I

She focused on Tikal.

By now, the og're pack had crossed the meadow and were well into a patch of rimwood forest nestled in the upper highlands. They were in their own territory, tracing their way back to their home cave and warrens. The group grumbled like low thunder, much of it boasting of the number of heads they would collect during the war to come. But as the rimwood forest of black pines and mountain alder grew denser around them, the party became quieter.

Through Tikal's nose, Mama Freda could smell the edge of fear that now scented their musk. With each step, the scent grew thicker. Her fingers tightened on her cane.

Cray'nock stopped and waved for the others to remain where they were. No one grunted an objection. The gnarled og're straightened his wolfskin cloak nervously, then edged away from the group.

Mama Freda silently urged Tikal to follow this lone og're. The tam-rink slipped to the side of the path and circled around the main group. Tikal took to the branches then, scampered high, and ran along the tree-tops. Here in the dense forest, the canopy was an unbroken road. Her pet's keen eyes never lost sight of Cray'nock as the og're slinked deeper into the dark woods.

Overhead, lightning crackled. A spat of rain pelted down, drumming through the leaves and needles. Tikal slipped lower among the branches, both to avoid the worst of the rain and to keep a watch on the og're as the woods grew denser.

Cray'nock slowed, his gaze darting around him. The sweaty scent of his fear thickened the air.

From a shadowy patch of the deep wood, a voice greeted him, sly and dripping with wickedness. Have you the head of the one named Tol'chuk? Mama Freda was surprised to hear the common tongue spoken here, not Og're.

No, my queen. Cray'nock dropped to his knees, his voice trembling. The slayer of my brother still lives. He again uses demon trickery, this time to sway the others' hearts.

What of the pact with the Toktala clan? Their promise?

Cray'nock bowed his head. Hun'shwa, their leader, resists. But the Ku'ukla clan is prepared to attack upon your word. We gather near the north woods already.

There followed a long empty silence. Cray'nock trembled among the wet leaves.

No, the voice suddenly whispered, we will not attack them in their own caves. I have heard of the summons this night, a gathering at the place called the Dragon's Skull.

Cray'nock nodded. Yes, my queen.

That is where we will draw them out. And I will not tolerate any more failures not from your brother before you, not from you.

No, my queen.

I will make sure this time, Cray'nock. Come closer.

The og're climbed to his feet, shuddering, and moved forward, shambling in fear.

Mama Freda urged Tikal to follow. Who lurt^s in the woods here?

As both tamrink and og're moved toward the deepest glade of the wood, Mama Freda made out what looked like snow shining among the branches ahead, as if a small snowstorm had struck this single section of forest. Fluffy mounds of white frosted dark limbs and lay in piles atop shadowy bushes. Even the forest floor was covered with drifts and banks of the snowy whiteness.

What strangeness is this?

Cray'nock crept to the edge of the odd glade, followed by Tikal in the treetops.

Now closer, peering down with the sharp eyes of the tamrink, Mama Freda saw the snow-covered forest was not unoccupied. Thousands of tiny red spiders raced over the white mounds and along thin strands.

Not snow, Mama Freda realized with growing horror, webbing. The entire glade was enshrouded in silky webs, piled thick and choking everything.

Cray'nock cowered before the giant spider's nest.

From the center of the webbing, something dark stirred. A spiny leg, bloodred in color, pierced out from a dense curtain of netting and cut through the silky mass with ease. Then another appeared' and another'

What came next, dragged out by those legs, was a horror unlike any Mama Freda had ever imagined a giant spider, as large as any og're, as dark a red as to be almost black. Its eight legs skittered through the web. Its bulbous shiny abdomen arched up, dripping silk from the spinnarets on its underbelly as it pulled free of its central nest.

But that was not the worst.

Above the engorged abdomen, the torso of a woman stood out starkly. She was as pale as the other half of her was dark. Long blue-black hair hung across her bare breasts, where tiny red spiders raced. She brushed i

them gently away with her hands, but her attention remained fully on the og're before her.

Cray'nock would not look up into her cold face. Queen Vira'ni.

Mama Freda jerked by the fire, dropping her cane.

Jerrick spoke at her side. Freda, are you all right?

She waved his question away, frozen in fear. She had heard the tale of the spider wit'ch from the others: an ill'guard enemy slain in the woods below the highlands and buried there. But the ill'guard dead did not always stay dead. As with Rockingham before her, the spider wit'ch had obviously been resurrected and given a new form.

You will take me to the Dragon's Skull, she whispered, oily and venomous. She pointed to the limbs of the trees around her. Call your clansmen. We will move my egg sacs there, too.

Cray'nock stared up. Tikal and Mama Freda followed his gaze. From the limbs of the trees, scores of heavy silk pods hung, the size of ripe pumpkins. Inside the silky cocoons, dark things churned and vibrated, awaiting release.

The og're trembled at the sight, horror keeping him frozen. My children have tasted the blood of this Tol'chuk, Vira'ni continued. This time we will feast on his body on the bodies of all who aid him.

Yes, my queen. Cray'nock climbed to his feet. The spider queen's face lifted as he rose, her eyes piercing. Her gaze swept the silk-shrouded canopy and fixed upon Mama Freda's own.

We are spied upon! Vir'ani hissed, pointing in her direction. Tikal! Run! Mama Freda shouted aloud in her panic. What's wrong? Jerrick asked, clutching at her shoulder. Mama Freda didn't have time to answer. She raced with her tamrink through the trees, struggling to send energy out to him. Then a sharp pain flared in her chest. She gasped.

Her little friend shared her pain. Tikal missed a jump and tumbled wildly. He struck a branch, and a tiny leg snapped. He hit the ground hard, knocking the breath from his chest.

Mama Freda could not breathe herself, but she fought to give the tamrink what strength she could.

Tikal scrambled to his one good leg. In his fright and pain, he chittered, Tikal, good puppy, run, run.

The fiery agony in Mama Freda's chest burst out into her legs and arms. She barely felt Jerrick cradle her as she fell. Her mind and heart weak as it was went out to Tikal. Run, my little boy, run.

Run, run, he echoed aloud in a forest too far away.

The tamrink raced with his injured leg curled against his belly, fleeing on his hands, leaping with his good leg, tail flagging.

Run and hide' get away, my little love. By now the pain choked her breathing to a standstill. She could not even gasp.

Tikal fled, flying through the woods then something snagged his leg, pulling him up short, dropping him to the dirt.

As he struggled to free himself, rolling and jerking, Mama Freda saw what had captured him: a loop of webbing wrapped around his leg. It now drew him back, dragging his panicked body toward the source of the web, the spider queen. Vira'ni lurked down the trail, hunched, legs splayed, a grin of pure venom on her lips.

From under her legs, a wave of tiny red spiders flowed, aiming for little Tikal. Her pet struggled and fought, trying to bite through the constraining web, chewing with his needle teeth.

Suddenly he broke free, rolling back from the sudden release. He turned and bounded away, leaping toward a low-hanging branch. With a flare of relief, Mama Freda felt his fingers latch on.

But the branch was not empty.

Small spiders danced across the bark, across Tikal's fingers, down his thin arm. When they bit, the pain struck Mama Freda, worse than the pain of her own failing heart. The little tamrink fell again, landing amid the wave of spiders.

Mama Freda screamed as he was overrun. Tikal!

Mama, Mama'

Then she felt the beat of his little brave heart clench and stop' as did her own.

Deep in a cave, her body arched. Agony lanced through bones and heart.

What's wrong with her? Magnam cried out.

She's dying! Jerrick said. Her heart!

Mama Freda felt darkness close around her, a darkness deeper than any blindness. She struggled to draw one more breath from lungs leaden with approaching death. She gasped out one final warning to her friends, her lover.

Beware' Vira'ni!

Then the cool balm of darkness erased her pain. As she drifted away from the touch of her lover, feeling his lips press against hers one last time, somewhere in the distant darkness, she heard a tiny piping cry, lost and scared. Mama, Mama' Hush, little one, I'm coming.

Stunned, Tol'chuk stared as the dark apparition flowed out of the Spirit Gate. Elena? he repeated.

The figure focused on him, her dark eyes shining like polished obsidian. Silver tresses continued to billow across her features, moving to unseen currents. Energy crackled along the curls and flowing strands, seeming to sweep out from the Spirit Stone to scintillate over the black skin of the apparition. As she moved from the heartstone arch, the features of her face grew in detail, as if she were arising from the depths of some dark sea.

Tol'chuk recognized his mistake. This figure, while similar in features, was not Elena. The ghostly woman here was much older. Her face was unlined, but the weight of ages marked her eyes and lips, and the silver of her hair was not all magick. Here stood a woman older than centuries.

Wh-who are you? he forced out.

The Triad answered his question, their voices full of awe: The Lady of the Stone. Its guardian and keeper.

The apparition lifted a single dark arm, sweeping back a mist of silver strands. No, she said, her black lips parting. No longer. Her words were faint. They also seemed strangely out of sync with the movement of her lips. I cannot hold back the darkness that comes. My time is past. Her eyes glinted at Tol'chuk. New guardians are needed.

As Tol'chuk drew back, the Triad stirred in confusion, their figures blurring. But the Lady of the Stone has been the Gate's eternal guardian.

No, she repeated again with a shake of her head. Not eternal' just ancient' I joined my spirit to the Stone in a time lost to myth and legend.

The Triad murmured, their confusion dissolving their shapes into misty forms. We don't understand.

I once went by another name. Her words grew faint. Your great, great ancestors called me not the Lady of the Stone, but a title more cursed in its time: Tula ne la Ra Chayn.

ToPchuk frowned at her last words, for the name was spoken in ancient Og're. But the elders understood, for a wail screeched from the misty figures. It cannot be! They fled back from the Gate in horror and shock, shredding apart.

What's wrong? Tol'chuk asked, starting up to his feet.

One of the shades sailed past overhead, crying out. Tula ne la Ra Chayn!

The blasted' another moaned.

The cursed one! the third keened.

In their panic, the group had split, no longer united.

Tol'chuk backed a step. Who?

The first answered, She is Tu'la ne la Ra Chayn' the Wit'ch of the Spirit Stone!

Tol'chuk pinched his brows together in confusion. The Triad settled behind him as if for protection.

Before them, the dark woman continued to drift within a sea of silvery strands, ignoring their outburst. She seemed to grow blacker, her misty hair sparking more richly. The anger in her eyes was clear, as was an impossible sadness.

The Triad's words sunk into Tol'chuk. The Wit'ch of the Spirit Stone, he mumbled, staring at the apparition, frowning. Then realization struck him blind as he again recognized the similarities to Elena. Another wit'ch' He stumbled back, choking for a moment, then gasped out the name by which he knew her: The Wit'ch of Spirit and Stone!

Her eyes remained fixed on Tol'chuk. The march of time blurs so many meanings and names, she said coldly. It is strange to have all of your life's successes and defeats boiled down to such a simple phrase, then to have even that misremembered. She sighed. But you know my true name, don't you, og're?

He did, seeing in her tireless expression a bit of Elena even here. Sisa'kofa, he said aloud.

She nodded. And I know you. The last descendant of Ly'chuk of the Toktala clan.

Tol'chuk frowned in confusion.

The Oathbreaker, she explained.

Tol'chuk blinked. hy'chukj That was his ancestor's name, the Oath-breaker's true name. He found his tongue. I don't understand. How could you be here? Why are you here?

She waved a ghostly arm. To answer your first question, I'm not really here. My true spirit passed beyond the Spirit Gate ages ago. This form is but an echo, a bit of magick left behind, tied to the energy of the Spirit Stone. As to why? That is a story meant for another's ears, not yours. I left my echo in the Gate, knowing one day the wit'ch who would come after me would be in need of guidance.

Elena, Tol'chuk said.

The dark figure nodded. For untold centuries, I've been guardian of the Spirit Stone. From this post, I've guided your people as best I could, but even I could not stop your ancestor's betrayal.

The Oathbreaker'

Ly'chuk took the vow of spiritual guardianship and came as a supplicant to this very Gate. He was strong in spirit and even stronger in elemental gifts.

Tol'chuk jerked with surprise. The Oathbreaker was an elemental?

His gift was the ability to sculpt another person's natural magicks to take raw talent and refine it.

Her words rang with truth. Tol'chuk remembered all the ill'guard encountered during their long sojourn. They were examples of this very handiwork, elementals whose gifts were warped to serve the Oathbreaker's need or amusement. What happened?

That even I don't know. One day your ancestor opened the Gate to the Spirit Stone. I felt the magick and came to see Ly'chuk kneeling, crying in pain, his arms raised. As I approached, I felt something tear in the fabric of the world. After that, the Gate slammed shut and remained closed for the next six centuries. She faced the shades of the Triad, What happened in this chamber that day I do not know.

The og're spirits shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. We know no more than you, they whispered in unison again. The Oathbreaker took his vows. But we also sensed the wrongness, that rip in the fabric, that you speak of. We rushed here, but we only found the Heart, resting on the floor. When we touched the stone, we knew immediately it was cursed. Tainted, the Heart would no longer fully awaken the Spirit Gate. We were cut off. And in the heartstone, the Bane grew, feeding on our spirits. One of us dreamed that the curse could only be lifted by the last seed of Ly'chuk, the Oathbreaker.

So we waited' the first elder said, breaking from the others.

And waited' the second said.

And waited' the third echoed.

Until I came, Tol'chuk finished, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

A silence settled in the room. So many ages pressed down upon them.

At last, the shadow of Sisa'kofa spoke. It would seem your burden is not over, og're.

Tol'chuk glanced up. What do you mean?

She glanced to the Spirit Gate, her silver hair billowing. The Land tainted your heartstone with the Bane for a reason: to lock the path to the Spirit Stone. Since that time, I have sensed corruption trying to dig through, have felt the Land's flow of energies being twisted. Something out there hunts for the heart of this world.

My ancestor, Tol'chuk whispered. The Oathbreaker.

The shade sighed. And he grows stronger. Soon he'll break through; my echo of power is no match. But the Spirit Gate opens again. The shade of the wit'ch focused on Tol'chuk. New champions have arisen, chosen to protect the purity of the world's heart: both you and the new wit'ch.

Elena.

A nod. Before my true spirit passed beyond the Gate, I dreamt of her. I saw the dark time ahead. She stood before this same Gate, the blood of friends flowing across the floor' The shade of the wit'ch sighed. I bear a warning meant only for her. It is the reason I am here, a call from the distant past to the present.

You won't tell us this warning? Tol'chuk asked, bone-tired of magicks and secrets.

I cannot. I am an echo of desire and purpose. I have no other path. The young wit'ch must be brought here, and the Spirit Gate must be protected until that time. She stared hard at Tol'chuk. You must be this guardian.

The Triad whispered again, their eyes aglow with prescient wormlight. We saw this also. It was why we summoned an assembly at Dragon's Skull. All eyes focused on Tol'chuk. You must unite the clans. The Gate must be protected!

Somewhere far away, a howl echoed, traveling down from above.

Listen, Sisa'kofa said. Already the darkness closes around us.

Tol'chuk cocked his head, recognizing the cry. Fardale.

He began to turn, but the Triad drifted up, wormlit eyes seeking his. A spirit has been released, they whispered. One of your companions.

Tol'chuk bolted to his feet. Who?

The old woman, the og're ghosts intoned, keening.

Mama Freda! Tol'chuk swung away, meaning to hurry to his friends' sides.

Wait! Sisa'kofa called to him. Take the Heart! Close the Gate! Above all else, the path to the Spirit Stone must be protected.

Tol'chuk hesitated, then ran to the arch. His clawed fingers grabbed hold of the Heart in its keyhole.

At his side, the spirit of the wit'ch drifted back through the Gate, her

What happened? His eyes were large, staring down at Mama Freda.

As Magnam explained, Jaston saw the clan leader, Hun'shwa, staring over at their group, as if weighing them. A smaller og're grumbled at his shoulder, but the Hun'shwa growled him away.

Vira'ni! Tol'chuk boomed, drawing Jaston's attention around.

Fardale nodded. Mama Freda died with that name on her lips a warning. I spied her beast leave the cave near the time you left with your dead elders.

All faces turned to the shape-shifter.

His expression remained stoic. The healer must have sent him after the og'res wearing the wolfskin cloaks. He all but growled this last bit.

Tol'chuk responded in kind. Wolfskin!

Fardale nodded.

Tol'chuk glanced to the eye of the cave. That could only mean

The Ku'ukla clan, a stern voice said behind them all.

As a group, they all turned. Hun'shwa stood there, head half bowed. You killed Drag'nock, their leader, he said. They came with the morning sun and demanded the head of Tol'chuk or their clan would declare war. The eyes of the og're glanced to the floor. I gave my word that it would be done.

Magnam pulled his ax free. I'd like to see you try!

Tol'chuk lifted an arm to calm the d'warf. And now, Hun'shwa?

The big og're lifted his eyes. There be something wrong with the Ku'ukla. After my own fury for my son's death calmed, I could smell it on their skin. They lie as easily as a stream flows. He turned to the cave's entrance. Your head or not, war will come. The Ku'ukla crave to rule the six clans. The death of Drag'nock will rally them. But' His eyes narrowed.

But what? Tol'chuk asked.

Hun'shwa turned to Tol'chuk. Something else be wrong. Cray'nock be the one who came' the last brother of Drag'nock' saying their new leader demanded your head.

His brother? Tol'chuk asked, his face hardening with suspicion.

What's the significance? Jaston asked.

Cray'nock should be leader after the death of his brother, Tol'chuk explained. It be our way.

Hun'shwa nodded. A new leader has arisen. So why didn't he come with his clan's demands? A strange scent clings to the Ku'ukla clan.

And there be no nose more keen than yours, Tol'chuk said, clearly accepting this statement.

Jaston spoke up. The Ku'ukla threat' and a warning from Mama Freda about the spider wit'ch.

Darkness closes around us, Tol'chuk whispered, as if repeating someone else's words.

What do we do? Magnam asked, still holding his ax.

After a long moment, Tol'chuk turned to them. Our only hope be to rally the clans this night. United, the og're clans be a force few dare to threaten. He turned to Hun'shwa. Do I have the support of the Toktala?

Hun'shwa stared at Tol'chuk, then slowly nodded. We stand beside you.

Then prepare the clan. We march for the Dragon's Skull with the setting sun.

Hun'shwa half bowed, then departed.

What of us? Magnam asked.

Tol'chuk stared at them, a strange light in his eyes. You be also my family, my hearth. That makes you og're. And when I speak of uniting the og're clans, I mean all og'res.

Jerrick still knelt by the body of the healer. And Freda? What are we to do with her?

Tol'chuk's voice grew hard. She gave her life to bring us warning. She will be honored' and revenged. This I swear on our new family. Tol'chuk held out a claw toward them all.

Magnam was the first to step up, placing his hand atop Tol'chuk's. Fardale came next, stoic, expressionless, but his eyes glowed stronger as he rested his hand upon the others.

Jaston felt a stirring in the air, something larger than them all. He moved forward, adding his hand.

Slowly, Jerrick rose to his feet. The elv'in captain stepped to their side. He reached an arm, and with a last glance to his lover, he joined his palm to theirs. Something seemed to spark out at that moment, something that had nothing to do with elv'in wind magick.

Tol'chuk whispered in a low voice. United.

Thunder boomed in the distance, punctuating his single word.

A storm is coming, Magnam muttered.

No one disagreed.

Cassa Dar stood atop the tower of Castle Drakk. She stared across the Drowned Lands toward the setting sun. Beyond the tower parapets, a wispy sea of swamp mist spread to the horizon. Only the top levels of Castle Drakk rode above the endless expanse, a lone ship in a dead calm.

Distantly, the calls of loons and the mating cronks of the deadly kroc'an echoed up from the swamplands below, accompanied by the sweet smell of moss and the heavy odor of decay.

Cassa Dar breathed it all in, drawing strength from her living lands as she readied herself for the spell to come.

A dark shape loomed in the distance the Southern Fang.

She frowned at the mountain. It was the source of her land's elemental power, but its magick had also snatched the man she loved into danger. Her gaze flicked northward. Every fiber of her body rang with tension.

Jaston' She sent her heart out toward him, tying a bit of her magick to her love. She held that moment, maintaining the connection for as long as possible.

Satisfied, she swung to the small swamp child standing behind her. He clutched a bulging burlap sack in his arms, hugging it to his chest. The sack was soaking wet, bulging, dribbling swamp water on the stones of the tower.

Dump the bag here, she directed the lad.

Biting his lip with concentration, the boy undid the rope tie and dumped the contents of his sack. Slops of wet swampweed splashed to the stones. The odor of silty vegetation cloyed up. Small crabs skittered from the pile.