Tatters of the King (The Warren Brood Book 3)

by Bartholomew Lander

  Chelsea’s face went as pale as the white tank top she wore beneath the cult regalia. “Uhh . . . I, I think so?”

  “Your friend’s life is on the line here, so now isn’t the time to be squeamish.”

  Chelsea slid over to her and, tentatively, placed her hands around where Annika’s were. She then began to press down, eliciting a gasp and a squeal from Amanda.

  As soon as Chelsea’s shaking arms were doing an adequate job, Annika began searching the fabric for something to repurpose into bandages, her knife slippery in her bloody fingers. “Kara, your web’s antiseptic, isn’t it?”

  Kara looked at her, pale and uncertain. “I think so?”

  “Then seal the wound with it. We can wrap it later, but right now we need to stop the bleeding.”

  With a nod, Kara craned her head over Amanda and sank into a crouch. She tilted her head back and opened her mouth wide. The fresh sheen of resin glinted in the torchlight. She gagged a little and then leaned over Amanda. “Rher, murvh hurh hrands.”

  Chelsea looked to Annika for approval and then removed her hands from the wound, pulling the fabric of the robe back along with it. Gobs of the protein precursor dribbled into and around the gaping puncture. Amanda gasped and groaned, her breathing a raspy hiss. Chelsea slid back a hairbreadth. “Eww, is this safe?”

  Annika wiped away the blood from the site with a torn piece of Chelsea’s robe to keep the liquid web clean. “Safer than letting her bleed out, if that’s what you mean.”

  Chelsea and Amanda both trembled as the resin filled the wound. Blood leaked into the amber fluid and soon became dark, suspended clouds that mercifully obscured the sight of the raw tissue within. Chelsea’s breathing grew uneven and she grabbed her friend’s hand tightly. “Mandy, come on, say something to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Chelsea,” the girl answered, struggling to speak. Her voice sounded just a little wet. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I didn’t mean to . . . ”

  “Stop that and say something positive!” Chelsea gave a small, hysterical laugh. “You’re going to be—we’re all going to be fine, okay?”

  Annika wiped away some of the overflowing fluid, leaving the incision site clean. “Kara, does that resin solidify when it dries?”

  Kara spat a small amount of precursor to the ground. “I don’t know, I’ve never tried.”

  “No taking chances, then.” Annika split the sleeve of Chelsea’s vestments and cut a long strip of cloth from it. She laid the makeshift bandage over the web-filled wound and applied pressure again. Amanda replied with a choked scream. “Here,” Annika said. “Adhere this.”

  “Okay.” The resin began to flow again, this time along the edges of the bandage.

  “Once you get that all silked up, we need to seal the edges of the dagger. We can’t take it out, so we’re just going to have to secure it and make sure that . . . ”

  A gurgle oozed through the air. At first, Annika thought it was Amanda’s breath rasping, but as the ringing in her ears continued to dull she realized it came from where Zurt lay. As she watched, the dead man’s fingers twitched. Then his whole hand began to seize. The wet noise grew louder, and a moment later the old man found his knees.

  “Urn-ma Nemo,” he muttered, breathing hoarse and wet. “Urn-ma Nemo. Urn-ma Nemo.”

  Annika jerked upward, nearly slipping as she got to her feet. She put out an arm as a signal to the others. “Stay back. Looks like this fish ain’t done flopping.”

  The archon’s fingers wriggled into a convulsing fist that clutched at the running bullet holes in his chest. A spark of something blue flickered outward from where his fingers met the exploded muscular tissue. “Urn-ma Nemo. Shared with me. The secrets. Of the Writhing Malefice.” His eyes were set upon Amanda. “And you dare. To mock his gift.” The flash came again, and Annika gasped. Sharp black growths glistened dimly in the torchlight. They erupted from the bullet holes like saplings growing from pits of mottled soil.

  Annika let out a breath to steady herself. “Five whole bullets. For an old man, you’re one resilient motherfucker.” She threw the cylinder open and slammed the loading bar with her palm, ejecting the spent shells.

  The supernatural glow spread through Zurt’s body, weaving in and out of his flesh. “The Malefice will not let me die. I will show you the power of Urn-ma Nemo!” His muscles rippled and warped. His neck snapped into an acute angle as his entire body seemed to lengthen. His right arm flashed brighter, and the flesh was torn from it. Blood splattered across the floor, its pattering inaudible beneath the archon’s nightmarish howl. The strips of his ruined arm flailed and twisted, winding together and becoming the structure for the chitin that rapidly grew over it. The whole limb became a bladed appendage, less a spider leg than half a pincer.

  Annika cursed, blood-slick fingers digging for bullets that slipped out of her grip like running water. One, two—holy shit, fuck these bloody hands—three, three, where’s four? Fuck, three’s good enough! She brought the half-fist of bullets out and began to chamber her revolver.

  With another roar, Zurt’s right leg exploded, just as the arm had. The loose flags of flesh spiraled together and the chitin grew until two long, folded appendages extended from the stump of his thigh. Black plates congealed over what remained of his wounds. Sharp spikes began to rupture the skin of his left side, covering him in a black, pox-like bed of quivering and malformed nails. “A-hai, Urn-ma Nemo! A-hai, a-hai!”

  The third bullet slid into the chamber, and Annika slammed it shut.

  The monster leapt at Amanda, its hind appendages hurling it forward at a frightful speed. “A-hai!”

  Annika dropped the hammer and the bullet struck true, piercing the creature’s shoulder. With a howl, the abomination rolled in the air and crashed a few feet from where Amanda lay, blood pouring from its collarbone. Screams rang through the echo of the gunshot. Annika aimed and fired again, but the thing shot across the room in the blink of an eye. She tried to lead it with the final shot, but Zurt had vanished beyond the folds of the hallway before she could pull the trigger, leaving a trail of sick-colored blood on the ground.

  Annika stomped to the bend in the hall and peered around it. There was nothing besides that same slimy trail. “Christ, that fucker’s fast.” She spat on the floor and turned back to the others, her hand beginning the automatic task of reloading. “Kara, I need you to finish webbing Amanda up, fast.”

  Eyes still wide in fear, Kara nodded and rolled her head back. “Rho’hey.” A moment later, the glimmer of golden fluid drizzled over one side of her lip. She put her mouth near the base of the protruding hilt, and drops of thick resin spilled out onto Amanda’s skin. Her spider legs went to work and began to pull at the excess that dribbled down her chin, forming it into rough, viscous lines of silk.

  Annika rolled her shoulder and peeked once more around the corner. Shouts had begun to echo in the distance—just as she’d feared. “Chelsea, get her up.”

  Shaking uncontrollably, Chelsea slipped what remained of her cult robe back on before lifting Amanda into a more vertical position. “Wh-what’s going on?”

  “We have to move. Now.” Annika thrust her hand into her pocket to count her remaining bullets. The box felt about half-full. More like half-empty. “With Grandpa loose, we’ve lost our leverage. Worse, our leverage wants us dead. Hope Faul is as loyal to your blood as he claims, Kara, because now he’s the only thing standing between them and us.”

  The girl didn’t answer. She just pulled Amanda’s robe back over the injuries and began to wrap the crude web around her like a belt.

  Amanda groaned and coughed as Chelsea shifted her weight. Annika knelt down beside her and brushed the girl’s mahogany hair out of her face. “You’re going to be alright, sweetie,” she said. “We’re going to get you out of here and find you help. But before that, we need to move. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you right now. Can you endure the pain for a while?”

  Jaw tight, eyes clenched, Amanda nodde
d.

  “Good girl. Kara, is that binding good?”

  The spider-girl gave it one more go around and then nodded. “Rhoo’ enarf.”

  “Tie it off.”

  She pulled the line tight, causing Amanda to wince. She then slipped the end of the strand through a loop and cut the excess with her spider legs.

  Annika inspected the treatment and nodded. “Not perfect, but it should do.” She slipped one arm under Amanda’s and helped her to her feet. “Chelsea, take her other side. Keep her comfortable and don’t make her exert herself. We have to hurry.”

  Chapter 43

  Within Mists White

  As soon as Spinneretta’s eyes fell upon the King’s saffron robe, she fumbled to the hardest stop of her life. Her spider legs shot toward the floor, deadening her momentum with a harsh rattling of her joints. Mark nearly tripped as he stumbled past her. His limp had crept into his steps, shaking his knees. Arthr gave a sharp whimper, and she couldn’t blame him. The murderous glint in the Helixweaver’s remaining eye as he stood there, not thirty feet away, arms spread in a pompous gesture of supremacy, was impossible not to fear.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Nemo asked. “I haven’t even had a chance to welcome you to my kingdom yet.”

  The sound of crashing waves surrounded Spinneretta, and two coils of shadows formed in front of her and Mark. Silt and Dirge exploded into being, their great robes billowing in the misty breeze. Their postures were wide, defensive. A violent growl rolled off the pair of Vant’therax and rumbled through the fossilized city below them. “If you want her,” Dirge snarled, “you’ll have to finish with me first.”

  Nemo’s vicious smile came again. “Don’t delude yourself, insect. You will wait your turn, like all the blasphemies spawned of the King.”

  Spinneretta shuddered. His ravenous one-eyed gaze was glued to her. The slipknot in her stomach tightened, wringing a painful breath from her starved lungs.

  “Warren,” Silt said in a low tone, not turning from the Helixweaver. “I have a request.”

  As though he, too, were afraid to take his eyes off Nemo, Mark gave Silt a cautious nod.

  “Our covenant is dissolved,” the Vant’therax said. “Nemo and the Dawn are no longer your concern. But you must protect the children, no matter the cost. They are all that remains of the spider cult’s ambition. No. All that remains of us. Of our blood. Of our dreams. As long as they survive, it wasn’t all in vain. And perhaps one day, we may yet find our peace.” A sad silence hung in the air between them. “Can you grant me this, Warren?”

  Mark hesitated to reply. After a moment, he gave another weak nod. “Very well.”

  The chill of the mist sank beneath Spinneretta’s skin, but deep in her chest a warmth had begun to flow. Even her enemies were willing to die for her. Such was the danger this bastard posed, not just to her, but to everyone, to everything. Enemies. Abominations forged of a dead king’s genetic remnants. Her brothers. Her eyes grew wet at that bitter warmth, and the voice uttered something indecipherable.

  Mark again took her hand, and his fingers coiled around hers. “Spinny. Get ready to run.”

  She couldn’t move. It was stronger now. The scratching against her mind. The echoing laughter. Indignation growing from her tenuous ceasefire with the Vant’therax. Helixweaver. Iconoclast. Cannibal of the sacrosanct. The voice in her mind—one which she could no longer attribute to anything other than her own madness—hissed and snarled, each vibration shaking through her veins and nerves. How dare you don the robe?

  Silt slid a step forward, stance widening, muscles trembling with restrained strength. His chin dipped slightly as he gave a subtle signal to Mark.

  Mark winced from some unseen tremor. “Now. Let us—”

  Spinneretta’s jaw tightened. “No.”

  Mark blinked at her. “What?”

  Dirge growled. “Now is not the time to be stubborn, Arachne. If you don’t—”

  “I’m not leaving!” Her shout echoed back from below, and the sudden cry silenced Nemo’s perverse laughter. Her spider legs bent around her, shaking, soaking in the mist with each breath she took. She tore her hand out of Mark’s grip. The gate of genetic memory was open in her mind, and her footing faltered as the rush of adrenaline shook her frame. “I am so fucking sick of running. From home. From Annika. From you. From him. I came here to end this. And I intend to do just that. Nothing has changed. Yellow King or Helixweaver, this fucker has to die.”

  Silt ventured the briefest of glances behind him. “Arachne, we shall not allow you to—”

  “Allow? I don’t need your damn permission, because this is an order.” Silt’s expression went blank. Everyone’s confusion swirled silently in misty whorls around her. “You told me you were my servants, did you not? And with the King dead, that makes me your liege by birthright. And that means I’m responsible for you just as well. So we’ll all fight together.”

  The air buzzed. Four stunned sets of eyes were on her, but she looked only at Nemo. Her posture dipped, and her legs writhed along the stone underfoot. The taste of the caked blood covering her target set her teeth on edge, beckoning forth the thirst that lurked in the deepest recesses of her mind. Her jaw clenched, a shiver of euphoria racing through her muscles. “Now. Obey your princess. And let’s rip this bastard to shreds!”

  Spinneretta shot forward. At her charge, Silt and Dirge vanished into the shadows. Arthr shouted behind her, but whatever words he’d spoken were washed away by the deafening roar of the Vant’therax’s spell. Mark screamed her name, but she only cared about Nemo, whose sepulcher smile widened as she flew toward him.

  “Come!” Nemo howled. “Death awaits you all with open arms!” He swept one robed arm forward in a crescent arc, and something sparked in the air.

  Behind her, Mark copied the gesture. “Get down!”

  The air burst with the roar of magic. Two invisible blades met in the middle of the rampart. Streams of slashing force coiled together in the air, twisting, writhing like serpents at each other’s throats. Lashing jets ripped at the masonry, throwing bricks and slivers of stone raining across the top of the wall. And then, at last, the storm of magic exploded. Unseen blades rained, leaving stark scars in the stone. Spinneretta ducked to the left mid-stride, narrowly avoiding a whistling aberration in the air.

  With a shout, Nemo swung with his other hand, and the air around him shimmered and burst.

  To the side!

  Spinneretta leapt to the right and, before her legs touched the ground again, a column of dust and debris exploded from the floor near her. Her ears rang with a dead crack. The shockwave almost knocked her down, but her spider legs reasserted control and dispersed her weight into the quaking ground.

  Another blast, this time from where Mark stood. She saw him stagger from the impact with a shout. Fury pulled her focus back to the Helixweaver, and she threw herself toward him as fast as the Instinct allowed. But the Vant’therax got there before her.

  Dirge burst from the shadows fist-first. Despite the devastating force apparent in each quaking muscle, Nemo and his robe seemed to flow around the rising attack as though he were immaterial. The Helixweaver’s counter was swift. Two fists fell in a pair of heavy strikes that repelled Dirge’s arm and then shattered it. Bloody shafts of bone erupted from the Vant’therax’s limb, piercing flesh and fabric alike. A final sweep of Nemo’s arm sent Dirge over the edge of the rampart, where he vanished without even a yelp of pain.

  The shadows roiled and screamed. Silt breached the surface and leapt, soaring through the air like a condor taking flight. He landed with a gigantic blow that ruptured the floor—but the Helixweaver had receded just beyond the attack’s reach, where he stood mockingly intact. A hellish roar, and Silt’s shoulders heaved. He dashed forward at a frightful speed. Another attack shook the wall, but again Nemo had retreated.

  Spinneretta cursed under her breath. She jumped to the left and deepened her strides, bringing the floor to just unde
r her chin. Pebbles and raised lips of stone raced beneath. As her target grew further from her and Silt chased with his earth-shattering misses, Spinneretta held her breath. Muscles screaming beyond their mortal threshold of strength, she hurled herself ever closer to the back of that yellow robe. Her legs locked and then sprang. The air hissed by her, and for a moment she was weightless. Gravity brought her down upon Silt’s wide back. Her anterior legs grabbed the Vant’therax’s shoulders, and with a great surge of strength, she launched herself off him.

  The boost of momentum closed the distance between her and the Helixweaver. His remaining eye went wide, but it was too late. The Instinct curled her legs and sent them lashing out. Three legs found flesh. Two sank deep into the cavity of Nemo’s demolished eye, and the third barely missed the other. A screeching howl of pain rent the air. Blood sprayed out of the wound, soaking her chitin and inundating her spiracles. But inertia ripped her from her target. Blood-soaked legs shivering with ecstasy, she splayed her appendages as she struck the ground. Her bones shook, and she whipped herself about on all twelve.

  There Nemo stood hunched over, hands on his face, seething. Small flashes of light danced about his wounds, transmuting wounded flesh to chitin. His breathing grew rapid and deranged as he glowered at her. “God damn you, spider whore!”

  Before Spinneretta could pounce again, something huge approached in the blink of an eye. This time, Nemo was too distracted to dodge Silt’s attack. The colossal punch connected, and it felt like the whole world had fractured. The blow sent Nemo reeling across the ground with a wet cracking that lapped at the mists. He came to a stop ten feet away, hands groping at his chest. His whole body shook with violent tremors. A sick gurgling sound rose from the tatters of the King’s robe, and a stream of blood and vomit splattered against the ground.

  Spinneretta’s skin tingled. His blood was the blood of heresy, the blood of a monster—but goddamn did it smell good on her legs. It thrilled her, drove her wild. A dark hunger flowed through her stomach and invaded the silver lining. Now was her chance. She would be the one to kill him. Legs driven by that unholy frenzy, she charged at him.