Premer Cardijja stopped pacing around the inside of his tent and turned to face the soldier that had been interrogated. The soldier looked haggard, his eyes deep in their sockets and his hair matted down with perspiration, but not as bad as he had before the healers got to him. The soldier looked up expectantly at the premer.
“You may go now,” the premer said softly. “Do not discuss your trip into the jungle with anyone.”
The soldier rose from the ground and bowed to the premer as he backed towards the tent flap. In a moment he was gone, and Cardijja shook his head as he pondered the information that had been gleaned from the soldier. Several minutes later the flap ruffled as General Luggar hurried inside.
“We have a problem,” the general informed Cardijja. “Only several hundred men managed to return from the jungle, but they are quickly spreading the word about the giant spiders. If we don’t act immediately, the men will start to desert.”
“I was suspecting as much,” frowned the premer, “although I had hoped that we could contain it.”
“What will you do?” asked the general.
“I will do what I must to preserve my men,” answered the premer. “You are to instruct the sentries to kill any man trying to leave the jungle. I also want the leader of the mages, Cymelange, sent to my tent immediately.”
“Do you think the mages can help?” questioned Luggar.
“They must be able to do something,” nodded Cardijja. “We have no other choice. The men need a night’s sleep, and they will not get it on the plains. These spider creatures must be vulnerable to something. Let the mages figure out what it is.”
General Luggar nodded and retreated from the tent. A few minutes later a black-cloaked mage entered, his eyes darting suspiciously around the interior of the tent. Cardijja did not care much for the mages, but he found the mage leader particularly distasteful. The black-cloak had never even had the decency to hide his contempt for the soldiers.
“You sent for me?” asked Cymelange.
“I did,” Cardijja nodded informally. “You are to gather your mages and kill the huge spiders. I want the task completed immediately.”
“It is much wiser to attack them in the morning,” balked the mage. “We have never encountered such beasts before, and we may need time to develop the proper strategy to defeat them.”
“This cannot wait for the morning,” snapped Premer Cardijja. “My men must get some sleep.”
“Mages are not like your soldiers,” retorted the black-cloak. “We do not just charge into the jungle and kill things. We will study the creatures first. Perhaps we will try a spell or two to see what affects them the most, but that will be impossible if we cannot see them.”
“Then illuminate the jungle,” countered the premer. “Do not tell me that your mages are not capable of such things. I have seen it done before.”
“And everyone around for leagues will know where we are,” argued Cymelange. “Such a display will surely call the horsemen down upon us.”
“I am not concerned about the horsemen while we are inside the jungle,” snapped Cardijja. “Let them come and attack us. In fact, I would welcome that right now. It would take the minds of my men off of the jungle. In case you hadn’t noticed, the men are on the verge of hysteria. They have not had sleep in days, and word of the spiders has soared through the camp like a contagious disease. By morning there will be no camp if the spiders are not destroyed now.”
“It is your task to control your men,” scowled the mage. “Why should I endanger my mages to make your task easier?”
“There are a number of reasons,” the premer said threateningly, “but the most important one is that your mages are surrounded by two hundred thousand of my men, and they don’t care much for mages. I will not dictate how you use your magic to kill the spiders, but I do demand that you accomplish it tonight.”
“You are threatening me?” balked Cymelange. “Do you know what my men could do to yours?”
“I am quite well versed in your skills and tactics,” Cardijja replied steadily. “I also know that without my men to protect your mages, none of you will survive this trip into Fakara. Your mages will be immediately evicted from this encampment as soon as this meeting is over. You may lead them into battle against the spiders, or you can set up your own camp in the jungle. Either way I will have your mages between my men and the spiders. If you decide to attack us, you will have enemies on both sides of you. The choice is yours.”
“You wouldn’t dare?” gasped the mage.
“I can, and I will,” asserted the premer as he marched to the tent flap.
He held the flap back as he shouted orders to the men outside. The orders were to escort the mages to the eastern perimeter of the camp after calling the camp to alert. Cardijja turned and glared at the mage when he was done.
“My decision has been made,” Cardijja said softly. “Now go and make yours.”
Cymelange spat on the ground as he stormed out of the tent. He snarled at the soldiers grabbing their weapons as he stomped towards the mage area of the encampment. By the time he reached the mage area, most of the black-cloaks were gathered in a large knot. Their voices were raised as they argued about how to react to the growing knot of soldiers gathering nearby. There was an air of concern and confusion, and all of the mages looked towards the leader as he approached. He slowed his pace as he tried to think about his approach to the situation. As much as he detested Cardijja and wanted to repay the premer for his actions, he was more concerned about the survival of his mages. He decided to act positively towards the assignment.
“We are all going to exit the camp and take the fight to the huge spiders that you have heard about,” the leader announced loudly. “I want groups formed by specialty. The first group will be illumination. I want the jungle lit up as if it were high sun. Fire mages will be in the vanguard. When we find one of these spiders, I want it incinerated. Also, test the webs for flammability. They may try to trap us.”
“What about ground trembles?” asked one of the black-cloaks.
“I doubt that quakes will do much to the spiders,” frowned Cymelange. “Their webs will weather the spell. Perhaps ice or lightning might work, but we will try fire first. It may well cause fear in the other spiders and drive them away.”
The mages took the news well, and Cymelange sighed with relief as a thousand black-cloaks prepared for battle. He mentally vowed revenge on Premer Cardijja, but that was a matter that could wait until after the spiders were destroyed. Within an hour, ten separate columns of black-cloaks filed into the jungle like the spokes of a half-wheel.
Cymelange chose one of the center columns and joined the hundred mages as they started into the dark of the jungle. Bright projectiles shot skyward from the vanguard of the columns, and the jungle brightened somewhat. At first the magical spells only produced an eerie glow, and the long shadows gave the foliage an ominous look, but as more projectiles were sent skyward the glow increased to a daylight appearance.
Cymelange’s eyes scanned the dense foliage as he followed the column away from the Motangan encampment. The plant growth in the jungle grew with abandonment with only small paths meandering through the foliage. The narrow paths could hardly be called trails, but the leaders of the columns did their best to keep the groups separated. Cymelange nodded with approval even as it became difficult to keep the other columns in view as the mages spread out in a ever-widening arc. Small creatures made noises as they leaped or slithered through the undergrowth to hurry away from the invaders. Cymelange paid no attention to them. His eyes searched for the monstrous spiders that the soldiers had described.
Before long, Cymelange was unable to see any of the mages other than the column he was hunting with. He began to wonder how far into the jungle they would have to go to find the first spider. More bright projectile shot into the air and the mage gazed upward. He could tell from the wide arc of projectiles how far apart the columns had progressed. He smiled in appreciation of the discipline of his men. The projectiles were evenly spaced, which indicated that the column leaders were proceeding as they had been taught.
An hour passed by slowly as the columns drove deeper into the foreign jungle. The mages were starting to get bored with the expedition, and Cymelange wondered if he could merely return to the camp and declare that the spiders had been defeated. Premer Cardijja would have no basis to disbelieve him. Come morning, the mages could once again go searching without having to waste magical energy on the brightening spells. He was seriously contemplating issuing such orders when a scream was heard far to the right.
The column halted as all of the mages turned and gazed in the direction of the short scream. The other columns were no longer visible, and looking towards the right yielded no information as to the cause of the scream. Cymelange immediately wove an air tunnel and moved it towards the right of the column. He spoke his name softly into the air tunnel as he slowly moved the far end of it farther away from himself. Within moments another Motangan mage picked up the other end of the air tunnel and reported no problems other than hearing the lone scream farther off.
Cymelange continued moving the air tunnel from column to column, each of the mages reporting no problems. He frowned when no one from the last column picked up his air tunnel. He continued moving the air tunnel around in search of the missing column, but no one would answer him. That is when the scream was heard from the left. Cymelange spun around and extended his air tunnel far to the left. He did not waste time asking each column if things were alright. Instead he tried to make contact with the outermost column. He could not.
“We are being attacked on our flanks,” Cymelange announced loudly. “I want all spokes of the wheel to start converging so that we meet together within the hour. Each of you make contact with one of the other columns with an air tunnel. I want you to maintain contact until we all gather together. Report anything that sounds suspicious.”
“Are we turning around and heading back towards the camp?” asked one of the nearby mages.
“No,” answered Cymelange. “I want to converge deeper into the jungle. To return now is to have lost men without a victory. I will not yield to creatures that think that they can scare us. We will go deep enough to put the creatures between us and the camp and then we will attack, driving them towards Premer Cardijja’s men.”
The column remained stationary for several more minutes as mages called out to the column that they would communicate with. When all of the air tunnels were in place, the column continued onward. They had progressed for fifteen minutes before one of the mages spoke.
“I just lost contact with the column that I was monitoring,” announced the mage. “There was no warning or cry of attack. The other end of the air tunnel just dropped.”
“Reestablish contact,” advised Cymelange. “Perhaps he tripped over a root or something.”
“I am trying,” frowned the mage. “No one is answering.”
“I just lost contact also,” reported another mage. “Something strange is going on.”
“Do not start panicking like soldiers,” scowled Cymelange. “Air tunnels can be disrupted by many common occurrences. Remember your lessons.”
The two mages that had lost communications with the other columns stopped walking as the column continued onward. Cymelange looked back at them and shook his head in disgust. While he realized that the other columns might be in danger, he could not believe that any column could be lost without some type of alarm or notice. Even the first two attacks had resulted in screams that could be heard far off. Fifteen minutes later, two more mages announced that they had lost contact with the columns they had been communicating with.
“Halt the column,” commanded Cymelange as he stood staring at the two mages, waiting for them to report that they had reestablished contact.
Minutes dragged on as he watched the two mages desperately try to get someone to answer them. Neither of them had success. Cymelange turned and peered along the path behind him. Neither of the two mages who had previously stopped was in sight. A shiver raced up his spine as he realized that his mages were being deliberately and methodically destroyed, and they were being destroyed by a cunning enemy.
“Announce to the other columns that we are turning around,” ordered Cymelange. “They are to immediately begin converging on our path back to the camp. Inform them that they are in danger of attacks from the flanks.”
The chosen mages immediately relayed Cymelange’s orders to the other three remaining columns. As the orders were being delivered, Cymelange wove an air tunnel of his own. He directed it into the tent of Premer Cardijja.
“This is Cymelange,” the mage announced, knowing that Cardijja would not be able to answer him without a mage present. “We have come under attack and are returning to the camp. We have been unable to identify our attackers and have found no signs of giant spiders. I want your troops to penetrate the jungle and create a corridor for my returning men. You will know our locations from the bright projectiles.”
Cymelange dropped the air tunnel and frowned as he thought about his own words. He gazed upward at the glowing orbs that provided the light to the jungle. The spells had to be cast almost continuously to provide light to the jungle. What he saw was proof that the other six columns no longer existed. Only four glowing orbs hung in the sky over the jungle. He cursed himself for not noticing it earlier.
“We need to return to camp immediately,” he said loudly. “Remain calm and alert, but do not dally.”
The column reversed direction with the column leader passing by the other mages and taking the lead once again. The reversal placed Cymelange near the vanguard of the column. The black-cloaks hurried along, nervousness clearly beginning to show in the faces of the mages. A few minutes later the column halted abruptly. Cymelange pushed his way forward to see why they had stopped. He stared in horror at the giant web stretched across the trail. Stuck on the web were the bodies of the two mages that had been left behind. At least Cymelange suspected that that was whom the bodies belonged to. The bodies were completely encased in webbing. Only a few glimpses of black cloaks were visible through the white webbing. Cymelange’s eyes rose upward as he tried to see the top of the web. He could not.
“Burn it!” he shouted.
Flames shot from over a dozen mages and tore at the web. The web seemed to sway away protectively from the fire, but Cymelange noted that the strands of the web did melt where the flames were most intense. He watched with morbid curiosity, as holes grew larger in the web. When the holes were large enough for men to pass through, Cymelange barked commands for the column to proceed. He let men pass him as his eyes searched for the spiders. The stench of burning flesh fell heavy across the trail as the two encased mages began to burn. Cymelange crinkled his nose against the odor and followed the other mages through the web.
Cymelange’s eyes constantly scanned the jungle on both sides for any sign of the spiders, but he could not find them. This irritated him as much as it frightened him. As the column was hurrying towards the camp, a slight noise off to his right caught Cymelange’s attention. The noise had sounded like a human voice, but he could not be sure. As his eyes scanned the foliage for enemies, Cymelange tripped and fell. He hit the ground hard and something smashed into his jaw. He cursed loudly and shook his head to clear his vision. He looked uncomprehendingly at the boot on the ground. As he rose to his knees, Cymelange recognized the body of the mage stretched out before him.
Cymelange looked up and saw the trail littered with the bodies of his comrades. None of them appeared to be moving. He frowned in confusion as his eyes swept over the bodies. Suddenly he froze, his eyes landing on the small dart stuck in the neck of the mage before him. He bit his lip with sudden understanding. He immediately went prone on the ground as his mind raced with the explanation to the quiet disappearances of the other columns. The darts obviously delivered an extremely fast-acting poison, but those darts would have to be delivered by people, not spiders. There had to be Fakarans nearby.
Cymelange feigned death, as he remained frozen on the ground. His eyes tried to scan the jungle, but he could see little other than the closest plants. He listened intently for sounds of the enemy, but the jungle had grown deathly quiet. The brightening spells began to fail, and darkness reclaimed the jungle, but Cymelange remained quiet and still. He was not sure how much time had passed, but he suddenly heard a chilling sound behind him. Risking detection, he rolled onto his side and gazed into the darkness.
At first he could see nothing, but the sounds grew louder. A series of clicks and the rustle of leaves indicated movement nearby, but the jungle was a wall of blackness. As the sounds grew closer, Cymelange felt the need to move away. He cautiously rose to his knees and then stood. However long he had remained feigning death, his eyes were now more accustomed to the darkness. As he stood he frowned, the whole jungle appearing to move before him. He stared in confusion trying to figure out what he was seeing. It took a few moments for the image to fully register with his brain. Giant spiders were harvesting the slain bodies on the trail. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened as he stared at the massive creatures. His limbs began to shake uncontrollably and Cymelange fought for control over his muscles.
He never even thought of attacking the spiders magically. Instead, Cymelange turned and ran towards the encampment. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, without regard to the noise that he made, or the pain from the plants whipping at his legs and arms. He heard sounds from behind him and imagined that the giant spiders were racing after him. Fear coursed through his body. His heart pounded maddeningly, and he gasped for breath. He had no idea what type of people might inhabit the jungle, but his mind pictured tiny human-like creatures with long blowpipes pressed to their lips.
When he finally saw the Motangan encampment, his legs had just about given out. He raced past the perimeter sentries and collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath. Pain seared his chest and raced down his arms. Perspiration flooded from his body and his mind began to swim hazily. A crowd gathered around him, but he neither cared nor paid any notice to them. He tried to rest his pounding heart and fill his bursting lungs with air.
“Cymelange?” questioned a familiar voice. “What is going on? Where are the rest of your mages?”
The black-cloak gazed up into the face of Premer Cardijja. Cymelange’s lips curled back to bare his teeth.
“Where are the troops I requested?” spat the mage. “I sent the air tunnel into your tent. You could have saved my men.”
“I have not been in my tent since you left,” shrugged the premer. “I have been trying to calm a revolt. Tell me what happened. Was it the spiders?”
“Small creatures,” Cymelange gasped as his throat constricted. “People. Poison blow darts. Spiders. Webs. We must leave the jungle.”
“He is delirious,” commented General Luggar. “He needs a healer.”
“He is the last of the healers,” scowled Premer Cardijja. “We need to get him to my tent.”
The premer waved his arm to direct some of the nearby soldiers to carry the mage’s body, but General Luggar reached out and placed a hand on the premer’s arm. Cardijja looked questioningly at his friend and saw Luggar nod towards the mage. The premer looked down and saw Cymelange’s face contorted in death. The eyes still stared openly in horror, and the mage’s teeth were still bared, but the black-cloak was no longer among the living.
* * *
Emperor Vand sat on his throne, staring into space. A dozen black-cloaks stood in a knot off to one side, talking among themselves, while Premer Tzargo stood before the emperor, patiently awaiting word from Khadora. The door to the throne room opened and everyone’s eyes moved to see who was entering. They quickly averted their eyes as the telltale clicking of claws tapped across the floor towards the emperor. Vand alone continued to stare as the demon approached.
The demon stopped well behind Premer Tzargo. With a hideous snarl, the creature rolled the head of Premer Shamal across the floor. The head struck the steps leading up to the throne. It bounced back and came to rest with Shamal’s open eyes staring up at the ceiling.
“Report,” commanded the emperor.
“The army of Shamal no longer exists,” growled the demon. “Those who defeated him will soon converge on Vandegar. The Torak leads an army of Khadorans, elves, and Chula. They will be numerous.”
“We must order Cardijja to come here immediately,” urged Premer Tzargo. “My men are the best in the army, but we are only fifty thousand strong. We need Cardijja’s men.”
“Cardijja is finding Angragar,” the emperor shook his head. “That is more important to me. Your men will defend Vandegar.”
“But we are only fifty thousand,” objected the premer. “I need more men against such a large army.”
“More?” scowled Vand. “Have I not given you control over a million men? You continue to disappoint me, Tzargo. I have let you plan the invasions and divide your forces as you saw fit. We have had nothing but failure after failure. Tell me why you should continue to live.”
“I am loyal to you,” Premer Tzargo uttered quickly. “I have devoted my life to protecting you. I cannot be blamed for Doralin’s cowardice or Shamal’s failure. You approved of both of them for their positions. I am only asking for more men to better protect you.”
“How many more men do you need?” asked the emperor.
“As many as I can get,” Tzargo replied with a hint of hope in his voice.
“Two times your current number?” questioned the emperor. “Ten times?”
Premer Tzargo frowned at the emperor’s questions. He knew that there was no chance for either of the options offered to him. Only Cardijja’s army remained to draw from, and that could hardly be equivalent to ten times Tzargo’s troops.
“I will make use of every man that you can get me,” promised Premer Tzargo. “You will be protected.”
Vand smiled darkly at the premer. “Then I shall make your army increase tenfold, “ he said softly. “Go and gather your men, Tzargo. Arrange all fifty thousand in a line that I may bless them each individually. When I am done, your army will be invincible.”
Premer Tzargo swallowed hard as he realized that the emperor was going to make each of his soldiers into a hellsoul. A shudder ran through his body, but he bowed respectfully and backed out of the chamber.