I

The wagons bounce along uncomfortably, tracing the long, rocky roads out of the Sanctuary Pass and into the deserts between the Rogue Monastery and the distant city of Lut Gholein. The pass had been open only recently, but rumors and sightings of demons and undead all throughout the Rogue Lands and the Dry Hills still kept many from traveling the now dangerous route from west to east.

Xaviar, Paladin of Zakarum, was one of those few people, resting wearily in the rear of one of the larger wagons as it creaked and groaned its way east. While he had not been involved in the destruction of the Demon Queen Andariel, he had seen more fighting than he cared to remember throughout Sanctuary and the lands to the north. All across the land, it seemed, the dead rose from their graves to attack the living and demons laid siege to villages and towns. Tristram had been one such place; no one, except for the Horadrim Sorcerer Deckard Cain the Elder, had survived the brutal assault of demons and undead. While Xaviar and many fellow warriors had fought bravely against the demons, they had been too few in number to stem the dark tide that had flooded across the land. The defeat of Anduriel had been a great blow against the dark forces in the west, but the rogues still had not completely regained control of their now shattered monastery, and caravans were still in danger of being raided and destroyed as they left the Tamoe Highlands.

Xaviar looked around the wagon for a moment, and once again took stock of the only other occupant of the vehicle. She was a tall, blond haired woman, her dark eyes half closed as she swayed with the rocking of the wagon. Her lean, muscular frame was partially hidden under a large red cloak and a suit of chain mail, while her helm, studded with a single, flawed ruby, rested between her feet. A long spear with a wide, reddish golden blade lay flat on the ground behind her, while a sheaf of javelins and a small backpack rested on top of a pile of cloth bolts. For two days he had shared the wagon with the woman, apparently an Amazon far from her native lands to the south, but neither had said a word to the other. As Xavier began to turn away from the young woman, she opened her eyes and looked across the wagon at him.

"Greetings, paladin," she said in an even, formal tone. She looked over the ebon skinned man with an appraising eye, her gaze resting for a long moment on either his white surcoat embroidered with a blue dragon coiling around a golden sun, or, more likely, on the blue tinted splint mail he wore beneath the vestment. Finally, her dark eyes came back up to meet Xaviar's oddly hazel eyes. "You are a long way from your troubled land."

"As are you, Amazon," Xaviar noted, recognizing the woman's heritage. The Amazon smiled slightly.

"We have far fewer troubles in our lands, for the moment," she explained. "I am here to make certain that things stay that way."

"We are glad to have your aid," Xaviar said. "Did you take part in the battle to clear the Rogue Monastery?"

"Only in a more peripheral sense," the Amazon replied. "I fought along side several allies in the Tamoe Highlands, distracting the corrupted rogues while one of your kind, a paladin, led a small group into the monastery itself." The Amazon hesitated for a moment, and looked down. "We won, but we paid a heavy price."

"Are your allies moving on to Lut Gholein now, as well?" Xaviar inquired. The Amazon shook her head.

"Most of them are remaining in the Highlands, for the time being," she answered. "There are still many demons to be routed. Once the danger to travelers has passed, they plan to follow me to the east."

Xaviar nodded, and leaned forward slightly as he examined his grand scepter. The Order Bar was a relic of his kind, created in former days of glory when the Zakarum paladins wielded immense might and magic, but now such powerful weapons were fewer and farther in between. While the demons seemed to carry large numbers of magical weapons and armor, the forces of light seemed to have a terrible disadvantage in battle.

"What is your name, paladin?" the Amazon inquired, breaking the silence and scattering Xaviar's train of thought.

"I am Xaviar, of Kurast," the paladin replied.

"I am Io," the Amazon said. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Xaviar. But I find it odd that you are so far from home."

"When the troubles in Kurast began, I was already in the northlands beyond the Tamoe Highlands," Xaviar explained. "I lent my aid to those fighting in the Rogue Lands, but now that the threat Andariel posed has been destroyed, I hope to make my way back to Kurast and find out what has happened."

"That is a long journey," Io commented. Xaviar nodded in agreement. The two fell into silence again. For a long time Xaviar stared out through the rear of the wagon, watching the sun slowly descend behind the mountains that lay more than a day's journey behind them. Outside, the sparse forests of the Tamoe Highlands were turning to sand and rocks, heralding the boundary to the Dry Hills, the great, rocky desert that lay between the Rogue Monastery and the port city of Lut Gholein. It would still be several days through the barren wastes to the Far Oasis, and then another week or more to the city of Lut Gholein itself. Once they reached the port, Xaviar was certain that he could find a ship that would put out to sea, heading for Kurast. It would, he hoped, only be a matter of a month or so before he reached the homeland that he had not seen in over two years. So much time had passed that he feared for the safety of those he had left behind. There had been too many rumors, of the Council of Kurast turning to the darkness, and of the dark jungle reclaiming the once great city.

The wagons suddenly bumped to a halt, interrupting the paladin's thoughts of his homeland. It had grown almost completely dark out now, with only a few shreds of crimson and purple marring the night sky over the mountains. Io stood and stretched slowly, working the kinks out of her back and legs, and then turned to her fellow traveler.

"May as well take the chance to get out of the wagon," the Amazon stated. "Chances are we'll be sleeping inside this rat trap come the dark."

"It would be safer that way, yes," Xaviar commented, finally standing himself. The paladin smoothed out his surcoat and picked up his sturdy crown shield, then turned to the open rear of the wagon as Io dropped down off of the gate. With a final glance back at his own backpack and full helm sitting against the wall of the cart, the paladin jumped down off of the wagon and followed Io to the center of the circled caravan.

They had only come to a stop a few minutes before, but Xaviar found the teamsters quickly and efficiently feeding their horses and gathering brush from a small cart to create a fire in the center of the ring. Several women were already preparing the food in a second small wagon, so that once the fire was hot enough they could begin cooking immediately. Xaviar watched the caravan members go about their business for a few minutes, but then turned his eyes eastward.

The rocky dunes of the Dry Hills spread out for as far as the eye could see to the east, and the traders' roads that the caravan would follow appeared, at least to the paladin, poorly marked at best. For a long time Xaviar gazed absently out into the darkness, once again letting his thoughts begin to drift back to his distant home.

Something in the distance suddenly snapped him out of his reverie. The paladin could have sworn that he had seen some kind of light on the horizon, but now nothing presented itself to him in the dark wastes. For a long moment the paladin's eyes focused on the dunes, until a hand on his shoulder caused him to jump in surprise.

"You should come back into the camp, paladin," one of the teamsters remarked, unconcerned with Xaviar's startled reaction. The man was a desert dweller by his looks, his aquiline face weathered by the desert sun and wind driven sands of his dry homeland. The teamster idly rearranged his turban on his head as he nodded to the desert. "There will be plenty of time to see the sands of the Dry Hills soon enough. The desert night will grow cold, and you will want a place close to the fire."

"I thought I saw a light out there," Xaviar said, looking back out to the desert one more time. "Are there any other travelers ahead of us?"

"Desert mirages, that is all," the teamster explained. "Or perhaps it was another caravan. Some people prefer to travel by night, to avoid the heat of the day. Come. Dinner is nearly ready."

Xaviar nodded, and the driver started back into the circle of wagons and the fire. A sitar began to play from the center of the camp, followed by a pipe and drum as the teamsters relaxed for the night. The paladin watched the darkness for another minute, but then turned and walked back into the center of the ring.

In the short time that it had taken for the last lights of the day to vanish in the west, the teamsters had set their fire and already begun cooking. A large cauldron filled with watery stew sat boiling over the flames, while women distributed water and spirits to the men of the caravan. A few small children, sons and daughters of the teamsters, played beneath the wagons as the adults began to chat around the fire, talking of demon raids as often as they spoke of the money they could make with their current wares. Xaviar procured a large flask of water from the commissary wagon, and sat down against another cart's wheel as the stew began to boil. On the opposite side of the fire, Io made do with her own company, sitting crosslegged on the sandy ground with a wedge of cheese and some dried meat. Even in the relative safety of the camp the Amazon kept her spear near her; the tall weapon leaned against the wagon they had shared for the last two days, its tip glinting in the increasing firelight. Of course, Xaviar thought, he was also guilty of not feeling completely at ease; Order Bar still hung from his belt, and he had brought his shield out, ostensibly to use as a seat. And he still wore his splint mail, even though the armor was far from light and comfortable. For a long moment the paladin considered removing the cumbersome splint mail, but finally decided against it. There was no telling what could come out of the dark, silent dunes to attack the small caravan.

One of the cooks suddenly called out from the fire, letting the caravan know that the stew was ready. Xaviar started to stand, but only made it as far as one knee when he was hit from behind and knocked back to the ground. Looking up, the paladin found himself facing a huge man with long blond hair turning back to him, a look of surprise on his thinly bearded face.

"Sorry about that," the man said, extending a beefy hand to Xaviar to help him up. The paladin took hold, and the stranger easily hauled him back to his feet. "I didn't even realize you were there."

"It's alright," Xaviar replied, steadying himself on his feet and turning to the man. While Xaviar was far from small and well built, he was dwarfed by the immensely powerful frame of the man before him. He was at least half a foot taller than the paladin, and his arms bulged with muscles where his ring mail shirt and gray fur cape did not cover him. Slung on the man's back was a huge, silver maul inscribed with runes like the ones Xaviar had seen during his time in the north, and a pendant carved from granite and inlaid with amethyst hung from a simple cord around his neck. "You're a north man, are you not?"

"I am," the blond haired stranger replied with a bit of a smile. "Only most of your kind would call us barbarians."

"Most people know nothing of your culture," Xaviar explained. "I have spent over a year in the north."

"Then maybe you heard of Clan Snowhammer," the barbarian said with pride. "I am Sihvo, a proud warrior of the clan."

"You have traveled a long way from your home," Xaviar noted. Sihvo Snowhammer nodded, his smile growing wider.

"I am traveling to bring honor to my clan," the barbarian explained. "Honor, and great riches as well."

"Then I wish you luck," Xaviar said. Sihvo nodded, and looked back to the cooking pot.

"Well, I have to get moving, before the stew is gone," the barbarian explained. "Hope your travels go well, paladin."

"And yours as well," Xaviar said, although the young barbarian was already heading for the food. The paladin took another moment to brush the sand off of his surcoat and mail, and finally made his own way to the stew pot. Sihvo waved and smiled as he walked away, carrying two bowls of the steaming dinner, and headed back outside of the circle. As Xaviar took his own food, Io found him again, and smiled faintly.

"I see you met Snowhammer the Clumsy," the Amazon remarked. The paladin nodded. "He must be blind, to stumble into so many people like he does."

"He seems a nice person," Xaviar said, waiting as the young woman received her own meal. "A bit reckless, but he is young."

"And strong," Io commented. "I know few that could use such a large hammer with any effectiveness at all."

"Then we should count ourselves lucky that he is on our si8de," Xaviar observed. Io chuckled slightly at the statement.

"Yes, as long as he doesn't accidentally swing into one of us," the Amazon stated. Xaviar smiled at the comment, and opened his mouth to reply to the remark.

He never got the chance to speak, however, as a bloodcurdling series of battle cries went up around the caravan.

Xaviar jumped to his feet in an instant, grabbing Order Bar and his crown shield, but in the split second it had taken him to react to battle it seemed as though half the caravan had been slaughtered. Tall, spindly, four armed demons raced through the camp, slashing wildly with their scimitars and jabbing with their spears at the startled humans. Following behind and hurling entire wagons out of their way, huge, brutish demons with oddly small heads carrying monstrous great clubs charged forward, shattering bodies with each swing of their gigantic weapons.

"Bring me strength," Xaviar prayed, taking only a second to utter his prayer. He could already feel the force of his Might channeling through his body as he surged forward, slamming into the first of the demonic giants in his way. Order whirled in a mighty arc, its heavy, macelike head igniting with fire as the weapon impacted against the demon's side. The monster screamed in pain and dropped back, allowing two more of its kind through, but Xaviar once again channeled his holy power, calling upon his Zeal and striking out with a flurry of blows against the two demons. Order Bar slammed through one demon's arm, but Xaviar wasted no time with the crippled demon as he surged forward and landed two more hits on the second demon. The giant stumbled back with a final bellow of pain as the scepter cracked his tiny skull, but once again the paladin wasted no time as he turned back on the first demon and raised his shield to intercept the beast's huge, brass studded club.

The force of the blow was enough to push Xaviar back ten feet, but his crown shield held under the onslaught. The demon was already charging in again, but Xaviar was not content to let the monster come to him. The paladin charged forward headlong, putting up his shield to deflect another crushing blow from the monster and then surging forward with a powerful backhanded swing of Order Bar. The scepter's head ignited a second time, and the weapon impacted with a burst of fire just beneath the giant's outstretched arms. Bones broke and flesh sizzled as the demon dropped on its back, letting out a last growl before it slipped into death. A guttural snarl emanated from behind the paladin, and Xaviar turned quickly on one of the four armed demons raising its curved blades to strike down the paladin. Although he raised his shield in time to deflect one wicked, serrated scimitar, the demon's second strike crept under his defenses and found a seam in his splint mail.

A burst of ice and wind erupted from the splint mail as the demon drew blood, throwing the monster back and stunning it for the briefest moment. Xaviar charged forward once again, this time catching the demon with a vicious uppercut that snapped its head straight back. The demon toppled backwards and Xaviar surged forward, coming to the aid of one badly outnumbered teamster as he tried to hold off another pair of the four armed demons. Xaviar's first blow crushed the spine of one demon, and with a strong backhand knocked the second raider away with his shield. The teamster smiled in gratitude for a brief moment, but then his eyes went wide as he saw a new attacker coming from behind the paladin.

The first demon that Xaviar had struck was back, its club descending as it bellowed in rage. Xaviar threw up his shield quickly to block the weapon, but once again the demon's brute force was enough to knock him back and send shock waves up and down his shield arm. The teamster rushed forward with his spear, intending to impale the monster, but the demon simply backhanded the unfortunate man with his club, shattering his skull and throwing him into the fire. Xaviar scrambled back to his feet, ready to finish the demon, but a blast of ice shot past his head and completed the job he had started. The giant fell to its knees as ice formed across its body, but then its legs broke at the knees and the monster fell forward to shatter into a mess of frozen blood and bone. With a second to take stock of the situation, Xaviar glanced around the caravan, trying to find a rally point for the beleaguered defenders.

One skeleton rose out of the ground on his left, then another. Xaviar did not even think as he called upon his mystical reserves and launched a pair of holy bolts at each undead, shattering the creatures' bones before they could turn on an enemy. Another of the four armed demons rushed forward to attack him, but the paladin parried away one scimitar and trusted his armor to absorb the impact of a second. Before the monster could pull its blades back for another attack, Xaviar rushed forward once again, slamming his shield into the monster's face and then smashing Order Bar into the creature's fully exposed chest. Just as the monster's rib cage collapsed under the scepter's force, a huge, silvery maul rammed the demon's head down through its shoulder blades, revealing Snowhammer standing behind the monster.

"This battle is lost!" the barbarian exclaimed, lifting his maul and turning to face another demon. Xaviar glanced around quickly, and realized that his ally was right; most of the caravan had already been slaughtered, but even more distressing was the fact that the paladin could see the brutish demons tearing through the wagons to loot the trade goods and take the caravan members as slaves. On the other side of the camp, Xaviar could see Io still fighting with a cool determination, the broad blade of her spear wreathed in fire and crackling with lightning as she rammed the weapon into another of the four armed demons. Near the Amazon, a young woman with flowing auburn hair threw off another burst of ice, stopping one of the four armed demons in its tracks, but a second raider closed the distance before she could recover and cast again. The monster's spear pierced through her side, knocking the woman to the ground, but the demon had no chance to finish its job as a clay golem hit it from behind with a powerful, two handed blow.

"Let's move!" Xaviar ordered, turning back to the barbarian as Snowhammer crushed the skull of yet another demon. "Get to Io!"

"Where?" Snowhammer asked, turning in confusion. Xaviar pointed with Order Bar to the spear wielding Amazon.

"Get to her!" the paladin clarified. "We need to try to regroup!"

"Then follow me!" Snowhammer shouted, taking the lead. Two demons tried to get in his way, but the barbarian's maul slammed through one while Xaviar flanked left and hit the other with a powerful strike from Order Bar. Io was slowly being backed up against her wagon, but the Amazon remained cool and determined as she impaled another of the four armed demons and hurled it to the side. With a final burst of speed forward, Xaviar and Snowhammer reached the woman, and quickly moved back to back as more of the demons began to swarm around them.

"Hey paladin!" Snowhammer shouted, hefting his maul and batting away yet another demon. "It has been an honor to fight by your side!"

"We aren't dead yet, boy!" Io snarled. Even as she said the words, however, a new wave of demons joined the fray, taking the odds from frightening to hopeless. With a final prayer, Xaviar called upon his Defiance, but could only hope that the defensive aura he had created around himself and his allies would last through the assault.

II

"Am I dead?"

"Not yet," Xaviar replied with a bit of a smile as he stood over Snowhammer. The barbarian squinted in the early morning sun, slowly trying to focus on his surroundings. "You came close, but you're not dead."

"How did we survive?" Snowhammer asked, trying to sit up. Waves of pain shot through his sides and chest as he tried, however, forcing him to drop back to the ground. "What happened?"

"You fought well, but there were too many of them," Xaviar answered. Snowhammer's ring mail and fur cape were both shredded, and the barbarian had been badly wounded by the scimitars that the four armed demons wielded. In a circle around the warrior, more than a dozen of the four armed demons and easily a half dozen more giants lay shattered and frozen on the ground, testimony to the barbarian's ferocious assaults with his silver maul of frost. "In the end, they simply retreated."

"Disappeared into the night, is closer to the truth," Io corrected, looking out to the dunes as she leaned on her blood spattered spear. The Amazon also sported a number of slashes and bruises from the frantic fight, and after a moment the barbarian noted that she leaned on her spear because her right leg could not support her weight. "I still don't understand why they left."

"The Blunderbores got what they came for," a cool, masculine voice said from one of the destroyed wagons. The three survivors turned on the sound, to see a pale, gaunt man with platinum blond hair and ice blue eyes sitting on the charred remains of a wagon. Dressed in fairly loose black robes and ebon hued chain mail and carrying a shield made of bone, the man was almost as frightening as the demons of the previous night's battle. "As for the Sand Raiders, well, I guess we put up enough resistance to make them lose interest in trying to kill us. But rest assured, they'll return tonight, in order to finish the job."

"Who are you?" Io asked, gingerly trying to put weight on her leg as she raised her spear slightly.

"My name is Wyszemir," the pale man replied.

"He's a necromancer," Xaviar stated coldly. Wyzsemir smiled.

"I am indeed," the man affirmed. "You, paladin, should be certain of your targets before you simply loose your holy might. You destroyed at least two potential allies last night."

"I do not count skeletons as my allies," Xaviar spat. "Nor do I count necromancers."

"That's too bad," Wyszemir said with a bit of a smirk. "Because, like it or not, we appear to be stuck with each other. At least until we reach Lut Gholein."

"I can change that," Snowhammer growled, pulling himself to his feet and lifting his silvery maul. He stopped a heartbeat later, however, as a wavy bladed short sword found its way to his throat.

"Easy, barbarian," a slightly built young woman said, a smile on her face. While her skin was nearly as pale as the necromancer's, her hair was raven black and her eyes a deep, cold brown. Her kris blade remained at Snowhammer's throat as she circled to his front, her blackened studded leather armor making no noise as she moved. "You don't want to bother Wyszemir. Trust me."

"Thank you, Stasya," Wyszemir said, his smirk growing wider as he dropped down off of the charred wagon. He turned to Xaviar for a moment, once again growing serious. "We have no choice, paladin. There are too few of us as it is to hold off everything this desert can throw at us."

"We can head back to Sanctuary," Snowhammer said, most of his attention still on Stasya and her kris. "It is only a few days back."

"A few days back to the highlands, yes," Wyszemir countered. "Then we face an uphill climb through demon infested mountains, at least a week or more, until we reach the monastery."

"He is right," Io said, reluctantly agreeing with the necromancer. "The Far Oasis is our best chance right now. I suggest we check what's left of the wagons for any supplies we can salvage, and then make our way there."

"Will you be a good boy now?" Stasya inquired, looking up at Snowhammer with a devilish grin. The barbarian merely glared at her.

"I think it will be alright," Wyszemir said, turning back to the assassin. Stasya nodded, and pulled her kris away from Snowhammer's throat. With a final pat to the barbarian's shoulder, Stasya sheathed her blade and moved to Wyszemir's side.

"What about the rest of the caravan?" Xaviar asked.

"Unless you wish me to raise them as an undead guard, there is nothing more we can do for them," the necromancer stated.

"The giants took prisoners," Xaviar stated. Wyszemir nodded thoughtfully.

"Food," the necromancer stated. "If they are not yet dead, then they soon will be. No concern of ours any more."

"Your compassion is touching," Io spat.

"Compassion nothing," Wyszemir said with a derisive chuckle. "I am being reasonable. We have no supplies and no idea which way they went. If you go after them, you're committing slow suicide in a trackless desert."

"They'd need a base to operate from," Xaviar said, scanning the horizon. To the north, a low series of basalt and sandstone ridges protruded from the dunes. "Chances are they would make their home in the rocks."

"That's likely more than a day away," Wyszemir observed. "And they'll probably see us coming. Not to mention the fact that they've probably eaten their victims already."

"But you can't say that for certain," Xaviar countered. Wyszemir drew a deep breath, holding back his irritation.

"You can't say for certain that they're alive," the necromancer countered. "Blunderbores are notoriously ravenous, especially when confronted with a feast of human flesh." He paused for a moment, and his face took on a sinister grin. "I hear they favor the flesh of a paladin most."

"Enough!" Io shouted, moving between the two men. "This bickering is pointless! No matter what we're doing or where we're going, we need some kind of supplies, so I suggest we put our differences aside for the moment and see what we can find in this disaster! I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't feel like standing around here arguing which direction to go off in while there's an army of demons that knows exactly where we are!"

"She's right," Xaviar said, still glaring coldly at the necromancer. "See what you can gather up for the journey."

"Of course," Wyszemir said, his icy grin still in place. "Once we are provisioned, we will discuss our route again."

"Of course," Xaviar stated, his voice beginning to sound more like a snarl. Neither the paladin nor the necromancer would break the staredown for a long moment.

"Let's go, Wyszemir," Stasya put in, taking the pale man's arm. Wyszemir gave a last, vicious grin to his ally of inconvenience, then turned to follow the darkly attractive assassin through the smoking wagons. Slowly Snowhammer turned as well, heading back through the wagons to find his own provisions. Xaviar finally turned back to the wagon that he had traveled in during the journey east, letting out a sigh of disgust as Io came to his side.

"We didn't already have enough problems," the Amazon said, still using her spear as a makeshift cane. Xaviar nodded in agreement. "The worst part of it all is that we probably need them."

"I know," Xaviar said, his distaste obvious in his face and his voice. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

___________________________________________________

The wagon that Snowhammer had used as transportation over the last several days was nothing more than a smoking hulk when he finally found it. The barbarian stared at the wreckage for a long moment, wondering if it would be worth digging through the ashes in search of his jawbone cap or the throwing axes that he had left near several containers of spices, but finally decided against it. His time would be better served searching for food or water among the ruins. The barbarian turned and gingerly hefted his maul, wandering back through a cluster of wagons that had not burned so completely.

Snowhammer turned a corner to walk between two of the destroyed wagons, and stopped for a moment as he found a full dozen corpses in his way. Most of them had been bloodied beyond recognition or crushed into an unidentifiable pulp, but two or three were not so badly mauled. Two men with broken spears and shredded leather armor had likely tried to hold off an assault from one side of the wagons, while a third person, a young woman gripping a staff in her hands and wearing hard leather armor studded with a single chipped sapphire, lay twisted around on the ground at his end. Slowly Snowhammer squatted next to the young woman, brushing her thick, auburn hair back from her soot covered face with one large hand.

She cried out in surprise and swiped at his hand with the end of her staff.

Snowhammer bounced back to his feet and dove away, falling flat on his back as he lost his balance in his hurry to escape what he thought might be an undead beast. The barbarian stumbled and rolled back into a fighting stance, his maul at the ready, but the young sorceress was still on the ground, frantically trying to push herself up off the ground with only her arms.

"My legs won't move," the girl said, her blue eyes going wide with terror. "I can't move my legs!"

"Easy," Snowhammer said, coming back to the girl's side as she frantically tried to make her legs obey her mind's commands. "Just rest easy. Maybe if you give it a moment to relax, you'll be able to move."

"A minute to relax?" the girl repeated, looking up incredulously at the barbarian. "I'm paralyzed! A minute to relax isn't going to help me!"

"What's going on?" Xaviar asked as he hurried to the other end of the alley created by the smoking wagons. He stopped as he saw the young woman on the ground. "Another survivor?"

"She might be paralyzed," Snowhammer said, looking up to the paladin. Xaviar made his way cautiously past the two fallen teamsters and the slain family member they had tried to protect, and knelt next to the frightened sorceress. Slowly he examined the young woman, then knelt back and folded his hands in prayer.

"I'm never going to walk again, and he's praying," the girl said, looking to Snowhammer. The barbarian shrugged. "What is he doing?"

"Believe it or not, his prayers have done quite a bit for us already," Snowhammer said, shrugging. A moment later, Xaviar opened his eyes, and pushed himself back to his feet.

"Get up," he said simply. The woman glared at him for a moment, but then tried again to stand. Although she still had some difficulty, she rapidly rose to her feet with a look of shock on her face.

"How…" was all the sorceress could manage.

"The Sand Raiders must have used some poisoned blades," Xaviar replied. "Two of your cuts were inflamed, a sure sign of poisoning. I simply cleansed the toxins from your blood."

"Never stop a paladin in the middle of a prayer," Snowhammer said, although his tone clearly indicated that he was impressed and surprised by the paladin's simple actions.

"What is your name?" Xaviar inquired, turning to the girl.

"Tara," the sorceress replied. "I was heading east to find the Horadrim sorcerer Deckard Cain."

"You may as well travel with us, then," Snowhammer said. "We're east as well, to the city of Lut Gholein. My name is Snowhammer, and this is Xaviar of Zakarum."

"What about the rest of the caravan?" Tara asked, seeing the bodies scattered about the alley. "Are they all…"

"No," Xaviar replied. "Several of them were taken captive. There is still a debate as to whether or not we should go after them."

"What's the debate?" Tara asked, incredulous. "We… we can't just leave them to get eaten or whatever the demons do with their prisoners!"

"We don't know if we have the supplies to reach them, is the problem," Snowhammer explained. "And they could even be dead already."

"But… we can't just leave them!" Tara exclaimed. "I… they're people!"

"Try explaining that to a necromancer," Xaviar grumbled.

"Necromancer?" Tara repeated. "Where? What necromancer?"

"I must have been the best kept secret on the trip," Wyszemir said, appearing over the two slain spearmen. "Really, I know I came out of the wagon at some point during the trip. My name s Wyszemir, dear, and I am pleased to meet a fellow student of the mystic arts."

"You are not a fellow of mine," Tara spat, glaring at the necromancer. Slowly she raised her azure tinted staff in front of her, but Wyszemir simply chuckled.

"A pity," the necromancer said. "Maybe, the next time you have been stabbed by a Sand Raider and are about to be eviscerated, I will not send my clay golem to the rescue."

Tara glared at the pale man for a moment, but could say nothing. She remembered too clearly the muddy construct that had attacked one of the Sand Raiders that had pinned her down, drawing its attention away from her long enough to allow her to drink a healing potion. Wyszemir saw the realization on her face, and turned to Xaviar.

"Maybe we are not so evil, after all," the necromancer said with an arrogant grin. The he turned away, clasping his hands behind his back. "Shall we continue to provision ourselves and prepare for our departure? The Far Oasis is, as the name says, far away."

Tara, Xaviar, and Snowhammer watched the arrogant necromancer disappear around the wagons for a long moment, then Snowhammer turned to his two companions.

"I really hate that son of a bitch," the barbarian stated simply.