Diablo III: Storm of Light (27 page)

After a moment’s hesitation, Lorath dismissed the guardsman and took a seat. Jacob waited until the people nearby had turned back to their conversations and Lorath had ordered a mug of mead. After it arrived and the young man had taken a long pull, Jacob explained that his father had told him something of what they faced in Westmarch.

“I have sent several men over the past few weeks to Bramwell, asking for him to come with his forces,” Lorath said. “None of them has returned.”

“They may have been taken on the road.”

“The templar are growing bolder,” Lorath said. “But taking the king’s men . . .” He shook his head. “Even they are unlikely to try such a brazen act.” He hesitated. “There have been rumors of other disappearances and sightings of things better left unexplained.”

Jacob told him what they had found in Bramwell, keeping his voice low enough not to be overheard by others. Lorath listened with slowly widening eyes, an expression that grew hard and furious at the account of the bodies piled inside the forgotten chambers on the mountain. “Accounts here are similar,” he said quietly, taking a moment to look around the room. Nobody seemed to be paying them much attention. “Many in the knights’ inner circle feel these sightings of strange creatures have something to do with the templar, even though the things people describe do not seem to be of this world. The king is furious, and General Torion has had enough. I need to get word to my father to return to Westmarch and bring his men. It may already be too late.”

“Perhaps we can help. Several members of our party are visiting the Church of the Holy Order right now—”

“There are more of you?” Lorath’s gaze and tone were sharp. “How many? And what are they doing at the cathedral?”

“Weighing the situation and searching for weaknesses in the templar armor, so to speak,” Shanar said. “There may be something inside that we need, and we can’t afford to ask nicely.”

Jacob expected the young man to be skeptical, but Lorath listened intently as they told their story, sometimes asking questions, seeming thoughtful and increasingly enthusiastic. He had studied with the best tutors in Westmarch, he said, and had learned about the history of the Horadrim through one of them who knew the ancient legends of the order. They had always fascinated him. “I used to pretend to be a Horadric hero when I was a boy,” he said. “Fighting monsters with my wooden sword. Feels like a long time ago.”

“You may yet have your chance,” a voice said. Jacob looked up to find Tyrael standing over them with Thomas and Cullen at his side. “There is a barred and guarded door in the church that
leads to lower levels,” he said. “We need to find out what is behind it.”

“I may be able to help with that,” Lorath said.

The group retired to their quarters for more privacy. They sat on cots dragged together in one of the small rooms as twilight fell over the city, and the shouts and cries of the inn’s drunken and lascivious patrons could be heard through the walls. If the templar recruited thieves and scoundrels, Jacob thought, they might begin right here at the Snapping Dog. But it gave the Horadrim a way to blend in; nobody asked many questions here, and they had been left alone.

Jacob was itching for battle. His fingers tingled, the sword at his side warm against his flesh. Shanar sat close enough to touch. He caught her sidelong glances, and the idea of her body pressed against his made him remember days past. It almost seemed as if things could be just as they were before, when they had fought against the plague demons and slavering hordes of the Burning Hells and had shared a bed together.

Lorath explained the situation in Westmarch in greater detail. Even though the templar were close cousins of the Zakarum faithful, their rise had threatened the Knights of Westmarch, he said. “Some former knights have joined them, but most do not trust or believe in what the Westmarch templar are doing—particularly under the leadership of Norlun. We recently intercepted a note that indicated they are preparing for a rebellion against the king. General Torion has decided to move against the templar and end the threat now before this gets out of control.”

“We need to get back inside that building,” Cullen said.

“The church’s lower levels run deep, and we suspect that they hide some of the templar’s most treacherous deeds,” Lorath said. “You are powerful mages and warriors. You want to
find what’s behind that barred door, and we could use a helping hand.”

“Norlun thought we were spies sent by the knights to infiltrate his operations,” Tyrael said. “Perhaps he was not far off. We were able to assess a few weaknesses in their defenses in the church. The worship room is large, but visibility to the outside is poor. Although they have a single main entrance to protect, if we were to gain access in secret, they would fall quickly.”

The door opened, and Mikulov and the necromancer came in. “There is darkness indeed here in Westmarch,” Zayl said without preamble. “We have both felt it. The phantoms are still close.”

A strange feeling prickled Jacob’s skin, and the scar on his shoulder throbbed softly. “I can sense them, too,” he said. He had blurted it out without thinking, but the others stared at him now as he rubbed his shoulder where the throbbing had begun. “I think we had better not waste much time,” he said.

“The general has a meeting with Commander Barnard and his top leadership tonight to outline our approach,” Lorath said. “He trusts me implicitly. I can get him to accept your help.”

“It would be good for me to go with you,” Zayl said.

Lorath looked skeptical. “Forgive me for saying so, but the general—the knights themselves, actually—don’t take kindly to your—”

“That may be, but General Torion will listen this time,” Humbart cut in from Zayl’s pouch. Gynvir muttered under her breath as the necromancer withdrew the skull, eliciting a gasp and an involuntary grimace of distaste from the young knight. Humbart gave a short laugh. “Don’t act so shocked, lad; it’s just a bit of bone. We have a history together, Torion and Zayl and me. And the remaining servants of the house of Nesardo shall vouch for us, too.”

Zayl nodded. “Humbart is right. The general may distrust necromancers, but he knows my intentions are honorable.”

“Very well,” Lorath said. He eyed the skull warily. “I’ve heard of such things, even studied historical accounts, but I’ve never seen . . .”

“I’m not an exhibit for your entertainment,” Humbart said. “Quit your staring, lad! I may be dead, but have some sense of decency.”

“My apologies,” Lorath said. He broke his gaze away from the gleaming skull. “Perhaps I should be going. There’s not much time left.”

“I might suggest you send a messenger to Bramwell for help and another to our remaining Horadric brothers in Gea Kul, asking them to come to Westmarch,” Thomas said. “Not knights but people who can blend in and are less likely to be taken on the way. If the nephalem stronghold is here and the phantoms are close by, I suspect that we will need as many fighters as we can get very soon.”

Tyrael was introduced to the general and his acting commander in a private room outside the king’s palace two hours before the knights advanced upon the Church of the Holy Order. The general was a fairly large man who kept himself fit, although he was entering his later years. His hair was swept away from a handsome face that had grown rough over time, icy blue eyes still sharp above a slightly scarred cheek, a long, hooked nose, and a neatly trimmed gray beard.

Commander Barnard, by contrast, was smaller and far less imposing, and he deferred to Torion whenever the two men were together. Tyrael suspected the men under Barnard’s command would have preferred Nahr to return from Bramwell to lead them, if given the choice.

Zayl had already prepped the men on their story, and Tyrael outlined what they had seen inside the Church of the Holy Order. Torion appeared to trust the necromancer enough to let the Horadrim ride along. He had seen what Zayl was capable of when the necromancer had taken down the spider demon Astrogha years before. A mage like that was a valuable asset; several of them at once were enough to turn the tide if things got rough.

The forces of the Knights of Westmarch gathered near the cathedral in the early hours of the morning. The moon was mostly hidden behind clouds, and the streets were nearly deserted, but General Torion and Commander Barnard took no chances, keeping rigid order, their men silent as the dead and lookouts watching carefully at strategic locations for templar spies.

Torion was even more impressive in full armor, his wolf’s head helmet glinting in the faint light from above. The sour-sweet smell of refuse rose like a noxious cloud from the gutters. At this hour, the lanterns were extinguished, candles out in bedroom windows, people tucked into their beds. Torion directed Barnard to take men around the back of the cathedral, while he led the approach from the front. “We will move decisively and with overwhelming force,” he said. “I want as little hand-to-hand combat as possible. The people of Westmarch must wake up tomorrow knowing nothing of what happened while they were sleeping. But make no mistake: none of these templar is innocent, and they will not hesitate to take your life if given the chance. You may recognize a few faces. But if they were your brothers or neighbors, they are no longer those men. They have been trained to kill, and what they have planned for this city is far worse than you can imagine. This is a preemptive strike—”

A cry split the silence from somewhere near the cathedral, followed by the clash of swords. Someone had been discovered, the alarm raised.

Torion swore loudly, gesturing at Barnard. “Move, now!”

The commander rushed forward, but Lorath paused briefly at Tyrael’s side. “Do what you can to get in,” he said quietly. “Now is your chance.”

Lorath took the men under his own command and darted away. More swordplay rang out in the deserted streets above shouts of men and the cry of someone badly wounded.

“I can get us in,” Zayl said at Tyrael’s side. “A simple spell.”

Tyrael nodded. “Do it, and quickly,” he said.

Zayl raised a spell that descended over the closest templar, deadening sound and dimming light, surrounding them in a sphere of silence and darkness. The group ran directly past three templar near the cathedral’s entrance. Nobody saw them or heard their passage. Other templar were stationed at openings high in the walls, ready to loose arrows at any knights who got too close.
Someone has tipped them off
, Tyrael thought. But the enemy was struck blind; the necromancer’s spell would let the Horadrim cross the open square to the cathedral’s front door without any trouble.

The problem was getting inside. Surely the door had been barred. They might be able to take it off its hinges and storm in, but the fighting would be fierce, and the archers could be dangerous from above once their vision returned. The spell kept the Horadrim hidden temporarily, but did not protect them from harm.

Tyrael held up a hand, and they stopped just before the front steps. “A special curse should do the trick.” Humbart spoke up from the pouch. “Remember that time at the Black Ram, lad?”