Come to bed, Gillian said, and as Leah climbed onto the soft covers and closed her eyes, she thought for just a moment that Gillian’s arms had begun to grow longer and darken, shriveling into something else that slithered up the sides of the bed to wrap her in a black, soundless cocoon, before sleep took her and she drifted dreamlessly through an endless ocean.
14
A Stranger Comes
Deckard Cain dreamed of fire and blood. He was caged like an animal, hanging from a pole twelve feet off the ground as grotesque, gibbering demons laid waste to the last remains of his beloved Tristram.
They had returned shortly after Aidan had left the town in the dark of night. The siege on Tristram had not been over, after all, and the creatures that had descended upon it were far worse than ever before. They fed on human flesh, tearing the corpses on the ground limb from limb, chasing after those few townspeople who remained alive. The entire world had fallen into anarchy, and he, last of the Horadrim, the one remaining hope of a long and proud line of heroes, crouched impotently in his own filth, waiting to die.
In his dream, a new man appeared; his face was hooded by a dark robe, his back hunched, and he pointed a long, bony finger in Cain’s direction. The finger grew into a blackened, twisting sliver of wood, curling toward the cage, wrapping around it, weaving through the bars until they had been almost completely covered. Then the tendril of wood began to squeeze. Metal groaned and popped, and Cain huddled in the center of the cage as everything collapsed around him, pushing in on all sides until he could no longer breathe.
He was consumed, lost, abandoned, and forsaken. He was no Horadrim, and no hero. He would die here, alone, while Diablo’s two brothers, Mephisto and Baal, destroyed Sanctuary, once and for all.
Cain awoke gasping into shadows, his body flushed and covered in sweat, the covers of the bed wrapped so tightly around his body he couldn’t move. At first he remembered little about how he had gotten there, but slowly the memories began to return, and he recalled entering the strange little town, the residents all walking silently with their heads down, led by the mysterious Lord Brand, and the meal at his table, with its seemingly endless supply of food. After that, all memory was gone.
Cain cursed himself for being so careless. There was evil here, although Brand’s purpose remained unclear. What had he done to them? And who was really behind this?
Cain tried to sit up, but could not. His arms were pinned to his sides, his legs immobile.
These were no bedsheets.
The room was lit by the remains of a single candle in an alcove in the wall, sputtering down to the last half inch of wax. The flickering flame sent shadows dancing across the walls. The bed was covered with a mass of rough and tangled roots, pulsing and slithering and tightening like black snakes around him. They had grown right up out of the floor, encasing his body. As he watched in horror, more of them wriggled through cracks in the wood, growing longer and thicker as they slid up the side of the bed and whipped around it to hold him fast, their hairy sides sticking and pulling at his skin.
His staff and rucksack were sitting in the corner, out of reach.
Leah. Cain struggled, but the roots only tightened even more until it became difficult to breathe. Where was she? Was she safe?
More shadows fell across the bed. Lord Brand loomed over him, his servants behind him in gray, hooded robes. The people were chanting in low voices, and they held lanterns so that the room filled with an orange glow.
Brand held up a hand, and they stopped at once, standing like statues behind him. Brand was smiling again in that predatory way, and his eyes were bright, searching Cain’s features for something that was not clear. “Did you think you would be allowed to go to Kurast alone? To find the answers you seek?”
“Release us—”
“You will remain here, for now. Our master commands it.”
“Who is your master?”
Brand looked away, the smile fading from his face. “We are born from darkness, into light, and He shall lead us back to the fires from which this world was forged—”
“Enough!” Cain said. He tried to shout a warning to Leah, but his voice came out as a hoarse cry. The hairy roots slithered again, tightening painfully across his chest. He groaned.
Brand’s gaze fixed on his. “You are weak, Deckard Cain. You search for others to do your dirty work for you, yet you call yourself Horadrim. Those who put their trust in you have known only pain. The cards speak the truth: chaos and destruction is coming for you, and you will face a final judgment for what you have done.”
Cain reeled, as if from a blow. Brand knew exactly where to strike: Cain’s deep fear of cowardice, selfishness, and regret. I have failed. Foul demons were at work; he must not let them see his weakness. Yet he had no access to a spellbook, nothing to use that might free him from their clutches.
“How do you know who I am?”
“I know you are an old fool,” Brand hissed suddenly, thrusting his head forward like a cobra about to strike. “The plagues of Hell are coming. And they will destroy this world and all it has been, and the gates of the High Heavens will fall. We cannot stop them, but we can avoid the eternal hellfires if we do what must be done, if you are sacrificed, and the girl is given up—”
A high scream came from the adjoining room. Cain jerked his head to the right, trying to see into Leah’s room. One of the cultists was standing in the open doorway, his back to them; he stumbled and fell, as if shoved by a powerful hand.
The temperature in the room dropped, and a now-familiar charge tightened the air around them. Lord Brand stepped away from Cain’s bed, his hawk-like features registering shock, and then fear, as a great tearing sound came from Leah’s room.
Brand’s skin rippled. For a moment, his brow flattened, his nose protruded grotesquely, and eyes shrank to beady specks.
Cain sensed movement from the doorway.
Leah stood there among the shattered remains of the roots that had imprisoned her, her head up, eyes blazing. Yet it was not Leah, not exactly; something else seemed to carry her as she strode confidently through the room to Cain’s bedside, ignoring Brand, who fell away from her, arms up as if to protect himself. Leah raised her own arms, and something huge and powerful exploded out of her, blue fire licking her fingertips as the roots holding Cain’s bed tore to pieces and the cultists were thrown backward against the walls, tumbling like straw thrown by the wind.
Abruptly, Cain could breathe freely again, and he took in great gasps of air, his lungs burning, nostrils filled with a smell that was half copper, half foul bog, a sulfurous stench that made his stomach churn. He climbed from the bed and gathered his rucksack and staff. When he turned back, Leah was still standing there, motionless, and when he grabbed her arm, she turned docilely toward him, her face slack and lifeless. He snapped his fingers before her, but she did not seem to react. Some kind of trance again, similar to the one he had seen back in Caldeum. But there was no time to explore it further. Already the people on the floor were stirring.
Where the roots had been was a scattering of black seeds. Cain scooped some up and dropped them in his sack, then led Leah to the door and down the hall to the stairs. The entire house seemed to have shifted in the night; the hallway turned a corner, and the stairway appeared farther away than he remembered and curved back upon itself. He fought back the disorientation, and they descended as quickly as possible. On the bottom floor, the layout had changed, and he led them through more hallways than he remembered and past rooms they had not seen.