Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 02 - The Hour of the Gate

volcanic flank, the palace did not move. It might as well have

been anchored in bedrock.

They entered a round, silk-lined tube and were soon walk-

ing through tunnels and hallways. It grew dark only slowly

inside since the glassy silk admitted a great deal of light.

Eventually torches and lamps were necessary, however, to

illuminate the depths.

They confronted a portal guarded by a pair of the largest

spiders yet seen. Each had a body as big as Jon-Tom's, but

with their loglike legs they spanned eighteen feet from front

to back.

They were a rich dark brown, without special markings or

bright colors anywhere on their bodies. The multiple black

eyes were small in comparison to the rest of the impressive

mass. Shocking-pink and orange silks enveloped torsos and

legs. There was also a set of white scarves tied around two

forelegs and the nonexistent necks. Huge halberds with intricately

carved wooden shafts rested between powerful forelegs.

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They didn't move, but Jon-Tom knew they were closely

scrutinizing the peculiar arrivals. For the first time since

they'd entered Gossameringue he was frightened. Thoughts

of the friendly spiderlings faded from his mind. It would have

been little comfort had he realized that the pair of impressive

guards before them were there precisely to intimidate visitors.

Ananthos turned to them. "you will have to wait here."

After conversing briefly with the two huge tarantulas he and

his two associates disappeared through the round entrance.

While they waited, the visitors occupied themselves by

inspecting the now indifferent guards and the gleaming silk

walls. The silk had been dyed red, orange, and white in this

corridor and shone wetly in the light of the lamps. Jon-Tom

wondered how far from the entrance they'd come.

Mudge sauntered over next to him. "I don't know 'ow it

strikes you, mate, but seems t' me our eight-legged friends

'ave been gone a 'ell of a long time now."

Jon-Tom tried to sound secure as well as knowledgeable.

"You don't just walk in on the ruler of a powerful people and

announce your demands. The diplomatic niceties have to be

observed. History shows that."

"More o' your studies, wot? Well, maybe it do take some

time at that. Never met a lot o' bureaucrats that did move

much faster than the dead. I expect they're all like that, slow

movin' an' slow thinkin', no matter 'ow many legs they got."

"Here they come," Jon-Tom told him confidently.

But it was not Ananthos and his familiar comrades who

emerged from the opening but instead a tall, very thin-legged

arachnid with a delicate body and eyes raised high on the

front of his skull. His forelegs were tied up in an intricate

network of blue silk ribbons and there were matching purple

ones on the rearmost limbs.

One wire-thin leg pointed at Caz, who stood nearest the

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portal, while dozens of spiders of varied size and color

suddenly poured from behind him.

"immobilize them and carry them down!"

"Hey, wait a minute." Jon-Tom was unable to get his staff

around before he'd been seized by half a dozen hooking legs.

Others thrust threatening spears and knives at his belly.

"There has been a mistake." Clothahump was already

disappearing around a comer, carried on his back.

"Put me down or I'll cut your smelly heads off!" All fire

and helpless frustration, Talea was being carted closely be-

hind the wizard.

Then Jon-Tom felt himself turned on his back and borne on

dozens of hairy legs, kicking and protesting with equal lack

of effect.

They went down into darkness. How far he couldn't guess,

but it wasn't long before they were dumped into a silk-and-

stone cell under the imperious direction of the emaciated and

beribboned spider in charge.

The silk lining the chamber was old and filthy. There were

no windows to let in light, only a few oil lamps in the

corridor beyond. Jon-Tom gathered himself up and moved to

inspect the cross-hatched webwork that barred their exit.

It was not sticky to the touch, but was quite invulnerable.

He leaned against it and shouted at their retreating captors.

"Stop, you can't put us in here! We're diplomatic visitors.

We're here to see the Grand Webmistress and...!"

"Save your wind, my friend." Caz stood at the outermost

comer of the cell, squinting up the silk ladder-steps. "They've

gone."

"Shit!" Jon-Tom kicked at an irregular, flattened piece of

shiny material. At first he thought it was a piece of broken

pottery. Closer inspection revealed it was a section of chitin.

It clattered off a stone set in the far wall.

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"God damn that sly-voiced Ananthos. He led us all th

way by making us believe he was our friend."

"He never said he was our friend." Bribbens sat against

wall, his head resting on his knees. "Merely that he w.

doing his duty. Get us this far, then it'd be up to us, he said

The frog chuckled throatily. "Certainly hasn't gone out of h

way to make it easy for us, looks like."

Talea was sniffing the air and frowning. "I don't know it

any of you have noticed it yet, but—"

There was a startled scream. Jon-Tom looked left. Flor had

been standing there. Now she'd fallen forward and landed

hard on the floor. Her foot had vanished through an opening

in the wall and the rest of her was slowly following....

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They hadn't noticed the passageway when they'd been

chucked into the cell. There was no telling where it ran to or

what had hold of Hor. Blood oozed from beneath her nails as

she tried to dig her fingers into the floor.

Jon-Tom was first at her side. Without thinking, he leaned

over and heaved a head-sized rock at her foot. There was a

breathy exclamation of surprise and pain from beyond. She

stopped sliding.

Caz and Mudge half dragged, half carried her across the

cell. Whatever had hold of her had missed her leg, but her

boot was neatly punctured just behind the calf.

As he backed away from the opening several legs scram-

bled through. They were attached to a two-foot-wide bulbous

body of light green with blue stripes and spots. Jon-Tom took

note of the fact that it wore only one black silk scarf tied

around the left rear leg at the uppermost joint.

The visitor was followed closely by a second, smaller

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spider. This one was an electric maroon with a single large

gray rectangle on its abdomen. A third spider squeezed into

their cell, barely clearing the passageway. It was gray-brown

with white circles on cephalothorax and abdomen and had

shockingly red legs. All wore only the single black scarf on

identical limbs.

The three spiders stood confronting the wary knot of

warmlanders.

"what the hell," said the first spider who'd entered, in a

tone so high and flighty it was barely intelligible, "are you?"

"Diplomatic ambassadors," Clothahump informed them,

with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances.

The little arachnid bobbed his head in that maybe yes,

maybe no movement Jon-Tom had come to recognize, "may-

be you're diplomatic ambassadors to you," he said, "but

you're just food to us."

"they look nice and soft," said the big one in a slightly

deeper but still tenebrous voice. His body was a good three