3 Weaver of Shadow (6 page)

“What do you want with me, Weaver?” Kormak said. His words were slow and distorted. His throat felt dry. His skin tingled oddly.

“I wanted to look at you, Champion of the Sun. I wanted to see what this terrible warrior who cut down so many of my people looked like. I wanted to know you and get a sense of what you are like.” Her voice was mocking.

“Why?”

Weaver threw back her head and laughed. The sound was velvety and incongruously lovely. “I am supposed to be asking the questions here. You are my prisoner.”

“You have not asked me any questions yet. You have only talked.”

“It is a weakness, I know. I have always been fascinated by what was different and you are as different from the men of the Woods as a wolf is from a dog. Are all of the members of your Order like you?”

Kormak considered his answer. He could see nothing to be gained by lying, and he felt an odd compulsion to speak settling on him anyway. It was the venom, he realised.

“You can speak of your own free will or I can feed you the milk of the Mother once more. It might drive you mad but then you may wish that before the end. It may be a mercy for your sanity to be shattered.”

“Why?”

“Again the questions. Answer my question and I will answer yours.”

Kormak considered this. Weaver seemed very reasonable, almost pleasant. “No. Not all of my brethren, only the Guardians.”

Kormak was shocked to find he had spoken. The elf nodded in a kindly fashion. “And they will come against us.”

“Yes, once word of the Shadowblight spreads, the Order will call a Burning. All of the nobles will be roused against you. Armies will come to burn the forest.”

“Plenty of prey,” said one of the elves holding Kormak upright. Weaver pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“Plenty of new worshippers,” said Weaver.

Kormak stared at her. He thought about the cocooned bodies he had seen hanging outside, hanging in the midst of a Shadowblight, exposed to its warping energies. He suddenly felt as if he understood what was going on here.

A sardonic smile played across Weaver’s lips. A vision flashed across his mind as if it had leapt from her to him. He saw the slow corruption of the woods and their occupants and the Shadow becoming so powerful that eventually it would spread to the neighbouring lands and devour them as well. He saw armies of tainted humans and elves gather, to swarm outwards carrying their taint with them into new lands. Such things had happened in the past.

“Yes,” she said. “Uran Ultar welcomes all who would follow him, human or elf. All who bring him prey are welcome. All who feed him souls may join the pack. In his web of shadow, elves turn their back on the Green, humans close their eyes to what you call the Light.

“You see we are not as cruel as you thought. Some of those we have taken, the weaker ones provide food for our young, but those of you who are strong are welcome here. You yourself will be a great champion of the cause once your eyes are opened to the truth. Who knows, perhaps I will even send you out into the world to find more such as yourself. You have the look of the hunter. You will enjoy serving the Spider God.”

“The Holy Sun will destroy you,” said Kormak. Even to himself he did not sound very convincing.

“He has not done so yet,” said Weaver. “Take him to the crypts! We’ll speak again. A few days in the embrace of Shadow will give him something to think about.”

The elves took him deeper into the darkness.

Kormak hung there in his cocoon, in the middle of a huge web, watching a large spider crawl towards him. He had to remind himself that this was not a nightmare, not a fever dream. The venom was taking its toll on his mind and body. Hallucinations came and went. Even as that thought occurred to him, sick dizziness swept through him and the world rippled and changed.

He hung in the sky, dangling from thin threads of silk. Far below him, he saw a great forest, like and unlike the one he had passed through earlier. It was green and bright and the sun shone down on it. In its midst were titanic trees, scores of leagues apart. They resembled the dead tree in size but in almost all other respects were different; some resembled oaks, some pines, some dragon-trees. All of them were taller than many keeps and so broad that the population of entire towns could dwell amid their boles and branches. He knew that in its own way, each of these trees was sentient in a vast slow way and communicated with its brethren by a tangle of magical flows that ran from root to root through the seemingly endless forests. The air was bright and clean, the mountains seemed taller, the Holy Sun brighter.

In the morning of the world, the elves came and they worshipped and served the great trees, sharing their magic, acting as their agents in the world. They were long-lived and peaceful and their intelligence worked at a different speed from the trees, letting them deal with problems that happened too quickly for the giant vegetable sentients.

He saw Old Ones, the immortal former rulers of this world visit the trees. Some stayed and became followers. Others left and returned with armies and tried to enslave the forest lords and their supporters. War came. Gates opened. Spells of enormous power were invoked. Tremendous energies were unleashed blasting swathes of the forest, reducing some of it to ashes, leaving pools of dark magic, of Shadow behind. Parts of the continent-spanning wood became warped and twisted.

He opened his eyes and looked around blearily. He was still in the great cave, beneath the roots of the great dead tree. His mouth was dry, his throat felt parched. He knew he had been dreaming but he knew also that in part what he had seen was real, had happened. No, that was not quite it. Might have happened. It was as if he was reliving the memories of something else. They were in the air here, imprinted on the magical energy surrounding him. Perhaps they had come from the tree or its ghost.

His eyes closed once again. He felt spiders running over his body, through his mind. He drifted over the forest once more, looking out through the eyes of an elf. A thought drifted into his mind. The elves communicated with the Great Trees and through them. They left their memories in the minds of the trees as did the birds and other creatures that served them. The memories of a Great Tree were a composite of every creature that had been touched by its web of magic, of the Tree’s vast slow thoughts and its dreams and nightmares. He felt on the brink of a greater understanding but then his consciousness submerged once more.

He saw a Gate open. He saw spiders come through from somewhere else. A distant memory told him there were many such Gates scattered through the Sunlands and elsewhere. Most were dormant but sometimes one opened and things came through from other lands, other worlds, other times.

The spiders were not really spiders but a sentient arachnid race. They used the stuff of life as humans used metal and leather and wood. There were hundreds of different types, each with its own caste and function. They burrowed their cities, spun their webs and hunted through the great forest.

Their Gate had opened inside a great pool of Shadow magic and slowly it warped them, causing mutations, making the spiders more savage and strange and horribly cannibalistic until their civilisation fell into anarchy and they became little more than wandering predators of the forest. Only small groups held a grip on some of the magic that had made them what they once were.

More elvish memories flickered through his mind. He was hunted through the forest by the blighted spiders until he was overcome, and the last thing he did was open his mind to the Elder Tree before his body was devoured. His memories flowed out to join its.

He woke again and wondered how much time had passed. He felt hungry now, hollowed out and weak. He knew if he dangled here long enough his muscles would atrophy and his mind would break.

What was going on?

Was this all part of the Shadow’s effort to corrupt him? It did not feel like that, but then it need not. The Shadow could be very subtle. He thought about what he had seen and what it meant, tried to fit it together with his knowledge of the world.

He had met Old Ones who had claimed that theirs was the most ancient people in the world. He had met scholars who claimed that the elves or the Giants or the Kassandri had been here even before the Old Ones. He had been taught there were kingdoms of men before the Age of Shadow. These events all could have taken place in those ancient times, before the coming of the First Empire and the Age of Light. It was hard to sort out all of this information in his confused state.

Something crawled over his face, a large soft spider with a pattern like a skull on the bloated underbelly of his thorax. Its furry legs stroked his face. Its tiny mandibles dug into his flesh, hallucinogenic poison swept through his mind again. He tumbled down into strange dreams.

He saw the Shadow settle on the forest heart, the blights begin to corrupt or kill the forest. He felt some of the great trees kin become blighted. He saw huge wars fought by the followers of each tree, the Nations of the Elves and their sometimes allies among the humans and Old Ones were enlisted by both sides. He saw the old community of shared intelligence torn apart. He felt the vast world-mind of the forest disintegrate and fall into insanity as it lost its wholeness and various parts of itself.

He knew who he was now, the tree Mayasha. He felt his roots extend deep into the earth, looked out through the thousands of dreaming eyes of his elf people, relayed their thoughts to each other across the leagues, lent them parts of his own great power to let them work their small mortal magics. He shared their memories and those of the great white owls and the intelligent hunting cats who were linked with him.

He recalled the wars he had fought with his corrupted brethren and the armies of the Old Ones and their human servants. He felt as if he understood some small part of the thoughts of a huge, slow god. He watched centuries and millennia pass, and witnessed the births and deaths of generations of elves and humans and beasts and trees. He sensed the spread of the Shadow through the land.

He saw the Blight spread through the great trees of the forest heart and the wars between their peoples. He mourned the slow death of the elvish race as the wars and diseases and dark magic took their toll. Some of the elves left the forest entirely and passed beyond the reach of the Elder Trees becoming the Lost. Others turned their faces from their former gods and looked for new divinities to save them.

And all the time he felt the growth of the Blight passing through the roots of the continent, a great poisonous pool, coming ever closer, tainting everything it could, killing everything it could not, a cancer in the flesh of the living world, a thing out of control, almost impossible to excise.

He warred with it, did his best to contain it, turned its agents from his lands but in the end the struggle was too much. The disease reached even him, settled in his roots and slowly over the centuries weakened him and drove him mad. The Great Tree knew that he was dying and the elves too began to die or leave. Madness stole over him and it passed to his children who lost themselves in drugs and dark rituals and communing with the Taint in the Green.

While all this was happening the humans came, driving Mayasha’s people from the lands they had seized, further disrupting the balance of nature.

The Weaver came with drugs and sorcery, a magic which at first seemed to help the Elder Tree but in reality simply made the madness more subtle and less detectable. A Spider Queen came too and made her nest in the roots of Mayasha and provided her children and the narcotic pleasures of their venom to the service of the Elder Tree’s people. Weaver began to tap into Mayasha’s power and knowledge and use them to her own dark ends, hastening the Blight of the woods, warping the minds of his people.

In moments, of lucidity, knowing what was happening to itself, Mayasha willed his own death and slowly a bit at a time it stole over him. His consciousness dwindled, his memories faded along with his power, and as this knowledge crept into his mind, Kormak realised that he was indeed communing with the ghost of the Elder Tree, all that remained of its spirit that dwelled within what had once been its great body.

He saw too that the process of corruption had not just been one way from Weaver to the Tree. The last remnant of the Tree had been able to subtly shape the Spider Priestess’s thoughts, had Kormak brought here so that he could be told the truth, and shown the magnitude of the threat. He was shown how to destroy the last remnants of the Great Tree so that its power could not be used by the Shadow. He had been shown where his blade lay and how to find it in the maze beneath the roots and he had been shown what he must do with it.

Into his mind was thrust the knowledge he needed to destroy the last and final ganglions of the Great Tree’s mind and knowledge of what defended them.

He looked at that and was afraid.

CHAPTER SIX

THE SPELL FELL from his mind. He opened his eyes and for the first time in a long time felt fully awake. He considered his position. He was bound in the heart of the Great Tree’s root system, cocooned and stuck in a web suspended above the cavern floor, watched by spider eyes and those of mad, diseased elves.

First things first, he needed to get his hands free. His arms were bound across his chest by the webbing. He flexed his muscles; the spidersilk gave way slightly but not far enough. He tried writhing his body but to no avail. The Elder Sign was warm against his chest. He fumbled at it with his numbed fingers and managed to clutch its metal edge. Painfully slowly he moved it, turning the edge so that it rubbed against the silk.

Moving it backwards and forwards he managed to abrade the fabric until the edge of the sign was through it. He widened the slit until he could get his fingers free and kept rubbing away until the gap was wide enough to allow his arms free movement. He paused when it looked like anyone was paying any attention to him. His wriggling in the web caused one of the spiders to come closer. He held still as it stroked his face with its legs. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep once more. The last thing he wanted now was to be injected with narcotic venom.