James West - Queen of the North

By the time they rounded the corner and came into a much broader corridor than the first, the guards’ shouts had become dismayed laughter. They found the two men, Zander and Coran, standing one before the other. Like all Prythians, they were tall and broad, and made bulkier by their fur cloaks and thick leather-and-scale armor.

“They tickle,” Zander said with a grimace. He was holding a torch aloft with one hand, and using the other to keep his curly black hair off his neck so Coran could flick off the caterpillars inching over his skin.

“You’re bleeding,” Erryn said, seeing crimson pinpricks dotting Zander’s pale skin.

“Aye,” Zander said, turning a bit. When his eye found her, they filled with a measure of deferential awe that she had grown to hate. She had liked her men better in Valdar, where they had scarcely paid her any mind. Zander added, “Those spines are tickly, but sharp. One false move, and you’re pricked.”

“Be still,” Coran growled, sending the last caterpillar soaring. Satisfied that he was done, he stepped back and ruffled his golden hair, which was shorn close to his scalp like Aedran’s. He was bleeding also, giving his head a patchwork look.

Aedran glanced at the ceiling. “There are more than ever.”

“They come out of the cracks,” Zander said, following the general’s gaze. “Started about an hour ago-at least, that’s when we noticed them. At first, they winked on and off whenever we moved around, like they were scared of us. After that, they became friendlier, and started dropping down to see what we were about.” He spoke as if they were pets; a little troublesome, perhaps, but harmless. Erryn shared no such appreciation for the wriggling creatures.

“You didn’t think it important enough to raise the alarm?” Aedran demanded, sidestepping one of the worms as it fell. It hit the floor and bounced on its spines, its light flickering briefly, then growing steady again. It joined a trio hunching over the flagstones toward Aedran’s closest boot.

Zander gingerly rubbed the back of his neck. He winced when he brought his blood-smeared hand before his face. “Didn’t see much need,” he admitted. “They’re just caterpillars-come spring, they’ll likely turn into moths. If we raised the alarm every time we saw a spider or beetle, what would Queen Erryn think of her warriors?”

One of the creatures plopped onto Erryn’s shoulder, and she went very still. Up close, its eyes were black and faceted, like a cut gemstone-a black, soulless stone, with points of pale, shimmery light caught in each angular surface. She also saw its mouth, a pair of oversized pincers guarded by a nest of spines that looked like glass needles. It began inching its way toward her face, those pincers gnashing together. Just at the edge of hearing, she could make out a scraping noise, like grinding teeth. She let out a disgusted oath.

Aedran caught her before she touched the worm, and Zander swept it off her shoulder. Cursing, he raised his hand. There were several spines lodged in the edge of his small finger. They still glowed, but the light was fading fast, sinking like some ghostly ink into his skin.

“Burns,” he hissed, plucking out the glassy barbs.

Aedran let go of Erryn and took Zander’s torch. He swept it over the worms creeping over the floor. Their spines crisped and curled in the heat. The general leaned over, pressed the torch closer. The creatures tried to retreat, but didn’t get far before curling up on themselves, their light dying as they went still.

“They die easy enough,” he said, straightening.

“We don’t have enough torches to cook them all,” Coran advised.

Aedran scanned the ceiling. “Not if we’re spread out. But if we can clear out the great hall, we can keep watch for more.”

“They’re just caterpillars,” Zander repeated, as a flurry of cries echoed along the dim, cold ways of Stormhold.

“Just so,” Aedran agreed. “But I’m not about to let them use us as pincushions.”

More shouts followed the first, and Erryn imagined the wriggling caterpillars swarming her army, burying them alive. “I suggest we hurry.”

Her general and the two guards offered no argument.

By the time Erryn, Aedran, Coran, and Zander reached the hall, half of her army had already gathered there to escape the caterpillars. But the small creatures were here too, by the thousands, and their faint light washed over the soldiers, making them seem more like ghosts than men.

At Aedran’s order, a hundred torches were soon alight, and the Prythians began roasting the squirmy host.

“Seems like they’re coming after us,” One Eye Thal snarled, stomping a few spiny creatures underfoot. They crunched like nuts under a mallet. He had rushed to join Erryn and Aedran as soon as he saw them, along with her other three captains.

“I think mayhap our heat draws them,” Kormak said, trying to glance everywhere at once and making his thick black braid whip like an angry serpent. He looked very close to bolting.

Erryn wanted to flee as well, and leave Stormhold to its true masters. The caterpillars disgusted her beyond words. Crushing and burning them by the score did nothing to ease her revulsion. If their efforts to eradicate the creatures had shown any progress, she might’ve felt differently, but right now, they were fighting a losing battle.

Somewhere off to her right, Aedran began shouting orders, but his was just one of many voices. The great hall overflowed with the dull thunder of men cursing loudly when pincers of spines pierced them.

Erryn shuddered at the sight of her army flailing about in the dusty torchlight, flapping their arms, or vigorously brushing their hands through bloody hair. Where the men stood on the brink of overwhelming dread, the packhorses had crossed the threshold. Snorts and whinnies filled the hall, and their stomping hooves rang loudly against the flagstones, beating out a hectic rhythm.

Still the worms came, a slow, unending horde.

They’re everywhere! Erryn imagined she could feel them crawling over her, sticky and sharp … yet whenever she searched herself, she was free of the caterpillars. Maybe they’re under my clothes, sneaking over my arms and chest, inching up my legs, seeking -

Another wave of disgusted fright threatened to send Erryn running out of the fortress, but the memory of the howling storm held her fast. How long will the fear of freezing to death outweigh the fear of being chewed to death? Neither choice suited her. She wanted to live.

“We must clear out a smaller area,” Erryn shouted at One Eye Thal.

“Aye,” the grizzled captain said, grunting as he used a gloved hand to sweep half a dozen caterpillars off one arm, then doing the same to the other. More writhed in his hair, like spiky fish in a net. He turned his good eye on her, wide and questioning. “Where do we make our stand?”

Erryn’s mind raced, but produced nothing of worth. The other captains had left her side, caught up in the unruly tide of men slapping and swatting at themselves. Curses and cries had risen to a thundering commotion. Close by, a horse reared up, bowling men over.

“Fire kills them,” Erryn said, holding up her oil lamp, the heat of which sent a caterpillar squirming off her arm. So far, she had avoided getting poked or bitten, and she meant to keep it that way.

“What good does that do- Agh! ” One Eye Thal cut off with an appalled grunt when a worm tumbled out of his hair and landed on his nose. He shook his head like a bee-stung bear, and sent the insect flying. “Gods! The bastards are everywhere!” He touched his nose, but there was no blood.

Erryn grasped his arm, thick and hard as an old oak branch, and jerked him around. “We burn them.” That had been Aedran’s plan from the start, but he had chosen the wrong battleground. “The great hall is too large, too high, and has too many nooks and crannies. We must retreat.”