Four years of training had honed Trestan’s reflexes with a sword. The Sword of the Spirit normally rested in a scabbard slung over his back. Trestan drew it with his right hand, clearing the scabbard even as Cat’s dagger had flipped past him. The magical elvish blade sliced through the air almost faster than it took for Sondra to register that he had even drawn it. Montanya and Lindon were still jumping in reaction to the spider’s sudden attack when Trestan’s sword finished its arc. Trestan stood poised at the end of his swing, while two halves of the spider fell apart.
The rest all seemed to exhale at the same time. Trestan took one more swing as spider legs continued to twitch, though it was doubtful any real danger remained from the pieces on the ground. The others were still tense as Trestan checked that the spider was finally dead. He retrieved Cat’s dagger from the severed head at his feet. The paladin-aspirant wiped it and his sword clean as he stepped back to the others.
“What were you trying to do before it attacked?” Montanya asked.
Sondra’s question came on the heels of the chiaso before Trestan’s response. “Were you trying to calm its mind?”
He nodded, “I was trying to reach its mind and distract it from us. I hoped to turn its attention elsewhere.” Trestan shrugged as he indicated the corpse. “The mind of an arachnid is too simple. I couldn’t comprehend it any more than it could comprehend me.”
Sondra pondered her knowledge of such divine miracles for a moment before speaking. “Your tutors must have warned you such a thing would likely fail against those creatures. Yet, you still tried?”
Trestan grinned, a move to shed lightheartedness on his next point even as he spoke it, “Well, I figured if it did attack, I’m the most armored person here. It would have had the worst time trying to find a vulnerable spot for its fangs on me.”
Sondra was aghast. For all her sacrifices for the poor, she had never been in a position where she had faced any similar choice to what Trestan just did. He had volunteered himself as a target for a monster in order to protect others.
Lindon hurried over to the mandolin lying beside a tree. “There is one thing that still concerns me,” he huffed as he retrieved the instrument. “What are we going to do about the rest of them?”
The group heard a symphony of chittering noises in the woods. Montanya backed up as some excreted liquid, similar to the first spider’s drool, dropped from somewhere above her and hit the ground. Cat switched her dagger to her left hand as she drew her silver rapier. Sondra brought out her dog-shaped pendant and began to utter a miracle. Trestan invoked a brief protective miracle as he also looked for the origin of the noises.
Sondra’s miracle brought forth more light into the gloom of the fog, burning a portion of the mist. Up above they could see the branches made of morning dew that Lindon thought was an illusion of the mind. It revealed the glistening branches as strands of webs. Hanging from those webs were several dead animals, ranging from birds to large bats. Numerous spiders moved about the trees above. Many were the same size as the one Trestan had killed, but a few were even larger. A number of spiders on the ground closed in toward them as well. It seemed there was too much competition for food in the area. The spiders made aggressive moves against rivals who seemed too interested in claiming these new morsels as their own.
The companions tightened into a circle, grabbing what belongings they could. They abandoned the levitation boat as several legged forms scuttled over it. Trestan invoked another miracle, creating a shield of light on his left forearm as he still held the elvish sword ready. Sondra drew her mace from her belt, even as she found it impossible to regain her voice. Montanya assumed a combat stance, having only her bare hands to defend herself. The chiaso wondered how she could fight such inhuman opponents. Lindon held the mandolin as he considered his smallsword, but that seemed like a useless weapon against so many. Cat glanced in every direction looking for a way they could escape. The spiders offered no easy routes out.
With so many spiders closing in, there was the very real threat that they would all be overwhelmed with poison before getting away. As the minstrel considered Trestan’s empathic miracle, he came to realize its flaws. It was a spell designed for complex minds, so it could not work on simple ones. However, maybe Lindon could find a way to use a simple effect for simple minds. Even minstrels had ways of using measures of mind control through the harmonic web, in order to charm, break a charm, or simply influence the reactions of listeners.
“Hold very still, until the time comes to slip past them. I may be able to attempt something much like what Trestan tried.”
The mandolin would not be sufficient to set the tone in these woods. Instead, Lindon shouldered it with its strap and reached into his deceptively small pocket. He withdrew the bamboo flute, ignoring the metal flute hidden alongside it. Of all his instruments, this one should work the best on creatures of the forest. Taking the flute up to his lips, his face mostly hidden by his wide-brimmed hat, Lindon of Orlaun began playing. The flute chirped along with the spiders’ language, causing many of them to pause and listen at the new voice. Lindon had to invent the rhythm as he went along, but the tune seemed to catch their attention.
The other companions held very still. Lindon slowly changed the course of the tune. He began to mellow the pace of the music, turning it towards a calming effect. Some spiders stood still and made a few low chitter noises, but many swayed a bit while staying silent. Lindon didn’t rush the effect, nor could he have rushed it without breaking the mood. Although his tune was unlike anything the others had ever heard coming from a flute, it seemed to appeal to the spiders. Lindon played them a lullaby, soothing many into a relaxed, dormant state.
The companions were sweating and aching from holding still for so long in the face of all these hungry monsters. They saw arachnids in all directions, aware that none of the creatures were moving either. Some forms still looked down at the adventurers from the trees, while others stood immobile only a few feet away on the ground.
Finally, Lindon nudged Sondra in the midst of his playing. She looked up to him, wondering what he was indicating. Under that wide hat, his light blue eyes sparkled at her. Seeing her eyes on him, he threw an intentional glance into the woods. The meaning was clear as he nudged her in that direction. It was time to move.
Lindon continued to lull the spiders as Sondra took a few tentative steps towards the woods. She had to pick her path in order to use routes that were the least choked by those long arachnid legs. Cat quickly followed the woman, keeping her silver rapier lowered but handy. They kept Lindon in the middle, followed by Montanya. Trestan took the position of rear guard. Lindon kept his fingers dancing their slow rhythm on the bamboo as he continued his serenade. They slowly walked past several spiders, concerned that any movement on their part might cause one to strike out with its fangs. They all watched their path carefully, lest they inadvertently step on a spider leg. The creatures remained still as statues as the party, following Sondra’s illumination into the mist, tread slowly past them. The half-elf guided Sondra on a course in the direction the bow of the abandoned boat pointed. Soon the lifeboat faded into the mist behind them, along with the spiders that had been standing on it.
Lindon kept playing for a long time after they’d passed the last spider. When the day finally burned through the fog, the companions kept watchful for any other signs of webs. It was hours after the incident that Cat tried to make a jest of the encounter for Trestan.
“I do miss the antics of the other Companions of the Relics,” she said. “Though you have to admit, Salgor would have likely charged right into that army of spiders with a zest for battle.”
That brought a grin to Trestan as he answered with his opinion, “And he likely would have cleared a wide path through which we could escape.”
“And once the rest of us were safe and sound,” Cat continued, “He would have turned around and charged once again until he scattered the rest of them.”
Trestan
couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image of Salgor Bandago doing just that.
* * * * *
Lindon’s memories of the spider incident continued to divert his thoughts over the next two days of wandering in the woods. During a break in their walking, the minstrel indulged in the idea of using the event for his surname, rationalizing the event was magnificent enough to commemorate. His tutor, Master Falerno Giantcharmer, would likely agree it was a feat worthy of taking into name.
Lindon voiced his thoughts to Trestan while the squire rested. “Minstrels often have a basic name when they first set out. I have been Lindon of Orlaun since the college, but I always aspired for a notable event by which I can take a proper surname. Paladins are allowed to take a surname after an occasion of some significance as well, aye?”
“Indeed, we do.”
Trestan was listening to the minstrel, even though his heart and mind was on his beloved. He looked up, watching the half-elf as she slowly descended from a tree that towered over a hundred feet high. Katressa moved with all the grace that could belong to elf or cat. It still made Trestan nervous to watch her scaling the tree. He had to remind himself the woods were home to her.
Trestan realized that Lindon was awaiting more of an answer. The aspiring paladin didn’t mind indulging the minstrel’s interest even though his eyes were focused on Cat. “We set out from the seminary after training and begin a journey called the Embarking. It is the beginning of a quest. The quest differs from squire to squire, but we must find our own destiny.”
Trestan held up the hand that bore Faithful’s Companion. Streamers of sunlight from the forest canopy reflected light off its surface. Lindon examined the ring and its remaining etched symbols as Trestan continued his story.
“This ring is our only spiritual guide on this journey. The markings represent trials that we must pass before we can return to the seminary and be granted the full status of a paladin. When that happens, we may also choose a surname in the eyes of our church.”
“Have you given thought to what surname you will pick?” Lindon inquired.
Trestan smoothed a hand down his mustache as he reconsidered the subject. “I’ve thought of a few and discarded them. I’ve always considered myself Trestan Karok. Sometimes I wonder if I will accept any other surname.”
Lindon nodded, “Out of respect for your father I would assume. There is nay wrong with that. I, on the other hand, have been eagerly awaiting a chance to pick a suitable name. I don’t wish to seem prideful, but I feel that guiding us out of that ring of death with my music abilities grants the right to my surname. I just can’t seem to think up one that has a good sound to it.”
Montanya, who also stood nearby watching Cat’s climbing skills put to the test, added her comments to the conversation. “I didn’t know some people held their name in such high esteem. I don’t mean to sound insulting, for that is not my intent. Why is the surname so important to you?”
“In entertainment, a name can mean everything. As a minstrel, my name is the gateway to who I am and what I have done.”
Montanya shrugged, “My name was important once. Other families respected it, and it seemed to open doorways. Then it was lost in such an undignified way. My family’s estate was torn apart like a feast thrown to the wolves.”
The chiaso sensed that she had made the two men uneasy with the way she had turned the conversation. “I don’t mean to sound so harsh. I had a good name, but it is nay more. From now on it is simply Montanya. I hope the discovery of a good name brings you more fortune than the ending of my sad tale.”
Montanya stepped back from the two men, lost in her own thoughts. Lindon silently mouthed the word ‘tale’ repetitively, as if Montanya’s use of it had given him an idea. Montanya distracted herself with the torn pink fabric at the end of her braided hair. She rolled it in her fingers even as she considered the object holding Sondra’s attention.
The blonde cleric of Ganden was kneeling in prayer before a shattered wreck of wood and iron. Originally, the companions found it hard to recognize what it had been, given the decomposition of the parts. A ballista from the great vessel lay in pieces on the forest floor, marking its trail. The bulk of it had hit the mud with a sizeable impact, driving parts of it into the ground. Sondra reacted to it as if a portion of her own god’s body had been cast down to the ground. She allowed herself time to mourn the loss that it represented.
“Tale…Talespinner. Or maybe Songspinner? Nay, that isn’t right.” Lindon mumbled.
“Spinner?” Trestan raised eyebrows at the minstrel.
Lindon looked up, responding with a lot of body language to accentuate his inner thoughts. “Well aye, something that directly ties in with the spiders. I don’t think I really want to say ‘spiders’ as part of my name; that would be more frightening than entertaining. They spin webs, so I thought I might try along those lines.”
The minstrel continued to carry on his own conversation until pausing again and asking Trestan: “Is it better to be a spinner or a weaver?”
“Pardon?”
Lindon seemed to be answering his own question. “Weaver would be better. A spinner sounds too simple, too mundane. A weaver gives the impression of an artistic tapestry being created. The spiders would also probably agree that they weave a web, not just spin silk.”
Trestan glanced once more at Cat, “So, you are some type of weaver?”
The minstrel straightened to his full height and swept his hat downward into a bow. “Aye, indeed. Lindon Taleweaver at your service. Or maybe Songweaver…nay, nay, Taleweaver it is.”
Trestan couldn’t help but smile. “So, it is better to weave a tale than weave a song?”
“Aye it is!” Lindon nodded as he returned his wide-brimmed hat to his head. “A well done tale has more character and sustenance than a well done song.”
“A pleasure to be reacquainted with you, Lindon Taleweaver.” Trestan gave a formal bow.
“Now, if you will excuse me,” Trestan continued in a lower voice, “While Cat is descending, I think I will take this chance to have a bit of a talk with our cleric friend.”
Lindon subtly glanced at the young woman kneeling nearby, “You have something on your mind? Perhaps a worry concerning her?”
Trestan nodded slightly, “I’m worried she views her faith from the wrong perspective. Maybe I can enlighten her to something she doesn’t realize she’s missing.”
Lindon overheard the start of the conversation as Trestan began with an odd topic. The champion of Abriana asked Sondra how the blisters on her feet were doing. She looked up with a start, replying that her balms helped, yet they wouldn’t totally heal as long as they kept trotting through the wilderness. Trestan revealed that on his first adventure, he and his friend Petrow ended up comparing the blisters on their feet the first night they stopped to rest.
No sooner had Trestan moved away then Montanya wandered back to Lindon’s side. It occurred to the minstrel that Sondra wasn’t the only one whose perspective was infringing on her enlightenment. The chiaso felt Lindon’s light blue eyes upon her as she approached.
“So,” she began, “You are Taleweaver now?”
“Aye, I have found my name. I hope my music has been pleasing to your ears.”
The side of Montanya’s lip twitched, and there was a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I haven’t heard anything other than the tune you played when we descended from the ship…and those odd noises you made with the bamboo pipe at the spiders.”
“I would call it a flute, not a pipe. I should play more for you. I’m told you missed much of the performances on Doranil Star, therefore I should be happy to give you an encore.”
Montanya gave the slightest hint of a smile as she looked to the mandolin he carried. “I would love to hear some when we have the time.”
Lindon looked to the tree once more, watching Cat’s progress. “We have time now.” Lindon wasn’t about to add he had something in mind that might help the chiaso’s fo
cus. “I know just the sort of music you might appreciate to match your skills.”
“Skills?”
“Your skills as a martial artist. In the past year I visited far off Tariyka and walked the grounds of monasteries where chiaso trained. I recall the music that played as they went about their meditative dances.”
Lindon only partly told the truth. He had been to Tariyka and paused to watch masters training their warrior students, but he had never heard them move to music. The minstrel had a plan which he hoped would help Montanya focus on combining heart, body and soul to achieve her inner balance. If she got past her preoccupation of rogues, and concentrated on her body and movements, she might realize her potential. Lindon was no martial arts master or student; he would have to improvise with what he did know and observe.
Montanya cocked her head to one side, puzzled that students would listen to music during their exercises, since she never had done such a thing. Lindon prompted her. “I’m sure you have a meditative dance that helps you focus, what is it called?”
“Butterfly in the Windmill,” she answered without pause.
Lindon hoisted his mandolin into a position by which he could play it. Rather than play, he nodded to Montanya. The youth stood puzzled for a moment before complying. She paused only to rid herself of extra equipment, even taking off the hardened leather pieces to allow for freedom of movement.
Montanya started performing the routine. Even without formal training, Lindon believed her movements were too fast and lacked the precision that was likely required. Her style certainly lacked the discipline he witnessed in Tariyka. His hands plucked only empty air next to the strings as he invented a tune to match the movements.
“Stop a moment, please.”
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 37
