Nate Kenyon - The Order

Belial, the Lord of Lies, loomed over him like a giant ready to crush anything in its path. Cain squeezed his eyes shut tight, returning to the place in his mind that had kept him sane after the loss of Amelia and his son, so many years ago. He focused on the teachings of Jered Cain, who had written that the true nature of a warrior lies in his ability to remain focused within the storm of battle. He was in his mother’s home, sitting at his old desk under candlelight; his hands were young again and unmarked, his eyes strong and his heart filled with the ecstasy of a man who had found his life’s passion. The pages of Jered’s books and the familiar smell of dusty old paper calmed him.

But the image would not hold. It dissolved into the motionless bodies of his wife and young son, ravaged by the goatmen that had chased them down and dragged them into the brush.

Ah, their wounds were painful, but even now, they still suffer, unable to pass beyond the Hells, waiting for a hero who will never come. Their hero did not exist. But you know that, do you not? You have known the truth for a long time, and still you choose to ignore it.

The vision switched to a landscape filled with the screams of the damned. Fire licked at the feet of humans bound and hung across a vast chamber, while others were forced to labor under the eyes of demon masters. Overseers lashed their bloody backs with cruel whips, driving them forward; they pulled carts full of molten iron to forges that burned hot enough to peel the skin from their limbs. Others beat long swords and armor into shape with hammers. Pile after pile was stacked along the walls of the cavern as the people carried them from the forges and placed them there.

We prepare for the coming war, Belial said. Garreth Rau has opened himself to me, and soon I will control his mortal form. First Caldeum will fall and then the rest of Sanctuary’s cities, and when the undead army has finished its work, we will unleash a new army of our own, using Sanctuary to storm the Crystal Arch, taking Silver City and the High Heavens themselves.

Cain stared at the hundreds of people, their bare feet raw and bloody, their faces filled with pain and suffering. His heart broke.

The souls of his wife and son flitted among them.

When Deckard Cain opened his eyes, the vision vanished. It was a vision, nothing more—a lie fed to him by Belial, a master of manipulation. He knew this, knew that the souls of his loved ones could not have been spirited away like this. Yet fingers of doubt continued to creep in, no matter how hard he tried to force them away, plucking at his sanity.

He was jolted back into the room at the top of the Black Tower, where the Dark One stood over Leah, hands outstretched, as the thunderous sounds of thousands of undead soldiers grew louder far beneath them. Cain imagined line after line of them marching to the surface, their faces half formed and horribly twisted by unnatural forces, rusted weaponry clutched in their bony hands.

The power continued to flow from Leah, through Garreth Rau and the tower, into the caverns below. It popped and crackled like fire, yet it was not, and though Leah was not conscious, something else within her continued to respond to Rau’s spell.

He must not let Rau and Belial turn him away from what he had to do. You must act, and do it now.

Cain struggled to his feet. His staff was close. He picked it up and hobbled around Leah’s shuddering body, then swung the staff with every last ounce of his strength.

The wooden shaft shattered across Garreth Rau’s temple, snapping his head back. Black blood flew from a gash in his forehead, and his hold over Leah seemed to be broken. Cain did not hesitate; he gripped the end of the staff with both hands and raised it over his head, driving the jagged end down into Rau’s chest.

A gout of thick blood sprayed from the wound as Rau staggered back, clutching at the wood protruding from his flesh. Cain felt the tower shift, as if swaying in a strong wind, and the sound of the demonic horde outside quieted for a moment.

He rushed back to Leah’s side, cradling her head again. She had definitely been drugged, as the First Ones had said; if he was right, there was only one drug that would have this powerful an effect.

Cain slipped his hand into his rucksack and took out the liquid he had prepared from the root the First Ones had gathered a few hours before. It was the only known antidote for the Torajan formula that he believed the Dark One had used—the same drug he had used to calm Leah back when he had first met her in Gillian’s home and she had gone into one of her trances. Nothing else could have kept her under like this.

Gently, he touched Leah’s lips with the liquid.

A few moments later Leah moaned lightly, her eyelids fluttering. Cain worked at the chains that bound her but could not release them. The girl’s skin was pale, her face sunken, her limbs nearly skeletal. Chills washed over him, and fresh anger at what she had suffered.

A noise made him turn. Garreth Rau had regained his feet. He drew the wood from his chest, an inch at a time; when the last of it had emerged, his skin had already closed around the wound.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Rau said, tossing the shaft aside. His smile revealed blood on his teeth. “Belial comes to greet his army soon. The girl’s power draws him here.”

“Then he will take full possession of your physical form,” Cain said. “You will cease to exist, pushed out of yourself and into the void, while the Lord of Lies inhabits your body and uses it for his own.”

“No.” Rau shook his head, but Cain saw a flash of doubt. “He has promised me that I will rule alongside him—”

“Belial cannot be trusted,” Cain said. “You really think he will allow you to remain in control? He has told you lies about your ancestry, Garreth, to manipulate you into doing what he wants. He has told you lies about me. But when the time comes, he will not hesitate to cast you aside.”

He thought of what he knew of Rau’s childhood, growing up as an orphan, very likely starving for something to hold on to and give him hope. Belial would prey upon that, making him feel strong and in control, using this to gain a way in. “Possession is often slow and insidious,” he said. “Think about your powers, how they manifest themselves. Have you ever felt as if they are not completely your own?”

“You are frightened, old man. Your words betray you.”

“Belial has very likely already manifested his power through you, used you as a conduit. He is brainwashing you, testing the bonds, weakening your interior defenses. He means to overthrow this world, in preparation for an assault on the High Heavens. Once he has used you to gain access to this realm, just ask yourself one thing: why would he need you any longer?”

Rau seemed about to speak again, but his expression changed to one of puzzlement and, finally, a trace of fear. He seemed to be struggling with something.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He shivered. “It can’t be. I won’t let you. I won’t . . .”

Cain was no longer sure whether the man was talking to him or someone else. Suddenly Rau screamed, gasped, and screamed again, scratching at his own face and drawing rivulets of blood. His features rippled and changed, bony plates growing up from his forehead, his eyes yellowing.

Finally he relaxed, a thin, haughty smile playing about his lips. Garreth Rau was no more.

“Deckard Cain,” the Lord of Lies rasped, the breath rattling in his lungs, “you are resilient, for your age. I must thank you for your assistance in bringing little Leah to me. But I’m afraid your job is complete, and so is hers.

“It’s time for you and your little friend to die.”