Winds of the Kae Huron

[Nephilim]

This forum loss is hella lame. I'm reposting my whole story so that newcomers won't be completely lost, as I have a new chapter to add anyway.

[Nephilim]

The scream that shook the mountains.

M'avina had been inside of Malah's infirmary, at the time.

She wasn't as bad off as many of the others. Many from before they had arrived, with grievous wounds they weren't expected to recover from. It had been an injury of folly that had landed M'avina here. She had been bringing up the rear of a war party with ranged support and hadn't seen the overseer clumsily climbing the rocks up towards her. It lashed its whip around her ankle and yanked her off her perch, breaking her leg and fracturing her shoulder in the fall. Now, she had to rest, and allow Malah's soothing medicines to do their work.

She had been asleep, and had shot awake at not just the sound, but the motion. The low, muffled scream reverberated through the very rocks of the mountain, and shook the foundation of Harrogath. She felt it more than heard it. And then, suddenly, a feeling came over her of peace, of harmony. A strange sensation of everything being right in the world.

The others had felt it, too, and they glanced at each other, to see if they were the only one. M'avina knew what had happened before most of the others. A tentative smile crept onto her face, and she put a hand to her mouth, to stifle the cries she wanted to shout out. Tears streamed openly down her visage.

Baal, Lord of Destruction and last of the Three, was defeated.

The others in the infirmary, Barbarians, for the most part, began to chuckle at first, and then burst into uproarious, celebratory laughter. It was over. Harrogath was free, and they would lose no more friends.

M'avina knew that the battle would have cost them dearly. No doubt, the Lord of Destruction had not gone without a fight, and likely many of the brave adventurers who went up there were not coming back. M'avina's partner, Vidala, could very well be among them. But still, she could help feeling so elated. They had finished what they'd started. M'avina had been there as Diablo had rotted away before them, and all that remained was his soulstone over a pile of ash-covered bone.

M'avina hadn't been there when they had shattered it, though, at Hellforge. The horrifyingly violent death of Athena at the hands of the smithing demon when they had first raided it to deal with Mephisto's Stone had left too black a mark upon M'avina's memory. Nonetheless, she had a stake in all this, and now that it had come to pass, she could hardly believe it.

All these months of chasing down the demons in Sanctuary, all the new friends she had made, and all the old friends she had lost . . . she never expected it to end. Even when they had killed Diablo, they still had that weight upon their shoulders. M'avina had felt like breaking down right there when Tyrael had told them that they weren't finished. She was just so tired.

And now, they were going to greet the returning heroes. M'avina shuddered at the thought of her imminent catharsis. Everything was going to come out once she say Vidala or Isenhart, or even the grumpy old Qual-Kehk, who had insisted on accompanying the expedition on their final journey to battle.

Malah helped M'avina and those other wounded who were still mobile out into the square, where they waited in anticipation, looking out the gates at the bloodied battlefields around Harrogath.

They saw him when he was still some distance off, descending the many levels of fortified stronghold through the mountain. But as he neared, they saw that there was no one else with him.

This troubled them to no end. Was Qual-Kehk the only survivor of the titanic battle? M'avina wanted to toss aside her crutch and drag herself to his feet, where she would scream her demand of where Vidala was. As he neared, they saw that he walked with a limp. Malah glanced apprehensively at Anya, who stared intently into the distance.

When he was twenty feet away from the gates, Anya nodded to the gatekeepers, and two husky Barbarian youths rolled back the chains and lifted the gate for him. He strode inside.

Qual-Kehk's featured were even more grizzled than usual. He was bleeding, and had various-coloured blood splattered across his once glorious armour, now dented and cracked in places. His white beard was covered in dirt, dust, and blood, and his sword, broken, was clenched firmly in one fist, and the blood on it was a deep, deep red. No steel blade could be seen, it was so thoroughly saturated. It had been a mighty battle indeed.

Despite his maimed appearance, Qual-Kehk stood strong and tall, his chest puffed out in pride, but his face grim and serious. He stopped shortly into the gate. M'avina wanted to urge him forward, but she knew it was not her place. He simple stood there, in silence, letting the assembled crowd take in every detail.

"Baal is no more," he said finally in his low, gruff voice.

They all drew a breath, ready to whoop for joy and jump up out of their cots, breaking all those bones all over again. But that energy remained pent up, for the stare of Qual-Kehk didn't merit celebration. He just stood there, the wind tossing his long hair gently about his face. M'avina was truly beginning to hate him. Malah was glancing at his various wounds, wondering if she should rush up and tend to him.

"Are . . ." Anya hesitated after a long silence, "are you the only . . . where is everyone else?"

"They are gone," said Qual-Kehk quietly. "When the Relic had been taken from Baal, Tyrael was once again allowed to enter the sacred mountain. He opened up a portal for all the champions who survived."

More portals, M'avina thought. Between the Infernal Gate, the portal to Nihlathak's foul mountain temple, and the one Tyrael had opened to Harrogath, M'avina had grown tired of traversing great distances with the mystical doors.

"Where did it lead?" asked M'avina.

Qual-Kehk shook his head. "I do not know, for he did not say. He only said that it would lead them to a peace that they much deserved."

M'avina's heart crumbled. She would never see Vidala again, she slowly realized. And then a new sensation dawned on her, a profound anger simmered within her, and she felt her face grow hot, even within the cold winds. Why wasn't she allowed this peace? She had almost died in the battle with the Black Council in Travincal, and had put her life on the line with every demon leader they fought. So why was she left behind, at the roof of the world, and now, without her mentor and friend to see her off of it?

So what was she to do now?

Her attention was drawn back to Qual-Kehk as Larzuk and Malah quickly approached him. The smith helped him out of his armour - parts of which were so dented that they were impossible to come off without hammering them off - and the healer examined his wound.

One of the younger Barbarians - Drus, the one who had lost his arm - spoke up. "Were there casualties in the battle?"

Larzuk paused for a moment, glancing at Drus, but then continued to manipulate the armour.

Qual-Kehk sighed heavily. "Yes. There are casualties in every battle."

Drus exchanged glances with the other Barbarians. He then chanced a quick look to M'avina. "Who were they?"

Qual-Kehk looked down, pushing Larzuk away for a moment. Malah stood back. There was a very long moment. M'avina's heart pounded and her temples ached. "That is not important. They all fought bravely, as did all of you, and all of them are now at peace, one way or another. You shall never see any of them again."

M'avina felt suddenly sick to her stomach. She looked at the rest of the crowd. There were others there, too, among them, who had come a great distance to be here, and now it was over, and they had nowhere to go. Arcanna, the young witch of the Zann Esu, had been told to remain in Harrogath, to try and strengthen the ward, by her superior, Regha, who had gone up Arreat. There was another sorceress, Kira, but she had been brutally wounded in a fight with succubi, and was still comatose in Malah's infirmary. They had met all three of the sorceresses in Lut Gholein. They had joined up with another, Eschuta, in Kurast, but she had died at the hands of Sarina.

Isenhart had been with the sorceresses in Lut Gholein, trying to get to Kurast to the rest of his contingent. When they had arrived, only three, Milabrega, Wilhelm, and Guillame, had survived the ravages of the Jungle. Guillame had died in the fight with Mephisto, Wilhelm had fallen to Izual, and Milabrega had given her life in the titanic battle with Diablo, along with many others. And now Isenhart, the last of them, had disappeared up the mountain.

Two of the three Rogues from the Monastery, Paige and Shikha, hadn't made it. And others, too many to name, were among the list of the dead. So now, all that remained of the war party that had entered Harrogath was M'avina, Arcanna, the spearman Haseen, the young Paladin, Kinemil, the Ironwolf, Jabari, and Ume, the relatively young Necromancer. There was also the Druid, Dimoak, who had been part of a small group of druids who had arrived in Harrogath shortly after M'avina's party. But Dimoak hadn't associated himself much with the rest of them, not unlike the other druids. Nevertheless, here he stood with them, perhaps realizing now that he was completely alone here.

Malah was beginning to usher her patients back into her home, and Qual-Kehk gruffly pushed Larzuk aside, making his way toward his house. Larzuk resigned himself to defeat and walked away.

M'avina quickly limped over to Qual-Kehk, leaning heavily on her crutch. She almost fell into him as she grabbed him by the shoulder. She immediately regretted it as he winced when he turned to her.

"What is it, child?" he asked impatiently.

M'avina stopped, not sure if it was appropriate to ask, but she had to know. "Why didn't you go with them?"

Qual-Kehk seemed surprised at the question, and M'avina was, for a moment, afraid that he would be angry with her. But he was not. He looked up, around the village, and squinted into the wind, before answering. "It was not my time for peace." His eyes looked distant again. "I am needed here. And soon, I expect, I shall have to journey to Sescheron, and speak with Halaberd, if he still lives. There is much work to be done here, and I cannot expect Anya to shoulder that responsibility without my aid. She is spirited and resilient, but she is still young and not accustomed to this station. She will need my help."

M'avina took her hand off his shoulder. She suddenly felt very small and petty, standing before him. "I . . ." she stuttered, "that's very noble of you."

He shrugged. "Nobility has little to do with it, child. I have duties." He turned to go back to his house. "Now, you should rest, Amazon. You may do so without worry, now."

He didn't say anything else to her.

M'avina stood in front of his house for several minutes, and then looked around at the square, and saw that she was the only one still standing out in the cold wind. M'avina sighed, and saw her breath turn to a white cloud before her. Then she turned, and hobbled her way back to Malah's.

[Nephilim]

Malah was a very talented woman. She would always swear up and down that her subtle manipulations of magical energies were terribly inadequate, but what she did know, she knew very, very well. M'avina was admittedly not very refined in the department of healing. She knew the basics, but she had no aptitude for how a bone was so easily mended with the right herbs and wraps from Malah's store of exotic plants she bought from the traveling merchants. With the state of crisis, though, no caravans had been able to make it to the Highlands, and so Malah's supplies had begun to run dangerously dry. Hopefully, though, they would no longer be in such demand.

It was only a week before M'avina was on her feet again with little more than a limp. When she tried to express how miraculous it seemed to her to Malah, though, she shrugged it off with: "Well, at my age, I've got to be good at something."

The infirmary was, thankfully, empty now, with those wounded having been treated at least to the point where they could remain in their own homes. Even Kira had regained herself, and was now being nursed back to health in Anya's home. The young Sorceress had politely declined the offer of hospitality, but Anya insisted. "There are too many empty rooms in that home," she had said sadly.

Kinemil, Dimoak, and Haseen had stayed in Nihlathak's home, who had, before Baal's coming, apparently shared it with other Elders, now all dead - sacrificed of their own volition to save Harrogath from the initial stages of the siege. Anya had given Ume a room there, as well, but the Necromancer had refused, albeit politely, saying that there were still spirits at unrest within that house. He had built himself a tent in the shadow of Larzuk's smithy and kept to himself.

Qual-Kehk had been right, there was much work to be done. Before he had left for Sescheron to see the damage for himself and report to King Halaberd what had transpired, the Senior Man-at-Arms had formed a system of search parties to go out and find any survivors among the ruins of the mountain stronghold. They had found very few, so far, and most of them were hiding within the ice caves. And even though many young Barbarians, having discovered their childhood friends dead on the mountainside, returned to Harrogath disheartened, there was still a heightened hope among the town. Without Baal's energies to sustain them in the mortal world, many demons, particularly the undead, had simply collapsed or shattered at his death. Those that remained either fled in terror or fought with a furious desperation that ended in a fatal misstep. None of the search parties had yet suffered more than minor wounds from such encounters. The Barbarians they brought home from their hiding places were relatively unharmed, but only because those who were more seriously wounded had not lasted long.

In spite of all the recurring images of death and sorrow among Harrogath, things were in relatively high spirits, M'avina thought. She realized that she was kidding herself, though. Just because spirits were higher than they had been did not merit the term "high spirits." Now that the major conflict wasn't there to distract people, they had begun to realize what had truly occurred. They noticed people were gone, and those crippled by the horrifying battle now had to consider what they could do with their lives now that their adventuring days were over. M'avina had considered that at the beginning of her stay at Malah's. She hated the idea of returning to Skovos to farm grain with her parents.

Her parents - she shuddered to think of it.

Having been farmers, they had primarily worshipped Hefaertus, and she had been raised in that respect, and in those beliefs. Even when she defied the wishes of her parents and went to train as a warrior, she still kept the teachings of the fire god close to her heart, and invoked the powers of him through much loyal prayer during her battles, above most other gods within the Amazonian pantheon. But there was one teaching of Hefaertus which always pierced her mind with doubt. It was that every woman of substance would at one time in their lives be reborn - they would meet an obstacle so grueling, so unimaginably complicated and seemingly impossible to triumph over, that overcoming it would require that she change who she is. She would be reborn, and arise from the ashes of her old self a new person.

M'avina had never really liked that philosophy. It made it seem like all attempts at developing herself as a person now would be fruitless, because she was eventually going to have the deciding factor in her life. All this fighting, all this conflict wasn't helping her grow at all. She had thought, as her quest began, that the coming battle, and her continued pursuit of Diablo across every land she had ever read about, would be her rebirth. But all in all, she was the same person. She still had the same passions and desires, and the same outlook on her life. Her rebirth would change all that. M'avina had, in the past week, feared that perhaps Tyrael's invitation had been her rebirth, and that she had missed it. According to Hefaertus, the rebirth was needed for any woman to be complete. But M'avina liked who she was, and she knew that this was a rare thing. She didn't think she was perfect, but she was proud of her accomplishments, and recognized her limitations. She wasn't too keen on the idea of becoming someone else.

It was very windy. She could hear the wind blowing through the thick stone wall.

M'avina bundled up her clothing, and some supplies. She and Vidala had shared a packhorse until it was mauled by sabre cats outside Lut Gholein. They had brought whatever supplies they could salvage onto Meshif's ship, but had left them there when they went through the Infernal Gate. She felt hot again just thinking of it. From the cool, dank dungeon of the Guardian Tower, it was like walking through a furnace, and then she suddenly emerged in the Pandemonium Fortress and everything was temperate once again, with air that seemed easier than usual to breathe.

But the point was that she had little left to herself, and it was a tremendously long journey back to Skovos, she knew. She and Vidala had had to live off of very meager funds for some time, as well. Though their journey had found very generous hospitality, money had been spent, if not to repair their armour or weapons, then to pay for food. Larzuk had offered to repair their goods free of charge, but Vidala had insisted, saying that once this crisis was over, if Larzuk had no stock and not a penny to his name, he'd be ruined.

"When will you be leaving?"

M'avina gasped in surprise, and felt more than a little embarrassed. Arcanna stood in the doorway, and smiled as M'avina blushed. "Sorry," the Amazon apologized. "I was just lost in my own head."

Arcanna chuckled. "I know the feeling." She paused. "So when will you be leaving?"

M'avina talked in a very casual tone. She didn't want to lose face in front of Arcanna. She had grown to respect the young Sorceress. "I was going to leave with Qual-Kehk when he goes to Sescheron, and from there I think I'll try to find caravans to escort me south. Either to Kingsport or Lut Gholein, and then I'll take a merchant vessel to Skovos. Hopefully I'll make it before the end of the year. But that depends on luck. Especially now. Kinemil was saying that he didn't expect to see many caravans on the roads for months. He said to wait until word gets out that Sescheron is secure, and the Rogue Pass is opened again." M'avina knew that she wouldn't make it before the end of the year. She just hoped that she was south enough to miss winter in Ensteig and Khanduras. She needed a ride to get out the Highlands, and then, she was more than willing to walk and swim to Skovos. "What about you?"

Arcanna sighed. "Malah tells me that the Zann Esu coven in Scosglen makes periodical merchant routes to Harrogath. I was considering just waiting for them. Either way, I need to wait for Kira to fully recover. She's still in no state to travel."

M'avina nodded, "And the others?"

Arcanna shrugged. "I can't say. You'll have to talk to them yourself." With that, the Sorceress gestured a farewell and walked down the hall.

Another gust of wind thundered past outside.

M'avina followed the winds until she came to be standing outside of Anya's home, in the furiously billowing snowstorm. It would pass, Malah had assured her. These things were common in the Highlands.

Mostly everyone had gone indoors. A Barbarian she didn't recognize was sitting on his doorstep, comforting his hunting dog. He saw her through the blizzard and nodded in acknowledgement. She waved weakly, and walked around the hut.

This was the first time she had been outside in Harrogath without her armour. She found it almost warmer. The metal was so quick to chill. She remembered when the overseer had broken her leg, she had thought she would die from the cold before the bleeding. Of course, it was only a few minutes before Vidala helped her up. By Athulua, how many times had Vidala saved her?

Vidala . . .

She would never save her again.

M'avina found a tear rolling down her cheek, and was about to roughly wipe it away before the wind blew it from her face. She looked up, as if to look for it, and she saw a man standing in the middle of the street, surveying the town. He remained eerily still. He didn't even put his head down in the screaming winds, though his long hair was whipped about wildly.

"Dimoak?" M'avina called, her voice muffled by the wind.

The Druid turned to look at her, his short beard speckled by snowflakes. "M'avina," he nodded. His voice didn't seem distorted by the wind. M'avina shivered, and walked up to him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm leaving," he replied promptly. "There is nothing left for me to do on Arreat." He sighed, and M'avina noticed strangely that his breath was not turned white by the frigid air. "The Uileloscadh Mór has ended, and now it is time for the land to heal. I must return to Túr Dúlra and report to my superiors what has passed here, though it's likely they know already."

"You don't want to wait and say goodbye?" it sounded like a childish question as she asked it.

Dimoak shook his head. "No," he said softly. "I was never one of these people."

"You fought alongside all of us," M'avina got to a different angle so that the snow wasn't blowing into her eyes. "That makes you greater than family."

Dimoak looked down at her and smiled. "That is very kind, Amazon, but I know my place. I am in my element amongst the beasts of the wild, not here, in the world of Men. These Barbarians offer me hospitality because they feel they owe it to me."

"They do," M'avina noted.

"That may be so, but I do not wish to thrive on others' debts to me. They distrust me. I do not blame them. Jalal was wary to come here. If it were less desperate times, his cautiousness might have been warranted, but the people of Harrogath had a greater enemy to concern themselves with."

"What you did here may heal the wounds that separate your two cultures, Dimoak. There is always time for change."

Dimoak pondered on that a count, but then shook his head. "No. Men are a warlike people. If we don't have the demons to battle, we will turn on each other. It's only a matter of time." He sighed hopelessly. "Everyone needs someone to hate."

"They don't hate you," M'avina protested quietly.

Dimoak smiled again, and then turned to look at the gates. "I will spare the awkward goodbyes, and leave on my own terms. I must bask in the shade of the Glór-an-Fháidha once more. I have been too long from beneath its branches."

Dimoak strode towards the gates of Harrogath, now opened. It occurred to M'avina that perhaps the Barbarians left them open at night, now, to revel in the fact that Baal wasn't an issue any longer.

M'avina followed for a few paces before stopping, and Dimoak picked up the pace as he rushed into the blizzard. She kept expecting him to turn around and bid her a final farewell, but he never did. He just dove into the wild, heedless of the furious winds.

Soon, he was nothing but a silhouette retreating deeper into the snow swept mountain. But his shadow became distorted as it moved, and hunched over into a lupine gait. M'avina watched the grey shadow move further into the landscape, until finally, she lost sight of him completely.

M'avina shivered, realizing just how cold she really was, and went back into Anya's home. She looked one more time out the open gate, and saw nothing but a screen of snow beating past her.

The Barbarian on the doorstep had gone inside, and the dog was burying itself in the snowbank. M'avina looked at the moon to see what time it was, but it was obscured. Besides, she couldn't really tell on this part of the world. She was usually off by an hour or so, either way. But no matter the placement of the moon, she knew it was late, and that she would need her rest. So she put her head down, and struggled against the wind until she was safely inside of Anya's home again.

[Nephilim]

It had been a remarkably long time before Dimoak was noticed missing, all things considered. The storm had died overnight, and it was the next evening, over a dinner of rabbit stew in the modest banquet hall, when Drus asked where he was as he went to make a vegetarian plate for him.

Kinemil had glanced around the table. "Dimoak?" he asked, worried. He stood.

"He left," M'avina answered quickly. She had considered waiting to see everyone's reaction, but in light of all that had happened around them, she knew it would be far too cruel. "Last night, he left."

"In the storm?" Drus asked worriedly, as he poured another bowl of stew.

M'avina shrugged.

"You let him go, alone?" Arcanna demanded harshly. "He'll kill himself!"

"He's a Druid," the usually quiet Ume noted plainly, "He's more at home in the wild than with the rest of us. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"But the demons . . ." Kinemil started.

"Are nearly eradicated in this part of the mountains," Ume reasoned with a shrug. "Dimoak knows his own abilities and is rational enough to steer clear of any danger he can't handle."

The Barbarians, M'avina knew, were not rational about their abilities. They jumped into impossible battles when they were sure they were to lose. M'avina had to admit that the Amazons could be like that, too. No warrior liked to be called a coward.

"He's right," Caden, the shortest Barbarian at the table, broke the silence as he swallowed a mouthful of stew. "The demons nearly have been driven from Mount Arreat. We can turn our attention back to other matters."

Drus sighed, sitting down with his own bowl. He was still having trouble adjusting to only one hand. "It seems like forever since before Baal came here. I feel like we've been fighting him for eternity."

Scyld, Drus' older sister, nodded in agreement. "What's left to do?"

Caden looked at her, almost exasperated. "Nulholla Peak?"

Everyone who wasn't a Barbarian glanced at each other, looking for an adequate explanation from a fellow outsider.

Scyld's eyes widened, and she looked away, "By the Immortal King . . . I'd forgotten completely."

What's Nulholla Peak? M'avina thought.

"What's Nulholla Peak?" Kinemil asked.

Scyld didn't speak for a moment. Her face was turning red. M'avina sensed that she was ashamed she had forgotten.

"It's one of the mountains of the Kae Huron. The tallest, next to Arreat and Cobralor," Scyld explained.

Arcanna's eyes shot back and forth between Scyld and Drus. "What's to do on Nulholla Peak?"

Drus looked around to make sure everyone was served, and then awkwardly sat down on the bench beside Caden. "Nulholla Peak is a treacherous mountain. None of our people have ever attempted to scale it. But it's the seat of something Bul-Kathos left for us."

"According to legend," Caden muttered.

Scyld looked at him darkly. "There's a passage in the prophecy of the Final Day which reads, 'But lo, there is but one place where even the Ancients may not tread. So great is its power and so mighty its secret. And this place is the Eye of the King - Nulholla Peak - where there lies a thing which shall test the children of the Eternal King. And if they prove worthy, Truth shall rain upon them, and they shall whoop in joy and song. And in the darkest hour, Truth shall be the only light within the lands of my people.'"

M'avina glanced back at her stew and saw a hair in it. More likely a piece of rabbit fur. She made sure that no one was looking before she daintily plucked it out.

"When Caldra first began to get her visions, Ord Rekar sent a group of warriors to Nulholla. He told them to tread until they could tread no more. They would either walk the summit of Nulholla Peak or walk amongst the Ancients," Caden explained, rather acidly. M'avina judged by his tone that he was not as faithful to these prophecies as his brethren. She was not unaware of such casual heretics in Skovos. She couldn't understand that. Hafaertus and Athulua were just a way of life. With them, the world made some semblance of sense. She could never understand going through life without them and her other gods.

"That was almost a month ago. Nulholla Peak is a week's march from here," Scyld continued. "We expected them back by now. Though scaling the mountain would be no easy task. Qual-Kehk was beginning to think about sending someone after them when we saw the smoke from Sescheron." She shuddered at the memory. M'avina could imagine how disconcerting that sight would have been to her, especially after the rumours of Caldra's mad prophecies of doom.

"Why would . . ." Kinemil coughed awkwardly. "What makes you think it's possible to scale the mountain at all?"

"It's in the Prophecies of the Final Day," Drus explained. "Nulholla Peak will grant our people salvation. Qual-Kehk believed that there was some sort of weapon left for us by Bul-Kathos."

"'Truth' doesn't strike me as the name of a weapon," said Arcanna, sipping some water from a wooden mug.

"The prophecy has many interpretations," Drus replied simply.

"We should send out a rescue party," Caden said firmly. "As soon as possible."

"You don't expect to find them alive, do you?" M'avina tried to catch herself even as she blurted it out. But before she could stop herself, she had already spoken. She looked around the table. Kinemil looked at her, exasperated. Arcanna lowered her gaze, and M'avina felt her cheeks grow hot. "I didn't mean that . . ."

"I don't know what to expect," Caden replied harshly, "but even if they didn't make it, freezing in the cold is no way to leave them for eternity."

The Barbarians at the table began to converse with themselves, almost excitedly, about Nulholla Peak, and the foreigners exchanged furtive glances.

What if they don't make it this time, either? M'avina thought.

"I hate to sound so negative," said Jabari with his distinctly Kehjistani accent, "but if they didn't return, what makes you think you will?"

M'avina was quietly disappointed that it had occurred to someone else, as well.

Aside from Ume, whose face remained creepily neutral, all the foreigners looked to Scyld and Caden. They had obviously been thinking the same thing. The other Barbarians stopped talking, too.

Scyld nodded. "For one thing, we will be allowed to take our time. It's likely that Theodoric - the warrior who led the band - was rushing because he feared for Harrogath. With Baal destroyed, the Highlands are safe, and time need not be a priority."

"And . . ." Drus said slowly and carefully. "We may have some assistance."

There was a silence on the table.

Who do they have to help them? M'avina thought. And then realization dawned on her. They were asking them for help. She felt a little embarrassed. It seemed that this occurred to all her fellows quite a bit quicker. Vidala would have picked it up immediately.

"We've been fighting for months, Drus," said Arcanna quietly. "I can't expect everyone to join you."

I can't. M'avina sighed. Arcanna had decided to go with them.

"I'll go," she found herself saying. What choice did she have? Trek alone across the Western Kingdoms? And then, what life was there for her on Skovos? Without Vidala, she had no mentor, and her training was nowhere near finished. She remembered how, during the battle with Diablo, Vidala had prayed to Athulua and summoned a Valkyrie - the famed spearmaiden Celestia. M'avina was nowhere near that kind of power.

But it was no matter. Her heart had already decided, and her head was merely catching up. She would stay in these wintry mountains because she had nowhere else to go. It made her profoundly sad. But she wouldn't cry in front of these people.

She looked up, and found everyone staring at her. She looked down again.

"We haven't even arranged anything," Scyld said quietly. "We may not even go. It depends on what Qual-Kehk and Anya say."

Ume chuckled. M'avina saw his age when he smiled. "Of course Qual-Kehk will approve and Anya will be anxious to save whoever she can." He took a swig of whatever he was drinking, and set down the goblet delicately. "A party shall go to Nulholla Peak. Be certain of that."

M'avina bit a piece of stale bread, looking at Ume with a neutral expression.

No one spoke for the rest of the dinner.

[Nephilim]

Kinemil was eternally shaken by the inspired clarity with which Ume saw the rest of the world. Enough to guess how people would act, and what they would do next.

For Qual-Kehk did concede, and Anya was enthusiastic to recover whatever lives she could.

Kinemil was a Paladin of the Zakarum. He had been trained not just to be a soldier, but a leader - to inspire the unenlightened rabble to do great deeds of valour in the name of the Que'Hegan and the Light. The fact that his institution had been turned into a lie by Mephisto rendered these truths no differently. Kinemil was a good, natural leader.

He would have done the same thing as Qual-Kehk. The initial euphoria of Baal's defeat had worn thin with surprising speed. Things were still better than they were, but the Barbarians were beginning to fully realize what all this meant - what Kinemil had seen in Kurast: their land had been slapped across the face, and the scar would not fade with time. But these people weren't as stoic as his, and it would distress them more than it would his. This new expedition to Nulholla Peak would give them that hope again. For a time. But living from moment to moment was all they could do. It was a wise decision on Qual-Kehk's part.

Kinemil sometimes felt that Anya was too young for her position, and that Qual-Kehk would make a far more suitable leader. But in this foreign land, it was not his place to say such things aloud.

Kinemil drew in a sharp, cold breath of the mountain air. He was astonished at how warm the Barbarians managed to keep their houses. He had expected to spend his time in Harrogath shivering in the cold, but these houses were as warm as his cabin in Kurast.

He slowly strode around the veranda and gazed at the city gates. A smile brightened his features.

The Barbarian villagers had gathered around the gate, and there was a low murmur of general babble about them. They were watching the Barbarians pack up their things. They could only spare one horse, and Kaelim was loading it with everything it could carry.

Kaelim - an excellent choice. Possibly one of the largest men (without the aid of enchantments) Kinemil had ever seen. And his fighting abilities backed up his appearance. Kaelim had been with the expedition since the Rogue Monastery, and despite the heroic stories Vidala and Isenhart told him, he saw firsthand the savage grace with which Kaelim wielded his mighty axe. The Zakarumites had learned to give him a wide berth. Only his near-fatal wounds from the battle with Diablo had kept him from journeying up that mountain with Isenhart and the others. But now he was fully recovered, and his confidence was bolstered by the new scars he could display. Perhaps it was his mere physical presence, but Kaelim also commanded respect from his fellows, and he knew the ways of battle as well as any good general. Qual-Kehk was wise to put Kaelim at the head of this group.

Caden and Scyld came out of Malah's infirmary carrying bundles of healing provisions, and they had to push their way through the crowd to get to the horse.

Beside Kaelim, Caden seemed like a child. He was short, for a Barbarian, but also had little meat on his bone. Kinemil had never seen him fight, but he thought that perhaps Caden's zeal would not be enough to protect him on the perilous journey ahead. The same went for Scyld, who had joined to offer her services as an alchemist. Kinemil didn't like talking to women who were taller than him, but he had come to respect the Barbarian woman. Nevertheless, an alchemist's place was in a laboratory, not the battlefield, the Paladin sternly believed.

Kinemil walked off of the veranda and stepped briskly towards the gathered peoples. Out of Anya's house plodded M'avina and Arcanna, weighed down by heavy backpacks and thick furs. Arcanna's eldritch staff was clasped firmly in both hands, and M'avina had her bow draped across her shoulder. They were both seasoned fighters, and Kinemil was glad they were there to help. But since her injury, M'avina had seemed strangely distant, and her quick offer to help had seemed almost reflexive. Something deeply troubled her, he could tell.

And then there was Ume. The Necromancer had saved Milabrega once, and for that, Kinemil was grateful, but still, the strange sorcerer sent a chill up his spine whenever he passed. Kinemil was uneasy whenever the dead walked amongst the living - no matter whose side they were on. He had never trusted him. None of the Paladins had, save for Isenhart. Milabrega was convinced, even after Ume saved her from the rabid clutches of a swarm of vile, hellish, flesh worms, that he and his kindred were connected to this evil. Even after Ume's companion, Sazabi, fell in the battle with Lord DeSeis, they were adamant of their claims. But Isenhart's word weighed more than their own.

"You suspect he is a wolf in sheep's clothing," Isenhart had said, backed by a black, lightless void which served as some mock sky in Hell, "but he has done nothing to vex the Light, and until he does, I will treat him as an ally, and a friend."

But those words seemed so far away, now. Isenhart was a true servant of the Zakarum, and Kinemil would have died to save him, but still, Isenhart was no longer there, and Kinemil, skilled though he was, was still not a commander of armies. Isenhart was. Had been. Should he be considered dead?

"Is that all you bring with you, holy knight?" Jabari was likely the only man for miles who spoke with such a thick, Kehjistani accent. "You might grow cold in that armour."

Kinemil turned and smiled. Jabari was likely wearing his breastplate, but it could not be seen under the layers of thick furs. Even the scabbard of his sword was covered in furs tied with rawhide. The buckler was tied to his back. Despite the fact that Jabari was not of the Faith, Kinemil still found that he liked the sorcerer. His actions flouted many decrees of the Zakarum, but his heart was in the right place. Perhaps Yaerius would look kindly upon him and grant him some leniency when the time of judgment came.

"No," Kinemil chuckled. "I have more in the house. But I see you're prepared."

"We should not expect to find any hospitable area for many weeks. Nowhere near as welcome as Harrogath," Jabari answered. "I didn't battle two Prime Evils to freeze to death in this mountains." With that, Jabari trudged past him, and from behind he could almost be mistaken for another Barbarian, he was so padded and laden with furs.

And this expedition would not be short of Barbarians. Out of all the foreigners, only one, Haseen, had declined an invitation. Kira was still unwell and Arcanna was wisely forbidding her to come along, but Haseen had done so of his own accord. He had said that he needed to report back to Greiz, and that the people of Lut Gholein would need to hear what he had seen. But there were at least a dozen Barbarians coming with them. Of them, only three, Hoku, Bohdan and Alaric, had traveled with Kaelim across Sanctuary. The rest were warriors who had endured through the siege. Kinemil didn't know the name of half of them. They had begun to coordinate around the packhorse, and the din from the crowd was getting more intense with every minute.

"Looks familiar, Paladin, does it not?"

Kinemil shivered, perhaps from the cold.

Or perhaps it was the aged, low voice of the Necromancer, Ume.

"I can't speak for you, of course," said Ume in his matter-of-fact manner, "but I find that it reminds me of the way the villagers of Kurast saw the Hand of Zakarum off on their way for another glorious conquest in the name of the light." He chuckled. Kinemil grimaced. "You're probably too young to remember - before the church became so corrupted, they were all throughout the jungles, and this was the kind of reception they received wherever they stepped." He sighed. "A shame how quickly petty men can undo a century's reputation. Now the Paladins are feared."

I am well aware of the state of my people, Kinemil's inner monologue spat at the Necromancer. Who was he to rub the young soldier's face in the fact? It was hardly as if the Necromancers had a vaunted reputation. Especially in these dark times, when family members forsook their funereal traditions and burned or mutilated their loved ones' bodies to keep them from rising again. Kinemil didn't know much about the ways of Rathma, and had no compunction to learn, but in his opinion, mimicking the power of evil, for whatever purpose, was still evil.

"Yes," Kinemil answered shortly, and remained still.

"Men like Isenhart . . . men like you shall undo the damage that Hatred inflicted upon you," said Ume, assuredly.

Kinemil persisted to be silent.

Ume sighed, and walked past him. "I know that, young Paladin. Do not lose hope for your people just yet."

The moment Ume had turned away, Kinemil turned and went back into Nihlithak's home. He had already gathered his things together, and had merely to take them with him. He wrapped himself in a fur cloak, and then hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders.

His sword, too, he picked up and strapped to his belt. It was a standard issue claymore. There were no enchantments upon it, and no glorious tales of conquest behind it. It was a mere sword, the same which had been given to every Paladin to leave training. Isenhart has his own suit of armour, specially crafted and enchanted for him. Milabrega, too. They both had high enough stations to merit such an undertaking. Isenhart had told Kinemil after Milabrega had died that if he were to ever fall in battle, he would bequeath his broadsword, the Lightbrand, to him. Kinemil had never felt so honoured in all his life. Even when Khalim himself ordained him, it had not seemed so profound. Isenhart, a respected general and leader in the Hand of Zakarum, respected Kinemil enough to give him his sword to continue his legacy.

But had Isenhart fallen? Either way, Kinemil would never have the Isenhart's Lightbrand. He felt some slight disappointment at that, and only hoped that Isenhart was still alive, enjoying the paradise Tyrael had apparently promised him.

Ah yes, the story of Tyrael and the magical portal.

Kinemil had doubted it the moment he heard it. He thought perhaps it was a morale tactic, to give people hope that their companions were still alive, somewhere. Perhaps Qual-Kehk was the only survivor. But one man could certainly not tame the Lord of Destruction alone. The fight with Diablo had been horrific enough.

With Milabrega distracting him from the front, Isenhart had climbed up the demon's back, and plunged his Lightbrand through his dark heart. Diablo had reared back in pain and let out a great cry. Milabrega had leapt forward and bashed Diablo with her scepter between the eyes. He had roared, and in one sweep of his mighty claws, took off her head.

Isenhart had cried out in fury, removed the sword, and impaled Diablo again through the other side of his back. He had reared back so violently that Isenhart flew from his back.

Then, Vidala and Haseen, their spears forward, had rushed forward and impaled the great demon. Kinemil had seen then that he was beginning to lose strength. Quickly, he had put his broken arm behind his back and hoisted the claymore with great effort and managed a hack Diablo's leg before the demon batted him to the ground.

"Move aside!" had come the heavy voice of Kaelim, charging through with the Blacktongue in one hand and a mighty war axe in the other. Haseen and Vidala had let go of their spears and back-stepped as Kaelim swung. Meanwhile, Kinemil had heard a strange, archaic language coming from Ume, who was on the ground, clutching an open wound on his abdomen.

The blade of Blacktongue had shattered against Diablo's thick hide, but the axe had struck true at the demon's chest, as a ghostly, skeletal apparition flew from Ume's fingers and began to strangle Diablo from behind.

Kinemil had pulled himself to his feet as the crimson Soulstone in Diablo's brow began to glow. The warriors backed away a step, not knowing if this was the end, or just the beginning of a second fight. Diablo had reared back, let out a mournful death knell, and then began to shrivel and tear as his body plummeted to the ground. When it collided with the strange stone floor, there was an explosion, and a burst of energy which had blasted all the surrounding warriors into the air to land in clanking heaps away from the demon.

When they arose, they saw nothing but a skeleton covered in ash and dust. Kinemil stayed on his hands and knees, and had crept so slowly towards the burning, crimson shard. He had reached out, and touched it.

Apparently, the battle had been similarly desperate with Andariel beneath the Rogue Monastery, and Duriel, in Tal Rasha's tomb. And Kinemil had been there for the equally brutal battle with Mephisto. Qual-Kehk could not have possibly taken on Baal alone, even if the demon was injured. No.

But still, Kinemil was having doubts about this mystical portal. Isenhart never would have gone. They had a society and a religion to rebuild. Isenhart couldn't expect Kinemil to shoulder all that alone. He wasn't even part of Isenhart's contingent.

Nevertheless, he would never suspect Qual-Kehk of any sort of foul play. He had too much respect for him, as a warrior, and as a leader.

Once more, Kinemil stepped out into the cold air. It looked as though he was the last to arrive, but it didn't seem like they were waiting for him. They were still bidding goodbye to family and friends. Arcanna was arguing with Kira, who was still insisting on coming even at this eleventh hour where she was likely certain there was no chance. Kinemil strode forward to join the party. The packhorse was already overburdened, so he kept everything on his own back.

He turned to lay his eyes on Deckard Cain, the respected, venerated, final remnant of a failed order. But the plight of the Horadrim was legend, and despite their failures, Cain, and his predecessors, deserved a high degree of respect and honour. Those were the only things which truly mattered, after all.

Kinemil smiled as he strode towards him. In the smooth, shining armour and with his mighty claymore at his right hand, the weakness of his religion was forgotten.

"You walk with great purpose, Master Paladin," Cain leaned heavily on his gnarled staff.

"I am the Hand of Zakarum, Deckard Cain," Kinemil replied gently, "my purpose is absolute, and eternal."

Cain chuckled. "You should feel very lucky, young Kinemil," he said, and his face grew stern. "For while you may already possess such purpose, it is the search for it which drives many on this expedition."

"I will aid them however I can," Kinemil replied confidently.

Cain, however, did not seem quite so convinced. "The mountains of the Kae Huron . . ." he stopped. "The wind here is the stuff of legend, Kinemil. Demons and foul beasts are not all the perils you shall face."

"I have climbed the face of Mount Arreat, Cain," Kinemil reminded, "I doubt that . . ."

"Do not ask me how or why, for I have spent my life with my nose in books and scrolls, and have yet to study the skies of the north, but Arreat, and Harrogath, are both pinnacles of calm within a sea of madness."

Kinemil's grin faded. "You speak not of just the weather, old man . . . do you."

"There is talk, my boy, of whispers amongst these mountains. Voices carried on the wind from ages forgotten. Be very sure you know what you hear and who you hear it from."

Kinemil smiled again. "These are tales, Cain, nothing more."

"Aye? As I recall, such was the Zakarum's attitude towards the Infernal Gate and the Gidbinn. And yet, my good Paladin, here we stand."

The young Paladin looked for any sign of jest in the aged face of Deckard Cain, and found none.

"I shall heed your warnings, Deckard Cain," he said with a nod.

"Be sure you do."

Kinemil put a hand lightly on Cain's shoulder and was about to speak.

"Kinemil."

They both turned.

Kinemil was certain that at one time, M'avina was a beautiful woman. The same had applied to Vidala. But now, with her face marred by dirt and scars, and her blonde hair chaotically thrashing about in the wind, she offered no attraction to him. The Priestesses of the Zakarum had always taken pride in their appearance, and worked to maintain it, but such values were lost upon M'avina, and though such a statement could apply to most Amazons - at least, the ones he had met - it was especially poignant in her. He felt sorry that her society had forced the burden of warrior upon someone who was once a beautiful girl.

"We're going to leave, soon. You are coming, right?"

Kinemil glanced at Cain.

"Good luck," the sage told him with a nod, and then turned to M'avina. "You too."

"Thank you," she returned the nod, and then looked back at Kinemil. Cain turned and trudged through the snow to where Malah and Qual-Kehk were standing.

"Yes," said Kinemil, "I'm coming."

M'avina nodded and made her way back to the caravan.

Qual-Kehk was standing on the steps of his home as they all gathered at the gate. "My friends, old and new, I am going to Sescheron at dawn, and so I will not see your glorious return. But I bid you good luck and fair tidings. When I tell King Halaberd what you are to do this day, he will very probably find hope in all the blood and malice we have endured."

If the Barbarian King still lives, Kinemil echoed the thoughts of the others around him. The reign of the king of the Barbarians was not as powerful as one might think. Because most of the tribes themselves were nomadic, Halaberd did little but settle disputes and ensure that the land was well protected. He had little sway over precisely what they did. War had never been declared by the Barbarian people; they had never left the Highlands. It was only invaders who needed to worry.

Sescheron, and Harrogath, to an extent, were rare only in that they were permanent Barbarian settlements. There were others throughout the Highlands, but they were few and far between. Until the existence of the Worldstone had been revealed to him, Kinemil had once wondered why such a vast, powerful army of warriors had stayed on the defensive for lo, these many years. But now, he saw that they had had something which was worth defending.

Qual-Kehk, meanwhile, had continued speaking. ". . . and whatever fate holds for our people, this will likely go down in the annals of our history. Many songs shall be sung for you."

Between Isenhart and the other warriors who had fought Baal, the defiled church of Zakarum, and the brutally decimated Rogues, there were far too many songs to sing.

Qual-Kehk said something that Kinemil couldn't hear, and the bystanders let out a whoop of joy and began to applaud. Even Drus was beaming as he slapped his thigh with his one remaining hand.

The gate opened, and Kaelim led the way, with the packhorse right behind him. And then the rest of the procession covered their heads to the wind and followed the pair.

Kinemil was at the end of the line, directly behind M'avina, who threw a cloak over her head and didn't look back once. But the paladin looked to Cain, who was the only one in the crowd not crying out in celebration. The last of the Horadrim nodded gravely to the young warrior, and he replied with a salute. Then he turned, and followed M'avina and the Barbarians into the stinging winds of the Kae Huron.

[Nephilim]

Barbarian dead were placed face-up.

This was one thing M'avina had learned in her long journey up Arreat, especially after Baal's defeat. They believed that only with their faces skyward could the spirits of the dead properly escape into the warrior heaven lorded over by Bul-Kathos - the Nephalem.

Demon lore must have covered this as well, because in an effort to humiliate and mock the Barbarian people further, the demons would usually turn the bodies of the Barbarians to face the ground. So, since they had no time or trouble to bring every single body back to Harrogath, the search parties who had scaled the mountain had placed the bodies of their brethren face up, with their eyes open. They had all been taken down from whatever cruel tools of torture they had been placed upon, and laid on the ground, face up.

When Scyld had told M'avina this back in Harrogath, it had seemed to her to be a righteous, hopeful thing to be doing, and she was happy.

However, the route they were taking went up Arreat for some time, and then took a pass through the cliffs to enter the rest of the range. So now, in the foothills of Arreat, M'avina found herself stepping lightly to avoid the body of hundreds of Barbarians in varying state of decay, their lifeless eyes staring up at her. And the stench made the embalming process of the people of Aranoch seem much, much less strange.

Amidst the scattered bodies of the Barbarians were half-burned piles of demon carcasses. All the different species of foul beasts had been collected and thrown onto huge piles and burned as best they could. But, perhaps from the winds or the snow, the fires never caught the bodies properly, and as a result, half-consumed death maulers and melted overseers were piled grossly on top of one another.

The battlefield was a wreck. Never before had M'avina seen such carnage. Even as she had gone through the barracks of slaughtered Rogues or the rotting city of Kurast, she had been occupied with keeping alive. Now, with no threat, M'avina could truly comprehend what this had gone. She felt so guilty for being jealous of Vidala. She knew she should be happy to be alive, to have survived this horrible plight. She simply wasn't.

The winds had died down and the snow had stopped, but Caden assured them that it was only temporary. But when the wind died, the rats came. M'avina's eyes fell on the decapitated head of a minotaur, and the rat that was picking at its tongue. She turned her gaze skyward and tried to think of other things. But even the demons seemed pitiful. The overseers' vile eyes looked sad and forlorn, peering up from a mess of a corpse that looked like it had drowned in its own girth. And the screaming faces of succubi, half seared off in the funereal fires, seemed more human than M'avina cared to admit.

"We should rest soon," Scyld quietly suggested to Kaelim. They were on the other side of the packhorse, now, and M'avina was quite certain that they thought she couldn't hear them.

"Not here," Kaelim insisted, equally quiet. "Not in all this."

Scyld nodded in agreement and said nothing more.

The caravan had seemed to grow very quiet as they entered the battlefield.

Ume was walking with his eyes closed, M'avina saw, but he never missed a step. With so much death, here, she reasoned he would feel right at home. She felt guilty for thinking that. Ume didn't revel in death, she realized now. He simply understood it better than she. She had come to know this as he saved her and Vidala, and all their friends, over and over again, sometimes at his own risk. She knew that many of the others mistrusted him, but she didn't want to give into that mentality.

He opened his eyes, and looked at her, and M'avina was quick to look away.

"The only solace I take in this," said Caden slowly, "was that we did not have to murder our own." He turned to look at M'avina. "I can't imagine what it was like for the Rogues to face their sisters in battle."

"It was terrible," M'avina replied quickly. She remembered the look on Shikha's face as she launched an arrow into the heart of a corrupted Rogue. She had seen her battle a herd of goatmen and not flinch for a moment, but there, she had been weeping openly. It had churned M'avina's stomach to watch her do it.

She sighed. "But they soon came to realize that it was not their sisters that they fought. Not anymore."

Kinemil made a bemused grunt.

M'avina didn't look, and continued. "But even knowing that, it was still terrible."

"A comforting illusion, but nothing more," Kinemil muttered.

"Excuse me?" M'avina raised her voice. "Those were proud, upright Sisters of the Sightless Eye. They were corrupted by Andariel - they had no control."

"No?" asked Kinemil acidly, "Then what of the Rogues who survived that atrocity? You think that the Maiden simply overlooked them?"

"You speak a great ill of the Dead, young Paladin," Ume warned.

"Unwarranted," Bohdan, a Barbarian at the back of the procession, assured them.

Kinemil ignored him. "Evil does not prey on the wicked, my friends. It has no need to." M'avina noticed that he glanced fleetingly at Ume, but neither she nor the Necromancer said anything of it. "It instead looks for the moments of weakness in good men and women. The Rogues committed crimes, and we cannot choose to forget them to console ourselves. Yes, the Demon Queen had a hand in it, but she was not alone. The Rogues who fell under her influence cannot be forgiven for their mayhem so easily."

"And what of the Paladins?" asked Jabari defensively. "The Zakarum who served Mephisto?"

"They are even more at fault," Kinemil insisted, "they had been trained to resist the taint of evil. Yet, they fell so far."

"Kinemil," Kaelim warned.

"But it was the compelling orb, Kinemil," said M'avina, "you smashed it yourself." As she said it, she realized she was mistaken. It had actually been Guillame. But Kinemil didn't correct her.

"Khalim managed to resist it," he pointed out, "the Zakarum we faced were weak hypocrites. They deserved what was given them."

"That's enough, Kinemil," Kaelim commanded forcefully. He didn't raise his voice, but there was still more authority in it than before. "We will not speak of this here."

M'avina turned away. Isenhart had never been so cold. But it seemed that Kinemil only learned the Paladin precepts of justice and vengeance, and not those of forgiveness and redemption. Perhaps that came with time or experience. But for all he had endured over the past months, Kinemil was still young. Maybe the corruption of his homeland had taken a more profound toll on him than she had originally surmised.

They didn't speak for some time, and M'avina found herself lost in the dead eyes of broken allies. When she looked up, it was even worse. She felt as though they still had their eyes on her.

Ume had closed his eyes again, and Kinemil had moved up to walk beside Kaelim, but the two didn't speak to each other. M'avina looked at Bohdan, who had his head down near the rear of the column. He had been one of Kaelim's partners in Khanduras, and M'avina had traveled with him across these many lands. It had never occurred to her until just now . . . Kinemil didn't know about Bohdan and Divo.

She wondered, for a moment, if she should tell him. She never did.

M'avina, unthinking, breathed through her nose for a moment. The heavy, overwhelming scent of death, rot, and failure filled her being, and she choked. She staggered, slipped on an organ of some sort, and fell backward into the mixture of bile, dirt, and blood which saturated the ground. She found herself staring into the face of a Barbarian. But he could barely be called that. He must have been fourteen years old. Maybe younger. What was left of his face had never sprouted a beard. His expression was neutral. He wasn't surprised, happy, sad . . . he just stared with broken eyes into the grey skies.

She wasn't sure how long she was lying there, taking in every detail of this carnage. He wasn't even proud. And his hands were not those of a warrior. Harrogath had used every able body it had to face the siege. And when she looked at his hands again, she couldn't tell what his true occupation had been. She only recognized a warrior's hands.

M'avina swallowed, and felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She looked up. Everyone was staring at her. She could have been on the ground for a few seconds, or hours. She had lost all perspective. Bohdan was standing over her, extending a hand. She took it and hoisted herself to her feet. He looked down at the child on the ground.

"Did you know him?" she whispered.

"I'm not from Harrogath," he said with a shrug.

M'avina resisted the urge to look down at the boy again. Wordlessly, the group began walking again. Arcanna had stopped trying to navigate the gore, and was letting her boots become stained by bile and blood. Every time she moved, M'avina could hear and feel the dirt gritting between the plates of her greaves.

It was a few minutes before she did turn back to look at the boy, but she couldn't find him. They had been walking on a gentle slope, and so when she gazed back, she could see with all the more clarity all the dead on the battlefield. The walls of Harrogath were barely visible, obscured by a wall of snowy haze.

"Gods," she mumbled, "I didn't think there were so many people in the world."

Caden heard her, and followed her gaze. He stopped, was about to speak, but was silent, and fell into step behind the packhorse.

M'avina stepped on broken ground. It felt familiar. She looked up, and around.

This was where they had killed Shenk. Her knees ached.

Ahead of them were stairs carved into the mountain path, and thick, rope rails on either side. The search parties had removed the totems the demons had placed there, topped with severed heads.

The expedition, however, turned to the left, and was taking an obscured path flanked by sheer, smooth rocks. It looked as though a slice of the mountain had simply been cut out.

"This is Snowgarde Pass," Caden, who had stayed close to her, whispered the explanation. "It takes us off of Arreat and into the rest of the Kae Huron."

M'avina nodded. She would be glad to get off of this mountain. It had too many memories on the wind, and too many faces.

Vidala had once said, "Gods bless the grandchildren I'll never have."

M'avina didn't know what that meant.

[Nephilim]

The cliffs melted away, the winds died, and the skies parted. Blue. Skies were blue here. He wasn't wearing his thick furs, and when he breathed, he could smell the wet, summer scent of marshes, not the smell of snow. There was a flower by the tent. It was black. He had never seen a flower like that before. He had fewer scars, of all kinds.

Bohdan had met Divo when she broke Kashya's orders and followed Vidala, Kaelim, M'avina, and Bohdan himself into the monastery graveyard. He had saved her from Blood Raven's flaming arrows. They had battled a host of undead Rogues as Vidala and Kaelim took care of Blood Raven. When the former Rogue fell with a piercing scream, lightning had shot out from her writhing body and danced across the gravestones. Bohdan had dropped his halberd and fell on top of Divo, as he felt the hairs on his neck stand up. The undead fell to pieces around them. But after the electricity had fallen out of the air, they stayed on the ground together.

"I am Bohdan," he said quietly.

Divo was weeping, but whispered her name. A drop of blood fell on Bohdan's broad back, and he shivered. They were huddled beneath the gallows tree in the centre of the graveyard. That was why she wept.

They didn't stand until Vidala called out for him.

Kashya's joy at Blood Raven's death distracted her from Divo's mild insurgence, and she was not punished.

After that, Divo barely left Bohdan's side. She told him all about the Sisterhood, and about when the Citadel was taken. The joy went out of her voice so quickly it made Bohdan feel sick. But he listened, because that was what she truly needed. She insisted on accompanying them on their journey to retake the Monastery, along with a good deal of other Rogues, too. But Bohdan suspected that it wasn't just her loyalty to the Sisterhood that drove her to do it, but a loyalty to him, too.

He wasn't sure when they fell in love, but they did. He remembered that she was just a good friend when they slew Treehead Woodfist together and took the Scroll of Inifuss off that haunted Tree, but they were in love by the time Deckard Cain set foot in the Rogue camp.

"I would forsake my vows for you," she said, once.

He didn't know what those vows were, but it made him feel so much more than what he was.

Then came the day he battled Coldcrow.

Her skin was white, and her lips were black. She rode a grey horse with red eyes and a black mane. Bohdan was never sure if that horse was alive or not. Over her chest was the dead body of a raven, and raven feathers had been stuck into her arms and legs. Her teeth had become sharp, long, and numerous, and wrapped around one arm was the strange, root-like growth, sprouting horns at the elbow and shoulder, which marked the Rogues who had fallen under Andariel's malicious spell.

Her name had once been Blaise.

She came upon them in the forests by the swamp. Basanti had thought that it would be wiser to avoid the camps of fallen ones, for their Shamans dwelt there, and they made battling the fallen much more complicated than it needed to be. But Coldcrow and her cadre of archers were there waiting for them.

There was a disturbing fervor with which the corrupted Rogues murdered their former kinswomen. Some were farther gone than others. Those ones had lost their hair, and their eyes were more devious and furious. Their features were stretches and distorted, and they were covered in the rust-coloured vines of corruption with demonic horns sprouting from various joints. Coldcrow still had her hair, but she commanded them with a grim satisfaction that terrified Bohdan to the core of his soul.

Basanti was in the middle of saying something when five arrows suddenly grew out of her back.

Bohdan, Divo, and the other Rogues with them stared in amazement as Basanti fell silently forward into the underbrush.

There was a horrific moment of silence.

The corrupted Rogues had somehow found a way to mask themselves from the discipline that was taught to the Sisterhood. The Sightless Eye could not aid them against their own.

The demonic warcries of the turned Sisters filled the forest. Their voices sounded like there was a second one overlaid on top of it.

One burst from her hiding, and smashed a Rogue in the side of the face with a hatchet. She fell with little ceremony. Bohdan swung his halberd and sliced off two thirds of her head as the Rogues shot a dozen arrows into her chest. Bohdan was amazed that he wasn't hit. The mist-light of her soul left her body, blinding him for a moment.

Then they were upon them in full. Five corrupted Rogues wielding swords, clubs, and axes, and probably six of seven rising from their hiding places in the forest and loosing arrows from their bows.

Bohdan killed two of the melee Rogues, and heard one behind him die. Divo shouted something to another Rogue, and the sound of their bowstrings thrumming filled his ears. He pulled a knife from his boot and threw it at an archer. She dodged, and he felt an arrow from another one pierce his thigh. But he had entered battle, and felt no pain. Ignoring the offending Rogue, he instead focused on the one he had already chosen, and leapt over a log to bring his polearm down with both hands upon her. She tried to dodge, and he missed her head, but clove her chest in two. The strange light climbed out of her body and evaporated into the air.

He turned, and it was then that Coldcrow climbed the hill into view, upon her unholy steed, with an arrow on her bowstring, and a look in her eyes that held only hatred and malice. The arrow was on fire with blue flame.

She fired and stuck one Rogue through the neck, and Bohdan realized that there were still a number of other corrupted Rogues still alive. Coldcrow had no reins on her horse, but it moved, it seemed, in the direction she wished it to go.

"The Sightless Eye has blinked," she said in her strange, double-voice. "It cannot save you now."

Bohdan was beginning to feel the pain in his leg as he trudged through the thick foliage to get to Divo. Another Rogue got an arrow in her chest, but fired off her last arrow as she fell, and struck the corrupted Sister who had killed her in the stomach. She was still alive, but doubled over. Divo finished her off.

Divo fired an arrow at Coldcrow, but the horse suddenly started and caught it at the base of the neck. It flinched, but Bohdan still couldn't be certain it was alive. It occurred to him, as he crashed through a pile of sticks into the clearing, that Andariel could corrupt animals just as she did the Rogues. But had had no time to think of it. Divo and three other Rogues, two of whom were wounded, readied their arrows at Coldcrow, who kept her distance.

She was not at all alarmed at the four arrows pointed at her face, and that alarmed Bohdan to no end. He felt the pain throbbing in his thigh, but ignored it and made as threatening a stance as he could, knowing all the while that range had him at a disadvantage, and if a warrior of Coldcrow's skill truly wished, he would be dead long before he had the chance to lay a blow. Bohdan didn't chance a look around, but knew that the corrupted Rogues had all been slain.

Bohdan heard the choking gasps the Rogues behind him made. Divo had tears in her eyes. He knew that she and Blaise had been friends.

"This is not Blaise," he whispered.

She may not have heard him.

Coldcrow sat there on her horse for several minutes, staring at them with that same malevolence and revulsion. Her hair, and the feathers she had pervaded herself with, ruffled in the wind.

"Your old life is gone," she said, and that hollow echo made Bohdan shiver in spite of himself. She didn't even announce it. She said it all with a casual clarity that only the mad and cruel could understand. "The Monastery has fallen. Your Sisters are slain. Hope has escaped from this land, never to return. Whatever dreams you have of gloriously returning to your Citadel are only that. Dreams. Memories. Anguish has taken this land, and that is all it feels now."

The Rogues stood still. Bohdan could hear the tautness in their strings, and in his own muscles. He felt blood and sweat drip down his leg. The arrow was still there. When he tensed his leg, his tendons caught fire, but he kept them tense nonetheless.

Coldcrow sighed listlessly, and spat on the ground, then growled, showing her sharpened teeth. "Very well. Cling to a sinking superstition and die along with it. The earth will swallow you up just like the birds and the rats.

The horse turned and walked away.

None of the Rogues fired.

Bohdan felt a tear slide down his cheek, and clenched his teeth.

Coldcrow descended the hill into the forest.

The Rogues lowered their bows almost simultaneously. Wendy looked at the two Rogues who had been injured. "We need to get them back to the camp," she said, and helped one to her feet.

Divo knelt down. "Hold still," she warned quietly, and gently pulled the arrow from Bohdan's leg. It hurt very much, but he knew it could have hurt more.

She cleaned the wound with spit and a rag she had tied around her arm. It was a rag all Rogues had tied around their arms. She had never explained that.

She stood, and Bohdan stuck the end of his halberd in the dirt and leaned on it. She lifted his hand, put the rag in it, and closed his hand around it, holding it tightly. She leaned into him and kissed his sweating chest.

"I love you."

Bohdan smiled gently. "Thank you," he said sincerely. I love you too, he thought.

He turned. Wendy and the others were a fair piece ahead of them. He sighed, looked at Divo, and began to follow them.

He took eleven steps before he realized that she wasn't by his side. He turned around.

Divo was standing on the crest of the hill, a fair distance away. Maybe it was only his dream, but he could see her eyes as clear as if she was in his arms. He had never seen despair until he looked into her eyes. He looked down, at the rag in his hand, still covered in his blood and her spit. He clenched it tightly in his fist.

Divo sighed heavily, and then slowly trudged down the hill.

He killed Coldcrow at the edge of the Monastery gate. M'avina knocked her off the horse and he sliced her in half with his halberd.

The world turned a lighter shade of hopeless, and the smell of loss filled his nostrils. The trees turned to mountains, the blue turned to grey, and the green turned to white. He tasted ice on the wind.

"Wake up, Bohdan," said Kaelim. "We're moving on."

Bohdan got to his feet immediately, and followed him through the remainder of the Pass.

He never saw Divo again.

[Nephilim]

M'avina remembered the strange, hellish portals that Baal had summoned up from the earth to bring in reinforcements from the Burning Hells. Many of the Barbarians had thrown themselves into those portals to deal with the beasts within, but most of the original expedition decided against it. Once in Hell was enough. Even thinking about it brought back visceral faces of balrogs and hag demons.

Jalal, Dimoak, and Aldur - the three Druids who had journeyed from Scosglen, had held a strange séance whenever they encountered those portals. They had said no words and made no gestures. They just stood at opposite points several feet from the edges that disappeared into fire and shadow.

Then, the ground had shaken, and the hellish construct had staggered down into the pit below it, breaking in pieces as it went. The ground closed up, and the quakes ceased, and the Druids moved on as if nothing had happened. They were so remarkably strange. They took no pride in the powers they possessed. It was never showy. But those powers were magnificent. They wore animal pelts over their heads that had been cleaned, but never tanned. She could tell by the way the fur felt to the touch. But they never turned and decayed.

"We ask them not to," Jalal once explained with a shrug.

M'avina regretted that she had never spoken to any of them at great length.

Snowgarde Pass was aptly named. The way the opposing cliffs were situated kept the path only lightly dusted with snow. In the crevices, there were even strange flowers and fungi growing. M'avina did her best to avoid the plants, even though she knew that the horse would trample them anyway.

The Pass was surprisingly long. They rested once in the middle, where Scyld assured them it was the warmest. And when they emerged on the other side, staring at them like a bleeding, fiery eye, was one of those blasted portals in the distance.

M'avina blinked. Then she closed her eyes tight, and opened them again, but it was still there.

Snowgarde Pass opened into a high plateau on another mountain, which extended in a ridge which dropped away to a thin valley in the north and ascended into a snow-capped mountain to the south. Ahead, the ridge rose and fell, making veritable dunes of snow in their path. Beyond those, fog-enshrouded mountains broke the horizon.

And on one of those dunes was a red portal tearing a hole in reality, between two obsidian pillars decorated with demonic runes and statues.

M'avina had found that she had already put arrow to bow. No one had spoken, but they all had their weapons at the ready. The wind blew gently, and wisps of snow sinuously slithered through the air.

There were no tracks, though. Aside from the portal which stuck out of the mountain like a splinter, the snow was completely undisturbed. M'avina kept her arm relaxed, and never pulled the string back, but her senses were straining. They had been ambushed before.

A sudden gust of wind buffeted her hair about, and the sound of it pounding her ears was all she heard for a moment. When it stopped, Kaelim lowered his weapons.

"Stand down."

M'avina looked at him, saw his shoulders relax, before she put the bow back in her quiver, just to be sure it wasn't a trick of the wind. But even with weapons down, they just stared across the ivory abyss between them and the portal.

Ume was the first to move, and stepped forward, but Kaelim gently blocked him with his axe. "No," he muttered. "There's . . . something."

M'avina felt it too. Nothing physical, but there was . . . something. She could find no words to describe it. But there was an unease upon the wind that seemed warranted. If she was wrong, it was better to be embarrassed than dead.

"Bohdan, Oslaf," Kaelim called, "you two take point. M'avina," - she turned to look at him - "you and Arcanna circle out on the right. Ume, Scyld, and Jabari take flanking positions on either side of us. The rest of you," he readied his sword and axe, "follow me."

M'avina didn't look back as she trudged through the snow as Kaelim had directed. She had to walk at a healthy pace to keep up with Bohdan and Oslaf, who were armed with a halberd and spear, respectively. The main group, with Scyld and Jabari on one flank and Ume on the other, moved several paces behind the point.

M'avina took the same arrow from her quiver and pulled it back on her bow, but kept the point low. She heard Arcanna behind her, but didn't look back. She wanted to glance at the scenery to her right, but the burning doorway hanging between the two pillars demanded her full attention.

Unlike Jabari, Ume, and other spellcasters M'avina had met, the Zann Esu never said a word. When she was in the infirmary, she had overheard Malah speaking to the young sorceress when she had been in visiting Kira during her coma.

"It isn't exactly a matter of reciting ancient spells or incantations," Arcanna explained in a casual, patient tone. "It's a sort of mental focus that allows us to channel the natural elemental energies through our own being, spiritually and physically. While the Vizjerei or the Ammuit bend reality to their will, we simply use reality to its full potential."

"You must have a very intimate understanding of the world around you," Malah noted with a smile. She had always been interested in magic, and while the Barbarian society allowed equal opportunities for both genders, she was still a feminist at heart, and delighted that the Zann Esu had thrived despite the machinations of the male-dominated East working against them.

But Arcanna shook her head. "Not so much an understanding as a relationship," she corrected. "Our discipline makes nature our friend and it's spirits our allies."

"Almost like the Druids?" Malah suggested.

"Similarities, but key differences in philosophy and execution," Arcanna replied. "The Druids use their magic in a much more physical sense. We regard nature as an elemental entity in and of itself."

"How do the Zann Esu regard other magical practices?" asked Malah.

Arcanna shrugged. "Flawed, but necessary. Existence is made up of flaws, and life is about correcting them."

M'avina felt heat off the staff Arcanna held. She had said once that staves, when properly sanctified, could become a focal point for the energies they wielded, because, especially when using more powerful spells, those magics became dangerous to contain within the human body. By diverting it into the staff, an adept Sorceress could summon more powerful energies to aid her.

Bohdan and Oslaf stopped, two steps from the portal.

Kaelim held up his fist, and his group stopped.

M'avina stopped.

The world stopped.

M'avina pulled the arrow back and took aim at the portal, and locked her arm, ready to loose her arrow at anything that emerged. The wind pounded in her ear again, but she continued to stare at that blasted portal before her. Bohdan had his halberd high over his head, ready for a downward strike to cleave his foe in two. Beside him, Oslaf had his spear forward and ready. Jabari's sword glowed with electricity, and a faint, shadowy fog was streaming from Ume's luminescent eyes, which were a brilliant shade of incandescent blue. Everyone had their weapons out and at the ready, waiting for something to happen.

But nothing persisted to happen.

In a second, M'avina imagined the countless variations on how the demons would ambush them the moment the let their caution down. The Reanimated Horde suddenly bursting from the perfect snowdrifts, or a herd of minotaurs suddenly bursting from the portal in a frenzy of blood and death. Succubi descending upon them like a hale of ravenous eagles. The fleshy tendrils of death maulers rising from the ground and entangling the hapless party.

M'avina's shoulder ached. She guessed that she had never had to hold a bowstring taut for so long. In the battles she had faced during her quest across Sanctuary, there had never been time to hold the arrow on the bow. Always, it had barely touched the string before she had loosed it. The fights were furious and chaotic.

She felt her tensed muscles shudder. A drop of sweat dripped into her eye and stung.

"Athulua," she whispered a prayer, "give me strength." Though it didn't ease the pain in her shoulder, she felt better nonetheless.

"Stand down," Kaelim commanded.

Relief flooded her system like a comforting warmth as she lowered the bow and relaxed her arm. Arcanna exhaled loudly as the magic within her dispersed, and the heat from the staff faded. She walked past M'avina towards the portal, and M'avina followed.

She could heard the hum of the astral energies as she neared. It was smaller than the ones they had encountered before, less grand.

"Why did Baal summon the portals on Arreat?" Ume asked, though it sounded like he knew the answer.

"To bring in reinforcements to block our pursuit," Arcanna answered.

"Then, why, pray," Ume came to his point, "would he summon one outside of Arreat."

After a moment of thought, Alaric answered. "Perhaps they wished to surprise attack Harrogath from another angle?" he suggested.

"The druidic ward that Aust and the others summoned completely protected Harrogath," Scyld shook her head. "They would have as much luck from behind as they would from the front. Besides," she gestured to the mountainous terrain to the south, "they would have to traverse the mountains first. We would likely notice the activity."

"Can we be certain it leads to Hell?" asked Caden.

"Yes," Arcanna, Ume, and Jabari answered in unison.

M'avina reached out and touched the pillar nearest her. She felt the heat coming through the portal. It was that same, malignant heat she had felt before. It was pervasive and starving. She drew her hand back suddenly from the pillar.

"Who says Baal summoned it at all?" she asked, not looking at anything but the swirling, chaotic energies within the doorway.

Some were perplexed by the question. "Who else could have?" asked Kinemil, a little annoyed.

"A lesser demon, perhaps," Ume nodded his approval. "It's not impossible."

Arcanna shook her head. "It took all the three Prime Evils to open the Infernal Gate properly. Baal had Tal Rasha's arcane knowledge, as well as his fully functional Soulstone. It takes a great deal of power to breach the dimensional barriers like this."

"At least . . ." Kaelim began.

M'avina nodded in horrified understanding. "It did before the Worldstone was shattered." It was a whisper but everyone heard it.

They exchanged glances. Qual-Kehk had told them what Tyrael had told him. No one, not even the Archangel himself, knew what the implications of the Worldstone's destruction would mean.

M'avina had been endlessly disappointed that she hadn't been with them when they had seen Tyrael in the Worldstone chamber. There was something about being in his presence that reassured her. It was as if confidence and hope were something tangible that she could wrap herself around in. There were times, when they traveled through Hell, that she felt almost in withdrawal from that feeling. She would zealously agree with anyone who suggested they go back to the Pandemonium Fortress. But then, that was no wonder, for Hell was like the reverse of that. There was a sorrow on the very air. It had the scent of infinite sadness. If they hadn't been distracted by fighting demons from the doorstep of the Fortress to the Chaos Sanctuary, M'avina was certain that the innate misery of the empty sky and unforgiving ground would drive them mad.

Even now, she felt that same despair creeping into her heart, as if reaching out from the portal - recognizing something familiar within her, for it had tasted her spirit once before. M'avina shuddered and took a step back.

"We need to see what's in there," said Kaelim. "Oslaf, Alaric, you two enter the portal first. M'avina, Jabari, you follow."

M'avina felt her stomach tighten. She looked for a moment at Kaelim, and he looked as if he was about to correct himself, but she quickly nodded and stepped towards the portal. "As you command."

He looked like he regretted asking her. She felt somehow better about herself because of that. He sighed, and took her position behind the Barbarians. Oslaf was from Harrogath, but Alaric had been part of Kaelim's traveling party. However, after the battle with Mephisto, he had stayed in the Pandemonium Fortress under the care of Jamella. Oslaf had taken part in the raids throughout the wild, but neither had ever been deeply within Hell. Jabari had traveled with them a fair distance, but it was different for the Vizjerei - for most spellcasters. Their disciplines seemed to protect them from the pervasive nature of the blasted realm, unless they were simply better at not showing it.

Oslaf showed no signs of fear, and went forward with his weapon before him. M'avina did not know whether or not he had yet braved the burning realm, for she knew little who would so zealously return to it.

Jabari took his place behind Alaric, while she moved in to position behind Oslaf. She heard him gulp. Perhaps the sorcerer was not as resistant to Hell as she once thought. Oslaf and Alaric rushed into the portal, and she couldn't help but hesitate before she made her move. She breathed the thin, cold air of the mountains, closed her eyes, and jumped into the portal.

Heat enveloped her like a blanket as she exhaled the cold air into the dreadfully hot Hellish environment. It was accentuated by all the furs she wore. And then, again, it came over her, the fear and sadness pulling at her soul. But she fortified her spirit, drew an arrow, stood upright, and opened her eyes.

The portal they had just entered from was beneath a massive gate which fell a dark corridor of stone walls carved in the likeness of screaming humans and laughing demons. But on the other side, it opened up into a massive arena, littered with the corpses, both fresh and centuries old, of demons. The living rock had seemed to grow up to form a coliseum around them, rows of ringed seats, and at the far end, was a raised veranda adorned with three thrones made of still-moving human bodies. Beyond the high seats and the throne balcony was nothing. Just the black sky of nothing.

The rank stench of decay, a thousand times worse than the battlefields in the Highlands, overwhelmed her. She covered her mouth with the hand that held the arrow. The other three had done the same.

Alaric looked around at the seats and the battlefield. "What happened here?" he asked them.

Jabari shook his head. "Whatever it was, it's over now. We can do nothing here."

"Then let's return," M'avina said hastily. She moved back towards the portal, and glanced back at them. She desperately needed out of this place.

The second they began to follow her lead she jumped through the portal.

Traversing such dimensional barriers seemed far too easy. There was no feeling to it. You were simply there one moment, and here the next. Aside from the bright flash of light in the transition, it was no different than walking through a door.

She had never thought the freezing cold would be so refreshing, but with her multiple layers, it had been like being trapped in a stone oven. She was almost panting when she emerged. Oslaf, Alaric, and Jabari were all quick to follow.

Kaelim looked at her. "What happened?"

M'avina really didn't feel like talking, and was relieved when Alaric spoke up. "Nothing. It was a ruined battlefield, of demon on demon."

Arcanna sighed. "No doubt remains of the civil war that has raged in Hell since the Dark Exile," she surmised.

Jabari shook his head, uncertain. "It was different. It seemed too recent almost."

"Was there any threat?" asked Kinemil.

"Not that we could see," Oslaf replied. "There was no living demon in sight."

M'avina took a few steps from the portal.

Kaelim walked towards the portal, and put his hand up to it, but not through it. He shivered and drew back. Everyone else instinctively did the same.

"Can any of you close it?" asked Kaelim, turning to the congregation but speaking to the spellcasters.

Arcanna shook her head. "I wouldn't know where to begin. Ex nihilo deals with elemental energies. I barely understand Horadric portals, let alone something of this magnitude," she pointed at the shimmering portal.

Jabari nodded, "Likewise. I can only cast which specific spells I know, and this is not among them."

"What about you, Priest of Rathma?" asked Kinemil, raising an eyebrow and stepping toward Ume. "Your magics deal with the powers of Hell."

"Kinemil!" Scyld snapped. "That's a terrible thing to say!"

Ume smiled knowingly, and put a hand gently on her shoulder. "A common misconception, my child," he turned his gaze to Kinemil. "I deal in traversing the dimensional barriers between life and death, young Paladin. That is quite different than those between this world, and theirs," he nodded at the gateway.

Caden stepped through the crowd of soldiers. "There's no threat from the other side. Could we simply leave it?"

"I would sincerely rather not," Kaelim shook his head.

"Nor I," M'avina chimed in. The thought of that portal's other end send harrowing chills up her spine.

"Without a Worldstone, I certainly don't appreciate the idea of one of these portals being left open anywhere, let alone a stone's throw from Harrogath," Oslaf said, nodding back in the direction of his home town.

"There's not a lot we can do," Scyld reasoned. "I'm not anymore comfortable with it than you are, Oslaf, but our only alternative is to leave someone here to guard this portal. And if it was a force too vast for Harrogath to handle, what forces we can spare certainly wouldn't be able to stay them."

"And we cannot diverge from our quest," Kaelim shook his head.

They all glanced around. M'avina's spirit sank. She knew that there was no way they could do anything but leave the portal here. But she was not at all pleased with possibility of having that portal behind them.

Alaric sighed. "Scyld is right. Harrogath is capable of handling an assault. Though many came with us or went with Qual-Kehk to Sescheron, they still have a great many stalwart warriors to use in case of any assault."

Kaelim nodded thoughtfully. "Then it's decided: we shall press on. Perhaps we'll deal with this portal when we return."

Without waiting for a response, Kaelim strode past the portal and continued along the ridge. The party soon took their positions behind him. M'avina felt another knot tie in her stomach as she realized she was the rearguard. She fell into step, nevertheless, beside Bohdan, and looked down to avoid the wind.

Her eyes strayed behind her once again to the portal, behind them. It looked like an angry, fiery eye, judging her, and peering into her mind. She hated Hell. She knew that feelings like hate only strengthened the powers of the place, but she couldn't help it. Hell had taken so much from her world. Everything about it was a violation.

She bumped into Bohdan.

"Careful," he warned mirthlessly, but distracted. She saw him look back at the portal, too.

They kept walking, and got away from it with surprising speed. It was only minutes later, when M'avina looked back, that the portal was only a glimmering scorch in reality far below them.

A strong wind deafened her for a moment.

Bohdan tapped her shoulder. "Come, another storm's picking up. We should cross this summit before it breaks." He pointed to the other side of the valley beside them, where there was a great, snowy haze engulfing the mountains opposite them. M'avina nodded, and quickened her pace.

It wasn't long after that she turned back, but they had crested the hill, and she could no longer see it. She didn't like leaving it behind her.

She remembered when they left behind a den of yeti they'd been hunting in the Tamoe Mountains a few years ago.

When M'avina had spoken to Vidala about his discomfort, Vidala had laughed. "M'avina, the present needs your attention. Not what lies behind you. Everything happens to a woman, or a man, now. Not in the past, or the future, but now."

"You turn everything into philosophy," M'avina had chuckled.

Vidala had grinned, but said nothing more.

M'avina would give her bow for some philosophical wisdom from Vidala, now.

But instead she simply ducked behind Bohdan and descended down the other side of the hill.

[Nephilim]

And the voice of Bul-Kathos did not sound for some time, and he left Man to ponder what he had spoken of creation. But it would not be silent forever.

For the Ancients came to me in a dream, and spoke of how the world would end - when fate ran dry and no more would destiny dictate the doom of this world. For chaos is the will of those who would undo all that the Great and Ancient King had worked to protect.

And I was shown the end of the world.

There will be fire and shadow, and from that unholy union will spring forth three powerful Lords upon three pillars of smoke. I have seen these Lords.

Upon the pillar of white smoke is an aged man, with a Light upon his brow and a lie upon his tongue. In one hand he holds the will of Men, and in the other, he holds an urn filled with the ashes of many dead. From the white smoke spills the wailing of dread spirits, and they profess great Hatred for all who lived.

Upon the pillar of black smoke is a great man of stature, clothed in ruined silks and torn shawls. He has two faces made as one. One visage is a demon, who laughs at the folly of Man, and the other is a man of much wisdom, who is weeping. Clasped in his hands, with many fingers, is a great maul, under which is the rubble of many cities. His smoke is as silent as yesterday's battlefields.

The third pillar of smoke is red like blood. And at the top of this pillar is a child, standing with a spear in his hand atop the broken bodies of an old man and a great warrior. The child laughs at me, for in his other hand is my nightmare. The smoke is a face who shrieks with great terror: "Woe, woe, those warriors who wander, for ye shall be struck down in this hour and made as ruin."

The smoke of these Lords shall flood the earth and flow through the mouths of Men. The smoke shall rise and blot out the sun.

But a great Warrior who is Not a Man, shall hoist a sword of white fire and rally many Men behind him. He shall strike at the World with his sword, and from that blow will issue three fragments. One filled with storms and voices. One filled with gold and the sounds of battle. And one made of flesh, filled with blood and many whispers.

The Three Brothers will be struck apart, and the skies will rage, as the Warrior who is Not a Man leads the mortal world against their rivals, who desire nothing but their demise. Many will die, and the sun shall fall, but the Three Brothers shall be buried at three of the four corners of the World. And the Fourth Corner shall not be touched, for there the World is contained. And four Guardians will be made.

Wizards will guard Destruction in the South, and ensure that Black Smoke does not choke Man's peace.

Scholars will guard Terror in the West, and ensure that Red Smoke does not blind Man's reason.

Faith will guard Hatred in the East, and ensure that White Smoke does not suffocate Man's love.

And the Ancients of Bul-Kathos will guard the World in the North, and none shall pass the might of those ones.

But lo, there is but one place where even the Ancients may not tread. So great is its power and so mighty its secret. And this place is the Eye of the King - Nulholla Peak - where there lies a thing which shall test the children of the Eternal King. And if they prove worthy, Truth shall rain upon them, and they shall whoop in joy and song. And in the darkest hour, Truth shall be the only light within the lands of my people.

"Aid us!" the Nephalem shall cry, and the sons of the Eternal King shall answer. "We shall!" And a warrior shall rise from their ranks and clasp the Sacred Charge, which shall forever be a sign of their Chief.

The Warrior who is Not a Man shall throw down his sword into a great abyss, and then leave this world for ten thousand days. And the world will be a Sanctuary where mortals shall sleep peaceably, despite the petty wars of Men. And the eyes of children shall open to a new age. The sun will rise, with a golden halo about it.

And I beheld a man beneath the earth, with a crook the colour of blood, leading children to their death. Kings of man shall falter, and the might of strong steel will fall as nought. Brother shall smite brother, and a great voice shall tremble through the veins of the world. Many will hear, and many will come. A jagged star shall fall out of the sky and pierce the black heart of a wicked king. Men shall run from their strongholds, deaf and blind, crying: "Who has done this thing?"

And they shall converge upon the fallen temple. I saw many Men rush towards a burning fire, whose light seared their flesh. This is how it is to be - many sons and daughters of flesh shall cross a great chasm, but fall on the last step and be lost forever. But one blow shall strike true, and blood will flow as a river as the fire dies.

Man shall whoop with joy. "Evil is no more!" they will say. "Man need not fear sin any longer!" they will say, too.

And here I beheld a monstrous whore with hair of blood and a chalice full of many foul things. She rides atop the back of her brother, a great beast with many teeth. They are the siblings of agony, and delight in the tortures of man. At her feet are many women, prostrated as before the Immortal King, whose eyes have been taken from them; they have no eyes. And they despaired and wept with rage. A circle of tortures surround the brother and sister, and beyond them stand the fire reborn. Anguish shall consume the blind, and the Hero of the North, who arises once more, shall fall.

And a child will cradle Terror in his breast as the heart of man falls under the shadow. A Wanderer will pass through the ancient lands, trailing chaos in his wake. The Three Brothers will be reunited as the mortal world trembles before their might. And so it was foretold that the Three, once reunited, would be shattered again - And the last of them would set his sights on the holy mount. The warnings held that their defeat would be illusory - that the final gambit had yet to be played.

The white fire will be renewed, and my people will suffer as never before. Ruin shall come to many kingdoms, and the shadow shall linger under many kind moons. The Sacred Charge shall fall from the hands of the Chief of my people, for lo, your king is dead. But do not despair, for a warrior of your own shall climb the great plains and take up the Ancestral Guardian. New strength shall flow through him, and all my people. He shall be your Chief, and the sons of the Great and Ancient King shall be reunited firstly since the dawn of time.

This is what I have seen, and it is what shall be.

[Nephilim]

Sleeping in the mountains was hard. No one had ever pretended that it wasn't the case. Even the Barbarians, who were used to it. It took a good deal of mental energy for M'avina to ignore the howling wind and invasive cold. And even then, she found herself waking up repeatedly in the night. Tonight, they had been lucky enough to find a snow-covered hillock. Sleeping in its shadow blocked out some of the wind. But on some nights, they had simply dug alcoves in the snow and hoped for the best.

Mornings had been horrible, but they had kept warm enough to avoid any illness that persisted for over a half hour after they woke up. And it was hard to tell whether or not she was tired, for the temperature kept her from being anything but wide awake whenever they got on the move. But little blessings, like this Athulua-sent hillock, she did not take for granted.

She rarely slept. The climate didn't allow it. So instead, she entered a half-sleep, relaxing her body and allowing it to rest, while remaining on the verge of conscious. They had had similar issues with the weather in Aranoch, but then, a gulp of the violet rejuvenation potions had been enough to replenish her energy as if she had been through a full night's sleep. But that wasn't a luxury they had here. What potions they had they were not sing frequently. The wounded still in Harrogath had been a priority. Malah had offered practically her whole stock, but Kaelim had insisted they take only what she could spare.

At least on Skovos, the rains kept it from getting unbearably hot. But Aranoch had been an all-day furnace. Even after sundown, the sand was burning.

She remembered getting up one morning. They had made camp in the desert, despite Vidala's protests. "Fine," Rehga had said acidly, "you can go back to Lut Gholein, if you so wish, but Fangskin's trail is cold enough as it is. If you want to set out from Lut Gholein tomorrow morning, you might as well give up. I intend not to."

Rehga was a nice enough woman, but she and Vidala had never gotten along. Rehga was the leader of the three Sorceresses they had met in Lut Gholein, and while being affable, there was a presence about her that brooked no disagreement. Kaelim and Isenhart had never raised a voice against hers, and M'avina got the impression that Ume just always agreed with her. Vidala was another matter.

But, after that statement from Rehga, Vidala had merely shaken her head and returned to M'avina and their packhorse. And so had begun the one and only night they had ever spent in the deserts of Aranoch.

Jabari was on watch. She could see him standing some thirty feet away from the camp, casting a small fireball in his hands to keep them from going numb. Alaric was probably there, too, somewhere. Once they had gotten deeper into the mountains, Kaelim had paired everyone up. They were not to go anywhere without their partner. Even if they needed to relieve themselves, they were to collect their partner and take them with them, just to be safe.

He had said that the Kae Huron were deadly long before Baal had arrived. M'avina's partner was Arcanna, which she didn't mind. But she could imagine the disappointment when Bohdan had been paired with Kinemil. Kaelim tried to suit everyone, but those two had never gotten along. But, they were stuck with one another. Kaelim partnered himself with Ume, and M'avina suspected it was only because he didn't want to force anyone else to deal with the aura of discomfort which Ume seemed to inadvertently convey.

She felt Arcanna nudge her, and ignored it, thinking it was merely the Sorceress shifting in her sleep. When she did it again, though, M'avina sat up and turned to her. Arcanna had an apologetic half-grin on her face. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

M'avina sighed, but got to her feet and helped Arcanna to hers. Wordlessly, Arcanna led M'avina away from the camp, and they waved as they passed Jabari.

They walked down the hill, shielding their eyes from the wind, and M'avina stood guard as Arcanna dug herself a hole in the snow some yards away. The winds, laden with snow, caused a makeshift fog around them. They could barely see the top of the hill. This snow had been of a powdery kind with little traction. Their footsteps were swept away in minutes of their passing. In the distance, on a dune of snow, she saw shadows shift behind the wind. They looked like tall men carrying a bundle. She knew it was just tricks of the wind, though. No men lived in the Kae Huron.

She had managed to get to sleep in Aranoch despite the heat. And even if it wasn't the heat, it was the dryness. At night, sometimes the cold would return. Every now and then they got a chill wind that gave them shivers. But it lacked any sort of moisture. Nevertheless, if she smeared water over her lips before sleeping, she found she could get to sleep. But she had only spent one night in Aranoch.

She had awakened with a start in the middle of the night with a start when Vidala inadvertently poked her in the side with the end of her bow.

"Athulua," M'avina swore quietly. "I thought it was a sand maggot."

Vidala smiled, bemused. She was sitting cross-legged, waxing her bowstring. "Sorry," she muttered. And, turning back to her bow: "By Kethryes, these deserts dry out my string in an instant. How have you been faring?"

M'avina laid down again. "I haven't noticed."

Vidala shoved her playfully. "That's because you never wax your damn string. I'm telling you, M'avina, one of these days it'll snap and it'll be the end of you."

"I barely retain your words of wisdom when I'm fully awake, Vidala. Why would I remember them when I'm half asleep?"

Vidala chuckled as M'avina turned away from her. "Try not to poke me anymore?"

"What was that?" Vidala whispered harshly.

"I said try not to . . ."

"Shh!" Vidala had no humour in her voice. M'avina sat up. Vidala's hand had frozen on her string, and her eyes were wide and alert. "There's something out there."

"M'avina!" the trance-breaking shout had her reflexively putting an arrow to her bow, though she knew it was Jabari's voice.

"Jabari," M'avina chided, stepping towards him, "Arcanna needs her privacy!"

"Have you seen Alaric?" Jabari asked breathlessly.

"Jabari, get out of here," M'avina shook her head. But Arcanna had already finished, and was looking at the ground some distance away. "M'avina, take a look at this."

There were tracks in the snow. M'avina looked at Jabari a moment before trudging through the snow to Arcanna. "What's wrong."

"Hoofprints," Arcanna noted.

M'avina shook her head, moving her fur cloak up to block the wind. "No, look at how they're arranged," she pointed. "Those were made by only two legs. It's probably just Alaric making a wide patrol." Even as she said it, she came close enough to see the tracks. Arcanna was right. They were made by hooves. A biped with hooves. That meant only one thing . . . demons.

"Demons?" Arcanna's eyes went wide, "are you sure?"

M'avina hadn't realized she'd said it aloud. She squinted into the distance, and followed the line of tracks into the enveloping snowstorm. They led right to where she had seen the shadows. The shadows with the bundle.

"I saw something before," she said quietly.

"What?" Jabari shouted above the quickening winds.

"Demons! I saw them, they have Alaric!"

Jabari blanched. "No!"

"Can you be sure of what you saw?" Arcanna demanded.

Jabari turned. "We must go; arouse the others," he said.

"No!" M'avina stopped him. She felt her heartbeat quicken. After all these months, she should know better than to assume that shadows were only shadows. But the snowstorm was doing its work, and the tracks were vanishing before her eyes. "If we go back, we'll lose the trail."

"Then I'll get Kaelim, and you follow the tracks," Jabari suggested fervently.

"We don't know how many there are, Jabari," M'avina shouted. She looked at the ground again. "We don't have time for this! We all need to go - now!"

With that she turned and ran as fast as the deep snow would allow. He's going to turn around, she thought. Jabari will go back. But when she turned to look, Arcanna and Jabari were both a few yards behind her. She would have sighed, had she possessed a spare breath. Jabari had fought alongside the multitude of adventurers beneath Tristram. He had been a novice then, he had explained to her, and by the sound of it, a battle-eager youngblood. But the dreadful experience had nullified that sense of adventure and replaced it with a sense of duty. Only now, he was cautious, not only of himself, but of his comrades. Sometimes M'avina praised Hefaetrus for a companion with such qualities, but other times, she cursed him for being such a bother. Luckily enough, this time was the prior.

She felt strangely confident following the fading tracks with those two sorcerers behind her, and couldn't help but feel proud of herself for taking charge. It was really the first time she had ever needed to. Vidala had always been there before.

Though it had been at Rehga's insistence that they had stayed out that night, Vidala had taken charge the moment the attack had let up. One of Greiz's spearmen, who had agreed to accompany them, had been killed. M'avina couldn't remember his name. Their packhorse had been mauled, and was dying. M'avina had felt horrible for leaving him there with life still in his veins. He had served them well. But the sabre cats had taken Paige, one of the Rogues who had come with them from the mountains, and they had all seen enough blood shed. Paige was so young, affable, and eager to help them. No one wanted to see her come to harm. They had picked up their weapons and left the camp immediately.

Fangskin and his thieving vipers were forgotten. Now it was the catwoman, Bloodwitch, who was their target.

Vidala had never blamed Rehga, but they never spoke through that night. One good thing about the desert was that the lack of rain meant lack of clouds, and the illumination from the half-moon was glorious. Nevertheless, M'avina had stayed close to the group, with Vidala and Kaelim in the lead following the tracks. Looking at the rest, she had seen them doing the same, save Isenhart, who had been bringing up the rearguard several yards behind the main group. Even with the brilliant light, M'avina had known that sand maggots could burst from their hiding beneath the sands, and did not doubt that the claw vipers had similar tactics.

The wind had died completely, which was unusual, being so close to the sea, but it kept the impressions in the sand intact.

Vidala had quickened her pace, readying her longbow, "We're gaining on them. Paige may be putting up a fight and slowing them down."

Kaelim had hefted the Blacktongue sword in both hands and nodded in agreement. "They're likely over this next dune."

The whole party had sped up to gain on them and they were over the dune in seconds. And before them, sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of an empty plain, was the entrance to an underground tomb.

Haseen had gasped, and swore in a language M'avina didn't know, but then he said. "The Halls of the Dead."

With a name like that, she doubted it would grant them any solace.

But there had been nearly a dozen of them, then. And now, before the mouth of the great cave they had come upon, only three stood.

M'avina had taken a substantial lead over the spell-casters, and she waited for them to catch up, and catch their breath. The mouth of the cave was massive, and it disappeared into blackness rather quickly. Paige and Shikha had been essential every time they had come into a dark place. M'avina sighed, and lowered her gaze to the ground. The snow was a mess of hoofprints. She knelt down to get a closer look. The mountain protected the mouth of the cave from the wind, so the ground here had not been blown over.

"There's at least a dozen of them, I think," she muttered to the others. "Maybe more. They've been coming and going frequently."

Arcanna tapped her lightly on the shoulder, and when M'avina looked, the Sorceress pointed to the interior wall of the cave. There was an ax leaning against it. Jabari took some tentative steps towards the cave. Then, he held his shield forward, and uttered an incantation. The gem at the centre glowed white, and the face of the buckler illuminated like a lantern. The shadows retreated, and they could see the chamber rather clearly.

What was most interesting wasn't the unlit firepit, or the animal furs strewn about, or the multiple corridors which branched off from this main chamber, but it was the crude hieroglyphs carved into the walls. There was no one in this chamber.

M'avina and Arcanna followed the Sorcerer slowly into the cave entrance.

"Stop!" Shikha had said sharply, though quietly, holding her arm out to halt the rest of the party from continuing into the tomb. She had turned to Regha. "Your staff," she whispered quickly. Regha had handed it over, and Shikha had pressed the end down lightly on the sand-covered tile in front of her. She had to apply more force, and suddenly, a line of spikes had jolted upwards out of the floor. A collective start had gone through the party. Shikha had stood, and had handed Regha her staff.

"Be careful," the Rogue had warned, and then, stepping over the spikes and readying her bow, she had continued.

But this cave was not booby-trapped, thank Athulua. Without the eerily accurate intuition of the Rogues, they would have been at its mercy.

Jabari shone his light on the wall, and M'avina squinted to distinguish the strange markings. A sharp, fragmented script was written beneath some of the images. It barely looked like a language. There were pictures of human-like creatures, with horns, battling each other. Then, what looked like three broken stones, and then, the creatures who had been battling were standing side by side, and the final image was of a mass of these horned creatures running through a circle. M'avina couldn't completely understand.

From behind, they heard a rattling of stones. Jabari turned his light on the corridors, just as a tall, lean goatman emerged. The demon looked up at them, surprised, and before he could blink, M'avina had loosed an arrow into his throat. He fell immediately, trying to scream but unable to. The three humans watched him writhe for a moment before going limp.

"Goatmen," Arcanna murmured. She turned. "What are they doing here? I thought the clans were populating the Western Kingdoms."

Jabari looked back at the marks on the wall, and ran his hands over them. He came to the image of the goatmen fleeing into a circle. "The portal!" he exclaimed quietly. "Outside Snowgarde. They must have opened it and escaped into the Kae Huron."

"Goatmen are not well equipped, magically." Arcanna shook her head. "To say the least, they haven't been when I've ever encountered them, and the Vizjerei libraries concur."

Jabari nodded, but then raised an eyebrow. "You were allowed into the Vizjerei libraries?"

Arcanna glanced furtively at him. "Not exactly."

"But that means," M'avina continued Arcanna's train of thought, "that someone must have opened the portal for them."

They paused. M'avina shook her head, as if to clear a haze. "None of this matters," she said, "we need to find Alaric." She turned to the three corridors.

"Let's split up," said Arcanna.

"No," M'avina and Jabari said in unison. After exchanging a glance, M'avina continued. "This is their home. We don't know how many there might be. We'll have the best chance of getting Alaric out of here alive if we stick together. None of us would fare terribly well in single combat."

M'avina looked at the doorways before them. She didn't want to stress the importance of finding the right one. If they accidentally stumbled into a convocation of the demons, and no Alaric, then they would never be able to make it out in time with him.

The ground was stone, and told her nothing except that the ground was frequently trod upon. Each hallway was the same. Arcanna and Jabari had their spells at the ready in case another goatman inadvertently walked into the main chamber.

The middle hallway had snow still on the floor, which had yet to melt away. M'avina didn't like to rely on something so potentially circumstantial, but it was the best she had to go on.

"This way," she said, confidently enough, and, putting an arrow to string, she crept slowly into the hallway. Jabari dimmed the glow on his shield so as not to alert any of their approach.

As they continued, M'avina noticed a cold breeze coming through the hall. She told her companions. "This corridor must lead outdoors again."

They soon came to the end of the hall, and M'avina was right, it did open up. A fog-enshrouded courtyard, it se