Spiderlight

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

When Dion considered the world, her chief question was, Is this of Light or Dark? Penthos’s main interest was usually, Is this flammable?

L

It was a nest, a crawling nest of Man. Here they had grown filthy fungal-looking excrescences in profusion, and then they had bred and festered until the entire hideous hole of a place was overrun with a scurrying tide of four-limbed, flabby-skinned Man-creatures.

L

“We will follow this path, and trust to prophecy.” “There’s a lot of Dark territory between us and the Shadow Canyons,” Lief pointed out unhappily. “Ghants and blight-wolves and Murgl-wyrms and all sorts.” His finger traced a line from Shogg’s Ford, showing the route. “Not convinced that the power of prophecy’s going to get us through all that.” “It will be an epic journey,” Harathes said potentiously. “A worthy quest, through monsters and the servants of the Dark one, past evil forests, marshes, and jagged rocks . . .” “Mm.” Lief grimaced. “You’re not selling it to me.”

L

“Like a bloody cave,” was Lief’s assessment, “and it stinks of magic.” Penthos gave him an arch look. “And you’d have a sensitivity for magic?” “It has floating lights, and that bloke over in the corner is wearing a crown of glowing ice, and his mate’s got the head of a parrot. I don’t think you need to be Grand Archmage Woddleflot to pick up the delicate scent of magic.”

L

Another?” Nth understood that this meant more beer. To his surprise, his mouth opened and words came out. “I like beer.” Lief’s expression lit up. “Good for you.” “I like you, too. You make beer happen.”

L