Beyond the Dream

  *

  Vulthian opened his eyes. The light was low in the Hall of Providence. He could not sense Amolach’s mind. He'd inhabited the bodies of many of his brothers before and never been able to tell where their consciousness went when he did. On speaking to them afterwards they were not able to tell him either. They said there was no memory, as if they were asleep.

  Compared to the snowy battlefield where he'd just stood the throne room was warm, but not that warm. The breath from the thousands of spider spears which stood around him and his brothers could be seen billowing out of them in small white clouds. Behind him the King walked down from the Nested Throne. Vulthian heard the high-pitched screeching he always heard when the King drew forth the Hammer of Fenn from the place that was nowhere.

  A few feet away the Arachnid King stood. He appeared calm, remarkably so considering that the King had just drawn a weapon capable of obliterating him in an instant. He looked at Vulthian in the same way he seemed to be looking at everything. The many eyes of the Arachnid King took in the world around him as one vision. Everything seemed to slow down.

  The King walked forward and Vulthian who had been Amolach moved to the right to allow him past as another of his brothers did the same on the left. The gamble was approaching, he felt no fear. His failure would result in a quick death, a welcome death.

  The King walked past them so he stood before the Arachnid King. He raised his right arm and the golden hammer gleamed and pulsed. It was of an energy that was unworldly, even in this place. The hammer was unique, a world, a dimension, unto itself. In it was held all the fates of those if struck, a multitudinous singularity for their fates were death, eradication from memory, from history, from dreams.

  Vulthian stared at the raised arm and the hammer. He stared for what seemed like a long time and he continued to stare as the hand came loose from the wrist in a burst of blood. Still he looked on as the hand and the hammer fell down to the floor, he who had wielded both falling down next to them. Only after they'd all hit the floor, the hand, the hammer and the King, did he look down at the royal blood on his silver claws.

  Then time sped up again. The faraway echo that had been the King's roar became a scream that was inside Vulthian's mind as he writhed on the floor in pain. The Arachnid King stepped forward, lifted the hammer, casually prised the fingers from it and threw the hand back down next to the King.

  “You may keep the hand”, he crunched.

  The King without a hand looked up at Vulthian. “Why?” he screamed.

  Vulthian knelt down next to him. “The Raven wanes, My King”, he said. The realisation in the King's eyes seemed to hold more pain than losing the hand.

  “Vulthian”, he whispered, “I am your King.”

  “The hand that wields the hammer is king in Fenngaard, Corul”, said Vulthian. He said no more but stood up and closed his eyes. When they opened again he looked out over the snow as the battle still raged around him. Prince Karmalaine was speaking to him even as he woke into his own body.