They had bound her and exiled her to the deepest part of the wood, from which there had always been an ancient, primal and great power emanating. The council had deliberated and decided that that power would suppress her own and she would be powerless and weak, and her atrocities could never be repeated.

The lush green of the outer wood was gradually replaced by the corrupt blackish purple of the Spider’s influence, the closer they got to the centre of the wood. Spiders as large as rabbits skittered away from them as they approached. None of the fell animals would approach them, but many silent eyes observed their passage from the safety of the brush. The forest felt alive, but not in the nurturing, vibrant way of the outer wood. It was hungry, and they travelled directly into its maw.

The path was forged centuries ago and led to an ancient altar deep in the forest, at the site of which they had bound her ten years ago. Although ancient, the path was clear. It was as if the forest itself feared to encroach on the Spider’s domain. Twisted trees and thorny bushes crowded close, but dared not block the way.

The Ranger led the way, bow in hand and arrow nocked and ready, his head constantly pivoting from side to side, scanning the brush for threats. In the outer woods he had moved with the practised silence of one whose domain was the woods, but now the air and trees were still.

‘This is as deep as I have come since her imprisonment,’ he muttered more to himself to the others. ‘We are close to the Spider’s Grove.’

For a wood so deep, an eerie silence hung in the air around them, penetrated uncomfortably by the Ranger’s words. Alaric crouched, eyeing the corrupt plants on both sides, and drew his dagger. He continued to lean on his staff for support as they went deeper into the woods, but found more comfort having a blade in his hand.

The path was straight but a heavy mist hung in the air so they could only see a dozen paces ahead. The Ranger stopped. He held up his arm to gesture to the others to follow suit, then pointed to the brush on their right. Hidden in the shadows of the underbrush, they saw something unnatural glinting in the eerie purple light of the forest. A series of spikes, coated with a dark, glistening substance. Poison.

‘A trap… already disarmed.’ The Ranger pondered.

‘She knows we are coming,’ Alaric responded. ‘She welcomes us.’ The Ranger threw a glance back to Alaric.

‘Do not let your guard down.’

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Darius strangled a groan and pointed ahead.

Two shadows, the shapes of men, stood silently and watchfully in the mist ahead, blocking the path ahead. The Ranger drew his bow and took aim. The three men crept forward cautiously.

‘Who goes there!?,’ demanded the Ranger.

They did not respond verbally. They moved aside, revealing the way between them. Both raised one arm, pointing deeper into the wood, silently indicating for them to proceed.

The figures became clearer as the Ranger continued his approach. Their eyes were vacant, their mouths hung slightly ajar. They wore tattered remnants of guardsmen uniforms, their insignias barely visible through years of grime and decay.

The Ranger’s eyes flickered with recognition, and he whispered to Alaric and Darius.

‘Guardsmen, once. Charged with the duty of binding her. Two of the four with that charge.’

Darius felt a chill run down his spine. ‘And now… they serve her. Why?’ The Ranger’s muscles bulged as he relaxed his bow, but he cautiously kept his arrow on the string.

‘The Spider's power is great and insidious,’ the Ranger said. ‘She can bend weak, distracted or fearful minds and wills to her own, whether she is bound or not. These men are no longer who they once were.’

The shadowy figures began to move, slowly leading the way through the thick fog, their steps in unison and their movements unnatural. The path behind the trio was swallowed by the mist, and the thought of going back filled the three of them with nightmarish dread. What choice did they have? They followed.

‘Do not look back,’ said the Ranger. ‘We are in the Spiderwood now, and things are at play far beyond the power and influence of the Spider. There are things this deep in the forest that no man should witness, and that no man would survive.’

Darius cast his mind back to the one guardsman who had survived to return to the village after binding the Spider. He had returned, rambled his report to the council and less than a day later, launched himself from the waterfall that fed the village from the mountains. Darius wondered what role the content of the Ranger’s words had in driving the man to madness.

Finally, they emerged to a clearing. The fog and trees surrounded it, but inside the ring of trees it was clear. An ancient altar, covered in vines and glowing with a foreboding purplish light jutted out of the centre of the clearing. The figures stopped at the edge of the clearing and parted so that the three could pass through.

‘She awaits,’ they intoned. Their mouths did not move, but the sound echoed simultaneously from their agape mouths.

Darius paused for a moment of doubt, looking back the way they had come. The mists of the path roiled and pulsed with a life of its own. Dark, indescribable shapes, defying logic and reasoning, flickered within its depths. The mists seemed to whisper to him in a language that was never meant for his or any mortal’s ears, a cacophony of madness that gnawed on the edge of his sanity. To turn back into those mists would be to enter a nightmarish realm beyond comprehension, a realm infinitely worse than death.

With a shiver, he entered the clearing.