Chapter Eight: The Final Web

"A performance like that shouldn't be rushed," said Ialuna. "After all that blood and blubber, I should feel something, but I'm stone cold."

"Ialuna!" Huiln said. "You've killed Cyhari!"

"Nonsense," said the elven Tzhurarkh. "The traitor's not dead yet. I only wounded her; nature kills her."

Moments ago, Huiln had understood the schemes nesting in schemes; one coup upstaged another as the Treikondant Cerund, plotting against the unpopular High Tzhurarkh, were betrayed by those in their ranks that had allied with Inglefras. But as Cyhari bled to death, he reflected that traitors are rarely killed expediently; given a chance to turn her into a humiliating example for the public good, why did Ialuna silence Cyhari instead?

Ialuna's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. "I'm glad you're neither dead nor wounded, Huiln. While you're a so-so adviser, I had hoped we could be friends."

"The dryads!" stammered Huiln. "Look to the dryads!" For the dryads, seeing this senseless slaughter, followed the giants into the chamber.

Huiln knelt beside Cyhari, who still breathed though her wound was mortal. Ialuna's blade had slipped under Cyhari's breastplate, between her ribs, and through lung and heart. If Huiln let her sleep, she would never wake, but if he woke her, her death would be no less certain, and more troubling. While he didn't care whether the treacherous elf lived or died, the suffering of his dying enemy moved softhearted Huiln to pity.

Still, his need to know nagged more than his conscience tugged, so he shook Cyhari's face until her eyes snapped open. When she groaned, her breath rattled.

"Cyhari," said Huiln, "What do I tell Azuri?"

"Huiln," she wept weakly, "I saw her. Forgive me, Huiln. I did not know."

"Know what? What do I tell Azuri?"

"Only that I love him."

"I will," said Huiln. "Where is the Doorway?"

"Hundreds of dryads...thousands. Giants. A staging ground. You must leave by the central spire." Cyhari pointed through the passageway the dryads and giant cultists had entered. "A second cobori..." she said, then fainted. Her breath was now very shallow.

"I don't understand the first cobori," said Huiln. "What is the second cobori?"

"Quront Sabata gibberish," said Ialuna. "She spites us with her dying words."

"Spite or not, I won't fight hundreds of dryads," said Kortu, and her sister Kezak nodded her head.

Huiln ignored them, turned to Guveddon, and bade the former chef, "See to her." When Guveddon stooped over her, he choked back a sob, knelt at her side, and laid his head on her chest; that the heavyset goblin could hear neither breath nor heartbeat was evident in the doleful, watering, eyes he turned on Huiln. Huiln scowled to see such an unmanning, sentimental, display, for assuredly the goblin had not known Cyhari?

"Pull yourself together," said Huiln. "She's just another entitled Alfyrian." He ignored Ialuna's glare.

"That she was," sniffled Guveddon. "When I served her father on Kreona, she was always complimentary of my cooking. And when her father was recalled from the embassy, I made her favorite, dumpling soup, for their last dinner on Nahure. Though she was never kind, she thanked me for my service."

"Forgive my scorn of your honorable tears. While I knew Cyhari only briefly, I can confirm she was not only not warm, but cold; moreover, she retained a fondness for dumpling soup. During my second day on accursed Alfyria, a world bedamned by tainted food, she told me I could find a fine Nahurian establishment in Kuln, and asked that I return with dumpling soup. Because you instilled her affection for our fare, she died a better elf, as any who die loving good goblin food aren't so bad. Though I often wished her dead, I wish your feelings were spared in her actual death." Despite his attempt to make light of it, Huiln was troubled by Guveddon's story, and these vexations colored Huiln's attempt to decode Cyhari's final words.

"What is the central spire?" asked Huiln.

Ialuna spoke as if reciting from memory. "Quront Sabata's eight spires radiate from its hub, one central spire that dwarfs the rest. All but two radial spires are reserved by Treikondant Cerund for work within the library, and they have exclusive access not only to these towers, but the passages and bridges that connect them, and through which the Treikondant Cerund can quickly get around the library. While the eight are entirely interior to the Quront Sabata, the central spire ascends another three hundred feet to an observation dome."

"If Cyhari can be trusted," said Huiln, "the central spire is through this chamber."

"And if she lied," said Ialuna, "the traitor baited a final trap for us. So we must ask ourselves: would Cyhari remain true to her double-crossing self even at the moment of death, or would she help those who have done her harm, or in your case, done her no particular good, with her final words?"

"If there is a small chance it is true, we must confirm it with the other captives."

"Even if everything she said is true," said Ialuna. "we're here to destroy the Doorway."

"Is that still our mission," said Ingurdu, "though hundreds or thousands guard it?"

"It is if I order it," said Ialuna. This time, Huiln could care less that Ialuna usurped his command, as leading would draw unwanted attention at a time when he wished to avoid scrutiny. However, wresting Huiln's command away twice in one hour made clear not only that she doubted him, but that she had lost confidence in him, so that when she wasn't holding the reins, she only suffered him to lead.

"Better to weather this battle here and now against these few," said Huiln, "and escape with crucial information, than to die in a meaningless assault against those guarding the Doorway. As none will tell the story of our defeat, unless the dryads lampoon us in song, there is neither glory nor honor in such a death."

"Don't preach losing or escape," growled Ialuna. "but tell me how to win. Advise, adviser. Strategize."

"If by second cobori, Cyhari meant a second Doorway, then there is no strategy in sacrificing ourselves to close only one, and an immense advantage in escaping with that information."

Ialuna paused, then turned her back on the goblins. When she lifted her bloody sword, pointed it towards the passageway, and said, "If it's not an elf, kill it," silence followed the command. Ialuna then grumbled, as if begrudging her audience, "Spare goblins too."

Huiln gripped his sword's hilt tightly, to be certain it was in hand for this battle. "Who has fought a wire giant?" he asked. When Ingurdu, Kezak, Kortu, and Stahnfask raised their hands, he said, "you four are with me."

"Is that so?" said Ialuna. "As those are the best fighters, you'd leave me with nothing."

Good, thought Huiln, undermine the little love these goblins feel for you. His own infatuation had chipped little by little, leaving a fragmentary lust and a haggard curiosity to see this vicious creature to her end. "Have you fought a giant, my Tzhurarkh?"

"Don't lecture me." She turned to those she called nothing, and said, "Nothing fancy. Swords and shields—kill them before they kill you."

Huiln tuned out Ialuna's droning speech as he instructed his giant killers. When he beckoned, and they all leaned in, he murmured to the huddled goblins. "After killing two giants, we must deal with the third monster, if you catch my meaning."

Though both twins frowned, it was Kezak, the elder, who spoke. "We had heard you were honorable and duty-bound, Son of Hwarn."

"Is it not honorable and dutiful to punish a murderess?"

Kortu nodded, "I agree, though we can expect no fair trial for their high king's cousin, and the only penalty we can mete out is death."

Huiln said, "we could try her on Nahure, if the second Doorway exists."

"That idea will be unpopular with the exiles," said Stahnfask, "who will be loth to return to Nahure."

"I'll put an arrow in her now," said Ingurdu.

"Are we not honor-bound to fulfill our contract?" said Kezak. "Whether she killed Cyhari to silence her or to satisfy a grudge, we are only hirelings waiting for pay. Elven politics need not concern us."

"If pay is what you seek," said Huiln. "I offer kutrati for your pledges." Kutrati meant life-hire; a promise to take a hireling into your house and honor them like family, all the while paying them like valued employees. When Kutrati was revoked, dishonor and disapproval followed; King Merculo had stripped Houses of rank and privilege for that faux pas.

"Are you ready?" called Ialuna.

"What say you," Huiln asked the four warriors.

"I accept," said Ingurdu.

"As do we," said Kezak, and Kortu nodded.

"Even me?" asked Stahnfask, no doubt still nursing a dull throb in his nether regions.

"If you can forgive me," said Huiln. Though his mind was occupied with scheming, Huiln was clever enough to know that by now he ought to be careful with his wishes, such as a wish that Stahnfask might be slain, which he made that moment to anyone listening.

"Then I accept," said Stanhfask, "as I have wanted all my life to serve a mighty House."

"Just don't call me brother," said Huiln through grated teeth, "and I will treat you like one." Huiln turned to Ialuna. "We are ready."

"No doubt our enemies are," said Ialuna. "What do we do about that, my adviser?"

"If they had a cwamtu, they would have been on guard with it. Their heaviest weapons are the giants—hence my squad of giant-killers."

"Don't call me a giant killer," said Stahnfask, his face reddening. "A dozen other goblins share the credit for my kill. Have I pointed out that we're fewer than my old unit, and facing two?"

"Just do your part, Stahnfask," scowled Huiln. "And hold your tongue until after the battle."

"If there's no cwamtu," said Ialuna, "then double file."

"As you say," agreed Huiln, and gave the order, so that their left rank would be Ialuna's group, and the right would be his own. "When you enter, engage your targets. Stahnfask, Kezak, Kortu, and Ingurdu—do not engage the dryads."

"Understood."

"Of course."

"What if it's self-defense?" argued Stahnfask.

"Trust your armor and shield," said Huiln, "sprint past the dryads, and join ranks with your fellow giant-killers. If one giant isn't dead within a minute, we're all dead."

At Huiln's command, they charged, brandishing sword and shield, save Kezak and Kortu's fistfuls of javelins, and Ingurdu's three arrows nocked to her bow. As one, they stopped short, except for Guveddon, who screamed at the monstrous sight of what lay in the shadow of the central spire's staircase: a dozen Treikondant Cerund, bound and gagged, and their right wrists deeply slit, leaking a shining, violet pool of gelling elf blood. There were neither dryads nor giants, but only dying elves, in the room.

"They've fled!" cried Ialuna.

"And they've left us a problem," said Huiln.

"Leave these traitors," said Ialuna, her lips curling.

"What if only half are traitors?" said Huiln. "And the other half following orders, but oblivious to the treachery?"

"We must save our skins," said Ialuna. "If they rejoin their army, they'll bring twenty times their number."

Though unbearably hot in his full armor, Huiln shivered. This was when he recognized one of the captives, and stooped at her side to wrap her cloak around her wounds. "Ler Gilaila. How can I help?" The Treikondant Cerund commander's armor was battered, and her cuts were deep.

"I am happy to give my life. It is as Tzhurarkh Ialuna says," said Ler Gilaila. "Save yourselves." Despite her ignominous capture and aspersiona of treason, she seemed ready to die.

Huiln stood to stare squarely at Ialuna. "Ler Gilaila doesn't deserve to die for burning my traveling clothes."

"Her crime is not against goblin fashion, but sectarian," sneered Ialuna. "For being Treikondant Cerund, she must die."

"You may as well stand against all the mysteries of Alfyria—destroy every arcane building, burn every abstruse text, and slay those whose desire smolders for cobori."

"It's on my to-do list," laughed Ialuna.

"I won't leave them to die," said Huiln.

"Huiln," sighed Ialuna, "I may bring this up at your annual review." Before Huiln could think, Ialuna pierced Ler Gilaila's throat; when she pulled the broad blade back, the other elf's head flopped on the few uncut threads of flesh. When she turned to impale another elf, Huiln's sword swatted hers to the floor.

Ialuna's pause seemed to mark the ringing of the struck blades, the echo of which took a few moments to die. "You dare?"

"Why?"

""To live, we must pursue," said Ialuna, "but you would see us captured while ministering to traitors."

"Two could see to their wounds," said Huiln. "It would be the honorable thing to do."

"Which two will be honored by capture or death?

Though heartless in her pragmatism, Ialuna was right; whoever stayed might be shackled for the good deed. "I alone will stay." said Huiln. "After I cut them free, they can minister to each other."

"Their best hope is not dying while waiting for recapture." When her titter broke into a giggle, it was smothered by a complete lack of appreciation from the goblins.

Huiln bent to cut the elves' bonds, but kept the double-dealing Tzhurarkh in the corner of his eye, for he was queasy at the thought she might rend him next. When Ialuna started up the central spire, and the others followed, Stahnfask didn't spare a glance, and Ingurdu's gaze grazed him noncommittally, but Kortu's hand lingered near her brow as she brushed her hair back, in a subtle salute to Huiln.

The first two Huiln cut free bound their wounds, then helped liberate and treat their fellows. Though all were pale, many had shaking hands or wavering, half-blind eyes, the worst of which tamped the bleeding until stronger elves saved them. Whether it was exhaustion, ingratitude or fear that struck them speechless and thankless, Huiln second guessed himself and came around to Ialuna's point of view, as even a dozen feeble, unarmed elves weighed as much as twenty Nahurians. Not only was it nonstrategic to leave a fighting force at their back, no matter how weak, it was impolitic to allow witnesses of her scheming to live. Why did she allow it? As it was unlikely that the resolute Tzurharkh's opinions were swayed by Huiln's conscience, this left only one point of influence—the divine. He must watch Ialuna to see if she danced on the Spider God's strings.

The next to the last Alfyrian that Huiln cut free was tall and powerfully muscled, with an unkempt burst of white hair ravaged by a dryad's mace, so that white tufts jutted through his red, sticky scalp. Despite the deep cut on his wrist, and the frightening head injury, this one yet lived, and glared so malevolently that the goblin stopped sawing the elf's bonds. When the huge elf twisted and tugged the half-severed bonds, the ropes snapped, flicking droplets of new, wet, blood on Huiln's nose.

When the wounded elf tottered towards the entrance, Huiln saw his resemblance to poor, dead Cyhari, and called, "Don't go out there." As the white-haired elf entered the hallway, Huiln ran up the central spire, but not far enough for the distance to be proof against Azuri's shrill sobs, that wracked the catacombs and echoed in the spire stairwell.

Huiln ran and ran, his thews burning and his calves bearing the brunt of his armor's weight. When the other goblins rounded the landing above him, he leaned against the stairwell wall and listened, not only for the angry Azuri, but dryads or giants. By the time he renewed his ascent, the other goblins had vanished.

When Huiln passed from the eye-straining gray of the catacombs to the soothing darkness of the stairwell, the Spider God's whisper made him blanch: if you cannot cut the entanglements of your allies, neither will you escape this stone spider unless I spin you a web.

Huiln pretended not to hear. He felt less like the goblin that left Nahure, as if constant looking for Lyspera and her webs made him unable to recognize himself, or know his own will. Had he lost himself in his quest for knowledge and answers? If so, which book did he leave himself in? Or had he, in pretending to duty, become entangled in the schemes of the Councilor-Generals, Inglefras and the High Tzhurarkh, all of whom were puppets of the Spider? Though he had stuffed Eurilda in a sack, she snared him more than once, and could he ever be certain that he was not still wrapped in the Spider's webs? That Huiln hadn't sorted out whether his longest friend, Khyte, remained friend, and that he sympathized first with Cyhari, and later Ialuna, both of whom proved to be vile power-mongers, made him very uncertain with where, and with whom, he stood. The thought that he might be little better than Frellyx the double agent made him shudder, and he wished he would awake in his library, having fallen asleep on a volume of his beloved Marutir's Histories.

When Huiln shouted, "turning a deaf ear to that wish, are you?" Kezak and Kortu popped their heads over the rail above. His bellowing, full-force shout caused him to reel a little and grip the banister.

"There he is," called Ialuna cheerily, almost carefree. "Get up here. I have need of my adviser."

It wasn't until Huiln tracked gray dust onto the landing's cerulean blue carpet that he noticed the central spire was much more ornate. While Kezak and Kortu were still pacing, Ialuna, Guveddon, and the exiled goblins sat in wooden benches carved on their sides with The Five Worlds orbiting an octagon to symbolize the Abyss.

The similarity to a spider in her web was profound, and would have precipitated another lengthy reverie on Lyspera, when he noticed the second, more alarming thing. "Where are Ingurdu and Stahnfask?"

"I sent them ahead," said Ialuna. "I want advance warning."

"I thought you waited on my advice," said Huiln. "I wouldn't have sent those two." Hearing himself emphasize 'I thought' with a hard snap, he realized that he sounded more irritated than he felt. "Let's keep moving. What is that noise?" At first like the grumble of rearranging furniture, the din began to distinguish itself as the rhythmic roar of cwamtu fire.

"You hear it too? Good. That's why I wanted my adviser."

Huiln said, "I call it good luck."

"What do you mean?"

"That furious defense can only mean your brother, taking your absence as his opportunity, ordered the Kundan Cerund forces to attack. If you can master your rage, this is our opportunity, for few will be spared to watch the Doorways."

"So we return to the catacombs."

"Yes and no. Since we don't know the import of Cyhari's last words, we should split our forces. As a valuable asset to the High Tzhurarkh's army, you must flee through the Doorway below to whichever safe haven is on the other side, after which your half of our forces will destroy it, then regroup with us. Meanwhile, my unit will confirm the Doorway above and, depending on our available options, either destroy it or pass through bearing knowledge of its existence." While Huiln did not believe any of this to be strategically sound, he wished to be rid of Ialuna. "If there are two Doorways, both are pivotal targets."

"Did charging that cwamtu addle your brain?" said Ialuna. "Or are you hiding something? In either case, I won't split my meager force in two. But since you seem leery of something below, we'll head for the roof."

If Huiln was certain of his four ketrati, he would have then and there staged a coup of his own making. Everyone's doing a coup these days, he thought. Even Ialuna. More and more, it seemed Ialuna put him in charge so that she could slowly but surely seize the authority that the goblins would never have yielded to her at the start. She hired Huiln as a patsy, hoping that when he fell face first, she would gain the loyalty of these expendables. Respect must be earned, but you can set the stage. While Lord Hwarn passed on many such adages to Huiln, the Son of Hwarn rejected them in favor of old religion, aged philosophy, and a curiosity of ancient ways. Lord Hwarn, who had a more martial spirit, would have bared his blade the first time Ialuna challenged his authority, Tzhurarkhs be damned, and tell the history of the duel the way he pleased. Huiln was of a more meditative cast...but his meditation on his father was cut short by the clashing march of mailed boots above.

"Quickly," bade Huiln, "Kezak, Kortu, and Ingurdu! Break their ranks, or they will hold the high ground!" When Ingurdu knelt with her bow, the two javeliners stood behind her with a javelin in each fist.

"Stahnfask and you others, form ranks behind them. Kezak, Kortu, and Ingurdu—and only you three—fall back behind us when I give the order." Huiln and Stahnfask gripped swords and kite shields, and the others clutched their weapons as well.

When a resplendently armored Alfyrian ran around the spiral shaft, two arrows sunk into the eye and mouth of his golden mask, and the dead elf's momentum carried him over the rail into the dark stairwell. When another stumbled with javelins buried in her calves and thighs, two dryads tripped, then fell on top of her.

"Fall back!" Huiln cried, then cursed the stupidity and sandbagging cowardice of the exiles, who despite Huiln's clear orders less than a minute before, fell back with Kezak, Kortu, and Ingurdu, so that only Huiln, Stahnfask, and Guveddon received the charge. Though the dryads could only charge two abreast, they wielded their spears with staggered grips; those in front held the middle of the shaft, the second rank held theirs a foot lower, and the third lower still, so that six spear points struck at once. Huiln's patchwork armor, the finest piece work of Nahurian master armorers, proved itself in that charge, for two punctured his kite shield to tap his resolute breastplate, and a third skipped past his shield to skid off his left arm's vambrace; though Stahnfask's armor also held fast, he could as easily credit his survival to luck, for only one spear grazed him; but poor Guveddon would not plate another entree, for two spear points passed easily through the rings of his mail coat, like the tines of a fork stuck into a baked potato.

"Help them, or it won't be dryads that kill you!" barked Ialuna, and the others joined ranks with Huiln and Stahnfask.

Huiln answered the charge with a slash that cleaved not one, but two, dryads, to fall in fragments. As Guveddon's life blood gushed, mingling in the blue carpet with violet elf blood and the vegetal remains of the dryads to stain Huiln's boots a garish melange of gore, he felt the overpowering revulsion that his hands were responsible for the life spilled; his conscience was pricked only for a moment, however, as he was next intoxicated by the virtues of the sword he had taken by chance from the 'odd cart.' While Huiln was no master duelist, he had trained in the art of swords until he was better than most, and that expertise was fortified by a knowledge of swordsmithing and the history of swordplay that outpaced his martial betters. So that it was less a warrior's intuitive admiration for a good length of steel than a scholar's exact knowledge and ability to enumerate those merits that excited him, as he appraised in a single instant the blade's unparalleled balance, edge and strength. It was of such perfect craftsmanship that he suspected he had lucked into one of Kituli's eleven masterclass blades. He rued that he had not sparred with this masterpiece before this, for whenever he used it now, whether in earnest or in sport, his enjoyment of its craftsmanship would be marred by the devastation it wreaked in that first slash. This was no duelist's accessory, to be worn with bravado as an emblem of status; this was an implement of death, that struck the living into wherever the dead go with as much rudeness a length of steel could muster. That it had neither magic nor soul did not prevent it from being imbued with fate by the Spider God, as if each swing pulled on the trip-webs of Lyspera's judgment. He would never know whether he could defeat these dryads through skill alone, for the credit went first to the string-pulling Spider God, and second to the unequaled blade which passed through leather, lacquered wood, and steel like cobwebs. He shuddered to think what the Spider God's manipulation meant for those Huiln slew—so many fatted pigs led to the preordained slaughter, with Huiln just one of the fatal tools in a long web of causes.

Less from his skill at arms being so ingrained than because his book learning was always chattering, even when his life was on the line, this lengthy meditation transpired while Huiln slew even more dryads and traitor elves; and as he no longer wanted to be a part of the killing, he had decided to let the exquisitely deadly instrument and the will of the gods do the bloodletting. When Huiln stood over the last of the dryads, he realized that he had killed six dryads and two Treikondant Cerund himself. One dryad fell over the stairwell rail from the backhand of his kite shield, and although this sickened him as much as the sword clumped with green gore, it felt satisfying on some level that he could credit one death to himself, rather than this sword that was little more than a whip-end dangling from the Spider God's web.

"Good work, Huiln" said Ialuna. "Keep moving," she added. "Everyone."

The goblins continued their ascent. The tenth floor landing abutted a room of white stone, so white that it seemed saccharine and cloying. Numerous shelves were loaded not with books and scrolls like the other rooms of this library, but with helmets, breastplates, backplates, mail shirts, sabatons, vambraces, greaves, plate skirts, gorgets, gauntlets, shields, swords, spears, crossbows, longbows, halberds, daggers, maces, and many other weapons. Most had display cards, and the finest weapons were behind glass that shivered from the sounds of nearby fighting. Every five seconds the panes rattled from the report of cwamtu salvos. The humming of the glass increased, so that it seemed to whistle, when the Quront Sabata was pounded with a one-two pummel that repeated every few moments.

"Battering rams," said Huiln.

"I didn't order that," said Ialuna, helping herself to a sword.

"You didn't order anything," said Huiln, as he looked here and there at armor and weapons. "To be fair, we should have returned to the siege by now. Not that your brother waited longer than an hour. He might have held out until he saw a giant in the windows."

At this, Ialuna let out a resounding groan. "Better to be dead than dishonored by that parrot."

"Are you playing the game of honor? I thought you played for higher stakes. Not that it matters; honor was something to Ler Gilaila and nothing to Cyhari, and you happened to both of them." After replacing his perforated kite shield, which was attached to its rim in only two places, with a spiked, circular shield, Huiln was satisfied there was nothing else worth taking, since his hodgepodge armor was of better craftsmanship.

"What higher stakes?" As Ialuna searched through a display of helms, all with elaborate masks, Huiln joined her. While the gold and silver hammered into stylish patterns roused both his greed and his fashion sense, Huiln couldn't replace his good, solid, goblin helm for an inferior one, no matter how much he craved its precious metal. Better to show the world a patchwork goblin warrior than the image of a dashing mask, caved in by the first heavy blade that rang it.

Such a proud spider, came the divine voice, weaving these word webs in the gallery of your mind. Is your snobbery less offensive...than his? As if giving example to her question, and filling Huiln not only with holy fear but with the good old fashioned fear of brute force, the hulking traitor Kejuro entered the room, and five more Treikondant Cerund behind him. Or whatever vow-breaking Treikondant Cerund call themselves, he said to himself. Behind them, a thunderous clamor climbed the stairwell, its echoes ascending in a loud crescendo.

And is your indignation more righteous...than his? When the thunder in the stairwell hushed, Azuri erupted into the room clutching Guveddon's sword, which looked paltry and ridiculous in his massive fist. In that moment, all eyes turned from mighty Kejuro to the even more monolithic Azuri, whose mien was ghastly, with a torn forehead and blood-darkened white hair and beard.

At the sight of Kejuro, Huiln's confidence in his armor flagged, so that he felt himself again in the ragged princeling's clothes that he wore when the hulking Alfyrian threw him from the stairwell landing. But when Kejuro's cruel smile faded in Azuri's shadow, Huiln became emboldened—until Azuri barreled through the goblins, lifting Dreska's impaled body on the clenched goblin blade as if no weightier than a horrific party favor. When Kejuro snapped an order, his knights formed a wall between Azuri and Kejuro, who managed to mince to the door before all heard his plated boots running up the central spire.

No matter what faithless Kejuro had done, that he imagined the powerfully built Azuri came for him, Huiln knew Azuri's target was Ialuna. While Ialuna's passionless murders blanched his infatuation, Huiln may have interceded out of duty or the honor of his word, but in that moment he felt more statue than goblin. When Azuri parried Ialuna's sword with Guveddon's blade, the art of its unknown smith stood proud under the onslaught, while Ialuna's weapon chipped, and its fragment embedded in the knuckles of Azuri's other outstretched hand, so that when he seized Ialuna's throat, the chip cut her, and blood darkened her breastplate. While Ialuna was tall, Azuri towered over her, and when he held her at arm's length and squeezed cruelly, her feet kicked the air and her mouth made fish-like motions, though no breath could have passed his mighty fist.

This torturous scene held at bay not only the goblins, but Kejuro's followers. While Huiln's order to charge the Treikondant Cerund stuck when fear froze him, he nudged Ingurdu, who teetered on her feet, as if roused from a dizzyspell, so that her nocked and pointed arrow veered inches wide of Azuri's head to bite the wall. Huiln had never seen the archer miss, but thanked his dark gods that she did, for in this fight he rooted not for the would-be tyrant but for the choking hand.

Your thanks is but mortal spite if you do not bow to the center of my web. And I would never slay one cast in my own image.

When one of Kejuro's followers stumbled, he toppled a painted stone shelf that fell with substantial weight and crushing authority, not only shattering its display windows and spilling breastplates, but pinning Azuri and Ialuna to the floor; were Lyspera's whims not already stated, Huiln would have guessed those trapped were crunched to bits.

Any doubt that Ialuna had not survived was dispelled when she screamed, "Kejuro! You coward! Help me, Kejuro!" While her imperious tone was muffled by stone and musclebound elf, the Treikondant Cerund hastened to obey. Two turned and dropped into a guard position with their swords, while the others strained against the shelf, but were unable to budge it.

While Huiln couldn't see the big picture in this incestuous series of coups, he recognized that this was the corner piece that he needed, so that one day, perhaps when he had become the aged Lord Hwarn, he might piece together the convoluted puzzle of his days on Alfyria. While Ialuna's call to Kejuro was an admission that the two were co-conspirators in one or more of the day's plots, it was his sudden insight that Ialuna had manipulated him since his arrival that was too much. Clambering over the downed shelf that pinned Azuri and Ialuna was the most direct route to the door, where Huiln turned to say, "Run, my Ketrati. Alfyria is not worth saving."

Hearing Huiln's entreaty, the two Treikondant Cerund that stood guard sheathed their swords and joined the effort to heave the stone shelf, and the goblins, unimpeded, raced after Huiln, who led them up the central spire. While Huiln had only invited his four Ketrati, the other goblins took the ambiguity of his statement as an open invitation. How could he explain all these brothers and sisters-by-hire to his father?

A dozen landings later, the acrid scent of Nahurian blasting powder joined the roar of cwamtu fire and the susurrus of countless longbows. When a door opened beneath them, its modest echo in the stairwell seemed to drown out the din outside, and they pressed themselves breathlessly against the wall until the door shut.

"That's the roof we hear," said Huiln. "We're close."

"What if this Doorway isn't at the top?" Though Stahnfask's tone was respectful, Huiln hated his question all the more, for it gave voice to the nagging of his own mind.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" asked Huiln, not feeling the need to match Stahnfask's politeness. "We die. Obviously."

"So we're either escaping or running out of running room," laughed Kezak. "This is the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"Me too," laughed Huiln. He would almost be glad to die with this blunt sister-for-hire at his back, for she reminded him of Kuilea. "No, my stupidest thing was climbing an Alfyrian Ladder here to stop this determined war."

"That is stupid," agreed Ingurdu. "And you're a Lord."

"No, I'm not," said Huiln. "I'm his son. And if he was here, he would say that with luck we'll die from an arrow or a blade, and not as chum in a giant's lunch bucket."

"What's that?" said Kortu.

"Never mind," said Huiln. "Be glad you don't know."

At the next landing, Huiln shielded his eyes from the mid-day Abyss, which seared the white sky. Though the windows were shaded charcoal gray to protect those using the overlook, Huiln had been underground or in the central spire for many long hours, and the brilliant vermilion pained him. On the next landing, having adjusted to the glare, Huiln glanced through the window. At this height, even the giants looked tiny, and the dryads and elves were like flyspecks, so it took nearly a minute for Huiln to interpret the battle, and determine that the siege had been broken, but not by the High Tzhurarkh's forces. Like ants erupting from an anthill, a tremendous army of dryads poured out of the Quront Sabata to overrun the Alfyrians.

No, not an anthill, Huiln realized. From above, the Quront Sabata's symbology was easy to read: a distended octagon, with eight outer spires overlooking the elven city, and each of these towers buttressed by long feet of black stone. The monstrous stone spider, with insects running in and out of its mouth, confirmed his many visions, that he had trespassed in the Spider God's house.

As they ascended the central spire, its diameter gradually diminished until it tapered to a small landing, where windows and stairs stopped, and steel rungs continued up through the narrow passage. Huiln took one look up the central spire's last gasp, shouted, and staggered.

Huiln's ketrati, all world-travelers inured to inborn goblin fears, would not believe Huiln daunted by a mere shaft. Huiln also suspected that if they looked up, they would not see what seemed a nightmare for his eyes only: instead of rungs, teeth lined the stone orifice, which flexed like a living thing as it reached out to swallow him whole.

When Huiln collapsed against the entrance, his wracking shudders turned into laughter, hysterically giddy laughs he was helpless to stop. Even if he escaped the Quront Sabata, the Spider God trapped him in a joke, much as he trapped Eurilda in her pouch, and smiled at his own cleverness. His future was the echo of her hunger. When his laughter persisted until noiseless gasps, Stahnfask carried him up the steel ladder. Before he passed through the illusory orifice, Huiln closed his eyes.