“All right,” said Sam, stepping up to the portal. “You’re going to stay close by?”

“We’ve had our fun,” allowed Harald. “We’re thirty Copper Moons the richer, and I’ve no desire to be swarmed. I’ll stay close.”

Sam hesitated.

“What?” Harald matched her stare. “After that last one, you think I’m going to go haring off into the dark by myself?”

“You’ve got enough scales on hand to keep your lantern burning for months.”

“Poor use of scales, if you ask me.”

“We almost got into serious trouble in that warren.” Sam’s brows lowered. “I should have known better and not let you convince me.”

“It turned out fine.” Harald hesitated. “Though it did get a little dicey there for a moment. But that’s what I’m talking about. I think a rest and some meditation will do me well. How long do you think you’ll be?”

“Depends on Vic and Nessa. If they’re back, I’ll talk to them, explain enough to bring them along, and use their writ to come straight here. The portal being open should mean I get transported to this location again.”

“Right.” Harald crossed his arm. “And if they’re not back, if they went to the 16th?”

“Then I’ll have to wait. The Iron Gate will only take me to the 1st Level, and I don’t have the funds to acquire our own writ on short notice.”

“Which means I’ll have to wait. It’s possible Vic and Nessa think we’re dead and won’t go to the house. Which means you’ll need to hunt them down. You can find Vic’s garret in the Shambles close to Victory Market. It’s a five story building, copper shingles gone to green, with a pawnshop on the ground floor called Second Remains.”

“Lovely,” said Sam. “Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that. Odds are they’ll take advantage of the manor while they can. Regardless. Hang tight and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“This plan is sounding more wobbly by the moment.”

To which Sam arched an impatient brow. “Got a better plan? No? Then sit and wait.”

“Yes ma’am,” grinned Harald, at which point Sam flushed.

“I mean.” She paused and gave her head a sharp shake. “Please wait here, all right, Harald?”

“No, I like your tone. It suits you. Almost as if you’ve been waiting years to use it.”

“Very funny. I’ll be back soon. Good luck.”

“See you soon, Brightest Star.”

To which she stuck out her tongue and then stepped into the portal, disappearing.

Harald took a deep breath and turned in a slow circle. It wasn’t a very defensive spot. The hallway ran what he’d arbitrarily decided to call north and south, with an intersecting hallway to the east. The stairs curved up to the second floor, where they’d done all their fighting these past hours.

Four methods of approach. Sitting here with his lantern shining would be to invite trouble. But then, where should he go? Up ahead to the north was the haunt light, which wasn’t inviting, while to the south the hallway rapidly faded to darkness.

Harald frowned and turned in a slow circle again. The darkness felt more pressing, the air damper, the occasional clinking of the chains that hung from the ceiling more oppressive for Sam’s absence.

It wasn’t just her company. He’d rapidly grown used to her Beacon of Hope aura. It had been sporadic, sure, but each time it returned he’d found himself more centered, his will renewed, and his courage tempered.

Ah well. He’d have to learn to live without it.

And Sam.

“Now you’re going to start talking to yourself,” he said, and smiled at his own humor. Uncertain as to what to do, he simply sat on the second lowest step and took out his blade to clean and sharpen it.

The metal had been warped by the statue on the 47th Level, so that it had darkened, grown iridescent, and taken on a brittle feel. The flex was gone, and had the ashen walkers not been so soft he was sure the blade would have snapped by now.

Harald frowned. He should have asked for Sam’s sword, though it hadn’t been in much better shape.

Soon the edge was returned and the dust and black smears wiped from its length. He kept it balanced across his knees, and resisted the urge to dive into his Cosmos and observe his Ascended Throne. He’d be oblivious while down there, which wouldn’t do, would it?

So instead he drew out some hardtack and smoked sausage from his pouch, and set to eating it as slowly as he possibly could.

Time passed.

The 4th Level only grew more disconcerting the longer he sat in silence. Every so often he’d hear a desolate moan echo from the far distance, and leap to his feet, blade raised in anticipation, but nothing ever came.

“Damn haunts,” he’d mutter each time.

It didn’t help that despite there not being a breeze the hanging chains had a habit of clinking and tapping against each other for no reason.

He spent time examining his window, reviewing their fights, and thinking through his powers and their possible implications. Why had his Demon Seed approved of his class? What might Vorakhar say if he discovered Eclavistra’s meddling? What was this celestial war? If it were merely between demons, wouldn’t it just be more accurate to call it a ‘demonic’ one?

With no way to tell time, Harald had lost track of how long he’d been sitting there when he heard a subtle shuffling sound coming from the large archway that intersected with the main north-to-south hallway.

He froze.

That was new.

The shuffling grew slightly louder.

Something was coming.

Several somethings.

He cast around, then ghosted up the steps to where they curved out of sight and there crouched, reducing his lantern’s glow to the barest ember.

Blade over one shoulder, heart pounding, he peered down into the broad hallway and waited.

Ashen walkers emerged through the arch. They were in no rush, and dragged their feet as if reluctant to even move, swaying in that hypnotic manner as they went, as if pulled forward against their will.

Four. Six. Harald cursed inwardly when he saw eight, and then backed away in alarm as they began to ascend the stairs.

He scampered to the second floor and stepped out into the familiar hall. There was no way to go but north, to the T-junction. Constantly glancing back, he jogged ahead, stepped into the eastern branch that led into the distant hall of landings and stairs where they’d killed their first walkers, and there considered.

They’d funnel into the intersection, and then have to decide which way to go. If they turned west toward the first warren, he was fine; he could simply back far enough into the passage that they’d not see him.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

But if they turned east? The corridor ran forever before emptying into that strange hall with the three alcoves. He’d have to stay ahead of them, then descend and brave the spider to reach the exit past the haunt light.

“Damn,” he whispered, rubbing his chin and peering back toward the stairs. His lantern light didn’t reach nearly that far, so instead he closed his eyes and listened.

The shuffling sound was growing louder once more.

Harald took off at a lope toward the strange hall, ran for some thirty seconds, then stopped and turned back again. If he heard them again, it was because they were still following him.

Thank the angels they didn’t react to distant light.

Harald closed his eyes again and listened. It was hard to hear anything over the thud of his heart. His brow prickled with sweat. They couldn’t be tracking him, could they? They’d be moving with more urgency if they were. But how could he be sure? What if they continued to follow him wherever he went? He’d have to shake them, find a way to -

There.

Shuffling footsteps.

“Damn it,” he hissed again. He’d seen eight, but that didn’t mean more hadn’t followed out. Eight was too many, this hallway too wide. They’d flank him, eventually encircle him, tear him apart.

With no choice in the matter, he ran on down the corridor, controlling the urge to sprint, and soon saw the pale blue of the haunt light far ahead. A moment later he stepped through the archway onto the small landing, and moved to its edge to peer out again into the deep hall.

They’d left the walker corpses where they’d fallen, and descended into the hall to check out the alcoves, only to beat a hasty retreat at the sight of a giant spider crouched in the depths of the second one, immobile as a statue.

The sight of it had nearly given Harald a heart attack. He’d jerked back with a cry, arm flung out to stop Sam, and near dragged her up the steps to the second landing. It had been sable black and covered in bristling black wiry hairs, the size of a large dog, its furry fangs as large as machetes, and it had possessed two massive forward facing eyes that had gleamed like drops of oil in his lantern light.

“No web,” he’d told Sam when she’d questioned his fear. “No web means it hunts. Maybe jumps. You want to tackle that thing while it’s leaping at you?”

She’d stared at him strangely, as if not understanding his fear, but then again, she’d never fallen into a tree stump while exploring the Rambles in the massive Angel Park that dominated the heart of the quarter. A stump full of thousands of white spiders that had rushed all over him as he’d screamed and flailed until his father plucked him out and hurled him into a pond close by.

He’d had nightmares about those little pearlescent spiders for months. Dreamt that some remained in his hair, behind his ears, in the crooks of his elbows and knees.

Spiders.

He hated spiders.

Looking down now into the deep hall, he felt his skin prickle with horror. Eight or more ashen walkers, or a sprint past the spider below?

It was a testament to how much he loathed spiders that he turned and tried to calculate the odds. He could fight in the archway, then give ground by retreating down the steps, killing them as they came. Two at a time, though that one had leaped across the gap to attack Sam, meaning he might be flanked on the way down. But if he…

No.

Harald all but groaned.

“Fuck.” He spat the word out as if it tasted bad. It hadn’t reacted the first time. Maybe it was asleep? Did spiders sleep? Who the hell knew? But he had to make a decision, and fast. Sprint past it, possibly rousing it, or try to creep by? If his Aura of the Aching Depths activated due to the presence of an enemy, that’d silence his footsteps but probably terrifying the hell out of the spider. Did spiders attack when spooked?

Harald felt the urge to dither. To just waste time arguing with himself on that top landing until forced into action by the arrival of the ashen walkers.

But that would be the height of stupidity, and his new clarity of mind recognized the trap. Fine, he was terrified of the spider.

He would still act.

He navigated the corpses, trotted lightly down the steps and paused at the base of the second flight.

The great dark alcoves were set next to each other on the hall’s far wall, running down the first half of the room to the dozen steps that led down to the haunt light.

Harald took a deep breath.

He’d sprint. Spiders probably felt tremors or whatever, maybe the hairs on their legs were sensitive to air currents. If it was a hunting spider, then it would clearly be good at detecting passing prey. Creeping past it was too risky. This way, at least, if it leaped he would already be dashing past it.

Harald propped his longsword over his shoulder in a lazy man’s Roof guard, took a final breath, and then burst into a run.

First alcove.

Second alcove with the -

- holy shit the spider the spider - !

It exploded out of the alcove, front legs extended, little more than a blur.

Harald screamed and twisted wildly. As fast as he was going, the spider was going faster, and he knew, he knew there was no outrunning it.

He twisted and fell, swinging his longsword around in the wildest slash he’d ever made. He had a brief glimpse of the spider’s underside; the leap had brought its back legs into play, so that it came at him like a hairy flower, eight-petalled, its bulbous abdomen extending straight behind it.

Frantic with terror but keeping control of himself, Harald fell beneath the spider even as Aura of the Aching Depths flared up and Abyssal Attunement turned his blade the purest black. It cut deep into the spider’s underside, and a pulse of energy flooded into Harald even as everything became hairy legs and scratching wires.

Then it was gone, off him like a shadow fleeing the noon sun, scuttling back into its alcove to disappear through a crack at the back.

Harald lay on his side upon the buckled flagstones, unhurt, with milky blue ichor splattered over his hip and thigh.

“Fuck,” gasped Harald, all eloquence fled. He stared wide-eyed at himself, not believing he’d escaped unscathed, then peered into the gloom at the back of the alcove.

There was a jagged crack through which a six-year old might squirm to their doom, and two glistening threads of spider silk affixed to the rear wall, looped across the hallway’s floor, and then cut off halfway back.

Had it been his Aura of the Aching Depths aura that had terrified the spider? Maybe? It was still just an insect, right? Perhaps touching the abyss, and then feeling that nothingness bloom in its side when Harald had struck had caused it to run like hell.

Harald blew out his cheeks, half-elated, half-terrified, and then saw the first of the ashen walkers appear on the landing above.

He scrambled to his feet and snatched up his lantern.

The walkers turned to begin descending, then paused at the sight—smell?—of the corpses.

Harald began backing away slowly toward the halfway stairs.

The front two walkers raised their wasp-nest heads jerkily, movements no longer languid, and oriented on him.

“Fuck!” Harald gave up all pretense of creeping and leaped down the stairs, taking them four at a time.

Silence from behind. What was it with this floor and silent hunters? The spider, the walkers - !

He hit the floor running and dashed through the azure haunt light that flooded the rear of the hall. The spirit barely had time to begin manifesting when he was out the far side, shoulder hitting the wall as he stepped onto the narrow band of darkness, and ran to the final alcove, which he and Sam had assumed was an exit.

It wasn’t an exit.

Instead the alcove ran back about four yards, then ended in a shelf of rough stone. A dark cloth had been stretched across it, and on this lay a skeleton, a green blade running down its center.

“Fuck!” Harald glanced around wildly. How many raiders had died screaming that very word? He darted back to the alcove entrance and recoiled.

The walkers were leaping down the steps, ropy arms thrown out wide, leaning forward as they poured toward him, only to stop just shy of the haunt light.

Harald stood there panting, his stance deep, blade raised in the Plow.

But the walkers seemed to have abruptly calmed down. They swayed from side to side as if peering through smoky glass, then began to sidle out wide around the periphery of the haunt light.

Couldn’t they see him through it? Had he disappeared?

Harald took a deep breath and set his lantern down by the mouth of the alcove. There were ten walkers. They formed a wall of alien bodies just outside the glacial blue radiance. With smooth coordination they spready out along its curvature till they formed a cordon with less than a foot or two between each one.

“What?” Harald’s voice sounded profane in the silence. “You don’t want me anymore?”

Why weren’t they attacking?

There were ten of them. That made them extra smart, right? Or extra smart for ashen walkers. They probably knew they could swarm him, overwhelm him. But his alcove lay just barely beyond the haunt light, scooted into the very corner.

If they came at him en masse, most of them would be forced to fight from within the ghastly radiance.

Oh…

Harald grinned. “Not worth coming after me if it provokes the haunt?”

They were fixated on him, but as one began swaying, as if rooting themselves to the spot.

Harald didn’t lower his blade. His gaze flicked from one to the next. He couldn’t sprint past them. No gap was wide enough, and if he stopped to fight his way through he’d summon the haunt. Same problem they had. Unless he could cut one down swiftly and then dart past the others without being grabbed.

They’d be ready for that, though.

If they were as smart as Vic had intimated.

The moment Harald ran into the light, they’d probably bunch up.

Perhaps he could feint, run one way then cut to the other.

But ashen walkers were frighteningly fast in large numbers once they snapped out of their trance.

And a mistake would be lethal.

Uneasy, pulse racing, Harald stood still and watched them.

The pool of haunt light was just over twenty feet in diameter and filled the rear of the hall but for a dark strip along the back wall. This shadowed corridor was some five feet wide on the side opposite Harald, narrowed in the middle to perhaps one or two feet, then broadened again to another five where Harald stood.

“Fuck,” he whispered, but this time in resignation. He glanced up and around, searching for a gap in the wall, a means to escape.

Nothing.

The ceiling was a good thirty feet up and enshrouded in gloom. It was feasible that there was a tiny passage up there, but he’d no easy way of climbing, and who was to say the walkers wouldn’t swarm him the moment he put his sword away to climb?

He was trapped. Well and truly trapped.

“Fuck,” said Harald again, heart pounding as he straightened. “Fuck.”