The way Kadekk asked made Krek puff up with pride. He had always known of his own nobility, and it pleased him these mere spiders recognized it immediately.

“Would you be our Webmaster and help fight these humans?”

“It is nothing I have not done before,” Krek said. But in the back of his mind rose the troubling thought, But always before Lan Martak has been with me.

“Another legion moves up the valley,” said one of the smallest of the spiders, hardly more than a hatchling. “We will be burned out of even this cave unless we stop them.”

“Since I did not pass them on my way into the valley, this means they come from the far end,” said Krek.

“There is a large ground web of them two human days’ travel away. They find our fine valley necessary for their depredations on the other humans.”

“They have bases or forts,” said Krek, thinking. “Not ground webs. They are not sufficiently advanced for that.” He settled down and pulled in his long legs. In this position he was on a level with the mere spiders. His agile mind worked over various plans, then he decided. “We go immediately. Unseemly haste is required for survival.”

Fifteen of the mere spiders followed Krek. He was irrationally happy to see that Kadekk joined them and stayed close by his side.

“All is ready, Webmaster Krek.” Kadekk bounced around from one strand to the next, her nimble feet skipping over the sticky cables and finding only the walking strands.

“Just in time,” said Krek. He indicated the dusty path of the soldiers.

The grey-clads trooped along, one hundred strong. In their hands they carried the worst weapons of all-torches. As it was midday, these were intended for firing webs, not lighting a dark path.

“Now, Webmaster, do we attack now?” came the anxious chittering from along the valley.

“Not yet,” Krek answered. “But soon. Very soon.” He thought back to the other battles he had fought, the cowardice he had shown-and the courage. It seemed that Lan Martak’s presence, and even friend Inyx’s, helped him live up to his duties as Webmaster. Without them, his courage sometimes flagged and he did weak things. Now he fought without them, but the reasons were noble. Krek could not in good faith allow these pathetic little mere spiders to perish simply because their Webmaster had been so foully murdered.

“…the buggers now,” came the faint words drifting up from the valley floor. “Set your torches.” Hearty laughter echoed the length and breadth of the valley as the troops lit their torches and prepared to burn out the webs and their spiders.

“Krek, they… they will burn us!” Kadekk shrilled.

“Drop webs at either end of the valley,” Krek ordered. He rubbed his legs together in satisfaction when he saw the immense hunting webs lowered to block escape. Only when he was sure all the grey-clads had their torches ignited did Krek give the next order.

“Drop the climbing webs.”

From both sides of the canyon soared the powdery, dry climbing webs. In feathery clouds they flew out and floated downward, the air retarding descent of the light, strong webs.

“But Krek, the torches will burn them,” protested Kadekk.

“I do not have time to explain,” Krek said. “Watch and learn how to use their ghastly fire weapons against them. I really do not know if even such as they deserve this fate.” Krek thought on it for a moment before adding, “Yes, they do. They do deserve all they will get.”

The first layer of dry web reached a halfway point. Krek gave the signal for another toss to send even more webbing out. By the time he ordered the third flight of webstuff, the first had reached the ground. The soldiers held their torches aloft, laughing and making crude comments. The laughter turned to shrieks of fear as the web caught fire and continued to fall around them, sending twenty-foot-high tongues of fire into the sky.

“They burn themselves in our webs!” cried Kadekk.

“Their weapon has been used against them. Keep sending down more dry web.” Krek watched with bloodthirsty satisfaction as the troops tried in vain to extinguish their torches. But for them it was too late. The webs had been fired and now descended, clouds of flaming death dropping and clinging to their clothing. Dozens of grey-clads were set ablaze and ran shrieking as they incinerated.

“Krek, the others. Some escaped.” Kadekk pointed out almost a score of soldiers who had evaded the burning webs.

“Now we fight,” said Krek. He spat out a long climbing strand and anchored it to the side of the cliff. The arachnid kicked free and lowered himself to the floor of the valley. He amazed himself with the bravery he showed in the face of so much fire burning away merrily as it consumed underbrush and human soldier with equal hunger.

Kadekk dropped beside him. Together they and five other spiders lumbered off in pursuit. By the time they overtook the frightened, fleeing soldiers, six had already become tangled in the hunting web blocking the mouth of the valley. The others spun, drew weapons, and faced the wave of spiders.

Krek’s presence turned the tide. None of the grey-clads had seen a spider this large, and their moment of panic allowed him to slice four in half before the others responded. Seeing their feared enemies felled with single slashes of Krek’s mighty mandibles, the mere spiders fell to the fight with new courage and determination.

Blood soaked into the dusty floor of the canyon. All the soldiers and three of the mere spiders perished.

“What of the ones in the hunting web?” asked Kadekk, eyeing the captives. “We can kill them with no effort.”

“Spare them,” ordered Krek.

Those hung in the web relaxed visibly. They were to be spared.

“Cocoon them and save them as dinner for our hatchlings. They are tasty enough, even if they do not have the proper number of legs.”

The human shrieks soon stopped when the cocooning webs enfolded their struggling bodies. Krek and Kadekk climbed back to the heights to plan new webs for the valley.

It felt good being Webmaster once more.

“Noooooo!” Lan Martak screamed as he whirled through nothingness. The world of summer scents and brightly blooming flowers and airy breezes vanished when Claybore’s spell took hold. Lan reached out magically and clung to Kiska k’Adesina, keeping her beside him. If he had to spend an eternity lost in the whiteness between worlds, he would not spend it alone.

“Oh, yes, Martak,” came the scornful words. Claybore enjoyed his revenge to the hilt. “You now find yourself lost. Remember how it was when I did this to that bitch Inyx? You sought her out and only succeeded in bringing her back because of the help you had. This time there is no aid for you. None. You are lost!”

The laughter following faded away until only deathly silence remained behind.

Lan walked through the cloaking whiteness, aware of Kiska nearby but not seeing her. The weight of responsibility for her drove him to seek her out. The task proved more difficult than he’d imagined. Even though Lan had successfully found the disembodied Inyx in this place between worlds when Claybore had exiled her here, he had forgotten how truly alien the white nothingness was.

Time ceased to have meaning. He walked and he thought of all that had happened. The magical battle had been premature on his part, yet he hadn’t been totally unprepared. Meeting with the Resident of the Pit had definitely alerted Claybore to his presence on that world, even if the small magic used in battle with the grey-clad soldiers hadn’t. But the sight of the Pillar of Night again stunned Lan and allowed Claybore to work his spells unhindered.

Why? What was it about the black column that devoured all light that so paralyzed him? He was not afraid of it or the magics locked within it, yet he knew he ought to be. There came from it an undeniable power, and the Resident was unable to tell him of it. In some fashion the magics robbed the Resident of godhood and reduced a once mighty deity to little more than a wishing well.