3 Weaver of Shadow

by William King

  He pulled the wraithstone amulet out from beneath his armour and checked it. The once milky stone was dark now. Long tendrils of darkness writhed through the heart of it, and it had lost all its chill hardness. It was starting to crumble at the edges. It would not be able to protect him against the corruption of the forest much longer. Perhaps it was not able to do so now. He offered up a prayer to the Sun, grateful it had lasted this long.

  He was not sure how much longer he could keep this up. He had been on the run for days now, had slept only in snatches when he had thrown himself down beneath bushes and he had grown wary even of that. Once he had woken to find a spider scuttling close to him. Another time, a blighted insect nibbling on the flesh of his face had brought him to wakefulness. The flesh it had bitten was swollen and sore.

  Now he struggled to keep his eyes open, to place one foot in front of the other, to keep moving. He was not sure that if he was caught he would have the strength to fight, and he did not want to fall back into the clutches of Weaver’s people. He knew he did not have the strength to escape again and it was imperative that word of what was happening here was brought back to his Order.

  Something large fluttered through the branches overhead. A great owl swept by, its wings suddenly still and outstretched as it glided along, perhaps looking for prey. He studied it. It was almost as large as a man but it showed no other signs of being twisted by the power of the Shadowblight. It blinked down at him once with saucer-sized eyes and then was gone.

  The movement had been so sudden it had woke him from his trance. He realised he had been standing there for minutes simply looking around in a daze. Something dropped from overhead, a tall, almost-human shape. It swung a poison-tipped spear at him, which he avoided only by swaying backwards at the last moment. He shook his head and his trained reflexes took over. He raised his blade to parry the spear, turned the parry into a lunging attack. The elf had obviously heard about the sharpness of his blade. He met the strike with its tip and still the obsidian chipped. He lashed out with his foot catching Kormak on the shin and almost over-balancing him.

  Kormak suppressed a curse, a sign of how tired and angry he was. He slashed at the elf, aiming at his head. The elf bent back almost double so that the blade passed him by and then stood upright again with the fantastic, limber grace of his people. Kormak struck again and the elf backed away, ducking and weaving.

  “You are slow, man,” said the elf. His voice was high but strangely beautiful. “You grow tired. Surrender to me. I will spare your life and you will win me Weaver’s favour.”

  Kormak stepped back and brought his blade up into the guard position warily. He wondered why the elf was talking. Was he simply trying to buy time until his comrades arrived? It did not matter; Kormak was grateful for the rest, which in itself told him how drained he was. “How so?”

  “Weaver wants you very badly. You have upset the Mother by invading her nest and killing her children. You have upset Weaver by destroying the Seed of Mayasha. You will die slowly and in great pain. Weaver plans on giving you to the Mother… eventually.”

  Kormak laughed softly. “You are not making the prospect of surrender very attractive.”

  The elf tilted his head mockingly. “In general, I have found your kind are pleased to buy a few extra minutes or hours of life in any way they can. A short-sighted people. Most of them would take my offer— prefer the option of death later rather than death now.”

  “That may be so but there is a flaw in your argument,” Kormak said.

  “I feel sure you are about to point it out to me.”

  “I don’t think you can kill me.”

  “On this we disagree. You are tired and you have been badly used over the past few days and even at your best you would not be a match for me. I am First Spear of Mayasha.”

  “I was told Mayasha no longer exists.”

  The elf looked curious. “Who told you that?”

  “A Kayoga I met in these woods.”

  “The Kayoga are not to be trusted.”

  “Says the Shadow-sworn elf who just sprang on me from ambush.”

  “I can see you are going to let that prejudice you against my offer.”

  “I make you a counter-offer.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Go now and I will spare your life.”

  “I do not think you are in a position to make such an offer.”

  “It’s the best one you are going to get today. I have heard that elves live for centuries. Drop your spear, run and enjoy those years that are left to you.”

  “That is most generous of you but I must decline.”

  “As you wish,” said Kormak. He let his shoulders slump and struck just as the elf lashed out with his spear. He knocked the point aside and drove his blade into the elf’s breast. Blood flowed forth. His eyes went wide.

  “I fear you had an unfair advantage,” the elf said.

  “And what would that be?”

  “I wanted to take you alive.” Kormak lashed out with his blade, beheading him.

  “You should have taken my offer,” the Guardian said, cleaning his blade on the elf’s spider-silk jerkin and reeling off along the path between the warped and twisted trees.

  Kormak staggered along supporting himself by using the elf’s spear as a staff. He told himself it was because he wanted a weapon he could toss at his enemies when they caught him but really he was not sure he was capable of remaining upright without it. He cursed the elves and their inhuman vitality. He had often heard it said that they could sleep while moving through the waking world, while running or hunting, and he was starting to suspect it was true. Normal men would have needed rest as much as he, more so, for he knew his own endurance was far above the average.

  Perhaps it was not that they were elves, he thought. Perhaps it was that they were in the Shadowblight and it was their territory, filling them with energy even as it sapped his strength. Just looking at the diseased forest around him, and its twisted denizens was starting to make him feel weak.

  He pushed these thoughts aside. Now was no time to be feeling sorry for himself. He needed to escape. He needed to warn the people of the Settlements that a terrible attack was coming and then he needed to reach the Order at Westergate and tell the Master there what was going on. He could not fail. Too much was at stake.

  He put one foot in front of the other, leaned his weight on the staff and kept moving. He had been lucky with the last elf. If the owl had not startled him awake, he would have been easy meat for his pursuer. As it was he had barely managed to survive the encounter.

  His stomach grumbled. His limbs felt like lead. He had not eaten or seen anything he even felt like eating for days. This was a Blight. He could not risk exposure to anything here. He had drank only rainwater he had found cupped in large leaves or in his hands when the rain fell.

  He knew that thirst would kill him before hunger but he also realised that after this was over he was going to have to fast and purify himself. He might even have to withdraw to one of the Order’s houses for testing and ritual purification. It was wise to take no chances when one had been in a Shadowblight. The Shadow stained the soul and body and could leave permanent marks. He laughed. He did not give much for his chances of living to have to deal with such things.

  He tried to imagine the world beyond the forest, to recall the clean air and open spaces of the mountains but he it was difficult. It was far easier to imagine a whole roast boar turning on a spit or carving a slice from a round of cheese in an inn like the Royal Oak. At the moment, he felt as if he wanted food more than he had ever wanted wine or water or the kisses of women. He clenched his teeth, lifted his leg and thought of what he had left behind. It was enough to frighten anybody into movement.

  Leaves crunched beneath his tread. He stopped for a second to listen to see if there were any furthers signs of pursuit. Somewhere off in the distance he heard the mad wail of an elvish hunting horn. It was answered by another one somew
here to the south of him. It seemed as if a large body of elves were there, trying to stop him from reaching the Settlements, and drive him deeper and deeper into the blighted forest. They knew that in the unlikely event of his eluding them, the Blight would do their work for them in the long run. Perhaps even being caught would be a mercy compared to that. Perhaps at least he would be fed, or drugged in such a way that it would kill his hunger.

  He thought about what the last elf he had killed had said. So the Weaver wanted him alive and so did the Spider Mother. That did not bode well. He doubted that the Weaver would try and corrupt him again since he had escaped from that particular trap once. The chances were that his bones would join those of all those others in the Mother’s lair. That was not a fate he was keen to meet.

  He thought of what he had seen around the tree, all of those elves camping, all of those spiders moving around like so many well-trained guard dogs. There was a formidable army there even without taking into account Weaver’s sorcery and the strength the Shadow might lend it.

  He doubted that any force that could be assembled by the villages of the New Settlements could stand against it. The best he could do was tell them to get out and hope they listened before the tide of blood and darkness swept over them. Perhaps he should turn south and try and break through the elvish lines no matter how strong they seemed. It was the only way he was going to arrive on time, providing of course he was not already too late.

  Something swept past overhead. It was another huge owl, or perhaps the same one he had seen earlier. It seemed an unlikely coincidence that the bird should be following him. He raised the spear and considered attempting a cast, but the owl had already disappeared once more, flickering away among the branches. It had saved his life earlier he reckoned, so he owed it that much at least.

  He lowered the spear and wondered if he was making a mistake. If the bird was in league with his hunters, sparing its life was an error. Of course, in his present condition there was no guarantee he could have hit the owl anyway, so perhaps he was not being quite as merciful as he thought.

  As that occurred to him a hunting horn sounded, much closer than he had been expecting. He heard the insane howls of Shadow-corrupted elves ringing through the forest and started to run once more.

  Mad laughter rang out along the tracks behind him. Large things moved in the branches above. He could hear branches clatter against each other. From overhead he heard a hideous clicking noise that he knew was mandibles clashing. Ahead of him, he saw something blocking the path. He slowed just in time to realise it was a spider’s web. Had it been there for some time or had it been spun specifically for him? Were his enemies trying to drive him along this path into a trap? He slashed at the web, opening a gap and staggered through.

  Ahead of him a large clearing opened up and as he entered it a group of elves rose from the ground, shucking off cloaks camouflaged with leaves, spiders moved into position behind him. It seemed that he had been cut off without realising it, or driven into this ambush. Without pausing to think he raised the spear and cast it. It flew straight and true and buried itself in the chest of a surprised-looking elf. The others laughed cruelly at his shock and he realised that they were all drugged on narcotic venom.

  He limped forward, blade raised and slashed aside two spears cast at him. He ducked reflexively when he heard a dart hiss through the air towards him and three more strides took him in among the elves. He slashed left and right, drawing blood from the forehead of one, opening a wound in the upper arm of another. He was getting slow. Any other time and he would have killed those two. Someone cast a net of sticky webbing at him and he slashed it open. A group of the elves raced towards him, spears raised.

  He howled a battle-cry and leapt among them, striking left and right. One advantage he had was that they wanted him alive. Another was that he was armoured. The third was that he did not have to worry about striking anybody else. He was going to have to make the best of them. At worst he would fight with such fury that they would be forced to kill him. He was not going to be their prisoner again.

  A spear came in from his right, he deflected it with his arm as he parried another with his blade. The butt of a third slammed into his back, sending him tumbling forward. He regained his balance and caught one elf behind the leg, drawing blood, exposing bone.

  As the elf tumbled backward, Kormak slashed his throat open, sending blood gouting into the air. Something heavy slammed into the back of his head. Stars flickered before his eyes and his vision went momentarily black. When it recovered he was on his back, looking up at a group of smiling elves. One of them, badly wounded had raised his spear and looked as if he was going to drive it into Kormak’s chest. Two of his companions were trying not very hard to restrain him. Kormak guessed he had made them angry.

  The poisoned spear point began to descend. At that moment, something massive flashed out of the gloom and a feathered fury of wings and claws descended on the spear-wielding elf. He screamed and reeled away. The other elves drew their weapons and tried to stab the new attacker.

  Kormak kicked the legs out from under one, and stabbed the other as he rose. He saw that the great owl had risen from the screaming elf it had attacked, carrying part of the elf’s face in his claws. Kormak could see exposed teeth and bone and a lot of blood. The elf was missing both his eyes. Kormak put him out of his misery and looked around the clearing.

  More than half of the elves who had attacked him were down, wooden shafts sticking from their breasts or eyes. Half a dozen of the spiders were pinned to the ground by similar arrows. A few of the remaining elves glared around trying to see what was killing them. Kormak charged them and cut them down and in a moment he and the great owl were the only living things visible in the clearing.

  He looked at the owl. It gazed back at him and blinked and then took wing once more. As it flew its hooting sounded like mocking laughter.

  In the distance Kormak heard once more the sounds of hunting horns. “Whoever you are I am grateful,” he said. “But I would be more grateful if you showed yourself.”

  “I told you to turn back, Champion of the Sun,” said a soft voice from nearby. “But you would not listen.”

  The green-haired elf woman stepped forward into the clearing and started retrieving her arrows from the corpses. She looked at his ragged form, appeared to think of something and tossed him a leather-wrapped package. He opened it and saw nuts and waybread and dried meat.

  “It is safe,” she said. “It did not come from this place.”

  He sheathed his sword, took some meat and began to eat, realising that he was beyond caring about whether the stuff was Shadow-tainted. He paused chewing for a minute and she handed a bottle. He unstoppered it and drank. It wasn’t water and it wasn’t wine but it refreshed him as nothing he had ever drank before did. He felt the weariness fall off him. He was suddenly ready to run another twenty leagues.

  She snatched the bottle from his hand. “A mouthful of elfdraft is usually enough. Are you ready to go on?”

  He nodded. “Good. You will need to run as you have never run before if we are going to make it out of this place. Be warned, if you fall behind I will leave you. You are worth something to me alive but not as much as my own life.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” said Kormak.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FILLED WITH RENEWED energy, Kormak followed the elf woman through the darkened woods. The elvish liquor settled in his stomach. A sense of well-being flooded through his veins. Everything was going to be all right. His body had found a new well of strength. He was a match for any foe once more.

  He told himself to be wary, that this was simply the effect of a drug but he could not help himself. A few minutes ago death had seemed inevitable. Now he had food in his belly and was running for his life as if he had a full night’s sleep and was in perfect health.

  There was always a price to pay for using such drugs. What they gave you always had to be repaid with interest but
right now he was simply glad to be able to move once more.

  The sound of hunting horns told him that the pursuit did not care how optimistic he was. It was still after him. There was something in their plaintive notes that made him suspect they had found the bodies he and the elf woman had left behind. Perhaps that was the affect of the drug. He was ascribing emotion to an emotionless thing, the sound of a horn.

  Ahead of them was a partially tumbled down oak. It formed a ramp rising into the lower branches of a much larger tree. The elf ran up it and was soon running along the narrow branches, leaping up and grabbing another, swinging onwards. Normally Kormak would have been very doubtful of his ability to follow her but now he simply copied her actions and succeeded in trailing her although the branches to which he clung bent much more under the weight of his armoured bulk.

  He kept moving, kept focusing on emulating what the elf woman was doing and keeping up. He chanced to look down and noticed that the ground was a long way below. A single misjudgement here would send him toppling down to his death. He felt himself totter somewhat as he ran along another branch. His sense of the passage of time was way off too. He needed to be aware of that.

  A flutter of wings told him that the owl had returned. It settled on one of the branches nearby and regarded them with curiosity.

  “He a friend of yours?” Kormak asked. He was breathing heavily now. The elf liquor might be keeping fatigue at bay but his body was feeling the effects of the exercise.

  “Ghostwing is a comrade,” said the elf. “Be grateful to him. He told me where to find you. He warned you when you were about to be ambushed.”

  “Thank you,” Kormak said, somewhat self-consciously since he was talking to a bird. The owl tilted its head to one side, hooted and took to the air again.

  “He says the Lost are having trouble finding our trail since we took to the branches. He has attacked their spiders trying to get our scent and that has put them off for a while. He is confusing our back trail. It may be safe to rest soon.”