Spellsinger 02 - The Hour of the Gate
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silver puzzle.
A vast black globe slid over the side of the silken bower.
On a thin thread it fell slowly toward the chamber floor, like a
huge drop of petroleum. It was not as large as the massive
tarantulas guarding the entryway, but it was far bulkier than
Ananthos and most of the other arachnid inhabitants of
Gossameringue. The bulbous abdomen was nearly three feet
across. Save for a brilliant and all too familiar orange-red
hourglass splashed across the underside of the abdomen, the
body appeared to be encased in black steel.
Multiple black eyes studied the visitors expressionlessly.
The spinnerets daintily snipped the abdomen free from the
trailing silk cable. Settling down on tiptoe, the eight legs
folded neatly beneath the body. Then the enormous black
widow was resting comfortably on a sprawling red cushion,
preening one fang with a leg tip.
"i am the grand webmistress OU," the polite horror
informed them. "you must excuse the impoliteness of cleaning
my mouth, but my husband was in for breakfast and we have
only just now finished."
Jon-Tom knew something of the habits of black widows.
He eyed the jeweled boudoir above and shuddered.
Clothahump, unfazed by the Grand Webmistress' appear-
ance, stepped briskly to the fore. Once again he laid out the
reason for their extraordinary journey. He detailed their expe-
riences on the Swordsward, in the Earth's Throat, related the
magical crossing of Helldrink. Even in his dry, mechanical
voice the retelling was impressive.
The Grand Webmistress Oil listened intently, occasionally
permitting herself a whispered expression of awe or apprecia-
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tion. Clothahump rambled on, telling of the peculiar new evil
raised by the Plated Folk and their imminent invasion of the
wannlands.
Finally he finished the tale. It was silent in the chamber for
several minutes.
011's first reaction was not expected, "you! come a little
nearer." She finally had to raise a leg and point, since it was
impossible to tell exactly where those lidless black eyes were
looking.
She pointed at Jon-Tom.
His hesitation was understandable. After the initial shock
of their appearance, he'd been able to overcome his instinc-
tive reactions to the spiders. He'd done so to a point where
he'd grown fond of Ananthos and his companions, to a point
where he could allow curious spideriings to clamber over his
body. Even the three antisocial types they'd encountered in
the cells below had seemed more abhorrent for their viciousness
than their shape.
But the dark, swollen body before him was representative
of a kind he'd been taught to fear since childhood. It brought
to the surface fears that laughed at logic and reason.
A hand was nudging him from behind. He looked down,
saw Clothahump staring anxiously at him.
"come, come, fellow," said the Webmistress. "i've just
eaten." A feathery, thick laugh, "you look as though you'd
be all bone, anyway."
Jon-Tom moved closer. He tried to see the Webmistress in
a matronly cast. Still, he couldn't keep his gaze entirely away
from the dark fangs barely hidden in their sheaths. Just a
graze from one would kill him instantly, even if the widow's
venom had been somewhat diluted by her increased size.
A black leg, different from any he'd yet encountered in
Gossameringue, touched his shouMtBr. It traveled down his
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arm, then his side. He could feel it through his shirt and
pants.
Close now, he was able to note the delicate and nearly
transparent white silks that encompassed much of the shining
black body. They had been embroidered with miniature scenes
of Gossameringue life. Attire impressive and yet sober enough
for a queen, he thought.
"what is your name, fellow?"
"Jon-Tom. At least, that's what my friends call me."
"i will not trouble you with my entire name," was the
reply, "it would take a long time and you would not remem-
ber it anyhow, you may call me Oil." The head shifted past
him. "so may you all. as you are not citizens of the
scuttleteau, you need show no special deference to me."
Again the clawed, shiny leg moved down his front. He did
not flinch, "do you also support the claims and statements of
the small hard-shelled one?" Another leg gestured at
Clothahump.
"I do."
"well, then." She rested quietly for a moment. Then she
glanced up once more at Jon-Tom. "why should we care
what happens to the peoples of the warmlands?"
"You have to," Clothahump began importantly, "because
it is evident that if—"
"be silent." She waved a leg imperiously at the wizard, "i
did not ask you."
Clothahump obediently shut up. Not because he was afraid
of me large, poisonous body but because pragmatism is a
virtue all true wizards share.
"now, you may answer," she said more softly to Jon-Tom.
History, he told himself, trying not to stare at those fangs
so near. Try to see in this massive, deadly form the same
grace and courtesy you've observed in the other arachnids
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you've met. To answer the question, remember your history.
Because if you don't...
"It's quite easily explained. Are not you and the Plated
Folk ancient enemies?"
"we bear no love for the inhabitants of me greendowns,
nor they for us," was the ready reply.
"Isrft it clear, then? If they are successful in conquering all
of the warmlands, what's to prevent mem from coming for
you next?"
There was dark humor lacing the reply, "if they do there
will be such a mass feasting as gossameringue has never
seen!"
Jon-Tom thought back to something Clothahump had told
him. "Oil, in thousands of years and many, many attempts
the Plated Folk have failed even to get past the Jo-Troom
Gate, which blocks the Pass leading from the Greendowns to
me warmlands."
"that is a name and place i have heard of, though no
weaver hasever been there."
"Despite this, Clothahump, who is the greatest of wizards
and whose opinion I believe in all such things, insists this
new magic me Plated Folk have obtained control of may
enable them to finally overthrow the peoples of the warmlands.
After hundreds of previous failures.
"If they can do that after thousands of years of failure,
why should they not do so to you as well? A thousand swords
can't fight a single magic."
"we have our own wizards to defend us," Oil replied, but
she was clearly troubled by Jon-Tom's words. She looked
past him. "how do i know you are all the wizard this fellow
says you are?"
Clothahump looked distressed. "Oh ye gods of blindness
>
that cloud the vision of disbelieving mortals, not another
demonstration!"
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"it will be painless." She turned and called to the shad-
ows. "ogalugh!"
A frail longlegs came tottering out from behind a high pile
of cushions. Jon-Tom wondered if he'd been listening back
there all along or if he'd just recently arrived. He barely had
the strength to carry the thin silks that enveloped his upper
body and ran in spirals down his legs.
He looked at Clothahump. "what is the highest level of the
plenum?"
"Thought."
"by what force may one fly through the airs atop a
broom?"
"Antigravity."
"what is the way of turning common base metals into
gold?"
Clothahump's contemptuous and slightly bored expression
suddenly paled.
"Well, uh, that is of course no easy matter. You require the
entire formula, of course, and not merely the descriptive term
applied to the methodology."
"of course," agreed the swaying inquisitor.
"Base metal Into gold, my... it has been a while since
I've had occasion to think on that."
Quit stalling, Jon-Tom urged the wizard silently. Give them
an answer, any answer. Then the truth will come out in the
arguing. But say something.
"You need four lengths of sea grass, a pentagram with the
number six carefully set in each point, the words for shifting
electron valences, and... and..."
The Grand Webmistress, the sorcerer Ogalugh, and the
other inhabitants of the chamber waited anxiously.
"And you need... you need," and the wizard looked up so
assuredly it seemed impossible he'd forgotten something so
basic for even a moment, "a pinch of pitchblende."
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Ogalugh turned to face the expectant Oil, spoke while
bobbing and weaving his head. "our visitor is in truth, a
wizard webmistress. how great i cannot say from three
questions, but he is of at least the third order." Clothahump
harrumphed but confined his protest to that.
"none but the most experienced and knowledgeable among
the weavers of magic would know the last formula." He
tottered over to rest a feathery leg on the turtle's shoulder.
"i welcome you to gossameringue as a colleague."
"Thank you." Clothahump nodded importantly, began to
look pleased with himself.
The longlegs addressed Oil. "it may be that these visitors
are all that they claim, webmistress. the fact that they have
made so perilous a journey without assurance of finding at its
end so much as a friendly welcome is proof alone of high
purpose, i fear therefore that the words of my fellow wizard
are truth."
"a troublesome thing if true," said the webmistress, "a
most troublesome thing if true." She eyed Jon-Tom. "there
has been hatred and enmity between the plated folk and the
people of the scuttleteau for generations untold, if they can
conquer the inhabitants of the warmlands then it may be, as
you say, that they can also threaten us." She paused in
thought, then climbed lithely to her feet.
"it will be as it must be, though heretofore it has never
been." She stood close by Jon-Tom, the hump of her abdo-
men nearly reaching his shoulder, "the weavers will join the
people of the warmlands. we will do so not to help you but to
help ourselves, better the children of the scuttleteau have
company in dying." She turned to face Clothahump.
"bearer of bad truths, how much time do we have?"
"Very little, I would suspect."
"then i will order the calling put out everywhere on the
Scuttleteau this very day. it will take time to assemble the best
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fighters from the far reaches, yet that is not the foremost of
our problems, it is one perhaps you might best solve, since
the proof of your abilities as travelers is not to be denied."
She studied the little group of visitors.
"how in the name of the eternal weave are we to get to the
jo-troom gate? we know only that it lies south to southwest of
the scuttleteau. we cannot go back through the earth's throat,
the way you've come to us. even if so large a group could
cross helldrink, my people will not chance the chanters."
"Offspring of the Massawrath," Caz murmured to Mudge.
"Can't say as I blame them. I'm still not sure it wasn't blind
luck that got us through there, not sensible actions."
"I don't want to go back myself," said Talea.
"Nor me, Master," said Pog, hanging from a strand of dry
silk overhead.
"Then it follows that if we cannot return by our first route
we must make a new one southward."
"through the mountains?" Ogalugh did not sound enthusiastic.
"Are they so impassable then?" Clothahump asked him.
"no one knows, we are familiar with the mountains of the
scuttleteau and to some small extent those surrounding us, but
we are not fond of sharp peaks and unmelting snows, many
would perish on such a journey, unless a good route exists, if
one does, we do not know of it."
"so it will be up to you, experienced travelers, to seek out
such a path," stated the queen.
"your pardon, webmistress," said the spindly sorcerer,
"but there are a people who might know such a way, though
they would have no need or use of it themselves."
"why must wizards always talk in riddles? whom do you
speak of, ogalugh?"
"the people of the iron cloud."
Rich, whispery laughter filled the chamber, "the people of
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the iron cloud indeed! they will have nothing to do with
anyone."
"that is so, webmistress, but our visitors are experienced
travelers of the mind as well as the land, for have they not
this very instant convinced us to join with them?"
"we are but independent," Oil replied, "the people of the
iron cloud are paranoid."
"rumor and innuendo spread by unsuccessful traders who
have returned from their land empty-clawed, it is true they are
less than social, but that does not mean they will not listen."
He turned to face Jon-Tom.
"they are much like some of you, friend, like yourself, and
those two there," he pointed to Mudge and Caz, "and that
one above," and he pointed now at Pog.
"They sound most interesting," said Clothahump. "I con-
fess I know nothing of them."
"Are they good fighters?" Flor wondered. "Maybe we can
get more out of them than directions."
"they are great warriors," admitted Ogalugh readily, "but
you speak so facilely of making allies of them. you do not
understand, they are interested in nothing save themselves,
- will support no causes but their own."
"That's just what we were told to expect of the Weavers,"
Jon-Tom said with becoming boldness.
"but we are
sensible enough to see advantage and necessi-
ty where they occur," Oil argued back. "the people of the
iron cloud, i am told, are unaffected by events elsewhere.
they are protected by their indifference and their isolation."
"Nothing is safe from the evil the Plated Folk build," said
Clothahump somberly.
"i am already convinced, wizard," she said. "convince
the ironclouders: not me. it will be enough if they can show
our fighters the way through the southern peaks."
"I have some small diplomatic skill," said Clothahump
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immodestly. "I believe we can persuade them to do that, at
least."
"perhaps, you must, or we can be of no help to you and
your peoples, no matter what the plated ones decide to do. we
will march when ready, but if we cannot find a way, we will
be forced to turn back.
"i will send from among the weavers a personal representa-
tive. perhaps the proof that we have joined with you will help
to convince the people of the iron cloud, in any case,
someone will be necessary to come back to report on the
results of your mission, be it successful or not."
"Not to preempt your prerogatives. Oil," said Caz careful-
ly. "but if we might be permitted to choose the repre-
sentative ... ?"
"Sure," said Jon-Tom quickly, turning to face the
Webmistress. "Would it be okay if a river guard named
Ananthos served as your representative?"
"ananthos... i do not know the name. a common river
guard, you say?"
"Yes. He's the one who brought us here."
"a common river guard of uncommon discernment, then.
but still, it should be someone of higher rank."
"Please, Oil," Jon-Tom said, "rank will mean nothing to
these Ironclouders if what you say of their nature is correct.
And Ananthos is familiar with us. We know we can get along
with one another."
"a sound recommendation, i suppose." She sighed and
that whole globular black mass quivered, "it is the common
soldiers who will decide this battle to come, as they do all
such battles, perhaps it is fitting that one of their rank be our
ambassador, as you say, it will likely not matter to the
ironclouders.
"very well. you may have this ananthos. he will go with
you as would one of my own children, uzmentap!"
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"yes my lady, yes my lady?" A tiny adult spider scurried
into the chamber, the same one who had admitted them a