A Long and Restless Slumber: Book Two of the Druid Saga

By Jonathan Crocker

War in the Reverie rages on. The Bear Clan and the Serpent Clan continue their violent struggle, the conflict spilling over into the surrounding lands.

While a council is convened to appoint a new totem, evil silently sweeps through the trees of the north - the undead are rising, heeding the calls of their dark masters.

In the south, the Spider Clan lies in disarray. A spider army marches north, to the Aerie, while the heir to the barony is in hiding, the clan's leadership uncertain.

Sasha and her friends are fighting on all fronts, trying desperately to protect the sanctity and enchantment of the magical world, as well as the ones they love. But are they spread too thin? Will their efforts prove to be in vain?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Crocker
• Release date: Feb 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311007070

Jonathan Crocker

I was born in St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada on September 22, 1980 – I guess that’s as good a place as any to start a description of my life. I didn’t last long in Newfoundland, though, as my parents whisked my sister and I away to Ottawa in 1983. I’ve been living in the same neighbourhood ever since. My interest in stories goes back as far as I can remember – my mother assures me that I started reading at a very young age (Hooked on Phonics worked for me?). I think I still have a copy of The Little Engine That Could lying around somewhere. From there I moved on to mystery stories, like The Hardy Boys and Encyclopedia Brown. But it wasn’t until my early high school days that I discovered a real passion for books – when I first read The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien. That led, naturally, to The Lord of the Rings, and I realized that my personal tastes were very much in tune with the fantasy genre. I guess that it wasn’t much of a leap from there to acquire an interest in writing stories of my own. My grade 9 english teacher, Mr. Mageau, was the first person that I recall pointing out to me that I had a talent for writing. And my grade 11 (and 13) english teacher, Mr. Fromow, helped foster that talent – each of Mr. Fromow’s classes started with a 5-10 minute period where the students wrote in their writing portfolios. There were no directions or rules or instructions at all – just write. About anything. It was a very eye-opening experience for me, and I think that was what first spurred me to write for enjoyment. Despite that awakening, it wasn’t until my final year of university – when I was living, once again, in St. John’s for a year, attending teacher’s college – that I attempted to write a novel. You won’t find that novel available on this site, but I considered it a major accomplishment, and a milestone in my life. It led to the novels that are available on this site. My real life, on the other hand, has not progressed as smoothly. I entered university, in 1999, to study electrical engineering. It was a choice based not on what subject I enjoyed, but rather on what I felt presented the best job prospects. But it didn’t take long at all to realize that I would never be happy spending the rest of my life designing computer circuits or hydro vaults. So I made the fairly dramatic change to study english literature. Armed with my Bachelor of Arts, I then attended teacher’s college to become a full-fledged high school english teacher – just like those that had inspired me before. A new problem arose then – there weren’t really any teaching jobs to be had. I spent a few years supply teaching, but that wasn’t paying the bills (I didn’t actually have any bills, since I still lived with my parents – which is probably worse). So somehow, I was able to luck into a contract job with the department of Public Works, working as a project manager for real property construction projects. I’ve been doing that work ever since. I don’t know if it’s some sort of cosmic joke that the universe is playing on me, but I ended up in a job that is normally done by engineers. When I was an engineering student, nobody ever told me that project management was a potential career path. I enjoy my work, and I enjoy my writing, and I suppose that that’s all that I can really ask for.

Book preview

A LONG AND RESTLESS SLUMBER

Book Two of the Druid Saga

By Jonathan Crocker

Copyright © 2013 Jonathan Crocker

All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Tyler Edlin

Read all the books in the Druid Saga!

A Dream of Hope and Sorrow - Book One

A Long and Restless Slumber - Book Two

A Deep, Enduring Reverie - Book Three

Other works by Jonathan Crocker:

The Hummingbird Series

Out of Fire - Hummingbird: Book One

Out of Phase - Hummingbird: Book Two

Out of Time - Hummingbird: Book Three

Prologue

Anna let her feet dangle over the side of the smooth rock, the trickling water of the stream tickling her bare toes. Though spring had come early to the northern reaches of the Reverie, there was still plenty of snow and cold. But that had never bothered Anna. She enjoyed the cold caress of the creek, her feet swinging back and forth beneath her.

The sun was getting low in the sky, though, and she knew that she should be heading back to the village. She leaned over to pull her woollen boots over her feet and hopped down off of the rock. Then she reached up and grabbed hold of the basket that had been sitting beside her – a basket adorned with the emerald and silver emblem of the Serpent Clan.

Despite being barely ten years of age, Anna was often sent out into the forest to collect herbs and berries. Winter was a difficult time in the Reverie, and any bit of food helped. Nearly every meal was complemented with what few berries and herbs still grew through the cold months. The girl glanced into her basket and smiled to see that it was full to the brim, a variety of colours staring back at her. She was well versed in which were safe to eat, and which she should leave on the trees and bushes.

The girl swung the basket handle over her small shoulder and began trudging through the snow back in the direction of the village. On her first few treks into the forest, earlier in the winter, she had often followed her tracks in the snow back home. But she was familiar enough with the woods now – and the location of her favourite stream – that she could find her way without such tricks.

It wasn’t a long trip back to the serpent village, which was a good thing given that the last few sunbeams were fading away just as Anna strolled under the archway that marked the main road of the community. The small village was called Adder’s Creek, named for a large stream that wound its way through the surrounding woods and right through the middle of the town – it was part of the very same creek that Anna had recently been dangling her feet above, though it twisted and turned many times before reaching the village.

The first building that Anna passed was the blacksmith, and she could hear the clanging of hammer against metal, and smell the burning scent of the foundry. A coiled emerald serpent adorned the front door – every time that Anna looked at it her heart skipped a beat, it was so life-like. A number of people waved at her and she smiled at each of them, her little legs carrying her down the cobbled street. She was well known in the village, as her mother was the proprietor of the local inn.

It didn’t take Anna long to make her way to the door of the inn, and she could already hear the bustling crowd gathering inside. Her mother’s inn was the chosen drinking hole for many of the village’s inhabitants. It made it hard for Anna to sleep most nights, as the joyful commotion often lasted well into the morning, but she didn’t mind. She liked spending time with people – the women liked to play with her hair and provide her all sorts of inappropriate advice about how to woo men, and the men liked to tell stories about magic or long-forgotten battles.

Lately, though, there were few men to be found at the inn. Nearly all of the town’s men had marched west to join the war against the bears. There was a handful of old men remaining in town, and a dozen or so teenaged boys. But the only middle-aged man who had stayed behind was the blacksmith, and he hadn’t stayed willingly – the man had only one leg, his other having been cleaved clean off at the knee many years before. He bore an iron peg from the knee down, as he had to support his weight while he hammered away at his forge.

Anna pushed through the front door, her pale blue eyes twinkling as she entered the common room of the inn. Several voices called out and waved at the sight of her, and she eagerly waved back. But before she had the chance to return their greetings, her mother was upon her.

It’s dark out, Anna! Where have you been? her mother asked. I nearly had to send Old Carter out looking for you.

Mama, I’m fine, the girl insisted. I know the way.

But her mother was having none of it and practically dragged Anna across the room, towards the kitchen, and away from the boisterous crowd.

Let’s at least see what you managed to get, the older woman said, snatching the basket from around Anna’s arm. The woman smiled when she pulled away the cover and saw that berries and herbs were full to the brim. She ran a hand over Anna’s head, running it through the girl’s long flaxen locks, before telling her to run along and play until supper was ready.

Anna wasted little time in obeying, scurrying out of the kitchen and back into the common room.

* * *

Anna’s plate was empty, save for a few straggling crumbs. She always had been a fast eater, and now she was busy pestering Old Carter as he tried to polish off his serving of venison. There wasn’t much meat to go around, and most plates had more of the herbs and berries that Anna had scavenged than they did helpings of the dried meat. But Old Carter always got his share.

He was late into his fifties, but he was still stout enough. Too old for the war, he had been told to stay behind and protect the village. And while he took that task seriously, he spent most of his time gossiping with the women or playing with the children. The war was far to the west, after all. What danger was there in the small village, save for the odd rogue wolf or bear that wandered too close to civilization?

Tell you what, little one, the old man said. You go find a hiding place, and when I’m finished this here plate, I’ll come find you.

Hide and seek was one of Anna’s favourite games, and she knew all sorts of the nooks and crannies of the weathered inn. She smiled and scampered off, looking repeatedly over her shoulder to ensure that Old Carter wasn’t cheating and watching her. But he seemed more intent on his food than her direction.

And don’t hide in the broom closet again! he did call out, chuckling.

But Anna had been saving a hiding spot for their next game. It was one that she had discovered only the week before, when helping her mother clean the hallway on the second level of the building. One of the floorboards was loose, and Anna was able to lift it up and slip her small body between the floor and the ceiling of the common room below. Most importantly, though, she was able to peek out through the cracks between the ceiling panels and keep an eye on the room beneath her. She found that to be rather convenient as she watched Old Carter swallow his last piece of bread, wipe his mouth on his sleeve, and stand up from his chair, his head glancing around. She had to stifle a giggle, knowing that he’d never think to look above him.

Old Carter didn’t get the chance to come looking for Anna, though – a commotion from outside of the inn caught his attention. Most of the inn’s patrons had stopped their lively conversations to turn and glance towards the establishment’s front door. Anna wasn’t sure what to make of the sounds at first, and she didn’t have a good view of the entrance from her crouched hiding position.

A rickety sword hung always from Old Carter’s hip, and he was fingering it as he hobbled off in the direction of the door. Anna couldn’t see him open it, but she heard the creak of the wood that accompanied the motion. And then she heard the sounds much more clearly – a scream from the night pierced the air of the inn’s common room. Her eyes were wide as she tried to get a better look. She couldn’t recall ever hearing such a terrifying sound.

Old Carter’s voice was carrying in from the street now. He was calling after someone to stop and desist. Anna had no idea what was going on. Her eyes settled on her mother’s face, and her mother appeared equally unsettled. Anna wanted to call out, or even crawl out of her hole, but her fear kept her rooted in place. And she was lucky that it had.

Someone had entered the common room, but she could tell that it wasn’t Old Carter returning. She could hear the footsteps, and she could see the horrified expressions on the faces of her friends and family. But she couldn’t see what it was, despite trying to angle her small form around for a better look. Muffled gasps filled the room as people jumped up from their seats.

A myriad of screams broke the silence as people exploded into motion, most trying to run. But the only exit was through the front door, which seemed to be blocked by an intruder that Anna still couldn’t see. A few people ran for the kitchen, perhaps hoping to climb out the window. Everything was happening so fast and Anna lost track of her mother in the chaos.

And then it entered her line of vision. It had the shape of a person, but it didn’t look like any person that she had ever seen. Save for a few wisps of long, stringy hair, it was bald. Its skin was rotted and gray and its eyes were lifeless and empty. Anna might have thought it a corpse – having seen a few dead bodies in her time – if it hadn’t been up and walking around the room. Her mind couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing, but she was horrified all the same.

That horror only grew when the rotting creature reached out and grabbed hold of a woman. The thing appeared to be much stronger than a normal man. The woman had no chance and the creature’s crooked teeth were ripping into the flesh of her throat a moment later. Anna screamed out loud, but nobody heard her above the commotion below. She quickly covered her mouth, realizing that she couldn’t afford to give away her position.

More of the rotting figures were moving about the room now, and Anna couldn’t tell how many of them there were. One of them was holding a rickety old sword in its hand – a sword that she recognized well. Anna’s eyes found her mother then, blood gushing from an open wound in her side. The girl hadn’t seen it happen. She would have screamed again, but the breath was stolen from her lungs as her body trembled and tears flowed freely from her eyes.

Anna silently pleaded with her mother to get up and escape. The creatures had left her alone to die, bleeding out on the wooden planks of the common room floor. But the girl could make out numerous wounds on her mother’s body now, and she knew that her mother wouldn’t get up again. Anna could no longer control her sobbing, and she dropped her head and closed her eyes, curling her body and wrapping her arms around herself. She was shaking, and though she knew that she needed to calm herself, she found little comfort in her sorrow.

Her mother was dead. Her friends and neighbours were dead or dying. Why? What were those creatures? None of it made any sense to the child, and it likely never would. Her father had already left for the war many months before, and now some other fight had found its way to her home and claimed her mother.

It was several long minutes before Anna was able to slow her sobs and still her trembling body. She chanced another peek through the cracks in the ceiling below her. A new figure was striding into the room as she looked down – but it wasn’t another monster. It was a man. She couldn’t make out his features from above, but something did catch her eye. Around his neck he wore a glowing green amulet. She had never seen anything like it. It seemed almost to be pulsing, emitting a bright light.

The man looked around at the bodies that littered the room. The rotting creatures seemed to have moved away to give this man space. He paid them little heed, and didn’t seem at all disturbed by the blood and gore laid out before him. Instead he sat down at one of the abandoned tables and snatched up a piece of bread, dipping it in the juice from a slab of venison before tearing a piece off with his teeth.

Anna had no idea how a man could eat in the middle of that scene. But he seemed content to finish off the remainder of the half-eaten meal. Her curiosity got the better of her and she squirmed in her hiding place, trying to get a better look at the man’s face. She would have been better served to stay still – her shifting caused the board beneath her to creak.

The man’s head turned and his eyes locked onto the gap between the wooden planks that made up Anna’s small spyhole. Her own head shot away, out of view. But she had let out a loud gasp before clapping her hands over her mouth. Had he seen her? Or heard her? She was too afraid to look back down.

The girl lay there, between the floor above and the ceiling below, her heart beating loudly in her chest. Her small body was trembling and her breaths were coming in short bursts. Everything was so silent that it unnerved her further. What was going on below? The silence lingered for what seemed like an eternity to the child.

And then she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps climbing the wooden stairs.

The Boy

The boy let his feet dangle over the side of the crumbling wall. It was a long way down to the ground below, but that didn’t bother him. He liked the serenity, and the feel of the breeze blowing through his messy hair. He had often been told that the walls of Ursa’s Maw could never fall – that they were impenetrable. And while the walls were still standing, the city had been penetrated.

He wasn’t sure which sight was worse – the broken city that sat behind him, or the devastation of the rolling fields that he looked out over. It had been nearly a week since the battle; it had been nearly a week since the great dragon had descended from the clouds and burned the serpent army alive. Bone and ash covered the once-green meadow that ran from the city’s eastern gate to the first trees of the forest. Black and brown were the only colours that the boy could see until those first boughs of green pines far off in the distance.

The rebuilding effort had begun in earnest, but it was limited to the city itself. No one seemed to want to venture out onto the burnt and barren fields. Those fields had once served as the city’s farmland and primary source of food. The boy wondered what the people expected to eat now – or even if the fields could ever again bear a harvest. It wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that the dragon’s fire had scorched the earth forever.

The boy had been spending far too much of his time sitting on the towering wall, staring out over the forgotten plain. Desmond had urged him to involve himself in the rebuilding process, and the boy had promised that he would. But Desmond was gone, and the boy’s promise didn’t wear too greatly on him. The empty field resonated with him. He was alone in this world, the few friends that he had made along the way lost to him. He had barely had a chance to know them at all. He often recalled Father Lawrence’s kindness, and the merchant Soran’s before that. His thoughts were often filled with visions of Tamara’s unique presence or of Serena’s soft caress. Even his dreams were filled with images of his grizzled old mentor. And while he had little desire to encounter Graumin again, at least the boy hadn’t been alone when travelling with the old spider.

It was a few hours before the boy bothered to stand and stretch his sore limbs. A few sharp pangs in his belly reminded him that he hadn’t been eating well. He decided to descend back into the city and see if he could find a meal. The bears had been rationing food out to the many mouths that needed feeding, but there wasn’t much to go around.

Also, the food was distributed deep inside the cavernous heart of the city – a place that the boy had little interest in going. He liked to be outside, despite the chill. After his many weeks in captivity, the cold didn’t bother him much. But close quarters did. He felt caged inside the caverns, even though he was free to wander wherever he liked.

But he was hungry, so he had little choice.  The exterior portion of Ursa’s Maw was many times smaller than the city that sprawled beneath the mountain. And yet it still seemed quite large to the boy. There were several wide streets that ran parallel, lined with stone buildings and smaller wooden structures. Winding alleyways joined the main streets, with everything converging on a single large courtyard in front of the immense iron doors that marked the entrance to the interior city.

Most of the buildings towered many feet above his head, and he imagined that, under normal circumstances, the place would be an awe-inspiring sight. Unfortunately, so many of those high structures were now fractured – in some places entire thirty-foot walls had broken away. Chunks of stone littered the streets and were being slowly carted away by the dutiful citizens. While the bear men lifted the heavy stone slabs, women and children helped by gathering up the pieces of wood and metal and sweeping away much of the debris. All of the materials were being dumped outside of the city’s southern gate, where still more folk would sort through it to determine what could be reused and what was no longer needed. Most of the wood was being used to stoke the huge bonfires that kept the people warm.

As the boy approached the immense doors that led to the cavern portion of the city, he had to squeeze his way through the throngs of people that moved about the main courtyard. Most of them were helping in the clean-up and rebuilding effort, but some were simply people who felt the need to escape the confines of the mountain and let the fresh air invade their lungs now and then.

The iron doors were wide open, as the serpent threat had passed. There weren’t even guards at the doors, and the boy strolled right through the opening unhindered. Desmond had ensured that Brandt himself gave the order that the boy would have unfettered access to the great city. But other than climbing the walls, which most people weren’t interested in doing anyway, the boy hadn’t been putting that access to much use. The only time that he entered the caverns was to eat.

The boy expected that people were generally impressed by the imposing city that the bears had carved right out of the mountain. But as he glanced up at the high ceilings and the sculptures and carvings that adorned the walls, he felt little more than trapped. He intended to make his way to the mess, eat, and be back outside within the hour.

He wondered how long he would be forced to stay in the city. Desmond and the other totems, save for Brandt, had gone north to accept the Dragon Clan’s invitation for counsel. The boy assumed that Brandt had stayed behind to help his people – though, given that the other totems, and the girl, Sasha, all had some manner of flight available to them, perhaps Brandt was just too slow to make the trip. In any case, the boy longed for Desmond’s return. The wolf had promised to teach him magic – or to provide him with a suitable tutor.  Whatever the case, it had to be better than being stuck in the city. The boy often considered attempting the trip south to Churchtown, but he didn’t think that he had regained enough strength yet.

The mess hall was just as crowded as the exterior of the city had been. The boy was forced to wait many minutes in a long line, a number of people eyeing him suspiciously. Despite there being nothing visible about him that distinguished him from any other young bear, everyone seemed to know that he was the stranger who had arrived in town alongside the loner, Desmond.

When the boy reached the front of the line, he was rewarded with a meagre helping of some form of steaming slop. He sighed as he carried his plate to a table and sat down. He had to remind himself that not so long ago he had had no food to eat. That helped him to enjoy his slop a little more, though not much.

Not long after, he was making his way back up towards daylight. He had never wandered off of the main tunnel that ran through the caverns, though there were many smaller channels that branched off. And it was from one such channel that he caught a glimpse of Brandt, towering over all around him. The large bear was striding right across the main tunnel and towards a second corridor. The boy watched as he passed, intrigued that the leader of the clan would walk so openly among common people, and without any guards. The boy had admired Brandt ever since their first encounter, though he suspected that the totem didn’t recall that meeting – or recall, at least, that he was the same boy that had once been trapped in a bear cage.

The boy felt his eyes follow Brandt’s course until the big man disappeared around the cavern wall. And then the boy felt his feet moving in that same direction. He peered around the corner, not sure if he should be following at all. But his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he started down the same path, quickening his pace until he turned a bend and nearly walked right into a bear sentry – a man much taller than him, though not as tall as Brandt, and wielding a long pike. It was the first guard that the boy had seen in the city, and he realized that he had just stumbled across the bear prison.

Sorry, the boy muttered, backing up a step.

But while the sentry glared at him, he didn’t speak a word, and didn’t make any attempt to block the boy’s passage. The boy paused, confused. And then he stepped forward. Still the guard made no movement to stop him. The boy smiled and continued on around another bend, wondering if his free reign of the city really extended so far. He half expected the guard to come running after him.

But that didn’t happen, and the boy passed by two more guards along the way who did little more than glance in his direction. He was soon surrounded by iron bars that ran from the cavern floor to its ceiling. He reached out and grabbed one with his hand, shaking it – it was quite sturdy. He noticed that nearly every cell was empty, despite the battle that had recently raged outside of this very cavern. Had the bears taken so few prisoners? He knew how the spiders loved to take prisoners and torture them for days. He suspected that the bears valued honourable deaths, and allowed even their hated enemies to find such ends.

The boy did catch sight of one occupied cell – and Brandt was standing outside of it, staring down at the pathetic figure within. The boy crept closer, hoping not to draw the attention of the intimidating bear leader.

Brandt was staring at the decrepit figure in the cell, though he didn’t speak a word. After several long moments of standing and staring, the bear reached out a hand and inserted a key into the lock, opening the cell door. The boy noted that the man inside was chained to the cavern wall behind him, by both ankles and both wrists, his limp form hanging forward.

The big man strode right into the cell and knelt down on one knee so that he was at eye level with the prisoner. The prisoner had dishevelled black hair, and his face showed about a week’s worth of scraggly growth. His head was bowed in front of him, and he looked weak. The boy snuck a little closer, until he was only fifteen feet behind Brandt in the hallway that ran the centre of the cells.

Brandt grabbed the man by the chin and forced his head up. The boy noticed deep scars across one of his cheeks, right across his eye and up to his forehead. The prisoner’s eyes were open, but they had a glazed look to them. The boy couldn’t tell if the man was even conscious. But when Brandt slapped him across the face a moment later, the man’s body seemed to shake awake.

Ready to let me out? the prisoner asked, his voice hoarse.

Perhaps soon, Brandt said, his voice deep and hard. Then you might join the corpses of your clansmen beyond our sturdy walls.

The prisoner tried to laugh.

Where will the serpents attack next? Brandt asked, regaining his feet and towering over the prisoner.

How would I know? the man spat. I’ve been locked in this cage.

Brandt’s powerful fist collided with the prisoner’s head, an awful crack echoing down the cavernous hall. The boy thought that the prisoner had had a good point – how could he know anything, trapped in the bowels of the bear stronghold? Even if he had known the initial plans, after the failure to capture Ursa’s Maw surely the serpents would change tack. Perhaps Brandt just wanted something to hit after the attack on his city.

What is the purpose of the amulet taken from your neck? the bear asked.

Am I to be punished for my trinkets now? It was an amulet, many people wear them.

The totem, Kelly, suspects that the amulet has some connection to the obsidian obelisk and your undead minions.

And you take her word over mine?

There was another sickening crack as the prisoner’s head shot backwards from the force of Brandt’s strike.

I have little time for your games, snake, Brandt said, reaching out and grabbing the man by the hair, pulling his head back forward. The boy could only imagine the force of those blows, from a man Brandt’s size – and the boy had heard that the mighty bear’s strength was enhanced by his magical status as a totem.

I have no answers for you, bear, the prisoner replied, blood spilling from his lips with each word. I had none yesterday, and I will have none tomorrow.

Your choice, Brandt said, and slugged the man a final time, knocking him out cold. The prisoner’s body went limp again, but was held up by the chains around his wrists.

As Brandt turned to exit the cell, the boy realized that he would be seen. His head darted around, looking for somewhere to hide. But he was in a hallway filled not with walls, but with bars. There was nowhere to go.

The bear didn’t see the boy right away, his attention focused on locking the cell door. But once that task was completed, and he started back down the hallway, his eyes settled on the boy.

Sorry… the boy muttered as Brandt closed on his position. I didn’t realize where this path led. I was just… exploring.

Desmond insisted that I give you free reign of the city, Brandt replied, barely slowing his stride as he passed the boy, who turned and followed. And so I have.

There didn’t seem to be a reprimand coming.

Who was that? the boy asked, trying to keep pace with the tall man.

That was the serpent representative to the Verdant Council, and the filthy snake who led the attack against my city. His name is Vexonis, and he will never leave that cell.

Why did the serpents attack you?

Brandt stopped and turned back to face the boy.

I attacked them, he admitted. What do you know of magic, boy?

Not a lot, the boy replied. He wanted to add that he hoped to learn more.

Magic relies on a delicate balance in nature. Long ago druids experimented with the cruder aspects of magic and realized that they were damaging the very fabric of nature. Such rituals were outlawed for their volatility. But it seems that the serpents have decided that they are now above such laws.

What sort of rituals?

Human sacrifices, for one – that I saw with my own eyes. And there have been reports of reanimation, something even worse.

Reanimation?

One day you will die, boy. Your spirit will depart your body and move on to its next stage of existence. But your body will fall and rot and once again become part of the natural world around it. A body cannot exist without a soul. But the serpents seem to have found a way to animate dead bodies.

You mean they can bring people back to life?

No, you’re not listening. With the spirit gone, that person will never again live, as you and I live. But the body can be animated, through dark magic. It can be forced to stand and walk and act out the bidding of its master. It cannot think for itself, and if the connection to its master is broken, it will simply fall back to the ground, dead once more.

Oh.

You don’t need to concern yourself with such things, boy, Brandt said, and he reached a hand out and placed it on the boy’s shoulder.

The boy noticed the many scars that ran the length of Brandt’s exposed arm. He thought of his own wounds, and the scars that covered his own body. Desmond had done his best to heal the wounds and the pain, but the boy had chosen to leave the scars.

Why do you keep your scars? the boy blurted out. Can’t magic heal the skin?

Why did you keep yours? Brandt asked.

I don’t know. I just thought they were fitting.

Brandt smiled and gave the boy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

When will Desmond return? the boy asked.

Soon, I hope. Though I wouldn’t be too surprised if he doesn’t.

Why wouldn’t he return?

Desmond is strange that way. He doesn’t stay in one place for very long.

But he promised that he’d come back for me.

If he promised, then perhaps he will.

He promised he would teach me to use magic, too. Or that he would find me a teacher.

Desmond has spoken to me of his hopes for you. Usually magical ability would have presented itself in one your age. But I learned long ago not to question Desmond’s judgment.

Can you teach me?

No, Brandt replied, smiling down at the boy. The Bear Clan processes magic differently than most. I have little skill with spells or healing. My magic courses through my blood, and my muscles. It imbues me with strength and a tougher constitution. I would be a poor teacher to you. Why did your own clan not instruct you?

The boy paused. He didn’t know if Desmond had revealed his secret. He knew how much Brandt hated the serpents – surely he didn’t look any more kindly upon spiders.

I haven’t spent much time with my clan, the boy admitted. I’ve spent most of my years roaming the lands with my mentor.

Graumin, Brandt said, nodding. Don’t look so surprised, boy. I can smell a spider a mile away. But Desmond vouches for you. And, like I said, I trust the old wolf.

Do you know Graumin?

I’ve heard the name, though I’ve never met him.

I hope you do, the boy whispered, and Brandt laughed.

So do I, boy, he agreed. Now run along. If you really want to learn to channel your magical abilities, then start by practicing meditation. I see you up on the walls – that’s as good a place as any to find your connection with nature. Just be patient. These things take time.

Brandt turned and left then, and the boy stayed behind. He wasn’t sure that patience was something he would be able to find. He glanced over his shoulder and down the hallway at Vexonis, the serpent still hanging in his cell. The boy was intent to never let himself be found in such a cage again. And if meditating was the first step, then that’s what he would do.

Graumin

After a week’s march, the spider army still hadn’t reached the northern border of the Spider Clan’s holdings. Graumin knew that armies were not swift, but he hadn’t expected things to move quite so slowly. He had been hoping to have reached the Shattered Coast by this time. Instead, the leaders of the army were riding their horses into Murky Hollow, the second largest of the spider cities – and only a two-day ride north of Arachnia’s Spindle for a lone rider.

Graumin was at the head of a short procession, along with Lord Carrick and two other nobles that the baron had sent along to officially command the army. Graumin was annoyed by the presence of the nobles – it seemed the baron didn’t wholly trust him.

The man riding to Graumin’s immediate left was old, but still cut an imposing figure. He was balding on top, and the hair around the side of his head was gray and cut close to his scalp. He had deep brown eyes and a strong jaw. His name was Gregory, the leader of House Gregory, and he bore the title of First Duke. Each of the twelve noble houses of the Spider Clan were ranked in order of power – based upon their wealth, holdings, and influence with Baron Carrick. First Duke Gregory was the third most powerful man in the Spider Clan, after Baron Carrick and his son. And, as with the Carricks, each of the noble houses passed down their house name from leader to leader.

On Gregory’s other side, riding a small chestnut steed, was the other noble, Fourth Duke Stanley. Stanley was a younger man, though not quite as young as Lord Carrick. The duke had a fiery temperament and Graumin enjoyed watching him get wound up. Men like that didn’t worry Graumin – it was easy to expose their weakness and get the better of them. Gregory, on the other hand, was one that Graumin would have to keep an eye on.

The lord of the Spider Clan, the younger Carrick, rode just ahead of the other three. He was wearing a dazzling violet cloak, and a fine suit of black velvet. Lord Carrick’s black mount was looking equally majestic, with a fine violet-trimmed saddle atop a deep purple throw. The young lord knew how to present himself, and Graumin spat on the ground, knowing he’d have to endure yet another delay in his plans.

The gruff old spider was realizing that one of the reasons that armies travelled so slowly was that they stopped at every semi-major city, where a parade and a feast were thrown in honour of the departing heroes. This would be their third such celebration in the week since leaving the spider seat. And Graumin was becoming very annoyed with the whole process.

He would accompany Lord Carrick and the nobles into the city, where the streets would be lined with cheering citizens. The army’s elite regiments would follow suit, a display of spider power for the adoring masses – and a reminder why they should never rebel against their leaders. The local magistrate would invite the army’s leaders into his home for a celebratory feast where no extravagance was spared. The rest of the army was already setting up camp outside the city’s boundaries. And Lord Carrick would revel in every moment of it, while Graumin fought the urge to retch.

The dense trees that lined the dirt road widened and gave way to the first buildings of the city. Graumin led his steed through the wide opening in the wall, under a high arch with the city’s name carved into the wood. It had been decades since Graumin had last set foot in Murky Hollow. Back then the city hadn’t been as large and influential – it had grown dramatically as the Spider Clan had absorbed smaller clans along the northern and western borders, many folk gravitating to the security that a larger city could provide.

Unlike Arachnia’s Spindle, Murky Hollow was laid out in a less orderly fashion. The city sat at the north end of the Widow’s Road, and the road led right into the heart of the market district. Most days there would be the clamour and bustle of the marketplace all around as one rode under the welcoming archway – as Graumin passed beneath the arch he saw the expected lines of well-behaved citizens, waving and cheering. He wondered how many of them were lining the street of their own accord.

There were wooden buildings all around the central courtyard of the marketplace, most of them being twenty feet tall with high, thatched roofs. Wagons and vendor carts had been cleared from the courtyard to make room for the marching soldiers. Graumin followed behind the two dukes, who trailed only Lord Carrick and his assistant. The young lord was smiling broadly and waving to the gathered crowd. He even had his servant tossing out loaves of bread and apples that had been taken from the army’s stores.

The street, lined on either side by people, went on through two more courtyards that were much like the first, before finally culminating at the front entrance of a rather large estate. Graumin assumed that it belonged to the city’s magistrate. Two guards swung the gates to the grounds wide and the riders left the masses behind, leading their horses along a soft dirt path towards the stables.

A stable boy approached Graumin and took the reins as the grizzled man climbed down from his mount. The stable was large, with dozens of stalls that were nearly all empty – Graumin assumed that the building existed for rare occasions such as this one. It seemed a waste to him, but then so did this entire exercise. He grunted, thinking of how he could be knocking on the Eagle Clan’s front door if only the army had marched on. But he had little control over such things.

While the common rabble had been left behind outside the gates of the magistrate’s estate, Graumin expected that the interior of the man’s home would be packed full with the city’s social elite. He would have preferred to stay in the stables with the horses than to spend an evening mingling with arrogant aristocrats, but he was relied on to perform certain duties. He wasn’t sure why anyone cared whether or not he attended these functions. Even with the pretty new cloak they had provided him, he was hardly presentable in the same manner as Lord Carrick or the two dukes. Graumin just took solace in the fact that this was the last sizeable city before they reached the northern borders of the spider lands – it was the last party that he would be forced to suffer through.

He followed behind Gregory and Stanley as they approached the front door to the manor. Lord Carrick was already at the door, being greeted by two servants – both comely young women, wearing silken gowns that did little to hide their feminine curves.

M’lord, you flatter me, the closest of the two women said as Graumin approached. Her cheeks had a red tinge to them, and Graumin could only groan wondering what the young lord had said to her.

The pair of you will have to come visit the palace sometime, Lord Carrick continued, flashing the ladies his charming smile. I insist – the spider seat could do with a bit of your radiance.

Both of the young women were smiling, each blushing a little more. Graumin assumed that they didn’t often have the pleasure of being seduced by men of such nobility. They were just handmaidens, after all.

If you want to fuck them, then take them around back, Graumin sneered. I’m sure they’ll both lift their skirts for you. Just get out of the way, you’re blocking the door.

Carrick turned and shot Graumin an angry glare, but the old spider just waved his hand dismissively. The young lord turned back to the affronted women, both of whom appeared a deep shade of crimson. He held out his arms and ushered them into the manor, disappearing into the crowd inside. Lord Carrick’s assistant followed behind – the man was never far from Carrick’s side.

I imagine he isn’t used to anyone speaking to him in such a manner, Duke Gregory said.

Is this where you warn me against angering your precious leader? Graumin asked.

Not at all. I’m not too worried about what that one thinks.

Graumin eyed the First Duke curiously.

Oh, the young lord has his uses, the duke continued. But he may find ruling with charm and diplomacy to be a little more difficult without his father’s ferocity at his back. Word reached me this morning from Arachnia’s Spindle – the baron’s health has taken a turn for the worst.

All the more reason to respect the boy, I would think, Graumin said. If he’s about to become baron.

Perhaps, Gregory conceded, smiling.

Duke Stanley was smiling as well, and both men nodded to Graumin and entered the building ahead of him.

Graumin followed the dukes into the manor, but didn’t waste any time before moving away from them. The magistrate’s home rivalled that of some of the lesser dukes in Arachnia’s Spindle. It was large and opulent and filled to the brim with people. Graumin had never seen so many flowing gowns in one place. He kept poking his head through doorways hoping to find a deserted room or hallway, but it was little use. There were people everywhere, be they guests or servants.

He gave up on finding a place to hide, instead moving towards a table laden down with food and drink. As much as he disliked parties, he couldn’t deny his hunger after several days of riding.

There were dishes laid out across the table, some piled high with fruit, others steaming with cooked meats or freshly baked breads. There were even some sweet-looking desserts despite dinner having not been served yet. Graumin led his dirty hands towards a warm roll, tearing it apart and slathering it with butter. The fine food was the one thing about these miserable gatherings that Graumin enjoyed. He even closed his eyes as his teeth sunk into the melting butter and fluffy dough, ignoring the fact that he was surrounded by people that he’d much rather kill than spend an evening with.

With the roll devoured, Graumin had a small slice of meat in his hand. He wasn’t even sure what it was, though he could tell that it was smoked. It was warm to the touch, but not hot like some of the other dishes. As he placed it on his tongue, trying to avoid the scraggly hairs that made up his beard, he noticed that a number of eyes were upon him. Graumin knew that he didn’t look the part, and he was quick to glare back at any presumptuous looks. One woman was so appalled that she stormed away, attracting even more attention. But Graumin didn’t care – he was searching looking for his next morsel.

Now, now, my good man, Duke Gregory said, as he strolled up beside Graumin. No need to be discourteous to our gracious hosts.

Graumin glared at the duke.

Come on, the duke continued, The feast is set to begin. You have a place of honour to occupy, after all.

Graumin glanced back at the table of delicacies, wondering what more could be offered as part of a feast. The last two feasts had been quite fulfilling, but neither magistrate had offered such exquisite food before dinner was served. In any case, Graumin grunted and followed the duke through the crowd and to the high table. Lord Carrick was already seated, many of the aristocrats gathered around him, vying for his attention. He seemed to be enjoying it.

The old spider chose the seat farthest from the young lord – one at the edge of the table, nearly out of view of most of the room. He wanted to eat and then leave. It was expected of honoured guests to linger and socialize. He found it all a little morbid – with the exception of Lord Carrick, they would all be heading off to war. Many of them would never return. And these rich men and women held some sort of fascination with the idea of war, most having never picked up a blade or cast a fireball. Graumin was certain that his displeasure was evident on his face.

So it came as something of a surprise when Duke Gregory sat down right next to him.

Shouldn’t you be over there, kissing his lordship’s ass? Graumin spat.

He seems to have plenty of people doing that already, the duke replied. You know, he wanted to have you exiled again – tossed out of the Spider Clan altogether.

I expected him to want my head.

Lord Carrick? the duke chuckled. He’s not one for executions. He prefers a more humane approach.

Given that he didn’t get his way, I’m assuming that his humane approach doesn’t have the backing of the nobles.

Oh, he had some support, to be sure. In fact, three of the lesser dukes did call for your head. Others agreed to exile you. But it was I who pressed for a meeting with the baron. And I am rather influential, you know.

Why would you care? Graumin asked, narrowing his eyes at the man. He didn’t like it when people tried to use him to achieve their own ends.

Oh, let’s say that I just had a feeling about you. I didn’t like the direction that young Carrick was taking us. I prefer your direction.

So you believe in the dragon then?

Duke Gregory shrugged, not responding. And Graumin wasn’t able to press the issue as servants began arriving with food. He looked down to see a plate sporting a huge drumstick from some sort of large fowl. There were various tubers and herbs and vegetables on his plate as well. Glad that his chat with the duke seemed to be over, he began eating immediately. He intended to build up his strength as he knew how long the road north would be once they departed spider lands.

There was much jubilation throughout the room as various wines and meads were passed about, in addition to the abundance of good food. Graumin found his eyes darting about the room. He didn’t enjoy being in rooms like this – he preferred to control his surroundings, and that was impossible amid such festivities. So he settled on trying to keep an eye on anyone that struck him as suspicious-looking.

And yet he seemed to find his gaze often lingering over the young spider lord and the increasing number of young women that seemed intent on making his acquaintance. He could imagine how they all wanted to be swept off by the soon-to-be baron, to a life of power and luxury – even though most of the women in this room were wealthy to begin with, save for the servants and handmaidens. And judging by Lord Carrick’s handsome smiles and roaming hands, he was quite content to present whatever illusion necessary to bed whichever of these women he chose. The lord was staying behind in Murky Hollow, after all – he had to make sure that his stay was as comfortable as possible.

Well at least he has that part of the job down pat, Duke Gregory commented, noting Graumin’s interest. You can’t be baron of Arachnia’s Spindle without a bevy of mistresses.

Graumin grunted. He rarely had time to engage in sexual pleasures – in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time that he had even had a woman.

Sounds like you don’t approve, Graumin said, while gnawing what remained of his drumstick.

I could care less for the young lord’s proclivities. He should enjoy them while he can. His father certainly does.

Graumin was tearing into a fresh drumstick – he had always preferred dark meat. But the duke was intent on pressing him into conversation.

I was surprised that Kendrick didn’t make the trip, Gregory said. That comment caught Graumin’s attention and he looked up from his meal.

Kendrick is an old fool, Graumin snarled. Maybe he just came to his senses.

The baron seemed quite determined to send him along – he had the man found and dragged all the way to Arachnia’s Spindle on the mere rumour that he had been spotted with a group of soldiers deep in some recess of the forest.

Baron Carrick is an older and bigger fool than Kendrick. They’re a fitting pair.

The duke chuckled, and Graumin eyed him curiously.

You’re a man who speaks his mind, Graumin, Gregory said. "That’s a quality that I