“Bron will fall soon. Inyx is in danger.”
“I fear you are correct, friend Lan Martak. Friend Inyx has chosen a dangerous path, unlike ourselves.”
“There’s no danger to you, dammit!” snapped Lan. Regretting his outburst, he soothed the spider by saying, “We must aid Inyx. Only we can do it. You with your strength and me with my magics.”
“My intelligence is important, also.”
“Yes, that,” Lan said patiently.
“And my devastating grasp of tactics.”
“And your fighting prowess. Yes, all of those. Now how do you propose to get me down from here?”
“Eh? Oh, I suppose it behooves me to go speak with Murrk about this. His hatchlings won’t be hungry enough for a complete human for several days.”
“How comforting.”
“I thought it would ease your mind.” Krek walked up his web and gained the main strands, striding off in a gait that was the epitome of grace. On the ground his eight-legged, rolling motion appeared awkward. In this aerial world of webs, he was perfectly suited for smooth, swift movement.
Lan Martak hoped Krek did not forget his stated purpose of freeing him. The thought of hungry spider-lings caused cold sweat to bead on his forehead. And worst of all, he couldn’t even wipe it off.
Krek approached the Webmaster and hung in the web at a respectful distance. By human conventions, they remained motionless for an impolite time; by arachnid standards, Krek hurried the conversation almost to the point of rudeness.
“Webmaster Murrk,” he began. The other spider twitched slightly, indicating his distaste for such precipitous behavior, but Krek wasn’t to be swayed. Something of his human friend’s desperation had taken seed within him. To leave this pleasant valley bordered on the absurd, since he had searched world after world along the Road for such a wonderful place filled with his own kind, but other important duties had overtaken him in those wanderings.
Inyx. The spider thought carefully about the dark-haired woman whose manner differed so from other humans. She was almost bearable at times and the thread of bloodthirstiness in her pleased the spider. He understood her more than he understood the others, especially Lan Martak.
Lan. His powers grew at a pace none comprehended, much less the man himself. Krek’s unspiderly abruptness with Murrk was fueled by those powers. Claybore presented a clear and present danger, but Lan’s own untried, untrained powers seemed as much a hazard.
Allowing his friend to remain cocooned and dangling only added to the magical problems. By accident Lan Martak might hit upon a spell to free himself. The consequences of destroying this valley and all the gallant, noble beings within it made Krek shiver with horror. Rescuing Lan and rejoining Inyx outweighed any consideration of further enjoyment of this fine, restful resort area.
“Webmaster Murrk,” he said again, “there are problems in the web.”
This formal declaration brought the other mountain spider about to peer eye to eye with Krek.
“The web is my only concern,” he responded ritualistically.
“The being you hold for your hatchlings is not as he seems.”
“It seems fit fodder. It will not poison my hatchlings?”
“Doubtful,” Krek said honestly. “There are other possibilities, however, all of which must be examined. He summons powers he can barely control. If he does so, consciously or unconsciously, all within the web are doomed.”
“He is one of those living there?” Murrk twitched his second right leg in the direction of Wurnna. “They prey on us. We eat them when they become careless. But never have they displayed the kind of power you prattle on about.”
“Their powers are different. Lan Martak travels the Road and accumulates odd bits and pieces of lore in a distressingly helter-skelter fashion.” Krek saw this did not impress the Webmaster. He changed his tack. “Those of Wurnna do not command as great a power.”
“They do not dangle wrapped in my cocoon, either. Some power. Get on with this.” The terseness told Krek his welcome had been overstayed.
“My feeling is that this human is best released. I will guarantee he will never again return to this valley.”
“After my hatchlings dine, I will make the same guarantee.”
Krek bobbed his head and swung back into the web, tracing through the traverse lines that were not coated with web-glue for trapping prey. He climbed toward the sun, feeling its warmth soaking into his body, giving strength, firming his resolve. Life had become confusing with Lan Martak. Values held for a lifetime sloughed away like a snake’s used skin. To question another Webmaster’s decision was unthinkable—yet Krek thought it.
Murrk did not have the full facts. He ignored Claybore’s obvious menace. Krek realized with a sudden flash of insight how insular most spider colonies were. Their world consisted of the web and the terrain around it. And as long as the arachnids remained on high, this was enough.
It was he who had changed, not the others of his kind.
“Oh, friend Lan Martak, what have you done to me? I question now when before I acted according to instinct.” The spider heaved a sigh that sent vibrations throughout the web. Others glanced up and saw him, then went about their own business. Krek bemoaned the insanity that had seized him. The insatiable urge to see new worlds. The shirking of his duty at mating time. The desire to aid the humans in their fight against Claybore and his grey-clad legions. All insanity. And now, all his.
Krek spun about and, head-first, plunged toward the earth. At the last possible instant, he slowed his progress with a few well-chosen gobbets of webstuff. When his talons touched dirt, he felt no shock of the fall at all. He looked neither left nor right. He had decided on the proper course of action.
Above dangled Lan Martak.
“Krek, are they going to release me?” came the plaintive question.
“Webmaster Murrk is intent upon feeding you to his hatchlings. He avoids his husbandly duties in this fashion, an interesting concept: Provide enough for the hatchlings and perhaps full conjugal responsibility can be deferred.”
“I don’t care if his mate eats him or not!” bellowed Lan. “I don’t want to be served up as dinner to a wiggling horde of spiders!”
“Do calm yourself, friend Lan Martak. In the course of my conversation with Murrk, he mentioned that Wurnna is a short distance away.” Krek lifted a leg indicating the appropriate direction. “Once freed, you can find safety in that city. Those living in this valley are not aggressively inclined towards any but stragglers from Wurnna, Bron and the occasional grey soldier.”
“Once I’m free?” asked Lan. “But you said Murrk wasn’t—”
“Please,” said Krek, beginning the climb up a canyon wall. “This is difficult for me. I feel as if I betray all my own kind, but it seems necessary, given the problems you have brought down upon your own head.” Drops of amber appeared on Krek’s mandibles. The solvent touched strands of Lan’s web. The helpless man shrieked as he plunged headfirst for the hard ground.
Krek neatly snared him with a hunting web inches before he smashed to his death.
“Now for the difficult part. Each spider produces a formula of his own for cocooning. Only familial lines are entitled to know the precise composition of the silk. This prevents the less scrupulous of those in our web from filching food stored away. However, I believe finesse is not required.”
Lan shuddered at the nearness of Krek’s mandibles as they slashed and hacked at the tough cocoon. It took almost ten minutes for the last imprisoning strand to be stripped away. Standing shakily, Lan grasped one of Krek’s firmer front legs.
“Thanks, old spider. Lead the way out of here. We can be in Wurnna by nightfall if we hurry—and if Murrk was right about the distance.”
“He was right. He is, after all is said and done, a Webmaster. We Webmasters do not make elementary errors like that. However, since this escape is against his wishes, I feel it best for you to press on without me. I shall remain behind
to placate Murrk.”
“But Krek, he’ll kill you!”
“Why?”
“But you helped me escape. He has to know.”
“I didn’t eat you for myself. That is a potent argument I shall use to sway him into a truce. If it is impossible to form an alliance, then nonintervention is the next best course of action.”
“Krek, you’ll be killed if you stay behind.”
“If you do not begin your own escape immediately, you will once again be cocooned for a spiderling’s late supper. I shall forge the link with Murrk, then join you in Wurnna. As you know, I can traverse the distance much more quickly than you.” Krek’s expression didn’t change, but the tone came out as a sneer. “After all, I have an adequate number of legs to carry me.”
“Don’t be long,” said Lan. He squeezed down on Krek’s leg one last time and began down the path as fast as he could. Krek watched until his friend had vanished from sight, then turned and bounded into the web to once more seek an audience with Webmaster Murrk.
Krek wondered if Murrk would eat him or not. If the situation were reversed, Krek knew what he’d do.
CHAPTER NINE
Exhausted, feet bleeding and hands ripped from the sharp rocks he’d been forced to climb to escape the floor of the valley, Lan Martak almost collapsed when he saw the small hunting party ahead on the narrow trail. He sank to the earth and slumped so that his back was braced on a flat slab of dark red granite, then waited. Sucking in painful chestfuls of air, he scented the pungent mountain juniper and other smells less identifiable. After all, this wasn’t the world of his birth; he moved too quickly between worlds now to fully appreciate the diversity and similarity. Living off the land had been difficult, and if he hadn’t found a large dam holding back the main waters of the river running through the valley of spiders, he would have had almost no food. But watercress failed as important sustenance in his belly and there had been nothing else he didn’t judge as poisonous.
Tightening his hands into fists, he pushed himself upright and listened for the telltale scrapings of feet against rocks. He knew the humans in the hunting party couldn’t miss him; he prayed that they would ask questions first before killing.
They circled him, bows carried with arrows nocked and ready to fly into his body.
“I mean you no harm,” Lan said. He blinked in surprise when it occurred to him that his voice came out croaking and weak, barely audible. The flight from the valley of spiders had taken more out of him than he’d thought. “Iron Tongue,” he said through cracked lips. “I want to see Iron Tongue.”
The men exchanged glances and shook their heads, saying nothing. Lan closed his eyes and leaned back, the cold rock sucking away his body heat. He reached within and found the proper places to touch with his magics. As he had done in the past, he summoned forth extra strength. The penalty later would be greater due to his weakened condition now, but Lan knew he had no choice. If he did not convince these hunters to aid him, he was dead anyway.
“Stop!” came a command from out of his range of vision. Lan painfully twisted about and stared upward. A woman, dark, loose hair blowing in the wind whipping along the ridge, stood with arms crossed. She wore a hide shirt decorated with feathers and streamers of orange and yellow silk. Tiny bits of silver caught and reflected the waning sun and made Lan squint slightly.
The archers relaxed, but they kept their arrows only an instant away from deadly flight into his aching body.
“He uses magic,” the woman said. “Does any here recognize him?”
“None, Rugga,” answered the man off to one side. “He is not of Wurnna.”
“I walk the Road,” Lan said. His voice strengthened as he forced the power from within to flow smoothly. He struggled to his feet, but he had to keep one hand against the granite facing. The strength he now “borrowed” magically would soon flee. “I escaped the valley of the spiders. I seek Iron Tongue.”
“So you said,” the woman above called. “Why do you want him?”
Lan swallowed bile rising from inside and controlled his own lightheadedness. He had the sinking sensation that he had been found by a group at odds with the ruler of Wurnna.
He had no choice. He had to pursue this line or soon he’d be unable to follow any.
“We have a common enemy. Claybore and his grey-clad legions.”
“And not also the spiders?”
“I have no quarrel with them, though they did try to eat me.”
The woman laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.
“They eat many of our rank. It seems that Iron Tongue refuses to let me eradicate them once and for all. They serve some purpose which he refuses to reveal to a mere sorcerer, such as myself.”
“He uses them as an excuse to enslave other humans,” muttered one of the hunting party.
“Silence, fool.” Rugga came more fully into view for Lan, then simply stepped out into thin air. Instinct forced his leaden arms aloft to catch her, but it wasn’t necessary. The woman floated downward as if following a drifting feather. And as light as that feather, she touched rock only a pace from Lan Martak.
“You have endured much,” she said, cool, gray eyes working over his body. “Once you were quite handsome. But now.” She shrugged.
“I have been through much.”
“Cocooned, from the look of your clothing.” Slender fingers reached out and tugged at bits of the web still clinging to his garments. Those fingers lingered for a moment before leaving. Where Rugga had touched him the flesh warmed and came alive.
“You are a mage,” he said.
“There are few enough of us left, no thanks to Iron Tongue and his ambitions. We do what we must to survive.”
“If it weren’t for Rugga, we’d be…” began one of the hunters. A cold gaze from the woman froze the words in his throat. He averted his eyes and shuffled back a few paces.
“My hunters abuse their privilege of speech away from Wurnna.”
Lan took in all he saw and heard and came to unsatisfying conclusions about these people. These were not free men; while not slaves, they were under close supervision with independent thought and action discouraged strongly. Rugga, while not supporting Iron Tongue, did little to change the man’s rules. Iron Tongue ruled Wurnna. Rugga obeyed, reluctantly.
“I don’t wish to seem abrupt, but I’m not feeling well,” he said, a veil of black slipping down over his eyes. Lan fought but his knees buckled. A strong arm supported him—Rugga’s.
“Help him, fools. We return to the city immediately.”
“But we haven’t finished the hunt. Iron Tongue won’t approve. The siege. We need the food!”
“Silence!”
Even half-unconscious, Lan felt ripples of power blasting forth in that word. Rugga used magic to control her minions. He slumped all the way into oblivion, his head resting against the woman’s breast.
Lan Martak came to, instantly alert. The aches and pains in his body were history. He had never felt more alive in his life. He sat bolt upright and peered about him. Rugga sat tailor-fashion a few feet away, working on a succulently roasted leg of some game fowl. Of the other hunters, he saw nothing.
“They scout ahead. Claybore has Wurnna under siege,” she explained, then she returned to eating. But the gray eyes never left Lan. He felt as if she stripped the flesh from his bones and examined the skeleton in minute detail.
“How long has it been? Since you found me?”
“A day. Perhaps a day and a half.” She smirked at his expression. “My magics are as powerful as yours. I had never seen the strength-giving spells used in quite the way you tried. The application had a curious combination of adroitness and inefficiency. I improved on it.”
“How?” Lan expressed real curiosity. This was the first chance he’d had to question a practicing mage. The others he’d met had either been hostile, like Claybore, or obsessed with their own particular projects. “My grasp of such things is limited.”
“Y
ou’re self-taught?” This obviously startled Rugga. She covered it by saying, “In a manner of speaking, all sorcerers are self-taught. The spell works like this.”
She began a low, haunting chant, weaving the elements of Lan’s strength spell with other, different spells. The man followed the lines of magic, tracing them, letting them insinuate themselves into his brain until he understood.
“Very nice,” he complimented. The smile he got in return told him that Rugga thought he meant something other than the effectiveness of the spell. Looking at her with refreshed vision, Lan decided his words covered all aspects. Rugga’s feather- and silk-decorated shirt hung open at the front, the laces loosened to allow him to see the warm white breasts pressing forward. As she casually tossed away the remains of her dinner, he caught flashes of pink cresting the peaks.
The woman was fully aware of him and his appraisal. She lounged back, supporting herself on one elbow, long, slender legs thrust out. A deep green fabric clung to her thighs and calves with static intensity. Ankle-high boots of soft brown leather form-fitted her feet, giving her the ability to walk quietly and surefootedly on the rocky trails. About her slender waist hung a simple pouch fastened with a thong of leather wrapped around a large bone button.
“The others have gone ahead,” she repeated. “We are quite alone.”
Lan felt subtle tugs of magic. Her allure was undeniable, but Rugga enhanced it with a spell. With a single wave of his hand he brushed away the imprisoning magics.
“Not that way,” he said, holding down his anger. “None uses magic to sway me.”
Her thin eyebrows arched. “You are the first to ever notice my spell. I am growing clumsy in my old age.” Her eyes hardened, then she added, “Or I have never before met a mage of your prowess. You are wrapped in contradiction, my friend.”
“Wurnna. I must go to Wurnna and meet Iron Tongue.”
“He is so important? When we can… dally here?”
[Cenotaph Road 04] - Iron Tongue Page 10
