Nate Kenyon - The Order

Cain watched Leah get up and walk away, toward a rocky ledge that broke the cover of dying trees and overlooked the valley below. She climbed the ledge and sat at the top, staring out at something beyond his line of sight. “I cannot take her there,” he said quietly. “It’s no place for a child, and the events of the past few days have made that clear. I should never have brought her on the road with me. She needs someone who can care for her, and a place she can feel safe.”

“You must not turn back now—”

“It is only a detour, my friend. Once I find a home for her, I will return.”

“But there is no time,” the monk said, putting a hand on Cain’s arm. “The month of Ratham is only days away!”

“What do you mean by this?” Cain asked. The month of Ratham was named after the necromancer who had founded the priests of Rathma; he had been a disciple of the celestial dragon Trag’Oul, and a guardian of Sanctuary.

Necromancers had the power to raise the dead.

Mikulov took several narrow, tightly rolled scrolls from a pocket under his belt. “I have seen visions of hidden chambers underground,” he said. “They are filled with the dead. And a man, or one who looks like a man, shrouded in darkness. He calls himself the Dark One. In these visions, the man calls the dead to life.” The monk unrolled the scroll and spread it gently on the ground. “This scroll is a reproduction of one found in the jungle ruins of Torajan.” He unrolled a second one. “This is a Zakarum prophecy from the caves of Westmarch.” He unrolled a third. “And this, from the bowels of Bastion’s Keep, before Mount Arreat was destroyed. All of them speak of a coming war between darkness and light, and the rising of the dead, an event that will occur on the first day of Ratham.”

Cain took the scrolls and scanned their contents. His heart beat faster. Although written in different languages, they all contained references to an army of the dead that would rise as Ratham began. They were important pieces of a huge, complex puzzle that he had been trying to put together ever since Mount Arreat had fallen, and this young man had found them. He felt a slight twinge of jealousy for not having found them himself, but quickly dismissed it as his apprehension grew stronger.

“I have discovered similar writings,” he said. “But not with a clear date for such an occurrence. Are you sure these are accurate?”

Mikulov nodded. “They have been verified by our Ivgorod Patriarchs, who are highly trained in such things.”

Cain shook his head slowly, once again reading the spidery script scrawled across the brittle pages. If these scrolls were indeed true, then the beginning of the demon invasion was far closer than he had assumed—just seven days away. Even now, the forces of evil were gathering somewhere near Kurast, and their fury could mean the fall of Sanctuary to the Burning Hells, the collapse of the High Heavens, and the end of life as he knew it.

. . . clawing their way from the ground . . .

Cain was not normally given to hysterics, and his greatest strength, he had always felt, was his measured, calm approach to crises. Study the problem, evaluate the solutions, and choose the best path. But the events with Lord Brand had disturbed him more than he had thought possible. He kept seeing the hands of rotted flesh and wriggling bones that had punched up through the graveyard sod.

Seven days.

The monk was waiting patiently for him to speak. “This Dark One,” Cain said. “Lord Brand, in the walled town, mentioned something like this, a master who commands him . . . perhaps it is the same person.”

“I have no doubt of it. This man is consumed by hatred and jealousy, and it fuels him. But he is commanded by another, something far more evil. I have seen them both, in my visions of the secret place, hidden underground. A creature so huge and terrible, it is difficult to describe . . . it had armored claws and three horns, and yellow eyes like lamps.”

Belial . Cain sat back, thunderstruck. He had suspected as much for some time, but this drove it home: the Lord of Lies was at work in Sanctuary.

He searched for the right words. “You describe one of the rulers of what we call the Burning Hells. There are others, but he and his brother Azmodan rose to power after the Prime Evils were banished to our lands. I saw the great mountain fall when the Worldstone was destroyed, and I knew that although Baal and his army had been defeated, it was merely the beginning. Evil overran our lands. The signs of Sanctuary’s corruption are everywhere now: the blight that has begun to overrun our oceans and forests, the tales of hellish creatures spotted in the Dreadlands and among the jungles of Torajan. People vanishing without a trace or, worse, the wasting sickness that seems to spread within certain cities. But I am afraid that the greatest threat to mankind is yet to come.”

Cain described his journey to the Vizjerei ruins in the Borderlands, and what he had found there: evidence of some form of the Horadric order still alive in Sanctuary, evidence that had been strengthened by his visit with Kulloom in Caldeum.

Mikulov nodded. “We must find these men who say they are Horadrim,” he said. “Yet . . . you are conflicted.” He glanced across the clearing at the spot where Leah sat upon the rock.

“How can I ignore such signs, in service to a child? And yet, how can I continue to put Leah’s life at risk?” Cain had done such a thing before, through his own selfishness and neglect. He could not allow that to happen again.

“The girl reminds you of something terrible you suffered,” Mikulov said. “I can sense that well enough. It is natural that you would try to protect her. But she is a part of this, as much as you or I. The prophecies about the coming war speak of her role as well.”

“She is only a child—”

“You must embrace this, and welcome whatever will come. What we witnessed last night should stand as a warning. Dangerous magic is at work in these lands. Such power to raise the dead is not lightly wielded. Whoever is behind this is a very powerful sorcerer, and engaged in the most destructive kind of demonic spells. And his time is coming soon, if we do not do something to stop him.”

Cain found Leah still sitting cross-legged on the rock, staring at the valley below. He sat down next to her in silence and waited patiently for her to speak.

“There are no animals,” she said, after a time. “Where have they all gone? And the trees. Look at them.”

Cain followed her gaze out over the valley toward Kurast, huddled in the distance like a blight upon the world. In days past, the growth would have been a lush, vibrant green, but the trees grew ever more gray and stunted as they neared the city, as if a fire had run through them, turning their leaves to ash.

“I suspect the animals are in hiding, much like most of the people,” he said. “They sense that the world around us is not calm or welcoming. The trees are a part of that.”

“Why aren’t we hiding too?”

It was impossible to answer. In the old days, Cain might have begun a lecture about the history of evil and the rise of heroes who battled against it. In the absence of true heroes, others must answer the call. But something made him pause. “I was thinking,” he said simply, “that it might be time for that. To find a place where you would be safe.”

She looked at him sharply. “You would come with me?”

“I have my own journey still ahead of me, Leah. I must not shy away from my destiny. I will find a place for you, I promise. And I will return, when the time is right.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Cain thought of the long road back the way they had come. The bridge had fallen; they would have to search for a place to cross, and even if they could find it, there was no shelter for them in Caldeum. Where else could they go? All the way across the sea, to Westmarch? There was no shelter for a little girl there, either. The orphanages were little better than slave camps. He sighed, and rubbed his itchy beard. A journey like that would take weeks, and by then it would be too late for everyone.