Phislah appeared suddenly at the threshold. “We think we’ve found it!” She gestured excitedly in no particular direction. “Come on.”
Those inside the cottage with Ra-khir and Kevral scooted for the door, their guests scrambling after. The knight stole the moment to say, “I’ve seen people this dedicated to their craft. Artists are an unusual lot.”
“They all look nearly alike,” Kevral reminded. “Female.”
“They’re not human,” Ra-khir returned. He rolled his eyes heavenward, as if beseeching the gods to forgive the comparison. “If animals wore clothes, I couldn’t tell the genders of most.” He managed nothing more before his exit from the cottage placed him in the middle of a throng of strangers, all tugging him toward a central cottage.
Kevral hurried to interpose herself between her husband and the weavers she still could only see as women, then found herself as much an object of their attention. They stumbled through fog and dirt to a wide open door that led to a room with a maze of looms. Beyond them, the inner door also stood open, revealing a storage room filled with woven clothing. No food. No utensils. No pallets. Kevral turned a triumphantly wide-eyed look at Ra-khir that said “I told you so” better than words ever could. Weird.
Ra-khir returned a barely satisfying nod. Surely he realized that an entire cottage filled only with craft left no space for necessities, let alone luxuries. He allowed Sassar to lead him toward a pile of fabric. She and two others raised a blanket with bits of colored glass and gemstone woven into the pattern. Ra-khir’s gaze traveled over the fragments, scanning the blue ones for the sapphire shard they sought. Kevral started toward him, stopped by a smaller, apparently younger woman who held up a gauzy, beautifully patterned dress, perfect for romantic nights. From the look of it, it would fit Kevral exactly.
Trusting Ra-khir to handle barter for the blanket or, at least, for the shard, Kevral turned her attention to the dress. “Very pretty.”
“Try it on.” The youngster rolled the garment and lifted it over Kevral’s head. “It was supposed to fit me before . . .” She ran a hand over her abdomen, confirming Kevral’s suspicion. “But by the time I’m back to normal shape, I’ll have grown too tall for it.”
“Pity to have it go to waste,” another said as the youngster slipped the neck over Kevral’s head.
The fine-drawn fabric fluttered over Kevral, glittering through an array of colors in the light the door admitted. Still wary, she placed her hands on her hilts, working for an arrangement that did not compromise her guard.
“There,” Ra-khir said. “In the center. It looks like the other Pica—”
A shrill mental scream cut over Ra-khir’s words, accompanied by a sensation of triumph tempered by raw terror. The weavers froze in place, several clamping their hands over their ears, though that could have no effect on khohlar.
El-brinith. The identification came instantly. Lightning slashed the skies, accompanied by a rumble that shook the world. Kevral attempted to draw as the ground seemed to crumble beneath her. She could not move. Enwrapped in suffocating gossamer webbing that no longer resembled clothing, she found herself incapable of motion, other than her eyes. Those registered an abrupt change in their hosts. The skinny arms and legs doubled. Fingers and toes fused to points, and necks dissolved. Spiders. Gods above, they’re spiders. Kevral’s mind continued to work, though her limbs remained pinned.
Chan’rék’ril’s panic stabbed hotly through Kevral’s thoughts. Then, several things happened at once. Something sharp jabbed through her cocoon and into her flesh. She saw the woven blanket, still studded with gemstones, fly toward Ra-khir. He dodged it, sword whipping free in an instant. Spiders scuttled from this sudden menace, leaving Ra-khir the opening he needed. Snatching the blanket, he lurched toward Kevral, even as the creatures recovered, plastering themselves across the exit. Kevral counted a dozen and more clambering outside.
Two skittered into Ra-khir’s path. His sword sliced through one, flinging gore in an arc across the wall. The other back-stepped, shooting webbing. As Ra-khir ducked, it flew over his head, flopping to the ground like a misshapen tapestry. His blade leaped for the webs holding Kevral, even as the spider jumped at him, snapping its mandibles. The bite in Kevral’s side gouged deeper.
Ra-khir sidestepped, but not far enough. The bulbous body crashed against his shoulder, spinning him. As his weakness became apparent, the others surged toward him. He whipped his sword in a wild arc, sending them into an equally wild retreat, then shoved the blade through the one scrambling over him. Its mandibles snapped shut, short of its target. Unopposed, Ra-khir made a desperate slash for Kevral’s cocoon that opened the fabric of web and clothing and a line of flesh as well. She toppled free, pain searing her upper abdomen and the back of her left hand. Ignoring it, she drew and cut, severing the one still attached to her hip. The head flopped to the ground, the mandibles tearing from her skin.
El-brinith’s warning came as a distant shout. *Spirit spiders. Avoid their weavings. Don’t let them bite you!*
Chan’rék’ril screamed again, with a paralyzing agony.
Rage surged through Kevral, accompanied by a battle wrath that stole all reason. Ignoring the elf’s pain as well as her own, she charged the mass of spiders at the door. Two fell dead before the others could scuttle beyond range. She followed them, swords cleaving in silver blurs.
“Watch the webs,” Ra-khir shouted, his words meaningless to the frenzied Renshai. Behind her, he could not attack without harming her worse than he already had.
Sticky threads shot toward the door in a concerted wave, a clear attempt to block the opening. Kevral howled toward them like a rabid wolf, chopping a head from a body, then sweeping off a series of legs from another. Webbing brushed her cheek and tangled around one arm, but the abrupt destruction of their pattern did not give the construction enough solidity to trap Kevral. She bounded through the doorway and sprang into the largest grouping, barely bothering to dodge the biting mandibles. Her swords ripped through them, leaving a trail of massive arachnoid bodies and still-twitching legs.
Ra-khir joined her, his larger sword hacking spiders into splotches. The woven blanket dangled from his fist, gingerly carried so as not to cover his body. Light spun and danced from the gemstones. The fog lifted as fully as the spiders’ illusions.
Morale shattered as twenty spiders fell dead. The few remaining scattered, bolting desperately for the safety of the forest. “Modi!” Kevral shrieked, pursuing relentlessly. She hacked one from a trunk, running through a second that tried to escape past her. Ra-khir chopped down one more. The others disappeared amid the trees.
Only then, pain and dizziness rushed down on Kevral. Blood soaked her breeks, and cold air kissed the flesh of her stomach except where blood trickled in warm lines. She sank to one knee, swords sagging in her grip. War fury dispersed, leaving her feeling shaky and desperately cold.
Dropping the gem-studded blanket, Ra-khir doffed his cloak, then his tunic, tearing the fine cloth. He wrapped Kevral’s hip with these crude bandages, watching with dismay as blood soaked through his handiwork. He applied another layer, tighter, then wrapped his cloak around her.
Shivering beneath the fabric, Kevral used the bandages that she would have offered, given the chance, to instead clean her blades before sheathing them. She glanced at Ra-khir. He stood beside her, sword still drawn and filthy, watching for signs of further danger. The broad, defined muscles of his chest heaved, the movement stirring the fine growth of red hair that had only appeared that year. Abdominal muscles disappeared into his britches in perfect lines. Spider gore and bits of web spotted his arms.
Kevral rose to wobbly legs with Ra-khir’s assistance, snuggling into his enormous cloak. “We need to check on the others.” Her own words lanced painful realization through her. If we still have others. She worried most for Tae, alone among a dozen. Wary as he is, he wouldn’t know to avoid their clothing. Any more than I did.
“I’m sorry.” Ra-khi
r knew better than to steady Kevral’s walk, instead remaining alert for ambush. He folded the blanket, using only the tips of thumb and first finger, then tucked it under his arm. “I should have trusted your instincts.”
“It’s all right.” Kevral remained attentive for sounds of movement as well. As they hurried back toward where they had left El-brinith, she scanned the treetops as well as the woodlands around them. Spiders could climb and would think nothing of leaping upon a victim from above. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“Might have kept you from getting bitten,” Ra-khir said softly. Though he also watched around them, his gaze frequently returned to her hip.
Surely, he worried for the possibility of poison, but Kevral felt none of the burning and spreading she would have expected from such a thing. She had suffered poisoning once, laced onto an arrow fired by one of Weile Kahn’s men in the days when he and his criminal gang had worked in the svartalf’s employ. This resembled that incident no more than any other wound. “I doubt it,” she reassured, but Ra-khir was not listening.
“I kept thinking of Béarn. If a bunch of friendly outworlders came there seeking something, the Béarnides would prove just as helpful.”
“Ra-khir, it’s not your fault.” Kevral strived for a tone of finality. Whatever came of the bite, she would handle it. Allowing the knight to beat himself up over it would accomplish nothing. She worried more for the fate of El-brinith and Chan’rék’ril. If the elves did not exist to transport them back to Midgard, they would remain trapped until Captain found another way. No healer would exist to assist the wound, and she might not find a means to die in battle.
“It didn’t seem so unlikely . . .” Ra-khir continued, unswayed by Kevral’s forgiveness.
Then, a ring of ten to twenty spiders came into view over a rise, precisely where they had left the elves, Darris, and their belongings.
“Demons!” Ra-khir swore, sword leaping from its sheath as he ran.
Battle wrath flared like fire in Kevral’s veins, instantly usurping pain and exhaustion. She charged, war screaming, into the fray. The spiders whirled toward their attackers, their hairy bodies and weaving legs the only things Kevral’s vision allowed. She cut through three.
Khohlar shot through Kevral’s head. *Danger ahead!* Before El-brinith could elicit the details, Kevral’s momentum swept her into an invisible barrier. She slammed against it, shoulder first, sparks flying from the contact. A jolt shuddered through her, stinging. She flung herself backward, unable to save balance, and toppled to the ground. Spiders swarmed over her, filling her vision with snapping mandibles. She threw up an arm to protect her face, slamming the hilt into one’s head. That one flew sideways. Another collapsed, severed by Ra-khir’s sword. The wet body flopped across Kevral, its gore bitter on her tongue. She heaved, rolling, catching sight of something springing from a tree above. Anticipating its heavy landing, she spiraled further, suddenly free of spiders. Only then, she recognized the newcomer as Tae, dashing in to assist Ra-khir. Aligning back to back, the men hacked and jabbed at the creatures.
Hip aching, milder pains spasming through her lower abdomen, Kevral lurched to her feet, slipping on spider guts. The awkward movement rescued her from one that launched itself at her. She cleaved it as it flew past, slashing aside two more to take a position at Tae’s side. Ra-khir could hold his own, but the smaller, less well-trained Easterner could not. He jerked from a bite, the sudden movement knocking Ra-khir’s equilibrium. The knight’s sword skimmed a spider he had intended to skewer, and it returned with a wild snap that he barely dodged.
Kevral hacked down a spider whose mandibles had already pierced Tae’s tunic, and it dropped before they could close over flesh. The last two attempted flight, hammered into bloody smears by Kevral’s sword. Long after she had battered them beyond death, she finally regained enough control to turn. Both elves sat, Chan’rék’ril clutching his left arm, his fingers striped with pink-red, elfin blood. A shredded cocoon lay beside him. Darris stood with his hand on his hilt, though the magical barrier prevented him from assisting the battle.
El-brinith communicated through the magic. *Chan’rék’ril got bit. The rest of us are fine. I put up the shield to protect us. Thanks for helping.*
The choppy information assured Kevral that speech would not penetrate the barrier as khohlar had.
Ra-khir opened his mouth, but Tae spoke first, confirming what Kevral suspected. “Don’t bother. They can’t hear you.”
“Where did you come from?” Ra-khir questioned the only one he could.
Tae pointed upward. “When I found the elves protected by magic, I hid in the trees. Waited there till you came. The spiders were so busy with the barrier, they didn’t notice me.” He studied Kevral. “Are you all right?” He winced. “Doesn’t look good.”
“Bit, too,” Kevral said succinctly. Only then she recognized the cramps fluttering through her lower abdomen, light background to the pain of her wounds. The baby. Terror ground through her, dragging a lead weight of emotion she deliberately shoved to the back of her mind. Her people remained strong because only infants who could withstand the rigors of a Renshai womb survived. Her hopes and misgivings over its birth played no role here. It will live, or it will die. Kevral deliberately rationalized herself into apathy, knowing worry would catch up to her in the quiet moments preceding sleep.
Ra-khir placed a protective arm around Kevral. “Did El-brinith mention the . . .” He swallowed hard. “. . . consequences?”
Tae shook his head.
Kevral distracted herself from the discomfort in her uterus with a plaguing question, “What happened to the spiders with you, Tae?”
“Lost them.”
“So they’re still out there?”
Tae made a vague gesture. “Maybe. Unless these are them.” He gestured at the bodies, glancing about nervously for more. “Have you seen Andvari and Rascal?”
“No,” Darris answered, revealing that El-brinith had lowered the barrier. “Are you all right?”
Prepared to repeat the entire conversation, Kevral sighed.
“Kevral’s bit,” Tae explained quickly. “We’re fine.” He indicated Ra-khir and himself.
Ra-khir had to know. “What’s going to happen to Kevral?”
Chan’rék’ril moaned. El-brinith glanced about, as if physically seeking another topic of conversation, and finding it. “There they are!”
Kevral had noticed Andvari limping from the brush simultaneously, Rascal clinging to him like a frightened toddler. The Northman’s shirt hung in filthy tatters, and gore speckled every part of him. His cheeks flushed with exertion, and a rabid spark in his eyes revealed the diminishment of a battle rage as frenzied as Kevral’s own.
Ra-khir dashed over to assist Andvari. Rascal released her hold on the Northman, feigning disinterest in the proceedings. Unfooled, Kevral read fear in her trembling hands and the eyes that dodged hers. The Pudarian fast-walked to the group, her attempt at composure only partially successful.
“No solid bites,” Andvari replied to a question Kevral had not heard Ra-khir ask. “Got slashed by those mouth pieces of theirs a couple times and buffeted about a lot by legs.” He joined the rest. “Did anyone get the shard?” Worried for injuries, no one had thought to ask the all-important question.
El-brinith’s khohlar beat Ra-khir’s response. *Someone did. It’s with us.*
Ra-khir held up the folded blanket without bothering with speech.
*Guard me,* El-brinith sent unnecessarily. *We’re leaving.*
“So what’s the effect of the bite?” Kevral demanded again, though she knew the elves would prove too preoccupied to answer. She turned her gaze pointedly at Darris. If the information existed, he would have it.
The bard caught her hands. “Apparently, spirit spiders feed on souls.”
Then light slashed painfully through Kevral’s vision as the elves triggered the transport.
CHAPTER 13
Preparing for
the Worst
When you hear hoofbeats, expect horses but prepare for elephants.
—Colbey Calistinsson
RA-KHIR ducked beneath a broad sweep of Harritin’s ax, then lunged in with a jab that drove Knight-Captain Kedrin, on the sidelines, to wild waving. The sparring partners disengaged, Ra-khir immediately taken aside by his father. “What weapon do you hold in your hand, Sir Ra-khir?”
Ra-khir ran his gaze to his practice ax.
Kedrin’s brows rose over the blue-white eyes in increments. “You have to look?”
“An ax, Captain.” Ra-khir ignored the second question for the first, only then realizing it was probably equally rhetorical. “It’s an ax.” He knew what had to come next.
“Can we stab with axes, Sir Ra-khir?”
“No, Captain.” Ra-khir lowered his attention to his father’s boots, the polish marred by stripes of dirt. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit distracted.” My wife may have lost her soul. For the hundredth time, he contemplated the significance of the thought. Until that moment, he had focused on Kevral’s fanatical quest for Valhalla, the one that had consumed her, as all Renshai, since infancy. The enormity of her pain possessed him, all encompassing. His love for her compelled him to draw all of her torment upon himself and to solve all of her problems. Kevral’s strength and unholy independence had made that impossible most times; and now that she faced an enemy she could not fight, he found himself equally crippled. A new thought trickled into Ra-khir’s mind: Soul or no soul, it will affect her life with us only so much as we allow it. Mortified that such a thing could even present itself to him, Ra-khir clamped down on his considerations. Selfishness belonged nowhere in the repertoire of a Knight of Erythane.
Only then, Ra-khir realized Kedrin was speaking to him and had been for at least the last several moments.
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