Horde, page 37
Scufthalansà leaped forward, shooting arrow after arrow into whatever she could hit. Abdomen, head, legs—none were safe from her aim. One of the spider’s gleaming eyes dimmed as an arrow penetrated deep into its head. If it had been a creature with more than a brain the size of a peach stone, that wound might have ended it altogether. Instead, it scuttled sideways along the wall and lashed at Paug with the venomous spike. Sticky web fluid like glue trailed from the fist-sized spinnerets on either side of the spike.
Milph scrabbled across the web-strewn, uneven floor, trying to find his weapon as the spider pursued him. Gilpin ducked to one side, keeping the spider at bay. “Kill it!” screamed the Halfling.
“I’m trying!” Paug yelled back. “It’s fast.”
As if to illustrate his point, the spider swept him off his feet and then was on him, wrapping him in several legs to hold him fast while it brought the spike to bear. Just as it came down to him, Milph charged in from the side, leading with Petunia’s spear. He drove it into the spider’s abdomen with all his might, shoving it in one side and out the other to stick it into the wall beyond.
The spider thrashed, trying to free itself, but it was pinned. In that moment, it released Paug. He brought his sword up into the massive furry body over him and pirouetted like a dancer. The spider shivered, its internal fluids raining down upon Paug, and then collapsed on top of him. For a moment, he was surrounded by stinking slime, and then light appeared again and he realized he’d cut right through the spider’s body to emerge from its dorsal side.
Scufthalansà promptly threw up.
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Chapter Thirty-Five
The Library of the Silvestri
Gilpin knelt beside Hodak, doing his best to administer antivenin to the Cleric. Hodak’s entire body had gone rigid thanks to the giant spider’s poison, presumably to make it easier for said spider to wrap him up in webbing and later feast upon his fluids. Milph, Scufthalansà, and a still-dripping Paug stood guard, watching for any other surprise visitors, either of the eight-legged or other variety, while Petunia gathered her senses back together.
“Any luck?” Paug asked.
Gilpin had close to two dozen small bottles spread out before him, along with a mortar and pestle, a flask of expensive wine he’d apparently stolen from the Wood Elves, and another of water. “Charcoal? No, of course not. He didn’t eat the damn poison.” He tucked a bag back into his pack. “Maybe prills?” He held up a glass bottle full of tiny sparkling crystals in the lantern light. “Call it a starting point.” He looked up at the others. “You know there isn’t a whole lot of research into giant spider poisons. Probably because all the damn researchers died in the process.”
“You must save him,” said Scufthalansà. “How shall we survive ze rest of zis quest without his healing?”
“I’m doing my best, sugartits,” said Gilpin. “Got any emeralds handy? Or amethysts I can crush up?”
“No.”
“How about a diamond, then?”
“Diamonds help cure poison?” Scufthalansà sounded suspicious.
“No, but it’ll help me feel better about myself when this whole disaster is over and I can spend my hard-earned loot in the taverns and whorehouses of Wilmasnatch. Hmmm. Maybe purple coneflower mixed with soda.” He held up two bottles in one hand and looked from them to his container of prills in the other. “Seriously, why couldn’t literally anyone else in this party have gotten stabbed by a giant spider? Then this moron could heal them with his . . .” Gilpin trailed off and looked at the Hanrah Hand.
“No,” Paug said immediately as he saw Gilpin reach for his knife. “What are you going to do, cut off your own hand and stick the Hanrah Hand on it?”
“Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d volunteer, sport,” said Gilpin. “That’s the best chance he’s got is for one of you guys to take his Hand and heal him yourself. I’m a poisoner.”
“You do not cure poisons?” Petunia asked. She’d recovered from her terror of the giant spider, although she took pains to stay away from the motionless corpse nearby. Nobody dared bring up her weakness lest they get a spear up the ass for it.
“No. What’s the point? There are two kinds of poisoners in this world: careful ones, and dead ones. There’s a saying among Halflings. If you can’t handle the devil’s helmet, you’ll dance with him by nightfall.” He looked at his chemicals. “Magical healing is the best chance he’s got. I’ll do what I can, but this is a wizard’s tower. There must be something here that can save him.”
Petunia knelt beside the Halfling. “Fix him as best you can. I carry him to safe place. Find magic healing. All better.”
“You got any magic stuff already in your bag, Gilpin? I seen you tuckin’ stuff away,” Milph said.
Paug looked at his brother in surprise. He hadn’t expected his brother to be the one to bring it up to the Halfling. In all honesty, he was surprised Milph had even noticed, given that Milph sometimes didn’t notice when he wasn’t wearing trousers.
Gilpin coughed in an embarrassed sort of way as he crushed materials from several bottles into his bowl and added wine to make a strong-smelling paste. “I haven’t really had any time to examine them. I’m not sure what any of them do yet. Or if they do anything. I was kind of hoping there might be a catalog or inventory list higher up in the Tower.”
“How will you know if we find something that has healing magic, then?” Paug asked.
Gilpin shrugged. “Maybe it’ll be labeled.” He spread the fragrant paste that stank of rotten flowers, strong wine, and metal salts over the entry and exit wounds in Hodak’s shoulder. The surrounding flesh had already turned an ugly, shiny black for which any warrior would prescribe amputation as the best cure.
“Will that stuff help him?” Milph scratched his nose. “Phew.”
“I don’t know,” the Halfling admitted. “But if we don’t find something else soon, nothing I do will matter anyway.”
Paug looked at his hands. He was awfully fond of both of them, but if it came down to saving Hodak’s life or the lives of any of the others in his party, he promised he’d cut off his hand with his own sword and take on the Hanrah Hand himself.
He just hoped he wouldn’t have to call everyone bro.
* * *
They did not encounter any other spiders as they explored the dark floor until they found a stairwell leading up to the next level. Whether this was because the other spiders chose not to take on the heavily-armed, jumpy party or because they’d slain the floor’s only inhabitant they did not know. They found what seemed to be the spider’s main lair by the amount of discarded giant ant legs, antennae, and shells. A couple of ants wrapped in webbing dangled from the ceiling, twisting slowly in the breeze. Paug shivered. He and his friends could just as easily have joined those hanging meals waiting to be eaten if the battle had gone poorly.
The stairs were clear of webbing, as if the spider had actively avoided them. Gilpin was so happy to be out of the sticky mess that he accidentally triggered an arrow trap. If he’d been any larger than he was, the arrow coated with black goo would have impaled him instead of passing over his head to strike the stairwell wall harmlessly. After that near miss, he was more careful and did his due diligence, checking for traps before declaring the stairs safe.
“Well, safe from any more traps, at least,” he said. “I think this whole place is probably a deathtrap.”
“Why do you think the spider didn’t come up here?” Paug asked Gilpin.
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe it didn’t like the light,” said Milph.
Paug was going to ask what light but then he realized the walls were brighter than from the lantern alone. “Gilpin, close the lantern hood,” he said.
The Halfling shuttered the lantern and sure enough, it was bright enough in the stairwell for them all to see one another. “Do you think zere might be windows on ze next floor? I would love to see outside. It feels as if we have traveled to another reality inside this Tower.”
“I don’t know,” said Paug.
“Less talking, more stair climbing,” said Petunia. “Cleric is dying.”
“Right, up we go.”
They ascended the stair and found themselves on a floor that looked as if it had been inhabited as recently as the day before, if not still occupied. It was well-lit thanks to sconces burning along the walls. Furnishings were well-kept and free from dust and damage. Even the red powder that had been so prevalent on the lower floors was absent, with the polished stones of the wall only carrying a pleasant, ruddy color with black and green veins of some other minerals. Doors to chambers were made of ironwood, likely imported from the Wood Elves’ forest, and bound by iron hinges that showed not a trace of rust or decay.
“Strong magic in here,” Gilpin said, barely whispering. “If anything can save Hodak, we’ll find it here.”
“How will you know it if you see it?” Scufthalansà asked. “Zis is a Silvestrì Tower. Ze languages on labels may have been dead for a thousand years.”
“Ain’t you that old? You can read ‘em, right?” Milph grinned. “Or I can. I’m a wizard.”
“That didn’t help you against the spider,” said Paug. “And my sword isn’t working either.”
“Something is interfering with ze magic items,” said Scufthalansà. “Like ze amulet of my mother.”
“It’s not that,” Gilpin said quickly. “It’s not turned on. I checked.”
“Then it has to be something else you picked up,” Paug said. “What did you take?”
“Nothing, really. Just some, you know, interesting rocks and bits of metal that didn’t burn in Milph’s fire. I thought maybe I could sell them after this is over. Buy myself something nice. Like a hat with a feather in it.” Gilpin’s voice turned wistful. “I always wanted one of them.”
“Come. In here.” Petunia stuck her head out from a chamber into which she’d carried Hodak. “Hurry.”
The chamber they entered might have been a library. Perfectly-preserved wooden shelves lined the walls. Many of them held ancient tomes that Paug would have liked to look at except he couldn’t read the words inscribed on the books’ spines. Strange instruments and artifacts sat on other shelves, as pristine as if a servant had just dusted and polished them. If he’d been more learned, he might know what they were, but as it stood, he didn’t know the difference between an astrolabe and an alembic.
Hodak lay on an ironwood table in the center of the room. Papers, quills, and inkpots had been carelessly swept aside onto the floor while one tapestry was rolled up beneath his head and another was layered over him like a blanket depicting scenes of life among the Silvestrì. “Cleric doing badly. Time to fix him.” Petunia shut the door and stuck her spear through the clips on either side of the door to bar it shut. Paug knew any of them could lift the spear and leave, but none of them would have considered such an affront to their Barbarian companion.
“I don’t know how to fix him,” Paug said. “Unless maybe we cut off the Hanrah Hand and one of us uses it.”
“It should heal him on its own,” Scufthalansà said. “I do not know why it is not working. He said himself ze power is not magical.”
“Maybe somethin’ else is blockin’ it,” said Milph. “Somethin’ that stops magic and religion and whatnot.”
Paug nodded. “Something someone disturbed, or picked up.”
Everyone turned to Gilpin.
The Halfling raised his hands. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s not get all hasty here. I’m a valuable member of this party, and killing me won’t—eeeeeek!” He shrieked a high note as might be expected from one of his stature as Petunia lunged for him. She lifted him by his shirtfront until her pierced and tattooed nose was nearly touching his.
“Find magic thing. Make it stop. Or I will.”
“Bagginses balls,” Gilpin whispered, all semblance of bravado fled. “I’ll, uh, I’ll figure it out. You have to set me d-down first.”
It was less of a setting-down and more of a dropping that deposited Gilpin back on the floor. He rubbed his hindquarters with one hand as he started removing items from his pockets with the other. After divesting himself of the items he’d snagged and kept on his person, he opened two pouches and removed the treasures within them. “There,” he said. “That’s everything I picked up two floors down. One of those has to be doing it.”
The treasures consisted of six cut gemstones ranging from clear to blue to blood red, two rings with inscriptions upon them—one gold, and one of some white metal, a cunningly-crafted gargoyle figurine, a tin whistle, and a silver amulet with an opal stone. Petunia hunched down to look at them, lined up along the edge of table near where Hodak lay dying. “Which one?”
Gilpin sighed. “I have no idea. I can’t cast a spell to find out what they are, and even if I could, I’m not sure it would work anyway with whatever is interfering with the magic.”
Scufthalansà had stepped away from the group and was examining some of the books on the shelves. “I . . . I think zis is ze fabled Lost Library of ze Silvestrì. Many of these tomes are only known as legends. Zis is a treasure of no compare.”
“Is the Tome of Unknowable Mysteries in here?” Paug asked.
Scufthalansà shrugged. “Zere is no way to know until we have searched all ze books.”
“See if they have any picture books on magic,” said Milph. “I ain’t so good at readin’.”
The Wood Elf looked back at the others. “Zere may be something in here zat will help us, but it will take time we do not have to spare. We should destroy all ze pieces ze Halfling has taken.”
“No!” Gilpin shouted. “No, we just need to think this through. Your magic worked on the floor below the spider floor. That means whatever it is has a limited range. All we have to do is carry the things away one at a time until Paug’s sword lights up and then we know. Right?” He looked up at Petunia. “Right? Some of these could be real useful. Maybe even one of these things can save Hodak’s life. It’d be a shame if he died because you all were impatient.”
“How far away?” Paug asked.
“Probably only as far as the stairway back down to the spider floor. Look, I’ll even do the running back and forth while the rest of you wait. Or watch me in the hall. Just give me a chance to figure it out without needing magic.”
Petunia shrugged. “Never heard anyone talk as much as you.”
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Chapter Thirty-Six
Eyes of the Watcher
Gilpin selected one of his baubles and ran out the door to the end of the hall. Paug held out his sword so everyone could see its fire was still absent.
“Shit,” said Gilpin, and trotted back to them. He tucked the trinket into a pocket. “I get to keep everything that’s not stopping the magic from working.” He picked another item and ran back down the hall.
“Nothing,” Paug reported.
Gilpin returned and picked up a gemstone.
“No,” Paug called when Gilpin reached the end of the hallway once more.
“Oh, come on!” Gilpin yelled. He hurried back. When he arrived at the chamber once more, his sides were heaving. “I hate . . . wind sprints . . . Hey, Blondie, how about you find a Silvestrì healing manual so maybe we don’t have to do this right now.”
“Run, little fucker,” Petunia called over her shoulder. She stood at Hodak’s side, doing her best to work whatever Barbarian healing she could manage without the benefit of magic, herbs, or whatever else passed for modern medicine in her culture.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Gilpin gasped. He grabbed another item and took off down the hall.
“He might be right, Scuft,” Paug said. “You said this was a library.”
“Ze Library.”
“Ze Library then. Did the Silvestrì ever write magical healing books or scrolls or anything like that? Maybe you ought to look for one.” Paug looked at the pale Cleric with his slowly blackening skin. “I hate seeing him like this. He saved my life. Honestly, he saved all of our lives at some point.”
“There was a snake in my boot,” said Milph. He was puttering around along one wall of the Library, touching books and scrolls and things the way some people will when nobody tells them not to. He wasn’t reading any of them, Paug knew, but he found it amazing that his brother was showing any interest at all in them. “Hey, which one of these would be okay to use if I have to, you know, visit the latrine?”
Paug shook his head. He should have known better.
“None of zem!” Scufthalansà screeched. “Keep your filthy hands off of zem!”
“Hey, are you even looking?” Gilpin shouted from down the hall. “I’m not running back and forth like this for my own health. I plan to outlive all of you.”
Paug waved his sword out the door so Gilpin could see it.
“Damn it!” Gilpin began his trek back toward them again. “How many are left?”
Milph counted the remaining objects on his fingers, then became confused when he had to switch hands. “Five,” he said at last. “At least five.”
Gilpin tripped back into the room, winded enough that he barely had sufficient energy to raise two fingers obscenely at the Orcs. “This is bullshit. Paug should leave me his sword and run up and down the hall for awhile.” He picked up one more item and pointed it in Milph’s direction. “And there are seven things left.”
Milph shrugged. “Seven’s at least five, ain’t it?”
Paug sighed. “Yes, Milph.”
Petunia looked back at them. “Hodak nearly dead. Maybe is time to cut off Hand.”
Paug stepped over to look at Hodak. Petunia had torn away his tunic. The blackening of his flesh had spread from his shoulder up his neck and down his chest to his stomach. The darkened flesh was shiny, as if the pressure beneath it was pushing oil through his pores. His breath came in tiny, pained gasps. He truly did seem only moments from death. Paug looked at his hand and sighed. He was going to miss it. It suited him. After all, he’d been born with it. “Milph, come here. Bring your sword.”
