Diablo III: Storm of Light (10 page)

“Demonspawn,” Gynvir said, gritting her teeth and spitting out the word. “Where did they come from?”

“Remnants of evil still walk these lands,” Tyrael said. “They hunt in packs and must have been drawn by the fire.”

“No kidding,” muttered Shanar. “I don’t think it’s a welcoming party.”

The group put the dying flames at their backs, closing ranks in a circle with their weapons out. Jacob slid his short sword from its sheath and looked around at the others. A stand here might work for a while if they trusted one another with their lives, but that was clearly not the case. One weak fighter could let a hellion through to wreak havoc. There was a gap between Gynvir and Zayl large enough for a beast to get through with a leap, but the barbarian refused to move any closer and kept glancing at the smaller man as if waiting for him to pounce on her. Jacob motioned to Shanar to get between them. She gave him a quick look but complied.

The dark berserkers kept advancing. He had faced these before, in the Dreadlands. They were slow but would not go down easily—the size of two men, their bare chests rippling, iron
marks clamped across their hideous, twisted features, exposing a line of sharp teeth and bloody gums. One of them raised its gigantic maul in both fists and smashed it with a vicious overhead swing into the rocky soil. The impact caused the ground to shake and sent the hellions into a slavering frenzy, their snarls rising up as the closest crept forward.

And me with nothing but this small sword
. Jacob stole a glance at Tyrael, who held El’druin. He remembered the feel of the magnificent weapon in his own hands, and a ghostlike thrill ran through him. With the Sword of Justice, he had stood with the light and fulfilled every promise he had made to his long-dead father, a man of right and wrong, principled and fair, who had administered the laws of Staalbreak with a steady hand before the rage plague turned him into a monster. That was the man Jacob chose to remember, not the one who had executed Jacob’s mother and nearly brought the town to its knees.

Not the one who had tried to kill his son, not the one Jacob had murdered with his own hand.

“Look for their masters,” Zayl said in a low voice that carried through the group. “Berserkers do not act alone. There are cultists close by, pulling their strings.”

And then the beasts were upon them, and there was little time left to think.

The first hellion’s leap carried it within striking distance of El’druin. Tyrael swung the sword, and the blade sang through the air, slicing the creature neatly in half. Two bloody, writhing pieces tumbled to the ground, teeth still snapping, innards spilling to wet the dust. Another came, and Tyrael struck a second mighty blow, cleaving the creature’s head from its shoulders.

Cullen let out a low cry, the small man stumbling backward, a hellion’s snarling maw impaled upon his sword. Thomas had sliced another’s belly open, exposing rib bones and gristle as it
fell. But the two men, occupied by their attackers, had left their spot vulnerable.

Where is the monk?
Jacob could not find him anywhere. Had he already slipped away into the night, leaving them behind to fight?

Then he saw him, like a flash of holy light.

Mikulov worked beyond the fire among the creatures that slunk everywhere. He moved with blinding speed, leaping across the backs of the hellions and punching downward with a blade that seemed to be an extension of his hand, severing their spines before pivoting and stabbing again at another. His actions were effortless, his power breathtaking.

“Look out!” Shanar’s warning made Jacob turn just in time. One of the largest of the dog beasts had advanced, creeping low and closing on his feet. He thrust his sword downward as the thing lunged at him, driving the blade into the back of its neck, just past its bony skull. It howled and shook itself so hard Jacob lost his grip on the handle, and the creature went stumbling off sideways, with the sword sticking up like a quivering quill, before it collapsed to the dirt.

Aching to once again feel the power of El’druin in his hands, he glanced at Shanar, who was muttering words he could not make out over the din. A burst of purple arcane energy shot from her fingers like a bolt of lightning, striking the two hellions closest to her with a sizzling crack and opening up a temporary hole in their ranks. She threw another bolt that streaked through the air and hit a berserker in the chest.

The creature howled with rage and stumbled, going to its knees. It dropped its maul and clawed at the smoking crater deep in its flesh.

Jacob yanked his sword free from the dead hellion. Someone would have to create a path to escape. He looked over toward
Deckard Cain’s gravestone, gleaming white like a beacon. Only the wounded berserker stood between them and the stone, and beyond that was an open path back the way they had come.

A bit of his old swagger returned, and with it came the desire to impress Shanar.

“Don’t!” Shanar had seemed to guess his intent, but he took no heed and leaped into the gap she had cleared. In three quick steps, he was at the wounded berserker’s side. He swung his sword with all his strength at the thing’s head. But the beast surprised him, raising its arm to ward off the blow, and the sword’s edge did nothing more than gouge a shallow line in its thick blue skin.

A sinking feeling settled in Jacob’s stomach as he swung the sword again and caught nothing but air. The berserker struggled to its feet, roaring with rage. He glanced to his left and saw another heading toward him, maul raised, snarl on its bloody lips.

He was trapped, cut off from the others, with two monstrous creatures moving in for the kill.

Just as the second one got close enough to bash Jacob’s skull to pulp, it suddenly stumbled, before halting in its tracks, and then shuddered, weaving on its feet. Its huge muscled arms went slack as its head slumped, and it fell forward into the dirt.

Sticking out of the creature’s back was a battle axe.

With a low grunt, Gynvir reached down, placed her foot on its spine, and yanked the axe loose. “Move,” she said, and Jacob barely had time to duck before she swung the axe in a whistling arc that caught the other berserker under the chin. The blade bit deep into the diseased flesh, exposing muscle and bone as the creature’s head flopped sideways and tore free, leaving a stump that fountained black blood before the headless torso fell.

“Thanks,” Jacob said. The barbarian gave him a small smile
before turning again and cleaving a hellion in two, her magnificently muscled back glistening in the dying light from overhead.

The creatures were relentless. Jacob battled on, working just to stay alive. Tyrael killed four berserkers and a dozen hellions with El’druin. Jacob killed two more hellions and kept himself from being bitten when the last one snapped at his leg in its death throes; he knew well enough what the thing’s diseased saliva would do to a wound.

Finally, he saw something beyond the slope and managed to fight his way through for a better look.

Below them, he saw the cultists.

They stood in a rough circle around a pattern of glowing runes drawn in the dirt, dark robes flowing in the breeze as they raised their chanting voices to the sky. Once again, Jacob thought he saw something else flitting at the edges of the circle, something huge and black with wings, but it was soon gone.

He turned back just in time to see the monk burst through the ranks of the chanting figures as if appearing out of thin air.

His blade sliced through flesh; his fists flew in a blur as he spun and laid waste to those who remained. In moments, the circle was broken, bodies lying motionless at Mikulov’s feet.

Beyond him, the ground was clear of hellions and berserkers. The monk looked up the slope at Jacob and nodded. “This way,” he said. “Quickly!”

Jacob surveyed the graveyard, his heart sinking. Thomas and Cullen fought together back-to-back, managing to keep the hellions off them. But the others were scattered. Shanar and Gynvir had become isolated from Tyrael, and the necromancer stood alone near the far end of the flat tableau.

Without the cultists’ dark magic guiding them, the berserkers became confused, lumbering back and forth. Zayl raised his
hands, and a crackle of energy reduced the creatures’ movements to a crawl. Jacob shouted at the others, motioning them his way as he stood under Cain’s monument.

Thomas and Cullen were already down the slope and at the monk’s side, and Zayl was right behind them by the time Gynvir made it to the monument. Shanar was the last to reach him, and the berserkers had begun to recover from the necromancer’s spell, turning their way.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll be right behind you. Just want to slow them down a little more.”

The ground began to shiver and soften gently under Jacob’s feet. Moisture welled up from formerly dry soil, sucking at his boots before freezing into ice crystals. The air temperature dropped quickly, until Jacob could see his breath puffing in white clouds before his face. Snowflakes started to fall around him.

Shanar glanced at him, her face twisted with concentration. “Go!” she said again. “I can’t hold it much longer!”

As he slipped and slid down the hill, Jacob looked back to see the first of the berserkers reach her position. A wave of panic washed over him before a giant ice shard crashed down like a thunderclap, smashing into the creature and driving it to the ground. Shanar danced backward as more columns of ice began to fall upon the graveyard, and the shrieks of rage and pain from the beasts grew louder. None followed as she came quickly after him to where the others waited to make their escape.

They were in trouble.

Tyrael led the group across the desolate landscape under the faint moonlight as quickly as he dared. Nobody spoke as they navigated the tricky terrain, everyone watching carefully to keep from breaking an ankle on the pitted, rocky ground.

What worried him wasn’t their escape route or how far they had to travel to reach safe lodging. He could already see New Tristram’s glimmer of lanterns in the distance, and Shanar’s ice storm had wreaked havoc among the creatures that remained in the graveyard; the humans had not been pursued.

No, what worried him was the way the group had reacted to its first test.

Although he had been counting on the pack of rogue demons to appear sooner or later—remnants of the Lesser Evils’ demon army still roamed Sanctuary, and the Tristram Cathedral was a prime location for them—he had been surprised by their numbers and ferocity. He had expected to have more time and less of a fight.

That number of berserkers and cultists, acting with some coordination, was unusual.

Even so, he had hoped for a better response under pressure. There had been moments of bravery: Gynvir had likely saved Jacob from an ugly death at the hands of two berserkers, and Mikulov had single-handedly kept the tide from turning against the others. But the monk had also left the circle and acted alone, and the rest had fought with little coordination. Cullen barely held his own against the hellions. Only blind luck had kept them all alive.

They would have to do a lot better than that to have a chance at succeeding in their mission, or death would be swift indeed.

You put their lives in danger tonight for a simple test. And they failed
.

As he led them down the final gentle slope toward town, Tyrael wondered whether it had been worth the risk.