Kellen hefted his spear and threw.
It did not go in as deeply as he hoped, but it broke the monster’s concentration. The Elves carrying the net rushed forward, flinging the net over the creature and trapping it. Seconds later, it was dead.
“Not as bad as it could have been,” Kellen said, relieved.
“At least this time no one died,” Keirasti said tightly. When one of the creatures had bitten Tildaril—one of her command—there had been no time for Kellen to even try to Heal him. Tildaril had died in seconds, screaming in agony as armor and flesh had boiled away from the bite like smoke.
They left the net and spears where they were. They were useless now that they’d come into contact with duergar blood.
“Let’s find the next one,” Kellen said.
As he’d expected, the Crystal Spiders appeared almost immediately. Once the duergar had begun to hide, the Crystal Spiders had needed to lead Kellen and the Elven Knights closer each time.
Kellen knelt down and removed his gauntlets. As they had each time before, the Crystal Spiders swarmed over him, nestling into his outstretched hands. The long furlike bristles that covered their bodies tickled his hands, as if they were as much cats as spiders.
Each time they touched his mind, the contact became easier, though Kellen always had the impression that he baffled them as much as they confused him. If Vestakia went ahead with her plan, and tried to get complicated, detailed information from the Crystal Spiders, she wasn’t going to have an easy time of it.
: Dead. Webs, eggs, babies. All safe now,: came the voice in his mind.
You need to show us where the next one is, Kellen thought back, forming the silent words carefully.
:All safe now. All safe.:
Kellen sighed mentally and tried again. The Crystal Spiders weren’t stupid. They were just… alien. Where is the next Black Mind that we need to kill?
There was a pause. He felt a riffling through his mind, as he did whenever the creatures were trying especially hard to make him understand something.
: There are no more. Not here.:
“Not here,” Kellen said aloud. If the Spiders made a distinction between “here” and “not here,” maybe that meant they were able to sense the other caverns, and the “Black Minds” there.
There are no more Black Minds in these caverns? We have killed them all? he thought back.
: All dead. All. Webs, eggs, babies, all safe,: came the reply once more.
Good, Kellen thought back. That’s good. I want to bring a friend of mine to talk to you—about other Black Minds, in other caverns. Will you talk to her?
He sensed confusion and uncertainty, then a long pause, as though the Spiders were conferring among themselves. Or perhaps they were simply thinking— in all the times he’d talked with them, Kellen had never decided whether they were one group-mind, or separate creatures.
: She will kill Black Minds?: the Spiders finally asked.
She helps us kill Black Minds, Kellen answered. Yes.
: Then we will speak with her,: the Spiders answered.
Thank you, Kellen thought at them, as the mass of Spiders flowed off his body and scurried away into the dark.
He got stiffly to his feet—it was cold in the deep caves, a constant damp chill that made his bones ache—and looked at the others.
“They say that one was the last,” he said.
“Good. I am tired of sleeping in a cave,” Keirasti said simply. “And I am tired of wearing a bag over my head. Now we can go back.”
They gathered their remaining weapons and headed for the surface.
—«♦»—
DESPITE the warmth of the bodies packed around him, Cilarnen was cold, though he knew he was lucky not to be freezing. He was thirsty, and as the bells passed—he still reckoned time by the standards of the City, even if no one around him did—he began to be hungry as well. How long were they going to be trapped here?
Tarik had told him—the man had eventually introduced himself—that the Elves they’d been riding to meet would probably come looking for them soon. Cilarnen hoped so. It would be a cruel jest on the part of the Light if the people coming to aid the Elves were slain, not by the enemy, but by a storm Called by one of their own people.
In addition to everything else, being packed in so closely with a bunch of Wildmages was uncomfortable in a way Cilarnen couldn’t quite define, like being forced to listen to an annoying sound, or a ringing in your ears that went on and on and wouldn’t stop. But there was nothing to be done about those things, and so he resigned himself to being miserable. And he hoped—if it came to the unthinkable worst—that at least Kardus would survive, and take his message to Kellen.
AS it happened, Tarik was quite right. Late the next day, Cilarnen was roused from an uncomfortable half-doze by shouts and the violent shaking of the wagon. The tarpaulin at the back was hauled away, and light, snow, and fresh arctic air streamed into the cramped confines of the wagon.
“Ah,” Tarik said with satisfaction. “Rescue.”
The others clambered out of the wagon, and through the snow-tunnel at the foot. Cilarnen simply sprawled where he was, luxuriating in the absence of the Wildmages. It was as if someone had finally stopped banging on a sore tooth. At the moment he didn’t care if he stayed here and froze.
“Cilarnen? Come.” Kardus was leaning into the wagon, looking worried. “A rescue party has found us. They will take us to their camp. It will be a long cold journey, and we must travel through the night, but better that than to remain here.”
For a moment Cilarnen thought of telling Kardus to go on without him, that he was fine where he was, but he realized that that was ridiculous. He’d freeze here, and his message would go undelivered. He had to go on, for Armethalieh’s sake, if nothing else.
Everything hurt as he crawled across the floor of the wagon toward Kardus. The Centaur lifted him down and carried him through the snow as if he were a child, and Cilarnen was too weak to protest.
It was still snowing heavily, and the wagons were nearly buried. The Centaurs had dug down a large ring of firm ground for themselves and the mules and horses, but outside it the snow was Centaur-shoulder height.
The snow was still blowing down—not as heavily as when the blizzard had first struck, but it was impossible to see more than a few yards. He could barely make out the forms of their rescuers, blurred by the snow.
“Can you ride?” Kardus asked.
“Yes.” He had no idea whether he could stay on Oakleaf’s back or not, but Cilarnen knew he was going to try.
—«♦»—
THEY left the wagons behind, and the heaviest of their gear. Linyesin said that they could come back for it when the weather cleared. Cilarnen wondered when that would be. Spring?
From the others, he learned that their rescuers were more of the so-called Elven Knights, and a few more men of the High Reaches. The Centaurs were already organizing themselves into marching order, moving slowly along the path the rescue party had broken through the snowdrifts.
Kardus handed him a wineskin. “Drink this—all of it. It will warm you and strengthen you for the journey.”
Cilarnen took the wineskin gratefully. To his surprise, it actually contained wine—not the mead the Centaurs preferred—and it was hot wine besides. He gulped it down quickly, for once not caring about the taste, and without wondering how it had been heated. When he had finished, Kardus took the wineskin back.
“Stay with me. This will be no pleasant journey—but far better than remaining here in the open.”
—«♦»—