues, but the stones did not form a circle, or even an avenue. They were arranged like tally marks, not an enclosure. Southlanders enclose everything but the places that should be. In the center of the hollow, a hanging tree had several Rogues dangling from its gnarled limbs. Next to it, the ugliest demon Rogue he'd yet seen was calling another skeleton out of the ground. Ah... the rocks were tomb markers! The ancient ways were unheard of in these lands, and these stupid people never learned how to purify their dead; they just buried them. No wonder there were so many out walking now, plaguing the place. Tearlach leapt over the bowed heads of the shambling dead, and fetched the demon Rogue a tremendous blow from his axe. She shrugged it off; fairly tough, this one. Streaking away with demonic speed, the Rogue called more dead from the ground, between shooting arrows of fire. As though arrows were any danger to him. Ignoring the fire, Tearlach jumped over the zombies, a mere distraction when their mistress needed killing. This Rogue was quick and durable, difficult to catch and hard to hurt, but when he caught her in a crowd of her own walking dead, the end was inevitable. She had nowhere to run, and Tearlach chopped off her head with one mighty blow. Bolts of lightning shot out of her body, all the dead in the tomb-yard dropped, and a translucent soul floated up to the sky. That was an unusual way to die; perhaps he'd better speak with someone about it. When she heard, Kashya looked stunned. "That was Blood Raven." Momentarily lost in her cleavage, Tearlach looked up. "Eh?" "Blood Raven, my closest friend." Oops. Now she'd probably start crying, the way women do when you hack their closest friends' head off with an axe. "Wait... she was a demon!" "She fell when the monastery did... I don't know how. My scouts reported she was in our graveyard, raising the dead to make an army! I am glad you killed her... I hope her spirit has found rest now." "Ah," Tearlach relaxed, and nodded wisely. "I am sure her spirit has gone to its reward in Hell. That's the kind of rest she deserves. Why are you all so foolish as to bury your dead uncleansed by fire? It is no surprise you have so many stalking the land now." Kashya's eyes narrowed. "The graveyard is sacred ground. Only the most unholy would dare to violate it!" Tearlach threw his head back and laughed! "Lowlanders! 'The most unholy' is what you should have been on guard against all along! Did you ever understand the true ways of the ancient ones? Or have you forgotten it all in your mad dash for riches and power?" As he waited for a response, Tearlach noticed that facial tic of hers had returned. There are many get upset when they hear the plain and simple truth; perhaps honeyed words would soften the blow of realization. "Fair Kashya... beauteous one... grieve for the friend you lost, but think on this: you may partake in the wisdom of the ancients through me." For some reason, Kashya did not look pleased with this. She stood rigidly upright, arms crossed, fingernails digging into her own arms, with her eyes clenched shut and her teeth grinding together like millstones. "Go... see... Akara!" Tearlach was confused. "What should the priestess of a lesser goddess mean to me?" "GO!!!" With a shrug, Tearlach strode off. Perhaps Kashya was not what he thought her to be. The truth of her order's unfitness was before her, but she could not see it. Some people, even among his own kind, simply will not listen to reason; what should he expect? But she was so beautiful. Look at the way she punches the wall. Masterfully aimed blows, all of them! He could hear wood splintering from here. At the sight, he was overcome with emotion; in his deepest heart of hearts, he knew she was meant to be his. It was destiny. Akara was pleased to hear of his success in the graveyard. "Blood Raven was Kashya's most direct competition for commander. Had she not gone to Tristram, she might be in this camp today. I wonder if that town had anything to do with our troubles." "Corruption does not make its home in a town," Tearlach replied impatiently. "Anyway, you deserve some new reward. I shall assign one of Kashya's scouts to accompany you, as a guide through the wilderness." Sneering, he shook his head. "I have no need. Instinct will bring me to my prey." "Then let her accompany you, to observe your fighting technique. Will you not humor an old woman, in what may be her final days?" "As though a woman could learn the path of a warrior. I will let your girl trail along, but do not expect me to distract myself for her life. If she cannot survive on her own, that should tell you she did not belong in the battle." "Thank you, young man. Now, there is another matter I must speak to you about." "Then speak, woman. I itch to be fighting again." "We do not know how our monastery was taken from us, but there is one who might. In the town of Tristram, the sage Deckard Cain dwelt. Our sisters described him when they returned from that cursed place; he was the last of the Horadrim, and had access to all their ancient knowledge." "The Horadrim are known to my people. Cursed sorcerers and wizards, prying into every corner of the land, seeking demons. Our mountains were visited by them many times; they were difficult to kill. I have no need of a sorcerer's knowledge. Steel is the answer to every question regarding demons." Akara sighed. "I feared you might say something like that." "Of course I do. It is the plain truth, as any fool can see. Now, I have better things to do than stand about talking. Send your scout after me if you must; I go to war." Chapter 4 Further up in the Rogue's pass, Tearlach found a broad, stony field. Along behind him was a Rogue scout, whose name he hadn't caught. The fields were full of foes: more corrupted Rogue sisters, and strange hawk-like birds. Killing the Rogues was not gratifying: they'd forgotten what little they knew of combat when the demons took them. Of course, even if they remembered, they wouldn't have been a challenge. A shame to see all that naked female flesh, completely wasted... whoever took the monastery had a lot to answer for. The bird-things were bizarre. They had teeth in their little skull faces, obviously unnatural. Instead of soaring free as birds are meant to, they flapped around sluggishly, close to the ground. Their did not nest in trees, but tall fabrications of filth and rotting meat, with only-the-ancestors-know-what holding it together. Each nest had dozens of little things inside, moving under the skin. Seeing that gave him the idea of bashing the nest to the ground, with the birds still inside. Sure enough, they were crushed under its weight. The strategy was good and pleasing, but that Rogue had to start asking questions. "So you figured that out, huh? Don't want to take them all on?" "I fear them not," Tearlach huffed. "They are an annoyance, not worth my time." "He finally heard me!" the Rogue proclaimed aloud. "That's the eighth question I've asked you, you know?" "I am not here to answer questions. Those who cannot make war are also not worth my time." "So who killed those guys, huh?" Behind the Rogue, Tearlach saw a group of men... no, goat-men he hadn't seen before. All were dead, their bodies full of arrows. "Maybe you should start paying more attention?" The goat-men were big, certainly bigger than any Rogue (except maybe that smith girl.) A little clumsy looking, maybe... but more worthy foes than skull crows. "Hmm." The Rogue waited. "Yes?" But Tearlach had seen another corrupted Rogue, and run off. Tearlach kept hacking his way through the fields, taking down foe after foe. Occasionally, he would stop, and hear more questions being aimed at him. He ignored her; battle is not a time for talking, but for doing. But every now and then... he would glance over to see what she was doing. Usually, she wasn't far away, shooting arrows from that tiny bow of hers. Once in a while, she made a strange motion. Those were the times when his vision cleared, and Tearlach could see every move his foes made, even in the darkest night. "Witch!" Tearlach snarled, "are you casting sorceries on me?" "No, I'm casting sorceries on them." "I do not need the help of foul magic!" "It's just light. The Sightless Eye is a beacon in the darkness." "I forbid you to use sorcery!" "Suit yourself. Hope I don't shoot you in the back in the dark, though." Back in camp, Tearlach went to see Akara. "Witch, and leader of witches! You did not tell me your gathering of whores is really a pit of sorcery!" Calmly, Akara asked her Rogue, "Visala, what is he talking about?" "He thinks the Blessing of Sight is sorcery." "I should have known. Young man, we follow a goddess. She bestows her blessings upon us, and we may call on her power when needs be. No sorcery is involved." Tearlach spit on the ground. "Goddess or demon, I care not. A warrior needs to stand on her own two feet! His feet! Er..." With a smile almost too faint to be seen, Akara replied, "Child, we all call on powers higher than ourselves. From what I understand, your people call animal spirits to aid you." "That is completely different! Wild places, untouched by evil, are our strength. The spirit of the world is incorruptible!" "So innocent wild animals, like hawks or the gentle Sasquatch of our mountains, cannot be turned to evil?" Tearlach opened his mouth... then closed it again. "Hmm." "He says that a lot," Visala observed. "That was one of the wisest utterances I have heard today," Akara said. "Though we do not call on the same power as sorcerers, even they can be wise in the ways of the world. This is why I believe we had best seek out --" "There is nothing to seek out, except a stronger bow. If you're going to use one of those stick-and-string things, get a decent one! One of those merchants may have one for sale, though he'll part with it dearly to line his own purse." "Gee, you think so?" Visala asked. "Aye, 'tis the way of these gold-leeches. Nothing else matters to them, not even their own skins. And a strong byrnie of chain, if one is to be had. That little dress is fetching, lass, but nightclothes are poor garb for battle! Why weren't you outfitted properly?" "Didn't we tell you the attack came from inside, at night? We were all asleep." "Aye, maybe you did. Let your guard down, did you? No matter! I've gold to spare, and know a thing or two about bargaining with a fat cash-sucker!" "Wow, you're so smart. I have to see this." "That is very good, young man. Now, about Deckard Cain..." "That sorcerer you were blathering about? Who needs him? All that's called for to defeat this enemy is a strong arm and a heart of steel. We go, lass!" After they'd left, Kashya went to speak with Akara. "I can't believe you're doing this." Sighing, Akara asked, "What is it this time?" "I used to respect you! Now here you are, sucking up to that... that..." "Kashya... this is something I am afraid you never understood. It is called compromise. In many ways, you don't know how lucky you have been to serve under me." "What?" Kashya screeched. "The Goddess' vision is not about compromise!" "But surviving in the world is. The sisterhood, as you well know, has only a few farmlands to support itself, which do not produce all the things we need to function as a martial order. We must be friendly with the neighboring kingdoms, as far as we can without betraying the will of the Goddess. As head of our order, it falls to me to be nice to the nearby kings and nobles, most of whom are brutes, thugs, idiots, or worse. As you well know, many of them find our very existence offensive, but they hold the power we need to serve as a beacon of light for the women of the world. We cannot get this power from them if they do not let us have it, so there is a need for compromise." "Akara, we have power! We control the only pass through the mountains! Every caravan north of Westmarch has to go through here! We can tax as much as we like!" "No one can do that. Our neighbors tolerate us because it costs less to pay our fees than it would to attack and dislodge us from these mountains. Kashya, as war leader, it is to our advantage for you to appear uncompromising. I do not have that luxury. If I can stand to 'suck up' to that utter toad King Uthric to get what the order needs, I can treat a Barbarian better than he deserves in our most desperate hour." Kashya stared silently, breath panting through gritted teeth. Finally, Akara said, "That's better. You may go and punch the wall, if you feel you must." Meanwhile, Tearlach and Visala were back on the stony field. That slick-tongued bastard Gheed talked him into gambling his money away, but Tearlach figured out the score on that little game quick enough. That ring was completely useless, worth nothing near the 50,000 he paid for it, but Gheed wouldn't give his money back! After an education in the ways his people deal with cheats, the fat, quivering coward was much more reasonable. Tearlach got the ring, and a two-day warranty! Visala was impressed. She'd better be grateful, buying a pot helm for her took most of his remaining cash. Ok, it wasn't magic, but he put some of his own gem chips in the sockets! What more could she want? "Oh, yeah, this is a great helm. Orange is really my color." "What does the color matter? You southlanders are spoiled, you'd throw away Bul-Kathos' own ring of power because it doesn't match your eyes." "I thought you said you'd buy a bow? Like a longbow, maybe?" "Silence, woman! Where I am from, women know better than to talk back to their betters. You want a finer bow, I'll find you one. Here, see what this demon was hiding?" The magic short sword Tearlach held was coated with blood and foulness. Nose wrinkling in disgust, Visala said, "I'm not even touching that." "These demons are even greedier than you. Anything to keep their treasures, even in death! This one had it shoved all the way up into his --" "My, what lovely weather we're having! Look, that's an interesting rock!" Tearlach looked at the stone in question. It was a monolith, 10 feet tall, standing alone on the plain. There were many such stones, where he came from. "Yes... yes that is a very interesting rock. It is good that I have found it!" "You found it?" "Aye, it is the keystone of the circle which lies just beyond. This is a place of power... and it is well-guarded, it seems." Another demon and his company stood jabbering inside the circle. They were blue; Tearlach had seen blue ones before, they were tougher relatives of the red ones. Not much tougher, of course... it took a bit more effort to cleave them in two with one blow. After assessing the situation with a born tactician's eye, Tearlach leapt into the fray, scattering the crowd and slamming into the leader. To his great surprise, at the touch of steel, bolts of crackling lightning shot out of the demon's wounds! It stung a bit, but after the initial shock was over the lightning seemed no great threat. He chopped and bashed them all to bits. Removing himself from battle for a while, Tearlach examined the circle. It was small, defined only by 5 monolithic boulders. Each stone had a carved runic symbol, in the old way. Who would have guessed that the Ancient Ones had ever been here, to this forsaken place now abandoned to lowlanders? He was pleased to note that the stones had not been defaced, as the demons had scribbled on the cave walls down below. The power of the Ancients was too great for them, no doubt. Heartened to know that his ancestors were with him, however distant, he continued his battle over the field of stones. Looking ahead up the pass, Tearlach could see the path went back and forth several times as it went up. No doubt this was to ease merchant's wagons along, as even these gentle slopes would challenge their over-laden beasts. Traveling up the pass would be a long and tedious business, but there was a better way: a cave at the base of the cliff. His people carved many tunnels into the living rock of their mountains, to speedily reach distant places in secret. If the Ancients had been here, perhaps they had done the same. Sure enough, the mark of the Ancient Ones was there in the caves. Broad avenues, smooth dirt floors, and wide steps carried Tearlach high up the mountain. Visala said the tunnels had always been here; foot travelers used them for rapid ascents and descents. It was an insult to see so many demons and undead crawling over the work of the Ancients, so Tearlach chopped them to bits and tore their hearts out. When these ones came to their next lives without any hearts, they would remember not to be so free with the work of those greater than themselves. The tunnels came out in a dark wood, much higher in the pass. Almost immediately, Tearlach was set upon by a massive Sasquatch, which moved with surprising speed for so bulky a creature. After killing it, he found a tree. It was old and dead, but glowed with magic in the dark night. Things had been carved into its bark... including a representation of the stone circle he had just left, with the word the runes made. Ah, he thought... my glorious fate is catching up with me. I am destined to destroy this great demon and free this land. Perhaps when I am done, my people may return to their old home, and drive these southlanders out? No, such a blessing would be too much to ask. He carved the bark away from the tree. It was his by right; his destiny was wrapped in it. He also wanted to show the Rogues what fools they'd been by not realizing its importance. "... and you see there, the word of power! The five runes have been arranged in the order they should be. Any fool could plainly see it." "Your acumen is enthralling," Akara nodded. "How could we not have guessed, after all those centuries of staring stupidly at those stones?" "Not many have the wit to see through the mysteries of the Ancient Ones," Tearlach proclaimed. "Their ways were not meant for the weak-minded." "That must be true. Perhaps it was simply that the symbols on the stones don't really look like Barbarian runes. Now, touch the stones in the order given, and a gate will appear." Frowning suspiciously, Tearlach said, "How do you know that?" Akara put her hand to her cheek. "Oh, did that slip out? It was just a lucky guess. At least, I've read stories where that happens. I'd also guess that the gate will take you to a place of great power, where you must search diligently for an ancient wise elder." "Hmm..." Tearlach pondered this. "Many sagas describe this sort of thing. You must be familiar with some of the ancient ways, priestess." "There have been a few books written on the subject." "Your shame at having forgotten the old ways must be double what I thought, then. To hear the old tales, and yet ignore them, is worse than never hearing them at all." "Oh yes, it's simply dreadful. You have set such an excellent example, young man. Now, let me meditate on my folly for a while." A loud thumping sound had become audible by this point. In the dim light, Tearlach could see Kashya pounding on the wall... with her head. "What a woman... I used to do that when I was a child as well." "That explains a lot," Visala said. "Is that why your head is flat on that side?" "Aye! I decided either I'd give, or the wall would, and the wall gave first! That was the first and best thing I ever learned in my life: my head is thicker than any wall!" As he strode off, Visala stopped to speak with Akara in a hushed voice. "Why is she using her head?" "I stopped healing her knuckles after the last time." "Oh. Yes, ma'am." "Visala... when you arrive, I want you to be sure to do something..." At the stone circle, Tearlach touched the stones in order. The word flashed in the air, and amid peals of thunder and lightning strikes, a red gate appeared. Tearlach charged through. On the other side, he found, not high mountains or great feasting halls, but... a dead cow, rotting in a field. He poked it with his axe, and it exploded with putrid gasses. What is this? This was no place of power, it was nothing but some southlander town, on fire and full of skeletons and goat-men... a fray! To their credit, the goat-men were not incompetent, perhaps the hardest fight Tearlach had yet. The skeletons came with sword and bow, but fell to pieces quickly enough. Crowds of little demons were everywhere. The worst of all was a single zombie, the corpse of a huge, muscular man with a bald head. His features were familiar. "Och, yoo were one of my countrymen, weren't yoo?" The zombie replied, "Uuuuuunnnhhhhh..." "'Tis a shame, to see yoo reduced to such a state by darkness." "Uuuuuunnnhhhhh..." "Yoo fight well, as only the children of Bul-Kathos can!" "Uuuuuunnnhhhhh..." "Let me bless yoo with death, to escape the chains these demons laid on yoor soul!" "Uuuuuunnnhhhhh..." "Men should be free, free to leave when death takes them!" "Uuuuuunnnhhhhh..." "So stop fightin', already! Nah, what am I sayin'? Yoo only want to go down in glory!" "Uuuuuunnnhhhhh..." "'Tis a glorious death yoo want, I'll give it, but yoo'll have to take it when it comes." "Uuuuuunnnhhhhh...." "LAY DOWN, ALREADY!!" Finally, the zombie dropped. After saluting him, Tearlach dragged the body into a burning building. It was a poor funeral pyre, but the best he could offer. The little town offered up many worthy foes, one after the other. He lost himself in combat, taking arrow after arrow. Fire scorched him, swords cut him; it was the most glorious fight he'd ever had. When all was done, Tearlach stood alone, the only sure sign of victory. Visala was standing next to an iron cage, watching a portal wink closed. "What was that?" Visala smiled. "Oh, hi there. You were having so much fun, I knew you wouldn't mind if I looked for survivors. There was this old man in this cage being tortured, so I thought I'd let him out and send him back to camp." "Ah," Tearlach grunted. "'Tis a good thing, I suppose. But not important. Look, here you are! A new bow!" "Yeah," Visala said, "a nice hunting bow." "What's wrong with that? Ah, you want some more gems, do you? I'll put some in there, don't worry. I know how fond you ladies are of your sparklers." "Wow. Thanks." Tearlach grinned. "Unless you think I should be putting something else in your sockets?" "No, gems are great. Knock yourself out." Chapter 5 After a night's well-earned sleep, Tearlach breakfasted with the Rogues. They didn't seem to understand why he took two whole chickens for himself -- even while trying to be warriors, these girls were busy watching their figures. A fighting man needs his strength, and has no time to worry about keeping trim. Chickens were strange birds: they never tried to fly free, but scratched around under their master's boots their whole lives, even though every day some were eaten in full view of the others. It reminded him of the way southlanders lived, gathered up in cities under the "protection" of the powerful -- except that instead of a daily quick death for a few, all died slowly as taxation and slavery bled them their whole wretched lives. Foolishness and more foolishness, but they were blind to it. The old man from the village was up and about now. The demons must not have been too cruel to him, he recovered quick enough. Nonetheless, he was a sad sight, balded and bent with age, with no better weapon than an old stick. As is common everywhere but the mountains, the old man knew nothing of war; instead of steel, he carried a huge book with him wherever he went. No wonder the demons hadn't bothered to kill him; even Tearlach wouldn't stain his hands with the blood of someone so useless. What a shame it was, to be so near death, yet unwilling to die in combat and ascend into the Heaven, where ancient warriors of renown feast all night and battle against Hell all day. Maybe he'd learn from his misspent life and do better next time, if he wasn't condemned to Hell for cowardice. "I could not stop the horror that overtook Tristram when our hero left us," the old man muttered over his porridge. "All were slain to the last, except me. I don't know why I was left hanging in that cage." "To grieve over the folly of your useless life, old man," Tearlach told him. "Anyone who's been as worthless as you should understand that before they're snuffed." The old man blinked, and looked appraisingly at Tearlach. "Hmm. To judge by your great size and obvious vigor, I would say you're an inhabitant of the northern mountains." "Damn right!" Tearlach shouted, spraying flecks of chicken into the fire. "You speak to Tearlach, son of Grignr, son of Gor! I have come from the highlands to rid the world of evil, and this is as good a place to begin as any." "Your people's reputation precedes you." The old man flicked some crumbs of meat off his robes, and leaned closer. "By fortunate coincidence, you have come to the right place. The horror that overtook Tristram was none other than Diablo himself!" "Ah! I knew I was on the trail of something worthy of me. It is my destiny to destroy the Brothers! Since he has taken the monastery, I will go there and destroy him." "Excellent! I will assist you in any way I can. Now, from what the Rogue sisters have told me, the horror in the monastery is not Diablo --" Tearlach had burst out laughing. "Old man, I'll take pity on your years and not make you fetch and carry for me. Wait! Did you say Diablo isn't in the monastery?" "It is certain that the monastery is now the lair of Andarial, the maiden of --" "Bah!" Tearlach threw the last of his chicken away. "Why are you wasting my time! I seek Diablo, or one of his brothers! Some minor demon is of no concern to me." "Perhaps I have not made myself clear. It is my guess that Diablo has gone through the monastery, leaving Andarial behind to prevent anyone from following. He seeks the lands of the east, where his brothers lie imprisoned. Unless Andarial is defeated, no one can get through the pass, and you will not be able to meet Diablo!" "Why not? These tiny mountains would be easy to cross. You southlanders may have to walk through a pass, but where I am from, men know how to climb a hill." Nodding, the old man said, "Well, it is understandable that you might fear to face Andarial. According to what I have read, she is --" "I fear nothing, old man! No man, beast, or the spawn of any pit! Who is this Andarial you think I fear?" "Andariel is the maiden of Anguish, queen of the Succubi, and lord of Hell's legions of spies and corrupters. Though only one of the lesser four evils, her power is still great and terrible. Many have been destroyed by her, often without knowing it. Of all the seven evils, she is considered the most cunning, using deception and guile to her advantage. Flattery is her weapon of choice... which makes me wonder why she is here." "Because deception and guile work on you. Among my people, none give sweet words any heed, and a flatterer's tongue gains nothing. That is why fat merchants do not come to the mountains... as if any would dare to. I will journey into the monastery and kill this Andarial, though. Traveling through the pass would be quicker than over the peaks, and if she stands in my way, that will be her sorrow." The old man nodded sagely, smiling a bit. "You should know Andarial's venomous heart is her strongest weapon in combat. Though I have noticed you wear the Berserker's Arsenal, which grants near-immunity to poisons and drugs." Glowering, Tearlach snarled, "You recognize this sacred armor? How is it that so many of you outlanders know so much of our ways?" "Legends remain, of course... and that set is out of legend. May I ask --" "No. This is no time for idle talk. My blood boils for action!" With that, Tearlach ran out the gates of the fortress, with Visala right behind, asking why he didn't just use the waypoint for once. Watching them go, Cain scratched his head, then turned to ask Kashya, "Is that sort of thing common?" "You have NO idea. As if losing the monastery wasn't bad enough, this place has been a complete and utter *HELL!!!* for the last three days." "Surely, things aren't as bad as that!" Cain smiled. "Perhaps this Barbarian is not the most tactful or intelligent of men, but your lady Akara has told me he has been very helpful. Being overrun by demons must be worse than anything he has said, I am sure!" Without warning, Kashya's arm shot across the clearing, grabbed Cain by the front of his robe, and hauled him in like a midget herring to stare right into her inflamed eyes. "You don't get it, do you? He LIKES me." Cain blanched. "Oh... oh no, I'm very, very sorry..." When they finally got back to the dark woods they'd left earlier, Tearlach stopped to look around. Visala was still asking about the waypoint... apparently, the poor thing was tired out from the run. He'd seen some of those magic transporters in the highlands. Some interloping mages built them. His people left them to rot. True men gain nothing from the magic tricks lesser men use to make their lives easier. Life is a struggle, as it should be; if you want to go a long way, learn to run fast and far like your ancestors did. "My people are known throughout the world for stamina," Tearlach grinned. "Great staying power, can go for hours! That ought to pique your interest, wench." "Yeah, right," Visala mumbled, plinking away at some skeletal archers. "Ah, you like 'big boners', then?" He laughed, splitting a corrupted Rogue's skull in twain with a single blow. "The men of these lands aren't much meatier than those bastards!" "Say, how do you know so much about 'these lands', anyway?" "A simple tale, lass. In my land, all are told of the ancient ways. We had them pounded into our skulls while we were babes so we'd never forget. Our ancestors were the mightiest of men, the greatest in all ways, and so we are greater than any other race of man in the whole world. Tales of the weakness of your people, and your foolish and evil ways, survive among the true people, though you have tried your best to forget them." With a snort, Visala dropped a shaman with an arrow through the eye. "And your teachers never left the highlands themselves?" "Why? There's nothing outside the mountains. Nothing worth anything, anyway." "So, how did you know what they told you was true?" "Are you calling my clan elders liars, witch? Watch your tongue! Where I am from, there is punishment for a woman who spreads falsehoods!" "Ah. Gotcha." The nerve of that little outlander girl! Every word the clan elders said was true; that truth was a sacred trust from the Ancients themselves. If not for the beauteous Kashya, Tearlach would have beaten sense into that little wench then and there. The land was marshy above the woods, from a stream flowing through the pass. Goat-men and little blue demons were everywhere... not that their numbers saved their lives. When Tearlach came back to camp with things to pawn, the old man actually made himself useful. He knew almost as much about enchantment as the smiths of mighty Sescheron, and could identify spells at a glance. "Not bad, old man! Almost worth the trouble it took me to save you." "You saved him?" Visala asked. "Aye! And a fine rescue it was. I'll have to save more people when I have the chance. Some wenches, maybe... fine, agreeable ones." "Good luck finding any," she grumbled. "Unless you like horns and sharp teeth." "The teeth are a problem, I admit. They'd prickle somethin' fierce on my --" "Kashya!" Cain exclaimed. "Tell me, how are your scouts doing?" "Eh?" Tearlach looked around. "Where is she?" Cain scratched his head. "Hmmm, I thought I saw her." "Ah, glorious Kashya! Even in her absence, the smell of her lingers delicately in the air, like the smell of Egtheow's best sausages. Only nicer even than that! With mustard, she'd be as heaven on earth! A saucy one, she is." Looking a bit ill, Visala said, "I have to go over there for a while." "What for?" "Um... female problems." Tearlach shuddered. "Ugh. Go. Do your business." Meanwhile, Kashya was glaring hot blistering death at Cain from the tent where she was hiding. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Cain muttered, "Um... tell me, how are you getting along with Charsi? She's spoken very highly of you." Tearlach shrugged. "Does decent repair work, I suppose. What of her?" "I believe she has something she wants to ask you. Yes, she's looking right at us, rather expectantly. Perhaps Kashya would be impressed if you went to ask?" More out of frustration than anything, Tearlach went to ask that stupid smith girl what she wanted. Nothing he did pleased Kashya; last night, he'd stood outside her tent for hours, flexing and showing off every muscle. He'd even oiled his whole body for the occasion, but she ignored him. Any other woman, he was sure, would have been driven mad with lust at the sight; what willpower she must possess! The thought of it enflamed his heart further; he would find a way, he had to! She could try to hold out against her destiny and his, but he could hold out even longer! It was inevitable. The smith girl hemmed and hawed, looking up at Tearlach with big blue eyes. A strange color, really. "Um... I don't know how to ask about this..." Growing impatient, Tearlach said, "With words, lass. Spit a few out." She shifted from foot to foot. "Um..." "Other words. That one means nothing." "Well..." "That's no improvement. Come on!" "I was just wondering..." "WHAT?!" The shout could be heard from one end of camp to the other. Charsi jumped and nearly fell back across her anvil. "Oh! Um... I... just need a tool from the monastery." "Is that all? What tool?" "It's a smithing hammer, a malus. It's enchanted. It's power is to make other enchanted things. To make other things enchanted, I mean." "Hmm... that's a good thing, then. Sorry to startle you, lass, but quit being so tongue-tied and stupid." "Don't talk to Charsi like that," a Rogue behind him said. Standing up to his full height, Tearlach turned around and stared down at the Rogue. "And who are you to tell me what I can say?" "I'm Itonya. I'll be going out with you. Charsi's a great smith, and she's not stupid. Don't you call her that." Tearlach laughed. "What happened to... the other one?" "She quit. Actually, she begged for another assignment. ANY other assignment. I think she's digging a new latrine right now, and I've never seen her so happy. Don't think you can try anything with me, bozo, it won't work." Itonya was a fairly tall, square-built Rogue with a hint of a moustache. She reminded him a bit of home. "Of course not, lass... wouldn't dream of it." "Good. Now get your lumpy ass in gear. I've got an assignment to take care of." A ruined building squatted on the marshes, its stones burnt black. A cellar door was set in the floor, and the stench of death wafted up. Demons love such places, so Tearlach jumped down with a fearsome war cry, ready to send them running in terror. Instead, he landed on a pile of unstable rubble and fell on his rear. Spitting out some of the floor, he looked around the cellar; good thing no one was there to see that. Itonya climbed down the ladder quietly, not even trying to keep the smirk off her face. He was starting to like this one. Demons there were in the cellars, blood-red goat demons who sucked the life from you with every blow. Hordes of ghosts drained away spiritual energy; had Tearlach not been blessed with both in abundance, he might have worried. No ghost or demon could get the better of him in terms of precious essences. His new servant Rogue kept quiet during combat; it was a relief not to have to put up with any more annoying chatter. The lowest cellar (this place had a lot of cellars) was a veritable treasure horde, something like barrows were supposed to be. Barrows came from before the time of the Ancients, if such a thing could be imagined; the burials contained much gold and silver, but no steel. Looting them was so profitable, Tearlach had never seen one that still had anything in it. If they were anything like this, it was no wonder! Gold and jewels lay scattered on the floor, with much more in the possession of the blood goats guarding the place. Slaughtering his way deeper in, he was surprised to find more gold... and women! They were tall and shapely, with midnight-dark hair and the palest skin he'd seen. Though slender and vaguely ethereal, their lack of solidity didn't detract from their seductiveness. They almost floated towards him. "Your blood will boil..." Tearlach leered. "It already is, wench!" "Oh, puh-leeze," Itonya mumbled, and shot the nearest one. The arrow lodged in the woman's chest, hardly seeming to bother her. For some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, this bothered Tearlach. "Hmm..." "Hey, stupid! Wake up! They're vampires!" "Vampires? Stupid woman! They're..." "Of course they look like that. They want to." She was firing arrows one after the other now, putting a few in each. The boundaries of their bodies seemed strangely undefined; he could see arrows sticking out of them, but couldn't see the wounds. Very strange. "Helloooo! Oh Mr. Precious Bodily Fluids! Render unto me a fvcking break and KILL THE BITCHES!" "Huh? AH! Unhand me, foulness!" He swatted away clawed fingers, and raised his axe. "Dawn breaks over Marblehead," Itonya grumbled, putting an arrow through the lead vampiress' eye. She seemed supremely unruffled by the stick poking through her head, but decapitating her helped. The foul vampiress' had quite a horde of treasure for themselves, which Tearlach had earned the right to take. Back in camp, Cain looked even more bent than usual. "What happened to you, old man?" "Kashya had something of a falling-out with me... I believe the applicable term is a 'power wedgie.'" "Huh," Tearlach grunted. "You need all the power you can get. Identify these things." "How is Kashya holding up?" Itonya asked. "Three feet off the ground, for over 10 seconds." "Pretty good." Chapter 6 Gheed waited patiently while Tearlach looked over his wares. He couldn't help but smile; the idiot was developing a real habit for gambling. All Gheed had to say was that one worthwhile item was in there; the mark always ran out of money before he ran out of things to gamble on. The Rogues paid the Barbarian cheap, but all of it was flowing straight into his coffers... When he got to Lut Gholein, Cheed was going to buy the biggest bowl of Nharlem weed money could buy, and smoke until all earthly sense left his body. "Erm... the helm." "There you are, sir!" Gheed grinned. "A fine helm of light, with resistance to cold too!" "Bah! Useless!" The helm went flying across camp. Gheed could retrieve it later; after all, it was just lying around without any sign of ownership... "Are you sure you have something good in that pile, you snake?" With a dramatic sigh, Gheed cast his eyes heavenwards. "You wound me, sir! I will admit, not everything available here meets your high standards, but where's the fun of gambling if you know it's a sure thing? Oh, I know you're frustrated! Believe me, when my customer isn't happy, I'm not happy. Here's a hint: try the sword." "My clan weapon is the axe. I will not take a sword." Gheed threw up his hands. "That's not my fault, is it? Perhaps a nice bow for your girl there? If you want a sure thing, here's a helm with sockets. It's nicer than the pot helm she's got now, and I'll let you have it cheap! How's that sound?" "What of all the money of mine you've taken already?" "Well... what of it? You can always get more, can't you?" Grunting in dissatisfaction, Tearlach took the helm and dropped some coins in Gheed's sweaty palm. He'd have to get some new gems; it's hard to get them out of their sockets without breaking them. Meanwhile, Gheed congratulated himself on a job well done. Milk the sucker (and you couldn't ask for a better sucker than him) until he gets mad, then send him out for more. Gives him time to cool off, and you time to set up the next round. The tower marshes were small, an isolated dip in the gentle climb up the pass. Beyond them, the land rose steadily, and the huge dark wall of the monastery came into view, stretching clear from one side of the pass to the other. Tearlach could see it was solid stone, with a smooth finish; burning or climbing would not do. This was an impressive wall for women to hide behind; it would have been more impressive if it hadn't been built to extort money from travelers. Tearlach was considering the best way to assault the monastery when a ball of fire burst on his armor. Itonya was shouting and shooting arrows at some skeletons. Blast, does that woman ever intend to give him time to think? The skeletons were throwing the fireballs. Strange -- Tearlach always thought that casting spells took brains, and these bones didn't have any. They had brains enough to run, though, clattering off as he came to smash them back into their graves. Damning wizard's cowardice even in death, Tearlach chased them up and down the hill; they in turn led him into crowds of skeleton archers and more damned quill rats. Soon, the air was full of arrows, fireballs, quills,even a few lightning bolts from a crowd near the monastery gate. The few hand fighters there were the little blue coward demons, who ran in terror at the sight of blood. All the running got to be really annoying after a while. What made it even worse was that damn Rogue just standing there, smirking and plinking away. Kicking open the monastery gates, Tearlach strode in. Nothing came to challenge him; they must be hiding deeper inside. Judging by the size of the place, it would take some time to find Andarial, especially since she was probably cowering in the deepest pit the place had to offer. Unless... he just went straight to the deepest pit in the monastery, since this foul demon lordess was sure to be there! Smiling, Tearlach said, "Wench, where is the deepest pit in your monastery?" "Need to take a dump?" Itonya asked. "No. Answer the question, woman." "Sure you do. Maybe then, you won't be so full of sh!t." "We are going there! Now where is it?" "We don't have any 'pits', unless you think Andarial's hiding in a latrine." "Damn it, woman! Where are the deepest tunnels under your monastery!?" "Probably the catacombs under the cathedral. Dare I ask why you want to know this?" "That is where I face Andarial." Tearlach grinned. "Where else would she hide?" "Gee, how'd you guess that?" Itonya rolled her eyes. "I have a sense for these things. You would not understand." "Or maybe because we told you how the evil came from under the cathedral that night?" "Of course not. I wasn't listening." The outermost area of the monastery was a group of gardens. Southlanders do like natural things, but only in an unnatural setting. Maybe that way, they think they control it; pipes hold water, walls hold earth, and banks of tall trees keep out most of the winds. It is nature that controls man: the land shapes him, tests him, declares him fit or unfit. Let man shape the land, and he becomes soft and weak. The Rogues had a statue in the central garden, a heroically-proportioned representation of three archers defending a hilltop. Tearlach just shook his head; the vanity of these silly women, putting on such an ostentatious display to glorify their weakness. Sasquatch and more Rogues filled the gardens. These Rogues bore more signs of corruption on their bodies; their skins were turning black like burnt wood. It made killing them easier. The sasquatch were a tougher breed than usual, though still not respectable. Itonya told him there was a shortcut to the cathedral, through "barracks" and jails dug deep into the mountain bedrock. Tearlach didn't know what a "barracks" was; the best she could explain was some kind of weapons storehouse. There were plenty of weapons there, but also cots lined up in side rooms, like people were supposed to be stored there too. On his way through, Tearlach ran into a huge crowd of demons, advancing on him in a considerable horde. Past experience had taught him that they could be safely ignored until their shamans were dead, so he leapt over their tiny heads and started braining shamans right and left. Then a deep voice bellowed, "I shall make weapons from your bones!" A fat demon, taller even than he, shuffled out of a red-lit hall, shoving tiny demons aside as it came. Tearlach smiled; this foe might be worthy of him. The first hit is usually the worst; it actually sent Tearlach reeling back into the wall. Blinking with surprise, he took the next on his shield and bashed the fat demon back. The horde of little demons closed in, hammering and cutting from all sides while Fatso came back for more. Every time Tearlach or Itonya struck a demon down, one of the half-dozen or so shamans in the distance brought it back. He was going to enjoy killing them. Fatso, to his great credit, gave at least as good as he got; Tearlach actually had to drink a potion of healing before the bastard went down. The little one scattered, squeaking in fear. After shouting of his victory to the heavens; Tearlach continued where he'd been so rudely interrupted, bashing shamans into little puddles of goo. And damn, it felt good. The fat demon had some valuable items, including new armor for Itonya. She actually said thanks for it; Tearlach was almost disappointed she didn't spit in his eye or something. In the chamber Fatso came from, a forge burned brightly, accounting for the glow. One of the smithing hammers glowed with magic. A magic tool? Why waste enchantments on a mere tool, when weapons are what saves your life? There no making sense of these people, but money is money, so Tearlach stuffed it in his pack and forgot about it. Under the "barracks" were the jails. Prisons and bars everywhere. No man should ever be caged; among his own people, those who were not killed for their transgressions were exiled to foreign lands. The latter was the worse punishment. Ghosts abounded among the cages and torture devices, with hordes of goat-men and skeletons for good measure. Tearlach did not like this place. The walls seemed close, and the torture machines were obviously much older than the demonic invasion. He drove in deep and fast, plowing through ghosts and goats and ghosts of goats until they reached daylight again. The jails opened out, strangely enough, onto the gardens in front of the Rogue's cathedral. It was a big building, dedicated to the glory of the Light; in the middle of the gardens was a waypoint. Tearlach stared at it for a moment, then activated it. "Wow! Amazing! He's actually using the waypoint! Three cheers for no-brains!" "Silence, woman. This is too far to run." "What do you have against waypoints, anyway? You've been using portal scrolls. Heck, I didn't even think you could read." "That will be enough, woman! The scrolls are common and easily understood, our shamans make them all the time. Waypoints are a sorcery I know not, and are not to be trusted." Itonya grinned. "You just don't want to go through the jail again. Don't try to deny it, I saw how nervous you looked in there." "I disliked the air in there; it stank. Perhaps you mistook distaste for fear." "Suuuuuure." Chapter 7 The walls of the Rogue cathedral were intact, but that was all the good you could say about the building. The tall windows were smashed, the thick, heavy doors covered with gashes and bloodstains, and bodies lay scattered in the gardens. Powerful demons doubtless lurked inside, so Tearlach stomped up to the doors and pulled them open, letting the sun shine in. Immediately, demons attacked. The first group was what the Rogues called "devil dogs," a stupid name as they looked nothing like dogs. They were scaly, walked on two tiny legs, slouched so much their arms dragged on the ground, and had huge heads with protruding foreheads and jaws. If an opponent proved too tough, they would retreat and spit balls of lightning from their gaping mouths, a move Tearlach had become very familiar with. Behind the big-heads was a crowd of demon shamans, with their retinue. Tearlach had just about had his fill of these sniveling worms. They wouldn't stand and fight, hid behind bigger beasts whenever they had a chance, and died in one hit. There was no honor in killing them, but they came endlessly. Even demon lords must be contemptible things if they think hiding behind walls of these creatures will save them. Do they think to prick a man to death with a thousand tiny knives? Charging in with a fearsome battle cry, Tearlach chopped them to bits one by one, while they squeaked and scampered and tossed useless little balls of fire. When he found this "Andarial", she was going to pay for all the trouble she'd put him through. Past rows of smashed benches, he found the main altar, now drenched in gore. Boiling blood filled a basin to one side... with more demons hiding behind it. Just for a challenge, Tearlach decided to try seeing how far he could send their heads flying with a single chop. None got very far; his power was fine, but the technique needed work. While he was amusing himself in this fashion, Itonya started yelling: a glowing green skeleton was approaching, throwing globs of poison. Another skeleton wizard; doesn't this demon lordess have anything left? He pounded it to powder. Even then, it stank. Soon, the cathedral was empty of all evil, save for a lingering stench and some stains on the floor. Looking around, Tearlach had to admit there was a kind of grandeur to the place; the southlanders might be small, but they could build a big building. The side galleries had some interesting pictures on the walls, showing some kind of cataclysmic celestial event, a mighty battle, and the fall of a kingdom. "That's the founding of the Order of the Sightless Eye," Itonya said. "Ages ago, this land was the property of a greedy king. He abused all his subjects, but especially the women. He really hated women; kind of like you, I guess. The Goddess' eye appeared in the sky, with a great fiery tail, and the king fell in his next war." "Don't be stupid," Tearlach said. "Why would an eye have a tail?" Itonya glared at him in irritation. "It's a prophesy. The tail was the blade of a sword." Tearlach laughed. "If a king falls, it's because of a sword in his belly, not in the sky. No seer would think a sword in the sky is any woman's eye, anyway." "The Goddess' eye! The prophecy came true in every detail, and the women of the city founded the order to honor the Goddess." He sneered, "If your Goddess wanted him dead, why didn't she have him killed with an arrow? She likes them better, doesn't she? Ha! Didn't think of that, did you?" "Like you know anything about prophecy. The Goddess will work as she wills, by the means she chooses. The seers saw her in the sky, and they knew what it meant." "Your seers are as blind as your 'sightless' eye. Not like the ones we have in the north! Ours have made prophecies for the whole world, all the lands and peoples, from the very beginning right up to the end, and they're always right!" "Oh? So let's hear some." "They are not for your ears." "Ha! I knew it. Anyone can prophesy if they don't have to tell until after." Itonya struck a pose, one hand high in the air, and proclaimed, "Lo! For a warrior of great size and little hygiene shall come unto them, and render himself obnoxious to all. All shall fear him for the sickening odor that doth accompany him wheresoe'er he goeth." "That's no prophecy. You make a mockery of the gift of sight." "No, I make a mockery of you, as if you aren't enough of one already. You don't respect our ways, why should I respect yours?" "Because our ways are the true ways, handed down to us by the Ancients themselves. No argument or mockery will change that." "I know a prophecy," Itonya smirked. "I'm pretty sure you're in it." "My coming must have been prophesied," Tearlach said suspiciously. "Are you brave enough to tell me, before it becomes truth?" "It's not really about you... it's about the times of troubles, before what's called Hell's Final Gambit. In it, the Barbarian clans are guarding something... you know?" Eyes narrowing, Tearlach grunted nonchalantly. With a bigger grin than she should have, Itonya continued: "They've got one champion who kills all the demons -- I figure you might be thick-headed enough to pull that off -- but whatever they're protecting gets destroyed. And it gets destroyed because of the Barbarian's pride." "That can never be," Tearlach growled. "Our elders are the wisest men in the world, our warriors the strongest. None can stand before the fury of the tribes. Any man or demon who comes to the sacred mountain is dead. Your prophecy is but empty wind." Itonya raised an eyebrow. "Sacred mountain?" Silently, Tearlach fumed; he wasn't supposed to talk about that. "Wipe that smirk off your face, sassy little b!tch. I've decided not to tolerate any more of your insolence." "Works for me. Won't hear another word out of me. Nope, not a one. Not a single --" "THEN SHUT UP!!" "Sure," she grinned. "Whatever you say." The "catacombs" were down below the cathedral, where southlanders stacked up their dead in boxes. Of what possible use this could be, Tearlach could not say, but they like to be laid out on stone slabs under a temple more than anything else. Wide stairs led downward from a side hall of the cathedral, wide enough to carry a bier down into the cold, damp earth. With so many unclean bodies, there were sure to be many undead creatures. The uppermost level was full of goat-men and ghosts; they seem to be found with each other a lot. Why that might be so, Tearlach did not stop to wonder; he had bigger prey in mind. The Rogue, at least, shut up after he'd told her to twice. That prophecy couldn't be right, of course -- the seers of the north hadn't seen anything like it. Still, it was troubling that these people knew about sacred Mount Arreat, and the guardianship. No one was supposed to know about that; even Tearlach himself knew little more than the mountain's name. Well, so what if some outlander prophet saw it? They couldn't be wrong every time. The knowledge would do them no good, with the clans in all their thousands constantly on vigil. On a trip back to camp, the smith started jabbering at him. If it's not one woman making a lot of noise, it's another. He did his best to let it flow in one ear and out the other. "... They told me my parents were Barbarians, but they died. I always thought they must be, like, wild and free and could go anyplace and see the world... and stuff." "Nay, there's nothing to see," he muttered irritatedly. "They must have been weaklings if they died here. Now hammer out that dent and be quick about it." She didn't. She was just leaning over her anvil, knuckles white around her hammer, before she started crying. "I just... I just..." "You just what?!" "Leave her alone!" Itonya said. "Charsi, don't let this meathead get to you!" "Oh Goddess, I hate you!" Charsi sobbed. "I thought you'd be all neat and stuff, but you're just mean! You're cruel and mean and you must hate everybody and I hate you too!" "You stupid!" Tearlach replied. "Is that what you're gonna do, cry like a baby? No wonder you're all so soft. Life is pain! Get used to it! You don't know what pain is, coddled in these soft lands with soft meat and soft words. All I say is the simple truth, and if you can't take it, toughen up! Thank your stupid Goddess you were born down here, 'cause in the north you'd be dead long ago." The stupid girl just cried more. It was disgusting from someone that age, even a girl. Too much southern mollycoddling, no doubt about it. Itonya stepped in between him and Charsi, pushing against his chest. "Leave." Tearlach didn't budge an inch. "She hasn't finished her work." "So wear the helmet dented!" she yelled, smacking it down on his head. "It goes with the dent in your head! Just leave!" "As though any good could come of tolerating weakness," Tearlach sneered. But he left. The whole camp was sickening. Weeping women pretending to be warriors. Prophesies from a blind Goddess. These lands are worse than the elders said. It was nauseating. As Tearlach left, Itonya comforted Charsi, then went to see Akara. Cain and Warriv, who had heard everything, followed. "Lady Akara, you know I am obedient to you." With a sigh, Akara nodded sympathetically. "Yes, child, I know." "I don't think I can take much more of this. He was supposed to be dead by now." "He has proven more resilient than I believed possible." "Legends say that the Barbarian clans are descended from ancestors who were more than human," Cain surmised. "Though his possession of the Berserker's Arsenal could account for much of his success. I wonder how he came by it." "And let me assure you, Lady Akara," Warriv said, "his behavior is in no way unusual. What he said about traders coming to the mountains is not true. I have traded in the Barbarian capital, Sescheron, on many occasions. The northlands are hard and unforgiving; they make the people hard and unforgiving too." Akara shook her head. "Visiting a city of such people would require extraordinary bravery, good master Warriv. But I fear returning smacks of foolhardiness." Warriv chuckled. "Never fear, my lady. Despite all the strutting and blustering, they would never harm me. They need outside resources, and I am one of the few traders they haven't frightened away. They need me, and I know it. I just don't let them know I know it." "Is he really so typical, then?" Cain asked. "Mostly... though he makes a bigger point than most of disdaining outsiders. I thought it might be that the Barbarians of Sescheron have learned to behave better, but now I'm not so sure. Perhaps it's just that this young warrior feels he has something to prove, more than the elders I negotiate with." "Hmm," Cain muttered, pondering this. "Curious." "None of this solves the problem at hand, I am afraid." Akara bowed her head. "There is little doubt now that he will reach Andarial, and perhaps defeat her. I am sure he will want to be rewarded, and I will not allow him to get what he wants." "Shouldn't Kashya have something to say about that?" Warriv asked. "Her wishes are well known," Akara snipped. "Where is Kashya, by the way?" Cain asked. "I haven't seen her since yesterday morning." "She is indisposed," Akara said primly. "Itonya, dear child, I am afraid I must ask you to return to him." "Lady Akara, please..." "I have two very good reasons. Andarial must be defeated, if at all possible; for the good of the order, you must make sure this happens. And he must not defeat her alone. Under no circumstances can he win by himself; he must have had assistance to dilute his victory. You must fight Andarial with him, and you must remain alive. Do you understand?" "Yes, ma'am. Then can I kill him?" "No. If you do, Kashya will kill you, and I would rather that did not happen." Itonya grinned. "Yes, ma'am, she would. I'd better go now, before he finds her." "Thank you so much, child. May the Light shine upon you and protect you, from both our enemies and our allies, and the Goddess' sight be with you." Tearlach was chasing a fleeing ghoul when the arrow came zipping over his shoulder, killing it. Damn, the b!tch is back. He'd never let her know it, but it did bother him the way all those little arrows went whizzing past him, missing by inches but always missing. Looking over his shoulder, he watched her approach silently before they moved on. Andarial was keeping her most dangerous minions close to her. The shamans' fireballs actually hurt, and these ghouls hit harder than any wizardly creature had a right to. They all died in the end, of course; the danger wasn't going to stop him. It just told him how close he was. In the deepest chamber of the catacombs, Tearlach found a pool of blood the size of a small pond. Blood had come burbling out of holes in the floors above, which was bad enough, but where did the demons get so much blood? Surely, there weren't that many Rogues in the whole monastery, considering how many he'd already killed outside. After mopping up a last few zombies and demons, Tearlach kicked open the door to the inner sanctum. Dead Rogues were all over the place, some in armor, some still in night-clothes. One had a strange-looking crossbow. Strange, the Rogues didn't use crossbows, but she still had one. There were also more zombies, big-heads, and shamans. Just how long did she think she could hide behind these weaklings? Tearlach sent their heads bouncing into the dark, and was satisfied to hear a response. "Die, maggot!" As though saying it would make it so! With his own less articulate (but more effective) battle cry, he met her head on. Hmmm... nice tits for a demon. But they gave poison, just like the spider whose legs grew out of her back. With a grim smile, Tearlach hacked through the chain binding her nipples together (what was up with that, anyway?) before burying his axe in her neck. She hardly flinched, and backhanded him across the room! Damn, the uber-b!tch was tough! Arrows whizzed over his head, thunking softly into Andarial's chest. Snarling, Tearlach leapt back to his feet and into the fray, bashing Andarial away before laying into her again. Yes, the uber-b!tch was very tough! Why didn't she ever try to take out the Rogue camp by herself? Demonic cowardice, probably; to go to battle is to put yourself at risk, something no demon wants. Until she had no choice, she would have stayed in this room until she rotted with the dead, rather than risk facing a single opponent... even a Rogue. The battle was hard, but Tearlach proved harder. Well, he had to drink two healing potions and a poison antidote, but that's not cowardice, that's just smart. Andarial died in a tower of flame as her spirit went shrieking back to Hell, with his spit on her face as a parting gift. Ha! As though she ever had a chance. Still, the victory was a good one. The uber-b!tch had some shiny gems (chicks love those, don't they?) which Tearlach was sure Kashya would take as a gift, and a sign of his victory. He would have brought Andarial's head, but it had burned to ash instantly. Tearlach stepped back into the Rogue camp with a triumphant howl. Looking around, he saw none of the Rogues admiring him. The merchants were packing up their wagons. No one was paying any attention to him at all! Where was Kashya? Where were the cheers, the praise, the hot and cold running babes? Starting to grow angry, Tearlach went to give Akara a piece of his mind. Itonya was standing with her; all the better! "All right, witch. Your demon lordess is dead. Where's what's coming to me?" "Whatever do you mean?" Akara asked politely. "You know what I mean! I went up your damn hill, kicked demon ass all the way through your damned monastery, and slaughtered the b!tch that started it all! I have a gift to make to the fair Kashya, and I'm not letting you and your little witches hide her from me!" Calmly, Akara asked, "Have you defeated Diablo, as you said you would?" Blinking, Tearlach suddenly remembered all his previous boasting. Akara continued: "If, as you said, Andarial was only a minor lord of Hell, and not worth a true warriors time... surely you do not think defeating her will impress Kashya." Shifting from one foot to the other, Tearlach said, "Um..." "Young man, you are making a very big noise for something so unimportant. Remember, the quarry you came in pursuit of went through the monastery and out the other side. He is far away now, and getting farther the longer you wait here." "Yeah," Itonya said. "And you didn't even kill her alone. I had to help you." Face suddenly flushing with anger, he stammered, "I... ! You... ! She... !" Working hard to conceal her smile, Akara said, "Young man, you have only just begun what you set out to do. No one is rewarded for running the first quarter of a race, or winning half a battle. If Andarial was unworthy, so be it. Come back when you have done something more worthy, if you please." Eyes wild, his whole body trembling with anger, Tearlach stared at Akara while she tried to keep a straight face. Finally, he turned to the camp wall, and with a mighty roar, put his fist straight through it. Then he walked away, grimacing in pain. The merchants loaded quickly, and were gone that very afternoon. Akara decided not to collect the usual fee for safe passage; after she'd had her cleverest Rogues break into Gheed's wagon and plunder his cash box, the order had all the ready money it needed. The last order of business was Kashya. It took five Rogues to carry her back into camp, still bound tightly to a heavy post. Letting her go might have been dangerous. "Oh, I'm sorry, Kashya. Your mouth is bloody; did you try to bite through the gag?" "WHERE IS HE!?! WHERE?! WHERE?! You CAN'T have let him go! I WON'T LET YOU!!" "Calm yourself, Kashya. I am sure he will be back." "OH PLEASE GODDESS, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL HUMANITY!! PLEEEASE LET ME KILL HIM!!!" "There's no need for all that screaming. I am sure the Sightless Eye sees that this is for the best." "At least let me make sure he'll never reproduce... !!" Akara actually paused to think about that. "No, catching up to the caravan would take too much time. We have work to do. The monastery must be cleansed, and the grounds reconsecrated. When your lover returns, you may nail his private parts to the altar as an offering. I think that might please the Goddess very much." Concluding thoughts: A low-level set really helps you power through Act I Normal. But does anyone need help powering through Act I Normal? Ok, maybe a Sorceress does. I like Find Item. I wish other characters had that. For those who care, Xanthippe suffered her first death (two, actually) in Act III Nightmare. Both were to exploding Flayer skeletons in the Flayer dungeon, when her merc did something he shouldn't have with her close by. But she's killed Meph, got part of the Arctic Set I was missing out of him, and has moved on to Act IV. Act 2 Chapter 8 The caravan traveled east over the wastes of Aranoch. Waste was a good word; Tearlach never saw such a gods-forsaken land in his life. Over the whole trek down from the Rogue's pass, all he saw was scuttling bugs, carrion birds, and a few tiny little patches of water. What could carrion birds eat out here? They'd have to find something dead, and there was just nothing. At each miserable oasis, Warriv had to bargain with this or that tribe for the right to water the animals. The tribesmen were tall but skinny, their skins burnt dark by the searing heat, and all went armed with spears and slick little curved swords. Respectable, even if a true man could snap one in two with his fingers. As zealously as the tribes guarded their water, they were generous with food. Where they got it, Tearlach wouldn't guess, but a generous host is a good host. The food was strange, mostly bread and a cake of some meat-like stuff. Though he'd seen a few rabbits (as thin and scraggly as everything else here) he doubted the meat was rabbit. Naturally, he wolfed it down to show his hosts how good their food was. Taste didn't matter in the end. Very likely he'd get thirds and fourths of whatever-it-was -- or so he thought, before the spices kicked in. His face went pink... then red... then purple as his sinuses melted and ran out his ears. Trying to scrub his mouth out with sand seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do. Everyone else thought it was pretty damned funny, so Tearlach had to eat more, just to show them he could take it. When a host is free with food, it is only proper for the guest to be just as generous, so when he could breathe again, Tearlach did his best to repay his hosts. Without family of his own to provide meat and drink to share, he made do with gems and gold, and tales of his brave deeds in the Rogue's pass. His stories impressed them greatly; they laughed, clapped, and sang strange chants to encourage him. It wasn't until they were nearly in Lut Gholein that Warriv told him the local tribesmen didn't speak his language, and couldn't understand a word he said. They all thought he was very entertaining anyway, and liked the gem chips. As they approached Lut Gholein, sparkling with lights in the distance, darkness suffused the air, though the sun was still as bright and hot as a master's anvil. Vultures and hawks soared in the burning sky; at night, strange shadows moved among the dunes. Now and then, they came across a wrecked wagon. Sometimes, bodies lay nearby, withering up in the dry wind. Other times, there were no bodies. The merchants were worried, of course, but Warriv was sure a large caravan like his should be safe. Tearlach knew better; a larger group just means better pickings for those brave enough to take it. But anyone used to attacking fat helpless merchants should know better than to try anything with him. The day before they reached the city, the first demons attacked: corrupted cliff lizards, jumping around and trying to kill the animals. They were tough, but not tough enough, and Tearlach knew Diablo had to be near. After getting to the city, he'd ditch these stupid merchants and get back to the hunt. Well, maybe not as fast as that -- he still had no idea what people ate or where to find it. He was a warrior, not a hunter. So, when the caravan entered Lut Gholein's western gate under the red light of a setting sun, Tearlach went to look the place over. Naturally, it could have little to offer a child of Bul-Kathos, but it would be good to know where food and drink could be had. Some young pup in a fancy blue robe was talking with Warriv. As Tearlach walked by, he put his arm out to stop him. "Greetings, honored traveler. I bid you welcome to --" "Out of my way, stripling. Isn't your mother looking for you?" "I am Jerhyn, lord of Lut Gholein. Warriv tells me you are responsible for opening the pass for travelers once again." "Aye, that I did. How'd you get to be lord of anything, anyway?" "My father died recently, and left to me the stewardship of his city. It is a great burden, but one I hope to rise to." Tearlach snorted. "Your eldest warrior?" "Kaelan is captain of my guard... he's at my palace." Looking Tearlach up and down with a bit of distaste, Jerhyn said, "Ah, I'd invite you in, but it's a bit of a mess just now." "A luxurious mess, then? I care not for your fineries, I seek prey here." After thinking for a moment, Tearlach asked, "Has a demon lord been here?" "A... demon lord?" Jerhyn rocked back on his heels nervously. "Well, a cloaked wanderer did come here from the west some weeks ago. Terror has followed in his wake, and my city has been besieged ever since. They gather nightly outside the walls, and attack in the darkness; I have had to hire mercenaries to keep my city safe." "Good," Tearlach grinned. That sounded like something a demon lord would do. "Where did he go?" "He sought the location of an ancient tomb, where Tal Rasha is buried. The Light be praised, we did not tell him; none now know the tomb's location, save that it is out in the deepest deserts." "Hmm... sounds like a long walk. I'll need food and drink, to start with." "Atma's tavern is near the eastern gate, you'll find both and good company there. A soft bed can be had from Elzix, whose inn is by the northern wall." "Soft beds? With my destiny at hand? Distract me not with comforts, I have no need of them. Hmm... Atma sounds like a woman's name." "She is. Her husband died recently, so she runs the inn now." "A lot of people died recently around here. Sounds like my kind of town." After Tearlach left, Jerhyn asked Warriv, "What was the hold-up in the pass?" "Well, the Rogue Monastery had been taken over by the demon queen Andarial. Between you and me, I'm sure the cost of entering the pass would be only slightly higher than what the Rogues charge, but I wasn't willing to pay that price." "That is terrible news! We'd heard nothing from the west for weeks, and with the troubles we've had here, I assumed the worst. Things may be worse even than that!" "That may be, my lord. Fate is taking us from the frying pan to the fire, and we don't have enough marshmallows to go 'round." "Uh... yes," Jerhyn looked a bit confused. "Warriv, night is falling and the gates must be closed. Your caravan will be fine here, we must seek Drognan's council immediately." For a while, Tearlach wandered the streets of Lut Gholein. It wasn't that he was lost, of course. It's just that this was a huge city, bigger than any he'd ever seen or heard of. Even Sescheron wasn't said to be this big. The whole city was lit up, with torches and lamps on every roof, and all around the walls. Outside, he could hear inhuman snarls and squeaks, and the spearmen on the walls occasionally killed something that got too close. For now, he'd let the city dwellers take care of themselves. There'd be plenty of time to show them how it's done after he'd had a decent drink and a meal. And none of that weird spicy stuff, either; it was giving him the runs. Near one wall, a tall desert tribesman in mail was directing the warriors on the walls. This might be someone worth speaking to, if only as potential competition, so Tearlach greeted him. "You must be Kaelan, eldest warrior." "No. You've got me confused with that pansy in the palace. I'm Greiz. You look like you're not from around here." "And damn proud not to be. You in charge of these weaklings? Best of a bad lot, I'd say. What's with the funny hats?" "Stranger, we are the Desert Eagles. We may not look like much, but we're the best this desert has to offer. A damn sight better than the local guardsmen -- they're all over in the palace, keeping the harem girls company." "Harem girls? I've heard of them." Leering at a passing pair of wenches, Tearlach said, "I have noticed your city's fine scenery." "Those aren't harem girls. The real ones are in Jerhyn's palace. When the demons came, they all wanted in there where it's safe." Greiz chuckled. "He was happy to oblige." "That youngster? He wouldn't know what to do with them! What they need is a real man to take care of them." "If the 'real man' wants to spend all his time in the palace, he can deal with Kaelan. Out here on the walls, we're dealing with a lot worse." "Demons?" Tearlach snapped his fingers. "Killed hundreds! They're nothing to me." "Most of 'em aren't too bad. The ones that throw the poison bottles are annoying." "Poison bottles?" "Yeah, the cat people. Nasty tempered." "Not goats, then? Or little red ones?" "Oh, no, they're complete wimps. You see a few of them in the western desert, but not around here. What's worst are the mummies." "The cats have mummies? What about their daddies?" Greiz almost didn't smile. "Preserved dead. The desert dries bodies out pretty good. If you smack 'em around enough, they let out a cloud of poison gas. Say, since you're new in town, why don't you hire one of my men? Can tell you which ones have nasty surprises." "I don't need help to defeat the lord of Terror." Eyes widening, Greiz slowly nodded. "Didn't say you did. It's those little annoying demons that get to you, though." Tearlach sneered. "My honor demands a clean victory over Diablo." "I wouldn't send anyone up against something like that. But if you can't afford what I charge, that's okay. Not many can." "The hell I can't!" Slamming a fistful of coins into Greiz's palm, he snarled, "There's for your mercenary! And there's plenty more where that came from." Carefully, Greiz counted the cash. "Hey, Emilio! You've got a job. He's your new boss." Blinking, Tearlach looked down at the dark little man with a spear offering his hand. "Hey there. How's it hangin'?" Damn it. Hadn't he just gone through this whole 'help' thing? "I said, I don't need help from you or anyone." Greiz shrugged. "I make it a policy never to give refunds. Emilio, back on the wall. He can't make up his mind." "I know damn well what I'm doing!" Tearlach bellowed. "I paid for a mercenary, and that's because I meant to. Got me?" "Sure," Greiz answered calmly. "Whatever you say." Damn shifty southlanders... whenever they say 'whatever you say' or 'have it your way' they always seem to get the better part of the deal. Tearlach was going to have to watch these people, make sure they never try anything clever on him. Wandering along the street, he finally came to a well-lit house with large, open windows. Inside, in plain sight to all, maybe a dozen people were gathered. It smelled of good food, and strong ale... this must be the 'tavern' thing the stripling mentioned! Inside, it was warm and smoky; the whole building was saturated with the smell of roast meat and exotic spices. Tearlach bellowed an order for lots of meat and the most expensive drink in the place. The most expensive drink in the place looked very disappointing. It was a tiny little glass, with maybe a finger's width of very dark liquid, and a mushroom floating on top. As Tearlach frowned at this feeble offering, a voice over his shoulder said "Are you gonna drink that?" It wasn't often he had to look up to look someone in the face. The face in question was bleary and ill-defined, even though Tearlach hadn't touched the drink yet. "No, I'm going to bathe in it. What's it to you?" "Oh, hey, don't let me disc'rge you from the whole bath thing, you know what I'm sayin'? But tha's a Black Mushroom, that is. Don't drink that, I'm tellin' ya. Tha's for seasoned professionals only. Moderation is the key!" "You're afraid of this tiny concoction?" Opening wide, he threw the whole drink back in one gulp, mushroom and all. "Ha!" That was the last thing Tearlach remembered when he woke up. It was daylight, he was in a completely different building, and was strapped to a bed that was soaked in sweat. A red-haired woman was dozing in the chair next to him. "What's going on?" he shouted. "Where am I? Where are my clothes? Who are you? Release me or I'll --" The woman, who startled awake at the noise, put a hand on his forehead. For some reason, he immediately felt calm. "Ah, good. The fever has broken. Please don't be angry, but we had to tie you down to keep you from injuring yourself. The seizures should all have passed by now, so we'll let you up." She was a comely lass, to be sure, and the red hair was an appealing touch. Maybe he was developing a soft spot for redheads... or a hard spot. "Not a problem, lass. Though I think we'd both be happier if I was free... and up." "I paid Elzix for the room, of course, but you cannot stay here as I do not think you could pay for much longer. I found you out behind Atma's tavern, with a few of the local ruffians. They said they were your friends, and were taking care of you, but I had my doubts. For one thing, they were removing your armor." "What?!" Throwing the last of his bonds away, Tearlach looked around the room. There was his rucksack, a suit of armor filling it. "Thank the Light! I could not lose that armor, it is a precious heirloom of my family." "Do you mean the splinted armor, or the plate?" The Berserker's Hauberk was leaning against the wall, with the helm and axe; what was in his pack? Tearlach looked, and found a completely new equipment kit inside. There was a set of plate, a winged helm of the kind his people make, new boots, gauntlets, another axe, rings and an amulet, several enormous gemstones... and a letter: Hey, Punch Slamfist! Don't you know that sometimes the smallest things have the biggest whallop in 'em? You stay away from those mushrooms, they're bad for you. To insure that you stay healthy and wealthy (wise will have to wait) here's some new things for you. You're startin' to outgrow the Berserker's set anyways. Put topaz's in the helm; the sapphires are for the mana you don't have. The axe is Bladebone, which should come in handy around here. Treat the ladies better, don't beat up your merc, and keep going after that whole destiny thing. Mr. Manmuscle, you are truly on track to success. Don't blow it now! -- The Mule Chapter 9 "Is something wrong?" Fara asked. "Nay. Destiny is finding me," Tearlach replied as he looked over the Mule's gifts. "Powerful spirits aid me in my quest to destroy The Three, and restore my people to our proper place in the world." Raising an eyebrow, Fara asked, "Your proper place... ?" "Aye! What else can it mean, that artifacts of power all come to me and me alone? Fate is our only master. It can only be that my destiny is to destroy all of Hell's minions, and become king and leader of all the world." Quietly, she stared at him. He didn't smile. "I see you do not entertain small ambitions." "They are for smaller men than myself." "Well then, lord of the earth, I'll go downstairs while you dress." Now he smiled. "Lass... I know you don't really want to." With no visible reaction, Fara said, "Please don't strain yourself; I'm sure the effects of your adventure with the Black Mushroom haven't completely faded." "You think I can't hold my ale, woman?" "I'm sure you can hold a lot; Black Mushrooms are a different matter. It does not surprise me that you have never known anything stronger than ale or mead, but if you are wise, you will stay away from distilled alcohol. That gift of the alchemist's art has not been a blessing for the world." After putting the Berserker's Arsenal aside, Tearlach picked up this "Bladebone" axe. It had much the same weight and balance as the Berserker's axe, but the head was engraved with grinning skulls. Good; all the better to put the fear of death into Diablo's slaves. The helm was a grand winged helm, imbued with knowledge; only Harrogath's smiths know the secrets of making such helms. Strangely enough, there were no magic stones to put in the helm's sockets, or the four in the plate armor; just sparkly gems. They were big and shiny enough, true... any lass would kill for them. But to a warrior, runes of power are far better. Ah, but the note said to use the gems. Who was he to argue with his spirit guides? There must be a good reason for it, though it might take time to see. Rucksack on his back, Tearlach walked out of the inn into daylight. It was midmorning; did one little glass of... whatever it was put him down all night? The demon queen of the Rogue monastery didn't have such strong venom! In front of the inn's open window, by a display of old clothes and weapons, was an amazingly mangled man. Tall, dark, and scrawny like every other native of this place, he was missing an eye, a hand, a leg, and who knows what else under his sagging clothes. They were obviously the scars of battle; a sad thing, to see any warrior survive in such a state. He'd never know warfare again, ever. "Hey, you're awake," Elzix said. "Your mercenary figured you were dead and went back to his boss. You know, Lord Jerhyn came by, asking about you." "The stripling? He can ask what he wants, I do not answer to a child. What concerns me now is my purse. It is much too light." "Hey, don't look at me!" Elzix held up his hands. "I haven't had a robbery at The Desert Rain for years! These are things old guests left behind. Kind of a rummage sale." "Another robbed me, behind the tavern. He will pay with his life. Here; this money is for the night I spent. I will not be indebted to a woman, either." "She didn't tell you it was three nights?" He waited for an answer, but the confused look on the Barbarian's face told him enough. "Ah, why don't you just forget about it? It's not like I've got anyone beating the door down for a room." "Three nights? Are you sure?" "I've still got one eye, don't I? The sun disappeared three times. Three nights." "Hmm..." A horrible thought crept into Tearlach's mind. "Damn it... the trail will be cold!" "If you're looking for your robbers, nobody's left town. Jerhyn closed the port." "No, you pathetic dolt! The demon I follow will have hidden by now!" "'Scuse me?" "My destiny is to destroy Diablo, and his brothers with him. In the time I spent, felled by your foul concoctions, the demon lord will have gone to ground and hidden himself, making him that much harder to find. It is the way of these cowardly beasts." "Oh. Uh, sure. I dunno, the monsters I've tangled with didn't like hiding. Those old tomb guardians out in the desert are all over you the minute you step into their crypts. The only monster I know of that's hiding is down in the sewers." "What monster? Where? You know of one?" "Sure. Listen at any sewer grate, you can hear it moaning. Big bastard too, huge; bigger than you, easy. Used to come out at night and stalk the city streets, but he's been holed up down there since, uh... since you came to town." Tearlach thought about this; Elzix could almost hear the gears grinding. Finally, a smile crept across his face. "Damn it, that's clever. My quarry sought to hide right here below your city, under my very nose. Who would think to look there? Ha! I'll say one thing for these demons -- they know how to hide! Very clever, but not half as clever as me." "Oh yeah," Elzix nodded. "You're sure it's him?" "I can sense these things. He will not escape me this time." After collecting his mercenary (he paid for him, he was going to use him, damn it) Tearlach found a maintenance hatch into the city sewers. Water - or something fouler - dripped from the ceiling and gurgled out of pipes in the walls. The nomads of the far-off deserts would kill for such richness, here used to wash away muck under a city grown too large. True to his nature, the Lord of Terror filled the sewers with skeletons. To make them extra-scary, he'd even lit them on fire. When are these demons going to learn? Maybe that skinny little merc of his might be frightened by burning bones, but Tearlach smashed them to bits. His new axe clove greedily through the bones without getting a scratch, obviously made for this. Looting the dead was profitable enough. He found the merc a spear he liked, a powerfully enchanted blade, and best of all, a battle axe with two sockets. That would be perfect for the runes he found in the Rogue's pass, left there in ancient times. They spelled the rune word "steel," the first word Bul-Kathos ever taught his children. With steel, his people had carved their names into legend; on steel, the reputations of warriors were made and broken; by steel, the world would stand or fall. Tearlach took the axe back to the surface, to find the city's smith. The smithy was in the central marketplace. The red-headed nurse was nearby. "Woman, where is the smith? I need this axe sharpened and its haft rebound." "The shaft could use reforging as well; it has obviously been bent a few times, and the metal is fatigued." She took the axe quietly and began work on it. After a moment's stupefied blinking, Tearlach smacked himself on the forehead. "By the Immortal King's sacred charge... is there a smith anywhere in these lands who's a man?" "Didn't that hurt with gauntlets?" Emilio asked. "My head is harder than that!" "And thicker as well," Cain said as he ambled over. Frowning in concentration, Tearlach finally said, "You look familiar..." "I believe he came east from the Rogue's pass with you," Fara said. "I knew that. He's... he looks different now, that's all." Cain raised his eyebrows. "I do? How?" "You... changed the part in your hair." "I haven't had hair for years!" Tearlach look Cain up and down. "New robe!" "I've had it laundered. Perhaps that has confused you." "Of course, you old fool! How do you expect me to recognize you like that?" "Yeah," Emilio held his nose. "Take it from him, never clean anything." "No point in it," Tearlach mused. "What are you doing here, old man?" "More than anyone, I know what you face, and the threat he represents. I could not stay comfortably behind... though the Rogues wanted me to. If the world is to have any hope, Diablo must be destroyed, by whatever means are open to us." "Us? What do you mean us, old man?" Then Tearlach noticed the smith; she must be listening. "I mean, I wouldn't let an old man go into danger. You should find someplace you can live out your remaining years in peace." "I am not eager to be here, believe me," Cain said, looking suspicious. "But I would know no peace if I were not helping. My only hope is that my lifetime of knowledge can be of some use. Say, is that Rixot's Keen you have there?" "I just found it. Decent, for a pocket knife." "You do have a talent for finding enchanted items, which seems to be improving." "It's good to be lucky, but better to be strong. Woman! Are you done with my axe?" "Nearly," Fara answered. "Are all the smiths in these lands women?" Tearlach asked. "No," Emilio answered. "She's good at it, though. I think she learned in Kurast." "I don't care where she learned, just so she learned. And don't think I don't like that she's a woman doing smithing! I've never had a problem with that." The silence was palpable. Even Fara stopped working. Finally, Cain cleared his throat and said, "Yes, I've always admired your easy acceptance of non-traditional lifestyle choices." "Of course! Why limit yourselves to being wrong in only one way? Ah, the axe is done! Let me see that thing." "Careful, it's still hot." "OW!" The axe clanged to the ground, but Tearlach immediately picked it up again. "You're right, it is. Not too hot, though. Just surprised me." Juggling it from one hand to the other, he took it back to where he'd stashed his rucksack, and retrieved the runes. While he was gone, Fara whispered to Cain, "Has he always been like this?" "Actually," Cain thoughtfully muttered, "I think he's getting better." The battle axe was a thing of beauty. Skulls shattered with ease, cloven straight down into the spine. He'd have to give more thought to his choice of weapons in the future. In the Rogue pass, he used a single-handed axe because it was part of the set, but it seems that breaking with tradition has its rewards too. In the deepest node of the sewers, Tearlach found his prey. Skeletal mages, and other walking bone-piles burnt black with flame, formed a wall of undeath in front of a huge demon. As though that would save him. Ha! Tearlach leapt over the skeletons and laid into the demon. The skeletons surrounded him, blasting their magic, but his concentration was too strong to be broken. The merc knocked one down every so often, but the demon just raised it again. Stupid. Every moment it took away from Tearlach was one he used to carve another chunk out of its ancient, leathery body. Midway through the battle, Tearlach realized this couldn't be Diablo. It didn't have a heartbeat. Demons have a heartbeat; the monster was just some kind of undead. In time, it gave up the ghost, like dead things should. Undead or not, it went spectacularly. Bolts of white light shot down through the roof, lighting up the sewer node while Tearlach killed the last skeletons. Human bodies littered the thing's lair. Several had been skinned, or had pieces missing. On a rack in the corner, the skins of many bodies had been stitched together into some kind of suit. Damn, that thing was ugly. If the monster thought it was going to fool anyone, it should have at least gotten matching tits. Tearlach cleared anything that might be valuable out of the lair and hauled it up to the surface. "Damn it, old man, it wasn't him. I'll have to keep looking." "I cannot imagine Diablo remaining here in Lut Gholein. He will be out in the desert, trying to find his brother's tomb. Ah! You should look at this book. It is a description of some old martial techniques you may find useful." "I am privy to the oldest martial techniques of all, and the strongest." Tearlach looked at the book. "No harm in looking, of course." "None at all. From what you describe, the sewer creature must have been a mummy, the desiccated, preserved body of an ancient mage or king." "Don't be stupid. It was over 8 feet tall." "When the Horadrim mummified their greatest mages, their bodies were enhanced with the bones and blood of animals, to give them greater stature and physical power. They were meant to guard their tombs after death, and to remain there... but it seems many of the old binding spells are being unraveled." Tearlach spat. "What fools would work so hard to give the dead power over the living?" "None of this could be foreseen. Those ancient mages doubtless had no idea their remains would be put to such uses. I wonder if this one was trying to rebel against Diablo's will; he seems to have been trying to restore his body with living flesh." "Then ancient mages were idiots. That thing wouldn't fool a child of 3." "Being dead does tend to dull one's wits. Ah, a Horadric scroll! This mummy must have been a Horadric mage!" "Not anymore he isn't. Never mind, you read your useless scrolls. I'll be at the smith's." Cain didn't answer; he was already lost in the ancient glyphs. Wizards. Put a piece of paper in front of them, they're lost to the world. Makes you wonder if an effective technique for taking on wizards is to throw a book at them and kill them once they're distracted. While Fara was putting a new edge on Tearlach's axe, he took the chance to tell her of his many deeds of skill and prowess. He'd been in such a rush to find Diablo, he never got a chance to tell her about himself. Now he knew that finding Diablo might just take some time... and he can't spend all his time scratching around in that desert. Unlike the Rogues, Fara didn't go quiet and look ill while he spun his tales; she chatted patiently, and never once took her eyes off her work. She must like him. But how could she not? Chapter 10 Ready for anything, Tearlach stepped out into the empty wastes outside Lut Gholein. Diablo wasn't in the sewers, but he might be anywhere out there, looking for his entombed brother. The demon lord Baal had supposedly been buried in "the deepest deserts." How can a desert be deep, anyway? Never mind; the tomb is far away, and would take time to reach. Nearer town, the dead had been planted all over the place; every hole in the ground was probably full of demons and darkness. Best to go through them all. Being a major demon lord, Diablo was probably smarter than Andarial was, and might hide somewhere less obvious. The sewers still would have been a good place. The dry, empty deserts were the same as they had been on the ride in -- only now Tearlach was walking, instead of riding on a cart with a canopy to shade him. The canopies had stuck him as incredibly decadent at first; what harm can there be in a little sunshine? After falling off the cart twice, Warriv told him to stay under the canopy -- it was too much work to lift him back up. A warrior never faints, of course; he fell asleep, maybe, to the slow rocking of the cart, but that was all. Anyway, it was damn hot in this country. There weren't even trees to shade yourself, just low sandstone boulders and the occasional statue. The statues were strange, giant heads of bearded men with conical hats and simpering smiles on their faces. If they wanted to make impressive statues around here, they'd better make the faces less idiotic. And then there were the insects. The land was cursed with them. In summer, the mountains' high plateaus were breeding grounds for biting flies, but the midges knew no season here. And what didn't bite stung with tail barbs that could drive through boot leather. According to his mercenary, every bug in the land was either venomous, unclean, or just plain nasty. "And don't kick over rocks like that. If there's a cobra under one, it'll get mad." "I care not for a cobra's moods, whatever a cobra is. Anything that hides under a rock is nothing I respect." "They gotta get out of the sun too!" Emilio wiped his brow, squinting in the heat. "Yeah, smart critters get out of the sun..." "If they can't take it, that's their weakness. I have demons to hunt." "Huh. Yeah. Only demons and Barbarians go out in the noonday sun. Yes, sir. You know, maybe I should write that down. Might make a good title for a book. You don't read books much, do ya?" "No." "Didn't think so. You should, chicks dig guys who read books." "No they don't. Books are for old men and wizards." "No, I'm serious! They think it means you're smart and going places. You should know how to write, too. I'll teach you if you need to." "No." "I sell letters to the other guys so they can send them to their girlfriends. I don't think anyone's done as much as I have to make this city a happy place. I only got caught once, when I copied a poem out of a book and the girl knew it. She still thought the guy was great, though; he went for good reading." "A warrior has no need for reading. Now shut up! Do you think I want to listen to your babbling all day? You're as bad as the Rogues." "Hey, calm down! You getting hot? Should have brought some water, you know. Or wear something under that armor. Metal gets hot in the sun." Tearlach looked appraisingly at Emilio for a moment. "Are all those cloths on your head to keep it cool?" "Well, duh. Why are you wearing that weird helmet? It looks like your head's about to take off flying." "You would not understand the beauty of sacred helms. Now shut up or I'll kill you." Emilio sighed. "Don't blame me for trying to make conversation." Half a day out of town, Tearlach found a tomb carved deep into the desert bedrock. The stairs down were cool and dry; the air smelled like dust and spices. Though the tomb was full of bodies, preserved for the ages and animated by Hell's evil, it was cool and shady, with no obnoxious insects. The preservation process these people use involves soaking the body of the honored ancestor in a foul combination of toxins, then wrapping it in swaddling linens like a mummer. Because of that, they were called "mummies", whether they were a mummy or a daddy or whatever. It also meant they let out a cloud of foul vapors when you cracked them open. All the more reason to let the dead be dead, and not try to keep them around once their time is done. The tomb was big, with dozens of bodies, not all of which were ambulatory. Apparently, all the honored dead of a particular family were interred here. Shrines occupied side rooms, where the people offered their ancestors food and drink, like they were actually alive. At least, that's what the stupid mercenary kept babbling about. Tearlach wasn't interested in the tour; it was all madness and more madness. The dead were dead, and the living should concern themselves with living. At least the tomb didn't contain any big mummies like the sewer monster. If only Horadrim wizards got that treatment, there couldn't be many more of them, and with luck he'd never run into another one. As deep and dark as the tomb was, there was no Diablo or anything like him there. He was probably even further into the desert. Tearlach pushed out from the city, into some low hills, where he found a rock painted like a waypoint. It probably was a waypoint; the mages who made the stupid things liked hiding them, so they made them hard to recognize. With some hesitation, Tearlach activated it. Ordinarily, anything that makes life easier should be discouraged, but time was running short and magic is occasionally useful. Night was falling as Tearlach climbed the first hill to look around. That merc was whining about going home; apparently, he was tired and hungry. For his part, Tearlach was eager to continue. The nights were bracingly chill, and the clean winds felt good against his face. If the mercenary got cold, he could warm himself up again with fighting. Just in time, a fight presented itself as a glass pot shattered against Tearlach's armored chest. Pungent gas filled the air, stinging his nose and lungs. That must have been one of those alchemical gas bombs he'd find every now and then; better find out who threw it. In the dark at the base of the hill, Tearlach found a bunch of cat people, wearing elaborate leather harnesses and fancy hats. Like everything in the desert, they were skinny, rangy, mangy things who desperately wanted to kill him. They were as good at it as everything else in the desert too. After they were all dead, Tearlach took a look at them. They had to be some kind of people, as they had clothes and weapons, even shields which had saved their lives until he got a second swing. Also, many of them were girl cat things. With more than one set of... girls shouldn't go around dressed like that! Especially on cold nights! Hmm... maybe all the fur helped. The deserts were dotted with the ruins of old houses, now little more than low stone walls in the dust. Houses were a sign of farmers, which couldn't be right; there was nothing you could possibly farm in this wasteland. The kitty girls kept bombing Tearlach with potions from a distance, as though they thought it would do them any good. He suspected they weren't actual demons -- for one thing, they were a lot cuter than any demon ever tries to be. Even angry, they looked cute. Maybe they were some people from somewhere in the world, who sold their souls but hadn't been corrupted physically yet. It didn't really matter, but killing them took so little concentration Tearlach found his mind wandering. Another tomb had been dug into the ground between two hills. This was a big one, with long tunnels extending in every direction, and huge temples and galleries. The columns looked like people with their arms crossed over their chests, and similar decorations were worked into the walls. They looked nothing like the giant heads outside; these people were severe in the face, and clean-shaven. Strange and senseless, all of it, but not as mad as what they'd done with their dead. These tombs were for more important people, apparently. There were Horadric mummies, each with a crowd of smaller undead at its command. Yes, actual command; the big mummy would point and go "Aaaaroroooghha" and the little ones would charge forward at a leisurely shamble. It was almost funny. The big bastards remembered magic, which took a lot of the humor out of the situation. They cast death bolts of some kind, unholy energy Tearlach couldn't see except by their shadows. And when a lesser undead was struck down, the greater mummy would raise it again. That was annoying, but the tombs had high ceilings. Tearlach just leapt over the little guys and took down the big mummy first. Some cat people were hanging around in the lowest part of the tombs, along with the usual crowds of undead. These ones tried to kill Tearlach with whips. Kittens with whips. Even the merc got a laugh out of that one. It did prove the kitties were people, and probably "civilized"; only the civilized think whips are to be used on anything but animals. After smashing his way through every corner of the tomb and not finding Diablo, Tearlach went through the loot to see what was there. Most items were easily classified - sword, spear, hat, jewelry - but one was strange. It was a box, maybe a foot and a half on a side, with a big button. Odd, but the old fart would know what it was. He'd ask later; the sun was rising, and it would soon be hot again. This was a good time to get some sleep. Chapter 11 The sun shone red through the room's single small window as someone came knocking on Tearlach's door. He'd rented a bed -- sleeping outside was just about impossible. As soft as sand was underfoot, it was harder and less comfortable than bare rock under his back, and the insects in this country were impossible. At least in a room, he could shut the door; the bugs inside would sate themselves on his blood soon enough, and no more could get in to renew the feast. Enough blood would be lost to Diablo's demons, there was little to spare for fleas and biting flies. But now, someone was knocking on his door. "Go away!" Tearlach delicately entreated. "It's 6 o'clock," the mangled innkeeper's voice replied. "Someone wants to see you." "Who wants to see me at dawn, a giant lark? Anyone who goes visiting at this hour better expect to learn patience. He's gonna spend a long time waiting." "No, it's 6 o'clock at night. The sun's going down. It's that wizard guy who hangs around in the marketplace. Says it's important." "Nothing he says is important. It's always 'stay a while and listen' this, and 'you honor me with your presence' that. Then he blathers into his beard about something that happened to some stupid fool centuries ago in another country. Ah, show him in. He'll get nervous and start drooling on himself if he doesn't get to say what's on his mind." It was time to get up anyways. Tearlach started pulling his armor on as Cain hobbled into the room. "I've been telling you those stories of 'stupid fools' because I thought you might find them instructive." "I don't need someone to teach me to be a fool." With visible effort, Cain held his tongue. "Do you remember this scroll? I have translated the runes it bears, and what it says relates to your quest." Frowning, Tearlach tried to remember. "Scroll... with the sewer monster? He had many of them down there, and books." "All of which contain much valuable information, though none so important as this. Ages ago, when Tal Rasha was imprisoned, the Horadrim crafted his tomb so that it could not be opened except by the use of a Horadric ceremonial staff. Years later, after one was stolen by a madman trying to free Baal, the Horadrim broke their staves and scattered the pieces." Tearlach was pulling on his boots. "Does it say where the tomb is?" "The Horadrim chose not to record the location, so that the knowledge could never be used by Hell's forces. They did record how the pieces of a Horadric staff could be reunited, using an alchemical tool called a Horadric Cube. When I spoke with Emilio earlier, he said that you found a peculiar box... may I examine it?" "It's in the corner. Weird thing. Who's Emilio?" After glancing up to make sure he wasn't joking, Cain sighed. "The soldier who has fought by your side for the last few days. I hope it's just that you're not good with names." When he saw the cube sitting under a pile of charms, he crowed, "Yes! You have indeed found a Horadric Cube! That is quite a treasure, and will prove invaluable on your quest." "It's a folding box with a button. What does it do?" "The Horadric Cube is a transformative tool, with many valuable uses! It's quite simple to operate: place the correct items inside the cube, and press the button. Three gem chips and a magical sword will make a new enchanted sword with three open sockets!" "Hmm... that could be useful. What of an axe?" "I fear the Cube will not transform anything but a sword. Peculiar, that. There are many other uses for the Cube: two quivers of bolts will make a quiver of arrows, or two quivers of arrows make a quiver of bolts!" "So it can change junk into junk, and back again." "Well... a stack of javelins can be made from any spear and --" Tearlach laughed! "A spear? How do you propose to fit a spear in that box? Or a sword, for that matter?" "A Horadric Cube is much larger than it appears. Since you doubt my word, I'll leave it to you to experiment, and perhaps discover other formulae." "Can you stuff a demon inside and turn them into gold? Or just keep them in there?" "I do not invite you to try." "Well enough," Tearlach grinned. "You said Baal's tomb is opened with a staff, and the staves were broken and scattered around the desert?" "Ah, you were listening. The highest-ranking Horadrim used ceremonial staves as badges of their office, and guarded them well. I am sure the pieces were hidden carefully, in the darkest and most dangerous parts of the desert." "Figures. Wizards think they're so subtle. All you need to do is go to the most dangerous place in the land and thrash their feeble guardians to find their precious secret things. I still think Diablo would have been smarter to hide in the sewers." "Yes, you've said that repeatedly. It would Diablo little good to hide himself in the sewers, I fear. He is trying to find his brother." "Don't worry, I'll find his brother first and make him wish he'd never been born. No one will ever find him once I'm done with him! Next comes Diablo. Who's the third one?" "Mephisto. He was imprisoned in Kurast." "There next. Might as well make it three for three, and teach you southlanders a lesson in how to handle demons. 'Imprison them for all time.' Ha!" "And what would you have done?" Cain inquired mildly. "Kill them, of course. Send them screaming back into the pit that spawned them." "Yes, that sounds obvious. But 'the pit that spawned them' is the source of their demonic power; they come back from it renewed, stronger than ever." "Hmm. Does that mean Andarial will come back to the Rogue monastery?" "In time, she will return... perhaps not there, but somewhere." Tearlach smiled. "They'll need someone to guard them, then." "Perhaps not. She was there to guard Diablo's way, and not of her own choice. According to legend, Andarial greatly prefers male victims to female ones." "She also doesn't like them to put up a fight. Never mind, that's for tomorrow. We might die today... but not if I have something to say about it." After collecting his mercenary, Tearlach used the waypoint to get back to the desert. He forgot the guy's name again, but that's because it's one of those weird southlander names with lots of vowels. Instead, he decided to call his merc "useless." It was either that or "hey you" and "useless" fit him better. On a wide plateau above the hills, several springs of water came to the surface, making a bunch of closely-spaced oases. For around here, it was a lush setting, full of spiny desert plants and date palms heavy with fruit. The bad part was that biting flies also liked water; they were so thick he got a mouthful of little bastards every time he drew breath. "Useless" wrapped one of his head cloths around his nose and mouth; a good idea, so Tearlach followed suit with an old rag. Then the flies started coming in tight clouds, every bug moving together to push aside cloth and leather and get the flesh and blood underneath. I knew it, Tearlach thought. They're tiny little demons here to torment me. Demons never kill cleanly; they have to draw it out, slowly suck you dry or flay the flesh from your bones. The flat of his axe was much more useful here, swatting the bugs and breaking up the cloud. Sometimes, the flies dropped an item. How in the nine Hells does a bunch of bugs carry a poleaxe, anyway? And WHY would they carry around a poleaxe? Never mind; there's too damn many of these bugs to worry. Concentrate on killing them. In the open areas, little blood hawks flapped languidly around, and huge segmented worms twice as long as a man is tall burrowed in the earth. "Useless" said the big bugs were farmed out here; their eggs were good eating once, but now they were all poisonous. The bastards were poisonous -- they even spat venom, and they were tough and hard to kill. They still laid eggs, which hatched into little hordes of flesh-eating young with Hellish speed, and hid under the sand rather than die with dignity. After going through a group enchanted with lightning, Tearlach was sure he had a new least-favorite enemy, and even more reason to find Diablo and give him a taste of his axe. If he came back to earth for another beating, that would be just fine. Tearlach had a lot to dish out for him. The big bugs came out of a round hole in the ground. Lowering himself in, Tearlach saw it was a network of round caverns and openings, like an ant nest on a giant scale. Rather than stone, the walls were lined with some kind of mucus, hardened in the dry desert air. Now, Tearlach didn't mind mucus, but this much of it was another matter. The ceilings were also incredibly low; he couldn't even stand up straight. Tearlach jumped out of the hole. "Never mind this place. There's nothing here." "Hey, that's a nest," Emilio said. "They never used to dig those. I'm betting whatever's corrupting the sand cows is down there." "Sand cows?" Sighing, Emilio shook his head. "The big bugs. I told you that already." "Is it my fault you don't speak up? I'm not here to kill insects. I've more important prey." "Whatsa matter? You chicken?" "WHAT!?" Tearlach had his axe to the merc's throat in a moment. "Say that again, so I have an excuse to kill you." "I saw how pale you looked when you climbed out of there!" Emilio grinned. "Paler than usual, even! Is it dark and scary down there?" "I fear no man or beast. There is nothing of importance down there." "Buck buck buck bu-COCK!" That did it. With the stupid mercenary behind him, Tearlach went through the entire bug nest, killing everything that moved. Big sand worms, insect clouds, even three packs of the damned lightning beetles he'd grown to hate almost as much as the worms. Strangely, there were several storage chests in the nest, full of valuable weapons and armor. He couldn't see how or why the bugs had brought them in, and packed them up so neatly. "It's damn weird, wizard," Tearlach told Cain as he looked over the loot. "They're stupid bugs, beneath humanity. Even beneath you. Why do they have these?" "Some demons collect artifacts with the intent of devouring them," Cain mused. "There has been speculation that demons can absorb enchantments, at some risk to themselves. It may explain those odd creatures with strange powers and abilities for their type." "Ah, ha! There must be a powerful demon in there, to have so many rare and wondrous things! Diablo himself could be in there. And to think 'useless' wanted to ignore it!" "What?!" Emilio blurted out. "Why do you think I call you that? For your charming personality? I'll be back soon, with some demon's head. And don't be surprised if it looks familiar." Back in the bug nest, Tearlach went chewing his way through insect after insect. "Useless" was upset over something and not helping, but he didn't need help to clear out bugs. In a strangely cold chamber in the deepest part of the nest (it's always the deepest part) a fat worm five times the size of all the others lay. It was spewing out eggs and grown bugs as fast as its bloated body could make them, and dozens of tiny worms were crawling to attack and feed. It was a long, tedious fight, surrounded by unworthy but hungry and numerous foes. Even "useless" broke out of his reverie long enough to kill a few. A thorough search of the nest didn't turn up Diablo. There was a neatly-packed chest in the bug-mother's lair, with a few valuable items and a broken old staff. Hmm... an incredibly ancient staff, broken into pieces, hidden in a dark and dangerous place. Who says wizards aren't predictable? Sure enough, it was what was left of the shaft of a Horadric staff. "A destiny is a comforting thing, wizard. Far greater than any magic." "I wouldn't know," Cain replied. "I've never cast a spell in my life." "You're even more useless than most wizards!" Tearlach laughed. "What's that up there?" Cain followed Tearlach's gaze upwards. High in the sky, a dense black cloud was flowing out of the desert, towards the sun. "I have no idea. In all my years I have never seen such a thing." The cloud oozed across the burning blue sky, and passed in front of the sun. Everything went black. "Damn that demon," Tearlach muttered. "He's summoned enough damn bugs to blot out the sun." Chapter 12 "This is obviously the result of sorcery," Fara said, glancing up at the darkened sky. "We should seek Drognan's council immediately. He is wise in such matters." "Aye, it's foul magic," Tearlach replied. "A cloud of bugs blotting out the sun. I know how these things work. So... before they come down, I should make sure you get inside, where they can't eat you." "I'm... not sure that you're correct. We would do well to seek Drognan's advice." "I've already got one old fart following me around, telling me what to do." Casually, he leaned against the wall of Fara's shop, every muscle flexed, and smiled. "A time of darkness is best spent in shelter. Don't worry lass, I'll gladly stay with you." For the first time, words seemed to fail Fara. He must be wearing her down -- but what red-blooded woman could ignore him for long? Finally, she stammered, "I suppose in your land, indifference in the face of alarming events is considered courageous. Here, a warrior's duty demands that troubles like this be dealt with promptly. I feel there is a greater danger in this than any cloud of insects. I have never seen anything like this before, but Drognan is native to this land and spends much of his time studying its history. His knowledge would be invaluable in dispelling this darkness." Of course, Tearlach thought, she's scared of the dark! "Lass, there's nothing in the dark that's not there with the sun! Until those bugs come, there's nothing to worry about. Get your mind off your fears. There's a tavern right over there; you need ale and laughter!" "I am aware of the tavern's location, if you'll remember your first day." After a moment's thought, she said, "Perhaps we both need some 'liquid courage.' What other reason would a brave warrior have to stay in town, while the object of his quest gets further and further away? This endless night must have unsettled you... you poor thing." "What?!" he snarled. "I need no woman's pity! Day or night means nothing. It could be night forever for all I care! So, you think some darkness-making demon can get the better of me by shutting off the sun? I'll show you who's 'unsettled'!" As Tearlach stomped off to Drognan's shop, Fara bowed her head with a sigh. Cain, who was always nearby, said, "I see you have learned something of his character." "Despite his efforts to be ingratiating, it would be a foolish woman who could not see him for what he is. Manipulating another is unpleasant work. It is not something anyone should be proud to learn to do. But... he makes it so easy." Cain nodded. "He is a simple soul... no, that's not quite true. Despite what you may think, he is capable of surprising mental exertions. It seems to me that he strongly believes in his own intuition. He feels his first thought is always good and true, and follows that inkling until long after it should be clear that it was wrong." Shaking her head, Fara said, "He admits to knowing nothing of these lands, yet feels his ignorance is greater than the learning of sages." "For one who 'understands things', what need is there to know anything?" "If Diablo truly does stalk these lands... and it is almost certain he does... I should take up sword and shield again, and move against him. But I swore on all that is still holy I would lay down my arms forever." "Do not worry, child," Cain smiled. "In the Rogue's mountain pass, he surprised everyone by succeeding where all were sure he would die. I have every confidence he will defeat Diablo. The challenge will be to direct him, and not let his 'intuition' be a distraction." "Walking a difficult path demands discipline," Fara said as if reciting from memory. "I fear this one has little or none. Defeating a Prime Evil will require more than brute strength and a thick skull." The streets were almost deserted; everyone must be hiding indoors. Drognan's shop was in an alley near the eastern wall; the wizard himself was outside, in the pool of light two lamps cast by his door. Tearlach meant business and didn't mind who knew it, so he got the conversation off on the right foot. "Out with it, wizard. What's with the sun?" "Good evening. You must be the one who banished Andarial back to Hell. So kind of you to finally introduce yourself." "Why should I bother with you? You think I'm interested in one of those pathetic sticks, or bits of demon bone to tell my future? I already know my future, and it has nothing to do with you or your wizardry. The smith says you know something about the sun going dark, so spit it out... without any damned riddles!" "I am not fond of riddles; I prefer the crossword. Something like this has happened before. It was the work of Claw Vipers, snake-like beings from the desert. Unlike natural reptiles, Claw Vipers cherish cold and hate the sun. They erected an altar to one of their dark gods in exchange for eternal darkness. Beware of them, they often kidnap and sacrifice travelers to appease their deity's hunger." For a moment, Tearlach was so shocked to get a straight, informative answer out of a wizard he almost didn't answer. "Where do they lair?" "In caves, tombs, and dark places far beneath the burning sands. They do not come to the surface until the night has cooled sufficiently for them. The largest permanent lair I am aware of is the Valley of Snakes, beyond a dead city near a group of oases." "I know the place. Full of Zombies?" "The former inhabitants of the city died of a plague, believed to have been caused by Claw Viper magic. It would not surprise me if they walk their city again, for Claw Vipers are well known to practice all the darkest magical arts." "You should talk to the other old wizard, by the well in the marketplace," Tearlach smirked. "He could stand to learn something about not babbling and getting to the point." "I shall pass your kind words along." He knew where to go, so Tearlach went to the tavern to collect his mercenary. He wasn't there, so Tearlach asked one of his little friends, "Where's my mercenary?" "Uh..." the other merc helpfully answered. "What? Are you too drunk to remember?" "No, he's..." Something thumped him on the leg under the table. "Uh, he died." "What?" "He died. Yeah. Gone. Joined his ancestors. Finis. Kaput." A few people in the room laughed; Tearlach felt suspicious. "What did he die of?" "It was, uh... it was really tragic." "Yeah," another merc said. "It was horrible." Something thumped the first one under the table again. "Yeah, horrible! So horrible, I don't even want to talk about it." Tearlach's suspicions had not been assuaged. "Do tell." "No way, man. It'd make you sick just hearing about it." "Try me." "No, really! It was so totally gross and stuff, he just exploded all over." "What was he doing?" "He was, uh... ow!" The first pulled his foot from under the table. "It was his toes." the second one said with a smirk. "Yeah! He was trimming his toenails, and he died. Exploded. All over." "What was he trimming them with, a scythe?!" The two looked shocked. "Well, what do you trim them with?" "Enough of this! I paid for a mercenary, and one is as good as another!" Tearlach grabbed the first tavern jokester and hauled him off to the waypoint. As his screams faded into the distance, Emilio crawled out from under the table. "I died cutting my toenails!?!" "Hey, you didn't tell us what you wanted us to tell him. You're supposed to be the smart one, you figure out a good story." "See if I ever write love letters for you again. Barkeep, a round on me. At least he's gone." Out in the desert, the new merc was mumbling something about someone owing him big time as they strode into the city of the dead. It was a large city, bigger than Lut Gholein, with two levels separated by a rocky escarpment. The "lower city" was full of Zombies and some weird tall men with four arms and pinheads. Their many hands held skinny little blades made out of glass or crystal, which broke satisfyingly easily on Tearlach's armor. Like Lut Gholein, this city had a sewer, with lots of mummies and skeletons. Why they put so many of their dead in the sewer was beyond Tearlach, but they had plenty of valuables to plunder. The "upper city" had larger houses and big temples, as well as better loot. The rich can't stand living beside their slaves; they have to "keep them in their place" and pretend they're too good for them. There were some ancient fireball traps in the upper town marketplace. They couldn't possibly defend the city from there, unless they were to spit fire at commoners who might stray into the wrong part of town. As he chopped and clove his way through crowds of the dead, Tearlach wondered if the Zombies from the upper town would refuse to mingle with the Zombies from down below. He couldn't see or smell any difference between them, but you never know. Beyond the city, a small valley lay between two sloping cliff walls. Inside was what looked like another tomb, but two crude statues of enormous size flanked the entrance. They were snakes, but with shoulders and arms. Even Tearlach could tell they were not human work; any human could do better work than that. He had seen things that looked like that painted on the walls of some southlander tombs, always engaged in some act of bloody mayhem. So, these were feared here? They might almost be worth his time. Hordes of skeletons greeted him at the door, with big mummies behind them. This must be an old southlander tomb. Among the undead were what had to be Claw Vipers. Their beady little eyes and low brows bespoke their stupidity; charging him confirmed it. Laughing at the ease of the fight, Tearlach ignored them and slew their undead servants first, making sure to bounce the skulls off their scaly hides. When all were dead, Tearlach took a moment to look around the tomb. It was dark and dreary, but without the usual layers of dust and cobwebs covering every surface. Creatures lived here, and had for a long time. "The sun has never shone here." "Well, duh," the merc replied. "It's underground." "I know that. These sun-haters live in this tomb. What manner of foolishness would lead even these creatures to dwell amongst the dead?" "You know more about that than I do. I just want to get out of here." "Ha! You're an even bigger coward than the last one. There's little opportunity for sport here, so I'll make it quick for you." At a run, Tearlach went through the Claw Vipers like a hot poker through ice. That was the best analogy he could think of, anyway; killing them didn't distract his mind enough to keep him from coming up with metaphors. The Vipers liked it cold and kept their tomb chill, but for him that just meant less sweating. In the lowest level, the altar he was expecting was down in a pit in the floor. More Vipers guarded it feebly, including one enchanted with lightning who insisted on sitting right on top of the altar. Maybe he intended to make himself one last sacrifice, so Tearlach dragged him off before bashing his head in. The altar's top slab broke in two with a single stomp, and sunlight flooded the chamber. Cain went over the loot, as usual, and picked out a corroded little brass amulet. That was the headpiece of a Horadric staff, and might match the shaft Tearlach had stored away. It took him a moment to remember, but Tearlach found the shaft soon enough and used the cube to rejoin them. For such a rotted old thing, the staff cleaned up nice; maybe he could use the cube to clean and repair his equipment. But then Fara would never get to see him undressing... yes, it was better to get repairs the old-fashioned way. Who knows how badly the poor lass would take it if he stopped coming? Chapter 13 According to old fart #2, the Claw Vipers' power was assuredly broken by smashing the altar in their tomb. The dark gods they worship do not forgive failure easily, so destroying the altar broke much of their strength. Like all sorcerous things, Claw Vipers are weak and look outside themselves for power, making bargains with demons and the like. They revel in their borrowed might until they fail to satisfy the true power, and it is withdrawn... leaving them as weak and helpless as they always were. The desert people kill them whenever they can, but with the cunning of serpents they always hide in their times of weakness, and are never completely rooted out of their dens. Satisfied that he'd never have to deal with stupid snake-men again, Tearlach went to put the wizard staff in his pack. Maybe he'd store it inside the magic box; it folded up so small, even with big things inside, it would make great storage. Those ancient, wise and mighty wizards never thought of such a simple use, he'd bet. Maybe he'd even carry the magic box around with him. When he opened his rucksack, there was more than the box inside; along with several axes were an assortment of runes, gems, and a note: Mr. Bold McRunFast, Congratulations on your advancement! Now that you're strong enough, we need you to do a little comparison. Put "strength" in the cleaver (that's Amn-Tir, in case you forgot.) The other is an Artificer's War Axe of Slaughter; put the rest in that, and see how the two stack up. For everyday use, the big axe is "Brainhew"; a cute little sorceress found that in Kurast not long ago. Try them out in Jerhyn's palace, but don't expect the girlies to be impressed. -- The Mule A destiny is a great and terrible thing, Tearlach realized. He was being swept along to his conquest of the Three Prime Evils, but debts were growing along the way. He'd been given many things, but had little to give back. The answer to this problem, of course, was more and more dedicated looting... which brought his thoughts to the palace. True, it might offer excellent looting, but the townsfolk would object, and he wasn't in the mood to kill them all. Nonetheless, the gods were guiding him to the palace, and a destiny as great as his could not be denied. He prepared the axes and went. Lord Jerhyn was not inside enjoying his palace; he was out in the street with a couple of his guards. "Thank goodness you've arrived! It all began when --" "What, stripling? You knew I was coming?" Jerhyn looked confused. "Didn't Drognan send you?" "Wizards do not send me about! I go where I please. Now it pleases me to go into your palace. You have something to say about it, stripling?" "Only that your timing is excellent. How you knew I needed you baffles me, though." "Uh..." Tearlach thought; Jerhyn could almost hear the gears grinding. "I have an instinct for these things. You would not understand." "Ah, yes." Nodding sagely, Jerhyn leaned back on his heels. "I have spoken with Deckard Cain, who told me of the ease with which you seize upon ideas not obvious to those around you. It is... surprising to see. As for clearing my palace of the evil my brave guardsmen have been unable to expel, I am glad to find you so agreeable, mighty one. Of course, you will require compensation, so any valuables you may find intact within are yours." Maybe this was why the heroes of the past did not like their destinies, Tearlach thought. Looting the palace would be a lot less fun if he had permission. "Erm... good. So, uh... what evil is it, anyway?" "It all began when I was giving a visiting mage a tour of the palace. We were looking at the carvings on the walls of the deepest cellars, when he saw the ancient artifact." "What ancient artifact?" "In the lowest cellar, a pair of metal spires rise from the floor. They have been there at least as long as the palace itself; nothing we do can even scratch them. As a child, I used to use them for target practice. Since not even Drognan's wisdom could penetrate their mystery, I thought nothing of granting the visitor time to study them alone." "So he found out how it worked," Tearlach grunted. "Never trust wizards. Never leave them alone with anything. Where I am from, we kill every last magic-slinger who dares set foot on our lands. None venture there now." "My actions seem unwise now, looking back. I had no idea anyone could possibly awaken spells so ancient, or even know what they were. The mage was a Vizjerei, I believe --" "One mage is like another. None are to be trusted. Killing them is the best thing you can do with them." "I must differ with you on that. Drognan is the best advisor a ruler could hope for; he aids me greatly, as he advised my father before me." "You ever wonder what killed him, then? I'll bet. Any wizard would love to be 'advisor' to a wussy little panty-waist of a boy who can't keep one house, let alone a country. I'll clear your palace; it's up to you to clear out the potion-peddlers and wand-wavers, if you've got the balls for it." Shoving the guardsmen out of the way, Tearlach stomped into the palace. They were about to attack him when Jerhyn motioned them not to. "Lord Jerhyn, I --" "Never mind. I said I would open my palace to him, I must do so." "Weren't you going to tell him about --" "Yes, but if he does not listen, that will be on his head." The palace was a huge building, full of riches and luxuries. The chairs had thick padding, not just on the seats, but the backs and arms too! The candles were of beeswax, not a single tallow one burned in the whole place. The windows were covered with daintily carved grilles to keep the wind out. All the tables had daintily carved little legs -- what if someone kicked one? They would snap like twigs! Maybe these lanky desert-dwellers didn't weigh enough to need much by way furniture; they probably wafted into a chair without it noticing. Tearlach considered picking up some statues, or maybe silk pillows, before he decided he'd be better off ignoring the palace decorations. There'd be too much to carry. The city guard had their offices in a side hall, with a strange poster on the wall: WANTED: Thaddeus Height: 4 cubits and a span Weight: Not given much Eyes: Two Hair: Shorn close Sex: Um, don't they take vows? Distinguishing features: Saintly glow On charges of: Littering Proselytizing without a license Barbarian abuse Conduct unbecoming to a holy man Reward! Call LGPD for more information. Keep our city clean. Barbarian abuse!? As if! If he ever met this little religious pansy, Tearlach would hand him his head. No southlander could out-abuse the sons of Bul-Kathos. Downstairs, Jerhyn had a huge harem: it took up the whole floor! Tearlach had heard of such places, and Jerhyn's was everything it was supposed to be -- except all the girls had all been killed by the horde of demons still wandering around. Kind of a shame, really; junior couldn't possibly have any idea how to treat ladies right, so they'd all gone to waste. While appraising some jewelry (most of the baubles weren't worth enough to carry out) it occurred to Tearlach that something was missing. Straining his keen senses to their utmost, he tried to detect just what it was that disquieted him, but couldn't identify it. Was it the scuttling of demonic claws just at the edge of his hearing? Something naggingly familiar in the symbols dabbed on the walls with human blood? An unmistakable aura of evil telling him that here a greater demon lord laired? No, he couldn't smell ale. Where the hell's that damn mercenary!? He forgot to drag him out of the tavern. He'd paid good money for a merc, he was going to get his money's worth! Several of Greiz's mercenaries were wasting their lives at Atma's, as usual. When Tearlach came in, one dove behind the bar, and another into the kitchen. Like that would save them. After a round of "eenie, meenie, miney, moe" Tearlach and his mercenary were slaughtering the minions of evil in the palace once more. This palace had a lot of cellars, almost as many as the tower back in the Rogue's pass. Nobles are fond of basements, maybe for protection when the peasants whose backs they live on finally revolted. The cellar demons were a varied lot, with skeletons, tall skinny ones, big fat ones, and weird green monkey-things with huge claws and teeth. All of them came from one place: on the third level, a pair of metal spires, warm to the touch, protruded from the floor. Something differed from Jerhyn's description, though: a round thing was suspended in the air between the spires' tips. Tearlach took it down. It was a disc with teeth around the edge, made of the same gray metal as the spires. When he replaced it, it hung in the air, wobbling slightly for a moment. That was strange; what could it mean? "Try spinning it," the merc said. "I was going to do that," Tearlach snarled. "What good would spinning it do?" The merc shrugged. "It looks like a gear. Gears spin. Maybe it'll do something." "That's stupid. It has teeth; I'll give it a drink of demon blood. Demons like blood." The Gorebelly who donated the blood objected weakly, but Tearlach's arguments had a persuasive power all their own. The toothed disc did not react to the blood. "Maybe it needs human blood," the merc suggested. "Like a human sacrifice." "Hmm... I know what the answer is." "Yeah?" "The war axe is better. Though the runes are strong, these gems give my axe as much strength, and it is quicker to strike. Their flashing fire appeals to the ladies, too." Rolling his eyes, the merc replied, "I don't think ladies like skulls as decoration. That's more of a guy thing. What about the toothed wheel?" "Put it back where it was, with blood. That should do." The disc was restored to its place. Blood oozed slowly down the spires... and nothing happened. "Hmm..." Tearlach muttered, "this is a puzzle." "Try spinning it." "Maybe that stupid wizard knows something of this. No, the kid said he couldn't figure this out. It's up to me." "Try spinning it." "Ha! I put it in backwards." Tearlach reversed the disc; nothing happened. "Try spinning it." "Maybe if I put a demon heart on every tooth..." "Yuck, man! Try spinning it first!" "Are all you soldiers in these lands so craven? Spinning it won't do anything! Any fool can see that!" Just to prove it, Tearlach spun the gear. A blue gate quietly appeared between the spires. The mercenary stared at the gate silently, never looking at Tearlach. Red-faced, Tearlach snarled, "So I'm not any fool." "I wasn't going to say anything." "Then quit not saying it so damn loud!!" "Sure, whatever." Through the gate was an impossible place, marble paths as straight as arrows, hanging in starry nothingness. Braziers of dark bronze burned with eternal fires, but did little to dispel the chill of the void sinking into Tearlach's bones. The trails twisted in directions that do not exist, that should not exist, wrapping back both beside and above themselves at the same time. This would be an easy place to get lost. Feeling nervous, he went back to town by a handy waypoint and got a loaf of day-old bread. Everywhere they went, Tearlach dropped a trail of bread crumbs behind him, through the puddles of blood left after every battle. "This is an old trick, but a good one." The mercenary looked dismayed. "We could just follow the trail of bodies back. Line the ghosts' skulls up so they face the right way." "The demons could move them! I'll not be misled so easily." "Look, the fireballs are frying those bread crumbs. It's not gonna work." "Then I will follow the ashes. 'Tis better than touching those foul ghostly bones, or the undead sorcerer's empty brainpans. I've just about had my fill of the living dead." "It's not like this place is that confusing, once you figure it out..." "Enough back-talk! Warriors make war, they do not stand and argue! Stop arguing with me and do what you're supposed to do: kill!" "Yeah, sure, whatever." Tearlach hooked his neck with his axe and pulled him forward, slamming his nose against his own forehead. While he was reeling and screaming about his broken nose, Tearlach snarled, "Answer me with 'whatever' again, and I'll tear off your head and sh!t down your neck. We go. Now!" Conversations were blessedly brief after that. In fact, the merc never said anything at all. Eventually, among the endless twists and turns, Tearlach found what he was looking for: an obviously sorcerous man in ancient robes, holding a staff of power. With a mighty leap, he launched himself across the void and came down hard, splitting the wizard's head neatly in half with a single blow. A fitting end. Once the place was empty, Tearlach looked for loot. There were a few things (nothing worthwhile, though) and a book permanently attached to some kind of decorated pedestal. "Here, wizard. Reading for you." "Hello," Cain said. "Should I ask why you brought half of a broken lectern with this one?" "No." "I suspected as much." Chapter 14 As Tearlach strutted over, smiling that smug, cocky smile of his, a frown creased Fara's brow. This man would vex a saint. "Shouldn't you be engaged on your quest? Diablo must be nearing his goal." "My destiny will lead me to him," Tearlach said with complete self-assurance. "He can run, but cannot hide for long. There's time enough for many kinds of engagements." "Which reminds me, I have an appointment to keep elsewhere..." "At ten o'clock at night? Wench, you've been hiding from me too long. There are other destinies, ones that call man and woman together --" "Look," Fara exclaimed, pointing behind him, "it's one of the men who robbed you on your first night in town!" "Where?" Tearlach whirled about, but saw no one. "He just went into the tavern. Hurry, you might catch him!" In a moment, Tearlach was shoving his way into the tavern. "RIGHT! There's a man I want in here, and he'd better --" In its long and sordid history, Atma's tavern had never emptied that fast. Greiz's warriors, innocent townsfolk, even the cook all dove out the windows or trampled each other getting through the back door. When the dust settled, all that was left were a couple of barmaids, and Geglash. He sat up from his stupor in the corner, looked around with bleary eyes, and muttered, "Gee, kind of slow for a saturday night..." There was no way he could chase them all down, so Tearlach went back to Fara's. Her door was closed, the lights were dark. Damn it, the woman tricked him. Doesn't she realize how important he's going to be after he kills The Three? Fame, reputation, money -- he'd have it all. What woman with any sense would refuse that? Maybe after he had the world under his heel, she'd see the light of reason. But then there's Kashya; how could he choose between them? Both were fine... so why not have both? He'd be king of the world, they'd be fools to refuse him, he could have either anytime! Maybe at the same time, even... While he was musing over these and other pleasant thoughts, Cain came over. "There you are! I'm glad you didn't go far. This is Horazon's journal!" "Aye," Tearlach muttered. "I would guess that what you found in Jerhyn's palace was Horazon's Arcane Sanctuary, a sanctum the legendary Vizjerei archmage built centuries ago." "Aye." "The sanctuary was built before the Mage Wars, when the brothers Horazon and Bartuc were heads of the Vizjerei mage clan. Do you remember my telling you about the conflict which arose out of that unfortunate situation?" "Aye." Cain seemed a bit surprised. "Oh! I wasn't sure if you were listening. Horazon was very interested in the current events of his time, and according to legend, had many portals in his sanctuary through which he could travel to distant parts of the world." "Aye." "Ah, then you cannot help but realize the importance of this! The binding of The Three took place shortly after the mage wars, and it seems Horazon was still alive, hiding from the world in his sanctuary. He recorded the location of Baal's tomb, and here it is!" Old fart #1 was holding something in front of Tearlach's face, so he looked at it. It was the book, open to a page with a picture of a triangle and some writing. "Hmm..." Tearlach said discerningly, "very interesting." "And useful to you for your quest! One of the portals in Horazon's sanctuary should take you to the Valley of the Magi and Tal Rasha's tomb!" "Oh. Sure, uh, portal, Valley of the Magi. Is that like the Valley of the Kings?" "No mere kings are entombed there! In those happy days when the mage clans set aside their differences and formed the Horadrim, that canyon was set aside for the burial of the most powerful. It is in the most remote desert, far from any oasis; even the roving desert nomads do not venture near it. In fact, it is so safe from all forms of intrusion, it was the only place even considered for imprisoning Baal. I only hope it was safe enough." "Sounds like a long, thirsty walk." "Which is why you should take the portal, and pray you are not too late. Diablo was here weeks before you, and time is growing short!" "Time is always short for you. I'll take your portal and be back by morning." Looking around, Tearlach noticed his mercenary was gone. They always keep wandering away whenever he gets back to town. After catching the guy (or someone who looked like him) Tearlach got out his magic box to see if it would repair equipment. Fara was probably going to pretend she couldn't hear him all night; another trick women play. Inside the box was a heavy belt, and a note: Yo, Buck Plankchest! Here you go, just for you: it's Goldwrap! An axeman needs a little boost in speed anyways. Don't try to fix stuff in here, it won't work. Once you get through them tombs, I've got another surprise for you, but not until you get across the sea. Don't forget your water wings! -- The Mule Not for the first time, Tearlach wondered if he'd ever get the chance to beat up destiny's messenger for being such a snot. No one should have to tolerate someone that obnoxious. After recapturing the merc, Tearlach made his way through Horazon's Fortress (whatever it was called) and found the appropriate gate. The Valley of the Magi was small and very dark, with steep sides that admitted little moonlight. The Horadrim built a waypoint here too, of course; a lot quicker than walking. The canyon was full of kitty people from top to bottom. While killing them, Tearlach had a look around. Seven pretentiously huge tomb entrances led to tunnels burrowing deep into the canyon walls; it was not obvious which one held Baal. As the rising sun's light filtered weakly into the canyon, Tearlach picked a tomb at random. It was small, but had plenty of mummies and other undead. Tearlach was getting so sick of walking dead. If destiny took him across the sea, it couldn't be too soon. Surely, other people must treat their dead more sensibly, and he'd never have to look another zombie in the face again. Everything went fine until he ran into the beetle. It was a powerful one, which spit out far more than the usual number of sparks every time a weapon struck it. After killing it, he found plenty of loot in a fine golden chest nearby, but needed another mercenary. The new merc was asleep when Tearlach found him, which eliminated the tedious business of running him down. You'd think even a southlander could go into battle with more dignity, not with all that crying and screaming for his mommy. Even a southlander will fight if thrown directly in the path of an oncoming monster. Tearlach used this to his advantage; the occasional well-placed kick is also a good motivational tool. All went well until the monster in question was a lightning-enchanted Gorebelly. Shortly afterwards, Tearlach needed another mercenary. The next tomb wasn't the right one either, but it had a huge mummy laughing soullessly at the end of a long hallway. On his way back for yet another mercenary, Tearlach considered his tactics. This might not be a bad battle strategy. Meet a demon who's too powerful? Throw a henchman at it and run while it's busy. Southlanders were good for something after all! Eager to experiment, Tearlach went back to Lut Gholein for another merc. They must have sensed his eagerness: the town looked deserted. No one was on the walls, the houses and shops were all closed and shuttered, even the palace gates were closed. The tavern was open, but it was empty except for the barmaid in black playing solitaire, and that big stupid drunk guy. Hmm, maybe he'd be good in a fight... "There you are, you bastard," a voice said from the corner. "Fara said you'd come here." It was the mercenary captain, looking peevish. "What?!" Tearlach gently inquired. "You keep kidnapping my soldiers without paying for them. You owe me --" "I owe you nothing, you selfish coward! I paid for a mercenary, I'll get a mercenary! You got my gold, isn't it good enough for you?" "You didn't hire a mercenary, you hired Emilio. If he dies, you don't get to pick another." "Why not?! I don't care what his name is, if I hire a mercenary, I get a mercenary!" "That's right," Greiz said. "You hired a mercenary. One guy. He serves his contract until you fire him, or he dies. Then the contract ends." "Damn you southlanders and your legalistic arguments! Where I am from, we know what words mean, and don't try to hide behind split hairs!" Geglash blinked. "You can't hide behind a split hair, can you?" he asked Atma. "It sounds easier than arguing contract law with a Barbarian," she replied. "No more of my men go with you," Greiz said. "You've had your hire. That's it." "Like I ever needed your mercenaries anyway! Don't know why I hired them in the first place! They're useless, thick-headed, whimpering little wimps who curl up and die at the first bolt of lightning!" "You kept all the lightning resistance gear for yourself, didn't you?" "Damn right! It's mine by right of destiny. When I'm king of the world, you'll pay for your damned insolence." "Yeah. Right. See you then." Damn mercenaries, mercenary captains, damn them all to hell! Tearlach went back alone and smashed his way through the next tomb. It was full of ghosts, which the mummies could raise back to undeath too. Damn, that was annoying. After he'd conquered the world, he'd have to remember to outlaw mummies. And kill everyone who made the things. It was a sick and bizarre practice, and should be banned. They were all wizards anyway, it's not like the world would be a worse place. This tomb was the right one -- in a small chamber far in the back, he found a room with a socket in the floor, just the right size for the staff. Someone had even been kind enough to blow all the sand out first. Sure enough, the Horadric staff fit the hole, and a blast of lightning opened a hole in one wall. Tearlach entered and slid down a muddy slope, ready for anything. Mud? What was a room full of mud doing in the desert? Wait, it wasn't mud, it was... As he realized what he was standing hip deep in, the horrible smell assailed him, worse even than Aunt Noracci's prize-winning haggis. "Looking for Baal?" a deep voice croaked, and a maggot the size of a house came wriggling out of the darkness. The battle was joined as the thing's soft pulpy body slammed into him. Tearlach hacked at one spot, trying to get deep enough into the thing's body to reach something vital. It rolled over and smashed him with its short flailing limbs. There was a face up on one end, but its brains were probably not its most vulnerable area. Finally, he found the heart, or something pulsing deep in the thing's body, and tore it out with his bare hands. Most of its viscera came with it, and Tearlach made a new discovery: something that smelled worse than what was filling the pit. The earth shook, kind of like it did when Andarial died; could this thing be Baal? What a disappointment, surely the Lord of Destruction had to be tougher than this! Looking around, Tearlach saw paintings on the walls, showing a man being chained up with a big red gem in his chest. Chaining a demon does no good, but killing doesn't work either. It looks like the only way to deal with demons is eternal war. Good thing war is so much fun. Just to be sure it was Baal, he got out of the pit to explore the chamber. There was a huge chamber in the back, with a pit of fire around a rock suspended in the air. A robe bridge (you'd think Horadrim mages would go for something flashier) led to the rock, and over it, an armored angel hovered. An angel! The like had not been seen on earth since the days of yore. Bul-Kathos was fathered by an angel, and his children were favored over all others ever since. This one must have come down to bless Tearlach and his quest. It's always a good thing to have angels on your side, so he came forward. "Greetings, mortal. It is good to see you... though I did expect you earlier." "Ah, these stupid southlanders kept slowing me down. They were no help at all. It'll be a pleasure to smash their faces in and show 'em who's boss when The Three are all dead." "Mortal, you have not slain Baal, merely Duriel, another of the lesser evils. Diablo and Baal are on their way to join their brother Mephisto in Kurast." "Bastard demons! He ran away again! Doesn't he realize --" "That his destiny is to die by your hand? Whether it is or not is immaterial. Diablo seeks his own destiny with undivided attention. His goal is to reduce your world to ashes. He and his brothers will do so if they are allowed to reunite. You must go to Kurast. Find Diablo and Baal before they meet Mephisto; failing that, destroy him so that they cannot join forces. If The Three become one again, your world is doomed." Concluding thoughts: It sucks trying to start a character who specializes in a level 30 skill. Avenger Guards look goofy. But not as goofy as Horned Helms. Champion Xanthippe is moving to the "retired" folder for now. The Ancients are bastards in Nightmare, though they would have been easier to deal with if I'd remembered to turn off "players 8" first. Didn't repeat that mistake with Lister. Act 3 Chapter 15 Getting to Kurast was going to take time. The city had waypoints, of course -- they were just about everywhere. But none were functional; someone had deactivated them all a few years ago. No ships ever came out of Kurast either, and those which went in never came back. Since Mephisto was imprisoned there, all this told Tearlach he was loose and in control of the land. For once, Cain agreed. Kurast was the holy city of the Zakarum religion, a young upstart faith that had replaced the old ways across all the southern lands. That alone probably made it responsible for most of the south's weakness. It makes you wonder just how long ago Mephisto broke his prison. What demon wouldn't love to secretly be in charge of the forces arrayed against him? Lord Jerhyn paid for a ship to ferry Tearlach across the Twin Seas. This was his first time on the sea -- and he hoped by all his sacred ancestors it would be the last. From the moment he stepped onto those bobbing planks, his stomach balled up into a tiny knot of spastic pain and squealed "I don't wanna!" to anything even remotely resembling food. Everything he tried to eat went over the side sooner or later, most likely sooner. Thank the Light it was a short trip, or he might have starved. Lying below decks, clinging to a heaving bunk, gave Tearlach some time to think, when his stomach left his brain alone. Mostly, he thought about how annoying this was. Diablo and his brother escaped him. They didn't even bother fighting him, they just ran off to find their other brother. He had a destiny; great forces had gathered behind him, and The Three were sure to perish by his hand. But those damned demons weren't cooperating. As he thought about it, he began to realize what they were doing. He may be destined to defeat them in combat, there was no guarantee he'd do so before they'd destroyed the world. "Damn it," he muttered, "I've been doing this wrong." "What was that?" a voice asked. The old man was in the cabin; he couldn't seem to get rid of that stinky geriatric no matter how hard he tried. "Those demons are spiting me. I'll kill them, and they know it. They're seeing how much they can destroy before I do it." Cain nodded. "That is possible... you never did tell me what you found in Baal's tomb. Presumably, Baal was not there." "Some angel was there, told me Baal was gone with Diablo. Said the world would be ashes if The Three got together. Damn it, I should have been faster." "Now, now, there's no time for regrets. I know you're doing your best." "Damn you, wizard, I can't rule a heap of ashes! There has to be something left to rule after I've killed them. They're not too cowardly to fight me -- they know they can't win, so they're going to take my victory from me out of spite!" Sighing, Cain bowed his head. It wasn't Tearlach's eccentric conclusions (for all he knew, he might be right) but his complete self-assurance that bothered him the most This muscle-headed oaf honestly thought the world revolved around him. "Do you know which angel it was? What did he tell you?" "An angel is an angel. He barely spoke five words. I should have noticed the scorn. And I deserved it, dallying with lasses while my enemy took my kingdom from me." "It might have been the archangel Tyrael, ancient patron of the Horadrim. Of all Heaven's brethren, he was always the most compassionate towards mortals. It was he who gave us the Soulstones to imprison The Three." "Fat lot of good it did. They all broke their prisons." "It would seem so... though I would never doubt Tyrael's wisdom. There is one more thing I wonder about. You spoke of ruling a kingdom after defeating The Three. I thought that Barbarians did not recognize kings." "Don't be stupid, if you can help it. Of course I'll be a mighty king. But not at home." "I would think you'd want to return to your homeland! You've spoken so fondly of it." Tearlach rolled on his side to face the wall. "I'll not be going back." After a moment's silence, Cain cleared his throat and said, "I don't suppose --" "Wizard." "Yes?" "Do you want to see how easily you'll fit through that porthole?" "I'll leave you, then." With a favorable wind, they reached Kurast in a few days. The city was well up a mighty river, so huge they might as well have still been on the sea. Even when they did get close to the bank, no land was visible: a wall of greenery covered everything. To judge from the crew's reaction, this was not normal. Meshif didn't try for landfall until they found a pier. Here, at least, they might have something solid to stand on. Tearlach was happy to be the first one off. Their welcome was meager; two people stood on the dock, small and slight with dark skin. One carried a bundle of strange yellow things, which he started selling with surprising eagerness. The other greeted Tearlach. "Welcome to what remains of Kurast, traveler. Your appearance suggests humor to my eye; I hope you brought some wit with you, for it is in very short supply." "I am Tearlach, son of Grignr, son of Gor, here to rid the world of The Three." "I am Hratli, smith and enchanter. It is a pleasure to see someone with a use for my skills; I don't have many customers these days." Looking down at this small, weedy, pathetic excuse of a man, Tearlach couldn't help but sneer. A smith? An enchanter he could see, or some kind of wizard. Oh, well; at least he's male. "Fine. So, give me the details, I haven't got all day. Where's Mephisto?" "In the heart of the city, in many senses. Kurast was built around the tower where he was buried. Why, you might ask, was a tower built to imprison a being who was buried beneath the earth? It seems that even then there was confusion at Kurast's heart." Great, he likes to talk in riddles. "Right. What's with all the plants?" "While Zakarum grew, the jungle fell back. Though the church still stands, the jungle now prospers and is advancing daily, covering the land in a green hell. Only a protective dome I have placed over this dock keeps the growth from consuming us all." "Plants don't eat anything, wizard. I do not fear trees." "When trees grow teeth and pursue men, those in the jungle need to fear. The rivers flow red with blood; perhaps they have grown fond of the taste." "Whatever. I hope you'll be less useless than the last mage." Then, Tearlach noticed the sailors eating the yellow things. He bought what was left of the bundle and chowed down; they tasted terrible, but his stomach calmed immediately. Hratli smiled thinly. "Already, I see you will bring the gift of laughter to us. Most others choose to peel their bananas before eating them." "Hlmmgh? Uh... no, this way is better! Gives 'em some chew." "Already, I am much relieved, knowing one such as you has arrived. Feel free to come by my shop whenever you wish. Your presence and heroic appetite will mitigate the tedium and terror each new day brings." This one was going to be trouble, Tearlach just knew it. For one thing, he didn't understand half of what he said. Do they train wizards not to make sense? Maybe they have classes in obfuscation and snootiness at wizard school. As he wandered away from the ship, Tearlach saw the jungle surrounded the docks on all sides. If he stood in one place, he could actually watch plants grow. Why didn't that enchanter just say so, instead of babbling about trees eating people? Wizards. To the south, some natives had gathered around a bonfire. They were all dark, weedy little types, except one who didn't look local. She was pale, tall and rangy, with dark hair cut nearly down to her scalp. Rather than loose, draping clothes like everyone else had, she wore tight black leather and a red-lined cape. Not that the look did much for her; her figure was almost boyish. "Hello, stranger. I've heard of your exploits, and... I must say I'm quite impressed." "Of course. I am Tearlach, son of Grignr, son of Gor. With your hair like that, you look like a dyke. I don't like it." After a short pause to stare appraisingly at him, the woman said, "Oh, gosh! I never would have thought of that! How terrible this is! I must immediately change my look to something that might please you more." "Just telling you, lass. You are a lass, aren't you?" She grinned. "How badly do you want to find out?" "Not enough to do anything about it." Damn, who does this ugly, scrawny girl think she is, anyway? He has better taste than that. "What do you do around here?" "I'm a member of a group dedicated to watching the mage clans." Tearlach threw his head back and laughed! "Who wants to watch them? All they do is talk in riddles and act like they know everything! Except when they meddle with demons; then you kill them. Best to kill them all, just to be safe." "Hmm. That halfway made sense, right up to the part where you said 'kill 'em all.' Have you met Hratli?" "Which one is that? The one who says he's a smith?" "Hratli is a master craftsman. My order could use someone with his talents. I've tried convincing him to leave, but he won't have anything to do with us." "I don't care what he's master of. A midget like that can't possibly bend steel; I haven't seen a decent smith since I left the north." "Oh, no; don't call Hratli a midget if you haven't seen the real ones. They're NASTY." With a snort, Tearlach left. Did everyone here always make vague threats about terrible things? This country hadn't offered up anything more ominous than the foliage. At least the desert carried the threat of thirst or starvation; water abounded here, and surely a jungle could offer up plenty to eat. They got these strange fruits from somewhere. (Actually, once he tried, Tearlach found they did taste better peeled.) Near the center of this little riverside hostelry, Cain had finally dragged his ancient carcass off the ship and was talking with some tall man. The local was bald as a mountain, almost as tall as Tearlach, and fairly well-muscled; here might be someone worthy of respect, except that he was willingly talking with the old fart. Best to shoo the old man away and give him someone worthy to talk to. "Hail, warrior! Don't let this blithering old man bother you." Impassively, the man rapped his staff on the ground, three times. A staff? Damn, it's another stupid wizard! "You now speak to Ormus!" Looking around in confusion, Tearlach wondered where Ormus was. "Huh?" "He once was a great mage, was Ormus. Now he lives like a rat in a sinking vessel." "Well, la-di-da! Where is he, then?" "You have questions for Ormus?" "I might, if he were around. What is he, a soothsayer?" "You have questions for yourself." "Bring him out, you pompous fool! How am I supposed to ask him anything if I don't know where he is?" "Lad..." Cain started to say. "I grow impatient with this dolt! He and his master can rot in Hell. I've no use for riddles and anyone who won't show their face." As Tearlach stomped off, Cain shook his head. "He means well, usually. Well, not usually, but little harm comes of him." "Ormus cannot teach this one. He has no patience. Too much like his fathers he is, full of passion and pride." "So were we all, if you'll remember. He will try his best." "Try? Do, or do not. There will be no try." "I'm sure he will, despite himself. I have seen him face many difficult tasks, with no doubt of his own invulnerability. Ah, to be so young and sure of ourselves again." "Only the ignorant are sure. Ignorance moves forward, where knowledge quakes in fear." What a complete waste of time, space, and air, Tearlach thought. He was actually starting to miss that stupid wizard back in Lut Gholein. At least he was smart enough to give you a straight answer. As he wandered, Tearlach came to a house, the biggest one on the docks, and in the best repair. Most everything else was rotting or falling apart. A bunch of armed men stood around outside. They wore robes, but also bore swords and shields. Warriors? Wizards? Who knows? This crazy land had so many mages, they might be both. A woman's voice rose over the throng. "... and I don't want to see any more in camp. I want the ice mages on the periphery, freeze 'em down to the roots and get 'em out. Not one weed. Got me?" There was a general mumble of assent. "Great. One more thing: Thadar made employee of the week when his charged bolts made that shaman dance the macarena. Thadar, that was great. Let's give him a hand!" One of the mages bowed deeply as the others laughed and applauded. After some back-slapping, the crowd dispersed, and Tearlach got a look at the woman in charge. My, my... no wonder she was in charge. It was a distinct pleasure to finally meet a woman who knows how to dress for success. She was short and dark, but he wasn't about to hold that against her. Not while there were other things to hold against her. The woman noticed Tearlach's open leer, and didn't seem too upset. "So, is that a banana in your hand, or are you just admiring the scenery?" "It's a banana, all right. Woman, you know how to set a man's blood boiling." "In more ways than one. I'm Asheara, leader of the Iron Wolves. We're the best damned mercenary mages you'll find anywhere." Yet another mage? Ah, he found himself in a forgiving mood. "I don't suppose you hire out for anything yourself... or do you choose not to mix business with pleasure?" As shards of ice and bolts of lightning erupted from the house, two nearby Iron Wolves watched with curiosity. "Who was that guy, anyway?" "Dunno, never saw him before. Did he ask the boss what I think he just asked the boss?" "I think he did, and I don't think she liked it." "You think so, do ya? Wait, here he comes." Tearlach slowly walked past, clutching at his groin. The first Iron Wolf tsked and shook his head. "Fastest Frozen Orb in the east." "So, does that mean he's got two frozen orbs now?" "I think he'll be lucky if he's got any after she --" He was cut off when Tearlach came back and grabbed them both. After a short interlude of inexcusable violence, Tearlach continued his slow trek to find a healer. One who didn't practice "laying on of hands," preferably. "Ow," said the first Iron Wolf. "Ow," the second agreed, spitting out some teeth. "Remind me never to do that again." "Sure. Just help me find my nose." Chapter 16 After looking for a healer and not finding one, Tearlach walked stiffly into the waiting jungle. Normally, he wouldn't have bothered, but having progeny would be very important. They are the hope of the future, and if he was going to be king of the world, he'd need strong sons to fight off rivals and carry on his rule. Trust a woman to completely misinterpret his words and overreact. Must be that time of the month. Maybe he should take that as a sign: if his future was going to be all he wished, he'd have to think in the long term, and be more careful of his well-being. At least stay away from hysterical skirts who blow up over an innocent misunderstanding. Huge trees covered with climbing vines and draperies of hanging moss grew near the base of the docks. This wouldn't have been worrying, except some of them grew through the ruins of a building that obviously hadn't been abandoned very long. The biggest was already 15 feet tall, twisted like bundled ropes with its abnormally accelerated growth. The locals were right to be wary, foul magicks were afoot here... but hiding behind other magic spells would not save them. A southlander's first thought is always to hide behind a wall, but all walls fall in time. Tearlach could already see the jungle pressing in on their "safe zone." It was good to know the sons of Bul-Kathos would never die cowering inside a magical dome. As he advanced and the green closed around him, Tearlach saw a man walking ahead of him. Who or what was that? The man was tall and broad shouldered, but wore a long cloak with a hood, concealing his identity. Honest men have no need to hide their faces. Tearlach instantly realizing this had to be a spy going to report to his master -- probably that crazy servant of Ormus, he was the only one big and tall enough. Without a second thought, he leapt to the attack. Tearlach seemed to move slowly, his blade hissing through the humid air. Almost gently he wafted down... and just before he reached the spy, the man looked up. By the Light, the Immortal King himself couldn't have done worse to a man's face and leave him alive. Bits of bone... and something else... poked through rotting skin stretched like a mask over... over no one knows what horror. With demonic speed, the man that was not a man made a gesture, and vanished. Time sped up again, and Tearlach landed with a sickening squish in the damp earth, water rising up to his ankles. Out of the thick air, little demons appeared, pink ugly worms with tiny arms and tiny, very sharp teeth. Killing them was easy, but that wasn't the point. The stranger was no mere man, he had to have been a demon, a big one. Of course, Tearlach realized... it could only have been Diablo. He laughed -- how like him to run like a coward and throw minions in his path. The bastard and his brother must have stowed away on the ship somewhere. They hid themselves well, and didn't dare come ashore until well after he'd left. Even laid low by sickness, they'd had no stomach to face him. The outcome of this battle was less in doubt than ever. They would to face him, sooner than they wanted, if he had to slaughter every last living (and dead) thing in the world to reach them. A miserable little stream trickled down from the east; the green was impenetrable elsewhere, so Tearlach went up the bank. Everywhere, there were ruined buildings, crushed and split open by plants growing up through their floors. Poking in one house, he found a few things: kitchen utensils, papers, children's toys. Everything wooden was covered with black and green mold, and fell to bits in his fingers. Only stone held out for long, and even that was crumbling. Nothing valuable was left; either the inhabitants had time to flee, or there was nothing worth taking. Resuming his journey, he was stopped by a knot of thorny trees blocking the stream. Something groaned, like wood rubbing or maybe the croaking of a huge frog. It wouldn't surprise Tearlach at all to find giant frogs, but he'd have to clear these brambles or find a way around them to proceed. While trying to decide which would be quicker, he noticed they were moving. Tiny red eyes high up on their trunks gazed downward. Their branches lowered, huge limbs of wood swaying like arms. With a mighty tearing sound, the trees wrested their roots from the sodden earth and shambled towards Tearlach. Good thing he had an axe. That twit from the dockside mentioned trees eating people. Of course, he couldn't just come out and say what he meant; he had to talk in those riddles that don't make sense until after you've found out the truth for yourself. Being wood, they were huge and tough, but almost as slow as zombies. The fight was a long one, but they were never a real threat. Some had a few items tangled in their thorns and branches, maybe from growing up through someone's house. One of these items was a little statue, a warrior with a sword. It was funny how fiercely the little man glowered as he stood with his sword planted between his legs, a kneeling woman clasping his thigh with obvious lust. As if any healthy girl would be satisfied with such a scrawny, feeble little man. Maybe if there was nothing else available, but Tearlach couldn't imagine her reacting with such enthusiasm even then. The old fart said the statue wasn't very valuable, just one of a series of "jade" statuettes made in the images of heroes from popular fiction. They weren't even real jade, just some more common stone that looked like jade but was easier to carve. Meshif, the ship captain who'd ferried them over, collected statuettes, and might pay something for it. The statue was of Nanoc the Reaver, a "barbarian" warrior. For some reason, Meshif thought Tearlach wanted to hear about all his fictional exploits. At least, he wouldn't shut up about them. As hero of a few dozen tedious books, each much the same as the others, Nanoc was an iron-thewed scion of rugged masculinity, raven-haired, with bronzed skin gleaming with the sweat of his mighty battles and cobalt-hued eyes filled with canny wit and fiery passion. He traveled far and wide, as a thief, assassin, mercenary, and finally, king. Lusty wenches threw themselves at him everywhere he went; even the noblest ladies were helpless before his volcanic virility. When he wasn't stealing priceless artifacts or infiltrating the forbidden demesne of some all-powerful wizard, he was effortlessly slicing his way through armies of lesser men. It was interesting, in a way, if this was how southlanders viewed his people, but not interesting enough to listen to. When Tearlach stole stuff, people got upset, and the only time a lusty wench threw herself at him, she stole all his money. After a terse reminder that time was growing short, Meshif admitted he didn't have enough cash to pay for a "rare collectible" like this. He offered another statue in trade, a gold one, obviously much better than any stupid stone statue. Better yet, the statue had a hidden compartment, packed full of powder. One weakness southlanders indulge in is a fondness for exotic spices. Because they value them so highly, they pay premium prices and hide them in clever little stashes, like false bottoms on statues. Obviously, Tearlach now had someone's store of some exotic flavorant, maybe worth more than the gold hiding it. Walking away from the ship, he mused on his find. That long sea voyage had deprived him of a lot of nourishment, and the "bananas" weren't enough to fill his stomach. There were giant frogs in the jungle, but people hunted and ate them, not vice-versa. Since there was meat, he might as well see how this stuff tastes! Tearlach sat down with a big bowl of frog stew, sprinkled in some spice, and tried it. He couldn't taste the spice, so he added more. It still didn't change the flavor, so he stirred the whole batch in. Why do southlanders pay so much for this stuff? It didn't taste like anything at all! The frog stew wasn't bad, though. He felt much, much better after eating it. Meanwhile, back in the jungle, Tearlach found he didn't always have to stick close to the stream. As quickly as plants grew, they died, and rotted down in heaps of molds and fungi. Through the gaps they left, he found little clearings, the ruined buildings now inhabited by monster trees and corrupted animals. There were muscular apes (big teeth and claws, but weak in combat) and tiny little people with huge heads. The little people were very fast, stupidly brave, and their heads mostly mouths full of sharp pointy teeth. They'd climb right up you and try and bite your eyes out. Their shamans could raise them from the dead, just like the little demons from the Rogue's pass. Happily, the solution was much the same: kill the shaman first. As he went deeper into the green, Tearlach came to a group of houses completely draped in spider webs. Bundles of webs writhed with spider hatchlings the size of cats. Andarial had giant spiders with her, but the spider queen herself had been banished back to the Hell-pit that spawned her. Any minion of hers here couldn't be worse than the losers guarding her person there, just more numerous. Poking around among the buildings, he found a hole in the ground, its walls supported by webs. How underground tunnels could stay dry in this sodden mess was beyond him, but caves are always profitable. Down he went. After his first battle, Tearlach came to the inescapable conclusion that Andarial had little to do with these spiders. Hers were relatively small, lethargic, and stupid; you could walk right up to them and kill them without them noticing. These spiders were full of magic, poison and fire, especially one nasty bastard in the back corner. To his great surprise, there was a chest down in the spider tunnels - one of the golden strongboxes southlanders use for their most valuable items. An unexpected, but welcome find in such a strange place... but inside, there was nothing but gold and a freshly-cut eyeball. Why would anyone value that? Chapter 17 What was an eyeball doing in a strongbox in the middle of a spider pit? For once, Tearlach was curious to find out, even if that meant asking someone. The box was covered in webs and filth, and obviously had been there for a long time -- but the eye looked so fresh-cut he was surprised it wasn't still bloody. There was obviously magic at work; he was tempted to throw the thing away as cursed. But magic can be useful sometimes, and this magic wasn't like the magic making the jungle grow. The jungle made dead things rot fast. "Wizard," Tearlach asked Cain, "what's this thing?" Blanching at the sight of Tearlach's newest trophy, Cain said, "Except for its unusual color, I would say that looks like a human eye. May I assume its former owner did something out of the ordinary with it?" "It was locked in a chest in a cave. Been there a long time, too." "Ah!" Cain exclaimed, suddenly feeling better. "It may be that this is a saintly relic! While you've been in the jungle, I have been speaking with the people here, learning what I could. Over the past few years, there have been many signs that this holy city was not as holy as it once was. For one, the relics of the saints were no longer used in public rituals. Rumor had it that the priests of Zakarum could no longer approach them. It may be that Mephisto's forces could not destroy the relics, so they were hidden in dark places, like --" "Shut up. Why's it still fresh?" "Well... being the relic of a man blessed by the Light, it lies outside of time and cannot be touched by decay. Much like the angels themselves." "Blessed by Heaven, huh? Only the sons of the Immortal King are blessed by Heaven, from the ancient days when angels walked the earth as men do now." An eyebrow raised skeptically, Cain said, "If you are referring to the Nephalem, who all the Barbarian clans claim as ancestor, they are mentioned in Zakarumite scripture. According to the church, they were the first blessed, but it made them proud and selfish. From then on, Heaven selected only mortal agents, based on their words and deeds." With a contemptuous snort, Tearlach snarled, "The clans are blessed now, as they always were. Everything in the north is as it always was, when men were men. Anyway, what's wrong with being proud and selfish? When you're the best, you should be proud! And who's gonna watch out for a man but himself, anyway?" Cain closed his eyes and sighed. "I see there is no point in arguing about this." "Of course not! Can't argue with the simple truth, wizard. So, a saintly relic." Looking over the eyeball, Tearlach laughed. "Being blessed by Heaven didn't do him much good! He's dead! So much for 'blessings' if they can't even keep you alive!" "All men die in time. Why don't you leave it with me? Perhaps I can find out which saint it was. Oh, and Hratli mentioned that he wished to speak with you." "Why does it matter which one? One fool is the same as another." Chuckling at how he'd shut the old coot up with the power of reasoning, Tearlach went off to have his equipment repaired. Maybe that scrawny little wizard could manage that much; he'd keep an eye on him to make sure. "I could have retired..." Cain muttered, feeling very old. "I could have moved to a quiet little village out in the country. No, wait, I did. That quiet little village did not remain quiet for long. Poor Griswold. Maybe I'm under some sort of curse. Things like this never used to happen to me. Maybe if I took a new name..." While Hratli was polishing Tearlach's axes, he said, "As I told you before, the enchantment I placed over the dockside seems to be weakening." "That should teach you to hide behind walls. When your fate comes, meet it head on, don't draw it out with cowering and begging." "I happen to be a recognized expert in cowering and begging. I have taken the coveted Golden Kneepads in the international Sniveller's Olympics for three years running, and will not allow Zakarum to alter my choice of lifestyle now. With a suitable source of magical energy to reinforce the protective dome, we will remain safe much longer." Taken somewhat aback, Tearlach stood there blinking for a few seconds. "Ah... er... right. Source of magic energy." "One of the most potent in this area was an ancient Skatsimi dagger, the Gidbinn. It is just the size for a Flayer; most likely that you will find it among them. Bring it to Ormus; he knows the spells which will release the dagger's stored power. Now go about your business, or I will be forced to beg." "Uh... yeah." One thing was sure... this guy was the weirdest wizard he'd ever met. He talked like begging was the worst thing he could do! Maybe it was, he probably wasn't much of a wizard. Now that other one, the woman, that was the kind of wizard Tearlach could get along with if she learned to control her temper and stop misinterpreting people. The world would be a better place if more wizards dressed like that... then the image of Cain in a thong passed unbidden through Tearlach's mind. He ran back into the jungle to bathe the image away in blood -- preferably not his own, but that would do if it had to. Pushing in through the greenery, Tearlach came to a marshy area full of zombies and weird lightning-shooting ghosts. The ghosts disintegrated in one hit; the zombies usually took two. After the first few dozen, he wondered if this was once a battlefield, for so many dead men to be here. The ghosts lent support to the theory: they're common where war leaves the unpurified dead on the ground. Maybe each ghost had a body lost here; to amuse himself, Tearlach tried throwing zombies into the ghosts to see if they'd breathe in the soul and come back to life. It didn't work -- zombies don't breathe. There were also huge river snakes, which spat poison as he passed by. The cowardly things sat too far out in the water for him to reach, but he could safely ignore them. Tearlach was glad to leave the marsh. He'd more than gotten his fill of undead in Lut Gholein, and these ones smelled even worse. Must be from sitting on a river bottom. As the land got marginally higher and less swampy, he heard drums echoing among the trees: short bursts of drumming, answered by more distant beats. He'd be expected. Not that any warning would save the Zakarumites, but it's good to know someone's noticed his arrival. As he stomped into the greenery, a tiny little man with giant white teeth streaked past him, ululating with excitement as his bitty little legs tore along the ground. Ah, Flayers. The next hour was a blur of tiny bodies, launching themselves at him in a suicidal frenzy or blowing tiny darts from behind the leaves. More came whenever he took a moment to rest, shredding through the greenery with their tiny knives and spears. It was almost impressive, so much courage in such tiny packages. Their strength was pathetic, but they attacked in such insane fits, with no concern for their own welfare, they were actually beginning to wear him down. Of course, it would take hundreds of them to kill him... but they seemed to have the numbers they needed, and would do absolutely anything to get a piece of him. After he killed one who'd been trying to bring a full-sized spear to bear, Tearlach howled in frustration and took a portal back to the docks. "Damn it, wizard! You know I'm not a coward. I'd have killed you long ago if you ever thought so!" "Assuredly," Cain replied with great mildness. "Is something upsetting you?" "It's these damn little midget bastards! They intend to kill me with sewing needles and pinking shears, and they might have enough of them to do it! I hate them, I hate them, I hate them, I hate the &*$%#*! things so much!!" "Perhaps if you considered using your shield? I notice you've left it out." "What?" Tearlach looked around, and noticed a huge shield leaning against his rucksack, the runes Shael and Eth mounted in it. With it was a note: Master McThornBody, Go through the Flayer Jungle without a shield or life leech? That's just askin' for it! In the interests of your not being nibbled to death, I'll trade you "Rhyme" for Bloodthief, the unique Brandistock you got there. Flayers carry around the damnedest things, don't they? After reading the note, Tearlach noticed his pack was lighter. That spear was gone. "Old man, who left this?" Cain raised an eyebrow. "I thought you did?" "Never mind, then. I've used a shield before, I can use one again." Of the many runes the Ancients had given to his people, those meant for shields caused the most argument. Many think a strong warrior should never need a shield. One is only called for against cowards who try to kill from a distance, or professional duelists who take unfair advantages. Others felt the children of Bul-Kathos would not be given a tool unless they were meant to make use of it as the need arose. Flexibility is the most important weapon in a warrior's arsenal, so his mind must be sharper than his steel. Tearlach, who took pride in his keen intellect and intuitive grasp of tactics, was willing to try a shield again, particularly if directed to by the higher powers guiding his destiny. As he knew it would, the shield made the blow-darts a lot easier to deal with. His bejeweled war axe did nearly as much damage as Brainhew anyway, so Tearlach moved the big axe to his back and hacked through the Flayer's jungles from behind a shield. Soon, he found a village of the tiny freaks, with tiny huts and tiny walls, and human skulls impaled on stakes. Human bodies lay where they were being sliced up like butchered pigs, and moldy bones were boiling in a huge cauldron. After killing every last living thing in the place (even one of the talkative green birds that accidentally strayed too close) he found a little blade, made not of iron or even bronze, but copper. Back on the docks, Tearlach brought the copper dagger to Ormus. "Hey, stupid! The other wizard says I should bring this to Ormus, so he can do something with it." "You have done well, hero. Now, Ormus may use the knowledge he has spent a lifetime collecting, for the good of all." "Good for him. When's he going to show his face?" "The face of Ormus is known to all, as is his shame. The past is mirror to the future, like the black river beneath our feet. Will the future be so dark, Ormus wonders?" Tearlach had become bored almost the instant Ormus started babbling. He got his armor fixed, set a new giant axe he found with gems and runes, sold off Brainhew, and came back; Ormus was still babbling. "Ormus congratulates you. Take this ring; it does me no good! And you must speak with Asheara. She has something for you." She has something for me? Tearlach thought. That sounds... intriguing. Maybe she's coming around. He went up to meet her, wondering if he should put the shield away. Having it out might imply he was afraid to meet her -- a ludicrous idea, but you never know what a woman will start thinking. No, he decided: why should he do any different than what he always did just because of what a woman thinks? Asheara smirked as Tearlach came in. "Hi there. Nice shield. Or is that someone's wall you're carrying around these days?" Vindictive little tart. But Tearlach knew that sweet words were a surer way to a woman's heart than sharp retorts. He decided to try flattery. "I came to hear of something a wizard and leader has to say, not to listen to a chattering woman's insults. Does this leader of men have anything to say?" She stared hard for a moment, before a twinkle crept into her eye. He'd guessed right about how to flatter her. "Ormus says the dome's been strengthened. It looks like fewer of my men are needed to guard the dockside." "So, will they be standing idle, or do you have other uses for them?" Her eyes went hard again in an instant. "I meant attacking, not sitting on these miserable docks." "You'd better mean that," she snapped. "Yes, we're attacking. I've got a lot of revenge for Zakarum and their midget minions. I'm also assigning a man to go along with you." Tearlach laughed. "You sure he'll be safe?" "Don't piss my men off, any of them. They're a lot more dangerous than anything in the jungle out there." "You think he'll actually be useful to me?" "Oh, yeah." The new mercenary actually wasn't very useful in the caves under the Flayer village. He shot lightning every now and then, or let loose a few sparks, but hardly sped their progress. Even when he concentrated all his bolts on one Flayer, the thing was hardly better than half-dead before Tearlach lost patience and chopped it in two himself. He found himself wasting more time waiting in the dark for him to catch up than he saved by the extra firepower. The only place he might have proven his worth was against the skeleton Flayers. They were something new: when they died, they exploded. Could a mage fry the bastards before they got close? No -- he couldn't even make a dent in them. Wizards. In the deepest part of the cave, Tearlach found another strongbox being guarded by a bunch of Flayer shamans. Inside was a bunch of gold, and a human brain, still soft and squishy. It wouldn't break up in his fingers, though, despite its softness. More saint bits, hidden away. But maybe some use would come of them... if Mephisto feared the Zakarum saints, surely they couldn't be all bad. Chapter 18 "So, how's Yatiraj working out for you?" Asheara asked. "He's pathetic," Tearlach said with a smile as he casually flexed his massive biceps. "A more useless mercenary I've never seen. About the only good thing I can say about him is that he learned to stay out of my way, after I had to crack his skull a few times." "Huh," Asheara said, turning away to look at her roster. "Ice mages are more popular. You can trade up to --" "Hell no!" Tearlach spat. "I've learned ice is more destructive than fire. It's amusing to see the enemy shatter and melt into nothing, but too much is destroyed with them. Why do you stupid mages use ice? If you wish to destroy an enemy's spirit, it's better to tear their still-beating hearts out and eat them before their dying eyes. Has more style, too." For the first time, Asheara actually looked appalled, and more than a little ill. Guess she's not as tough as she thinks she is. "Yeah. You found any spellbooks up there?" Tearlach smirked. "You mean your mighty mercenaries haven't penetrated the jungle as far as I have alone? No, I've found no books or scrolls. All the soft things have rotted." "Magic doesn't rot, barbarian. It's the only thing keeping your stuff from rusting away." Oh, so she wants to fight, does she? "Steel is king of the world. All bow to it. Magic is a convenience for the strong, but a crutch for the weak to stand on." "Then I guess you don't need the merc," she said. "Yatiraj, you're off." It was bad enough that she was trying to take his merc... then he had to give that huge sigh of relief and mutter "thank God" as he left. "Hey! I paid good money for --" "How much did you pay?" "Er... nothing." "That's right. You get what you pay for. The Iron Wolves don't volunteer often, it's bad for business. When we do, you treat us with respect. You hear me?" "I'm not deaf, woman. But there's nothing to respect about any of you." More shards of ice and sparks of lightning burst out of Asheara's house. Shortly thereafter, Tearlach left, clutching his groin again. By the blood of the Ancients, he was going to have to teach that woman a lesson someday. A woman should know how to control her temper! But then, there's something about her that's just not natural. Maybe it's the voice, she's got a really deep voice for a woman. And she keeps trying to blast his goodies off, which is the last thing any natural woman would want. By the time he got back to the jungle, Tearlach had pretty much recovered the feeling in his extremities, which was just enough to put him in a really foul mood. Next to one of the ever-present waypoints was a swampy pit, leading down to a series of catacombs. Undead were everywhere: almost waxy-looking mummies, wet and bloated zombies, lightning ghosts, and those annoying exploding Flayer skeletons. The only good thing about them is that they don't have lungs, so they can't blow darts like the living ones. And, of course, there were Flayers. It took hours to clear the place, but they had some decent loot. Continuing through the jungle, stomping little squeaks right and left (they burst like pimples if you do it just right,) Tearlach came to the towers of a city gate. An impressive edifice, to be sure, but what's with all the skulls? Huge death's-heads were sculpted into the walls, one with blood and gore splattered all over its teeth. Hmm... lifting someone up that high to feed them to a wall? Weird. A crowd of lightning-blasted trees guarded the gates, but once they were disposed of, nothing held him back from the city of Kurast. Ruined buildings, large and small, were laid out in an orderly grid behind the city wall. Jungle growth overwhelmed everything, but there were few trees, so long grasses with sharp, saw-like edges to their leaves covered the ground. Unlike the buildings down-river, these were mostly intact, much easier to search and loot. He got right to business, only stopping when interrupted by the Zakarumites, Paladins of Kurast. The Zakarumites are worth mentioning. Being southlanders, they were pathetic excuses for warriors and men. In addition, they'd been starved down to skin and bones, and given rusty axes and scythes to fight with. Mephisto would have to do better than them if he expected to hold this land. Maybe he was thinking of relying on Flayers and killer trees, but starvelings armed with sticks and farm tools wouldn't be a threat to anyone. The wimps fought single-mindedly, at least, with no sign of fear or any whimpering for mercy. While repairing his stuff, Hratli asked, "Have you met the Zakarum yet?" "Yes. Miserable dolts who don't know when to quit. They die in droves." "You will find they are much like zombies, only without the warmth and charisma. This is because they are being controlled by magic. In the inner heart of Kurast, the high council of Zakarum has set up a compelling orb, which forces their followers to do their will." Tearlach laughed. "You'd think they'd be smart enough to at least give them swords. Or did they sell all their arms to enrich themselves?" "For many years, I watched the high council, and their decisions baffled me. Their minds seemed set on destroying their own city. Now, it seems they were nothing but the voice of the Lord of Hatred, and it is his decisions which baffle me. I am not as well-versed in the ways of evil as I ought to be." "How about that Ormus guy? He's too shady to come out in the light and be seen." "The confusion Ormus leaves behind him is of an altogether different character. So far as darkness and despair go, Alkor explains things much more clearly than Ormus." Tearlach frowned. "Who's Alkor?" "At the north end of the docks, you will find a small ruin. Near it, nothing green can grow, but not because of magical power or any kind of goodness. Alkor dissipates himself there, when he is not spying on his fellow man. Go and see him. It might cheer you up." There was a hut up there, in the center of a strangely clear pool of water; when Tearlach first saw it, he was sure no one would choose to live there. When he opened the door, there was someone inside, a tiny old man with a face like a dyspeptic monkey. "Damn it, I told you people to leave me alone! Wait, you're the new one, aren't you?" "New enough. Pfaugh, how could anyone live with this stink?" "Funny, that is what everyone says about you! But you never listen. You would not even stay to listen to Ormus' poem about you." "Huh? What poem?" "I will recite it for you. Try not to lose interest and wander away before I finish." Kurast is full of despair; Grief and sorrow fill the air! Happy children on the street Are now barbecuing meat. Those of us who Death bypassed Won't look back: she's gaining fast. Well-disguised, a savior came, Seeking only wealth and fame. Hear the women wail and weep While he looks for one to keep -- If demons don't kill him dead, I am sure he'll die in bed. Pray his deeds with mighty axe Equal those with sheep and yaks, But there's something he must learn: FIRST you plunder, THEN you burn! Rage burned in Tearlach's heart. If he ever found Ormus, the bastard was dead. "Just so you know, my people do not keep sheep." "And I suppose you were just standing behind the yak." "Forget the yak! There's no truth to those rumors. How'd he know about that, anyway?" "I am sure it was nothing but an educated guess. So, you no longer bless me with your absence. It pains me to waste time with you, so what do you want?" "Um... what did I come up here for? Oh, yeah! Why is Mephisto destroying his own city?" "You think I should know? For the fun of it. When you are a demon, what other reason is there to do anything? If you are unsure, find the Tome of Lam Esen, a book of prophesies connected with these unhappy times. The Zakarum hid it away long ago." "Why didn't they just burn it?" "Again you ask me his mind. My own mind is enough of a mystery to me! Now, go out and slaughter the Zakarum, if you please. I have a great love of morbid excess." This guy might be even weirder than Hratli. Nothing in this country made any sense, not the people, not the demons, nothing. Tearlach returned to Kurast, and drove into the city. It was easily the biggest he'd seen, a huge place full of temples, houses, little market stalls and big empty halls. There was plenty of loot, some of it quite rare. One Zakarum had an amulet with a picture of a winged heart on it. The minute he picked it up, the amulet vanished, and a note appeared in its place: Buff Vanderhuge, The Angelic Wings! I've been lookin' for this practically forever! You've completed the Angelic Set! You'd think it'd be easier to find. Keep going, you're doing just fine, you'll start finding good stuff from here on out. -- The Mule Hmph. He would have liked to at least look at the amulet. Considering how much he owed, he couldn't rightfully complain about giving up things, but he should at least have a chance to give them, rather than have them taken away. Exploring further east he found... another wall, inside the first one! With more city beyond it! There must be a demon in charge of this place, who else would like cities so much that he'd build such a big one? Clearing it was going to take forever! Chapter 19 According to the old man, who spent a lot of time in Kurast many years ago, the city was built in layers, each built around the previous one. Originally, there was just a little town called Travincal, built on an island in the middle of a lake. When the place became the holy city of Zakarum, all the brainwashed zealots wanted to live there. They called themselves the Hand of Zakarum, and built houses on the shore and a wall to protect themselves and their temples. As Zakarum's influence grew, more brainwashed zealots came; they lived outside the wall, but soon built another around themselves. The final result was a sprawling mess with rings and rings of walls, manned by legions of paranoid fanatics who would sacrifice anything to protect their holy city. In the past, when they was prosperous and the demon's influence was not so obvious, Kurast had seemed impregnable. Now, the hands of Zakarum were starved and naked, with nowhere near the numbers they'd need to man even one wall. No one had ever invaded, so all the wealth the church spent centuries accumulating was still there, ripe for plundering. It was almost embarrassing how easy it was to slaughter the minions of the church and loot their holy temples, but Tearlach was not easily embarrassed. It was clear to him that he was doing nothing but living up to his destiny, wiping away the old powers of the world in preparation for the establishment of his kingdom. He was killing demons too, which made it even better. And at least one of the Prime Evils was in here, somewhere. Diablo and Baal escaped him in the desert, but he was not about to let that happen again. The Zakarumites dug moats (or maybe canals) around their inner walls, but also built bridges and conveniently left the gates open. Tearlach wouldn't even have to get his feet wet. It was strange that the Zakarumites left the gates open. Why would Mephisto leave his city open and exposed like that? If he's risen to leader of all demonkind, he can't be a complete fool. On the other hand, Tearlach thought as he chopped his way through yet another crop of walking trees, maybe he should count it as a blessing. It's not every day that a warrior can rely on his enemy to behave like a fool. The next layer of city looked like a big marketplace, with open areas and lots of little stalls where merchants used to ply their trade. The Zakarumites were out in force here, along with priests who could heal their followers or summon up lightning. When one of the Paladins was too badly wounded, he (or sometimes she) ran back to the priest for healing, before returning to the fray. Tearlach quickly realized that could prove more annoying than raising them from the dead, as they would heal anything -- their followers, the walking trees, even the swarms of jungle mosquitoes that plagued the place. A quick leap and strike took care of the priests, though; like other spell-slingers, they fold quickly once you get close. Looting the merchant's stalls was highly profitable, there was a lot of valuable junk there. This had been a rich city, once, and all the good stuff had been left lying on the ground after Mephisto took over. There were also two pyramids, with temples on top. In the first ruined temple, Tearlach found huge swarms of monsters: giant spiders, fire-slinging vampires, some Wendigo, and an all-female band of Zakarumites. They were more than three-quarters naked, which wouldn't have been so bad if they weren't even more physically warped than the corrupted Rogues. You'd think that with that many demons guarding a place, there'd be something worth guarding there, but all he found was a stupid little black book. He couldn't even read it. Back in the marketplace, Tearlach continued through hordes of enemies. His concentration was supreme, but when he met a cloud of bugs enchanted to teleport, and the little bastards wouldn't stop teleporting, he finally lost his temper. He didn't care if they hurt, he didn't care about anything, euphoria flooded his brain and he didn't feel pain and RAAAGH!! STUPID BUGS DIE DIE DIE DIE BITE RIP TEAR CRUSH AAAAAHH I COULD EAT A TREE!!!!! When the fit passed, he looked around at the corpses of his enemies. He felt sick. He felt great. There were splinters stuck between his teeth, but this did not alarm him nearly as much as it should have. The greatest gift of the Ancients, the inner fire of the berserk, had been given to him. Nothing could stop him now. While clearing the marketplace, the fit came over him many more times. Blinded to pain, his armor repair bills skyrocketed; the smith wondered how he could be so happy while his armor looked like he was getting hacked to pieces every time he went out. As he got used to the fire coursing through his muscles, he found a loud war cry was enough to stun his foes, before he hacked them to bits. Wood and bone splintered like nothing now, he didn't notice how much his enemies hurt him until after the battle was over. In his saner moments, he realized that this was not entirely a good thing. Thinking in the long term, he had to keep himself whole and healthy, but when the ecstasy of combat filled him, none of that mattered. He did start picking up potions, though. A square hole in the ground of the marketplace led into the city sewers. Water-filled tunnels branched out to every part of the city but the innermost regions. Apparently they still throw wastes into the lake the old-fashioned way up there. Like every other cave in this demon-haunted world, the place was lousy with demon-spawn, mostly undead: drowned zombies, skeletons, even mummies, both little ones and those obnoxious big ones. They must use a lot of preservatives to keep themselves fresh in this watery climate. Of course, what part of Kurast would be Kurast without Flayers? Tearlach was thoroughly sick of the little bastards, and the sewers made it worse -- they were all undead, the kind that won't die peacefully. After an extremely unpleasant encounter with a stronger-than-average Flayer skeleton while in a berserk fit, Tearlach felt woozy enough to go back to merely hacking the little bastards up from behind his shield. Even the gifts of the ancestors should not be over-used. Damn, the thing left teeth embedded in his codpiece. Can't allow things like *that* to happen. The deepest depths of the sewers hid a trap door, which Tearlach smashed through with his axe. Then he noticed the lever which opened it. Oh well, he could always use more practice with his weapon of choice. In a pit full of spitting water snakes, he found a dozen or so large chests full of treasure, and a well-preserved human heart. You don't often find well-preserved organs floating in slimy water, particularly in Kurast; this had to be another saintly relic. Let's see, that's an eye, a brain, and a heart. What comes next, his manhood? Chapter 20 "Hmm..." Tearlach muttered, looking over Alkor's selection of gambles. "The boots." "As sahib wishes. There you are: a fine set of Chain Boots of Remedy." "Damn it! I've no luck with gambling games. It's a good thing I've so much coin on hand, or you'd never see me at all." "You have plagued my house ever since you discovered my sideline. Now, I waste what little time and space I have tending to your material obsessions. Boots, boots, and more boots. This is quite a footwear fetish you have developed." "I do not need them. The gods left me a message, asking for decent boots." Alkor stared at Tearlach, squinting even more than usual. "What would the gods want with boots? Damn it, if gods need boots, then gods have feet, and that means they might step in something ungodly. I do it all the time, and I am not a god at all." "Uh... right." "A new religion could be founded on this. Speaking of religion... the mud you track into my house every day tells me you have entered the upper city." Tearlach's eyes widened. "You can speak to mud? Damn, that's a gift! The other wizard thought you knew so much because you spy on everybody." Alkor's eyes squinted shut completely, and he muttered something too faint to be heard. "Hratli must enjoy your company, you suit his bizarre sense of humor. Go and spend more time with him. Have you found the Black Book of Lam Esen yet?" "Book... oh, yeah! Is this it?" "You have it! Get your fat sausage-fingers off and give it to me. These prophecies will give us all some insight into the goals of the Prime Evils." "What's to know?" Tearlach shrugged. "They're going to destroy the world, trying to deny me my destiny. If that book's any good, it'll all be about me." "I am sure you are mentioned here somewhere. Lam Esen studied many lower forms of life in his spare time. Now be off! I need much time alone and unmolested." "No one molests you, wizard. Who would want to?" "Asheara. She is my best customer! She buys a potion of manliness from me every week, and is always interested in reducing the cost. It is good for me that my experiments have inured me to her violent charms." Laughing, Tearlach puffed out his chest. "So, her man needs a potion to keep up with her. And only once a week, too!" "No, no, lack-witted mendicant. She takes them. I wonder if they have begun to have any permanent effects yet?" A look of horror crept over Tearlach's face, and he almost ran out of Alkor's hut. Normally, anyone who insulted him like that would pay with his life... whatever a mendicant is. But hearing that Asheara was... she was a... damn it, he looks just like a woman! No wonder she seemed so unnatural. Good thing Tearlach's instincts warned him away from her -- or him -- or whatever! -- in time. A scary thing, a creature like that wandering around, trying to seduce real men. After diving back in the reassuring familiarity of combat to the death, Tearlach met a band of green, decaying vulture demons, very much like those in the desert. This bunch had hard, stony skin; he cut right through them in a berserk fury, never realizing how badly they were knocking him around. Vulture demons didn't seem that bad, back in the desert. His war cries frightened them a bit, but not nearly long enough, and all the noise brought more enemies. Not that it made any difference, in the end. One of the Zakarumites had a scimitar the old fart said was called Blood Crescent. Sparkly little thing. No one ever decorates a real sword that much. The far edge of the city butted up against a lake. By the time Tearlach found a bridge, he'd worked out a strategy. While the blessed madness consumed him, he left himself open to all kinds of career-ending injuries. But if he could keep his head through the fit and retreat a short distance as his enemies approached, they would string out into smaller, manageable groups. The Zakarumites didn't fall for the trick; if they were dangerous enough to worry about, that might have been a problem. Weirdly enough, the Zakarumites even built temples on the bridge leading into their holiest of holies. What's all this preoccupation with religious stuff, anyway? The temples were so full of demons and naked nuns, it just wasn't safe for Tearlach to let himself go -- he carefully chopped his way through, concentrating on his safety and well-being. If the gods didn't like it, they could get down here and kill these things themselves, boots or no boots. One of the nuns was in leather -- must have been the mother superior. The short leather vest vanished as Tearlach tore it from her body, and a note fluttered down in its place: Brick Rockgroin, The world is a scary place, isn't it? You just forget Asheara, she ain't the girl for you anyways. Thanks for Vidala's Ambush, we only had one of her items! Now get your little heiney into Travincal, you're late for a very important date! -- The Mule If he weren't a god, he'd kill him. Come to think of it, he probably wasn't a god -- what kind of god is named after a pack animal? The man to ask was probably Ormus, if he'd ever come out from wherever he's hiding. Tearlach asked his servant anyway. "You ask Ormus how to kill a god?" "No, how to kill The Mule. Not that I'm going to do it. Anytime soon, anyway." "You now face the challenge of killing Mephisto, who is as much like a god as anything in this world. It understand that the great patriarch of the Zakarum, Sankekur, now embodies his spirit. Even the hatred we feel for him fuels his strength." "Yeah, whatever. How do you keep them from popping in and out? I can't crush their skulls if they don't stand still." "Ormus knows not how to slay gods and monsters. If you best Mephisto, you will usher in a new age. If not, Ormus will write an epic poem to commemorate your deeds. You need not worry about immortality, Ormus' words will keep your name alive forever." Not even trying to hide his disgust, Tearlach said, "If it's anything like his last poem, he can keep it. In fact, you can tell that pontificating blowhard never to sully my name with one of his poems again! I'd tell him myself, but I'm in a good mood today." "Ormus thanks you. Perhaps the words of a great Barbarian king will give you the answer you need: 'If brute force is not working, you're probably not using enough.'" Tearlach smiled. "I see southlanders haven't forgotten *all* the wisdom of the ancients. There's hope for you yet. After I get rid of Mephisto, I'll have to make this my capital." "All will welcome you. Asheara has told me she always wanted to be the commander of a great army of men, and will eagerly come to your side." All the color drained from Tearlach's face. "Uh... er... ah... no sense making plans this early. Still have to whack Mephisto. And Diablo, and... uh... the other one. Until then, I'll just have to... um... whatever it was I was doing." "Your words are wise," Ormus intoned. "In the holy city of Travincal, the High Council of Zakarum guards Mephisto's tower. His durance is locked, but the head councilor holds a key that is not a key." Tearlach frowned. "What the hell's a 'durance'?" "A restraint, from those who know none to one for whom it means nothing. This vile durance has been sealed by those meant to guard it, that none may enter but his brothers." "Ha! Like any door could hold me back. Never mind, you know nothing worth listening to. I'm off to the city to kill some more priests. I'll see you again by sundown." Travincal was full of temples, which were probably once made of white marble. The stones were now stained with dried blood and burnt flesh; the zealous guardians of Zakarum were likewise blackened. They moved quickly, and under the oversight of their priests proved a difficulty even for one so mighty as Tearlach. He had to move with care, leaping from low causeways to the tops of pyramids, striking swiftly, precisely, and with punishing force. Cantors and paladins fell in droves, along with the vampires and tentacle snakes they shared their "holy city" with. The ruined tower in the center of the city reminded Tearlach of that tower back at the Rogue's pass. It was in ruins, and burnt completely black. While he was killing the poison spitters in the watery pits outside, the Zakarum council came out. They were in even worse shape than the corrupted Rogues. Killing them was a mercy, like stomping on an especially gruesome bug. As weird as they were, they had a lot of loot: fine armor, powerful weapons, even a nicely enchanted ring. But no boots. Still, it wasn't a bad haul. He'd have to visit the big city more often. Inside the tower, someone had put a glass globe on a little dais. Nothing else, no keyhole or anything. The globe was probably the "compelling orb" thing the old fart mentioned. Bashing it to pieces should take care of it, but the thing wouldn't break; his fiercest fury couldn't even scratch it. For once, the old fart had some useful advice: the flail one council member used belonged to Khalim, who'd been head of the council before Sankekur. He resisted when Mephisto took over the rest, and they killed him for it. His flail, combined with the saintly relics from around the city, made a new weapon that could smash the orb. The floor of the tower opened, and Tearlach fell into Mephisto's Durance of Hate. Right on his heiney. Damn, the gods will have their way no matter what he does. Chapter 21 The way into Mephisto's durance was a smooth chute, large enough to accommodate several people. It was a long slide, but Tearlach's fall was cushioned by a pile of human bodies at the end. Sliding in wasn't a bad strategy, actually -- might be easier to catch the enemy off guard. Nonetheless, he preferred stairs. The pile of bodies he'd landed on was deeper than it looked: dozens of local people were heaped into shallow pits in the floor, with holes leading down so blood and putresent fluids could drain away. None of them had anything valuable, so he moved on. Not all the bodies were just lying around, of course; some of the older ones had gotten the mummy treatment. There were also pin-headed giants and the floating undead mages like in that hidden place in the palace. Weird; according to the elders, every demon lord has his own favorite minions that he likes to use. Here in Mephisto's prison-fortress, he should have his own best slaves sacrificing themselves to protect his rotten hide. This probably means that Diablo got in here first, and he'll have to take on all three of The Brothers at once. It's a good day to die, if it comes to that. Probably won't. As Tearlach made his way through, he found a lot of treasure chests, neatly packed with valuables and locked up tight. The Zakarumites had probably stripped all these bodies before piling them up, or sending them down more chutes deeper into the durance. It made things very convenient, not having to dig through piles of rotting corpses 12 feet deep for a few coins or a ring. Not that he'd left a single Zakarumite alive to accept his thanks. Maybe he could go directly to The Three; he also had a thing or two to tell them about all these chests being locked. They even arranged groups of torches in keyhole shapes. Back at Hratli's, Tearlach bought another ring of keys. "Why the hell would a demon lock up all his valuables anyway? Is he just trying to annoy me?" "One could ask, why did the Horadrim build a tower when they planned to bury him below ground? As I told you before, nothing here has made sense for many years." "I believe you! Did you know that Asheara's a man?" Hratli did not react visibly; maybe he was too stunned by the revelation. "Every new day with you is a learning experience. How do you come by this knowledge, I wonder?" "The alchemist. Damn, he or she or whatever it is gives me the creeps. He looks almost exactly like a real woman!" "Remarkably so. However, I must admit to some skepticism. I have seen Asheara on laundry day; she is a very bold woman. If that was a disguise, it was easily the best I have ever seen." Tearlach frowned. "I'm telling you, little wizard, I know what I know. There's no way I can be wrong on this one!" Hratli tried to smile calmly. "I am sure you are right, of course." "None of that!" Tearlach snorted. "You don't believe me, but you won't say it because you're a sniveling little coward." "Actually, I am a passive-aggressive coward. Sniveling was never one of my strengths." "Never mind! I'm right, and I can prove it! A disguise, huh?" Sensing imminent catastrophe, Hratli shook his head. "No, no, I must not have seen her clearly. I did not have my glasses that day. They were in the shop, getting new valves." "You've never worn glasses. I can tell because you don't have the little marks on the sides of your nose." "Damn my classic profile. Please, you do not need to prove to me what Asheara is. It is not a sight I need to see in this lifetime." "I'll prove it anyway, and you know why? Because I'm sick of all you wizards looking down your noses at me. Just because you're all jealous doesn't mean you don't have to give me the respect I deserve! Now I'm right, I know I'm right, and you know I'm right but won't admit it! So, damn you, I'm gonna prove it!" That stupid barbarian hadn't come to visit for a long time, but Asheara wasn't surprised to see him come stomping back in now. What did surprise her was that he had Hratli under one arm. "Hey, Hratli. Don't tell me he's taken a fancy to you?" "The pleasure is all yours, Asheara. Could I please be released from your armpit now?" "Fine," Tearlach said propping Hratli up beside the desk before turning to Asheara. "Just so you know I'm onto you, you... thing!" "A thing? I thought I was a witch." "He does not think so," Hratli said. "In fact, the contention is over... a thing." "A thing?" Asheara asked. "A thing." "Is it a great big thing?" "Certainly not." "So it's a tiny little thing?" "You'd hardly notice it. At least, I didn't." "I wouldn't expect you to. Unless he really has taken a fancy to you." "That I would notice. I did not notice this thing." "So it's another thing, huh?" "A thing no one ever suspected." Asheara grinned; she was actually intrigued. "Hmm, a very mysterious thing. Is it shaped like a turnip?" "Why are you asking me? I did not notice it." "Enough of this banter!" Tearlach snarled, "I came here to prove it, so there!" With that, he tore Asheara's top off. "What do you think of that?" Slowly, Hratli blinked. "You mean 'those'." "Huh?" Tearlach looked. "Oh, the disguise! They must be glued on." "EEEYOW!!" "Please, do not try pulling harder, for all our sakes." "What the HELL are you two DOING?" "He was proving a point. Barbarian, do you ever run from combat?" Tearlach snarled, "Never!" "Good. I dislike competition." After barely making it out of the house before the showers of ice and lightning started, Hratli quickly sauntered over to visit Alkor. The old alchemist was standing outside his door, watching the show. "I do so love fireworks. We have had many entertaining displays since the new fellow came to the city." "Yes," Hratli nodded. "Perhaps he does this as a public service." "It is certainly better than watching you play around with all your silly magic weapons. As though you or anyone else ever had the stones to use them." "Alkor, you have entertained us all many times in the past, but I feel no need to follow your example. I am content with the knowledge that our troubles will soon be over." "You mean, Mephisto will be destroyed and we can torture all the Zakarumites to death?" "That, or we will all be devoured by Flayers. Except you; I do not think they could survive eating you." "Oh, happiness! I would smile, but I fear my face might collapse!" "Whatever brings you pleasure. You need not tell me what that is; I have already spent too much of today in an armpit." As Alkor danced a jig of joy, Hratli continued to watch magic bolts blasting through the walls and roof of Asheara's house. The whole building was trembling. "Goodness! She is inspired tonight. I hope she will realize how limited my involvement was." "Of course she will!" Alkor cackled. "But she will freeze your little man off anyway. What did he do to earn it this time?" "It seems to me that he misheard something you said. Combined with an intolerance for sexual ambiguity, it led him to a certain belief about Asheara." "Hunh? Did I hear 'sexual ambiguity' and 'Asheara' in the same sentence? It cannot be!" "She was not pleased." Then Hratli noticed Tearlach leaving Asheara's house, clutching at his groin. "Ah, I see they have reached a satisfactory conclusion." "No! Asheara will not be satisfied until she has you too." "I shall have to work on my sniveling." With a faraway look in his eye, Hratli paused to wipe away a tear. "You know, it is almost sad that our new friend's visit with us must end soon, one way or another. He has provided us all with many hours of amusement." "True, true. His miserable gambling skills. His unique way with women. We will never see another like him." "That might be too much to hope for." Ok, so they are real, Tearlach thought as he staggered back to the durance. There was still no call to get so upset. It was an honest mistake -- he really thought that no woman would ever want to drink a potion of manliness. Men are men, and women are women, and no real woman would want it any other way. But would she calm down and listen while he tried to explain this to her? No! Demons are more reasonable than women. They accept steel as the ultimate argument; no ifs, ands, or buts there. Well, the little exploding skeletons aren't very reasonable. There were a few there, and Tearlach dispatched them very carefully. All the drains and chutes in the durance emptied into one pit in the deepest level. The bubbling pit of corruption was guarded by five more councilors, who led hordes of undead mages. For all their magic, all of them ran, and were cut down. Finally, in the deepest pit of rot and slime in the whole place, the demon lord Mephisto laired. It was probably Mephisto; he said something about his brothers escaping, but Tearlach wasn't really listening. All he saw was a red haze. In the end, the Lord of Hatred, the most terrible of all Hell's evils, went down before Tearlach even had to touch a potion. There was nothing else in there; no sign of Diablo, or the other one, nothing. Tearlach went back to the docks. "Wizard! Have you seen Diablo or the other one go by here?" Cain blinked. "You're back! We all heard the scream; was that Mephisto?" "Guess so. He was big and floated and stank like rotten meat. Anyway, the other ones weren't in there. Where might they have gone?" "Did you find Mephisto's soulstone? It is crucial that we have it." "Is that the gem with the little shimmying light inside?" "Ah, yes. The light is Mephisto's soul. Don't look at it too long, you'll give him a window into your soul. Did you find any sign of Diablo or Baal?" "They ran like cowards. Their eldest was braver, I'll give him that, but it did him no good in the end." "They may have used a gate. Were there any there?" "Huh? Oh, yeah, the gate! There's a big red one in the middle of the pool of blood, with screaming faces and things. Lights up the room pretty well." "Oh, dear. Then it must be a very powerful gate... powerful enough to reach down to Hell itself! That must be where Diablo and Baal have gone." Tearlach snorted. "Old man, why would anyone want to go to Hell?" "The Three did not leave Hell of their own choice, all those centuries ago. For a demon, Hell is home, the source of his strength. The Three could not return to Hell, which is why the Horadrim were able to capture and imprison them in the soulstones. It also meant their powers were a fraction of what they would normally be." "Huh," Tearlach grunted. "So... if they get back to Hell, they get stronger?" "They regain strength, and may be able to rally Hell's armies behind them, for an assault on the mortal world which imprisoned them for so long!" "What, you mean all these demons running around aren't Hell's army?" Cain shook his head. "You have fought a few remnants: scattered demonlings, corrupted animals, and whatever undead The Three could find or create quickly. The armies of Hell are infinitely larger and more dangerous. If Diablo and Baal are not stopped quickly, we might all be doomed." Concluding thoughts: Berserk is an interesting skill. From the standpoint of game mechanics, it's much better as a back-up skill than a main skill, and trying to adapt to it has been difficult. It's hard playing a melee fighter who gets hit this often, but has no leeching. The warcries tree has some neat stuff in it. I may have to try a "singing barb" one of these days. It occurs to me that in 3 of the 4 parts I've done so far, Asheara loses her clothes, or at least threatens to. Maybe I'm just being horribly sexist, but it seems like that sort of thing would tend to happen, the way she dresses. Or is it just me? Act 4 Chapter 22 So this is Hell, Tearlach thought as he looked around. Doesn't look very hellish. There was a roof over his head, a wall at his back, and comfortingly solid stone under his feet; you could ask for a worse place. After waiting long enough for something monstrous to unexpectedly erupt out of the ground (you never know) he hefted his axe and went to explore. The first thing he saw was the old fart, the one who identified magic for him. "So, wizard! I knew you'd end up here." "For once, your instincts were correct! Is this not a glorious place?" "Eh," Tearlach grunted dismissively. "I expected more." "Hmm... true, there is not much to see now. In its glory, I am sure this fortress was much more impressive, when the great heroes of yore fought and died here." Oh, it's a fortress! That explains the walls. "Hmm..." Tearlach said as he tried to think of something intelligent to say, "It's kind of empty. Not much here." "Sadly, yes. When Heaven withdrew from the mortal realm, their infernal outposts were also abandoned. We are in Pandemonium, now a no-man's-land just outside of Hell's outer steppes. We will not find any more blessed legions waging battle against Hell's might; even demons rarely venture out here. Those days are now only legends." "Huh. You'd think Hell would be warm, with all the pits of fire and miles of sulfurous wasteland I've heard of. This is a cold place." Cain smiled. "You should have seen it a moment ago, when the archangel Tyrael arrived with me. A few demons were here, trying to defile these holy stones; his servants were just dispatching them. Now, the walls are clean, the eternal flames are lit, and the Light shines upon us. I am sad to say this is the last place you will find even a glimmer of the Light; you have important work ahead of you." "Work, and always work," Tearlach grumbled. "You wizards are never satisfied, there's always one more thing to do." "More than that, I'm afraid. Mephisto's soulstone must be destroyed, here in Hell. Before you try," Cain quickly interjected, "no mortal agency can break a soulstone." Lowering his axe, Tearlach snorted. "Of course not. It's never that easy, is it?" "The soulstones were made in Heaven, and made to last; no amount of physical force can damage one. The nearest place to destroy it is the Hellforge, a smithy on the River of Flame that surrounds Hell's inner regions. The forge and hammer are suffused with fire and chaos, and should serve to shatter the corrupted stone. But beware! Hell's smithies are surrounded by hellfire, and tended by the strongest of demonkind." "As though that's ever been a problem," Tearlach snorted. Then he noticed the glowy thing hanging in the air next to a fireplace. "Hey, that's that angel!" "Yes," Cain said. "Had I mentioned that Tyrael brought me here?" "I suppose. I never listen to anything you say. Think he's still mad at me?" With a sigh, Cain said, "I didn't know he was ever angry with you. What did you do?" "Nothing," Tearlach quickly said. Then he thought, I finished off Mephisto. That should impress an angel. I'll speak with him; it's about time I started getting a little respect. "Greetings, mortal. It is good to know you have defeated Mephisto." "Hail, Tyrael. Good to see someone else could do what you couldn't, eh?" There was an infinitesimal pause. "While you have destroyed the body he was using, Mephisto's spirit is unvanquished. The soulstone traps him and will hold him for a short time, but it must be destroyed here, cutting off his power at its source." "Yeah, yeah, the old man told me about it. Hellforge, river of fire, all that." "The assault on the Hellforge will not be easy. My own lieutenant, Izual, attempted the assault in ages past, and was captured alive be Hell's forces. There are tortures known in Hell which even an angel cannot bear. Many of Heaven's greatest secrets were taken from him by force." Tearlach shrugged. "So I won't get taken alive. I was born ready to meet death. Don't know if he's ready to meet me, though!" "Izual still roams the plains of Pandemonium, rejected by Heaven for his betrayal. As a punishment, he was imprisoned within the body of an ice demon. A harsh punishment, when so few of Heaven's brethren could have done any differently." "Harsh punishments are good. Makes sure no one ever does it again." "Punishments that go on forever are pointless, especially when they may be unjustified. I believe Izual has suffered enough. Hero, if you find him, destroy the demon holding him and release him from his torment." "Huh. I suppose even an angel deserves to be free. What if your elders object?" "Let any punishment rest on my head alone. I have failed at so many things, any further judgments against me will be moot." "Ha! Like failing to stop Diablo? You should never have left the war! Thought you could hide up in Heaven forever, and now look at you! You've gone soft, and can't even take on one demon!" After another infinitesimal pause, Tyrael continued. "I was thinking of when I brought the soulstones to the mortal realm. I have no idea how they could be corrupted, but The Three found a way, and are using what was intended to be their prisons for their own ends." "Imprisonment is stupid. Better to just kill them -- no, wait, demons don't die. I remember that, the old fart told me. Hey, he also said the stones came from Heaven! Can't Heaven destroy what it made? You could smash Mephisto's stone!" "That might be possible, and even appropriate. But Heaven has denied me the right to destroy the soulstones, or aid you in any way, save providing a few bits of wisdom. This is the final chapter of a long battle. Heaven has decreed that the triumph must belong to mortal man alone." Tearlach slowly nodded. "So you'll do nothing?" "My power holds this fortress for the Light. Beyond its walls, I will do nothing." Tearlach spat. "Then may Heaven grant me the strength to deal with Hell alone. If not, to Hell with you all." The servants Cain mentioned were on the other end of the fortress. Both had set up little shops, like common merchants. Heaven works in mysterious ways. The smith was a huge man wearing enough armor to convince anyone that his strength must be truly legendary. At least, Tearlach thought, the smith is a man this time. Hratli wasn't female, but that's about all the good you could say for him. His shop carried strong armor and weapons, but nothing worth a second glance to Tearlach. In another wing of the fortress, a strange dark woman in mirror-bright armor ran a magic shop. Attractive lass, though he'd never seen a sorceress wearing that much metal before; she too must be quite strong. To his disappointment, she was as cold and unresponsive as anything else in the fort. Neither of them would say more than four words at a time to him. The fortress gate was open, to Tearlach's surprise. People who hide behind walls may be weak, but they usually have enough sense to close the door. Then he looked outside; the fortress was floating high in a dark sky, above a vast ash-gray plain. One set of tiny stone stairs, floating like the fortress itself, led down. This fortress would be hard to take, if the demons couldn't fly. It made him wonder why they put up walls at all, since they wouldn't stop the only demons capable of reaching them. Ah, what did it matter? His business is down there: finding Diablo and Baal and crushing the life out of them before they can raise their army. That won't leave time for dawdling. The time to move is now! Chapter 23 As he came down to the plains of Pandemonium, a phalanx of undead met Tearlach. Even here, the dead did not rest -- or maybe especially here? This was where the undeserving find their reward for their wasted lives. In a gateway at the bottom of the stairs, Tearlach made his stand, waiting to test Hell's mettle. These dead soldiers seemed quicker than their zombie brethren, with an intelligent gleam in their... no, most of them didn't have eyes anymore. But they wore full armor, bore well-maintained weapons coated with some greenish venom, and actually tried to avoid being hit. The last one actually tried to run away, a sure sign that it was still intelligent -- cowardly, but intelligent. Intelligence in the face of the enemy should never be rewarded. Screaming "die with dignity, vermin!" at the skeleton soldier's back, Tearlach ran after it. Just before he caught up, the thing turned to face him; it had found allies. Tearlach swore aloud at the sight of them. Not these things. Anything but them. It was a bunch of those pesky leaping lizards from back in the desert. This would be a longer fight than he'd planned on. Not any more dangerous, just long. But first, he crushed the skeleton soldier's skull, just for leading him into a pack of these annoying things. That'll teach it to be intelligent. Killing the lizards was as tedious and aggravating as he remembered. They were always up in the air someplace, raking their claws over his face as they passed overhead, knocking the wings on his helmet askew. When he raised his shield, they crawled in low, scratching up the armor on his stomach and legs. Whenever he finally did hit one, it bounced away head over talons, landing far away where he had to chase it down. It made perfect sense that these things came from Hell. Where else do torments walk on four legs? As Tearlach analyzed the tactics the pack used, he adopted a "round robin" style of fighting, hitting one, then turning quickly to hit another as it made a try for his unprotected back or side. Soon, there were only a few left. They leapt and dodged more and more, trying to save their lives. As he ran around, chasing and killing the obnoxious things, more of Hell's inhabitants joined the battle. Another group of skeletal soldiers came, but they were no real danger. Alongside them were huge things, sluggishly dragging their squishy bodies on two short, muscular legs. Tearlach almost laughed at the sight of them. Their arms were thin, their faces covered with fleshy whiskers, and their gigantic mouths empty of teeth. What would these things try to do, gum him to death? Or perhaps sit on him and smother him under their flabby blubber? As he killed a leaper, one "fatbody" took a swipe at Tearlach's back. He barely felt it, but gave it a blow in trade, right between its piggish little eyes. The fatbody wobbled away, obviously too easily intimidated to be a threat; he made a note to himself to find it and kill it later. So far, Hell's forces were a bit disappointing; true, they were more dangerous than anything back home, but not much more so. If they were more numerous (the population seemed sparse here) they'd be a serious threat, especially the strong poison those undead guys put on their -- Something very, very heavy slammed into Tearlach's back. When he opened his eyes, he was flat on his belly in a pile of gore, smelling of burning iron and vomit. What was that? No time for thinking; poisoned blades were biting into his back. Rolling over, he knocked aside a few soldiers (good thing those bones are so light) and leapt to his feet. The remains of a leaper, sizzling and bubbling, lay where he'd been knocked down. It was dissolving into a puddle of soup before his eyes, a sight and smell to sicken even a son of Bul-Kathos. As he watched, carefully smashing the last soldiers, he finally saw what had happened. The fat things were weak in themselves, but they had a trick. That huge maw of theirs could suck up a whole other creature. Down in the fatbody's gullet, the thing was crushed, suffused with bilious acids, and finally vomited up with enough force to launch it dozens of yards! A fatbody's stomach muscles must take up most of its body. It was utterly cowardly, completely wasteful of good meat, and very effective to have those meat-missiles flying all over the place in the pell-mell of battle. Once every living thing in sight was dead, Tearlach paused to think. That was a near thing, much nearer than he liked; true, he was victorious in the end, but avoiding any more such "victories" would be a good idea. He'd best adopt some sort of strategy. First, he knew what not to do: do not follow retreating demons, or chase the leapers too far. Those were false retreats, intended to lead him into greater danger. He'd used the same strategy himself many times in Kurast; it was an old and respected tactic with no shame attached to it, but only a fool falls for a trick he himself knows well. Instead of chasing them, retreat or stand your ground, so they must give chase. As Tearlach looted the fallen, the second part of his strategy came to him: kill the fatbodies first. The backplate of his armor was in terrible shape, and acid from the thing's gullet had dripped down his legs, pitting and corroding the armor. The foul liquid had even soaked down into the cloth under the metal, burning and stinging his skin. Tyrael's smith gave him a whole new set of clothes, perhaps some of his old ones. The pants were a bit loose. The outer regions of Hell were a trial in patience for Tearlach. His strategy worked well, but it took time to lure his foes to their doom, then destroy them. But he stuck with his plan, alternating the careful restraint of the tactician with the frenzy of the berserker. One well-armed batch of undead knights was armed with spears; he found a three-pointed one the old wizard identified as Bloodthief, and a cleaver-ended one called Steelgoad. "Wizard, I found the Bloodthief one before. You said there was only one." "You did, I remember it well. What happened to it?" "The Mule took..." Suspicion dawned in Tearlach's mind. "No. The Gods could not have traded it to Hell." "Hmm," Cain murmured, "I am quite sure there is only one..." "Yo, angel! Tyrael, whatever you're called! How is it that this spear comes into my hands in Pandemonium, when but a few days ago it was taken from me by the Mule?" Unruffled by the artlesness of the inquiry, Tyrael answered, "Others have asked me of this Mule. The brethren of Heaven have no knowledge of such a being, or what master he may serve. The Mule is not part of the Heavenly sphere." Tearlach's mind whirled from notion to notion. The Mule was unknown to Heaven? But they know everything! Was the Mule known in Hell, even a demon in disguise? But the axe he gave clove Mephisto in twain, it was a good thing. As thought paralyzed him, both spears vanished from his hands, and a note appeared in midair. Slab Squat-thrust, Whoo-wee! Two at once, I've never seen that before! Don't you worry, I've put the other Bloodthief away, but two is always nice! Before you wonder too much and strain that brain of yours, there's more than one of them. There's as many of them as there are worlds you can make! Don't worry, Mr. Chunkman, I wouldn't give demons a thing! -- The Mule "Heh," Tearlach muttered. "A lot you know, wizard! There's more than one of them!" "Really," Cain said, brow furrowing as he looked at the note. "That is news to me. Though it may account for the fact that, throughout my career, there are certain ancient artifacts I have seen over and over. There was a fellow by the name of Isenhart, for instance..." "Never mind," Tearlach cut him off. "There is no time to think of the past. My mind is now focused on one goal: find Diablo and... the other one!" "Baal." "I knew that. Stupid name. Sounds like something you'd do in a boat." Slowly, Tearlach made his way down the flat steppes and plains of Pandemonium, reaching a place where red lights glowed faintly through gaps in the ground. The skeletal soldiers were out in greater numbers; he must be getting closer to Hell proper. With them came wafting spirits and floating spider-crab things that cast spells. After the annoyance of dealing with leaping lizards, these things were actually a relief: they died in one hit, leaving only a little pile of pulverized bone. As he wandered, Tearlach found an unusual demon, icy blue and vaguely translucent where it wasn't covered with armor. It charged, bellowing "Save yourself and flee!" Typical demonic bluster; this one was strange looking, but Tearlach saw no reason to be alarmed. With a snort, he smashed it across the mouth and the battle began. The demon's armor was thick and shining white, able to absorb an enormous amount of punishment, but its counterattacks seemed... half-hearted, like it wasn't really trying. Tearlach wasn't sure if he should spit in its face for being so stupid, or chop it to bits and let death be its lesson. Finally, it broke, and amidst a shower of ice crystals, an angelic spirit floated free. "Ha!" the angel laughed, "Tyrael must have sent you! I sense his foolishness in you." "My foolishness is my own," Tearlach snarled, already liking this angel even less than the first one. "What kind of fool are you, that doesn't fight his own death?" "You may strike me down here and now, but it will only make me more powerful than you can possibly imagine! You see, The Three are my allies. Ages ago, I convinced Tyrael to use the Soulstones to imprison them. He did not know I had already told The Three how to corrupt the stones, and use them for their own advantage. By arranging their own exile to the mortal plane, my masters set in motion a plan to subvert your world, a plan you yourself have helped along by freeing me now! You cannot stop us; even now, I go to set the next part of the scheme in motion. By your own actions, you and all your kind are doomed." Then the angel floated away -- Tearlach tried to grab him, but he was as incorporeal as any spirit. The icy body the angel used was melting into the ashy soil of the plain, leaving its armor and sword behind. For once, he didn't feel like grabbing the loot. The Three Brothers, exiling themselves? Using the soulstones? Subverting the world? Damn, maybe he should have listened to that babbling wizard, some of this might make more sense! One thing was clear: the Prime Evils came into the world hundreds of years ago, with a purpose. That much he knew, without any doubt. If they'd come into the world with a purpose now, Tearlach would have known what that purpose was: destroying his kingdom. But they came a long time ago. That purpose couldn't have anything to do with him, not that long before he was born. He was not fated to defeat the Prime Evils and establish his kingdom. The Prime Evils were doing something else that had nothing to do with him. Could it be... that my kingdom will not come to be? Chapter 24 "Ah, you met something unusual," Cain said. The huge suit of plate armor, still chill to the touch, and gigantic sword were far larger than anything Tearlach had brought back from Hell before. "You're lucky to be alive, from the looks of this." "Neither luck nor skill had anything to do with it," Tearlach muttered, and went silent. "The sword is a flamberge... though I suppose you knew that." It was unusual for him to be so silent, Cain thought. Before, whenever he killed something this size, he always came back boasting about how easy it was. "Perhaps Halbu could resize the armor for you. Some of the things he is capable of can truly be described as miraculous." "No, I'll not wear it." Something's obviously troubling the lad. Now, is this a bad thing? Nothing ever seemed to trouble him before, even things that should have. "I say, judging from the size of this, you must have fought something --" "Enough, wizard! I care not for your prattling today. My mind is troubled by what the angel said to me." "Angel? Ah, you must have freed Izual! You should speak with Tyrael at once. No doubt he has some reward in mind for the service you have given him." "Reward? What good can any reward be? The Three Evils are going to destroy the world." "Yes..." Cain murmured, baffled. "We have known their ultimate goal for some time now..." "You don't understand, you dolt! They got themselves exiled, so they'd get the soulstones and subvert everything! He told them how to corrupt them ages ago!" "What? I'm afraid you're not making yourself clear..." "The angel told them how to corrupt the soulstones and use them! Deliberately!" "Oh... you really should tell Tyrael, then." "I have heard," the angel's voice echoed quietly throughout the fortress. "Thank you for ending his torture, but from what you say, Izual voluntarily gave his knowledge to The Three. With his knowledge, they would be able to use the soulstones as conduits for infernal power, and draw strength from Hell even..." Tyrael's silence was painfully long. "Even what? When?" Tearlach finally blurted out. "If Izual gave The Three knowledge of the stones, and they arranged the rebellion in Hell and their own exile to your world... then I have been played for a fool. Everything I have done... Izual's assault on the Hellforge, the creation of the Horadrim, the binding of The Three... all played into their hands." By now, Cain was pale as ashes; the old man looked like he might drop dead right then and there. "Oh, no... this is the most terrible news!" "My kingdom will never be..." Tearlach murmured. "Fate is against me." "Fate is fickle," Tyrael intoned, "and changes more easily than you think. None of this was foretold in any prophecy; through your action, your destiny may change again." Tearlach thought for a minute. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Make your own fate. It is only natural that The Three would have a plan, but this news worries me. There are things I must look into, so I will leave you for a while. Continue to explore Hell, find Diablo and Baal. No one has the knowledge to keep them from their goal if you do not oppose them. My servants will remain here, and keep this fortress safe." "Right," Tearlach said. "Even if I can't have my kingdom, I can damn well make sure they never get theirs!" As he ran off, Cain stumbled over to fireplace and sat on the hearth. "Oh... I can scarcely believe it! The Horadrim, greatest and best of all humanity, doing nothing but delivering the soulstones to them for their use..." "Calm your mind, Deckard Cain. It may be that our chosen hero is wrong; I pray that he is, but fear, for once, he is not." At the site of Tearlach's battle with the dark angel, there was no longer any sign anything had ever happened there. His journey into darkness continued at a brisk trot. Soon, he found a ruined city, full of broken war machines and shattered stone buildings the same dark gray as everything else. The bones of many past battles littered the ground, some of them from beings the size of giants. Like earthly cities, the place was full of packs of wizards, skeleton mages in armor like the soldiers outside. These undead must be some of Hell's basic troops. Beside them came fatbodies; Tearlach had a hard time decided which to kill first, both made themselves a real pain if allowed to live long enough. Worse things inhabited the city, though. Inside a ruined church-like building (complete with stained glass windows that were great fun to smash) Tearlach found some: green fleshy things, on legs that bent the wrong way. They had heads with three horns, but no faces, and the whole underside of their bodies was an... opening, a huge gash dripping clear fluids and blood. He didn't know why, but the pulsing chasm between the creature's legs both fascinated and repulsed Tearlach. It looked like a great devouring mouth, even without teeth. As he stood there, staring at these horrors, the creatures reared up in unison, screeching painfully. Each swung its body slit towards him, opening wide as their swollen, dark flesh squeezed outwards around a dark opening. With a final shriek, they pushed worms the same hideous green as themselves out into the world. Their little ones hit the ground wriggling, tiny mouths full of sharp teeth gnashing as they ran straight for Tearlach. What happened next was brief and violent, but not enough of either for him. After taking a moment to throw up from sheer nervous relief, he hacked the bodies to bits and threw them in one of Hell's ever-present fires. By all the ancestors, those things were deeply disturbing. He'd seen bigger demons, and maybe uglier (but not by much) but nothing so... disturbing. Forget the mages and fatbodies -- this was the first monster to kill. Back at the fortress, Tyrael was gone. "Hello, wizard. Have any demons threatened the fortress yet?" "None as yet. I suspect you are drawing them away." Looking over Tearlach's loot, Cain frowned as he recognized a breastplate. "How odd that I was just mentioning Isenhart..." "Ha! I'll bet you've seen enough to equip an army. Might as well pound them flat and make tableware out of them." Then he saw a pair of gauntlets and a ring sitting on top of his pack. "The Mule's been and gone, I take it." "Hmm? Oh, it seems he has. I did not see him, but I don't think I ever have." "He's a sly one. Let's see what his note says." Tough Buttsteak, I keep getting presents for you! The gauntlets are Chance Guards: try 'em, you'll love 'em! The ring is a nice rare, better than the one you got now. Keep going, you've some serious butt-whoppin' ahead of you, and all of us are sure you're just the man to do it. -- The Mule "All of us? There's more than one?" "That is what it says," Cain nodded. "He has taken many things from you, and returned many others. It seems unlikely that one person could do so much." "It's unlikely one person could carry that much! He must have others working for him, looting the world for his gifts." "Hmm. Perhaps you shouldn't accuse him of running a gang of pirates." "Why not?" Tearlach grinned. "I think it's great! The only problem is the fool isn't charging anything for it." Cain rolled his eyes. "Perhaps a life of violence and plunder is its own reward." "Aye, there's that. He's probably rolling in money anyway. You know wizard, if I can't be king of the world, joining a band of bandits that can reach anywhere on earth or in Hell might not be such a bad deal." Cain smiled. "We all have our dreams." "I'll think on it later. The plains of Hell are no place to pause for reflection." "Not unless you're planning to stay." As he fought his way through the city, Tearlach decided he needed a new strategy; false retreats weren't working. The skeleton wizards and fatbodies preferred him to keep his distance, and the obscene mothers just sent their vile offspring after him. But by leaping or running past the worms, he could get to the dangerous ones and eliminate them first. It was a good strategy for wizards and other slow, timid foes; he'd always been more comfortable charging in anyway. Soon, the city was empty. To judge from its ruined state, assaults had probably emptied it many times before. Strange that the demons never tried to rebuild the place; since Heaven had abandoned the fortress long ago, they should have had plenty of time to do so. Maybe they like living in ruins. In the city's central plaza, a huge hole in the ground led further into the depths of the abyss; there were even stairs to ease his descent. Chapter 25 This looks a lot more like Hell, Tearlach thought. The River of Flame was just that, a river of flames. Not lava, or water with burning oil floating on it, but genuine flames crackling along in a deep river channel. As he came down the stairs, he could clearly see a flow in the river, washing up from some source deep down below. Was there something burning on the bottom of the channel, Tearlach wondered? Or did the flame come out of nothing? Fire that needed no fuel would be good in the northlands, especially in winter when firewood was hard to find. Experimentally, he spat; it never made it to the bottom, vanishing in a hiss of steam. Hmm... maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to have this around the house. The bottom of the stairs rested on an island of solidified magma, which was tolerably cool despite the fire all around it. The island was a long one, aligned with the flow of the river but with many little inlets and nooks to jump across. Some parts were constructed of blocks of the ever-present dark gray stone, with walls of iron spikes. Holes were punched through the walls in many places, and the floor occasionally sagged down into the flames; Tearlach hurried across those parts. Apart from the roaring and shrieking of the river itself, Tearlach could hear nothing. It seemed like no one was home -- then balls of fire and poison came blasting across a nearby gap. Wizards. Why does it always have to be wizards? He leapt to the attack, and landed in the middle of the biggest swarm of bugs he'd ever seen. Yes, this really is Hell. I hate cockroaches, especially the kind that's three feet long and tries to eat your feet. The roaches, it turned out, were merely the young ones. They were born from eggs laid by mothers, who looked a lot like the poison bugs from the desert; spat like them, too. The undead wizards who'd first attracted his attention formed a ring around Tearlach, firing away. Never before having been presented with this golden opportunity, he waited until the last possible moment, then leapt straight up. Unfortunately, the magician's bolts didn't strike each other down; most of them just plain missed. Oh, well, it was worth a shot. He leapt from wizard to wizard, carving each up in turn before moving on to the next. All that moving around attracted attention: big demons with swords, and some more wizards. They must have gathered together back here, waiting for him to come to them. Not a bad strategy... one not of the blood of Bul-Kathos might get himself killed. Even Tearlach was greatly inconvenienced. Those giant cockroaches laid eggs so fast, their hind ends were caving in, and spat so much poison their front ends began to cave in. The eggs hatched so quickly he barely had time to notice before the ground was covered in little crawling nippers, so thick he had to leap over them. Even after killing everything else, he didn't dare unleash a berserk fury on the little bastards. Not that he needed to, he crushed each one easily with a single blow, but they were just too many to leave himself open like that. Finally, after killing everything in sight and sorting through the small and disappointing pile of loot, Tearlach went to explore a side-branch of the island. You'd think that as troublesome as the roaches were to stomp, they'd at least have some loot. Being new-born is no excuse. No doubt about it, he had a new "first monster to kill." He just hoped he'd never have to forced to choose between these and the obscene mothers. Two kinds of creatures spawning hordes of little ones would be a hard choice -- the mothers didn't have as many offspring, but they were so much more disturbing... Grunting noises snapped Tearlach out of his reverie. A mass of giants were wobbling their way towards him, with more skeleton wizards behind them supplying covering fire. Didn't he run into things like them in Lord Youngling's palace? Whatever, they were stupid; a false retreat worked very nicely, scattering the group so he could unleash his fury on them one or two at a time. The tactic lured the wizards out too; one them even tried to use his sword, probably for the first time in his life. It's so deeply pleasing to teach wizards the rewards of overconfidence. As he thinned the crowd, Tearlach got a good look at what lay ahead: piles and piles of giant roaches pooting out as many eggs as their swollen abdomens could hold, and what looked like a smithy. He could hardly hear it over the river's roar, but something was working up there. There was a smith, pounding steel that seemed to scream with every strike on the heat of an anvil made of bone. Glancing at the roaches, Tearlach realized he'd have to kill the smith, but didn't want to do it here. He'd be up to his knees in bugs in a few seconds. The smith seemed to have gone deaf from years working his forge, but noticed a skull bouncing off the back of his head and charged to the attack. Well... more like waddled to the attack, but he came, and followed Tearlach away, swinging his hammer. For such a big creature, the smith didn't hit very hard. Maybe, in Hell as on earth, smiths were using magic to make weapons these days. Maybe magic was easier, but big muscles have other advantages. After killing off the roaches (which took a lot more time than killing the smith) Tearlach took a look at the Hellforge. The forge and tools were not iron, but bone: huge bones burnt black and shaped in ways no living creature should be shaped. Magical energy was clearly visible coursing through the forge, and the heat channeled up from the river was wilting. What was it the wizard said? Destroy Mephisto's soulstone on the Hellforge. Right. Tearlach got the stone and put it in the fire. The green glow inside seemed to get excited, but the stone was not destroyed. After carefully fishing it out, he put it on the anvil and hit it with the tongs. Is that spirit inside there laughing at me? It needs a bigger whack. The tongs eventually broke, so Tearlach got the smith's hammer. No sense notching his axe on this thing. The hammer (which was shockingly light for a smithing tool) finally did the job, shattering the soulstone into a thousand little itty bitty tiny little pieces that scattered on the ground. Spirits rose from each shard, twirling and wafting up into the sky. They must have been imprisoned by Mephisto, but now were free. Maybe they'd make it out of Hell, to whatever reward they really deserved. How do you imprison a soul, Tearlach wondered? No, best not to even ask; without that knowledge, men can only put chains on your body. Some of the soulstone fragments were quite large; Tearlach's impulse to loot got the better of him, and he picked them up. Most were blue, empty of Mephisto's spirit, but one was clear as ice. These might make good gemstones, if they were free of evil. Best to ask that angel before using them. Back in the fortress, the old wizard accosted him excitedly. "Congratulations! Surely even Diablo sensed the fury unleashed when you smashed his brother's soulstone. You have struck your first resounding blow against The Three, one from which they will not easily recover." "Aye, that's true. Wait, how did you know?" Cain smiled. "Because Tyrael has returned to us, with news." "Your deed is impressive, mortal," the angel intoned. "I wish there were time for you to celebrate your victory. Sadly, you must move more quickly than ever, for only Diablo came down to Hell." "Huh," Tearlach snorted. "What about... the other one?" "Baal remained behind on the mortal plane. His soulstone was taken from him, but he has recovered it. During your time here, Baal raised an army, and marched on Mt. Arreat." Slowly letting his breath out, Tearlach nodded. "So the end days are upon us. No matter. The defenses my people built still gird the sacred mountain, as strong and lasting as the rock itself. We who are as one with the land since the days of the Ancients will meet any demon who dares show his face and destroy him utterly. Thus it has always been, and thus it will always be." "I fear the battle does not go well. When Baal's legions came, your people did not fear his arrival, and the clans were slow to gather. They marched day and night without rest, and when they reached Sescheron, it was nearly empty of warriors. Within two days, the capital was burned to ashes, and Baal moved to the city of Harrogath." Blinking, Tearlach slowly said, "They... must have been taken by surprise." "It matters little now," Tyrael continued. "The clans blame each other for the loss, and old feuds which should have been forgotten have taken on new life. The Snake refuses to help the Bear, and the Wolf will not aid his brother. Only a few warriors have gathered to defend Harrogath... too few, I believe." "Oh, dear," Cain muttered. "Barbarian clan warfare is legendary for the stubbornness of its combatants." "Pfhaugh," Tearlach snorted, shifting nervously from one foot to another. "The clan elders should have gathered by now. A single word from them will set aside all feuds." "Most of your elders have died, though I am not sure how. Unlike so many of your chiefs and war leaders, they were not in Sescheron; they seem to have met their fate while raising a protective dome over Harrogath." "Protective dome? What?" "Using an ancient druidic ritual, like the..." "WHAT!?!?" Tearlach bellowed, "Druids?! Those half-beast trickster wizards are not allowed to come near the sacred mountain!! Are the ancient laws forbidding them just so much hot breath? Is the great Qual-Kehk dead too, so that none may stand up to them? And what are they doing with the elders?" With what could only be described as a patient sigh, Tyrael waved his hand. "Calm your mind. I know this is strange to you, but the elders of the Barbarian clans are Druids. They have always been. After Sescheron fell, the elders used their magic to raise a dome over Harrogath. The city is safe, but your warriors have fared poorly against Baal's forces, and Mt. Arreat is almost undefended." Tearlach's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you. You lie." "Whether you believe me or not, I am trying to help you. That is all I have ever done. You must defeat Diablo, and destroy his soulstone to banish him from your world forever. Then you must return to your homeland to face Baal. Qual-Kehk's warriors do not know how to defeat Baal's army; even their survival is in question. You must bring that knowledge to them, and save the secret of Mt. Arreat, by whatever means are necessary." Chapter 26 Tearlach went back to the River of Flame, hardly noticing the hellish heat through his burning anger. The angel had to be lying. Why would the angel lie? There was no possible way he could be telling the truth. Demons would assault Arreat, all the prophecies were clear on that. The true people of the mountains would lose the final battle against evil, that had also been foretold, but only after they grew weak and lazy. That had not come to pass. Every warrior trained ceaselessly, as they always did. The people's lives spun around war, every invasion had always been repulsed long before outsiders even saw the sacred mountain. A demonic attack would meet the same fate. There was just no other possibility. And another thing, Tearlach thought as he leapt howling into a mass of flesh mothers, how could the clan elders possibly be Druids? Druids were half-animals, weather-witches, tree huggers and animal tamers. The clans chose their elders from among warriors: the truest in their word, wisest in council, most open to friends, and bravest against enemies. An elder's honesty should be above all doubt -- there was no way on earth an elder would use magic! The old traditions were clear: magic is for the weak and cowardly, dealing with demons and spirits and foulness of all kinds. To practice magic went against everything a Barbarian should be; for an elder to use magic was unthinkable. But why would the angel lie? The River of Flame went by in a blur. Flesh mothers, roaches, and big sword-demons came and died in wave after wave of slaughter. Tearlach drank potion after potion, tearing bodies apart to find more as he went. There were a few other things, like some scale mail engraved with the name "Hawkmail", but it didn't seem to matter now. With the red light of a berserk frenzy still filling his vision, Tearlach soon found himself looking up at a huge keep. According to Tyrael, this stronghold was built to oppose incursions from the Pandemonium fortress. Diablo most likely was inside, gathering his servants to prepare for war. Was the angel lying about that too? Was Diablo really here? Maybe it was a trap. No, that didn't seem right: if this was a trap, Tyrael would have come up with a better lie. What he had said, no one would say, unless it were true. Tearlach went into the stronghold. As soon as he passed through the gates, the air went prickly; some spell had been cast, one unfamiliar to Tearlach. A horde of undead soldiers advanced, and behind them, a skeleton wizard threw a laughing skull. The spell was odd and very flashy -- a lesser man might be unnerved by the sight, but pretentious looks mean nothing in war. The giggling cranium was about as potent as every other spell these guys used: not nearly enough. Tearlach carved the soldiers up, then jumped the fleeing mage and kicked his own skull into the river. The weird prickling feeling passed after a while without any lingering effect. There demons in the stronghold were well-armed, those who bothered. Hell's forges must keep busy indeed, making so many weapons. There were also floating things that looked like some kind of giant louse, and cast little lightning bolts that crackled along the ground. They didn't hurt much, but Tearlach always felt drained and weak after fighting them. A potion of the spirit restored him, but his supply began to run low. One time, he suppressed his berserk rage, striking normally to use the leeching enchantments on his axe and drain his energy back. That's how he found out what the prickly feeling was; every blow rebounded back on him somehow, and he lost far more than he gained. The spell didn't affect him while berserk, for some reason. He went back to swilling potions. The Pandemonium fortress was small and compact, surrounded by thick walls and floating up in space. Diablo's stronghold was a giant artificial island with many wings, splayed out amidst the flames of Hell. In the very center sat a pit dropping directly into the river, bridged by a giant star held together with metal clamps. Despite being decidedly un-celestial, demons like stars; one this big in such a central location must be very important. Tearlach walked over it, jumped on it, even whacked it with his axe. The center sounded hollow, and as he hit it, he heard laughter inside. Someone or something was in there, and had a very deep voice... maybe Diablo really was here. Mephisto had an impressive voice too. Nothing he did could crack it open, though. Frustrated, he went to explore the north wing. This part of the stronghold was thick with flying lice, and at the end of the wing, Tearlach found two odd structures. Disks were set in the floor, with three metallic spines meeting above them like a tent roof. Nothing hellish could be good, so he knocked over the spines and stomped the disk underfoot -- not really expecting anything to happen, but destroying Hell's devices is always a good plan. A bellow of anger from within the stronghold told him he'd done good. Smugly satisfied, he turned to repeat his performance on the other disk, when a group of lice appeared out of thin air. It was a hard fight, and he had to drink a lot of spirit potions, but soon killed them all. One was carrying a shield, of all things. Not as strange as a Flayer carrying a poleaxe, but still peculiar. When he kicked over the other disk-tent, nothing happened. Maybe Diablo was saving his strength. The east wing only had one disk; a barrage of spells and screaming skulls met him when he whacked it. Skeleton wizards, apparently. Without any soldiers to hide behind, they should have been easy prey, but there were so many spells and skulls flying around Tearlach soon found he needed another strategy. When he leapt to the attack, the prickly spell made the hit hurt him as well, but running left him vulnerable to the skulls, which were much stronger this time. Like all wizards, they ran away rather than fight toe-to-toe, so Tearlach used this to his advantage, leaping near them but not hitting. They scattered, giving him time to pick off a straggler before leaping again. The last one fought hard, almost admirably, but finally gave up the ghost he should have given up long ago. If only all wizards were so sensible. Of course, a true warrior's steel has a way of helping wizards see the light of reason. Checking the star in the center of the complex, Tearlach noted three of the clamps holding it shut were open. A good sign, that; the south wing held the last two disks. Nothing came from the first. Were they just being coy? When he broke the final one, a huge crowd of sword-swinging demons came out of nowhere, moving so fast Tearlach almost laughed at the sight of them. It should have alarmed him, but such huge things moving like hyperactive squirrels just looked comical. When about a dozen surrounded him, it wasn't nearly as funny -- they hit as fast as a squirrel might too. Keeping his cool, Tearlach concentrated on defense, taking them down one by one. When only a few were left, he let loose the fury of berserk, finishing them. A bellow of rage sounded from the center of Diablo's stronghold. Someone was not pleased with that outcome, someone Tearlach wanted to meet. Screaming his own cry of defiance, he rushed out to meet it. The Lord of Terror fit his description well: twice the height of a tall man, with a skin of rusted iron scales, and horns and spines coming out of every part. Even his rear, Tearlach noted with some amusement. Must not sit down much. Diablo ran (on all fours!) between Tearlach and the stronghold entrance. Obviously, he's misjudged me, Tearlach thought. To teach him the error of making such assumptions, he ran through the wall of fire Diablo cast and slammed his axe into his face. The steel made only a shallow cut, but Diablo grunted with visible surprise. An excellent start; let's hope he fights better than his brother. Like Mephisto, Diablo spent much of the battle slinging spells. The expanding wall of fire he threw was toasty, but not greatly inconveniencing. Another spell was a bolt of crackling lightning, a delicate pink in color. Though it looked girlish, it hurt enough that Tearlach found it best to avoid it. But he had something Mephisto didn't: his skin and flesh were so hard, most of Tearlach's blows were simply skittering off his scales. The eldest of The Three had been physically wispy and brittle, easy to smash. His resistance to magic might have been high, so the wizards of Kurast would have a hard time with him. Diablo's defenses seemed better suited to warriors. Just his luck. Around the stronghold they struggled, trading blows and running to new positions, trying to gain some advantage over each other. Tearlach ran out of life potions, and started on his rejuvenation ones. He'd been hoping not to do that, those took some work to get. Diablo slowly weakened as he carved away, red blood boiling out of severed veins, dripping to the floor. He ran behind corners, then back to his star, but Tearlach wouldn't let him keep his distance and use that damned magic. Finally, he stopped and stood his ground, shooting lightning which coursed through Tearlach's armor and heated it red-hot, threatening to cook him inside it. The danger was great, but while he stood still, Tearlach chopped away for all he was worth, a smile coming to his lips. This... this was a worthy battle! Even the greatest battles must come to an end, and this one was no different. With the last of his endurance, Tearlach leapt and struck Diablo on the head, slamming one of his horns straight into his own brain. Howling in pain and anguish, the Lord of Terror writhed as his body broke and his spirit left it. It swirled in the air, then was drawn into a gem embedded in his forehead. The body collapsed in a heap and almost immediately disintegrated, crumbling into a pile of worn, tortured flesh and bone that shivered into dust. Must be what was left of the body the demon was using, Tearlach thought. No matter; this was a job well done. Time to finish him off for good. The Hellforge was still empty, and would probably remain that way for a long time. Diablo's soulstone shattered with a burst of flame, and noisome vapors rose from each scattered fragment. None of the bits were of gem quality; maybe Diablo had been harder on his stone than Mephisto was. Then he remembered, he never asked the angel if it was safe to use those... because the angel told him the highlands were being invaded! Cursing himself for letting mere loot distract him, Tearlach took a portal back to the fortress. "You have done a fantastic job!" the old wizard greeted him. "Never in all my years have I heard of anyone besting two of the Prime Evils! One, they might say, is bad enough." "Yeah, yeah, whatever. What about... the other one?" "Baal has surely sensed his brother's death," Tyrael said quietly. "Which will drive him to greater haste in his search on Mt. Arreat. Deckard Cain, last son of the Horadrim, I now feel I may tell you what secret that mountain holds. Deep within, in the heart of the mountain, lies the Worldstone, Heaven's last gift to humanity before their retreat from the mortal world. Baal knows, as Tal Rasha knew from his explorations in the Barbarian highlands, that the Worldstone is there, and why." "Oh, my..." Cain stroked his beard. "If Tal Rasha knew..." "The Worldstone is the greatest gift humanity has ever received; the future of all mortals depends on it. Tal Rasha wisely left when he learned of its presence and purpose, and never sought the way in to its resting place. For that, all humanity should be thankful. Mortal, you have accomplished the impossible, but further trials await you." "I still don't believe you," Tearlach frowned. "The sons of Bul-Kathos --" "Time is short. Events speak where words fail, so you had best see for yourself." Silently, a red portal appeared beside Tyrael. "This portal will take you to Harrogath, last bastion of order on Mt. Arreat. Go and find Baal, before time runs out." Still suspicious, Tearlach snarled, "How do I know where that thing goes? How do I know it won't dump me someplace where I'll be killed?" Tyrael answered impassively, "Where could it go that is worse than where you are now?" After a moment's thought, Tearlach shrugged. "True enough." Act 5 Chapter 27 Tyrael's portal vanished behind Tearlach, and an icy wind, wonderfully familiar, instantly bit at his skin. All the familiar smells of childhood washed into his mind... jothula wood smoke, that makes meat so savory... the tang of raw iron, scorched by the forge's heat... bundles of dry heather, for shelter against the rain and snow. A sense of peace filled his soul, until new sounds pushed the happy memories aside. Screams, the clash of steel, and loud whooshing noises filled the air, coming from a very short distance away. He opened his eyes. Before him was Harrogath, proudly defiant as ever, untaken by the forces of darkness. "It looks like we have arrived in time," Cain said next to him. "This town looks untouched. Are we in Harrogath?" "Aye, where else could we be?" With a huge grin, Tearlach spread his arms as if to take the whole city in one manly embrace. "The last bastion of order in the world. What a feast for the eyes! Wizard, in all your travels, have you ever seen such grandeur and magnificence in one blessed city?" Blinking through the drifting snow, Cain looked around. This town might be many things, but "a city" was not one of them. Even Tristram was bigger. Nor was there anything "grand" about it. The heavy, ponderous architecture did have a kind of blocky distinction to it, but calling it "magnificent" was quite a stretch. He cleared his throat quietly. "Hmm." Slowly, Tearlach's face fell as he looked around. "Strange... I remember it being a lot bigger than this." "Perhaps you were smaller then," Cain suggested. The Barbarian stood silent. "I think you could fit this whole place inside that weenie-boy's palace back in the desert." "If you make use of his cellars..." Now he was frowning, starting to look angry. "Where are the banners, damn it?! There's no colors, it's all gray and the trees are all dead!" "Calm yourself! It is winter, and snowing -- the trees are just sleeping! Really, it's a fine city... more of a fortress, really, which I suspect is its purpose." Tearlach laughed. "You're right, wizard. The true people do not hide inside cities, there's no need to make them big and pretty. This is a fortress, built strong to stand against evil." "Yes, and it seems to be fulfilling its purpose," Cain said, listening to the sounds outside the high walls. "I see some men over there, by that building. Why don't we ask them how the battle goes?" For a moment, Tearlach actually looked nervous. Then he shrugged. "Why not? In war, any friend is a true friend." Two big Barbarians, each easily Tearlach's size, had collapsed against a wall. They must be a remarkable people indeed, Cain thought, if they all possess such great strength. These two, though, were covered with bandages, and looked utterly exhausted. That didn't stop them from smiling as they approached. "Hey, hoo's the fancy boy?" "Now don't he look pretty, with all them shiny jewels. And the big helmet with wings!" "Aye, it's got wings," Tearlach snarled. "Only great heroes wear these. Must be why yoo've never seen one!" Both of them burst out laughing, though it looked like it hurt. "Great heroes! Yoo think yoo're gonna walk out there and glitter 'em all to death?" "No, he's gonna flap his wings and fly over the catapults!" "Maybe he'll chop a tree down on 'em with his little axe!" "If yoo lot are finished bein' stupid," Tearlach said, "I've just come from Hell, where I made Lord Diablo and Lord Mephisto wish they'd never crawled out of the slime pit that spawned 'em! I'm here to pick up the third, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna waste time listenin' to two mutton-heads sit on their behinds while a war's on. Harrogath stands, and I intend to see that it doesn't fall! Does Qual-Kehk still live?" "I never heard of a great hero hoo hid behind a shield!" one of them spat. He impassively replied, "I heard yoo all are hiding inside a wall. A magic wall, raised by the elders. Is that true?" Both of them fell silent, eyes cast down. "Aye, it's true. The elders raised a magic wall around the city. We'd be dead if they had not. The catapults would have finished us." "Druids," the other shook his head slowly. "Magic. What's the world comin' to?" "And so yoo're hiding in here," Tearlach fumed, "while demons defile Arreat." "There is little any of us can do," another voice said. A very old woman, bent nearly double, had slowly hobbled outside. "Yoo're... Tearlach, aren't yoo? I thought I recognized that tone of voice." Tearlach nodded. "Yes, Malah. I heard the sacred mountain was threatened, and came." Slowly, Malah nodded. With eyes hard as flint, she gently inquired, "Did yoo bring yoor father's war gear with you... or have yoo lost it?" He swallowed, but returned her gaze. "It is with me and safe, though I do not wear it any more. In my travels, I have vanquished many foes, and come with steel of my own." "Good. If they still live, yoor clan will wish its return. This is no time for old grudges. Our need is great, and valorous deeds may wipe out old transgressions. Qual-Kehk commands us still, though I cannot see what good one more sword will do." "It is not the sword, but the arm that wields it." Tearlach looked out, beyond the city walls. "But first: what is a 'catapult', Malah?" "A foul beast made of demon flesh fused with steel. It has one great arm, and hurls balls of magic great distances. As you were told, they would be throwing their magic directly over our walls were it not for the elders' sacrifice." "The elders' sacrifice?" "Yes," Malah said. The hard edges of her face fell away, and sorrow filled her eyes. "All the elders died placing the ward over the city. All save Nihlathak." A look of disgust crossed Tearlach's face. "Och, he would weasel out of it. Never trust a snake clansman!" Then he stopped himself. "No, yoo are right, no time for grudges. This is the final battle, we are all in it together. And my place is in battle, not here." He hefted his axe, the red light of rage filling his eyes. "I'll be back." Watching Tearlach charge towards Harrogath's only gate, Cain smiled. Not so long ago, he wouldn't have bothered asking what a catapult was. Malah seemed surprised too. "What a strange world this has become. If I had not seen his face, I would never know it was him." "We all change over time. I am Deckard Cain the elder, of the order of the Horadrim. You are known as Malah, I heard?" "Yes, young man," she smiled, with a twinkle in her eye. "Have yoo been with him on his journeys? Is what he says true?" "In essence, yes. It was in Entsteig, far to the south, where we met. The demon queen Andarial had taken over the Rogue's monastery. He was able to defeat her, and has since gone on to face many of the lords of Hell. Quite a saga could be made of it, I am certain." Malah clucked her tongue. "Were he to say such things, I would not believe it. The young warrior I knew never stopped boasting. Now he comes, but does not say anything of what he has done." "He has changed, in the time I have known him. Slowly, reluctantly, and with a great deal of denial." Chuckling, he continued, "He is probably not even aware of it. I have noticed he spends little time in introspection." "What good is looking inward, when all faults lie without?" Malah laughed with Cain. "Yoo do have a way with words, young man. Puts me in mind of my late husband, may the Light shine on his path. Do yoo intend to stay long?" Cain shivered a bit. None of these Barbarians, even Malah, seemed to notice that it was snowing. "Perhaps not too long, only to render what assistance I may in the quest against the might of Hell. Would you mind if I went to look around your beautiful city?" "Yoo go ahead. It's not likely yoo're a spy for Baal. Speak with Nihlathak. Maybe yoor silvery tongue can break the silence he carries with him." The first thing Cain looked for was somewhere warm. Say what you will about Hell - there's not much good to say about it - at least you're not likely to freeze to death. Down the way from Malah's, a huge open-air smithy stood atop a high platform. The smith was easily the biggest man he'd ever seen, a giant even among Barbarians. You could probably fit three of me inside his shoulders, Cain surmised. "Hello there." "Uhng," the smith grunted, and returned to his work. Not much of a conversationalist, it seemed. "I see you really love your work," Cain said, trying to draw the man out. "I used to," the smith grunted, pounding a frightening-looking dent out of a helmet. "Now all I do is fix things for men who are going to die. Soon, I'm going to have to put down my hammer and take up a sword myself." "Are all your warriors on the field? The city seems empty." "On the field, in some demon's belly... what's the difference? The warriors can't lift the siege. It's die out there or starve in here. Big difference." "Good news may come soon. There is always hope." The smith just looked irritated. Further talk would serve no purpose, Cain realized. Despair has this man in its grip, and will not let go until he sees reason to hope. "Good day." Most of the town was empty. Buildings stood vacant, kitchens untended, beds empty, the hearths gone cold. A few Barbarians sat here and there, cooking meager meals or staring empty-eyed into the distance. One was different from the rest: much older, and thin to the point of emaciation. His appearance was so unusual, Cain had to stop and talk with him. "Hello. I am Deckard Cain the elder, of the order of the Horadrim." "Well, well," the man sneered. "What have we here? An old vulture, come to loot our fallen? If yoo plan to grow rich off others' stupidity, yoo've come to the right place. There's more than enough to spare." "Not at all... I have come to help, in any way I can." "Yoo needn't have bothered. The great and mighty Qual-Kehk, our battle leader hoo has never led anyone into battle in his life, has the situation well under control. I am sure having so many men die is all part of some bold subterfuge." "You face a foe of demonic strength," Cain replied, growing uneasy, "and you are not vanquished yet." "A fact which has nothing to do with our warriors. The knowledge of myself and the other elders saved our lives... forbidden knowledge. But what can yoo expect, in a land where mere knowledge is forbidden?" Ah, ha, Cain thought. "It is most unfortunate, when knowledge is forbidden. My whole life has been spent in its pursuit. Lately, I have traveled with young Tearlach, who says --" Nihlathak laughed. "What would that insolent puppy have to say that anyone should listen to? There are no words to express his ignorance -- stark in its frankness, invulnerable in its arrogance, as predictable as the rising of the sun. Next to him, Qual-Kehk is a scholar. The wisest thing we ever did was to exile him." "Hmm. Tearlach seems well-known here." "The word yoo are trying not to say is 'infamous.' The less those like him occupy my thoughts, the happier I am." "Then I will not bother you any more with my prattling. Good day to you." So that is Nihlathak, Cain thought as he walked away. He had more to say than he thought he might, but none of it was very informative. It also struck him as curious that everyone in Harrogath seemed to know Tearlach. As far as he knew, Barbarians were nomads, each clan trekking over hundreds of square miles of territory. How likely was it that everyone in the northern mountains had met him? The boy must have done something extraordinary to make himself so "infamous." But what? Inside Harrogath's iron gate, a huge man in bronzed plate armor waited. His hair was long, like all Barbarians except Tearlach, and snowy white. Obviously, a man of importance, and long years, which carried great respect here. "Hello, I am Deckard Cain the elder." "Hunh," the big man grunted. "I am Qual-Kehk, senior man-at-arms. Ordinarily, it would be my sacred duty to take yoor head and put it on Harrogath's battlements as a warning to other outlanders." Cain smiled nervously. "Ah, yes. A pleasure to meet you, too. I am not a fighting man, but I will help in any way I can." "I've no use for a weak old man," Qual-Kehk said, his gaze returning to the mountain rising above the city. Straightforward talk seems to be the way of things here. Well, when in Rome... "I came with a young warrior named Tearlach. Have you heard of him?" "Aye. He returned here?" "Yes. We heard from... a reliable source that Harrogath was in danger. I understand he was exiled... something to do with his father's fighting equipment?" "No. He was exiled for arrogance. He stole the Berserker's Arsenal after." Despite himself, Cain was shocked. "Arrogance? How arrogant does a Barbarian have to be to be exiled for it?" Qual-Kehk's gaze never wavered from the mountain. "Yoo've met him." Chapter 28 The time came, and we were not ready. The end is here, Hell has thrown its might against us. All our lives were devoted to readiness, and we were not ready. Tearlach ran out into pitched battle. The mountain slopes ran red; the earth was slippery, gory mud, where it wasn't frozen solid deep crimson. Demons were everywhere, gathered in little knots around the very few warriors who faced them. How could this be? Where was the mighty host the free people would bring together? Centuries had been devoted to one thing, and one thing alone: this very moment. The mountains were full of fighting men: where WERE they? Snarling, Tearlach leapt into the thick of the nearest gang of demons. The angel told him this was happening. The clans were too sure of themselves, too confident of their strength. When Sescheron fell, they blamed each other, and would not unite under one banner. He'd thought it a lie when he heard it. By the bones of Bul-Kathos himself, even southlanders had more sense than that! All the demons were soon dead. The man they'd surrounded was standing there like a dolt, staring. "Look alive, stupid!" Tearlach bellowed in his face. "What are yoo gawking at? They don't wish away, useless!" No more sense than a moon-struck bunny rabbit in that one. More demons surrounded other lone warriors. They were the finest the world could offer, but alone and outnumbered a dozen to one, they could only be cut down. Each fought alone, like they were dueling other men. Muttering curses, Tearlach leapt from one man to another, shouting and slaughtering. This was no matter for warrior's pride, this is war against a vast host that fights without honor. These were slaves: fear of their masters drives them, but fear does not give strength -- it makes slaves run, but gnaws in their bellies all the while. A good loud war cry makes them more afraid of you, stops them right in their tracks. A child could mop them up after that. In Harrogath's central square, Cain was trying to talk with Qual-Kehk. "I must say, it is a privilege to stand here with you now. Very few outsiders have ever seen Mt. Arreat, and I hope you realize I appreciate its beauty and importance." "Yoo do not. The mountains are beautiful and terrible, in ways no one who sits by the well all day can understand. Arreat is the most terrible of all, and has killed all the unworthy who tried to learn its secrets." "Well... secrets are... ah... secret, you know. I think young Tearlach is happy to have returned to his homeland, and glad to be of help. He has spoken very highly of you. Having another warrior in battle can only be for the good." "Aye, crumbs are still bread. Don't expect anyone to mourn him, though. When Baal is finished here, no one will be left to mourn." Cain smiled. "Master man-at-arms, perhaps you are taking things too hard. I understand your people have suffered, but that does not mean all is lost. I think of life as learning, and everyone has something to teach. Though he does not know it, young Tearlach taught me of your people's resilience, and extraordinary strength in times of adversity. He has faced down Evils both lesser and greater, and stood alone in Hell itself." "So yoo say," Qual-Kehk grunted. "He might do all that, if he ever grew into his mouth. A great hero out of legend might save us now, but one warrior cannot do much. Even we are less than what we were in ages past. Our ancestors were mighty men, true beings of power. All of us together cannot equal one of them." "I do not wish to seem obstinate, but it seems to me the tide of battle is turning. Listen! The sounds of combat no longer come from the boundary of the protective dome, but much further away. Baal's forces are being pushed back, and the town may be saved." While he spoke, Tearlach ran down into the square. Blood dripped from his axe, and huge holes rent his armor, particularly on the legs. Qual-Kehk turned his back, pointedly gazing out over the battlefield. "Wizard! Identify these things. What in blazes is this collection of skulls and bones? I can't get them apart." "The Wall of the Eyeless! Those are demon bones, bound together with necromantic magic. Did one of Baal's minions have this?" "No," Tearlach frowned. "It was in one of our burial chests, on the mountain slopes. What good would this do any warrior?" "I do not know," Cain replied. "This is something spellcasters are more fond of, particularly those who deal with the dead. Are you hurt?" "Scratched a bit. There are earth demons up there, they tunnel through the ground and poke you in the feet. Quickly, I left three men fighting behind me! They'll get all the glory!" Chuckling, Cain quickly described each item. "I also thought Barbarians disapproved of looting the dead." "We disapprove of yoo southlanders looting our dead! The dead have no use for anything. We put those things in there so the living know where to find them!" With that, he ran back to Malah's house, and started unloading potions. "Well," Cain said, looking at the bony shield, "he seems to be performing commendably. Though perhaps this is not the best time to seek plunder." "There is never a bad time to plunder enemies," Qual-Kehk spoke. "Everything he brings back is honor and wealth for his family and clan. It is our way." "Of course, of course. I wonder why he will not speak with you, though." Qual-Kehk's leveled his gaze at Cain. "The warrior Tearlach was exiled from these lands, his head shorn in shame. By our ancient laws, none of our people may give him shelter, or share meat with him. Were I to see him again in Harrogath, our holiest bastion, I would be bound by duty and my own honor to slay him." Slowly, Cain nodded. "It's a lucky thing you had your back turned." "It is bad enough that southlanders sit by our well. But I see yoo are right. For the first time in many days, no demons stand by the wall. I can send foragers out for food. It will be good to have something besides moldy bread." "Yes! If my eyes do not deceive me, the battle rages at that narrow point there. That will be difficult to attack, a small number could hold out there easily." "Their general, Shenk, keeps one of his pets there. My men tell me engaging it is difficult; it is easier to run past than make it stand still and fight. Any warrior who could kill it might have what it takes to kill the general and lift the siege." "After the trials he has faced, I am sure he will succeed. Surely, this general's pet cannot be more powerful than the Lord of Terror himself." When Tearlach returned, the three he'd left had already gone ahead. He found two of them at the entrance of a narrow defile, with nearly a score of earth demons finishing off the last. Such large numbers required concentration, but he'd learned how to deal with a horde of slow-moving attackers back in the Rogue's pass. Also hiding in the narrows was a new sort of creature, tiny men with big heads who could vanish and reappear elsewhere. Chasing them down was a great annoyance; they died quickly, but it almost wasn't worth the effort. One had a nice set of rare throwing knives, if you like that kind of thing. Beyond the narrows, a set of rising plateaus led upwards. They knew he was coming now: and slaves were arranged to meet him. Just to show them he didn't need to break through their defensive lines, Tearlach leapt over to the earth demons arranged behind them. They would furnish many skulls for primal helms, if there was anyone left who could make them. Maybe Larzuk could; his line went back a long time, he might know the old secrets. There was still hope for the future, in spite of all that had come to pass. Much that was old yet remained. Yes... there was no reason the children of Bul-Kathos could not be great once again, after this little problem had been taken care of. On a high mound, Tearlach heard something bellowing like a pig being violated. Two skinny arms, one holding a whip, flailed above a gang of slaves. These should be easier than usual to kill -- they were so puffed-up and bloated they couldn't even hold a weapon. A war cry should stun them easily, but it didn't; one ran up to him and exploded, knocking him into a low trench. Good thing he had the shield, that might have hurt. Quickly, Tearlach leapt into the middle of the crowd of slaves and waited. As expected, they all rushed to surround him. At the last possible moment, he leapt away, watching them explode messily behind him. Good to know that trick works, sometimes. Now piggy-boy was alone. The whip wielder was a disgusting thing, mostly a ball of useless flab with tiny legs and long spindly arms. To its credit, the demon didn't run away; it slowly shuffled off its hill towards Tearlach, howling and lashing its metal whip. Very brave; also, very stupid. A whip is a miserable weapon for combat, unless the fat pig thought he could kill him by sitting on him. Tearlach made it quick. After the pig died, the remaining demons ran. Not that it saved them, of course, but they gave it an inspired try. "What's this axe, wizard?" "Hmm..." Cain examined the weapon. "A Great Axe of Quality, nothing special. Tell me, have you met anything that looked like a general yet?" "One big fat thing with a whip, driving the other demons into the fight. If yoo call that a general, yoo can call me a king. I expected... the other one to be around somewhere." "Baal is said to be searching the mountain. He is probably looking for the way in to the Worldstone." Qual-Kehk turned, fury in his eyes. "He told yoo of the Worldstone, outlander!?" "No," Cain replied quickly, "the archangel Tyrael told me before he brought us here." "That name never came to my lips," Tearlach replied indignantly. "Shut up, puppy," Qual-Kehk roared. "Yoo shouldn't even be here! What else have yoo done to break our traditions?!" "I win battles," Tearlach growled. "Which is --" Oh, no, Cain thought. Though it might cost him his life, he moved between the two huge Barbarians and held up his hands. "Please! Think of where this might lead." They both stopped, glowering. Cain continued, "Surely, we cannot waste our time and energy like this! Qual-Kehk, honored war-leader... the siege has been lifted! Baal's most vicious general is no more. Surely, someone who would risk his life to save this great city would never knowing betray your proud traditions." "What risk? He wa --" He stopped when Cain elbowed him in the stomach. "Aye... there is that." Qual-Kehk stood in solemn thought. Foraging parties were already coming back through the gates, with more firewood, rabbits, nuts, and mountain garlic. "If these are the final days... then there is no reason to keep our secrets any longer, is there? The protection secrecy brings has failed, it no longer serves any purpose." "Indeed," Cain said, rubbing his elbow. "Baal does not know how to reach the Worldstone, so it is likely that his effort will be futile." "That's right!" Tearlach smiled. "He can look 'til his eyes fall out." "While he looks, all our lives are in peril," Qual-Kehk said. "The siege will be renewed, more demons will come. My thoughts turn to those who have been taken prisoner, for the demons to feast on in their nightly revels." "A fate no man should suffer," Tearlach opined. "Those who escaped tell me they were held in the holding prisons we built, higher up the mountain. If they were all released, we could renew our assaults on Baal's forces and turn the tide against him." Tearlach blinked. "We built prisons?" "Don't be stupid, whelp. Of course we did. Even if we didn't, they would. Demons like their meat alive and screaming." Chapter 29 We built prisons. The thought wouldn't leave Tearlach's mind as he smashed the last of the catapults, which were still trying to rain death on the faraway city. Only southlanders build prisons, so they can torment and enslave those they fear. The sons of Bul-Kathos have the resolve to finish off their enemies. Aye, that was what the elders said. They also said the sons of Bul-Kathos don't use magic. After kicking the last earth demon back down to Hell, Tearlach found the broad steps which led up from the foothills into the highlands. He'd never been this far up before. In ancient times, the people built rings of walls around the sacred mountain, to defend it in the end times. Walls are a good defense. Barbarians don't need them, most of the time; we have nothing to defend. That purity of life gives us the freedom to attack without worry. At the top of the steps, Tearlach saw, almost invisible under the dirt, an old Horadric waypoint. For a moment, he glowered at it. Bad enough that they'd been in Hell. How did that bunch of pansy-ass sorcerers get here, and find the time to build something of their own on the very slopes of sacred Mt. Arreat? Was no one on guard against foreigners? Or did the elders invite them here? Cold fury crept into his heart, but he activated the waypoint. It was too damn useful not to. One last group of slaves beset him (maybe reinforcements for that "general" down in the hills) and then it was nothing but open spaces, full of little big-heads. By the Light, who knew Hell was so full of tiny annoyances? Every single one of them must be up here, right now, just for him. Even the dart Flayers weren't this hateful -- they could only run away. These things took great pleasure in vanishing the moment he got close enough to hurt them, always with the sassiest smirk on their pointy-chinned faces. When he leapt, they were gone by the time he landed. When he gave chase, they scampered away, laughing while their fellows peppered him with magic. The only time they'd sit still was when the found a beast to ride: huge animals that walked like men, covered in iron plate with a saddle on their heads. Each had a flame-throwing device mounted on the saddle. Anywhere else, and that might have been a terrible weapon; in Arreat's chill air, it was almost invigorating. It took far too long to reach the first set of walls. The big-heads should have known they had no chance, all they did was make him chase them. It was so frustrating, he hardly took the time to loot. Now that he was here, seeing for the first time the mighty defensive works his ancestors labored so hard to build, he was... disappointed. He hadn't expected them to be great walls, but these weren't even very good walls. Hardly more than the height of a tall man, built of wattle and sun-baked mud, they looked like a good kick could go right through. There were a few towers; a big-head was desperately pouring fire on his head from the top of the nearest one. Only demons used the wall now... so Tearlach raised his axe, smashed the tower, and split the big-head in two from below. It wasn't even difficult. Behind the wall were open platforms, one with a catapult, another with a cage. Tearlach hadn't noticed the catapult firing. Maybe he'd been running after the cursed big-heads so much, the thing couldn't take aim. The cage was nothing but sticks and rope, with a single chain locking the flimsy gate. They weren't even very good cages. A strong man could jump over that ring of sticks, or break them. They couldn't hold even an unarmed man unless he were constantly watched. Five men stood in the cage, shouting for release; slaves were stabbing through the bars, trying to kill them first. Tearlach chopped through the chain with one swipe. "Get out of there! Get a sword, there's plenty of killing for all of yoo!" Maybe they'd clear big-heads so he wouldn't have to bother. As soon as they were out, a portal appeared, and they all ran. Well... maybe that was for the best. A hot meal would do them good before they came back into the fray. Now that he wasn't out in the open, the big-heads couldn't blast away at him so freely; he went through the wall from one end to the other, looting thoroughly. The ancestors left a lot of wizard toys behind them: Druid skins, staves, and wands made from glowing crystals or dried human bones. By now, Tearlach could only shake his head; he'd gone beyond surprise. It wouldn't even surprise him to learn that the ancestors were all magicians, and the great traditions all got started as their little joke. Beyond the first wall was another open plain, full of bouncing big-heads. Tearlach killed them without thought; they weren't a threat, but his heart wasn't in the battle anymore. None of the men he'd rescued returned to the fight. There were no honorable foes, only little ones that cast spells and ran away. The things that stood their ground did so because they were too stupid to do otherwise. In the middle of the highlands was a pit, with a bridge that led to a red gate. Having been in Hell, the red glow from below was very familiar. An entrance to Hell on Mt. Arreat? Why not? The guardians of the mountain not only failed to guard it, they even failed to be the men they were supposed to be. Why wouldn't Hell come to the most sacred place in the world and make itself at home? Tearlach went down to a tiny bit of Hell, an island in a lake of fire. The River of Flame might flow here. Siege machines and hand armaments lay about, mostly pole-arms, spears, and other two-handed weapons. And there were big-heads, more and more big-heads all over the damned place. He was about to scream in frustration when the bull-men charged. Ah... these ones, at least, look like they fight in ways a man can understand. The big poleaxes lying around were not two-handed weapons either: bull-men used them one in each hand. They were fast, strong, eminently respectable, and very rewarding to kill. Though even he had to admit, it was good they only came one or two at a time. There was plenty of war-gear on the fiery island, useful things any warrior would appreciate. What had happened to the sons of Bul-Kathos, that more good steel could be found down in the pit than on the slopes of Mt. Arreat? Almost sadly, Tearlach left Hell and returned to the hell on earth that was his homeland. The second ring of walls came into view, no better than the first. Two cages stood here; at one, he found another Barbarian warrior, hacking away at the guardian slaves. Fool! He should free his brothers first, not try to get all the kills for himself. After kicking through the cage wall, Tearlach turned his attention to the slaves, getting five kills to the other man's two. A member of the wolf tribe (so marked by his use of two axes) should be ashamed of so poor a performance. Ah... but what does it matter, next to the shame that hangs over us all? Beyond lay another highland, and another wall. The fighting was even more tedious than in that forsaken desert down south. At least there were no walking dead; his people do not leave bodies for demons to work their magic on. Far up into the highlands, the land leveled off. Some earth demons guarded the pass, but after killing them, Tearlach climbed a tree and looked out over the vast plateau. Fires burned everywhere, and the thick acrid smoke did not all come from wood. Thin winds carried the screams of slaves and the crack of whips to his ears. The flanks of Arreat were now a staging area for the enemy. A new force was gathering for another assault. The square in Harrogath was full of men, preparing their armor and swords. Where were they a few minutes ago, Tearlach wondered? "Old man," Tearlach growled at Qual-Kehk, "demon slaves and their masters gather above the highlands. Have any of those who returned found the stomach they'll need to face them when they come?" Qual-Kehk was drawing lines on a map. Ignoring Tearlach's tone, he replied. "They have returned, and eaten for the first time in days. Their wounds no longer fester, their bones are whole and strong once more. They have spoken well of yoor bravery. I thank yoo for saving them." Hmm... they were a bit battered when he found them. "It was... there was nothing too difficult in it. The worst was the time it took to slay all the little wizard things." "Aye, they are a plague. The men also tell me yoo broke the old walls in many places, and found the things the elders kept there." Slowly, Tearlach nodded. "Aye." "I often wondered why those things were there. The elders would not say, just that they were to stay. I thought, perhaps so long as they are here, the world's sorcerers and demon-kissers cannot have them. Now I know better." Teeth gritting audibly, Tearlach muttered, "Aye." "When Aust, who I looked to as a father, came to me and told me to hold back my men, magic would defend Harrogath, it was all I could do not to strike him down. The spell did not save the mountain." Now Qual-Kehk looked straight at Tearlach. "We are the sons of Bul-Kathos, mightiest of men, the only king of this land. Walls may save a city, but we must do more than save our lives. Baal is out there. Kill him... and all this collapses." "Aye!" Tearlach grunted, standing straighter. "Beyond the plateau yoo saw, there is a tunnel under a wall of ice. Through those tunnels lies the way, by a hidden path he seeks, but will not find. If our warriors go there, he will follow, thinking we will lead him to it. We can lure him into a trap and put him and all his kind to the sword." A fire lit in Tearlach's eye. "A sally..." "Aye. But we must break through his armies with enough men left alive to deal with him and his cohort. We must not fight for glory, or the honor of our clans. I have decided to adopt a new strategy. Yoo, and all yoor fellows, will be paired. Each of yoo is to watch the other's back, and fight as yoo would to protect a brother. Yoo are not to compete; all yoor kills will be in common." This brought some grumbles. Only Tearlach took no convincing. "Aye, that's not so bad. 'Tis good to have a shield-brother at yoor side, when surrounded by the enemy. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, after all." "And speaking of shields... Tearlach, I had thought to put these runes in a shield, but seeing how yoo bear one, yoo may use them better. Yoor partner will be Klatu." "What, him?" Tearlach snorted. "A damned Crane tribesman, what a --" "Hoo are you, speakin' to me that way, boy!?!" Qual-Kehk roared. "Forget yoor clans, most of 'em are dead anyway! This is bigger than clans, this is everything! We have to fight, and we have to win! If we're dead, it'll do nobody any good!" No one spoke up again. Soon, all were paired up, mostly outside of their tribes. Tearlach looked over his new "partner" with some resentment. "I am Tearlach, son of Grignr, son of Gor." "I've heard of yoo. I am Klatu, son of Gort." Tearlach frowned. "Don't you have brothers named Borada and Niktu?" "Aye. I intend to avenge them." Tearlach nodded, a smile slowly coming to his lips. "Aye. There's chance enough for that." Chapter 30 In happier times, when outsiders attacked the highlands, the sons of Bul-Kathos met them on the plains and plateaus. Springing out of ambush, a charge with a few war cries was usually enough to send the southlanders squealing in terror back to their own lands. Those lacking the wit to flee that first rush were slaughtered... think of it as culling the herd. What Qual-Kehk demanded now was different. By the old ways, each warrior fought for his own honor and glory, then the honor of his clan, but the old way would not win this war. Their foe outnumbered them by an unthinkable margin, and did not flee -- their masters frightened them far more than any shouting. The hour was late, but hope was not lost: a few more had trickled into Harrogath, besides those rescued from the cages. Now armed, fed, and ready, a smaller but wiser band might yet snatch victory. Qual-Kehk told them what he expected of them. The key to this battle was Baal himself. His army was far too numerous to defeat, and even if they did, he would simply summon it again. To win, they must kill Baal, but finding him would be impossible. Qual-Kehk's plan was wily: if you cannot reach the enemy, have him come to you. Their goal was the ice caves under Arreat's peak. Baal had been searching for the entrance to the Worldstone's chamber for days. If they could destroy the army massing on the plateau, but retreat to the caves, he would think the entrance must be there. He would follow... and the caves are one of the best places on the mountain for an ambush. It would be a hard battle - he would certainly have his strongest minions with him to protect his foul carcass - but killing his slaves and minor demons again and again would not win the war. Of course, they had to defeat Baal's army, and leave warriors alive to make an ambush work. This would take new tactics, fighting to stay alive and reach the caves. Each man was to carry portal scrolls, and attach no shame to using them. Keep your eyes on your brother, keep him and you safe. Move in slow, harass the enemy until you've whittled them down to size. Tearlach listened, and approved; much of this was nothing more than his usual combat strategy, learned from painful experience. Not everyone shared his opinion. "It sounds..." Drus frowned, thinking. "It is unmanly, to cower and run from Baal's slaves." "Is it manly to die against them?" Tearlach snorted. "Too many of our proud warriors lie dead, their crimson life fluid staining the unhappy earth. Even a slave can kill." "What can yoo say that we should listen to, lack-kin?" a man called Hrothgar sneered. "A man with no clan is like a blasted tree standing lonely on a hilltop." "Yoo can sit under a tree to get out of the rain," Tearlach snarled. "A dead man does no one any good. Did I pull yoo out of their stew-pots to insult me?" "I will not fight alongside a Snake!" Drus spat on the ground. "Nor I beside a Bear!" Tostig hissed. "My cousin Tharr was killed by a Bear clansman, and I have sworn a blood-feud against all his kin." "I know yoo, Tearlach," Hrothgar glowered. "I know yoo from yoor youth. Yoo want us to go slow so yoo can take yoor fancy jeweled axe and get all the kills for yoorself!" As they argued, Cain sidled up to Qual-Kehk. "I beg your pardon, but is this they way decisions are usually made here?" "Yes," Qual-Kehk sighed. "And no. I expected argument. Only a fool would think proud warriors would forget all they have known and fight a new way." "Listening to them, I am reminded of Tearlach when I first met him. How strange that his should be the voice of reason now." "None will say it, but they are afraid. When southlanders came in the past, we knew the fight would be easy, and it was easy to set differences aside. Now, any excuse will do for them to sit at home by the fire. It makes me sick to see it." "Why don't you just tell them that?" "It would shame them into battle, and they would fight and die. I want them to fight and live. It is disgraceful to say, but the exile is right; it does no good to stand and die." "Hmm..." Cain thought. "I think I have an idea." The fight among the Barbarians was growing louder by the moment; Cain was sure it would come to blows soon. With a sweet smile, he hobbled into the middle of it and looked up at Tearlach. "Pardon me, but I am a bit confused about something." Tearlach sighed theatrically. "What do yoo want now, wizard?" "Well... I know perfectly well that none of you are afraid of dying..." "Of course not!" All the Barbarians laughed, a bit longer than they needed to. "Death comes to all, there is no call to fear it!" "I have also heard you sing many songs to honor those who die a glorious death." "All men die," Hrothgar said. "Only a warrior's reputation lives forever, through the sagas." "Yes. So, if you all die against Baal's troops, who will sing to honor you?" There was a long, painful silence. Cain continued, "Especially against those slaves, who have no honor at all. To die facing Baal, that I can understand... but why are you arguing about who kills the most slaves? I don't think it matters to Baal if you kill them." "Erm..." Drus shuffled his feet. "True, there is little honor in it." "We've all slain plenty of them," Tearlach said. "A few more makes no difference." "I'm still not fighting beside a Bear," Tostig murmured darkly. Cain nodded. "That is very wise. It would be terrible if you were to save his life, and have his clan owe you a debt. All your clans have suffered greatly, and they might have difficulty compensating you. It would bring them dishonor." Quietly, Cain glanced around; a few of them were confused, some looked offended, one or two had a crafty look in their eyes. "Wizard, are yoo trying to get clever with us?" "No, no! Forgive me, I do not understand your ways. I was confused, especially knowing Qual-Kehk's plan could be what destroys Baal and avenges all your kin." "Aye... there's that," Hrothgar scratched his shaggy beard. "No point killing his slaves if he cares not about the loss." "More important, he can't find the Worldstone," Drus said. "Aye! He seeks it above all else. All his thought is on it," Tostig nodded sagely. "So..." Tearlach's eyes narrowed as he thought, "if he thinks it's in the caves, he'll go there and we can get him!" "Damn!" Hrothgar shouted, "we have to get that army out of the way now, before it's ready to march! What are we all standing around here for? For GLORY!!" With a mighty shout, all Harrogath's warriors charged out the gate. In the now deserted square, Qual-Kehk shook his head. "Outlander, that was disgustingly manipulative." Looking not a little smug, Cain quietly shrugged. "Sometimes, people simply need to be reminded of what's important to them. Strange... they seemed more eager to fight when they thought it was their own idea." Qual-Kehk laughed. "Of course! My people do not take orders, all of us are equals. That was one thing I always admired about elder Aust. He had a golden tongue, and a gift for fine speech. He never gave orders to anyone. It was always his greatest pleasure to let them do exactly as he wanted." When they reached the plateau, a few of the Barbarians abandoned their battle partners and ran on ahead. Others with more experience moved in slower, wary and light on their feet. Tearlach grabbed Klatu and stuck close to him. Let the others charge in; they'd soon learn caution, if they lived. Very few sagas will be sung about fighting slaves; even dying against Baal would be a better fate. At first, there were only a few scattered slaves, lost and confused after the first Barbarians' rush through their ranks. They were easy to mop up. Tearlach noted, to his infinite disgust, that Klatu was a Crane fighter through and through. He was constantly moving in and out, dodging and weaving, occasionally swinging his sword; he couldn't just stand still and bash. Granted, he didn't need much more than one carefully-placed swing, but it was still annoying. Tearlach stood behind his shield and chopped, killing two or more for every one of his. Finally, he had enough. "What the HELL are yoo DOING?" Klatu looked at Tearlach. He had heavy-lidded eyes, and always looked half-asleep. "What are YOO doing?" Grunting as a slave detonated on his shield, Tearlach replied, "Killing! What are yoo doing?" "Killing." "No, what's with all the dancing around and crap?!" Klatu was now weaving around a slave master, avoiding its whip and slowly slicing it to bits. "The little ones explode, yoo know." Tearlach shook half of a slave's head off his helmet wing. "I noticed." Long after they had both finished off the slave master and moved on to the next, Klatu continued his thought. "They hurt less when yoo'r far away." "Nah, step back when yoo see them swell up. Problem solved." Klatu seemed to consider this for a while. "Aye, that might do it." "Yoo should do it. Gods, yoo get chewed up. I'm sick of yoo taking all the potions!" "Yoo drink a bunch of them. Yoo even drink the blue ones." "Is it my fault I get thirsty? Tough work, this." "Aye." Silently, he watched as Tearlach searched the fallen. "Findin' anything there?" "Just Cathan's Mesh. Sorcerer crap. Let's move on." It was on his next return to town that Malah stooped him. Many more warriors were coming back to have their wounds tended before they went out again, but she didn't want to talk about that. Elder Aust's only child, his daughter Anya, had survived the death of her father, but vanished soon after. She was sure elder Nihlathak was responsible. Tearlach smiled and assured her he'd look for her, but didn't have the heart to tell the poor old woman she was surely dead. Anya was supposed to be the most beautiful girl in the land, and one of the wisest, as her father gave her many of his secrets. But no woman, neither the wisest nor the strongest, could survive long outside of Harrogath's walls. There were a few encampments on the plateau, with a few dead women, some of them still in bed or sitting by the fire. Tearlach was surprised they hadn't been eaten. Maybe demons like beef better than veal. Behind a wall was another hell-pit; the cursed things must be all over Mt. Arreat. Standing at the entrance, Tearlach looked around. Despite stopping for loot, he and Klatu seemed to be well ahead of the others. They had formed little knots of two or three sword-brothers, and were taking the demons on with ease. It was important to get to the ice caves, but if they were coming up through these portals, it would be just as important to kill everything down below too. And besides... there was sure to be loot there, better loot than he was finding up here, all his for the taking. The red portal took them to another string of islands in the lake of fire. In spite of it being his first time in Hell, Klatu took it well. The fire and stench made him nervous, but Tearlach took no notice. The Crane was a decent fighter, even if he took too long to kill things, and besides, Hell is supposed to make a man nervous. The only time he had to be rough with him was when a gigantic bull-man, a genuine Hell Lord, attacked with his pack. "That's a big 'un, he is." "RETREAT!!" "Yoo can't be running away! He's not that --" Tearlach grabbed Klatu by the collar of his breastplate and dragged him away. "Damn it, when I scream like a girl, pay attention!" "I didn't expect yoo to turn coward!" "Keep running! I'm no coward! We've got to string those bastards out and take on that big bastard alone or we're done for!" "Doesn't look that much bigger than the others..." When they got to a safe distance, Tearlach stopped. "You see that red glow around him? That's a spirit aura, and the most dangerous kind." "So it glows. Yoo think it'll glimmer us to death?" "Yoo wait and see. But don't attack when it has friends. Get it alone!" It took running, leaping over gaps, and more fancy footwork than even Klatu liked, but they finally isolated the Hell Lord with only one of its cohort. That was about as good as it was going to get, Tearlach realized, so they attacked. Repeated war cries confused the minion, but bull-head hit faster and harder than anything Tearlach had yet felt. Both of them reeled under the repeated blows, delivered in a frenzy of bloodlust. It took three purple potions to keep them alive, but finally they killed it. As they stood there gasping, Tearlach handed Klatu a potion. "Drink." "Aye," he gurgled. "By all the Ancients... I thought yoo'd been here before?" "I've been. Hell of a place." Klatu shook his head. "Aye." After that, the rest of the island was child's play. At least there weren't any big-heads, just slaves, masters, and bulls. Back on Mt. Arreat, near the pit, was another Horadric waypoint. "Damn it, wizard," Tearlach asked as he dropped off another load, "how by all the Light did those damn mages build all these things? They're up and down the mountain!" "Mages all over the world have long debated Mt. Arreat's purpose. It is no surprise that the Horadrim came here at some point, to try and answer their many questions about the mountain and its secrets. Thankfully, they did not explore it completely, or Baal would not need to do so now. Have you had any luck in the ice caves?" "I'll be there soon, and so will the others. Luck is smiling on us. These demons aren't any tougher than any of the others, once you find their weaknesses." "Good, good. There are a couple of things here I think you should look at. In particular, this note. The handwriting looks familiar." Hey Big McLargeHuge! Ooooh, that Minotaur was nasty! Wish I got this to you sooner. The amulet is a good one, a Resonant amulet of Life Everlasting, reduces damage by 21! That'll help a whole big fat hairy bunch with those guys. Wear the chain gloves for the lightning resistance, and the great sword is for your friend. Leeching and speed keep the help helpful. Hasta la vista, you big lovable bulkhead, you! -- The Mule Chapter 31 Back on the mountain, Tearlach put the Mule's latest gifts to the test. Resisting magic is important, particularly lightning, but the new amulet was a good one. It made his voice more powerful, so his war cries were really scary. His flesh toughened too -- slaves couldn't chop as deeply as before, and even the most barbed whip meant nothing at all. Must be like what it feels like to be invulnerable. It felt good. There were no end of slaves to chop through. Even Klatu canned the fancy moves after a while and got down to business. Was there no end to the little bastards? They were almost as numerous as Flayers in the jungle, they just kept coming, endlessly. Finally, at the last defensive wall on the plateau, there were no slaves... just little Big-heads. Not much of an improvement, Tearlach cursed as he smashed through the wall, but at least there's some variety. Damn, why couldn't we at least have used stone for this thing? It's humiliating how easy it is to break through our own defenses. After clearing the wall and finding nothing of value, they moved on. Beyond was a glacier, one of several creeping down from Arreat's peak. The ice caves ran underneath from a small cave below the glacier's base. The area looked empty, until they found the fresh remains of a dead warrior. The man was burnt to a crisp from his head to his heels, and clutching a bow. Why would anyone with any choice of weapons use such a thing? The answer came soon enough: a slave master enchanted with lightning waddled in behind a wave of exploding slaves. At least he died fighting, Tearlach thought, but being fried by magic is no proper death. The thing died quick, probably quicker than its last victim. Nothing stood between them and the caves. Looking back down, Tearlach smiled with satisfaction. Only a few pockets of resistance were left, and were being wiped out as the others converged on them. Hell had taken a loss at least as bad as the one they'd taken at Sescheron. Now was the time to loot. Clan burial chests were common near the glacier, sheltering ancestral remains together as high up the mountain as most were allowed to go. Also outside the cave was an urn. When a son of Bul-Kathos commits a crime worthy of death, he is burned and the ashes carefully gathered before being placed in an urn. These burial urns are thick-walled, almost impossible to break, making sure nothing of the criminal will ever pollute the world again. It really shouldn't have surprised him that the lid of the urn was shaking. He and Klatu stood ready, and knocked it off. Big spiders crawled out; they squished every one. Yeugh. Now that the battle was won, the next step was to go into the caves. No doubt... um, what was his name... the other one had already been there, and left some minions behind to hold off intruders. They would have to be cleared out, of course, so Tearlach led the way. The first things he met were animated chunks of glacial ice, creeping around slowly. After them came... women? Yes, indeed! Women with wings, though they didn't look like any angel he'd ever seen. Oh, they were comely enough, in a bony kind of way, but the last time he'd seen that many horns and sharp teeth was in the Rogue pass. "Oh, yeah..." Tearlach grinned. "What a waste that they're demons." "Yoo sure?" Klatu muttered hopefully. "I mean, what if they aren't?" "Hi, boys!" one of them giggled. "Ooh, look at all those muscles!" "They look so hot!" another cooed, "and it's so cold down here. I don't like anything frigid. Wouldn't it be nice to be held in those strong, manly arms?" A third licked her lips. "I'm getting hot just thinking about it." Tearlach shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "Remember, they're demons." "What lass isn't, in the end?" Klatu murmured, his sword scraping the ground. "Aye, there's that..." They fluttered down, just out of weapon range. "Gosh, it's so amazing! Who'd think we'd ever find two such fine, hot-blooded studs in this ice box?" "I want to get them someplace warmer." "Sure!" the others giggled. "That'd be lots of fun." "Eh..." Tearlach muttered, "yoo are a little lightly dressed, lasses..." "Our master won't let us wear anything more. I'm freezing my nippies off! See how hard they've gotten?" Klatu turned bright red. "Hamina..." "Aye," Tearlach stared, "yoor suffering is easy to see." "Hey," Klatu said, looking into the distance, "how many of yoo are there down here?" "Maybe more than you can handle, studmuffin?" "I don't think so," one grinned. "He looks like he can handle a lot. I like him." "So," Tearlach said, watching more demon women approach, "why are all yoo 'hot' ladies in such a cold place? Yoor master, yoo said?" "Yeah! We hate him. He makes us do... bad things." "We really don't want to!" they pouted, very cutely. Aware that they were now surrounded, Klatu raised his sword again. "Then leave." "We would, really! But there's no place to go that's safe from him." "If only someone would help us, instead of trying to kill us." One of them gasped, "I'd instantly fall in love with any man so brave!" "So would I!" "Me too!" Klatu looked at Tearlach. "Yoo noticed we're surrounded?" "Aye. 'Tis a bewitching trap." "Aye. Not sure I mind so much." "Aye. That's what makes it dangerous." "Aye. Let's kill 'em." "Aye." They were too bony anyway. Besides, none of them were proper women. When they were killed, their glamorous looks faded into nothing, and a drawn-out hag of withered flesh and bones collapsed to the ground. Tearlach spat on them, and vowed then and there never to let any female's looks cloud his eye. He could not allow one devious she-creature's wiles to conquer him where Hell's fiercest monsters could not. As if to reinforce the point, they soon found what had to be those who had fallen to temptation: men bound and helpless, stripped of everything... their clothes, their flesh, and their lives. There were women captives, too; they still had clothing, but their faces and breasts had been ripped to bits. Continuing through the caves, they found bull-men, bigger than the last ones. Such worthy foes were killed with great respect; other warriors might call it fear, but even Klatu didn't use that term. One thing was strange: all the bull-men were accompanied by clouds of demon women, who hissed and spat and fought fiercely to protect them. Hmm. Must be a reason they're so popular with the ladies, but Tearlach didn't look to see what it might be. The caves were a maze of crystalline passages. The lights of torches shone through layer upon layer of clear ice, scattering in blues and purples that gleamed weirdly off the demon's armor. Seeing a creeping ice-beast walk in front of a torch was actually kind of dazzling; it was a crime Arreat's ice had been put for such evil ends. One advantage the Barbarians had over their enemy: they were used to cold. Even the bull-men were constantly just this side of freezing, and it didn't take much to chill them into a trembling mess. The helm of Frost Shield Klatu wore came in handy more than once. After a while, Tearlach began to wonder where they were. He'd never been in these caves before, and all the tunnels looked alike, icy and glittery. Klatu just followed along behind him; he probably didn't know where they were going either. Not that there was any cause for alarm... Harrogath was just a scroll away, and they were still finding demons, so they were obviously doing good. According to Malah, most of the others survived the battle thanks to Qual-Kehk's plan, and were clearing the caves too. They must be in deeper than anyone else had gotten yet. Down a slick slope, Tearlach found a frozen river. After a short trip back to dry off and warm up again, he and Klatu went to explore. Malah had never heard of an underground river up there; maybe they were under the base of the glacier, deeper than any man had gone since ancient times. Whatever, there were plenty of corpses in the river, and they'd been there for a long time. Ice poked between their ribs, and froze their grinning mouths shut. Klatu was about to go past, but Tearlach knew unclean dead are always a danger when demons are about. Sure enough, with a crackling of shattering ice, the dead rose to attack. This was something new for Klatu, and he didn't take it well. Good thing the slope up was too slick, or he might have really embarrassed himself. They weren't much different from any other zombie; slow, hard to put down, but no real danger. A few muttered something unintelligible, which was disturbing, but Tearlach smashed them anyway. As he stripped a magical plated belt from one, he called to Klatu, laughing. Klatu wouldn't come; the dead were rising again. That was even more disturbing. After bashing them back down, Tearlach took the time to rip their arms and legs off. Maybe that which is not alive cannot die... but it can still be torn into little bitty pieces. Along the river, they also found Yeti. Sadly, like their brown cousins to the south, they had been corrupted and turned against the true people. With time, Klatu grew accustomed to the walking dead, eventually scoffing at the idea he'd ever been afraid. Tearlach let it go; he liked the man, even if he was a little slow. A man should be a friend to his friends: meet a gift with a gift, a smile with a smile, and a lie with a pretense of not noticing. One demon woman had, among her other jewelry, a magical amulet, which vanished as Tearlach held it. Another note fluttered down in its place. Thick BigFlank, Vidala's Snare! That's good -- too bad we already had Sigon's Wrap. You're completing so many sets it's not funny. Your way with women is, though! You watch out for the next one, she could drop-kick your little heiny but good! -- The Mule "What's that?" Klatu asked, looking alarmed. "It's from the gods... or something," Tearlach frowned. "They gave me my battle gear, but take some of the things I find. It seems I have little choice in the matter." "Huh," Klatu grunted. "Yoo should hold on tighter. Not even a god should be allowed to take what a man has earned in combat." "This god is a strange one. He seems to know what I need, but is damned annoying. Yoo should be glad no gods have blessed yoo by meddling in yoor life." "Och, that's true. I am a humbler man." Tearlach smiled. "Yoo've got reason to be. Let's find this fearsome female. I'll show her my 'ways with women.'" Thick plank bridges crossed the river many times. They were sturdy under the feet, with only a dusting of ice crystals on them -- they must be new. Someone else was down here before them. Past a crowd of powerful Yeti, Tearlach saw a platform, decorated with the curling serpent of the snake clan. At its center, a mound of blue ice surrounded something shaped like a woman. She did not move, so they approached cautiously. It was a woman... a beautiful woman... without doubt, the most beautiful woman in the whole world! Tearlach was instantly overcome by the very sight of her. Even shivering, weeping frozen tears inside that icy shell, all others paled into insignificance. Her eyes, dark as midnight, pleaded with him. Instantly, Tearlach raised his axe, but Klatu stopped him. What was he thinking? To risk one fine raven hair on that head would be unthinkable! But what to do? What to do? Oh, Malah would know, surely! She is wise, and knows many secrets! By the time he was halfway through his babbled entreaty, Malah had mixed up a potion and told him to pour it over the woman in the ice. She said some other things, but Tearlach was already gone. With a flash of steam, the ice instantly vanished, and the most perfect vision of loveliness stepped out, unharmed by her ordeal. "Thank yoo, brave warrior, for rescuing me! Nihlathak trapped me here! Where is he?" "Glurg..." The woman blinked for a moment, then sighed. "Follow me to Harrogath. Nihlathak must be stopped at all costs! He is going to destroy us all!" "Hamina..." "Hero, please. Yoo must focus yoor mind, we are all in the gravest danger!" "Yerble..." She turned to Klatu. "Are yoo his friend, warrior? Maybe yoo can tell him. I'm not sure he understands." Klatu said, "Woawowow..." "There is no time for this. I must go. Follow me, when yoo are able." With that, she vanished through a portal. Tearlach stood stunned. "Och... that bonnie... she..." "I'd heard, but I never thought it could be true..." "What'd yoo hear?" "Anya, daughter of elder Aust! The most beautiful girl in the land." "The most beautiful creature in the world! None can compare, and I've seen plenty of what the world has to offer!" Tearlach took of his helmet. "From this moment on, I vow to make this mountain a safe place for Anya, the most... wonderful of all her kind! No woman could take her place in my heart. I've lost all interest in any other!" Far, far away, in the Rogue's pass, Kashya suddenly looked up, an expression of shock on her face. Warriv stopped unloading his wagon. "What is it?" "I felt a great disturbance in the force... like a horrible fate hung over me, but now is no more. I feel something terrible has happened... to some other woman." Chapter 32 "Have you found anything?" Cain asked Qual-Kehk when he came back. He and the other Barbarians were searching the town for any sign of Nihlathak. "The snake has slipped our grasp. All that time he called me a fool, while he planned a folly ten times greater." The old warrior slammed his armored fist into a nearby wall, then turned to stare up at the mountain. "And to think, the battle was just turning. I could see victory ahead. Now all may be lost to his betrayal." "There is hope yet. Nihlathak must find Baal before he gives him the totem. Or might he convince Baal to come to him?" Qual-Kehk shook his head and sighed. "Anya knew not how long she had been imprisoned in the ice, but many days passed since she vanished from Harrogath. There is no doubt in my mind that Baal has taken the totem and done what he set out to do. Now he toys with us, encouraging our hopes so our despair will be even greater. I have sent my warriors out of the caves, and higher up the mountain. They may reach the Causeway of the Ancients, but I dare not let them go beyond." "Surely, if Baal reached the Worldstone, there would be some sign of it!" Cain suggested reassuringly. "We have seen no changes. Heaven still watches over us, and the Light still shines on our path. Perhaps there is still time." Qual-Kehk nodded. "There is a chance." "Hey, old wizard!" Tearlach shouted as he ran down from Malah's, "have yoo seen that vision of beauty? A man could die happy, having seen such loveliness once in his life." "Let's not talk about dying just yet," Cain smiled nervously. "If you're speaking of Anya, I have seen her. She must be a remarkable young woman. She seems to command great respect, despite her youth." "Respect?" Klatu snorted. "Aye, yoo could call it that." "Forget it," Tearlach elbowed him in the ribs and grinned. "Old men can't remember what's important after a while." "We can't?" Qual-Kehk huffed. "Then maybe yoo can judge the importance of this. Anya told us that Nihlathak intends to give the Relic of the Ancients to Baal." "WHAT!?!" they both bellowed in unison. D-flat, Cain thought. "He may not have done it yet. But he is nowhere to be found." "I can guess what rock he's hiding under," Qual-Kehk said. "His clan temple will give him shelter. Only demons walk there now." Tearlach's eyes narrowed. "How do we get to him?" "It is a week's walk. Or yoo could speak with Anya. The hidden knowledge of the elders may serve us again." Aust's house was one of the largest in Harrogath, near the center of the city as befitted his station and the respect accorded him. Now Anya was there, sadly going through the things left behind after his death. She looked out as Tearlach and Klatu ran up. "Yoo've come back! Thank yoo for rescuing me, though I wish it could have been sooner. I knew Nihlathak must have broken faith with the other elders, but I did not guess the depth of his betrayal." Tearlach smiled, shifting from one foot to the other and wishing he'd thought to polish his armor that morning. "Och, yoo couldn't have known, lass!" Klatu took his helmet off before the lady. "He was an elder, like yoor father. Woo woold'a thought he'd betray us like that?" "No one would have!" Tearlach moved to take his helmet off, but replaced it when cold air touched his naked scalp. "I mean... it don't stand to reason!" "Yoor words are comforting, but mean nothing if Baal has the Relic of the Ancients." "He won't have it if we do! Where does the snake hide it?" "Yes," Klatu agreed. "Is it in his clan temple?" "Yes, I am sure it is..." "Then that's where we're off to! Someone has to make him pay for what he did to yoo!" Anya smiled, bowing her head. "Yoo are kind. I don't know if it will do any good, but I can make a portal to take yoo there. If Nihlathak has already given Baal the relic, nothing we do now will save us. Perhaps he has not. I hope there is still time." "Lass..." Tearlach said with growing impatience, "there won't be if we spend all of it standing here!" Anya cast the portal, and gave Tearlach a gift from her father's store of armor and weapons. The helm was a primal helm, not suited to his way of doing things, but one look into those deep, dark eyes and he couldn't say no. He stowed it carefully in a place of honor among his things and charged through the gate. Nihlathak's temple was dark, sheltered in a deep crevasse where light never reached. Corpses littered the yard outside. They were zombies, of course, probably a gift. After tearing them all to pieces, they went into the temple. Once Tearlach had a look inside, he wasn't so sure the zombies were a gift. Cages full of bones were everywhere, stacked up to the ceiling. The temple walls had been decorated with murals and tapestries, showing the snake clan's noble history, but the tapestries were gone and the murals cracked and broken. The stench of old death and decay was thick. Something had been rotten in here for many years. Sure enough, there were plenty of undead wandering the temple's sacred halls, as well as Baal's demons. Searching the temple grounds for Nihlathak, or in a pinch, the Relic of the Ancients, turned up neither. There were plenty of fresh bodies, snake clan women who might have tried to hide in their temple when the demons came. Older bodies were abundant too, but they were all walking around. Not for the first time, Tearlach cursed the elder, for another thing that wasn't supposed to happen here. At least the tombs of ancient heroes were unmolested. As they went deeper, new horrors and defilements came to light. The murals were gone, but human bones decorated the walls in their place. A new kind of demon floated airily through the halls, infecting other creatures with little glowing worms that drove them mad. Men lay tied to tables, where they had obviously been cut to pieces while still alive. "It's disgusting in there, wizard," Tearlach snared as he dumped a load of artifacts on the ground. "Bones and corpses everywhere, and the stench! By the Light, I haven't seen that many walking dead since the desert, and at least those smelled better!" Cain nodded absent-mindedly, looking over Tearlach's haul. "Yes, they use aromatic spices as part of the mummification process. Let me see... Isenhart's Horns... Cleglaw's Pincers... the Manald Heal... ah! This confirms our suspicions beyond all doubt!" "What's that?" Cain held up two rings, chuckling. "The unique artifact, the Manald Heal. And here, also, is the unique artifact, the Manald Heal!" "Heh," Tearlach grunted. "Sounds like sorcerer crap." "The Manald Heal is a powerful spell-caster's tool, much desired by students of the magical arts. I don't suppose you'd want it." "Nah, keep yoor trinkets. I have all I need. Though I'd give it all up for one kind look from her." A dreamy expression filled Tearlach's eyes. "Ah, Anya! Most fragrant flower in the mountains! Full of wisdom and beauty, strong as any mountain wolf." "Yeah," Klatu said. "Too bad she likes me best." "What do yoo mean?" Tearlach yelled. "She likes me best! She gave me a gift, and yoo got nothing!" "Don't yoo know anything about women? She gave yoo that so she wouldn't hurt yoor feelin's. Like a second-place prize." "I know a lot about women! I've known women up and down the length and breadth of this land! If there's anythin' I know, it's women!" Cain remained quiet, happy to be ignored. Klatu went on, "It's a shame when a man doesn't know he's beaten. What more can I say? Everyone knows she likes me." "Yoo're foolin' yoorself! Even yoo saw how she looked at me when she asked 'What are yoor needs?' Oh, what I had a need for then..." "She was lookin' over yoor shoulder. Look at us; between yoo and me, there's just no comparison. Don't take it so hard. I've always had a way with fair damsels." "Let me tell yoo somethin'!" Tearlach jabbed Klatu in the chest with his finger. "I don't know what it is, but I've got somethin' special they can't resist! I visited a monastery, a monastery full of women. They all, ah, live with other women, if yoo get my drift." Folding his arms, Klatu shook his head. "No... no, I don't think I do." "No wonder women can't stand yoo, yoo're stupid and don't appreciate the subtle ways they communicate! By the time I left, their war leader was carrying on fit to burst, crying and screaming her head off! The poor thing just couldn't stand to see me go." "Is that a fact," Klatu slowly nodded. "As I live and breathe! Wizard! Was not Kashya distraught over my leaving?" "She was very reluctant to let you go," Cain agreed. At least alive, and able to function as a man, he thought. "It would be a shame if Nihlathak hands the relic over to Baal while you're here arguing, though..." Tearlach smacked his gauntleted hand into his forehead. "Och! I'll show yoo how wrong yoo are another time, Crane! We still have to find that snake!" "Aye. Just don't be too upset about what yoo find." The deepest halls of Nihlathak's temple were named for Vaught, Bul-Kathos' third son and ancestor of the whole clan. It was full of slave creatures and demon women. So, Tearlach thought, he's a necromancer, a coward, and a pervert. It would be a shame if his hell-born hussies killed him before they had a chance. The sacred halls where Vaught himself might once have walked were full of Nihlathak's revolting experiments. Men and women had been vivisected on tables, their blood and other fluids carefully drained away and stored in jars. Corpses hung from meat hooks like deer, ready to be dressed. The demons feasted well on the many remains. At the end of the last hall, they saw Nihlathek floating amid a crowd of slaves. Maybe he was smart enough to stay away from the demon women. No matter; his doom was sealed. Klatu favored a direct assault, but Tearlach remembered how those slave creatures could explode and opted for a wilier approach. He poked his nose around the corner, then ran as Nihlathak sent a dozen slaves to kill him. Then he went around the other side, pruning a batch of slaves away there. Klatu shook his head. "To think yoo accused me of wasting time with fancy maneuvers." "Just remember to rip them up after they're dead. He raises the dead, we don't want anything comin' back that doesn't have to." "There's no cause to fear them, even dead." "Fear, nothing. The bastard will get away while we're busy!" "Ah," Klatu nodded. "There's that." "Look at him! He's floatin'!" "Don't look happy, do he? Here come some more. Retreat?" "Aye, retreat." While they chopped his minions to bits, Nihlathak snarled, "I know what yoo're doing!" "Yoo think we care what yoo know, traitor?!" "I could fill my temple to the roof with what yoo don't know! Yoo don't even know how to save our people! None of yoo do!" "We know not to give our most holy totem to a demon," Klatu said flatly. "What good did the Relic of the Ancients do? The relic is nothing! Obedience to Heaven was destroying our people! What good is keeping it safe at the cost of all our lives?" "Because, damn yoo," Tearlach roared as he tore dead slaves to bits, "losing the relic means all our lives!" "So yoo believe," Nihlathak snorted, "as yoo've been told since yoo were babes. Men with big pectorals and small brains should not decide the fate of humanity. Those hoo can think for themselves are better able! Heaven's lies have..." "We've cleared enough," Tearlach fumed. "I don't want to listen to any more." "About time." In they charged. The chamber was nearly empty, save for a few slaves in the back corners and a low dais surmounted by a pentagram. Must be where he'd gone for information about "heaven's lies." While Klatu finished off the slaves, Tearlach leapt for Nihlathak, smashing bodily into elder and burying his axe in his skull. At least, that was the plan. Just before he got there, Nihlathak vanished, reappearing on the other side of the room. At his gesture, another slave appeared from the pentagram. This one has lots of demonic tricks. After splitting the slave in two at the waist, Tearlach charged for Nihlathak again. The kill was much harder to get than he'd anticipated. His clothing looked like nothing but furs, all black and white, but had a remarkable ability to absorb damage. Maybe he has an amulet like mine, Tearlach thought; that was what made the temple so easy to overwhelm. Vanishing and reappearing like a big-head (he even looked a bit like one, come to think of it) made the chase even more annoying. When he began making his dead slaves explode like bombs made of meat, that was the last straw. Klatu like to bash opponents around; maybe he had the right idea. Tearlach reared back and slammed Nihlathak into a wall, and repeated the performance until he was safely in a corner. It worked, for a while. He and Klatu sliced and chopped into the frail old elder, taking far too much time to kill him. It just wasn't natural. Eventually he got away, teleporting across the hall again, and summoning another minion. Tearlach bellowed at Klatu to ignore it -- they're more dangerous dead than alive here. Happily, he did, and they ran Nihlathak down again. This time, he didn't get away. With a final chop, he fell to the ground, and screamed when the floor opened up under him. Screaming, he twirled and whipped in the air as the gate to the abyss ate him, stripping the flesh from his scrawny bones as he'd doubtless done to so many of his own clan. The Relic of the Ancients was nowhere to be found. He'd given it to... the other one. Damn him, damn him to Hell where he belongs. They'll like him there. Anya said a few kind words, and thanked them for trying, before she went back inside, still going through the things her father had left. Even Tearlach knew this wasn't the time to ask her who she liked. "What can we do now?" Tearlach asked Qual-Kehk. "Is all lost?" "Baal has the relic. There's only one thing we can do. He must be destroyed, but by now, he will be inside the Worldstone Keep." "What is that?" "The chamber of the Worldstone is within. Few now living have ventured there; I myself have never dared. Without the relic, a warrior may only enter if he is tested by the Ancients themselves, by the only measure worthy of them: trial by combat, to the death." "To stand against the Ancients is something no man can now do," Tearlach muttered. "That may be, but we cannot bring ourselves to admit defeat." Qual-Kehk clapped him on the shoulder. "Every time I see yoo, yoor deeds have become more legendary. It is hard to believe yoo are the same brash yooth we sent away years ago, and has come back to us in our hour of greatest need. I think yoo should be the first to challenge the Ancients." Tearlach stood slack-jawed. "Such an honor... !" "Are yoo sure yoo can defeat them?" Qual-Kehk raised an eyebrow. "No! They are the Ancient Ones! Sword-brothers to the Immortal King himself! What man could... aye, but what man could not, knowing what's to happen if he fails?" "A goodly answer. Yoo shall go first. If yoo fail, another shall go. At least our place shall be assured in Heaven, though the battle might go there next." Tearlach nodded, a gleam shining in his eye. "So I'd best get it over with now." "That's the spirit," Qual-Kehk smiled. "Beyond the ice caves lies the Causeway of the Ancients, and from there, the very summit of the mountain. There yoo will find them, where they have stood watching over us all our lives. Yoo will know what to do." Chapter 33 Tearlach and Klatu returned to the ice caves. Beyond lay the frozen summit of Mt. Arreat, where the Ancients awaited them. But first, they had to get through the caves. Bul-Kathos' icy bones! Why did the Ancients dig so many miles of mazes for them to stumble through!? Wandering in and out of dead ends, they found no way out to the peak. There were plenty of demons, plaguing them every step of the way; demon women, bull men, ice beasts, more stupid zombies than you could shake a stick at, evil urns, and the corpses of dead, tortured men and women. The demons even started trapping the bodies, just to spite them. "This is a waste of time," Tearlach grumbled, throwing down a green breastplate. Even he could recognize it, he'd seen it so often. "Admit it! We're lost in these cursed tunnels." "Yoo're lost?" Klatu said with a smirk. "I know where we are." "Yeah? Then where are we?" "We're in a cave, under the ice." Should I punch him, Tearlach wondered? "No! Next, yoo'll tell me we're on Mt. Arreat! I need a smarter sword-brother." "I know where we're going. I thought yoo were looting." "I am! If there were anything worth having here. Say, yoo're a Crane! Why don't yoo use a pole-arm, then?" Klatu looked at his sword. "It's a pole." He swung it in a circle overhead. "It's a long, metal pole, that's sharp up here. Yoo hold it by this end." "That's stupid. Anyway, if yoo know which way to go, why don't yoo say something?" "I didn't say I knew which way to go. I said I knew where we are." "So where are we?" Tearlach fumed. Klatu smiled. "We're in a cave, under the ice." Eyes narrowing, Tearlach snarled, "Yoo also said you knew where we were going." "I do. Through tunnels, in the caves, under the ice." A short distance away, a group of Minotaurs heard a loud clang. "Rrrmmm?" One's ear twitched. "Chainmail gauntlet," a deep bovine voice huffed, "hitting full helm." They sniffed the air. "Smell raging testosterone." "Babas!" Their leader snorted, the red light of fury filling his eyes. "We go! Avenge our heifers back home on Moo-moo farm!" Bellowing like the breaking wind, they charged off to their timely deaths. Back in Harrogath, Anya had come to speak with Qual-Kehk and Cain. "As glad as I am that Nihlathak got his just reward, it means all our tribal elders are now dead. The wisdom of generations was not passed on. All was lost." Qual-Kehk smiled. "Lass, not all is gone. Besides, the old ways were meant to prepare us for this time. When the day is done, we may have no further need of them." "There is also the gift of writing," Cain said. "I was glad to see so many of your ancestor's words recorded, preserved for all time." "Aye," Qual-Kehk nodded, "that has also done us good." Cain smiled. "Qual-Kehk, I am a bit surprised to hear you say these things. I was under the impression was that you might be reluctant to change from the old ways." "I am, outlander. But I have eyes to see, and know when I don't like what I see. Too many died fighting the old way. Even the clans may have done more harm than good. Yoo know, when I was younger, I thought of making a pilgrimage to Kurast and enlisting in the holy order of Paladins. Perhaps my defense of Mt. Arreat might have succeeded if I had." "Well... Kurast was not what it should have been, even then." "No matter. I have seen one warrior succeed where all others failed, and know he did not learn how to make battle here. I did not think much of his new ways at first, but see their wisdom now. Perhaps southlanders have something to teach us after all." "I must agree," Anya nodded. "So many of our problems might not be, if we had asked for help from the neighboring kingdoms when we knew Baal would invade. Our own people did not heed the elders' call when the time came. I hate to think of how many died for the sake of our foolish, foolish pride." "There was no way you could have known the battle would go so badly," Cain said. "But I must admit, I was amazed the Barbarian clans did not come together to fight Baal after your capital was destroyed." "We prepared for war by making war on each other," Qual-Kehk said. "We knew no other way. Those centuries of fighting proved stronger than our bonds of kinship. In the end, it took but one betrayal to lay waste to our cause." "Betrayal to Hell has plagued mankind from the beginning," Cain shook his head. "There will always be someone who seeks personal gain at the expense of all else. Speaking of gains, I wonder how the climb up Mt. Arreat is proceeding?" "My men have met fierce opposition on the high frozen tundra. Baal's forces are in retreat, concentrating themselves higher up around the peak of the mountain. Yoor friend and Klatu have not joined them. They must have become lost in the glacial trails." "That should be easy enough to remedy," Cain said. "There are many who know the way, all they'll need to do is ask for directions." Anya nodded. "I don't know why they wouldn't." Wandering along a frozen river, hopping from one patch of ice to another, Tearlach and Klatu stubbornly pressed on. It felt like they'd been wandering down there for days, guided only by a few flickering torches and fires glinting among the crystalline drifts. The demons kept coming and the loot had grown plentiful, so they must be on the right track, but Tearlach still wondered if they were missing the whole battle. They hadn't seen another living Barbarian for a long time, and very few dead ones. At the bottom of a tunnel that should have gone up, they finally found a tunnel that took them to the surface. The sky was cobalt blue, and only a few scraggly pines grew near the thick layers of clear ice hanging over a nearby cliff. Blinking against the sunlight, Tearlach noted five burial chests within view; this must be a very important holy place, high up the Mt. Arreat. Most likely the enemy was strongest here. After a bit of looting, they made their way onto the frozen tundra. To say the enemy was "strong" here might be a misstatement. There were hordes of little big-heads and a few armored riding beasts, but little else. One of the last walls stretched across a narrow point. The ancestors built so many of those things... if only they had built them stronger. No, who was he fooling? The sons of Bul-Kathos would never be content to sit behind walls and wait for the enemy. Even if they had the patience, how would they feed so many this high on the mountain? The enemy could simply sit down and wait for them to starve. The walls were useless. Aye... maybe the seeds of loss had been sown by their own ancestors long ago, as disrespectful as it was to say such things. Another Barbarian was inside the wall, chopping through a gate. Tearlach killed a big-head who'd been annoying him and shouted, "Hail! What news of the war?" "Where've yoo been?" the other man called over his shoulder. "The demon army is climbing the mountain and gathering around the peak! Their master's there, and he doesn't want to be disturbed at his business." "Disturbing him is our business," Tearlach grinned. "Not many of us made it this far," the man went on, kicking through the gate and charging a tower inside. "My sword-brother died! I'll mourn him in time, though he was a Bear." "You had it easy," Tearlach said as he chopped up an armored riding beast. "I got stuck with this Crane! Bastard can't do anything right!" "Could a' been worse," Klatu said. "Could a' been a Wolf. We'd never get the smell out." "Yoo want smell? Cranes, they stink fierce! Big smelly birds, with long stinky legs." A small sphere crashed into the wall, scattering lightning bolts everywhere. Tearlach grunted, "More of those damned catapults?" "Aye, they're up there. It's funny watchin' the demons try to drag 'em around." Only a few catapults remained, propped up precariously against the walls, barely lashed down securely enough to fire without flipping themselves over. There weren't even any slaves to guard them, just endless supplies of the little big-heads. Where in Hell did... the other one get so many of those things? They were so numerous, you'd think they grew on trees down there, except that there weren't any trees down there. Along with the catapults, they'd hauled cages up the mountain. Even now, they wanted prisoners to kill and eat. After one last hell-pit (full of nothing but big-heads and a few slaves) they came to the last ice cliff which blocked the way to the summit. A cave led to the Ancient's Causeway. A large group of bull-men met them inside. It was a nasty fight, but it told Tearlach they were on the right track, with the fiercest minions closest to the demon lord. Earth demons and ice demons filled the rest of the caves, with demon women standing guard over some huge piles of gold in the cellar. Unlike the other caves, the Ancient's Causeway was short. At the end, a narrow stair spiraled up through the living rock, to the summit. The air was thin and bitingly chill. The howling wind quieted instantly. Here the Immortal King ruled, with his retainers girded for war all around him. Their spirits suffused the rock and glittered in the ice; their voices sang in the still air. There stood the gate to the Worldstone Keep. The mightiest heroes of the highlands, those deemed worthy by the ancients, were within. The gates were closed. By sacred pact, only two things could open them. One was lost. The other could never be lost: the word of the Ancient Ones themselves. Madawc the Guardian stood before the gates, the advisor in war whose keen eye saw the enemy and its weaknesses. His words decided many battles, always in the Immortal King's favor. By his right hand stood Talic the Defender, fiercest of Bul-Kathos' brothers. The tribe of Thunder looked to him for their matchless speed and fury, breaking over enemies of the people like the howling mountain storms. To the left hand was Korlic the Protector, the most courageous and daring of the Immortal King's men. He was always the first to enter battle, and the last to leave, striking deep in the enemy's heart without thought of danger. But no battle had come to them for centuries. Snow and filth covered their bodies. Tearlach and Klatu sank to one knee, bowing in their presence. "WE ARE THE NEPHALEM, THE ANCIENT ONES. OUR LIVES HAVE BEEN GIVEN TO GUARD SACRED MOUNT ARREAT FOR ALL TIME. WE KNOW WHY YOO ARE HERE. YOO MUST KNOW THE ONLY WAY YOU MAY ENTER, IS TO DEFEAT US." Light flared, and the Ancient Ones stood before them, their magnificence restored. The gold in Talic's armor and shield shone like the sun; opposite him stood Korlic in silver; Madawc howled the order to kill. Tearlach bellowed the order to kill Madawc; it's a good idea to take the leader first. Then Korlic leapt in front of them, his axe thudding into Tearlach's shield. Very well, most courageous Ancient; you have always been first. So be it. Klatu stopped when Korlic smashed into them, and half-heartedly swatted him with his blade. "Hit him, stupid!" Tearlach yelled encouragingly in his ear. "Kill or yoo're not worthy!" Talic came to Korlic's side, so Tearlach moved opposite him, taking blows on his shield while raining a berserk fury down on Korlic. Heartened (or perhaps deafened), Klatu found his fury and laid into Korlic, bashing the Ancient across the plateau. Throwing axes bounced off their armor. When Korlic vanished in a puff of silvery sparkles, they both gasped; it seemed the Ancients, though mighty, were only men after all. With renewed confidence, they turned on Talic. He had scorched past them like a blazing whirlwind several times during the battle; they had not allowed it to distract them, but it was time to even the score. In even less time, he fell to their blows, and his body disintegrated in a shower of golden light. Madawc ran behind a column. No, Tearlach thought. One of the Ancient Ones, mightiest of mortal men, couldn't be hiding behind a rock. This must be part of some plan. But it wasn't; he stayed back there until they ran around to get him. After he died, the voices of the Ancients rose up again. "YOO ARE TRULY WORTHY TO ENTER! BAAL HAS ENTERED BEFORE YOO; HIS TREACHERY HID HIM FROM OUR FURY, AND HE HAS MADE THE WORLDSTONE KEEP HIS OWN. HEAVEN ITSELF CANNOT HELP YOO NOW. THE ARCHANGEL TYRAEL HAS ALWAYS BEEN OUR BENEFACTOR, BUT BAAL HAS BLOCKED HIM FROM ENTERING THE WORLDSTONE CHAMBER AND HE CAN DO NOTHING TO HELP YOO. YOO MUST FACE BAAL ALONE. IF YOO ARE WEAK, THE WORLD AS YOO KNOW IT COULD BE LOST FOREVER. YOO MUST NOT FAIL!" All right, Tearlach thought. Maybe they didn't fight as hard as they might have fought... the other one. At least he knew that. No Barbarian should engage in battle by hiding behind a rock, least of all one of the Ancient Ones. In Aust's house, Cain and Anya were going over her father's books. "I must say, I find this absolutely fascinating... and yet deeply troubling. The few hints we have on the purpose of the Worldstone imply that its loss will have unimaginable consequences." Anya nodded. "It may be that this is the last battle, the one that will destroy us all... or it may be that we will never need to fight again!" "Prophecies are often maddeningly ambiguous. I find it is often best to ignore prophecy and rely on your own judgment. Fate has a way of working itself through your actions, and trying to oppose it only hastens its resolution." "Yoor words have wisdom, but I fear them all the same. So much depends on making the right decisions, wise decisions." She bowed her head. "When my father and the other elders died, our wisdom went with them. Hoo will lead us now?" "Child, I have spoken with mighty kings, powerful wizards, and some of the wisest men in the world. They are not always the same people, you know," Cain said with a wink. "I have neither met, nor heard of, any truly wise leader who thought himself up to the task of ruling men. Only a fool thinks he would make a great king." Anya laughed a bit. "I have heard of someone like that. He seems to have grown wiser since then. Going to yoor world has done that." "Well... trying to turn his ideas into actions did it, and that can be done anywhere. You should not underestimate yourself. Since your father's death, you have made several wise decisions and kept a cool head on your shoulders." "Of course it's cool, my actions put it 'on ice'." She laughed a bit, then shivered. "Damn Nihlathak! I am still convinced he killed my father." "I would not doubt it. Judging from what was found in his temple, his treachery ran deep." "Vengeance was sweet, especially knowing he went directly to Hell to suffer the fate he deserved. If the world survives what Baal has done, I want to start my people on the right path, and find our way again. But I fear it is too much for me." Cain patted her shoulder. "It is too much for anyone. But I can think of no one better to try. If I am any judge of character, you are stronger than you realize, and you will have the advice of more experienced minds, like Malah and Qual-Kehk. If you don't know where your decisions might lead, do not worry; even the very wise cannot foresee all ends." "Yoo would not stay?" "I fear it is a bit... wintry for my old bones. I prefer sunnier climes. Should you wish to visit them, I would gladly accompany you, but I do not think you need to to seek wisdom. I recognize wisdom when I see it, and I believe you have an abundant supply, which will only grow with time." Anya smiled, and hugged the old man tight enough to make his ribs creak. "Yoor words are comforting. Thank yoo." Meanwhile, Tearlach and Klatu were looking for Cain. "Damn it, he picked a bad time to look for a bush. I need this crap identified." "Yoo do that," Klatu said. "I'm going to tell Anya." "Oh, no you don't!" Tearlach caught up with him. "I'm going to tell Anya! I don't want yoo misrepresentin' my actions!" Klatu shrugged. "I'll just say what happened." "I know yoo too well to believe that! Yoo'll tell it to make me look like a fool, and take all the glorious bits for yoorself!" "Just 'cause that's what yoo'd do..." "I never lie!" Tearlach snarled indignantly. "Don't think I haven't seen yoo tryin' to turn her head! Yoo Cranes are famous for it." Klatu smiled a bit. "All we ever say is the naked truth." "I don't think so! Well, maybe the bits that serve yoor purpose, but not exactly the truth, the whole truth, and nothin' but!" Shaking his head, Klatu sighed. "Yoo'll just never believe that she doesn't like you, will yoo? Yoo just can't see the signs. It's sad." "There's a lie, right there! I'm her rescuer! The one she gives gifts to! Why, she offered to scribe my name into my axe all special-like!" "Och, that's special. Have yoo gotten a ring from her?" "No, and neither have yoo! I'm looking for one special enough for her. An angel deserves only the very best." "Is that why you've been gambling with her for one? Buying a ring she doesn't want so you can give it back to her. That's smooth, that'll really impress her." "Here's her house! We'll ask her right now!" They turned the corner and looked inside. Anya was embracing Cain. They both walked past and around the corner, out of sight. "Och..." Tearlach said in disgust. "I didn't need to see that." Klatu looked genuinely ill. "That was the most horrific thing I ever seen in my life!" "I'd rather fight the Ancient Ones again than look upon such a scene." "I'd rather crawl down into Hell, and face off with all the Three Evils at once!" Both of them stood in silence for a while. Finally, Tearlach said, "Klatu, I forgive yoo for all yoo've said about me." "Ah... I suppose yoo're not so bad yoorself." "All that's left in life is killin'... uh..." "Baal." "Yeah, him." As they watched, Cain left, hobbling away with his staff. They shook their heads in disbelief. "Hoo'd have thought the old fart had it in him?" "Well, it just goes to prove something," Klatu said philosophically. "What?" "Yoo're never too old." Chapter 34 "Anya certainly is a fine example of feminine strength." Cain rubbed his ribs, grimacing. "Actually, she reminds me of the Zakarum priestesses I knew in my youth. They don't take vows of chastity, you know." "Shut it, wizard. What's this shield? It looks different." "Ah, the Bverrit Keep! This was made long ago to combat a sect of fire mages known as the Red Wizards. It proved invaluable, particularly against their walls of fire." "Then it's useless. These things don't bother. Axes and whips are their weapons." "What of the Ancients? Have you encountered them?" "Aye, they let me in." Tearlach sneered a bit. After waiting in vain for further comment, Cain shrugged and went back to examining the loot. "These must be your fiercest encounters yet, below the peak of the mountain. Surely, Baal has kept his most dangerous minions closest to himself." "Nah; more zombies, more slaves. The bull-men get bigger and uglier, that's all." Cain nodded. "I was told many great heroes of the past are there..." "Aye, they were. They sold their lives dearly, but it mattered not." Something is troubling him, Cain thought. What could it be? "The Ancient Ones must have been an awe-inspiring sight, especially for one such as you..." "Aye, shining gold, glowing like the moon, the whole bit." "No doubt your rite of passage could only be earned in combat..." "What are yoo yammering about, wizard? Of course! We fought 'em, they let us in, we're in the Worldstone Keep. There's demons all over the place and pieces of red crystal smashed up through the floor. What else is there to say?" "Well... surely, you must have some questions?" Tearlach thought for a minute. "All right, one. What the hell is a waypoint doing inside the keep?! Is there anyplace those damned wizards didn't get to?" Cain blinked. "There's one inside the keep?" "Never mind." Tearlach and Klatu stomped back to the waypoint. What on earth could be on his mind, Cain wondered. "Qual-Kehk, I don't suppose you have any idea what could be troubling him?" "It's a simple thing. The Ancients let him win. How could any true warrior not be troubled that his foe handed him his victory?" "Hmm. The loss of the Worldstone would not bother him like this?" "Anya has read to me from the old prophecies, and from what they say, the destruction of the Worldstone is not the end of the world. It bodes ill for us, but the final battle against Hell's might will come later. The final gambit has yet to be played." Cain slowly nodded. "What do the prophecies say about the end of the world?" Qual-Kehk looked up at the mountain again. "None of the seers say anything about what comes after this; we thought this would be the end. Thinking on it now... I do not believe we will survive as the people we once were. We will survive, but there is nothing to unite us. What will become of us, I do not know, but we will face our fate on our feet." Once, the Worldstone Keep was a matchless wonder. Heaven itself moved the stones of its walls and created its majestic columns; the Light filled its vast halls and dispelled all shadow. Now there was nothing but shadow. Blood dripped down the walls, and ancient bones from long-dead heroes lay on the floor... just like in every other building Hell roared through on its bloody trek across the world. Tearlach's heart was cold within him. Treating this place the same as the pompous temples of Kurast, or the overblown cathedrals in the western lands, was more than any man could stomach. The Worldstone fragments poking through the floor were the crowning insult; he couldn't wait to let the world know he'd won. Without pity, Tearlach and Klatu sought out and slaughtered every last Hell-spawn in the keep. Bull-men, big-heads, and slaves went by in a blur of gory explosions. Especially the slaves; these ones, obviously the most dedicated, would willingly explode and kill themselves without a master to drive them to it. In the deeps of the fortress, hordes of demon women in gold stood guard alongside the biggest bull-men on the mountain. The golden horde didn't kick and scratch uselessly like the other ones, they hurled little balls of magic; they stung a bit. The throne of all the Barbarian people, Bul-Kathos' own, stood at the end of his great feasting hall on the lowest level of the keep. The throne was gone; apparently Baal found it a poor fit for his bug-like ass. He sat on the dais, waiting... and laughing. "What's the plan?" Klatu asked. "Hoo needs a plan? Just kill the wizard." "Wizard?" "Er, demon. It's a demon wizard," Tearlach said exasperatedly Klatu nodded slowly. "They're the worst kind." "Aye." "It won't save anythin', yoo know." Tearlach grinned wide. "It'll make me feel better." Klatu nodded. "There's that." In they went. Looking terribly pleased with himself, Baal made the tiniest gesture; a ball of reddish light burst at his... feet, you could call them. A hordling of little red demons popped out, gibbering and throwing fireballs. "Are those dangerous?" Klatu asked. Trust a Crane to be cautious in battle. "No, they're pathetic. Get... what's-his-name!" "BAAL, YOU MICROCEPHALIC PAWN!! HAD YOU TWO BRAIN CELLS TO RUB TOGETHER, YOU WOULD FLEE AT THE VERY MENTION OF IT! YOU HAVE FUMBLED YOUR WAY INTO A SPHERE OF CONTENTION FAR BEYOND YOUR MINIMAL CAPACITY, SO GET BACK TO THE ALE HOUSE WHERE YOUR POWERS ARE MORE APT TO PREVAIL!" Klatu blinked. "What'd he say?" One of the demonlings was screeching at Tearlach. He spat in its eye. "Who cares?" "NO, IT IS I WHO DOES NOT CARE! THAT IS BECAUSE I HAVE ALREADY WON!!" Laughing uproariously, Baal sat back and gloated. "NOW, AMUSE ME." Tearlach charged, but found an invisible wall between himself and Baal, with his face. Baal's amusement was obvious, and uproarious. The wall didn't budge when he put his shoulder to it. At his back, fireballs were pinging off his shield. The demonlings were starting to annoy him, and Klatu wasn't killing them fast enough, so he killed them himself. Once they were dead, what's-his-butt threw out a crowd of mummies, with skeleton mages. Klatu had to be reassured about them too, then convinced to attack the big ones first. The biggest mummy was a hellish creature, with more poison in his breath than any chemicals could explain. One thing was clear: Baal liked mummies. Maybe all that time in a tomb warped his judgment more than most demons. After the mummies came some of those strange warped Zakarum priests, then a bunch of sword demons. Through it all, the wall around Baal stood firm. Tearlach wondered how much more "amusement" they'd have to provide before he took this seriously. The last battle was hard. The summoned creatures were giant fleshy things with too many arms, too many legs, and too many teeth and claws. They fought by slamming bodily into their foe; they didn't need technique, they were so strong and heavy. Tearlach gritted his teeth and took them on his shield. Klatu's fancy moves were getting him nowhere, he might have fallen if Tearlach hadn't pulled him back to pour a potion down his throat now and then. It was a hard fight. The Ancients were far tougher. They could have stopped Baal easily, if that damned snake hadn't... but there's no point thinking about that. What's done is done, there's no taking it back. When the last of his minions was slain, Baal turned his back on them and strutted through a red gate, doubtless to what was left of the Worldstone. He probably wanted one last chance to gloat. Tearlach and Klatu went in after him. They could not take his victory from him, but he could not be allowed to enjoy it long. Baal was pathetic compared to his minions. His brothers should have been ashamed of him. Maybe he was the more "civilized" of them, used to ordering, not leading. His body was softer than Diablo's, but solider than Mephisto's; blades bit his flesh deeply, releasing satisfyingly thick gouts of blood. He had a few tricks, like a blast of icy wind that blew them back. Klatu had heard of Druids doing that. His other trick was making an illusory copy of himself, hoping to confuse them. Trouble was, the copy looked whole and hearty, which Baal most certainly did not by that time. Baal was still laughing even as life ebbed out of him; Klatu put the last cut neatly across his throat. He died spraying blood like a fountain, puking too much for any more of that annoying laughing to be heard. "There," Klatu said, "a job well done." "Can't be much of a win if you're dead," Tearlach agreed. "Now for the loot!" "Strip him! Let's see what he had... Vidala's Fetlock... Sigon's Gage... Tancred's Skull... Kinemil's Awl. Not a bad haul." Tearlach looked dumbfounded. "How'd yoo know that?" Klatu turned Vidala's boot over. "See? She wrote her name on it." "Och! And here I thought that damned wizard knew somethin'! Hey, what's up there?" A shaft of light burst through the ceiling of the Worldstone chamber, and Tyrael floated down. Klatu stood there slack-jawed, then closed his eyes and shook his head: too much weird stuff for one day. Conversely, Tearlach greeted the heavenly emissary casually, like an old and trusted friend. "Hey, took yoo long enough, angel! Where yoo been?" "Mortal, I am actually impressed," Tyrael said, politely ignoring him. "You have done all you set out to do, and you have done it well. But it was too late to save the Worldstone. If it is allowed to exist, the stone's empty husk would give the forces of Hell a permanent gateway into your world. Therefore, I must now destroy the Worldstone." "It's already destroyed," Tearlach asked. "There's bits of it all over the keep." "Before Baal's corrupting touch defiled the Worldstone, it was full of the energy of your world. Now its power is draining away, even as the crystal structure breaks apart. The pieces could serve as a power focus for outside energy sources, but never again will they resonate with earthly energy. It can only be a weapon for Hell now. This is the end of an era, for your people and all humankind." "It's not the end of the world?" Klatu asked. "Nah. It's the end of the Worldstone," Tearlach replied. "So... now what do we do?" "Humanity will go on as before," Tyrael said. "The effects of the Worldstone's loss will not be felt for some time. You have dealt a profound blow to The Three Brothers; they will not recover from it quickly. But in time, they will regain their strength, and there will be nothing to stand between them and the world of men." "Ah, that's all right," Tearlach grunted. "They couldn't take us now, they won't ever. The worst they'll do is sneak in and trash something before we send 'em back where they came from. Who needs the Worldstone? So it's the end of an era. All things have an end. Except sausages, which have two." Concluding thoughts: Darkness and Greybeard, thank you for letting this go on much longer than really should have been allowed. I expected you to lock it much earlier. Yay, admins! All things have an end, except sausages, which have two" is a real Viking aphorism. When I started this, I complained that the Barbarian was too powerful. To think that was before I discovered the wonder of Battle Orders. The battle with the Ancients was just too easy, though their behavior might have been buggy. Even Madawc the Thrower shouldn't end the battle by hiding behind a column. The other War Cries are pretty powerful too. War Cry itself gives the Barbarian a huge advantage. Battle Cry is nice for physical bosses like Lister, and Taunt is indispensable for Flayers and Imps. Find Item is powerful (increasing your chances of getting nice stuff) but collecting magic is fun. I went from 3 complete item sets to 8. Barb mercs are what you'd call "high maintenance." They do love to run around and get into trouble, forcing a more aggressive strategy on the player. All right, that was fun. I still like Paladins better, but if I ever want to kill indiscriminately, the Barbarian is my best option. Its time to turn down the testosterone and adopt a slower, more sophisticated approach to slaughtering the minions of evil. The next character HAS to have a strategy, right from the beginning: the Necromancer. Epilogue Stony, Patriarch Tearlach (Diablo: IncGamers) Source Stony's Grand Tour was originally posted in Diablo: IncGamers (formerly Diabloii.net) Single Player Forum. While almost all original posts are long gone, Vesper, one of our Community Members, contacted him and was given the original documents, and permission to reproduce them at the Amazon Basin. Onderduiker 05:04, 30 August 2012 (PDT)