The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  A shiver stole any warmth he had left in him.

  His mind raced back to the day at the Twilight Manor when he’d met that little ale-keg of a dwarf, Grint. It seemed a lifetime ago. How would things have turned out had he not boasted quite so proudly? Steal the crown from a king? Yig and shog, what a stupid idea. From dead and dying kings, to probably dying in the lair of a spider queen.

  Whitney arrived at a fork. Without a coin to flip to decide which way to go, he simply closed his eyes and chose. He had one arm in when he realized the ground beneath his hand was supple, like a web.

  Exactly like a web.

  His elbow tore through, and he plummeted, bumping and scraping flailing appendages, too shocked to scream. He braced for impact. It was impossible to tell how far down he’d gone when he finally crashed into a pile of sticks. They clamored against the wall, banging and tapping in an almost melodic, musical tune.

  “’You’re lucky if you get anything at all,’” Whitney said like a child, imitating Torsten’s voice. Then, “I’ll give you luck.”

  Something dug into his lower back. He reached around and wrapped his hand around what felt like a smooth, thick branch. He tugged, and it came loose.

  A dim light came from somewhere. He couldn’t find its source, but it was bright enough for him to make out what appeared to be a femur bone—a human femur bone. Grossed out again, he wriggled free, the ground beneath him shifting with each motion. More rattling; a symphony of death. Not sticks, but skulls, bones, ribcages, and even rusted remnants of armor from Glass soldiers rolled around below as Whitney scrambled to find his footing. It was almost as if he was swimming.

  He finally found stable ground a few meters away and hopped between both feet to shake the smaller bones off his body.

  “Perfect,” he said to no one. “Just perfect.”

  Whitney looked up and saw the passage he’d fallen through, shuddered. Somehow the cave was even colder now. He could see his own breath. He tried not to think about how many adventurers had fallen to their deaths. Enough to create a pile of bones so high that he didn’t join them.

  He searched the room. Every square centimeter of the walls and ceiling were covered in egg sacs. From above, more eyeballs hung like ornamental orbs. Each one stared at Whitney. As he turned, he found the tiny shaft where the light was coming from. Whitney thought twice, then decided anything was better than being stuck with corpses.

  He checked the ground to make sure it wasn’t another hole, then shimmied inside and thanked any gods who might be listening that it was just a short tunnel which opened into a big, dark, auricle-shaped room.

  Moonlight sifted in through several man-sized holes above. They looked like pinpricks from this distance. He crouched just in case, although there wasn’t any sign that anything other than him was alive in the whole space. Even the sacs of unhatched baby spiders were missing. He shivered again at the thought.

  As he delved further into the room, he saw thick stone columns at the center connected by thinner, stone protrusions. While there were no egg-sacs in this room, the stone was covered in puffy, white blotches.

  He climbed three shallow steps into the middle of the chamber. His heart thumped against his ribcage as he looked upward. From his new vantage, he realized that the columns and protrusions weren’t that at all. They formed the shape of a massive web spanning out to all corners of the room.

  Then one of the puffy white spots stuck to it moved. Whitney drew his curved daggers and spun, ready to fight before he realized that half the spots were moving. They were food, beasts and men strung up to the grand web like how normal-sized spiders string up flies.

  “’It’ll be empty,’” Whitney whispered to himself, now mocking Uriah. “‘Bliss won’t be around anywhere.’”

  Last time Whitney checked, no one leaves their food for too long, and it was clear that Bliss' dinner resided in those puffy white sacks. His throat was dry, and he felt sick. He searched the room for any route of escape.

  He didn’t become the world’s greatest thief by running away from a challenge. He did, however, run away from giant scary monsters. If he didn’t, he’d have had an awfully short career.

  Taking a deep breath, he switched his targeting from a place of escape to making sure he was alone but for Bliss' squirming, unfortunate prey. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t even a sign of smaller spiders or rodents.

  If the rats are afraid of this place…

  He drove the thought out of his mind and reminded himself of the mission; find some stupid, little kid’s stupid, little doll. Get back to Yarrington, and be crowned the hero of the day. Earn a new name to muck up in future adventures with his promising new partner in crime.

  “Where does a giant spider keep a doll?” he asked. There was no chest filled with loot, which was the image he’d conjured up throughout the journey. Though, he wasn’t sure what a spider might need with gold and jewels.

  What am I looking for? Dead bodies?

  There were plenty of those.

  Rusted old chestplates?

  Definitely those too.

  One thing was for certain, he needed to get out from beneath the web and explore the massive room.

  How big it really was didn’t become clear until he realized the specks against the far wall were piles of human remains. His feeling of nausea returned in full force. He’d become somewhat used to the smell of the death that enveloped him—but every time he saw new sources, it returned with a fresh fire.

  A full set of pearly Shieldsman armor similar to the one Torsten wore, sat against a pile of more Shieldsman armor. Whitney knew plenty of Glass Kingdom men had been sent on this mad quest before, so it was as good as any place to start.

  He took one step, then heard a sound like a tarp unfolding. He looked up but saw nothing. As he went to glance behind him, something fuzzy stroked his jaw.

  “So, you’re the newest in a long line of failures to enter my lair? How handsome.”

  The voice came from behind him. It was smooth, sultry even. Whitney’s whole body froze, and he clamped his eyes tight. Whatever it was tilted his head from side to side as if studying him before releasing him.

  “You can open your eyes, Mr. Fierstown,” she said. “I won’t bite…yet.” Her laugh was infectious, like one of the ladies of Old Yarrington.

  Whitney complied, and a creature that could be none other than Bliss circled around in front of him.

  “My, my, aren’t you handsome?” she said.

  Whitney just stared at her, mouth agape. The one thing no one prepared him for was how gorgeous Bliss would be. Gorgeous and… naked. Sure, her lower half was a gruesome, horrid, massive, bulbous, spider body, but her top half was all woman.

  “Go on, say something,” she said, licking her lips.

  “You—you weren’t supposed to be here,” he mustered the courage to say.

  She laughed again, this time it wasn’t quite as charming. “You steal your way into my home and then complain that I’m here? And here I thought you were supposed to be some great thief.”

  “How… how do you know who I am?”

  “Did your traveling companion tell you nothing?” She reared up on her back four legs, the front four waving in the air. “I am a Goddess!”

  She came down hard, and the ground shook. Dust and loose webs poured from above, coalescing into the light from the holes above. A loud thump drew Whitney’s attention, and he glanced over to see one of the bodies who’d been rolled up in webbing fall from above, landing just a few meters away.

  Whitney took a step backward. His foot slipped off a short step, twisting his ankle. He tumbled, and one of his daggers fell loose, sliding across the floor.

  “Try to keep your feet, mortal,” Bliss said. “It’s no fun without a struggle.”

  She strode forward and used one of her legs to flip him upright. The movement was so fluid and otherworldly it made Whitney’s heart pause. He’d never seen anything to compare. It was less like
she’d walked and more like she glided toward him. She leaned in close, and he could smell her rotting breath.

  “You’re going to be delicious,” she said. “Impure meat is so much... juicier.”

  Whitney took off, gritting his teeth through the pain of his ankle. Her laugh continued, and by the sound of it, she wasn’t pursuing.

  “Oh, I do love a chase!” she said.

  Before Whitney could register the movement, she stood on the wall in front of him, peering down like an owl from a perch or, he supposed, like a spider from its web. She lowered her abdomen, and a spray of webbing shot out and landed at Whitney’s feet.

  He dodged and strafed sideways, then searched frantically and spotted the nearest tunnel. There were many of them all around the lair, a dozen ways Bliss could’ve snuck up on him. When he looked back, she was gone.

  He pushed his legs as fast as they could go. The tunnel wasn’t far, but it might as well have been Winde Port. He was closing in when he heard her cackle echoing all around him, sounding almost as if it originated within his head.

  He kept running.

  One of her spiny feet pressed against his chest when he was only a few strides away. He collapsed onto his back, gasping for air. He wished he hadn’t. The smell gagged him and made it even harder to catch his breath.

  “Good show, boy,” she said, “but I tire of games.”

  “Are you sure?” he said. “I can think of a few more.”

  “Quiet now. If you struggle, it will only be worse.”

  Her legs wrenched their way beneath him and forced him onto his stomach.

  Whitney momentarily broke free of her grasp, gripped his remaining dagger and slashed upward. He caught only air, but she stumbled backward. He hopped up and thrust at her.

  “Now, you listen,” he said. “Let’s come to some sort of deal, and I promise I won’t cut you into pieces.” He thrust again, and as he did, she whipped her body around. A thick spray of webby paste glued his mouth shut, and as she came back around, one of her legs smacked the blade out of his hand.

  “You talk far too much for such a useless creature,” she said.

  She brought her full body over him, towering. Whitney tripped again as he cowered, landing on his rear.

  He pawed at his mouth.

  She yanked at his legs.

  He began rolling at a nauseating rate, seeing the floor and then the ceiling, over and over. He felt it on his calves first, the thick webbing drawing them closed so he could no longer kick. He tried to fight, slapping at her legs at any chance he could find. It was no use. His arms were bound, his left tight against his side, the right pinned uncomfortably against his chest. She reached his neck before stopping.

  “Now, I will take your eyes just like all the rest,” she said. “You will forever watch as the world passes you by, damned to never leave this plane.”

  Whitney wasn’t sure what he screamed into his sealed lips. Curses or prayers, anything he could think of. But she couldn’t hear him. No one could. He was all alone and was going to die at the hands of a spider goddess.

  She lowered her face until it was mere centimeters from his. Up close, her beauty was even more undeniable. Her eyes were dark and deep purple, mesmerizing, and her face as fair as any maiden he’d seen across Pantego. Only instead of hair and ears, a silver carapace wrapped her head and stuck out on either side like the points of a crown.

  “Be still,” she said. “Your friends will be with you soon. All you pathetic mortals will be.”

  She pressed her lips against his, the paste covering his mouth melting away at her touch. He felt her tongue against his teeth, tasted blood.

  When she pulled away, he found himself growing sleepy and numb, like he’d imbibed an entire bar’s worth of ale.

  “We haven’t even… haven’t even gone on our first date yet,” he slurred.

  The next thing he tried to say was a garbled mess. Bliss smiled down at him as her web stretched over his face and everything went dark.

  XXIX

  THE KNIGHT

  “It’s been too long,” Sora said. “I’m going in.”

  She stood, but Torsten grabbed her arm. “Relax, nothing can kill that man,” he said. He almost felt bad when he added, “He’s like a cockroach.”

  Her face betrayed her guilt.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Torsten assured.

  “We sent him in there alone,” she said. “What if Uriah is wrong? What if Bliss is in there waiting for him?”

  “There are many things Uriah Davies is, but I have fought at his side many times. There is no finer commander.”

  Sora glanced over at him, and Torsten did the same. He paced back and forth in front of the cave, murmuring to his dire wolf under his breath. Torsten had to admit, he was far from the Wearer he’d once admired and served beneath. Far from a man worthy of being King Liam’s right hand.

  “I just don’t trust him,” she said.

  “If I remember, you supported inviting him along,” Torsten said.

  “Still…” She ran a hand through her hair. “It’s been too long, and those guys give me the creeps.” She nodded toward Redstar’s unmasked follower, the warlock with his painted face. He sat alone a few strides behind them, legs folded and hands resting on them. Silent.

  “As far as I can see, you both serve the same fallen gods.”

  “I don’t serve anybody,” she retorted.

  “Well, we can safely say that none of us trusts one another.”

  “That’s for sure,” Sora muttered.

  “Two weeks ago, I stood beside the throne. King Liam was sick but alive. Now, I’m out here with a thief, a blood mage and a cult-leading ghost who’s seemingly lost half his mind. I don’t have to like it, but this is all we have. Iam wouldn—”

  “Why do you say it like that?” she interrupted.

  “What?”

  “Blood mage. Like just saying it makes you want to throw up.”

  “Because I have fought those who call on the wicked magic of Elsewhere, girl. In all forms. Iam created Elsewhere as a realm between here and the Gates of Light. A place to banish those of his brethren who sought power over peace, to send the abominations and demons they crafted to fight in the god feud.”

  “I know what Elsewhere is,” Sora said, a harsh edge to her tone.

  “Then you know why I can never abide by anyone who would wield the power of that place to alter our world. Conjuring fire or demons, or even healing wounds meant to heal naturally; it is all a perversion of the gifts Iam gave us.”

  “Easy to say from up there in glass spires. All Yarrington ever was for me was a blur on the horizon.” She raised her bandaged hand. “This is all I have. All the man who raised me left for me.”

  “And did he teach you what happens when a demon possesses you through your connection to Elsewhere? Or when you decide summoning flames isn’t enough?”

  “We aren’t all bad, you know.”

  “Power is a dangerous thing,” he said. “I’ve seen the Panping mystics mutilate men for their experiments. ‘Learning how to heal the body through the sacrifice of others,’ they claimed.”

  Sora tried to speak, but he didn’t let her.

  “And I’ve seen how whatever magics Redstar used corrupted the mind of a little boy until he chose to jump from a window rather than hear the whispers. I’ve felt the curse’s remnants myself. It is the unholy power you draw on that is the very reason we are here. So no, blood mage, I don’t trust you, and I never will.”

  Her lip twisted. “Well, you can at least thank me for saving your arm.”

  Torsten folded his arms. A part of him wanted to say it. She was still young and didn’t seem to be overtaken by the lust for power blood mages often fell for yet, but the words didn’t come.

  “You two should try to keep it down,” Uriah said as he strode over.

  “That’s fine. We’re done talking.” Sora stood, arms crossed, and walked a few steps away.

  �
�You should open your mind a little, old friend,” Uriah said, laying a hand on Torsten’s shoulder.

  “So, I can be like you?” he said. “Hiding in caves with depraved cultists? Crucifying people in the name of fallen gods?”

  “Nothing seems more wicked than that which we do not understand.”

  Gryff started barking at the sky. Uriah clapped his hands and hissed to silence him. “That girl has a part to play in all of this. I know not what it will be, but there is both light and darkness in all the affairs of gods and men.”

  Again, Gryff started barking. Uriah was about to reprimand the beast when Sora shrieked.

  “Ick, what was that!”

  Torsten turned to see Sora shaking her leg. A small spider flew off. Well, small in a relative sense. He was hoping to avoid a giant, but this one was the size of his hand, which still made them the largest spider he’d ever seen. He leaped into action and crushed it beneath his heel.

  “I thought they weren’t home?” Sora said.

  “They are now,” Uriah said.

  Torsten turned back to him and saw Uriah was staring up. Before he could do the same, another hand-sized spider landed on his shoulder. He flung it off, then followed Uriah’s eyes. Beyond the display of human eyeballs, hundreds—maybe thousands—of the creatures crawled down strings of webbing hanging from the canopy. It was as if the trees themselves had come alive.

  “Bliss returns to protect her nest,” Torsten said. He dug in, clenching his sword.

  “Whitney is still in there!” Sora shouted above the din of thousands of scurrying legs.

  “Then we must keep them out!”

  The creeping spiders on the webs were small, but Torsten saw a new wave appearing through the darkness. Bulbous, black eyes filled the trees surrounding them, countless in number, and belonging to spiders the size of hounds.

  “He was bait, wasn’t he?” Sora said to Uriah. “Just a means for you to get us to help you!”

  “Why would I want to face a goddess when we aren’t at our fullest strength? Please, Torsten, talk some sense into your companion.”