For the first time since being trussed up, I looked around to take a real stock of our enemies. There were about twenty of the disgusting creatures around, and they all looked about the same, with slight variations of size. Then without so much as another word or shrill squeal, the spiders started off through the forest. Four spiders grabbed my cocoon in their vertical mouths and began to drag me across the forest floor. Malagor and Norar Remontar were subjects of similar treatment. It was neither a comfortable nor a dignified way to travel. We were dragged about a mile into a very dark and silent portion of the forest.

The Pell had taken us to their home. This settlement, if one can so dignify the place with that name, was nothing more than an immense spider web covering several hundred square yards, and rising high into the upper branches of a number of trees. We were taken to the center of the spider web, then long strands of silk were tied to our feet, and we were hauled up to hang upside down some thirty feet above the ground. I then noticed that the Pell numbered in the hundreds, ranging in size from about as big as a tarantula, to one individual, possibly the village elder, who was about the size of a large pony. All of these beasts climbed around the webbing, but their main residence seemed to be a large hole in the ground below us and a little to my left.

I have always hated spiders, and the experience of hanging by my ankles in a giant web, and being examined by arachnids close to my own size did nothing to strengthen my opinion of them. I tried to think of some way to free my hands, but they were wrapped tightly at my sides. I couldn’t imagine things getting any worse than they were at that moment, but they really always can. Just then it started to rain.

I like rain. I suppose that it is because I grew up in the southwestern United States, where rainfall is relatively rare. However rain, when in conjunction with gravity, has an unfortunate effect upon an individual who is hanging upside down. It runs up his nose.

“You have killed me,” said Malagor, and he stretched out his head and began a long low howl.

This did nothing to improve my own state of mind. I looked around, blinded by the water running over my face, but desperate to find some means of escape. There seemed little hope.

“Can’t you call on the power of your sword?” I asked Norar Remontar.

“What?”

“Can’t you call upon the soul in your sword to rescue you?”

“I do not call upon the soul. It comes of its own accord. And it does not do so to cut bonds. It comes only for battle.”

“That seems inconvenient,” I replied. “I see no way of escape.”

“There is no way of escape.” Came a high-pitched voice. “You are doomed to die, as am I.”

I twisted my body around to look upon a Pell sitting nearby. It was about the size of a big dog, but otherwise seemed identical to all the other spider creatures.

“You are doomed to die?” Malagor asked. “Why?”

“I have angered the web-leader. I feasted upon food that was not mine.”

“Could you get us out of this web and these cocoons?” I inquired.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Why not? You are going to die anyway.”

“My death will not be as horrible as it would be should I release you.”

“We are going to Amathar. If you were to come with us, you would escape death, and be welcome there.” I was attempting to weave a web of my own as I talked. “He’d be welcome. Wouldn’t he, Norar Remontar?”

“No,” he said.

“Work with me here!” I pleaded.

“The Amatharian speaks truly. I have no place else to go. Amathar would not welcome me.” Whined the arachnid.

“What if Norar Remontar promised to protect you. You know Amatharians always keep their word. He could promise to find you a new home.” The Pell’s forelegs began to twitch.

“You’ll protect him and find him a new home. Won’t you, Norar Remontar?”

“No,” he said.

“Do you want to live to see Amathar? Do you want to be able to rescue your sister?” I hissed. “Tell the damn spider you’ll protect him if he’ll let us go.”

“No,” he said.

“I cannot go far away,” whined the Pell.

“Why are you up here anyway?” I asked him. “Why would you be sentenced to death for eating something that wasn’t yours?”

“We eat any live flesh,” he explained. “but thinking, speaking creatures are reserved for the leader and the hive elder.”

“That hardly seems fair. Why, a fellow like you… what was your name?”

“Vvvv.”

“Why,” I continued. “I would much rather be eaten by a fine fellow like you than almost anyone else. What about you, Malagor?”

“Indeed,” said my companion. “It would be an honor to be eaten by Vvvv.”

“You must surely be the finest of the Pell,” I said. “In fact, now that I think about it, why aren’t you the leader?”

“I should be!” Squealed the spider, puffing himself up larger. “I have always known that I should be leader! Even the lower forms can see it!”

Many times on our journey I pressed the knight to tell me about his city. On these occasions he would simply smile, and say that I would have to see it for myself. Of course my personal interests were constantly being drawn to the subject of his sister. I didn’t want to arouse Norar Remontar’s ire by accidentally disgracing her somehow, and truth be told, I was somewhat embarrassed by my single-minded desire to see this woman again. Of course being no fool, he saw through my efforts to artificially generalize the subject, but played along with me anyway. It seemed that in Amatharian society, both the men and the women were able to become knights and pursue careers in any field. The culture was a matrilineal one. The Amatharians passed on their family name from mother to daughter, but even more important than the family name, were the family crests, and these were passed from elder family members, to those children, grandchildren, and even nephews and nieces, who managed to achieve knighthood. Norar Remontar and a cousin had received their crests from an uncle who was a war hero. His sister inherited her crest from her grandfather.

We crossed planes and hills and valleys and an occasional mountain range, and must have been some thousands of miles from the sight of the airship battle when we reached the edge of an immense forest. It stretched to the left and right as far as the eye could see. Of course as with all things of this scale, when we came up close to the edge of the woodland, we found that it was not one great forest, but a vast area of connected forests with small glens and meadows scattered here and there. We plunged into this new terrain and continued on our way.

The first several hundred miles of the forest land was lightly wooded. There were a great many open areas and we found many fruits and vegetables along the way to supplement our hunting. As the miles went on by though, we left the lightly wooded areas behind us, and entered an increasingly dark and forbidding landscape. It was the kind of forest that one might find in an old black and white horror movie, or one of those fantasy novels with pointed-eared goblins peaking out from behind large oak trees. In this densely wooded country, hunting became more difficult, but because of the urgency of our quest, we could not take any more time than was absolutely necessary in any one location. So it was that when once more we had to make camp, for the first time, we sat looking at one another over an empty spot on the ground where our food might normally be found roasting on a spit above a small camp fire.

“This is most discouraging to me,” said Malagor. “It is not right for a Malagor to go without food.”

“At least we have water,” said Norar Remontar. “I am surprised that we have been able to stay as well fed as we have. Before this trip I had been hunting only three or four times with my uncle, and I mean no disrespect when I say that Alexander seems to be as unskilled as I am in this arena.”

“He has led a soft life,” explained Malagor. “I am guessing that even though you have done little hunting, your life has not been soft. You are a warrior.”

“You are mistaken my friend,” the Amatharian replied. “My life has not been a hard one. We in Amathar live well, and I as the son of a Kurar Ka have lived too well. I have never wanted. All my life I was provided for, was given everything that I desired, and was tutored by masters in every subject.

“When I reached manhood I set out to explore the distant lands of Ecos by signing on to my uncle’s trading group. As a warrior and then a swordsman, I was required to fight pirates and monsters, and I did so without fear. I proved myself in battle, at least my soul thought that I had. I went to the Garden of Souls and I found my soul. Then on my first mission as a knight, in my first confrontation with the enemy of my people, I lose my ship and my sister.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” I interjected quickly. “It was a tremendous battle and you fought bravely.”

“It was my duty to protect my sister,” said the knight. “She was conveying an important diplomatic mission for our grandfather. Beside, she is my sister.” He lay down and then rolled over so that his back was facing Malagor and myself.

Malagor looked at me, nodded, and lay down. There was a chill in the air, and the sky was becoming overcast, so much so that I almost imagined that the sun was going down. Of course it remained directly above, as always, but it did grow rather dark. I began to wish that we had built a fire, despite the fact that we had nothing to cook over it. I leaned back and prepared for my turn at watch. I was very tired though, and after a moments reflection, as I have just recounted, that the thick green canopy above, in combination with the storm clouds rolling in provided almost enough darkness to remind one of night time, I fell into a state of half sleep.
The first thing that aroused me from my slumber was a low growl coming from Malagor. I rolled over and looked at him. He was trussed up tightly in some kind of white netting, and he obviously didn’t like it. Suddenly I was knocked back onto my back by something large and black and hairy. I stared, horror-struck at a big black spider, fully fifty pounds, and with a body fully three feet across, sitting astride my chest. With the strength of my earth-born muscles combined with a great rush of adrenaline, I thrust the creature away from me. It was quite an impressive push, for it flew a about twenty feet and crashed with a splat into the bole of a large tree. I stood up, but before I could draw my sword or do anything else, I found myself being wrapped by strands of sticky white netting, and I looked to find a dozen more of the spiders encircling me and coating me with webbing silk. Scant seconds later I fell down onto my side, completely incased, with the exception of my head, in a silk cocoon.

My position on the ground put me face to face with Norar Remontar, and he looked at me and shook his head.

“You fell asleep.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“You were supposed to be on guard.”

“Yes.”

“Now you have killed us. These are Pell.”

“We’re not dead yet,” I offered.

“You will be soon.” A grotesque, high-pitched, squeaking voice said.

Slowly the victorious warrior scanned the battlefield around him, and as he did so, his eyes alighted upon Malagor and myself. He started slowly toward us. I did nothing but stand and stare at the alien knight. He came toward us slowly at first, but as he got nearer, he seemed more and more menacing, and when he was only several yards away, he began to raise his wondrous sword.
“Stop!” Called Malagor, backing up his command by brandishing his light rifle. The blue-skinned man stopped and stared at us, and particularly at me for a moment.
“You carry a dead sword.” he said to me.
“I carry this sword that I found. It is not as marvelous as your own….”
“Just where did you find this sword?”
“It was in a cave, along with these light rifles.” I replied.
“You took these weapons from the dead!” he accused.
“There was no body.” I said. “Only the weapons and some food items.”
“You lie!” He stepped forward.
“He tells the truth,” said Malagor. “Do not take another step, or I shall have to kill you.”
The Amatharian looked carefully at my friend as if for the first time. “You are a Malagor?”
“Yes.”
“My clan, long ago, dealt with the Malagor. They were a people of honor.”
Malagor nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment of the compliment, but didn’t lower his weapon.
“You affirm that this pale one did not desecrate the bodies of my people?”
“I swear it.”
The Amatharian looked back at me, the fury of battle now fading from his eyes. He straightened his back, and then carefully sheathed his sword, which now appeared to be nothing more than a metal blade of the non-glowing variety. This fellow was a magnificent specimen. He was almost a head taller than I, at least six foot seven. He was muscular and handsome, and wore the typical Amatharian fighting clothing, the black body suit and white tabard. His own tabard was surrounded by gold braid and bore his insignia, a flaming sun with outstretched wings.
“May I see your weapon?” He asked.
I handed him the sword, hilt first. He carefully examined the blade and its edge. Then with something akin to reverence, he carefully removed the jeweled hilt and opened a here-to-fore hidden compartment in the base. He sighed. Then he carefully replaced the hilt, and handed the weapon back to me.
“I offer you my apology,” he said. “A sword this fine was designed for a remiant, and yet this sword has never lived.”
“I accept your apology,” I replied.
I could feel Malagor breathe a sigh of relief. It was obvious that he didn’t want to have to kill a brave man, especially over a misunderstanding. I certainly didn’t want to force him to have to do so. The knight bowed his head.
“I am Homianne Kurar Ka Remiant Norar Remontar of the Sun Clan,” he said. I later learned that he had given me his name as Norar Remontar, his rank as Remiant or knight, and his social status or nobility as Homianne Kurar Ka which literally means child of the overlord, and implies that one is a prince or princess. In Amatharian society the head of each clan is called Kurar Ka or Overlord and his direct heirs are his Homianne. Just below them in rank are the Kurar or lords, and below them the Kur or lesser nobles.
Malagor replied with his own name, which as I have previously explained, defies all attempts at transcription. It is a kind of a growl and a cough and he seemed to throw in something else, perhaps a title, though I didn’t press as to what it might have been. I must confess that at that moment I felt somewhat inadequate in the name department, as I had neither a particularly long or eloquent name nor an impressive title.
“Alexander Ashton” I said.