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The atmosphere in the room had grown tense. Cain felt the blood in his face, the clenched muscles in his hands. He took a half step forward, but Mikulov put a gentle hand on his arm.

“Uncle,” Leah said quietly, her voice trembling. Hyland just smiled up at them.

“Please, sit,” he said. “Let’s discuss this like civilized men.”

Mikulov glanced at Cain, who nodded, willing himself to relax. There was no reason to frighten the girl even further, and besides, Hyland had many more men at his disposal. Even with Mikulov’s physical talents, they were far outnumbered.

Something bothered him about Hyland; part of him wanted to walk out on the arrogant man, yet he could not. There was important information here, at his fingertips.

“Do you know who this Dark One is?” Mikulov asked, when they had sat down opposite Hyland. “We have heard things ourselves about a powerful sorcerer of demonic magic. But this connection to the Horadrim . . . it disturbs my friend. It is . . . his lifeblood. You understand?”

“Good,” Hyland said. “Anger is power here. It is the only real currency.” He glanced at Leah, who sat quietly next to Mikulov, hugging her arms to her chest. “Perhaps the girl would like something to eat? It would give us time to talk more freely.”

“I’ll tell you the rest of what I know,” Hyland said, after Mikulov had taken Leah in search of food, in the company of one of the guards. “But now it’s your turn. Who’s the girl? And that one with her? Ivgorod, eh? A monk? I have heard of their ilk.”

“Leah is the daughter of a good friend. I’m watching her now that her mother’s gone. And Mikulov saved our lives just a few nights ago. His own path here is complicated, but no less legitimate.”

“Hmmm. You said you could help us. I’m curious to hear how.”

“I am trying to find any remaining members of the Horadrim,” Cain said. “You’re right that things have changed in Sanctuary. There is a great war looming, a demon invasion, a war between Heaven and Hell. I was in Tristram when it fell to Diablo, and I can assure you that everything you may have heard about those days is true. But what is coming soon will make them pale in comparison. I have seen the signs, read the prophecies. It is close. I suspect that the troubles that plague Kurast are related to it.”

Hyland nodded. “There have been rumors of these things you describe,” he said. “There are even a few old men here who claim to have been here in Kurast when it was overrun by demons years ago. And there is evil at work now, sure enough. But you think you can stop the darkness from spreading? Many warriors have tried, only to disappear and never return. You are an old man, Mr. Cain. No offense.”

“If you tell me more about what is happening in Kurast, I can study my ancient texts and find a way to stop it. We don’t have much time. The first day of Ratham is only days away, and we have evidence that this will be the moment of truth for all of us.”

Hyland drained the last of his grog, staring at the glass as if he would discover the answer there. Then he sighed, stood up, and refilled his drink again before speaking.

“They’re called feeders,” he said finally, turning to face them. “They come in the night, terrorizing those in the fringe areas of Lower Kurast. Sometimes they steal children and even take able-bodied men and women, but more often they simply . . . feed on them. We don’t know exactly how they do it, but their victims begin to fade away, growing weaker, listless, and ill. They are very nearly walking corpses.” He took a long sip from the grog. “People say they come from Gea Kul. Nobody goes there anymore. Kurast is a lost city, but Gea Kul is a wasteland.”

It was the third time since they had reached Kurast that someone had mentioned Gea Kul. “Kulloom told a similar story, of a trade merchant who had witnessed something like these feeders.”

Hyland’s gaze grew distant, his face flushed in the light that filtered in through the window. “There are rumors all over. Many claim to have witnessed feeders creeping around in the dead of night, horrible ghouls that seem to float in the air and appear and disappear at will. They are like human insects, crawling upon all fours, up walls and across ceilings—bloated, misshapen things that are so horrible to behold, they turn people mad. They say these creatures are commanded by the Dark One I spoke of earlier.”

The shadows in the room seemed to grow, the air gaining a chill. “And you think these Horadric scholars brought these creatures to Sanctuary?”

“Many here do. But perhaps the group, along with Rau, left here to travel to Gea Kul and battle the evil that was already gathering there.” Hyland shrugged. “I knew some of these young men from their time in Kurast. They seemed well intentioned enough. I had no reason to think they were . . . corrupted.”

“Do you know the feeders’ purpose?”

“Perhaps they are simply here to drain the people’s will, to make them easier to overcome. Or perhaps it is all simply a rumor started by fools and drunkards.” Hyland stood up to pour himself another grog. “Perhaps I am one of them.”

“I would like to speak to someone who has seen one,” Cain said. “If they could tell me something of better use—”

Hyland waved a hand. “I don’t think you’ll find anyone willing to come within a hundred yards of you,” he said. “And let’s just say that most of those who have seen them are no longer interested in talking. But I’ve got something else.” He set the glass down and began rummaging through piles of books. “I know I put it here somewhere . . . ahhh.” He held up sheets of parchment. “Several weeks ago, a woman came to me in fear of her life. Her son, a talented artist of no more than twelve, was wasting away with the familiar sickness. I went to see him, and he gave me these.”

He handed the parchment to Cain. The first held a roughly scratched drawing of an unsettling figure, perhaps an animal of some kind, crouched in the corner of a room. The room was dark, the angles shaded with angry marks from the charcoal from which it had been drawn, and the shape was indistinct, as if emerging from a fog.

The second was more detailed, and the creature’s shape was clearer—a large, misshapen head, hunched back, distended belly, face like a black hole. But the third drawing was so strong and so terrible Cain drew in a sharp breath. It showed a humanlike creature hovering over a small child in bed, claw-like hands extended as if to caress its victim. The creature had advanced upon the viewer so that its presence appeared to fill the page, bringing with it a feeling of terrible, overwhelming dread. Its face was turned upward, wisps of hair hanging across a white, shiny scalp, and its eyes were blank holes, blindly staring with a hunger that could not be quenched.

Below the drawing, scratched so roughly the parchment had torn, were two words: Al Cut.

“I don’t know what it means,” Hyland said. “I don’t think the boy did either. The strange thing was, his mother did not beg me to save her son. She asked for him to be banished, to drive the feeders away from her home. I refused, and two days later, she disappeared. The boy remains, a shadow of himself, haunting the alleys of Kurast. I have seen him since, but he does not recognize me.”

Cain stared at the thing in the drawing. Even through the parchment, the evil in the creature was strong enough that it almost appeared to move, tilting its cursed, ravenous face, its long fingers slowly opening as if to reach out at him. But it was the thing’s mouth, open and puckered, searching blindly in hunger for something to feed upon, that left him deeply shaken and ice-cold.

“If you remain here,” Hyland said, “you may no longer need to worry about finding out more about the feeders.”

He drained his glass again and looked bleary-eyed at Cain from across the room. “You’ll dream of them. And I think you may see one in person soon enough.”