SHE HUNG UPSIDE-DOWN in a gloomy space. Underground. The dank air was proof enough, air thick with smoke from braziers and flaming torches affixed in sconces to the sides of tall, narrow passageway that led deep within a mountain. White flame? Strange. Thick, hairy legs and legion black, gleaming insectoid eyes surrounded her, all scuttling along in a silent river along the cavern wall.

Allory stifled a scream. She had woken in a few strange dreams.

This was a nightmare.

She hated spiders at the best of times. Their delicately pad-footed, multi-legged movement, their love of lurking beneath large fronds or beneath branch-fall, their multiple staring eyes … they just put the bubbles into her sap and a prickle into her antennae. Why, she did not know. Maybe something had happened as a Faeling; maybe it was the way her Dadfae used to use the threat of spiders creeping into her cocoon at night to silence her.

Not a spider lover. Just no.

The hairs on these feet felt as soft as silk yet every sensation conveyed to her arachnid body was acute. She was in absolutely no danger of falling even when the stream of spiders, each nine inches in diameter through the thorax with grey legs at least a foot and a half long, trotted across the ceiling of a tunnel and streamed into a vast cavern beyond. Vast beyond reckoning. Her head twizzled this way and that as her eight spider eyes took in the details – in sharp greyscale.

Oh! Her vision was excellent but the world was shades of grey and detailed textures. Below her yawned a cavern space she immediately took to be creature-fashioned, or at the very least, heavily modified to suit its purpose. Great stone galleries surrounded the great pit at nine distinct levels, cut and connected haphazardly by stone bridges and metal walkways that arched over what she took to be a lake of molten lava. Stolid Faerie shambled in every direction, labouring at tasks unfamiliar to a Scintillant Fae.

This imposter. Sneak thief. Spy?

She scurried along in this unfamiliar arachnid guise, taking observations. What type of Fae were those? Creatures of blocky bodily structure who appeared to be wholly immune to the temperatures of flame gushing out of the mouths of hundreds of open furnaces recessed into the walls of the lower levels. She even saw several leap into the magma pool below and disappear beneath its heaving, popping surface. Recreational swim, anyone? Others handled immense vats of molten metals with their bare hands, or plucked forms and shapes from the roaring fires. Even up on this wall she now traversed, the heat was intense. Down below it must be scorching enough to kill most creatures. On the higher levels, the same thickset Faerie, about the same height as Humans but so bulky through the torso and in the limbs that they resembled walking boulders, worked in teams around massive anvils, pounding and shaping metal with great hammers until spear points, swords and pieces of armour took shape.

In several places, she saw titanic reptiles straining in chain and leather harnesses to propel immense gears and flywheels that appeared to power the work of the forges. Another division of different, slender Faerie worked at forges that shimmered with fey magic. The intensity of their labour was incredible. Unstoppable. The numbers of Faerie labouring here had to be easily in the tens of thousands, if not more.

Allory sucked in a breath. Could this be the Arsenal of Allux-dar-Aluxadoon, the fabled forges mentioned in several of Xertiona’s legends as having supplied many an army in centuries past? The Philosopher had said they were derelict.

Anything but, right?

Yet … her insect eyes returned to those magic-infused forges and a room set beyond them, a chamber demarcated by clear crystal panels on several sides. That glow of light, could it be scintillance? Impossible to tell for certain with these eyes but some fluctuating quality in the light suggested so.

Before she knew it, she stepped out of line to investigate.

At once, a heavy blow fell upon one of her many shoulders. “Where are you going, little spinsister?”

It took her an aghast second to realise that the language was one of coded tapping. It did not help that her accoster was a spider of gigantic proportions, easily three times bigger than any others she had seen so far. Where had he sprung from?

“I became … confused, my lord,” she tapped back clumsily. “I will return –”

“Stop. You are confused indeed if you speak like this, little spinsister. Am I not your Spinlord, Master of all Silk Artisans, foremost outfitters of the greatest army ever to march beneath Middlesun? Or do you wish to be fed to the breeding pits? They are not far distant.”

“No, mighty Spinlord,” she quavered, trying to bow with eight legs. Not so easy.

“All of this equipment you see being made here is destined for armies of the all-powerful Wraith – let thread fall upon his name as light.”

The behemoth gazed expectantly at her.

“Uh, as … light?”

“I thought so,” he said heavily. “Bundle up. I’ll leave you with the others.”

Taking her cue from the gestures the Spinlord made with his forelegs, Allory tucked her legs up to her body and, twenty dizzying seconds later, found herself spun into a bundle of thick, inescapable silk which he lashed by a single loop to the top of his thorax. She even had a companion, another small female like herself who was wrapped up like an insect ready for consumption, her spider brain readily informed her. Allory did not want to imagine injecting digestive juices that would allow her to suck out her meal’s innards as pre-digested goop, but this brain definitely had its own ideas.

The Spinlord promptly set off at a hair-raising run along the wall, took the underside of the one of the metal bridges, and shortly reverted to a normal upright orientation and brought his captives to the unusual room Allory had spied from afar.

Inside, the temperature was far cooler. A tall, excessively fat Faroon sat in a bowl of tepid water, enjoying a cool, moist breeze blowing from an aperture in the floor just ahead of him. Several dozen other Faroon worked at various stations around the room at tasks she could not fathom – but one spoke openly to a trio of Scintillant Fae, while a pair of Faroon watched a huge terrarium that dominated the back of the room, clearly styled to resemble a jungle environment. It held at least four or five dozen Scintillants who perched upon branches with a disconsolate air.

This was all she saw before the Spinlord dumped her into a metallic silver vat which already held – she counted quickly – nine trussed spiders. Not the friendliest crowd.

The huge Faroon glanced up, his steely grey eyes assessing the delivery. His huge lips pursed. “More mental instability amongst your spinner minions, Spinlord?”

The spider nodded gravely.

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“We will address this issue. Leave them with the others and return to your labours.”

Another quick nod.

Clearly, the spiders were on the lower end of the food chain.

For a few minutes, she waited and listened to the sounds in the room. Allory caught the tail end of a report being delivered to the Faroon, whom they called the Chief Magesmith, relating to the activities of the breeding programme in a place called Mixmyre Marshes nearby. They blamed the poor results of the Faroon breeding on a lack of sea salt in the environment, but other creatures – the Men of Maugaz, Plains Fae, several subtribes of Trolls and various beasts of transportation – were all showing excellent progress. The Faroon Magesmith made recommendations for changes to several recipes and incantations used in the faeforges and ordered one particularly unfortunate colleague who was accused of gross incompetence to throw herself summarily in the lava lake.

Judging by the scream that briefly sounded outside, job done.

After that came several additional experiments to be performed on the Scintillants. The Magesmith was wholly underwhelmed by his team’s efforts and demanded more scientists and better tests or he would be throwing more riffraff into the fiery cauldron.

Guess that worked for motivation.

Better or worse than the Kera-du-Kerakarool? Perhaps they had merely learned their god’s ways and wished to repurpose them for maximal effect?

“– spinners,” she heard.

A moment later, a grey Faroon hand appeared over the edge of the vat, holding a pole with a hook on the end. Half an eye peeked as well, perhaps as much as this smaller Faroon scientist could manage. As the net dipped the trussed spinners all shrank back – all save one, who writhed to push Allory against the hook. The movement caused that grey eye to blink. Up she went, the hook digging painfully into her lower stomach area. The Faroon tossed her casually onto a worktop and went back for another.

“What are you doing, Scientist Hassbisstariss?” the huge Faroon called.

Hassbisstariss! Older, more weary-looking, no longer the pouty youngster she had been. Coincidence? Allory shivered as the scientist made a flicker of her tongue that appeared to denote respect.

“I intend to take behavioural observations, o Great Slithering Magesmith. Previous dissections yielded no results that pointed to any physical or magical differences, so I thought –”

“I thought I ordered a dissection?”

“Your wisdom is ever the path I shall slither in, Great Magesmith.” Allory’s eyes popped as she observed the interaction. Veiled flirtation? “Forgive my errant ways. How many would you recommend I dissect before continuing with other vectors of investigation?”

For a second, the disguised Scintillant thought she might be spared.

The huge lips pursed. One finger stabbed toward Allory. “Why do you wish to observe that specific one?”

Hassbisstariss did not miss a beat as she hissed, “Another spinner just tried to push this one onto my hook. O Magesmith, this one’s a survivor amongst their millions, just as we Faroon survive the birthing nests on the beaches – the other spinner’s actions mark this for a fact. We will learn from this one. She is chosen.”

The great one’s eyes appeared to spark with remembered pain.

“Your psychological games are naïve but your mind is as sharp as Faroon fangs,” the Magesmith noted coolly. “Dissect two others and present full comparative notes to me this afternoon. Place this one in the vivarium with the Scintillants. I want you to work directly with the Scintillants from now on, Scientist. The Wraith demands we plumb the secrets of these Faerie but to isolate the specifics of their talents and abilities is proving to be a most vexing conundrum.” He squirmed comfortably in his pool. “Later, you and I shall share a fresh ronto-gerbil together and discuss the slime-trail of your future in a more … comfortable setting.”

“Great Magesmith, your approval is my greatest reward.”

Gross.

Allory could not see past Hassbisstariss to gauge his response, but after a few seconds there must have been some kind of dismissal, because the younger Faroon turned to the workbench. When she picked up a blade it was with a trembling hand. While she cut the supposed spinner free of the silken webbing, Allory observed her reactions. There could be no doubt that Hassbisstariss was in fear of her life. Every iota of her body language proclaimed it. Was this how the Faroon lived? She had thought their travails completed after escaping the carnage on the beaches.

Their entire culture appeared to be steeped in trials related to survival. The odds of living to a ripe old age must be slim indeed.

“Prepare my scrying bowl!” the large Faroon bellowed suddenly.

Bending close to the spinner, Hassbisstariss said, “Quickly now. Let’s put you away. You’ll help me, won’t you? I see the understanding in your eyes.”

She did? The spinner gave no sign or response. What magic or talent did this Hassbisstariss possess that she displayed such insight?

Apparently, she was supposed to climb the girl’s arm. This one had no fear of spiders? Unfathomable. Allory scrambled aboard. Amidst a kerfuffle as the junior Faroon helpers prepared a wide but shallow silver laver with what appeared to be a special lemon-yellow liquid, she found herself shooed into the vivarium.

“Bring over three Scintillants!”

Her escort glanced up, divining correctly that she was the object of this command, and quickly slithered along to select three Fae from the crowd. They made no move to resist.

When she presented the trio to the huge Faroon, he hissed, “Aye, and let’s see if we can’t keep them alive this time, alright? Bring the askûo-ortimë extraction tubes!”

Allory gasped. She knew that term. Yaarah had described its foul meaning.

Was that Faroon one of the Seven? If so, she might be in far greater danger than she had imagined.

Yet all she could do was to watch in mute, helpless inaction as the Faroon prepared the laver, setting it before their leader and filling it to the brim. Following a second’s hesitation, Allory decided to climb one of the branches to gain a better view. Be casual. Don’t obviously watch. The Faroon leader loomed over the bowl, reciting a long incantation. His pudgy hands waved repeatedly until the liquid became preternaturally calm and clear, acting more like a mirror now than a liquid. Meantime, his assistants stuffed the three luckless Scintillants into a large glass tube each and sealed each end with a cap imbued with an oily, restless power that made Allory’s mandibles ache, in this unaccustomed form at least. The three tubes with their prisoners were clipped to the edges of the laver, about halfway submerged.

Now, the enchanter’s voice deepened and quickened, spilling a rattle of syllables over the mirror-still water.

She did not hear the Scintillants scream, but their anguish stung the ichor throughout her body, and she saw their faces contort, their little hands hammering against the glass before each tube suddenly misted from the inside with azure sparkles and the prisoners could no longer be seen, just the occasional imprint of a hand or body or wing as they thrashed about in mortal pain.

A picture formed in the laver, shimmering with stolen Scintillant power.

Her spinner legs curled up in pain.

“Where is this?” the Faroon inquired.

One of his assistants checked his notes before saying, “It is a place called Ermagi Castle in the Kingdom of Eldarion, o Great Magesmith.”

Everyone watched the tiny figures of Dragons in that picture as they wheeled and swooped about the tall, square battlements of a handsome castle surrounded by much smaller rooftops, a Human town of several thousands, Allory concluded. Tiny gouts of flame rushed from their mouths. Rooftops burned; Humans clad in strange, blocky black armour rushed to put out the flames. Allory could only image the destruction as the tribe of Dragons systematically torched the buildings.

The Faroon waved his hand over the image, appearing to concentrate upon the faraway Dragons. His Scintillant victims shrieked in their glass tombs as he ruthlessly plundered their power.

Allory shuddered.

Another assistant said, “They grow savage, Magesmith. All is as we intended.”

“Aye, our influence waxes strong,” the leader agreed, “but this can never be enough. We need to push the Dragons harder before we can sunder their allegiance with the Elves.”

Allory could bear the extremity no longer. Reaching out instinctually with her mind, she sang a Dryad-like song of healing over her suffering kin. Subtle as silken thread, it returned those it so delicately bound to the light of life.

“Soon, these Dragons will be mine!”

The Magesmith’s outcry was cut off by a sharp report – three reports – as the glass tubes shattered and the Faerie within fluttered out.

Go! Fly! Allory yelled at them in her mind. They scattered with gratifying speed.

Across the chamber, the Faroon’s eyes darkened with an influx of power which was becoming all too familiar to her. Freeze! That was no Faroon after all …

Gazing at the vivarium, the Wraith entity hissed with great satisfaction, “Ahh, one of our Scintillant captives has betrayed his hand. One inside has the power of restoration. We will find out which one it is and wring out of it the knowledge we require. Soon, the ultimate power will be mine!”

Recoiling from the hammer-blow of the Wraith’s hatred, Allory felt her spinner-form falling, but she never landed anywhere.

Instead, the dream kicked her back to reality.

Hard.