Curse of the Spider King (27 page)

“Lothriel, come here!”

Kiri Lee turned back to face her attackers.
Who?
“There must be a mistake! Please, don't—”

The gray blur of another knife whizzed by her shoulder and left a spidery crack in the window. The two figures advanced toward her, each carrying another knife. Kiri Lee was cornered.

She backed up against the window bench and screamed, “Mom, Dad, help me! Help!!

“We're trying to help you, Lothriel,” the male voice said.

Why do they keep calling me that?
“You have the wrong person! I'm not this Loth—
whoever!
I'm Kiri Lee!”

Lightning flashed. She saw the intruders for a split second. Kiri Lee's heart stopped. Standing in the middle of her room, clutching knives, and wearing those weird smiles . . . were her parents.

“For the last time, come here!” they roared.

“No,” she whispered. “No! This can't be real.” Louder, “Please no!”

Knives held high, her father and mother inched closer.

Kiri Lee's heart raced as she turned and stepped up on the bench beneath the big window. She looked out through the glass, then back at her parents. She whispered, “God, please help me.”

She heard the words of a familiar Bible verse in her mind and recited it aloud: “For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Her parents ducked and stumbled as if they'd been struck. They shook it off and raised their knives once more.

“. . . nor height, nor depth . . .” Kiri Lee looked out the window and realized what she must do. In one swift motion, she leaped at the window, shattering the glass, and went flying out into the cold night air.

24

A Dark Cascade

KAT WAS buckled into her seat, sandwiched between Mr. Wallace and Anna. Aside from the three of them and a stewardess who walked by every now and then, they were alone in the front of the aircraft. Kat still couldn't believe this was happening.
What will my parents think
when I don't come home?
she thought.

Kat turned to Anna. “You know, it might have been better to have me call my parents. I mean, the letter you left my parents might be convincing and all, but it won't matter. They'll call out the National Guard to find me.”

“We know,” Anna replied.

“You know? Well, . . . why didn't you have me write a note saying I ran away or was at a friend's for a sleepover or something?”

“Because that would be untrue,” said Mr. Wallace, leaning in. “We try not to lie.”

“What do you call these fake IDs?” she said, removing a handful of cards and a passport from her purse.

“You incorrectly deem them fake,” said Mr. Wallace. “But they are actually truer than any identification you already carried.”

“Right,” said Kat with a smirk.

“It's true, Kat,” said Anna. “Though Kat Simonson is the name your earthly parents gave you . . . it is not really who you are. California is not really your home.”

Looking at her name on the passport, Kat shrugged. “Fat chance I'll ever answer to the name Alreenia Hiddenblade. Alreenia?” Kat laughed. “Come on.” She shook her head. “And, Anna, how did that last name not trigger a security alert?”

Anna shrugged. “I'm glad it didn't. Otherwise, it might have been awkward.”

“We have four more hours in the air, Kat,” said Mr. Wallace. “I suggest you continue reading. The more you understand, the better. You have eight hundred years of history to catch up on.”

“Anna said that before,” said Kat. “How can that be? I'm only thirteen.”

“Thirteen years on Earth,” explained Mr. Wallace. “But in Allyra, more than eight-hundred years have passed. As near as we can tell, one Earth year equals sixty-six in our homeland.”

Kat squinted, working out some figures in her mind. “So how old are you two then?”

“Nine hundred seventy years,” Anna replied.

“A thousand twenty-two,” said Mr. Wallace. “And a half.”

“A thousand twenty—what?” Kat laughed, but then she became quiet. As she thought, a smile curled in one corner of her mouth. “Are Elves . . . am I immortal?”

“Not immortal,” said Anna. “We live two thousand years, maybe a little more.”

Kat frowned, thought some more, and then asked, “Does that mean . . . if I stayed on Earth, I'd keel over and die when I turn thirty?”

“That was quick calculating,” said Mr. Wallace.

“I've always been good at math,” Kat replied. She cast a teasing smile at Mr. Wallace. “Much better than at social studies.”

“So I remember from last year,” said Mr. Wallace. “But no, you would not have died at thirty. While on Earth, you age as humans do.”

“Oh,” said Kat. “That's a relief.” She started to open the book. “One more thing?”

“Sure, Kat, what is it?”

“How did you know to give me the book? How did you know that I was an Elf? My ears aren't pointed.”

“They would be,” answered Mr. Wallace, “had the Drefids not dared to put a blade to your flesh.” He brushed a few strands of Kat's pink hair over her ear. “We hold out a slim hope that your ears may regenerate once you return to your world. But, to answer your question, it was your skin color that first drew my attention.”

“The poly?” Kat scowled. “Ugh, I hate it.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” asked Anna. “Your skin is striking.”

“Strikingly weird.” Kat smirked. “Ugly.”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Wallace. “You are the daughter of Beleg and Kendie Hiddenblade, pureblood among the race of Berylinian Elves. In Allyra, your skin color is less rare, but nonetheless, it is considered exquisitely beautiful.”

“You mean . . . there are others?”

“Thousands, Kat, just like you,” said Mr. Wallace.

“Like me?”

“Well, not quite. They cannot read minds.”

Kat sat in stunned silence. She'd never—NEVER—thought of her bluish skin as beautiful before. And to think that there were thousands like her . . . was almost too much to grasp.

“Kat?”

She blinked and found Anna and Mr. Wallace staring at her. “I'm sorry,” said Kat. “I was lost in thought.”

“Whose thoughts?” asked Anna.

“Just my own.” Kat smiled. “I can't read minds whenever I want to. The only time it worked when I tried was with you, Anna, back at my house. The other times, it just kind of happened.”

Mr. Wallace rubbed his now stubbly chin. “It may be that your gift has not yet matured fully. Perhaps it only manifests in times of stress or great emotion. Or great need.”

Kat didn't answer. She stared at Mr. Wallace, concentrating every thought. “Bummer,” she said. “It still didn't work.”

“It will come,” said Anna.

“Now, read your book, young Elf,” said Mr. Wallace.

Kat smiled, shrugged, and opened the book, removing the tassel from where she had left off. She was ready this time. She took a deep breath and touched the text on the page. The cabin lights blinked, the air grew chill and drafty. An arrow shot out of the book and disappeared into the overhead compartment just as a flight attendant walked by. Kat laughed softly.
She didn't notice. To her, I'm just a passenger completely
immersed in a good book.

A
n arrow glanced off Cathar's iron helmet. “Shrenleks!” The Gwar overlord growled out an epithet for the Elves. It meant
Treekissers
, and this small force guarding the northern tree gate was causing more trouble than Cathar thought possible.

Elf warriors held their positions on the grand set of stairs that led through the gate onto the hilly plateau of the deep forest. The gate itself was the opening to a vast tunnel formed by massive living trees—its pillars, large tree trunks—its roof, thick branches. Other Elf soldiers stood guard at the actual gate and waited for the onslaught that was only now on their doorstep.

The main host, thousands of infantry and dozens of Warspiders, continued to surge down the street devouring the forces of Berinfell like poultry pecking at corn kernels in a chicken coop. But it was not without loss, for the soldiers of Berinfell had taken out three Gwar for every Elf to fall.

Cathar's real objective—fleeing Elven citizens (mostly women and children)—was in sight but maddeningly out of reach. Cathar grunted. He had wanted to finish them off by himself. He turned and looked up to the top of the Elven cathedral, where six large, red Warspiders and their Drefid riders waited. Cathar loosed two short blasts on his war horn and motioned to the Drefin high commander that the time had come.

With eerie speed, the lethal red Warspiders clambered down from the cathedral's roof. Cathar watched them go to work using their swordlike forelegs to skewer their enemies; the red Warspiders driving straight through the fleeing Elves. Tyrith and the other Drefids fired arc rifles into the Elves at close range, causing many to be engulfed in perilous blue blazes. Between the spiders and the fire, a clear path had opened for Cathar's forces. And Cathar wasted no time leading his troops through it.

“Good. They see their doom coming,” Cathar muttered. He watched the Elves emerge from the sewers and race madly toward the tree gate.
Odd,
Cathar thought.
The Elves are usually so protective and careful with their children.
But look at them! They are in such terror that they drag their children like rag dolls.

All in vain
, thought Cathar as his line of Gwar and spiders caught up to the fleeing Elves. They didn't even turn to fight or ward off a blow. They just fell to the street and went under the claws of the rampaging Warspiders.
How easy it was!
Cathar exulted as his forces rode down the enemy. But halfway to the tree gate, something went wrong.

An arrow whistled past Cathar's ear from behind. Cathar reined his Warspider to a halt. Had one of his men fired an errant shot? He turned and looked back. The battle was still thick behind him. The Drefids and Gwar support troops continued to press the obstinate Elves. In the writhing melee it was difficult to tell, but it seemed to Cathar that his Gwar soldiers had been thinned by a third. And at least several Warspiders were gone. Still, in the waning moonlight, it was hard to tell for sure.

Cathar ordered a team of his soldiers into the sewers and then spurred his spider forward. He led his Gwar raiders to the foot of the tree gate and watched as a dozen or more Elven citizens climbed the steps and clambered awkwardly through the arched entryway. “What are you waiting for?!” Cathar bellowed to his troops. “After them!”

Ten Gwar warriors lumbered across the street, up the stairs, and beneath the boughs into the tree gate. Mere moments after the Gwar were out of sight, there came a great commotion from within. Cathar heard deep, throaty screams that could only come from . . . from his Gwar troops. The tree canopies shook, and from the outside it seemed as if the entire tunnel-like passage quivered and swayed. The agonized screams rose in pitch until, one-by-one, they ended.

But this could not be! Against women, children, and old ones?

“What is this?” Cathar muttered. He turned to see if the Drefids behind him had taken notice, but they were still busy with the Elves.
Good
, he thought.
I'll take no chances this time
. Cathar motioned to Vulmark, one of his commanders. “Take your Warspider and twenty lads. See what that's about!”

“Yes, sir!” Vulmark chose the Gwar infantry he needed and urged his spider-mount forward toward the tree gate. They entered. Cathar waited. If anything, the ruckus that occurred was even greater than before. This time, joining the howls of the Gwar, came a wretched
SCREE
from the Warspider and a horrendous
CRACK
like a large limb being torn away from a tree.

Then there was ominous silence.

Cathar waited a few heavy heartbeats. “Enough of this!” he growled. “Must I do everything myself?” Cathar gathered three more commanders: Marlock, Kreegan, and Skolch. Together with six Warspiders and more than sixty foot soldiers, they approached the tree gate. The soldiers fanned out on the stairs, and the Warspiders drove up the middle.

Nothing moved from the shadowy arched entryway. Slowly, Cathar advanced his team into the tunnel. The Gwar overlord held a Gwar hammer in one hand and a loaded arc rifle in the other. Once they passed into the darkness and their Gwar eyes adjusted, Cathar saw that scattered about the tunnel floor was the dismembered carcass of a Warspider and many still gray forms. And up ahead was a dark mass.

Cathar sneered. Something was there. He lifted his arm and fired the arc rifle. The arc stone kindled as it raced away, contacted something fifty yards ahead, and exploded in a massive blue fireball. The flash died away but left a whipping fire burning at the base of a large tree. Huddling in clumps on either side of the fire were many Elves. Cathar could see their large, frightened eyes glimmering. It was just as he had suspected, mostly women, children, and men bent with age. “Kill them . . . all!” he commanded.

Marlock and Kreegan spurred their Warspiders forward. Their Gwar infantry marched after them. Not twenty yards ahead, the Warspiders screeched and stopped abruptly.

“We are snared!” Marlock yelled. “Something's in the trees!”

Even as he spoke, more cables of dark rope sailed out of the woods on either side of the Warspiders. Each line had some kind of grappling hook on its end, and each one wound itself around and fastened to the upper leg of one of the spiders.

Cathar watched in a trance as more Elven citizens seemingly materialized between the trunks of the trees on either side. Teams of Elves grasped the ends of these cords that were wrapped around the sturdy trunk. They pulled the ropes tight and then . . . kept pulling. The Warspiders resisted but found their limbs overpowered and stretched; they fell hard to the ground and gnashed their jaws in pain as their limbs failed and tore free from their bodies. In that moment, the Elves dropped their cords and leaped out of the trees. They pounced on the spiders and their riders. A great spear pierced Marlock's breastplate, and he fell away. Kreegan jumped from his spider and tried to run but found himself cornered by three Elven women.