needed, except spider venom.
"Of course, Your Majesty," Morgiana joked.
Medb formulated a retort, but forgot it when the bird Teehar'owan came flying up the slope towards the small group, his gaudy blue, green, red, and gold plumage unmistakable against the drab surroundings. He circled them a couple of times, then landed on the head of the lead yak, between the horns, flexing his crest and long tail.
"Mistress," he piped, "the bridge is guarded by a spider!"
All three women studied the structure. "I don't see anything," Mephitis said.
But Medb was able to look more closely. "Where is it?"
"In the shadow of the right-hand column."
She spotted it immediately. "Ach, yes. About the size of a bull, I would say." It looked like a normal orb-weaver spider, except for its size. Its abdomen was large and bulbous compared to its cephalothorax, and somewhat oblong, while its eight legs arched high over its body. A pair of pedipalps, almost like a fifth pair of legs, sprouted from either side of its "face". Its base color was a vivid hue of purple, but it appeared mottled by a bold lace-pattern of indigo that dyed its legs and bordered its lapis-lazuli eyes. There were four pairs of those, the front pair being the largest, with the other three arranged in a box-like pattern on its "head".
Morgiana shook her head. "I still don't see anything. I wish I had your hawk-eyes. So, a runt then." Her tone suggested disgust. The Zoog growled softly in reply, but the women ignored him. Medb knew it wasn't the creature's small size that disturbed the thief, but its implication. If anything, a runt was more dangerous than its larger colleagues, including the colossi that lived deep in the mountains and crevasses of the plateau.
"It's going to be fast and agile, perhaps even a jumper."
"And it will be smart," Mephitis added. Though all Leng spiders were intelligent, the runts were the most keen-witted of all. They had to be, to escape being eaten by their larger brethren. "It may even know magic."
Suddenly the significance of the bridge's rope construction material dawned on them all, but it was Morgiana who voiced their collective conclusion. She turned to confront Medb. "It built the bridge, from its webbing."
She nodded slowly, but with a sly smile. "And therein lays its greatest weakness."
"I don't understand," Mephitis said, also turning to face her.
Medb favored her companions with a wicked grin. "I have a plan. Attend, and offer your advice."
The spider peered around the rock pillar he clung to and focused his huge forward-staring eyes on the approaching traveler, while his other three pairs kept watch on his surroundings. He had seen the bird circling above earlier, which he guessed acted as a scout, so he had expected travelers to come his way. When he saw the three figures appear at the top of the ridge, he clicked the fangs of his chelicerae together in eager anticipation as he gently drummed the ground with his pedipalps. Despite his size, he was in fact an old spider, having survived three migrations, including the one he had participated in. Nor was he at all dissatisfied with his choice of where to settle down. There were few passes through the mountains that separated the plateau from the lands west of Urg and Inganok, and they were beset by brigands and monsters, as well as the occasional spider. By making his pass accessible to caravans and solitary merchants, and making it a safe passage by keeping it clear of marauders, he ensured that he would have access to a steady supply of prey without having to expose himself to danger by actively hunting. And as long as he facilitated commerce, he doubted the local inhabitants would try to kill him or drive him off.
Of course, if he ate everyone who tried to cross his bridge, it wouldn't have been long before no one would come at all. As such, the true genius of his conception, or so he thought, was not the bridge itself, but the tolls he charged. He would accept anything that he could either eat or barter with for food, and if a band had nothing to offer him, he would then be free to take one of its number. Lone travelers were almost certainly doomed if they did not have an acceptable payment, but he was willing to bargain, provided the traveler could offer a strong incentive.
He felt puzzled when only one of the three started down the slope towards him, but he mentally shrugged, consoling itself with the realization that he could collect more than one toll. So he watched him approach until he came within a spear's throw of the threshold. He then jumped off the column and emerged from its shadow to place himself on the path. The traveler hesitated when he saw him, but after a moment tugged on his yak in resignation and trudged on forward.
From "Adventurer's Honeymoon"
Differel awoke, and found herself draped over Victor's body with her head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest. She looked out the nearest window and saw the sun well up in the azure sky, making it around early mid-morning. She gazed down at her sleeping husband and smiled. That handsome, angular face could make her swoon like a schoolgirl, with its chiseled rugged cinema star features, but the goatee gave him a diabolical caste.
She rolled backwards and sat up on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake him. She took a moment to scan the tiny room of the deserted fisherman's cottage before she stood up. Rustic did not adequately describe it; it looked too bare-bones for that.
She retrieved her chemise from the back of the only chair and slipped it on over her head. Then she opened the door and stepped outside. She looked up at the startled cries of the seagulls as they took off from where they rested on the roof. Her gaze followed them out over the wine-dark sea. The cabin sat in the middle of a tiny, rock-bound island, barely above high tide, but for the moment the water had receded to expose the encompassing shingle beach.
She heard a noise behind her and turned to see Victor out of bed. He stood in the only open space in the hut and stretched his strong svelte naked body, the sight of which never failed to incite her pulse to race and her breath to catch. She stood in the doorway, admiring her Adonis, when he focused his toffee-brown eyes on her.
"Good morning," she said as she stepped up to him.
He smiled back and they embraced for a long, deep kiss. She barely came up to his chin, but she helped him stoop by placing a hand on the back of his head, and she ran her fingers through his wavy collar-length walnut-brown hair.
Presently he raised his head, though they stayed in each other's grasp. "Good morning, My Love." His voice had a smooth, warm baritone that sounded like how fifty-year old single-malt Scotch tasted.
"Last day." They hadn't had a proper honeymoon when they married, so they had intended that seven-day trip to make up for it.
"I know. We should do something special, to close it with a bang."
She smirked. "As opposed to what we have been doing?"
"Mere foreplay, Love. Now comes the climax."
"What did you have in mind?"
"I thought some warm-up exercises to begin with. Then, after lunch, we'd take a stroll down to the beach, have a brief swim to limber up, and initiate the main event."
"How many heats?"
He flashed a lecherous leer. "As many as we have the strength for. Personally, I hope to continue well past dark. Think you can keep up?"
"Hmph. Bloody cheek. I plan to have a photo finish."
"If you say so, Love." She laughed as he swept her off her feet, turned, and carried her the few steps back to the bed. He laid her down in a gentle manner, draped himself on top of her, and lowered his face to her neck. She closed her eyes and sighed as she felt his lips brush against her shoulder.
A wave of dread washed through her as her whole body tensed. Victor felt it too, and he looked up at her. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure. Eleanor is apprehensive."
"About what?"
She felt her irritation flare. "I can't read her mind. She just feels anxious about something."
"Is it dangerous?"
She closed her eyes and mentally verbalized: Danger, Eleanor? At first she felt uncertainty, but a sudden shock stabbed at her nerves.
She snapped h
er eyes open. "Bloody hell!"
Five armed men surged through the open doorway. Victor rolled off of her backwards as she sat up and swung her legs around, but their assailants reached them in moments. Three went for him as a fourth grabbed her legs and pulled her off the bed. As she slammed onto the floor, the fifth planted a foot on her chest and stuck the tip of his cutlass into her neck.
"Surrender," he said to Victor, "or I'll cut her throat."
He throttled one of his attackers as the other two tried to grapple him, but he replied by relaxing his grip and raising his hands. The fifth man, who seemed to be in charge, removed his foot as his partner let her legs drop.
"Get up." He signaled with his weapon. She got to her feet as the other three pushed Victor beside her. He looked them over, but the expression on his face suggested disgust rather than titillation. He grabbed a pair of braies, linen shorts that passed for underwear in the Dreamlands, and tossed them at him.
"Put them on." Victor caught them against his chest and took a moment to comply.
"Outside." He jerked his head in the direction of the entrance.
She gave him a baleful stare. "You could at least let us get dressed."
"Where you're going, you won't need more. Now, get a move on."
She raised an eyebrow, but complied as Victor followed. However cryptic his statement, she realized they meant to kill them or sell