The items from ancient days could be awesome, particularly the body armor. It was thick and very heavy, but somehow less restrictive than the plate armor made today. Kasim had a suit of the ancient armor now, and liked it, but as hard as she tried, Xanthippe could barely move in the stuff. Anya felt this was because the men of those legendary times were far greater than those of today, and humankind had degenerated since then. Xanthippe was skeptical; Kasim could wear it fine, and besides, if a girl her size couldn't wear the ancients' heavy armor, that was hardly a sign of humanity's degeneration.

Tonight, Anya was not in her house, nor any of the other elder's houses. Looking around, Xanthippe saw a house with several burning lamps shining through the shutters; many female voices came from inside. The door was open a small crack, and when Xanthippe approached, it opened a bit more, and a young girl motioned for her to come in. Suspecting what might be going on, she told Kasim to wait, and went inside alone.

The house was packed with women, facing each other from benches in the middle of the room, or standing against the walls. The older ones seemed to have the benches, Xanthippe noted. Seating was probably determined by social position; it often is in tribal societies. Anya was there, standing at the far end of the room, smiling at Xanthippe. Malah was also there, seated at the head of one bench, but she was not smiling.

"I am so glad yoo have come," Anya said. "We are discussing the fate of Harrogath."
"The fate of Harrogath is not our decision!" Malah insisted. "And it is not something to discuss with outsiders, great and powerful though they be."
"It seems to me..." one of the other older women said, "it seems to me that the fate of our people may be decided by us. The council of elders is no more, and the warriors who might replace them have been cut down."
"Not all are lost!" Malah said. "The old ways were handed down by the gods, their curse will be upon yoo all if yoo abandon them. Have yoo forgotten the strength of our forefathers?"
"The prophecies say that the old ways will fall," Anya said. "They are difficult to interpret, but that point is clear."
Another of the older women, a big woman with a handsome mustache, stood and clouted Anya on the side of the head. "Do not speak of the prophecies in front of strangers! Have yoo no shame?!"
The blow hardly fazed Anya, though Xanthippe heard it from across the room. "The future will not be like the past! And what harm is there in a foreigner? She may have ideas, knowledge we can use to help ourselves."
"Yoo have never been outside of our lands." Malah crossed her arms and started hard at the opposite wall. "Outsiders do not even respect their own ways of doin' things. All are thieves, smooth-talkin' merchants, and lords livin' off others' labor. Honor, plain speaking, finding yoor living on the land yoorself... none of these things have value to the others." Looking up at Xanthippe, Malah snorted. "Beggin' yoor pardon, young miss. I know yoo've done many great things, but I speak the honest truth, and yoo cannot say I speak false."
So far, this debate had been very familiar for Xanthippe. She was reminded too much of the Zann Esu. None of the young women, besides Anya, had spoken. She was sure they were "allowed" to speak, but would be shamed and ridiculed for anything they said, unless they parroted one of the older women. And since none of them were speaking, they obviously didn't have anything to say the old women would like to hear. "There are people like that. I don't think I'm a thief, or a lord living off the fat of the land. Maybe I'm a merchant; I bring stuff back and sell it."
"No, no!" Malah looked aghast. "I wasn't speaking of you, miss! You've become a great hero, a true inspiration... though perhaps some of the younger women have been too inspired by your example." That was accompanied by a castigating look at Anya.
"I don't see why she should be allowed here at all," another older woman said. "We all saw how she treats her man! Ought to be ashamed of herself, but is she? This one must not know shame at all!"
"I'd have more sympathy for him if he'd the strength to stand up to her! He's a weaklin'. Who needs a weak man about?"
"No, he is not weak," Anya said. "He can wear the ancient's armor, when some of our own menfolk haven't the strength. And she always takes him with her, even when she went to challenge Nihlathak!"
"He's tiny! Such a spindly thing, and so dark and ugly."
"Well, she's a spindly thing, dark and ugly, and she defeated the Lord of Terror alone!"
"Hey!" Xanthippe said. "I happen to believe I'm not ugly." Her own opinions of these women, she kept to herself. They did look like horses; but the men looked like oxen, so that was all right. And maybe standing up to them and speaking her mind would get her some clout.
Malah smiled. "I am sure the menfolk in yoor lands think well of yoor beauty. Here, things are different."
Mrs. Mustache was glaring hard at Xanthippe. "I still canna believe yoo defeated the Lord of Terror. Yoo say so, and yoo are strong... but I canna see it bein' so."
"I believe it is as she says," Anya said, smiling at Xanthippe. "And I believe she will pass the challenge of the Ancient Ones as well."

That quieted the room down. Xanthippe had learned a little bit about the Ancient Ones, ancestors the Barbarians worshipped. A challenge from them would probably mean combat, to the death. That's the Barbarian way. Thinking about it, she realized she'd much rather be on the peak, fighting the gods themselves, than standing in this room trying to talk to these women. The old women didn't think she had anything to say, and most of the young ones wouldn't challenge them. So, she took up her halberd and spoke:

"It may be that I'm not worthy of speaking to this assemblage. I am a foreigner, and know nothing of your ancient ways. My mind is befouled with strange ideas. And I have been treating my man very badly. However..." Then she frowned. "I am not here to respect you, or abandon my ideas, or apologize for being short, dark, and unblessed with the gifts of testosterone. I am here to kill Baal, before he destroys the Worldstone. Talking with you accomplishes nothing. I am going back to the mountain. I'll see you all after I've killed some gods."

The Ancient's Way ran under the icy cap of Mt. Arreat, so steep that steps had been carved into the tunnel floors. All the usual creatures were there, but the fights were getting harder. The air was so dry and thin, both Xanthippe and Kasim were constantly short of breath, and even after a short fight, they had to rest for far too long. Her lungs and sides hurt from all the gasping, and her stomach was constantly queasy. Still, they pushed upwards, climbing at every chance, until they reached one final stair with no more demons, and sunlight shining down from above.

The peak of Mount Arreat was a small, flat area, about the size of a large room. Cyclopean cliffs dropped off from every side, huge sheets of glacial ice making a surface ascent all but impossible. Xanthippe and Kasim could look down, over the long spiraling path they'd taken up Arreat's slopes, or up at the cobalt sky, where the air was so thin stars shone near the zenith, even in daylight. On the peak itself were an altar, surrounded by three statues, and a gate, closed and locked. Far inside the gate, Xanthippe saw a barbaric totem. Obviously, the Relic of the Ancients, left where they could see it... but just out of reach.

The statues were made of some kind of metal, tarnished with great age and covered with snow and ice. All were of Barbarians, who didn't look much bigger than the living ones. They did have heavy armor on, though, which automatically made them smarter than the Barbs of Harrogath. Runes on the statues' bases may have given their names; for the second time on this quest, Xanthippe regretted neglecting her languages. The altar had some writing, faintly visible through the snow. Xanthippe brushed the snow away; it was probably more runes, but her brain wasn't working well with so little air. As she touched the altar, three deep voices spoke in unison.

"WELCOME! WE ARE THE NEPHALEM, THE ANCIENT ONES, GUARDIANS OF THE KEEP OF THE WORLDSTONE. THE DEMON LORD BAAL HAS OPENED THE GATES AND ENTERED, NOT 10 MINUTES BEFORE YOOR ARRIVAL. YOO MUST MOVE QUICKLY TO STOP HIM, BUT WE MAY NOT OPEN THE GATES AT A WHIM. TO ENTER THE KEEP, YOO MUST FIRST DEFEAT US."

With a flare of golden light, kind of like the light made when she crafted Khalim's Will, the statues changed into three Barbarians clad in glowing, fiery-red armor. One had a sword and shield, another a huge axe, and the third two handfuls of throwing axes.

"Huh?" Xanthippe blinked in confusion.
"DEFEND YOORSELF."
The swordsman smashed Xanthippe over the head with his blade; it really, really hurt.
"WE CANNOT LET UP. YOO MUST BE WORTHY TO ENTER THE PRESENCE OF THE WORLDSTONE TO DEFEAT BAAL!"
Shaking her head, Xanthippe swore and parried another blow with her halberd. "Kasim! Get the axe guy."
"I'm on it," Kasim said, staggering a bit under a barrage of throwing axes. As he swung for the axe Barb, that same leapt high, high into the air, easily over Kasim's head. Must be the pure mountain air.
Then Mr. Axe came down, axe blade first. Looking up, Xanthippe suddenly realized her head would intersect with that axe in very short order, and that would be a bad thing. A quick teleport solved that problem, but then Mr. Sword went through her and Kasim like a rabid wolverine, smashing and slicing left and right with fierce abandon.
More throwing axes bit into their armor; Mr. Axe took to the air again; Xanthippe decided a change of tactics was in order. Teleporting to the edge of the cliff, she and Kasim chugged healing potions and conferred.
"Who do we concentrate on?" she asked.
"The thrower. He's the most annoying."
"Gotcha."

Teleporting back in, Xanthippe shot off a few quick bursts of Static Field, and she and Kasim began laying into the thrower. The other two came to his aid, but if they kept their feet moving and didn't stay in one place, they could avoid the worst of their attacks. Mr. Axe's move of choice seemed to be that leap; if you see him jump, just move before he lands, and he can't hit. Mr. Sword's rabid wolverine attack was basically a rolling charge, in a straight line; it was harder to dodge, but if they were careful about placement, he couldn't get them both at once again.

The thrower ran; a "tactical retreat," not scampering like a bunny, of course. Xanthippe and Kasim concentrated on Mr. Axe, and on a masterful impaling from Xanthippe, his body broke up and he disappeared. A golden statue of him reappeared in his place. The thrower came back and tossed some more axes as Xanthippe and Kasim lay into Mr. Sword. After a couple of full rejuves, he gave up the ghost too. The hardest part about killing the thrower was chasing him down. And they say Barbs don't run from a fight. After they sent the thrower back to his endless vigilance, they spoke again.

"YOO STAND BEFORE US, TRULY THE MOST WORTHY OF HEROES! THE GATES ARE OPEN TO YOO NOW, ENTER WITH OUR BLESSING. BAAL MUST BE STOPPED BEFORE HE REACHES THE WORLDSTONE; FEW ARE WORTHY TO..."

They probably said more than that, but Xanthippe and Kasim were already running through the open gate into the Worldstone Keep.