Spiderlight

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

“Have we just about exhausted your capabilities?” Armes asked them pleasantly. “I want you to feel you’ve had a good run, but really, I have a heroic procession to be attending in your names.” He raised a hand—whether to make a point or blast them into dust, Cyrene couldn’t guess—and then Enth tackled him about the waist and knocked him off his feet. It was the same artless move he had used on the old Doomsayer, just a desperate attempt to bear his enemy down so he could get to strangling. Enth, like the magician who had reworked him, was not one for subtlety in a crisis. Armes hit the ground hard—the stone cracked beneath him, though the impact did not seem to hurt his flesh—and hurled Enth away. The man-spider landed on hands and feet, skittering sideways across the floor in a stomach-twistingly inhuman way. “You as well?” Armes got to his feet, and he was doing his mummery again, pretending that the whole business was just too much effort for him. Cyrene saw the very moment that he stopped, putting a hand to his side. There was a moment’s puzzlement on his face that was not feigned. By then, Enth was already charging him again, on two legs, then on all fours, then two again, and Armes looked at him with contempt and said a word. Spider, Cyrene understood. All of Enth’s being summed up in that single dismissive utterance. Enth leapt and struck Armes hard. Cyrene braced for the sound of him splintering off the man-god’s invulnerable hide, but instead Armes went reeling ba...