Jeronnan nodded. “They’re responsible for much of the terror that has fallen over this poor town, or so it’s been said. Me, I’ve known many mages in my day. This one who led them . . .” He shook his head again. “I don’t think the evil in him was born from any order of men.”
Jeronnan went on to tell them about the group of Horadrim who had come to Gea Kul many months before, and the leader of the group, a man named Rau, who had established the order in town and had a huge, stone tower built on the edge of the sea. But soon Rau disappeared, the group went into mourning, and tragedy struck. “There was darkness all around that place,” Jeronnan said. “And eventually that darkness came to Gea Kul.
“Soon enough, there were sightings of creatures that visited people’s homes in the middle of the night, sucking the life right out of them. People started locking their doors and staying in with lanterns burning. Others began to act mighty peculiar, as if they were haunted—sometimes flashing eerie smiles, vacant stares, cocking their heads like they were hearing voices. It was enough to make you believe the entire town had gone mad.” He shrugged. “There were other changes, too; some of them you’ve seen with your own eyes. Those people out there, wasting away, like walking corpses.”
“How have you avoided the same fate?” Cain asked.
Jeronnan reached down to a pocket and withdrew something covered with a leather sleeve, which he carefully removed. An ivory dagger shone in the lantern light as he held it up. “A gift, from an old friend,” he said. “She returned here after her adventures in the desert and gave me this charmed blade. It’s a rare gift, something an old captain like me doesn’t deserve. They don’t like it, these feeders. They stay away from here.”
The captain handed the blade to Cain. Cain turned it over in his hands, feeling the carefully balanced weight and the energy held within it. A necromancer’s blade was a vital part of their magic, and they would never willingly give up their personal weapon. But this one was similar to those used by the priests of Rathma in their rituals. Jeronnan’s friend must have enchanted it herself and brought it to him.
“She must have admired you greatly, to give you this.”
Jeronnan smiled again, but this time it held a tinge of sadness. “Kara was like a second daughter to me. But she went off to find new adventures with that Norrec fellow, and I haven’t heard tell of her in years.”
Cain removed the Horadric book from his sack, placing it on the table. Jeronnan looked at the familiar symbol stamped on the front cover, a figure eight with an amber gemstone in the middle. “I’ve seen this,” he said. “The symbol of their order. I knew two boys from town who joined with them before the feeders came. Used to carry these books around all day. They were good boys, in spite of the man who led them.”
“This group of scholars,” Cain said. “They’re still here, in Gea Kul?”
“They picked up and left in a hurry a couple of months back, after the tower was done. But there’s a hidden place in town where the order used to gather, for study. I don’t know its exact location, but I can take you to the area, if you like.”
The streets were empty, a fresh glaze of rain making them shimmer. Cain followed Captain Jeronnan through the mist, watching his giant back and staying close. He had considered whether to trust the captain or not; for all Cain knew, the old man could be leading him into a trap. But Jeronnan’s motivations seemed pure. He had brought his horn and dagger to keep the people away, but they hadn’t seen a soul. Gea Kul was an abandoned wasteland, and Jeronnan was Cain’s only lifeline.
Cain had left Mikulov with Leah at the Captain’s Table. As much as he had wanted the monk with him, he had been even more concerned with keeping Leah safe. The situation had become too dangerous. Cain had made Jeronnan promise to return to the inn as well, once they had reached the area where the Horadric gathering place was located.
Jeronnan stopped in a street full of rundown shacks. Garbage piled in corners reeked of old, rotted food; huge rats scurried away from the sound of their footsteps echoing through the silence. “The group met somewhere near here,” he said. “I used to see some of them on this very street, but then they’d disappear, and I never knew exactly where. I don’t know what you plan to do, should you find them. But we’re badly in need of help. There was a time when this town saw its fair share of trade, when the taverns were full of rowdy sailors and the docks heavy with goods bound for Kurast and Caldeum. I won’t say it was a place for royalty, mind you, but it was a town full of life.” Jeronnan put his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “I’m a good judge of character, and something tells me you’re the man to bring a sense of peace back to Gea Kul.”
Jeronnan handed Cain the horn. “Blow this, should you need me again. It’ll keep those who have been corrupted by the feeders away, and I’ll come find you with my dagger in hand and whatever force I can muster.” He took Cain’s hand in both of his and squeezed it. “Take care now,” he said. “And good luck.”
He disappeared into the mist. Cain tucked the horn into his sack. He looked around at the abandoned huts on all sides, and the now-familiar feeling of being the last man left in Sanctuary settled over him again. He was closer to his goal, yet in many ways he felt even more isolated and forlorn. The weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders, and he had no idea if he was up to the task at hand.
I’m no hero.
That much was true. But he would do all that he could to make up for his past mistakes, and he would sacrifice his own life, if necessary, to save this world. That would have to be good enough.
Cain studied the row of buildings again, looking for a clue to the location of the hidden entrance of the Horadric hall. The site was typical; years ago, the Horadrim were known for hiding their meeting places in plain sight, and in an area that people would least expect to find them. It would be protected by a spell of concealment, of course. Quite likely a powerful one.
He searched through his more familiar texts for something that might help him, but found nothing. The mist grew thicker, writhing across the ground as the minutes ticked past. Finally his fingers settled upon the ancient Vizjerei spellbook he had found in the ruins.
Demonic magic, written by the followers of Bartuc, the Warlord of Blood. Cain carefully flipped through its crumbling pages. There: a spell meant to reveal anything that had been cloaked by magic. But this kind of incantation was dangerous. It called attention to itself, and Sanctuary was no longer protected from the Burning Hells and all the creatures that lived within that cursed place. It would light up like a beacon in darkness, drawing moths to the flame.
What other choice did he have? He could search for days and never find the entrance.
Cain recited the words of power, feeling the ground begin to thrum beneath him, and as he did so, he felt the gaze of thousands turn to focus on Gea Kul, the senses of things he did not want to know, abominations that hid in dark caverns stinking of rot and blood. Above them all loomed a black tower with what had once been a man living within it, a man who was now something else entirely—a creature that lived on pain.
The Horadric symbol, the figure eight with sharp points like fangs, glowed a blood red from the side of one of the larger stone buildings about a hundred feet away. Cain tucked the old book away and ran, his tunic flapping like a crow’s wings, the mist swirling all around him, and as he reached the building, he realized that the lower right point was the handle of a door cleverly hidden in what had appeared to be a smooth wall. As the spell’s power receded and the symbol began to fade again into oblivion, he grasped the handle and pulled, and it opened easily, revealing blackness inside.