image [https://i.imgur.com/3RW9T8D.jpg]

I dropped my shield and Scorched the bugbear for 38 damage. Between my casts and glancing blocks to its ungainly swings, the thing had lost half its health. The bugbear’s weapons looked ideal for plucking immobile victims from a bed of skewers, not a standup fight against a level 17 warrior.

Something shifted against my ankle. It looked like chicken coop wire. For a second, I thought it served as another trap or snare, but the thin wire mesh held the false floor I’d fallen through. Something had covered the pit with pine tree needles.

Fighting off the grillwork-encased zombie wasn’t tricky, but keeping my balance and avoiding the spikes wasted time. Judging by my Slipstream cooldown, I’d been in this hole for a few minutes, which amounted to a lot of time during combat.

After killing the undead bugbear with Scorch, I cast Mineral Communion to scan the pit for false entries or exits. The spell’s vision yielded a view of a few chaotic scenes of undead kobolds digging the hole and the bugbear waiting inside, but little else.

Erring on the side of caution seemed like the prudent thing to do. To join the topside battle, I activated my robe’s ability to reset Slipstream and launched myself out of the pit.

Fabulosa kneeled over something a dozen yards away.

I ran to her, hoping that it wasn’t a fallen ally.

Fabulosa turned to face me and exhaled when she saw I wasn’t an enemy.

As I approached, I could see her looting a corpse. I neither saw nor heard signs of combat.

I’d wasted my robe’s ability for nothing. “Are you kidding me?”

Fabulosa’s forehead furrowed with confusion. “What?”

“You’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Well, nothing—it’s just that you guys left me down there. I didn’t know what was going on. Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. C-Belle told us she left you fully healed and fighting only a level 8 green. We put down a horde of goblin and kobold undead. They kicked up quite a ruckus, but nothing we couldn’t manage. It was kinda fun. I assumed someone would fetch you eventually.”

I took my turn to exhale in annoyance. “Well, I wasted my robe’s reset ability to get out of there. I thought you guys were in trouble. I couldn’t hear anything.”

Fabulosa lost track of the conversation and examined her Phantom Blade. “To tell you the truth, I am busier managing this thing. These fake attacks confuse me. I’m thinking this saber wasn’t the bargain I thought it was.”

Ignoring her complaints, I looked around.

A level 11 Charitybelle approached from the other side of the clearing. She waved and smiled.

I forced a smile, waved back, and surveyed the carnage.

Bodies covered the ground. The wiring and fasteners around the zombies had the same work as the wrought iron bugbear, giving them a robotic appearance. Metalwork joints replaced severed limbs—some ended in hooks and blades where hands should have been. The weapons extended from the grillwork.

I examined the closest corpse. The work looked crude, not smooth or shiny. Tiny spurs and imperfections covered the surfaces, and the thickness of the blades varied.

The Sternways returned to the clearing. Iris gestured. “Look where the zombies came from. They were supposed to drive us here.” She kicked the edge of the pit.

As the only one who’d taken the bait, I’d inadvertently warned everyone else about the pit. If we’d stayed together and all fallen in, the zombies would have likely fallen on top of us. I didn’t care to speculate about our fate if we all landed in spikes.

Stolen novel; please report.

Fletcher scanned the trees. “And the spy-spiders didn’t attack. They only waited in the wings and watched.”

Charitybelle’s eyes traced the webs of metal. “The trap is sophisticated.”

Iris shrugged. “It doesn’t surprise me. Weavers are supposed to be smart, but I think we’re facing a young one. These fittings are nowhere near as refined as an artisan zombie. Their craftwork is legendary. This is only basic, functional handiwork.”

Charitybelle put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m still impressed. These zombies are stupid, but they attacked all at once. Someone’s pulling their strings.”

Fletcher shrugged. “I don’t know how weavers work, but I’ve seen reproductions of the Moretti etchings. His zombies are exquisite in a macabre way, though there’s no telling for their accuracy.”

Fabulosa pointed at a kobold trussed in metal threads. “You’ve seen these things in paintings?”

Fletcher snorted in disbelief. “No, I’m talking about artisans! These zombies are rubbish, but artisan zombies are….” He stopped and searched for words. “Imagine a zombie covered with gold grillwork, inlaid glass, ornate gem fittings, and etched crystal—sublime as a cathedral. That’s an artisan—and the odd bit about them is they’re not evil. I heard stories of them visiting court. They don’t talk or pursue agendas—their existence seems benign. They’re animated works of art. Artisan weavers release zombies to show off.”

Fabulosa arched an eyebrow. “Weaver’s care about their rep?”

Fletcher nodded. “Some say they’re assassins, guards, or used to spread disease, but I suspect it’s just rumors. As far as I know, they’ve attacked no one.”

Fabulosa considered the point. “Or at least, no one’s survived an attack.”

Fletcher shrugged to concede her point. “So these must be practice zombies—sketches.”

Charitybelle wrinkled her nose at the conversation. “If they’re artists, should we not kill them?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Love. Weavers are as evil as the dark side of Tarnen. What they do to their victims is dreadful.” Fletcher tapped a nearby kobold with the toe of his boot. “I mean, look at these poor devils.”

We finished searching through the bodies and moved on. The bodies had no loot and only cracked cores.

I led the way to the web’s center, using the rest of my buff, Mineral Communion, to scan the ground for hidden mesh screens and snares. As the concentric curves of the walls got tighter, it felt less like an outdoor adventure.

We progressed enough to see what dominated the center of the maze. A hollow cone of webbing rose from the ground like a metallic tornado. The shape impaled the dirt like a spike, and I guessed the spider traveled through it. The tube likely served as a conduit from the earth to the treetops.

Four giant oak tree trunks surrounded the central metal shaft, each as thick as a house. At the nexus, the canopy ceiling rose fifty feet. The limbs from the massive trees branched ten yards off the ground, spreading overhead like footbridges disappearing into the opaque cover of evergreens.

Metal nets of kobolds and goblins in various stages of exsanguination hung like clusters of spent tea bags. Spy weavers gathered beneath them, feeding off of the bodies. They weren’t just the eyes and firefighters of the operation—they comprised its dependents.

Charitybelle tapped on my shoulder and whispered so only I could hear. “Do you see these curved webs ahead?”

I looked at the curtains of metal in front of us and nodded.

“Something about them bothers me. This reminds me of an abattoir.”

“What’s an abattoir?”

“It’s a slaughterhouse. My friend’s dad worked at one and gave us a tour. They use curved walls to draw the hogs forward. Straight walls intimidate animals. Sharp angles look like dead ends and cause the hogs to balk. Modern slaughterhouses use curves. If hogs jam up, it stresses them, making them more dangerous to kill.”

Charitybelle pointed to a part in the curtains ahead of us. “Look up there. All these curtains are curved. From this angle, moving forward appears more inviting. It looks like a way out, but yonder is the center.”

“I see what you’re saying. But we’ve got three people blazing Presence right now. That’s a lot of light—and it’s the only reason we can see the center from here.”

“If we only had a torch or lantern, we’d probably move towards the middle without knowing it.”

Charitybelle’s eyes widened. “Something made this layout to draw things inward. At first, I couldn’t place my finger on this maze’s purpose. Our maps and compass are spinning around, so if we were looking for a way out….” She waited for me to finish her sentence.

“…then, we’d probably move inward.”

She nodded. “And this canopy hides the structure’s size. See how the webs lean toward the center?”

“Okay. I see that, too.” I studied the vertical webbing column in the center. We stood 30 yards from the conical structure, the maze’s axis. The shaft punctured the ground like a giant straw.

Charitybelle continued. “The cone is hollow. We have to climb up and inside to go down. The entrance to its underground lair isn’t below us—it’s above us.”

Charitybelle’s gaze followed something else and pointed to the trees. “See those tendrils of copper? They converge at the top of the cone. I bet the weaver used them like electrical wires to galvanize the zombies into action. It’s like a control room, which explains the role of the spy weavers.

Fabulosa nodded. “And that’s where those clacking sounds came from.”

Iris didn’t seem perturbed. “Do you think we’ll need to go up there?”

Fabulosa shrugged. “Maybe. We should clear the center before trying. If we fall, I don’t want to land on something nasty.”

Everyone nodded except Charitybelle.

I gave her a big hug. “Hey, baby. How are you?”

My girlfriend leaned into the embrace but said nothing. When she nodded against my chest, I released her.