Curse of the Spider King (5 page)

The lights dimmed. The temperature dropped twenty degrees. And the door blew shut, sending the curtains fluttering. Something on the page poked Tommy's finger. With a yelp, Tommy jerked back his hand and let the book fall open to the floor. He watched as a dark twig emerged from the book. No, it wasn't a twig. It was the beginnings of a large tree, rising now as if the pages were a bed of soil, and centuries of growth were happening right before Tommy's eyes. Red light began to shine out, surging around the trunk of the still-growing tree as if a setting sun hid somewhere in the pages. Tommy's room filled with the smell of leaves and grass wet with dew.

Tommy shrank back to his headboard as the tree continued its ascension. Its narrow trunk thickened, and broad boughs strewn with foliage rose up and penetrated the ceiling of Tommy's bedroom. But rather than cracking the painted drywall and bursting beams of lumber, the tree pushed up the ceiling as if it were a huge tent canvas. Soon there was nothing but night sky, stars, and a red glow to the east.

More trees spread upward, followed by great grassy hills, and then . . . magnificent castle towers! From the towers, small flag-adorned turrets rose that soon grew beyond the confines of the room. Trees dotted the landscape from near to over the far hills. The castle towers were part of a magnificent fortress that sprawled to the edge of a massive, distant forest. Tommy could see no more of his room. His bed was gone, and now he sat on lush grass with his back against the trunk of a dark tree. But there were other things waiting to escape the pages.

At first Tommy thought he was watching yet another tree branch emerge from the book, but it was not. A black limb with barbs and a claw came up, grasping until more of its segments became visible. Tommy rolled onto his side and ducked behind the tree just as the first giant spider broke free from the pages. There were more to come. Many more. And on their backs rode creatures Tommy had never seen before: brutish, gray-skinned beasts wearing armor on their barrel chests, thick shoulders, and short, stocky legs. These creatures were armed with all manner of weapons and held the reins of their arachnid steeds in huge, meaty fists.

Tommy had seen enough. Remembering Mrs. Galdarro's warning, he dove for the book, slamming it shut.

Whoosh!

It was gone. Once more, Tommy was sitting alone on his bed. He was breathing heavily. Curious, he crept out of his room to the foot of the stair. “Mom, Dad? Did you hear anything strange just now?”

“Strange?” Mr. Bowman asked. “An ambulance went by.”

“No,” Tommy said. “Stranger than that?”

“Not a thing, Tommy,” his mother said. “Are you all right? You sound upset.”

“I'm fine,” Tommy replied. Then more to himself, “I think.” Scratching his head, he wandered back into his room and stared at the book. He hadn't imagined it all. No way. But there was only one way to find out for sure.

Tommy opened the book, turned to page 277, and once more put his finger to the text. Again, the entire environment in his room changed as a living world surged up from the pages of the book. Faster and faster—forests, hills, stone walls, and creatures—gushed up like an eruption. Three giant spiders, each one as big as a truck, burst above ground and came right at the hill where Tommy stood. This time Tommy couldn't get out of the way fast enough. Their burly riders driving them hard, the massive, black eight-legged beasts came upon Tommy. His field of vision filled with hairy mandibles, pincerlike jaws, and eyes—so many blank, staring eyes.

Tommy screamed as the creatures drove their legs deep into the soil, the sounds of armor clanking above him. Tommy covered his head and rolled sideways, screaming louder. As they passed, Tommy dared a peek from between his arms and slowly let down his guard.
I'm not dead,
he thought, feeling around to confirm that all of his limbs were still whole and in place.
I'm not even hurt. . . . It never even touched me.
Even with all those eyes, the spiders hadn't seen him. In fact, they had passed right through him. Tommy turned the page and touched the script. At last, he understood.
The History of Berinfell
was unlike any other book on Earth. It was a living history . . . and Tommy was right in the middle of it.

L
ike a deep wound in the dusk sky, an angry sun bled crimson from behind the hills east of Berinfell up into the shreds of high clouds and the falling curtain of night. Against the darkening blot of red, a pair of long, segmented limbs of a Warspider tentatively reached over the top of a black hill. Convinced of its safety, the Warspider quickly clambered over the crest. The creature's armor, as well as its Gwar rider, was draped in gray and sable shrouds to blend in with the twilight. The oversized arachnid was visible for just a moment before disappearing into the shadows of the valley. Hundreds more followed—the bulk of the Spider King's mobile army. Each approach timed so that only one could be visible upon the hills at a time, and only for an instant. If observed, it could easily be dismissed as a trick of the eye.

The rolling hills that guarded the eastern flank of the Elven capital city of Berinfell had seen its share of would-be invaders throughout the ages. Armies of the Nemic, the Saer, the Taladrim—all had tested their mettle against the Elves—and failed. For just a hundred yards from the walls of Berinfell Stronghold, a treacherous cavern yawned. The Gap, as the Elves called it, curled protectively around the city. Atop the immense stone walls of the fortress and hidden in the tall trees on the east side of the Gap, the finest archers from the legions of the Seven Elven Lords fingered their bows and waited.

No one would dare assail the Elves on the western flank, tucked deep in the Thousand-League Forest. For in the wooded realms in the world of Allyra, the Elves were perilous.

So in spite of the open hills and shelterless valley, in spite of the deep ravine, and in spite of the biting rain of arrows that could whistle in at any moment, attackers always approached from the east.

And so they did on this night.

The Elven archers—stationed on wide, open platforms called
flets
in the few towering trees on the east side of the Gap—had been watching, but their keen eyes had not seen the stealthy invaders. Swiftly, the Warspiders advanced on the trees. Their Gwar riders, who could see clearly in darkness, were deadly accurate with their heavy crossbows. Arrows flew. The Elves fell from their perches.

When he was certain that no Elven sentries had survived, Gwar Field Commander Cathar leaped from his Warspider. Going from spider to spider, he signaled all Gwar generals to dismount. Once gathered, they stepped as close to the brink of the Gap as they dared. Cathar leaned forward and looked down at the bottomless blackness.
One wrong
move
, he thought morbidly,
and a Gwar could die of starvation before he hit
bottom.

But he knew there would be little concern for falling once the spiders had finished their job. He turned to his generals, three teams of six, and nodded. Each one removed an odd, oblong flask from a very tight shoulder holster. Cathar held his bottle as far away from his body as possible, pointed it toward Berinfell, and slowly wriggled its stopper free. There came an undulating hiss and then something like a loud, painful sigh, and Cathar felt the bottle warm in his hands. Then tendrils of luminous smoke began to leak into the air. But unlike common smoke that unravels and dissipates in the slightest breeze, this vapor held its form. It poured forth and curled to and fro like an airborne serpent. It collected in a swirling mass that presently became a hideous, leering face.

“Go on,” commanded Cathar. “Be off with you.” The face twisted into a snarl before dissolving back into its serpentine form. With another hiss, it raced away, across the gap and into the darkness.

“Blasted Wisps,” Cathar muttered as he stoppered the bottle. The other Gwar generals released their captives as well. In all, nineteen Wisps slithered invisibly toward the walls of Berinfell.

The Gwar commander strode back past the lines of Warspiders, placed the flask back in its holster, and removed a pouch from his side. He shook the pouch until two small stones rolled into his palm. He took one in each hand and struck them together, producing a blue spark. The light flared for a second and glistened on Cathar's greasy sideburns that spilled out from his oak-leaf–shaped ears and ended with an unruly patch on his chin. Scouts lying prone atop the hills saw the signal and answered with a brief flash of their own. Cathar grinned. The rest of the Gwar infantry would come now, followed by the Drefids. The Elves would never know what hit them.

The first stage complete, Cathar led his battalion of Warspiders to the eastern edge of the Gap. The Gwar riders dismounted and removed the reins from their mounts. The Warspiders, now spread across a quarter-mile span along the Gap, rose up tall on their gangly legs. They curled their abdomens beneath them and aimed their spinnerets high toward the walls of the Elven city. Nearly in unison, their great bodies shuddered and launched fist-sized globs of sticky webbing in a high arc over the Gap. Each one had a long strand of gray filament trailing behind it, still connected to the spider's abdomen, the web-anchor easily clearing the Gap and landing safely on the other side. Strand after strand sailed silently through the night air until enough anchors were in place to support the weight of the Warspiders. The beasts crept heedlessly over the edge. Following their guide webs, they began to weave. In less than an hour, the Gap of Berinfell would be bridged by an enemy force for the first time in its long history.

6

The Fall of Berinfell

E
lden Hemlock had seen thousands of beautiful sunsets in his days, but he thought this one topped them all. He gazed east from the high wall of Berinfell and marveled at the deepening crimson on the horizon.

Wait!

He stood stone-still. He'd seen movement atop one of the distant hills . . . or at least, he thought he had. There was nothing there now but black hill and blood-red sky. Elden began to relax.

Ah, getting punchy after a long watch
, he thought.

Then he heard a strange gurgling hiss behind him. He turned and came face-to-face with . . . himself! Elden opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. There was a strange burning under his ribs, spreading rapidly over his chest. He looked down and saw the
other
Elden's hand holding the haft of some strange blade that had been broken off but for an inch. Elden's knees felt suddenly weak, and he leaned on the parapet for support. His sight withered away as he collapsed. The second Elden yanked the body of the first off the stone and, with very little effort, heaved the real Elden over the wall.

“The bridge is finished,” said Cathar, dropping to one knee.

“You are behind,” stated Varuin Khelgast, the Gwar overlord who had arrived with the legions of infantry. As overlord, Varuin wielded the Spider King's authority in battle, and, as Cathar well knew, he was not to be questioned. Varuin lowered the hood of his cloak and looked up. The sickle moon reflected in his black eyes as he scanned the trees to the west. “It is a wonder that the hive of Berinfell has not released a swarm of Elves upon us. The Wisps have done their part, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Cathar replied.

“Quite useful, they are,” said Varuin. “But they will not stand long in the path of the Elven Lords. The time has come. Send the spiders and legions. At first resistance, light up the sky.”

“Yes, sir,” Cathar said.

“When the walls are breached, the infantry will ascend by the spiders' tag lines. And then . . . then the Drefids will come.” Varuin motioned with one of his massive hands.

Cathar looked beyond several rows of Gwar soldiers and saw tall figures, shadows in their hooded cloaks.
How many times had Cathar seen the
Drefids revealed?
And yet their presence—even the very thought of them—always sent a tremor through his body.

“Be swift, Cathar,” said Varuin.

“Yes, sir.”

Cathar climbed back onto his Warspider, removed a finger-sized whistle, and blew it three times. It emitted no sound that men or Elves could hear, but at once, the Warspiders crept over the edge of the Gap. The webbed bridge held strong as the eight-legged combatants picked their way across. Their riders, the Gwar generals, watched the dark walls for movement and readied their arc rifles.

Farther back, the Gwar infantry unlaced and removed their usual boots, and strapped on boots that were half-height and wide, more like heavy black shoes. The soles were padded with a slick, dimpled material called
kassek
. Only kassek-woven footwear would allow warriors to march safely across the incredibly sticky spider filament needed to create the bridge. Even with the kassek-woven boots, warriors took great care not to fall or touch the web with any other part of their body. Such a clumsy soldier would be hopelessly ensnared in the web and perhaps fall victim to a hungry arachnid.