Part 10

I cleaned the glade in a rush, putting my failure behind me. I ran with all speed for an hour to my campsite. Ransacked, of course, probably the previous night by the tracks. The lofty morals of civilization, indeed. Most of my travelling gear was gone, and I would later miss that wonderful waxcanvas tent, but I paid no heed. The heavy chest was still there, still secure.

Aiyah. That fat, bald Griswold may be male, but he can surely forge a fine lock. I would thank him when next we met. My shield was in that chest.

I ran to the tavern to find dear Gillian. Though a bit dim, and concerned with little more than petty happenings, she did manage to hear valuable information from time to time. Though many rogues spoke of many bows, she could not recall ever hearing of one of Amazon origin.

Cain was of more help. Tristram's newest occupants typically bring him items of magic in hopes he can discern their enchantments. He had indeed seen a few Blackoak Bows. 'Ahh, are you an Amazon Huntress now?' he asked.

Aiyah! So often these Khandur males astonish me. How could this one know of our ways, let alone our ledgends?

He saw my surprise. 'I'm no stranger to the mighty Amazons. Usually, they're the only ones who would bring Blackoak artifacts to me. Other archers would wield stronger magics.'

I nearly struck him for his blasphemy, but knew he meant no insult. 'Honestly, old man, I know not if I'm a Huntress or a rogue. I believe only a Blackoak Bow can help me.'

He stood silent for a bit, pondering my words, but didn't press his obvious questions. 'I know you must find it yourself.' Amazing! 'So you can't be looking for a gift from a fellow adventurer. And I know your heart well enough, Denari, that you wouldn't battle another person for it. But if what you seek is reaffirmation of your quest, I give it! I have seen many Blackoak Bows in Tristram since the Fall of Leoric.'

Many! 'Do you know where they were found?'

'No, but I would guess the upper levels of the cathedral. Let me see…' He consulted some tome of knowledge written by a Jarulf, some male sage. 'Yes, yes. Your best chance lies in the cathedral, and perhaps in the highest layer of the catacombs. Good luck and good hunt, Denari.'

I had never before relied on luck, and wouldn't now.

I made for the cathedral entrance straight away. Outside the doors, I stopped, glancing down. I was wearing naught but a hunting tunic, the very cloth I wore the day I arrived in Tristram. The only weapon I carried was my knife, and that by habit only, never for combat. Even my magical jewels were locked away. Should I return to camp, don my armor? What weapon should I use for this quest? Sword and Shield? With a bow, as a Huntress? Should I just go in with the dagger?

I tossed the knife into the river Talsande. I would carry no weapons, no armor, no magical protection.

Part 11

Long ago was that day. Aiyah! It took less than three moons in Tristram to become a Huntress, but almost twenty moons cycled during my search for the Blackoak Bow. My vigorous energy soon faded to downtrodden hopelessness. On occasion, I would be rejuvenated when I found a fine hunter's bow, but it was never for long. I left Tristram for a time, telling myself and others I would take up the search in other parts of the world.

Mostly I was searching for the strength to continue.

Why hadn't the Mother Goddess simply struck me down when I recited that which I was unworthy of? Why did I choose this path that I am so unfit for? Was my faith in the raven misinterpreted imaginings? How could I hope any quest, even the recovery of a Blackoak, would redeem me?

These questions plagued me constantly. My spirit was gone. Even in combat, I seemed a ghost, coldly performing the deadly dance of the weaponless arts. I returned to Tristram in this state, just seven nights ago, a shade of what I once was, not one shred of me Amazon.

Why had this quest drained me so? I was in combat, the goal was glorious. Even if I never again walked as an Amazon, finding the Blackoak Bow would be a great victory.

But it was the means, not the ends, that made the path difficult. These foes I was facing were wholly unworthy. I rarely found challenge. I must say, however, I will enjoy my return to the catacombs, Amazon or no, to give Bloodskin and his brood the taste of Amazon arrowhead.

An Amazon craves challenge. Even the highest Queen prefers fighting not with her strongest attack, but with an attack matching that of her foes. Steel on Steel. Though I was unarmed and unprotected, my victories were meaningless. This was the hardest task ever set to me. The only uplifting thought I've had in the past year has been that perhaps this quest, the ultimate test of my perseverance, was enough.

After retrieving my possessions from Gillian, and setting up camp (this time farther from town and closer to the blackoak), I resumed my search in the cathedral and its catacombs.

In all my seeking, I entered that fouled place ninety-eight times. I have scribed the names of seven hundred forty five defeated enemies in my journal. Countless unnamed minions fell alongside their leaders. I opened every chest, searched every coffin, kicked over every barrel. I recovered thirty six artifacts of origin unknown to me. I used only healing and movement magic, with holy energy to keep the black death at bay. It seemed that I would age and die before finding what I sought.

Two days ago I was returning to my campsite by way of the ritual glade. I hadn't returned there since the day I took up my quest. Staring up at the mighty blackoak, I prayed, without much conviction, for stronger will. I reached out, touching the bark, feeling … nothing. No warmth, no magical pulse.

Why had I come here? I'd like to think I was trying to regain the inspiration and vigor that started my quest. I'm afraid my purpose was much darker. My honor, my spirit, my desire. All gone. The failed Amazon, bringer of shame to Imlatishan, was searching for an end.

High up, the ruffling of feathers. The very same eyes again stared down at me. The raven turned away and took flight.

Toward Tristram and the Catheral of Khanduras.

So be it. If I'm to sacrifice my own wretched life, let it be done in battle. Perhaps the Butcher's axe or the Skeleton King's sword. Or better still, let Bloodskin's bow take me.

I ran after the bird.

Part 12

I took the catacomb entrance. Darkbow's minions were indeed there. A spark of light flared in my soul - not renewed strength, but anticipation for life's release. Before finding the goat man, Foulwing stood in my path, albeit briefly. After several twisting passages and many wrong turns, I felt the nearby presence of the demon archer.

Eternal peace was within my grasp, I had but stand and hold. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't give in, not in the face of battle. I annihilated Bloodskin's force, leaving him for last, hoping that he could slay me before I got to him. He couldn't.

On the lowest floor of the cathedral, I kicked the bony skull right from Shadowdrinker's animated body. Would Leoric be any different? Could he and his skeletal horde stop me? Doubtful. All my efforts in the search hadn't gone unrewarded. Strong is the faith of the Cathedral of Khanduras. Blessed places of refuge abound, and the benefits for the wary are virtually limitless. My understanding of magic now rivals that of a sorceress, though obviously my talent is far less. My Blackoak Shield, my plate mail, my helm, and my chosen blade have all been bolstered in strength.

But I was not using magic or equipment - only my martial skill and raw abilities. Yet even those had been enhanced time and again at these wonderous shrines. Though I've yet to reach my thirtieth jubilee, I'm certain that no more gains can be made. I have fulfilled my innate potential in body and mind.

How could any denizen of the cathedral best me? It seemed clear that I could be defeated only by myself.

I walked over to where Shadowdrinker's skull came to rest. A small group of goatmen, seeing a near naked female without her precious bow, thought me easy prey. I searched their bodies, and found nothing.

I disarmed the trap of a nearby chest, small and empty. Another, just at the edge of vision, slightly larger and untrapped.

Why was I opening chests?

I walked over, lifted the lid back from the box. Inside was a pile of gold sitting atop a bundle - perhaps a bag made of the hide of some weaker fiend. The moment I lifted the bag from the chest and loosed the coins to the stone floor, I knew there was a bow inside. A longbow, by shape. I removed it from the bag.

Blackoak wood. Strong magical emanations. But no Amazon markings, no runes of blessing, no names of fallen witches. Surely this couldn't be an Amazon weapon. My doubts were strong. I had found many magical longbows, many made of blackoak.

It wasn't the tree that died with the first Amazon tribe, it was the knowledge of crafting it with magic. Blackoak wood will forever make a fine bow in the hands of the lowliest bowyer apprentice. But still, it was an old longbow, blackoak and magical, and my heart was a fury of emotions in my chest.

I searched my pack for a scroll. I knew I had found one during my morning foray. Yes! I knelt down on the floor, spread the parchment flat on the marble. With the bow in my hands I slowly read the magical sigils that would reveal the enchantment.

For the second time, my vision closed in, squeezed by oppressive blackness, and focused on a bow in my hands.

I wept for hours.

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