Diablo III: Storm of Light by Nate Kenyon Read Free Book Online Page A

graveyard’s entrance.
    A pillar of fresh white stone, twice the height of a man, rose up from the ground, a beautifully carved monument in perfect symmetry, squared edges running up to a triangular top with markings etched across it. The same symbol that appeared on the two men’s satchels.
    The sign of the Horadrim.

    As the wind changed, the smell of charred wood was carried over to them. The remains of a burning lay at the foot of the monument. Thomas and Cullen rushed forward with the others close behind them, leaving Zayl at the graveyard’s edge. The world fell silent for a moment.
    “Have they left us, then?”
    “They haven’t gone far, Humbart,” Zayl said, his voice low. “Don’t antagonize them, please. I have enough to handle without having to explain your rather odd sense of humor.”
    “That’s the least of your problems,” Humbart said, muffled by the sack. “Forgive me, but you seem to be acting a bit daft. First, chasing after those things that took Salene—”
    “That’s no business of yours,” Zayl said. His voice held an edge.
    “It needs saying. We’ve been together too long for me to cut words. You’ve lost her, and that’s a terrible thing. I lost a woman I loved . . .” The skull trailed off a moment. “You shouldn’t have called her spirit and gone racing off, and it’s led us to this hellhole where the ground’s stained with both human and demon blood. Coming here won’t bring Salene back, and now you’ve run into a bunch of wanderers and thieves without a thought to our safety. One might think you’re looking to speed up your own end.”
    “This is about restoring the Balance between order and chaos. My time will come—”
    “When it’s ready and not before,” the skull interrupted. “Of course it will. And maybe that time is here and now, eh? Maybe you’d welcome it.”
    Zayl had to admit that Humbart might have a point. But now his skin prickled; it was the same feeling he’d had a few moments earlier but stronger this time. There was someone else nearby. Someone very powerful indeed. The Balance was threatened, but whether this being was aligned with light or the darkness was not yet clear.
    He approached the others, who had gathered around the monument. The monk and his two companions seemed nearly overcome with grief. The Horadrim’s fallen leader Deckard Cain lies here , Zayl thought. But if they had come to put up a shrine, then who had carved the stone that already stood in place?
    Humbart made a small sound at his side. Zayl looked to his right to see a figure approaching over the crest of the hill dressed in armor and flowing robes, broad-shouldered and shaved bald, bearing the scars of battle across his lined and handsome face.
    He carried a rucksack and walked with slow purpose, and his expression did not change. If he saw Zayl watching him, he did not acknowledge it.
    Zayl might have felt alarmed at this, but for some reason, he did not. One by one, the others noticed the man and turned to stare. He came to a stop before them. The stranger radiated a sense of calm, quiet strength, of well-being and light. Trag’Oul had spoken, Zayl thought; the Balance was restored here, if only briefly, and Zayl realized that under his feet, in defiance of the rest of this corrupted ground, grass had begun to push through the rocky soil.
    “Welcome, warriors of the light,” the stranger said. “I am Tyrael of the Angiris Council, and I have come to ask for your help. The High Heavens and all of Sanctuary are in danger, and you”—he looked at each in turn with a gaze that appeared to pierce them to their very core—“are the only hope we have left.”

Chapter Four

The Angiris Council, Several Weeks Earlier
    Wisdom dreamed of the death of men .
    Tyrael slept on a bed of cold marble. In his dreams, the End of Days came swiftly. Black tar dripped and pooled, spreading its tendrils through clouds that swelled across a bright blue sky. The light that was