Read Online 3 Weaver of Shadow by William King - Free Book Online
Authors: William King
Tags: fantasy novel
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spear as the spider dropped from above, impaling itself on the blade.
Kormak tossed the spear into the wall, leaving the spider pinned there, legs kicking feebly until it expired. He bent over and picked up the elf’s knives and the other spear. His lungs felt as if they were on fire. His skin felt clammy. He knew he needed to find his sword if he was to have any chance to survive down here.
Dizzy and weak he reeled towards the exit of the cave, praying that the vision he had of the tree’s heart was true and not simply a hallucination brought on by the narcotic venom and the tortures of imprisonment.
Greenish light emerged from the fungus on the walls, the glow of decomposition, of rot, of the gathering strength of the Shadow. It illuminated a long twisting tunnel that ran through the root system of Mayasha. Large segmented things scuttled away at his approach. They reminded him of slaters he had once seen when he turned over a rotten log in the forest. Long, long feelers twitched obscenely as they moved. A massive worm’s head emerged from the wall and then retreated. He felt like he was being given a view of all the monstrous things that lurked beneath the dark places of the world.
Slowly feeling and strength returned to his limbs. He felt like himself again. He was free and he had a weapon in his hand and, under the circumstances, that was about the best he could ask for.
He moved on, following the vision that had appeared in his narcotic dreams. It seemed like the only thing to do. He had no idea where he was in this vast underground labyrinth so the path revealed to him seemed as good as any other. So far the path was as he had been shown. At least part of his vision seemed true, then again, perhaps that was not so good, if what was waiting at the end of the trail was also true.
He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, repeating the old breathing exercises, and sinking into others that would sharpen his senses and quicken his reflexes. He wanted to be aware of any threats coming up on him and he felt sure that the elves and spiders both could see better in the gloom than he could.
He thought about the vision he had seen and was alarmed. It seemed something had invaded his mind to provide him with the information, bypassing his amulets, his own resistance and all the safeguards that had been placed there by the priestcraft and sorcery of the Order of the Dawn. He knew he was vulnerable here and the sooner he got out the better, but somehow his legs carried him on into the depths below the world.
It was not exactly that a geas had been laid on him, at least he thought not. That was something to which he should be immune. It was just that Mayasha, if Mayasha it was, had shown him the route he must take to perform his duty, to help oppose the Shadow, to prevent its complete victory here. He knew he needed to escape and bring word of what was going on here back to the Sunlands. Given time Weaver could build an all but invincible army in these blighted woods and spread the Shadow’s corruption far beyond them.
There was another truth. There was no other path for him to follow. He could leave it but the chances were that he would wander lost in the depths until he was recaptured. He doubted that this time he would escape so easily. What Mayasha had revealed to him was his only hope of recovering his dwarf-forged sword and he could not leave this place without it.
He wondered where the others were now, whether any of them had escaped from the elvish ambush or whether they had all been captured and were hanging cocooned, being corrupted by the Shadow and the Spider God.
He thought of the elf girl who had warned them out in the forest. She had been right. He thought of Grogan who had foreseen the ambush was likely but had gone forward anyway.
He thought of the long mazy roads that had brought him to this point, the wanderings across three continents and scores of kingdoms, the wars and battles, the women he
Kormak tossed the spear into the wall, leaving the spider pinned there, legs kicking feebly until it expired. He bent over and picked up the elf’s knives and the other spear. His lungs felt as if they were on fire. His skin felt clammy. He knew he needed to find his sword if he was to have any chance to survive down here.
Dizzy and weak he reeled towards the exit of the cave, praying that the vision he had of the tree’s heart was true and not simply a hallucination brought on by the narcotic venom and the tortures of imprisonment.
Greenish light emerged from the fungus on the walls, the glow of decomposition, of rot, of the gathering strength of the Shadow. It illuminated a long twisting tunnel that ran through the root system of Mayasha. Large segmented things scuttled away at his approach. They reminded him of slaters he had once seen when he turned over a rotten log in the forest. Long, long feelers twitched obscenely as they moved. A massive worm’s head emerged from the wall and then retreated. He felt like he was being given a view of all the monstrous things that lurked beneath the dark places of the world.
Slowly feeling and strength returned to his limbs. He felt like himself again. He was free and he had a weapon in his hand and, under the circumstances, that was about the best he could ask for.
He moved on, following the vision that had appeared in his narcotic dreams. It seemed like the only thing to do. He had no idea where he was in this vast underground labyrinth so the path revealed to him seemed as good as any other. So far the path was as he had been shown. At least part of his vision seemed true, then again, perhaps that was not so good, if what was waiting at the end of the trail was also true.
He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, repeating the old breathing exercises, and sinking into others that would sharpen his senses and quicken his reflexes. He wanted to be aware of any threats coming up on him and he felt sure that the elves and spiders both could see better in the gloom than he could.
He thought about the vision he had seen and was alarmed. It seemed something had invaded his mind to provide him with the information, bypassing his amulets, his own resistance and all the safeguards that had been placed there by the priestcraft and sorcery of the Order of the Dawn. He knew he was vulnerable here and the sooner he got out the better, but somehow his legs carried him on into the depths below the world.
It was not exactly that a geas had been laid on him, at least he thought not. That was something to which he should be immune. It was just that Mayasha, if Mayasha it was, had shown him the route he must take to perform his duty, to help oppose the Shadow, to prevent its complete victory here. He knew he needed to escape and bring word of what was going on here back to the Sunlands. Given time Weaver could build an all but invincible army in these blighted woods and spread the Shadow’s corruption far beyond them.
There was another truth. There was no other path for him to follow. He could leave it but the chances were that he would wander lost in the depths until he was recaptured. He doubted that this time he would escape so easily. What Mayasha had revealed to him was his only hope of recovering his dwarf-forged sword and he could not leave this place without it.
He wondered where the others were now, whether any of them had escaped from the elvish ambush or whether they had all been captured and were hanging cocooned, being corrupted by the Shadow and the Spider God.
He thought of the elf girl who had warned them out in the forest. She had been right. He thought of Grogan who had foreseen the ambush was likely but had gone forward anyway.
He thought of the long mazy roads that had brought him to this point, the wanderings across three continents and scores of kingdoms, the wars and battles, the women he
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