Spiders are misunderstood creatures. Besides the giants in the tropical southern edge of Daksinsthan, most don't pose any threat to humans or livestock. They're content living their solitary lives, ambushing prey, mating, reproducing, and doing general spider things. If not for spiders, harmful insects, pests, and vermin would plague most settlements. All they ask in return is to be left alone. The few clever or arcane enough for awareness beyond their basic needs also enjoy the freedom of doing Maka Dee, the Cosmic Spider's bidding.
Maka Dee has lived under many names and worn several more faces. Unlike most deities and cosmic entities, she doesn't demand worship or human sacrifice. They could sustain her, of course, but she hates the taste of most intelligent species that worship her. Instead, she collects stories and uses their eternal magic as her lifeblood and the fuel for her spells.
The agents of the Maka Dee linger in the shadows of every courtroom, office of influential people, and dungeon where something foul is afoot. They are brilliant sources of information, and the corners are ideal for spiders to weave their webs and tales. After all, a sentient spider that doesn't settle somewhere of importance is no different from an ordinary arachnid. The ancient broodmothers always preach the importance of real estate.
Location. Location. Location.
Silksworth couldn't be prouder of her newest assignment. She wasn't the only spider at her current posting, but she was certainly the youngest. The pentagonal room with the black table had the greatest mortality rate in the brood’s domain. Many a sentient spider perished within its vicinity. It was bad for her dwindling tribe but an incredible opportunity for one hoping to get noticed by the local broodmother. She served Maka Dee’s herald and every spider who wanted to be someone needed to win her favor.
A bite ceased her prey's struggle. The blighted lizard had ripped a third of her pristine new web. Silksworth resolved to take extra time when draining and devouring its fluids, keeping it alive for as long as possible. Her instincts told her it was an innocent wild critter, but her post also involved looking out for other spies, and she intended to treat it as such. Information gathering was a competitive field, and the brood couldn't allow others to beat Maka Dee's herald to the juiciest morsels.
A third presence flickered into existence at the table below. He had a physical presence, unlike the meeting’s other attendees. Now, three of five seats were occupied, and Silksworth could hear the beginnings of a conversation. So she left her prey wrapped in a silk cocoon before rappelling down from her beautiful corner. She stuck to the shadows and moved slowly. Overconfident and hasty spiders were almost always the first to die.
A unique emblem adorned each chair. The brood mother had taught all her little minions what each meant. Most spiders struggled to differentiate between human faces. As a result, emblems were the best signifiers of a person's identity and allegiance.
No one sat under Silkworth’s favorite emblem. The well and hornet signified the Plaguebringer. Hornets, wasps, and bees were among her favorite meals, and the insignia almost always spurred a happy dance. Silksworth was a working spider now and resisted her urges. Instead, she committed the scene to memory for reporting and settled to wiggling her pedipalps.
The rumor mill claimed the Plaguebringer's seat had remained empty for just over what the humans called a year. The Cabal had dedicated several resources to finding an inheritor for the responsibilities and the spells necessary to use the title. Much to their annoyance, the former Plaguebringer had experimented on all her apprentices and killed them. The few candidates that remained alive lay trapped on a titan's back or refused to affiliate with anything related to their former master.
A broken, blood-soaked blade marked the second empty chair.
“Would it kill Warmonger to attend a blighted meeting?” Grumbled the almost skeletal man sitting under the hood and scythe emblem. His voice always made the hair on Silksworth's legs quiver. “This is the third missed meeting. We all have busy schedules. Why does one member not need to take time out of their days—”
“Warmonger is busy whispering in an Imperium vassal’s ears,” said Calamity, sitting under a bronze plaque displaying a cracked world. Storms and giant mushrooms covered it. “With Plaguebringer's seat still empty, war is our most reliable source of bloodletting to keep the ritual fueled. You were present when we approved Warmonger’s absence. Is your senility interfering with your responsibilities? Instead of complaining, Deathwalker, I'd suggest you report for meetings on time. Your tardiness is grating on me.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Deathwalker snorted. “Relieve me of my position? Kill me?”
“You, of all people, should know there are fates worse than death. Unlike Plaguebringer, you are easily replaced. Don't forget that.”
“Is that a threat?!” Deathwalker’s arm rattled when he slammed the table with his fist. His speech had a grating sound to it. The sound reminded Silksworth of her previous posting in the castle guard captain’s quarters. The old, fat man often ground his teeth in his sleep. “I’ll show you—”
“Can we not fight?” The third person at the table stifled a yawn. His insignia displayed a parched field with a shriveled, malnourished man lying on it. He was Famine and looked the opposite of the man on the emblem. He’d been the first to arrive at the table, and Silkworth studied him closely until his presence left her craving a second dinner. “Every moment spent fighting is a moment wasted. I have things to do and places to be.”
“Fine.” Deathwalker sighed. “How are things on your end?”
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“Droughts to the south and floods to the north,” Famine answered. He stifled another yawn as he spoke. The man appeared to be struggling to stay awake. “I’ve been redirecting all rain away from Alkebulan to the Han and Nihon. I think they’re just about desperate enough.” He grinned, rubbing his belly. “Perhaps it is time we send envoys with food. They’ll pay whatever price we quote, and the treasuries should be ripe for the picking.”
“Good,” Calamity said, taking notes. “Do you have your list, or should I—”
“No. No. I know what we need from the royal vaults. I wish Warmonger were here. She’d get a kick out of my latest updates. The Hans and Nihons are ready to war over the remaining fertile patches. There are already minor skirmishes and raids going on over magicked food stores. They just need a little push.”
“I know it's tempting, but you should resist. We might find valuable allies among them.”
“I’m aware,” Famine replied. “I might just drop a sandstorm here and a hurricane there for shits and giggles. A terrified and desperate population will be easier to subjugate.”
“Any luck finding new agents in the Trade Empire?” Deathwalker asked Calamity. It sounded like he had already calmed down following the arguments.
“No. The Gedges did too much damage. We’ll need to find someone new and innocuous.” Calamity sighed. “Do you have anyone?”
Deathwalker shook his head. “I have no new contacts in the Imperium, and there aren’t many suitable candidates where I am now. Daksinsthani ghouls will be too inconspicuous to get the job done.”
“So? What are we doing about the Gedges? Should I send a Reaper after them?”
“Not Edward Gedge,” Calamity answered. “We might still find a use for him. He did well in Smythe’s cell. I blame the failure on poor leadership.” The oldest Cabalist paused, studying the Titanic map before them. “His father, on the other hand, deserves death. Should we make an example of him?”
“What’s the point?” Famine asked. “Only your subordinates and Warmonger’s personal agents know of their involvement. They’re elites and loyalists.”
“Even more the reason to remind them of the cost of failure,” Deathwalker rumbled. “What about Ygg? Neither the tree has fallen nor does Niddhogg serve us. Something needs to change in the city for the ritual to succeed. Otherwise, all will be for naught, and Woodson’s blighted delvers will be at our doorsteps.”
“Kris Greengrass has fallen,” Famine said. “Woodson lacks the right agents to foil our plans, and unless our agents in the Imperium Inquisition have turned—”
“Warmonger keeps them in line,” Calamity added.
“Then, we don’t have much to worry about.”
“I disagree.” Calamity took a couple of more notes. The other spiders claimed she trusted none but herself for accurate logs of their meetings and plans. “Her apprentices live, and Nox Ratra especially concerns me. My agents claim he had a personal hand in the failure of the mana-battery operation and the well’s demise. I don’t know how minor—”
“He’s just a Journeyman.” Deathwalker interrupted. “How big a threat could a child be?”
“He achieved Adept not long before Plaguebringer fell,” Calamity clarified. “I initially assumed he’s just another warlock that’ll eventually fall to his master’s whims. Then my latest reports claim he has a binary star system, and this happened following his Terrastalia visit. It would be short-sighted of us to ignore the kid. He’s climbing the social ladder, building a profitable business empire, and developing alchemical creations designed to target expert dungeons. We need to deal with him.”
“Fine.” Famine yawned. “So, Deathwalker can send a Reaper after him. Why are we wasting time talking about a nobody? So what if he has a binary system? My spies report Nox Ratra’s mana burn has worsened. He’s half a climber and focused more on his relationship and business. He’s no major concern.”
“I agree. Let's kill him and be done with the matter.”
“Whatever damage the boy’s mana system suffered is fixable,” Calamity said. “He’s got a binary mana system and is a talented alchemist. Considering his familial ties and political connections, I think Nox Ratra is too valuable a person to just slaughter.”
“What are you suggesting then?” Deathwalker asked.
“If and when he fixes his mana system, he has excellent potential as an antimage,” Famine stated. “Perhaps Calamity or war can turn him to their service.”
“Or, we could guide and help him meld his gifts. Then, the boy could succeed where Plaguebringer failed. He’s somehow connected to Terrastalia’s new lord. We shouldn’t just stop using the boy. I say we turn him into one of us.”
“He might as well be a babe!” Deathwalker exclaimed. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
“We don’t have enough inheritors for the Well of Pestilence to be choosy,” Calamity continued. “The lad, apparently, has a dark side to him. I say we manipulate him into becoming one of us. The ritual needs all five seats filled. We won’t have enough time to prepare unless the next candidate is selected, trained, and ready in the next couple of years.”
“Fine.” The ancient Cabalist sighed. “Please tell me you don’t expect me to go after him. I’m in the middle of raising a new lich.”
“Don’t look at me,” Famine said. “My magic won’t work around the city until Ygg falls. I need to stay away unless you want to give up our control—”
“No. You focus on your projects. The rest of us will figure something out.”
Calamity wrote in her giant tome as she spoke. One too many spiders wandered too far from their webs, hoping to get a better look at her notes. Silkworth’s ambition drove her forward, too. Reporting a glimpse of the journal’s contents or information regarding the Cabal’s newest target would certainly earn her the broodmother’s favor. Perhaps it would lead to a promotion and a meeting with the great sky spider’s herald.
“Spies?”
Famine shrugged. “The keep needs better pest control. Lizards. Spiders. Maggots. I know we are rallying against mortal life and its freedom, but can’t we maintain a better meeting space?”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring your magic into my domain,” Deathbringer rattled.
“He’s just showing off.” Calamity waved dismissively. “Let him have his fun. The longer he stays awake, the more of the agenda we get done.”
All moisture left the air just as she was to enter the light. Then, spiders started falling from their strings one after another. Famine’s eyes moved to the ceiling while Deathwalker and Calamity continued their discussion. The rotund man grinned sleepily. Silkworth didn’t know whether he had sensed the sentient spiders or chose to kill the arachnids for the fun of it. She tapped into her recently solidified core and channeled mana into her eyes and thread. Silkworth studied the tome and transmitted all she had learned through the weave, hoping the tale would reach brood mother before all her spies died.