“It is your task to control your men,” scowled the mage. “Why should I endanger my mages to make your task easier?”
“There are a number of reasons,” the premer said threateningly, “but the most important one is that your mages are surrounded by two hundred thousand of my men, and they don’t care much for mages. I will not dictate how you use your magic to kill the spiders, but I do demand that you accomplish it tonight.”
“You are threatening me?” balked Cymelange. “Do you know what my men could do to yours?”
“I am quite well versed in your skills and tactics,” Cardijja replied steadily. “I also know that without my men to protect your mages, none of you will survive this trip into Fakara. Your mages will be immediately evicted from this encampment as soon as this meeting is over. You may lead them into battle against the spiders, or you can set up your own camp in the jungle. Either way I will have your mages between my men and the spiders. If you decide to attack us, you will have enemies on both sides of you. The choice is yours.”
“You wouldn’t dare?” gasped the mage.
“I can, and I will,” asserted the premer as he marched to the tent flap.
He held the flap back as he shouted orders to the men outside. The orders were to escort the mages to the eastern perimeter of the camp after calling the camp to alert. Cardijja turned and glared at the mage when he was done.
“My decision has been made,” Cardijja said softly. “Now go and make yours.”
Cymelange spat on the ground as he stormed out of the tent. He snarled at the soldiers grabbing their weapons as he stomped towards the mage area of the encampment. By the time he reached the mage area, most of the black-cloaks were gathered in a large knot. Their voices were raised as they argued about how to react to the growing knot of soldiers gathering nearby. There was an air of concern and confusion, and all of the mages looked towards the leader as he approached. He slowed his pace as he tried to think about his approach to the situation. As much as he detested Cardijja and wanted to repay the premer for his actions, he was more concerned about the survival of his mages. He decided to act positively towards the assignment.
“We are all going to exit the camp and take the fight to the huge spiders that you have heard about,” the leader announced loudly. “I want groups formed by specialty. The first group will be illumination. I want the jungle lit up as if it were high sun. Fire mages will be in the vanguard. When we find one of these spiders, I want it incinerated. Also, test the webs for flammability. They may try to trap us.”
“What about ground trembles?” asked one of the black-cloaks.
“I doubt that quakes will do much to the spiders,” frowned Cymelange. “Their webs will weather the spell. Perhaps ice or lightning might work, but we will try fire first. It may well cause fear in the other spiders and drive them away.”
The mages took the news well, and Cymelange sighed with relief as a thousand black-cloaks prepared for battle. He mentally vowed revenge on Premer Cardijja, but that was a matter that could wait until after the spiders were destroyed. Within an hour, ten separate columns of black-cloaks filed into the jungle like the spokes of a half-wheel.
Cymelange chose one of the center columns and joined the hundred mages as they started into the dark of the jungle. Bright projectiles shot skyward from the vanguard of the columns, and the jungle brightened somewhat. At first the magical spells only produced an eerie glow, and the long shadows gave the foliage an ominous look, but as more projectiles were sent skyward the glow increased to a daylight appearance.
Cymelange’s eyes scanned the dense foliage as he followed the column away from the Motangan encampment. The plant growth in the jungle grew with abandonment with only small paths meandering through the foliage. The narrow paths could hardly be called trails, but the leaders of the columns did their best to keep the groups separated. Cymelange nodded with approval even as it became difficult to keep the other columns in view as the mages spread out in a ever-widening arc. Small creatures made noises as they leaped or slithered through the undergrowth to hurry away from the invaders. Cymelange paid no attention to them. His eyes searched for the monstrous spiders that the soldiers had described.
Before long, Cymelange was unable to see any of the mages other than the column he was hunting with. He began to wonder how far into the jungle they would have to go to find the first spider. More bright projectile shot into the air and the mage gazed upward. He could tell from the wide arc of projectiles how far apart the columns had progressed. He smiled in appreciation of the discipline of his men. The projectiles were evenly spaced, which indicated that the column leaders were proceeding as they had been taught.
An hour passed by slowly as the columns drove deeper into the foreign jungle. The mages were starting to get bored with the expedition, and Cymelange wondered if he could merely return to the camp and declare that the spiders had been defeated. Premer Cardijja would have no basis to disbelieve him. Come morning, the mages could once again go searching without having to waste magical energy on the brightening spells. He was seriously contemplating issuing such orders when a scream was heard far to the right.
The column halted as all of the mages turned and gazed in the direction of the short scream. The other columns were no longer visible, and looking towards the right yielded no information as to the cause of the scream. Cymelange immediately wove an air tunnel and moved it towards the right of the column. He spoke his name softly into the air tunnel as he slowly moved the far end of it farther away from himself. Within moments another Motangan mage picked up the other end of the air tunnel and reported no problems other than hearing the lone scream farther off.
Cymelange continued moving the air tunnel from column to column, each of the mages reporting no problems. He frowned when no one from the last column picked up his air tunnel. He continued moving the air tunnel around in search of the missing column, but no one would answer him. That is when the scream was heard from the left. Cymelange spun around and extended his air tunnel far to the left. He did not waste time asking each column if things were alright. Instead he tried to make contact with the outermost column. He could not.
“We are being attacked on our flanks,” Cymelange announced loudly. “I want all spokes of the wheel to start converging so that we meet together within the hour. Each of you make contact with one of the other columns with an air tunnel. I want you to maintain contact until we all gather together. Report anything that sounds suspicious.”
“Are we turning around and heading back towards the camp?” asked one of the nearby mages.
“No,” answered Cymelange. “I want to converge deeper into the jungle. To return now is to have lost men without a victory. I will not yield to creatures that think that they can scare us. We will go deep enough to put the creatures between us and the camp and then we will attack, driving them towards Premer Cardijja’s men.”
The column remained stationary for several more minutes as mages called out to the column that they would communicate with. When all of the air tunnels were in place, the column continued onward. They had progressed for fifteen minutes before one of the mages spoke.
“I just lost contact with the column that I was monitoring,” announced the mage. “There was no warning or cry of attack. The other end of the air tunnel just dropped.”
“Reestablish contact,” advised Cymelange. “Perhaps he tripped over a root or something.”
“I am trying,” frowned the mage. “No one is answering.”