Venom and Song (56 page)

“Great Maker of Allyra,” whispered Grimwarden. All three of them held short.

Before them stretched a vast network of paths, rising and falling like the veins of a living organism. Beneath them were countless honeycombed chambers, each pulsating, covered in thin weblike filaments. And tending to the innumerable beds were hundreds and hundreds of people. Maybe even thousands. Some not full grown. And not Elvish.

“Slaves,” gasped Goldarrow. “And many are just children.”

“Humans,” said Charlie. “Jackpot!”

At first the presence of the three warriors went unnoticed. Whatever manner of inhumane conditioning had taken place over the years, the slaves did not even bother looking up, nor did the guards turn from their whipping, nor did the adolescent Warspiders take any notice. The slaves continued hauling crates full of glowing yellow orbs from one bed to another, carrying cages containing dozens of fist-sized spiders on their backs, and rolling barrels of what Grimwarden thought might be food. Spider food.

The slaves were all thin, but the children were particularly emaciated, their skin sallow and hanging. But all of them, adults and children alike, were riddled with long scars from untold whippings and beatings.

“I count ten guards,” said Grimwarden. “Clearly most have been called to battle up top.” He pointed to empty guard towers placed throughout the cavern. “Must be a skeleton crew.”

“And from the looks of them Warspiders, there ain't no adults to worry about,” said Charlie. “I count twenty-five no bigger than two or three feet in diameter.”

“That is a most unusual dialect,” Grimwarden whispered to Goldarrow.

“He likes it,” Goldarrow explained. “Leave him be.”

“As long as he can fight, I guess.”

“Y'all ready?” asked Charlie.

“Aye,” said Grimwarden. “I'll take the guards; Elle and Charlie, you have the overgrown arachnids. Try and assemble the slaves back here as quickly as possible. The last thing we want is for them to go running.”

Grimwarden ran to the first honeycombed bay and ducked beside the supporting frame of the walkway that swept overhead. As soon as the first Gwar walked directly above him, Grimwarden pulled him off the walkway with a violent jerk. The Gwar sailed through the air, but before his body even hit the ground, Grimwarden had used the sword in his other hand to sever the guard's exposed throat.

“Girell?” came a voice above. “You fall asleep?”

The second Gwar was coming to investigate.

Goldarrow crept along the right flank while Charlie moved to the left. With any luck, they could each clear out ten to fifteen spiders and be done with it.

She waited in the shadows of a large-wheeled cart. It hurt to breathe in here. She wondered how any of the slaves had survived. Goldarrow could feel empathy rising in her chest, feeling for the slaves, especially the children. She watched them move around like—
what had Tommy once called those things?—
zombies. Waking dead. Mindless creatures of the night.

“We will free you,” Goldarrow pledged in a whisper.

Then her thoughts turned to Grimwarden.
Where is the sign?

Charlie watched as the second Gwar toppled off the walkway, a spray of broken spider eggs shooting up from under his fall. The remaining eight Gwar turned as one, running toward the scene along the curving ramparts. At the same time, all of the slaves in the enormous cavern started cheering, realizing something foul was happening against their captors; what exactly, Charlie was sure they had no idea. But any pain or suffering for the Gwar was something he was positive the slaves would exult in.

“Now!” Charlie barked across the room to Goldarrow, who emerged from behind the wagon, weapons blazing.

Charlie bounded across ridges of two separate spider beds before thrusting his sword into the thorax of an adolescent Warspider. The arachnid went into a fit, shuddered violently, then dropped dead.

The slaves were dropping their wheelbarrows and starting to clap for Charlie.

Two more Warspiders on Charlie's left looked up in time to see the thin part of Charlie's shield flash across their faces. The two spiders collided with one another before they fell dead.

Charlie was about to move on when he noticed something move under the webbed covering to his right.

“Come on, you overgrown ape!” Grimwarden roared as he charged down a narrow pathway. Polearm extended, the Gwar growled as he barreled up toward the Guardmaster. The Gwar lunged—a huge mistake—and Grimwarden ducked beneath the polearm. Then he rose up underneath the Gwar's chin with a fist, knocking him off his feet. The Gwar flipped head over heels, landing in a nest just below—only to be replaced by more Gwar and Warspiders, and now the enemy was even turning on one another.

“OLIN!” came Elle's rising voice from somewhere to his right.

“We've got to get out of here!” cried Charlie.

“Forget the enemy,” commanded Grimwarden. “Get the slaves out of here!”

With the guards now preoccupied with what could only be described as a spider revolt, the three Elven leaders began calling out to all the slaves. Of course, the Elven newcomers certainly had the slaves' attention, what with slaying a few Gwar and Warspiders as they had. But now the leaders were waving frantically, yelling to the slaves.

“THIS WAY!”

The slaves started running, tossing aside their tools, helping one another, and giving more than one Warspider a passing blow. As the slaves continued to race to the front of the room, Grimwarden, Goldarrow, and Charlie pulled back, heading toward the exit. Hundreds and then thousands of young people followed behind them, cheering as they went.

But it was Charlie who noticed what else was happening in the room. No longer concerned with the escaping slaves, the rest of the Gwar busied themselves with trying to maintain control of the spider beds. But they failed miserably as the rebellion was far out of control. Millions of tiny spiders were roused, and within moments, it was all the Gwar could do to stay alive.

“Grimwarden!” Charlie yelled over the din of their escape as the three stood aside ushering the slaves into the exit tunnel. “We have a problem!”

Grimwarden looked back and saw the rising flood of baby spiders spreading after the slaves. Even if they did escape, the spiders would overtake them in the tunnel. It would be a lost cause. He turned to Charlie. “Have any of that tar root left on you?”

“Sure thing. An arc stone, too.”

“How many?”

“Just one.”

One is all we need
. Grimwarden grinned, then looked to the ceiling of the tunnel just before it shot upward to form the roof of the cavern. “You thinking what I'm thinking?”

Charlie gave a quick nod, then went to work. While Grimwarden and Goldarrow helped the slaves file past them and into the tunnel, Charlie wrapped the remaining arc stone in tar root—three times as much as he used on the last stone. He left a small spot exposed for the ignition. It was nearly the size of a baseball when he was through.

“This is going to be close!” said Goldarrow, seeing how many slaves still needed to be evacuated.

“Come on!” Grimwarden shouted, spurring the slaves on. “FASTER!”

The wave of baby Warspiders was now almost even with the last few rows of slaves. “I wish Johnny was here,” said Goldarrow. “Hey, Charlie! Where are you going?”

But Charlie didn't respond. He ran to the back of the line and started using the flat of his shield to smash the tiny little buggers, hundreds at a time.

“Oh, Ellos, help us!” cried Goldarrow. She and Grimwarden were shoving slaves now, the time growing short. They had seconds, not minutes. She looked back at Charlie. He was batting the spiders away like flies.

“That's the last of them!” Grimwarden yelled. “
CHARLIE!”

Charlie acknowledged him with a nod, then turned and ran to meet them. He produced the prepared arc stone and struck it across the rim of his shield. The thing sparked to life. Charlie followed Grimwarden and Goldarrow into the tunnel, and underhanded the arc stone onto the ceiling. It stuck as expected, and again, Charlie counted to himself, gritting his teeth against the pain of the spider bites. He turned around to see a dark wave of arachnids climbing the walls, pouring into the corridor like a tidal wave. “
GET READY!”

A flash of light.

A deafening blast of air.

Charlie catapulted forward, colliding into Grimwarden and Goldarrow, who also shot down the tunnel.

Rocks slammed into them, dust filled their lungs. Then darkness.

Grimwarden's ears were ringing. A good sign. At least he was alive. Other than an ache in his back and his head, he felt intact. No major bleeding. And surprisingly, no broken bones. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up. Rubble scrapped together all around him. Someone coughed to his right. “Goldarrow?”

Grimwarden crawled over to her and helped her up. “You all right?”

“If you can cure me of this infernal ringing in my ears, I think I'll be fine.”

“Guess I may have used a little too much,” came Charlie's voice from a heap of stones.

“Charlie!” cried Goldarrow. “You're alive!”

“Is that what this is called?” He grunted and pressed himself up, covered from head to foot in white dust.

The three of them laughed. But Charlie, facing back the way they had come, stopped laughing. He pointed a finger. “Look . . .”

Grimwarden and Goldarrow turned. With torches in hand, as well as weapons they'd picked up from somewhere farther down the hall, the slaves were returning to thank their rescuers. Only they weren't slaves anymore. Just people.

38
Lessons from the Past

EXPLOSIONS LIT the courtyard just as Tommy was shutting the door. The six young lords careened down a corridor the map said would bring them eventually to a great hall with a wide staircase up into a long corridor to another spiral staircase, and at last into the Spider King's center of military operations—his Plotting Chamber.

They stopped in the shadows at the first cross passage to wait for Johnny. It seemed that the battle outside was spilling over within the walls of Vesper Crag. To their left, Gwar and Drefids raced up the hall, recklessly slinging weapons and staring straight ahead. They didn't even notice the intruders as they ran by.

“Thanks for waiting,” Johnny said, skidding to a halt beside his friends.

“You take care of those stinkin' trees?” Jett asked.

“Only ashes left,” Johnny said.

“Good work,” said Tommy. “Those explosions you, too?”

Johnny shook his head. “I wish,” he said. “No, it's getting crazy out there. I think our flet soldiers have taken part of the wall, and the battle has come to this side. Soldiers running everywhere. I barely made it here. But the explosions? I dunno, I'm guessing the Gnomes had something to do with it.”

“I'm really starting to love those guys,” said Kat.

Another stream of Gwar soldiers stampeded by. The Seven pressed their backs against the wall. “We canna' stay here,” said Jimmy.

“Right,” Tommy replied. “Come on. We need to find that wide staircase.”

“Then what?” asked Jett.

“We fight our way up,” said Tommy.

“Thought you might say that.” Jett cracked his knuckles.

After passing two similar cross passages, they saw a wide opening up ahead. The main stairs rose up from the center floor, dividing a vast hall with a high ceiling, great columns, and arches. The walls were overhung with black and red flags and tapestries depicting battles and events of the past.

“I didn't realize it would be so . . . so open like this,” said Kat. “How are we going to get to those stairs without bringing every available enemy in Vesper Crag down on top of us?”

“C'mon,” said Jett. “We're the Seven, right?”

Johnny couldn't help but grin. Jett's good-natured enthusiasm was contagious. They were the Seven Lords of Berinfell and that did mean something. If the only way was through that massive hall, then so be it.