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

feet across, bulky, and with three foot legs. "diplomats or

blasphemers, ambassador or storage-stealers, what difference

does it make?" He displayed bright red fangs, "dinner is

dinner."

"You think so? Touch one of us again," said Jon-Tom

wamingly, "and I'll shove your fangs down your throat."

The first spider cocked multiple eyes at him. "will you

now, half-limbed?" The latter was an apparent reference to

Jon-Tom's disproportionately fewer number of limbs, "tell

you a thing, if you can do that we'll treat you as something

more than dinner, if you can't"—he pointed with a leg

toward the shivering Flor—"we start with that one for an

appetizer."

"Why her, why not me?"

The spider could not grin, but conveyed that impression

nonetheless, "almost had a taste, she smells full of fluid."

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It was too much for the terrified arachniphobe, that casual

talk of being sucked dry like a lemon. She turned and

vomited.

"there, you see?" said the spider knowingly.

Jon-Tom quelled his own rising nausea. He ignored the

gagging sounds behind him to keep his attention on the big

red-legged spider. It had scuttled off to the side, away from its

companions.

"you can have me if you can get me," it taunted.

"Same goes for me," said Jon-Tom grimly. "Leave the

others out of this."

"we'll do that for a start." The spider was sitting back on

his hind legs, waving the four front limbs ritualistically as it

bobbed from side to side. Then it brought them down and

rushed forward.

It had been a while since Jon-Tom had practiced any

karate. Four years, in fact. But he'd become reasonably good.

before he'd quit. What he hadn't learned was how to attack

something with eight limbs. Not that they would matter if the

spider got those red fangs into him. Even if this particular

arachnid's venom wasn't very toxic, the shock alone might be

enough to kill.

The attacker's intent seemed to involve throwing as many

legs as possible at its prey in order to distract him while the

fangs bit home.

It was possible the spider wouldn't expect an attack. If the

eight limbs were confusing to Jon-Tom, then perhaps his

human length and long legs might equally puzzle the spider.

Besides, the best defense is a good offense, he reasoned.

So he ran at his opponent instead of away from it, keeping

his eyes on his target as he was supposed to and trying hard

to remember. Up on the opposite foot, kick out with the right,

left leg tucked under the other.

Agile claws reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. They

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scraped at Jon-Tom's neck and arms. They didn't prevent his

right foot from landing hard between the eight eyes (there

was no chin to aim for).

The impact traveled up Jon-Tom's leg. He landed awkwardly

on his left foot, stumbled, and fought desperately to regain

his balance.

It wasn't necessary. The spider had stopped in its tracks.

Making mewling noises horribly reminiscent of a lost kitten,

it sat down, rolled over on its back, and clawed at its face.

The leg movements slowed like a clock winding down.

Jon-Tom waited nearby, panting hard in a defensive posture.

The leg movements finally ceased. Green goo dripped from

between the eyes, which no longer shone in the lamplight.

The spider who'd entered the cell first scrabbled over to its

motionless, larger companion.

"damme," he breathed in disbelief, "you've killed jogand."

Jon-Tom caught his breath, frowned. "What do you mean,

I've killed him? I didn't kick him hard enough to kill him."

"dead for sure, for sure," said the smaller spider, turning a

respectful gaze on the man. Blood continued to seep from the

wound.

Fragile exoskeleton, Jon-Tom thought in relief and astonish-

ment. Come to think of it, he'd seen a lot of clubs here.

They'd be very effective against recalcitrant arachnids. In-

stead of a glass jaw, the spider possessed a glass body.

Or maybe he'd just slipped in a lucky blow. Either way...

He glared warily at the remaining pair. "No hard feelings?"

The first spider gazed distastefully down at his dead com-

panion. "jogand always was the impulsive type."

They were distracted by a clattering in the corridor. A

Spider they did not recognize approached the webwork silk

bars. He was not the skinny one with all the ribbons. As they

watched silently, he poured the contents of a pear-shaped

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bottle on a section of the bars. They began to dissolve like so

much hot jelly.

Another figure emerged from the shadows to stand just

behind the jailer: Ananthos.

"i am terribly sorry," he told them, waving many legs at

the cell. "this was done without higher orders or good

knowledge, the individual responsible has already been

punished."

"Blimey but if we didn't think you'd sold us over!" said a

relieved Mudge.

Ananthos looked outraged, "i would never do such a

thing, i take my responsibilities seriously, as you well should

know." Then he noticed the corpse on the cell floor, looked

back into the cell.

" 'Twere 'is wizardship there," said Mudge, indicating

Jon-Tom. Ananthos bowed respectfully toward the human.

"a good piece of work. i am sorrowful for the trouble

caused you."

A pathway large enough to allow egress had been made in

me bars. Ananthos' companions moved aside as the prisoners

exited.

The small spider tried to follow Clothahump out and was

promptly clobbered behind the head by one of the guards.

The spider shrank back into the cell.

"not you," muttered the guard, "warmlanders only."

"why not? aren't we part of their party now?" He hooked

foreclaws over the rapidly hardening new bars two of the

guards were spinning.

"you are common criminals," said Ananthos tiredly. "as

you must know, common criminals are not permitted audience

with the grand webmistress."

The little spider hesitated. His head cocked toward Jon-

Tom. "you're going to see the grand webmistress?"

"That's what we've come all this way for."

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"then we'll stay right here. you can't force us to come!'

And both spiders drew back behind the bleeding corpse of

their dead companion, scuttled for the tunnel leading to their

own cell.

Their sudden shift sparked uncomfortable thoughts in John

Tom's mind as he followed Talea's twisting form up the

stairwell they'd so recently been hustled down.

"What do you suppose he meant by that?" She looked

back down at him and shrugged.

"i told you i could do nothing for you beyond bringing you

to gossameringue," Ananthos explained, "it must be consid

ered that the webmistress not only might not assist you but

may condemn you to rejoin those rabble in their hole," and

he gestured with a leg back down the stairs.

"So we could find ourselves right back in jail?" asked

Flor.

"or worse." He continued to point downward with the

waving, silk-swathed leg. "i hope you will not hold what

occurred down there against me. a chamberiaine overstepped

her authority."

"We know it wasn't yc'ir fault," said Clothahump reassur-

ingly. Pog seemed about to add something but kept his mouth

shut at a warning glance from the wizard.

Before long they had retraced their ignominious descent

and stood before the high, arching doorway flanked by the