And time was short now, indeed.
The gods would be pleased with his efforts to free Deckard Cain and young Leah. After his vision in the small cave in the hills, he had followed them away from Caldeum, scouting for danger. Once, he had dislodged a group of small rocks, and he had felt sure that Cain would discover his presence as they tumbled down the slope. But the old man had not, and they had ended up in the strange, haunted town. It was then that Mikulov knew he must act quickly. This was the moment the gods had chosen.
His mind cleared of the clutter of sleep, Mikulov relaxed his pose and flexed the muscles of his feet, calves, and thighs, letting the energy he generated move up his torso. The tattoo of the patron god Ytar, the god of fire, seemed to move across his back of its own accord as he stretched his arms forward and down, his skin sliding over sinew and bone. He dipped to touch his forehead to the ground, then looked back up to the gray sky. Storm clouds had gathered on the horizon.
The others would be stirring now. It was time. He took a few moments to gather a welcome bounty he had found growing near the cliff, then climbed down from the rock and padded soundlessly through the clearing, returning to camp to begin the next stage of their journey.
Deckard Cain blinked himself awake, suppressing a groan as he looked up into Mikulov’s face. He had barely been able to sleep, consumed with his thoughts of the town and the graveyard, and his dreams were haunted by memories that were even worse. Every single inch of his body ached, and he was in desperate need of a bath. In contrast, the monk appeared as refreshed as if he had spent the night in the emperor’s palace.
Mikulov held out a cloth filled with bright red berries. “The gods have provided for us,” he said. “They are good, and have healing properties. The ground here has not yet felt the full taint of sickness that has taken Kurast.”
Cain glanced at Leah. He had thought she was still asleep, but her eyes were open. The girl hadn’t spoken since the graveyard, nor eaten. The berries were safe; he recognized them from his studies on this region, although he had never tasted them before. He took a few from the cloth. Sweet juice flooded his mouth, and he had eaten half the pile before he knew it.
Mikulov’s smile grew even wider. “Good, good,” he said. He nodded at Leah. “There are enough for two.”
His aching knees screaming at him, Cain got to his feet slowly, taking the berries to her. He wasn’t sure what they had actually eaten the night before at Lord Brand’s home, but the berries seemed to do wonders for his uneasy stomach. “Regain your strength,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “We will leave this place when you’re ready.” Leah took the cloth from him, and for a moment the pain in her eyes was so clear and sharp it nearly took his breath away.
“May I speak with you?” Mikulov asked. He stood a few feet away, hands clasped at his waist. Even motionless, his balance and inner strength were apparent. From their brief conversation last night, before they had fallen into an exhausted sleep, Cain knew the monk had read prophecies written by the Patriarchs and other Ivgorod scholars that were remarkably similar to Cain’s Horadric scrolls, and that also warned of the demon invasion of Sanctuary. He was aware of an imbalance in the world that must be corrected. His gods had become restless, he had said.
The Ivgorod monks’ combination of religious fervor and calm, centered focus was unique. They were ferocious warriors against the evil that plagued this land. It was good to have one on your side.
Cain thought back to what the demon had said in the Vizjerei ruins: Your savior is so close, hidden among thousands in plain sight not three days’ journey from here. Demons could be notoriously clever and could not be trusted. But they hid their lies within the truth.
He and Mikulov retreated to a quiet area out of Leah’s earshot, and the monk sat cross-legged on the ground next to him. “I don’t want to frighten the girl,” he said. “But we can’t wait any longer. We must go to Kurast.”
Cain watched Leah get up and walk away, toward a rocky ledge that broke the cover of dying trees and overlooked the valley below. She climbed the ledge and sat at the top, staring out at something beyond his line of sight. “I cannot take her there,” he said quietly. “It’s no place for a child, and the events of the past few days have made that clear. I should never have brought her on the road with me. She needs someone who can care for her, and a place she can feel safe.”
“You must not turn back now—”
“It is only a detour, my friend. Once I find a home for her, I will return.”
“But there is no time,” the monk said, putting a hand on Cain’s arm. “The month of Ratham is only days away!”
“What do you mean by this?” Cain asked. The month of Ratham was named after the necromancer who had founded the priests of Rathma; he had been a disciple of the celestial dragon Trag’Oul, and a guardian of Sanctuary.
Necromancers had the power to raise the dead.
Mikulov took several narrow, tightly rolled scrolls from a pocket under his belt. “I have seen visions of hidden chambers underground,” he said. “They are filled with the dead. And a man, or one who looks like a man, shrouded in darkness. He calls himself the Dark One. In these visions, the man calls the dead to life.” The monk unrolled the scroll and spread it gently on the ground. “This scroll is a reproduction of one found in the jungle ruins of Torajan.” He unrolled a second one. “This is a Zakarum prophecy from the caves of Westmarch.” He unrolled a third. “And this, from the bowels of Bastion’s Keep, before Mount Arreat was destroyed. All of them speak of a coming war between darkness and light, and the rising of the dead, an event that will occur on the first day of Ratham.”
Cain took the scrolls and scanned their contents. His heart beat faster. Although written in different languages, they all contained references to an army of the dead that would rise as Ratham began. They were important pieces of a huge, complex puzzle that he had been trying to put together ever since Mount Arreat had fallen, and this young man had found them. He felt a slight twinge of jealousy for not having found them himself, but quickly dismissed it as his apprehension grew stronger.
“I have discovered similar writings,” he said. “But not with a clear date for such an occurrence. Are you sure these are accurate?”
Mikulov nodded. “They have been verified by our Ivgorod Patriarchs, who are highly trained in such things.”
Cain shook his head slowly, once again reading the spidery script scrawled across the brittle pages. If these scrolls were indeed true, then the beginning of the demon invasion was far closer than he had assumed—just seven days away. Even now, the forces of evil were gathering somewhere near Kurast, and their fury could mean the fall of Sanctuary to the Burning Hells, the collapse of the High Heavens, and the end of life as he knew it.
. . . clawing their way from the ground . . .
Cain was not normally given to hysterics, and his greatest strength, he had always felt, was his measured, calm approach to crises. Study the problem, evaluate the solutions, and choose the best path. But the events with Lord Brand had disturbed him more than he had thought possible. He kept seeing the hands of rotted flesh and wriggling bones that had punched up through the graveyard sod.
Seven days.
The monk was waiting patiently for him to speak. “This Dark One,” Cain said. “Lord Brand, in the walled town, mentioned something like this, a master who commands him . . . perhaps it is the same person.”