Her spear sank into its back, and for a moment its face took on an almost pitiable countenance as its nails reached back, digging for the shaft. Its death-scream was blood-curdling.
For a moment they were transfixed there by the sound, and then they heard another sound, the sly, deadly shuffle of feet against the bare rock, coming from the mouth of the cave.
Trapped.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The second spider came slow-dancing around the ledge on eight long, delicate, coarse-haired legs. It hissed, and the hair on the back of Max’s neck stood up and danced as he saw it more clearly. It was five feet tall at the shoulder… or at the thick of the body, if that was the proper way to describe it. He couldn’t take his eyes off the jaws.
Johnny Welsh said “Shit!” and backpedaled. He faced the rock wall and tried to squeeze himself flat. “Trianna, get behind me. You too, Max. I’ll try a shot.”
At its widest the ledge was barely wide enough. Trianna eased past Johnny’s back, deliberately lascivious. Fun to watch, but only the corner of Max’s eye caught it. He was dancing backward, fending off eight darting horn clubs and spikes as the spider advanced.
He was pushed past the wide spot… and now the ledge was too narrow to change places. The spider, with absurd and disturbing delicacy, crawled around the turn of the ledge and attacked.
Max swung at one of the legs, and was partially relieved when his usik passed through it. Then he remembered how little difference that made. This thing could chill him pretty damned quick. And if he even thought to mock its insubstantiality, the earth was likely to open up and swallow him whole.
The leg flashed red, but the creature had an edge-three of its legs carried clubs. One of them flagged up and down, flashed out at him. It crept forward a little further on the ledge.
Johnny and Max struggled. There was just enough room for one of them to edge around the ledge, and Johnny had the gun. There wasn’t enough room for them to change places, but they were determined to try.
They squeezed together, Max momentarily embarrassed by a quick attack of homophobia, quashing it as Johnny’s breath warmed his chest.
“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Johnny said. “People will say we’re in love.”
“Har, har.”
Trianna screamed, “Watch out!” Johnny turned around in time to yipe and raise his rifle. A club hammered down, striking sparks from the barrel. Johnny moaned, whether acting or serious, Max couldn’t tell.
It did look a lonnnng way down.
Johnny was past him now, and Max backpedaled as quickly as he could to give Johnny the range and space that he needed. Johnny leveled the rifle and fired.
The creature’s right eye flashed red like something in a pinball game, then winked out. Unfortunately it didn’t slow down. One of the clubs lashed out in a semicircle, and Johnny’s leg went red.
Johnny hobbled backward and fired again, and again. The club lashed out. Johnny hopped back, dodging as best he could on one good leg.
The entire spider-beast was mostly red before it finally collapsed. It pulsed on the ledge and then tumbled over.
The three returned to where the ledge was widest. There they paused to check Johnny’s leg. The red flashing was beginning to fade, but hadn’t died out.
“Better than a bite.” Trianna breathed a sigh of relief. “The flashing probably would have gotten worse as the poison spread.”
“What should we do?”
She thought for a minute. “Well, I guess we could bandage it, and then you just be careful, and maybe we’ll get through all right.”
Johnny slipped his belt out of its hoops, and bandaged his leg with it. “Think this’ll do?”
“It better,” Max said. “Let’s get going.”
The Amartoqs were gathering in the forest of jagged slabcrystals. Eviane watched… until she felt the huge slab beneath her feet begin to shift.
Hippogryph lowered the point of his spear, confused. The creatures across the divide hissed and gibbered at him, shaking their fists.
“What in the hell is going on?”
“Earthquake?” But Eviane knew different. It felt wrong. It wasn’t the random movement of tectonic plates, nor the movement of a melting labyrinth of ice. The motion was deliberate and… dare she say it? Controlled.
Behind them a gap had opened that was at least five yards across. Below it was darkness and slow, sluggish coils of sound. Something was moving down there, and she didn’t like it even a little.
Ollie hung back, looked down. “Jesus Christ!” he screamed. His face curdled with shock, and he staggered back.
The headless Amartoqs attacked.
There were six. They moved with grim sureness. Their arms hung so low that their blackened claws raked the ground. The faces, sunken into those swollen bellies, leered at them.
They were slow, and that was all that saved the Adventurers in the first moments of the attack.
Eviane howled and darted in, her enchanted spear drawing first blood.
Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion-except that the Amartoqs couldn’t seem to keep up with the dervish Adventurers. Ice and stone grew neon-red with blood. The monsters fell one after another, and she found herself fighting side by side with Hippogryph, who wielded his spear well.
Her spear was magic indeed! She sliced effortlessly through monster flesh, and with every stroke she slew another.
As the last of them went down, she realized that something was wrong.
Hippogryph was staring at the forest of slabs. The six Amartoqs they had fought were only the beginning. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, were emerging now. Their long heavy nails scratched along the slabs of ice and masonry like nails on a blackboard.
“We’re dead,” she said, almost matter-of-factly.
The creatures emerged another foot, and then the hideous sunken faces in the bellies looked out questioningly. Something that could only have been fear shone in their misshapen faces. They froze where they stood.
In spite of herself, Eviane turned and looked back over her shoulder… and the old recurring nightmare began again.
The slab had opened. The misshapen, octopus-headed thing, the thing from the gulfs, had begun to worm through. It was hideous beyond imagining, and Ollie had time only to scream “Chthul-” before one of the fanged cilia had him, had lifted him into the air, and was carrying him down toward the awful, gaping mouth.
“Ollie!” Eviane had time to scream, and Ollie’s eyes met hers. She thought she saw a message there: I won’t die like this!
The instant before that ghastly mouth would have swallowed him, Ollie’s hands ripped from his bandoleer, the makeshift belt which held flare grenades and sticks of dynamite. With an audible snick he pulled a brace of rings free from the incendiary flares.
There was a painfully brief scream of defiance, and Ollie disappeared in a flash of light and thunder that dimmed the auroras. In that light she caught a glimpse of the thing hiding down in the darkness, and wished she hadn’t.
It hissed and spit in pain and indignation. The damaged tentacle zipped back into the ground. The slab slammed shut with a thunderous roar.
Sour smoke hung in the air. The ice was littered with corpses. On the far side of the plateau lay something shattered and smoking. She didn’t want to go and look.
“Come on,” Hippogryph said. “The others need us.”
She stared at him. She had foreseen death, but not Ollie’s. Now she saw death in Hippogryph’s face. Was it real? Was it for him?
He turned, uncomfortable with the intensity of her gaze.
Snow Goose saw it, but didn’t really believe it. Orson, protecting Charlene, was a totally different person.
Backlit by the discharging satellite, his bulky figure moved not with grace but with great energy. She heard him mutter, “Here’s where Orson the barbarian battles the bloody beast that blocks their path-”