Kumura left the desert behind him, entering lands of rock and bitter,
hard earth. He lived on acrid plants and ate insects that crawled in
the cracks, and at last, under a yellow moon, he saw again the trail
of the tomb he sought gouged deep into the earth among the footfalls
of an army. He bared his teeth to the night, for he knew he was on
the path he sought. He spared a look behind him, at the way he had
come, for the desert where Chona lay dead in a crypt of ancient
kings, and then he set out to follow the path of his revenge.
Heavy-footed, he climbed the steep hills, covering his eyes by day
when the sun blazed down from on high. The nights were cold, and
soon the days were as well. Snow fell on the tenth day, and then he
found himself looking upon a land of white-stoned hillsides and deep
black forests. The wind moaned in the hard passes, and birds flew
screaming in the iron sky above. He drew his tattered robe harder
around himself, and he followed the path.
Never in his life had he thought to see such forests, and once he was
beneath the heavy boughs it was as though he had entered a night land
where the sun never touched the earth. The smells were like nothing
he had ever encountered, and the breath of trees and cold wind was
like a blessing that filled his veins with strength. He walked
beneath the looming forest with his executioner’s sword over his
shoulder, and he breathed smoke like a beast of the old earth.
He saw signs of his enemy everywhere, the earth marked by their feet
and the crawling passage of the great tomb. He felt the coals of
their fires on the cold earth and knew they wee not far ahead of him.
Soon he would come in sight of the army, and then he would have to
choose what he would do. He could not cut down an entire army,
thousands upon thousands. No matter how strong he was, they would
overwhelm him, and he knew it. Perhaps he could slip into the camp
by night and find the man with the burning sword. Kumura could take
his head and be gone. That would be retribution, but would gain him
nothing else.
There was no day, for the sky came down low and dark and angry, and
it hid the tops of the hills and the slopes of the mountains that
rose like a wall ahead of him. It covered the tops of the trees, so
that it seemed they stretched up into the sky above without end. The
wind grew stronger and howled, and it shook the branches.
Kumura climbed higher into the bleak hills as the snow began to come
down. The sky turned black and the wind bellowed down from the high
places with a bitter cold voice, and he staggered into a world made
black and blinded. Ice formed on his clothes and on his sword blade,
and he spat it from his mouth as he fought his way through the
deepening storm.
He clawed his way into the mountains, finding himself in deep stone
canyons scoured by wind, the snow heaping deeper under his feet until
he was wading through it to his knees. His hands and face grew so
cold they were almost insensible and covered in ice, and he could
barely see, making his way by feel. He was soon lost in the winding
mountain pathways, stumbling sightless among titanic black stones
like menhirs.
The wind rose to a terrible blast of fury, and even his iron strength
could no longer drive him through in the face of it. He fell and
slid down a jagged face of rock, caught himself, and then found a
hollow to his left that offered shelter. Desperate, he pulled
himself inside, gasping at the welcome relief from the terrible wind.
He cracked ice from his hands and his arms and crawled deeper into
the earth, thoughtless save to find shelter from the storm. Then the
stone gave way under him, and he rolled and spilled down a deep slope
in utter darkness. He struck hard against the stone, and then he
knew nothing else.
o0o
He woke in darkness, but he was not dismayed, for he had lived in
darkness for many years, and it was like home to him. He slowly
worked his stiff limbs until he could stand, and then he looked about
him in this hidden shadow world beneath the mountain. It was a
cavern all of jagged forms and sharp spines, and it was a forbidding
place. He saw no way back where he had come, and so he pressed on,
deeper underground.
He passed between formations like great pillars of black rock, and
there was a very slight glow, a phosphor gleam of some clinging moss
that lit the whole with a fell and unearthly radiance. Kumura looked
on a massive realm hidden here in darkness, and he felt as though his
single eye was unequal to the task to seeing all there was to see.
The floor of the cavern was covered with shards of glittering rock
like glass, and it crunched beneath his feet as he went deeper. He
heard a deep rushing and wondered if there was some underground river
close by, a great torrent that flowed through these lightless caves
and down to a sunless sea. He made his way through caverns cut by
water and time, grander than any palace beneath the sky, and he felt
all around him the press of ages, the timelessness of this place,
which he disturbed with his footsteps.
Something gleamed in the dark, and he bent and saw it was a bone. He
saw another, and another. He made his way through this chamber of
pillars, each one formed by ages of time, and among them he found
more and more gleaming yellow bones. The bones and skulls of beasts,
and then those of men as well, until they covered the stone and broke
under his feet. Something vast moved in the dark above him, in the
shadows of the cavern roof, and he felt cold along his spine as he
looked upward.
Something moved against the blackness, a shadow even to his keen
eyes, and then he saw trails of light flicker along the unseen skin
and limn the shape of a great, hulking spider such as no sun-touched
place ever spawned. It came down from above, swift and graceful,
unfolding. He saw the glowing red eyes and the joints etched with
blue light and pulsing violet, the heaving abdomen armored and
immense.
Kumura took his sword in hand and braced, for there was no place he
could go to escape this horror, not in this enclosed cavern where it
had made a killing ground. It waited here for prey to stumble
beneath it, and then it struck, but it had never found prey such as
him.
The beast heaved itself upon him, forelegs lashing at him with hooked
tips clutching, scouring the floor and shattering the fallen bones.
He leaped back, slashing at them, but he was not swift enough to cut
them. The thing screeched, stalked sideways, and then lunged again,
flailing at him. Kumura hurled himself behind a pillar and backed
away, saw the deadly limbs reach around the column, claw for him, and
then the beast moved around it, its low-slung head moving side to
side.
He realized that despite the glowing eyes, it was quite sightless,
and it was listening for him. Like a lesser spider in a web, it felt
for the tremors of his motion. Here, in this place plated with
bones, he would be unable to take a step without giving himself away.
Even as he thought it, his weight crushed a bone under his heel and
the thing twitched toward him, then lunged with hideous speed. Again
the clawed forelimbs slashed after him as he backed away, and again
he was too slow to sever them as they drew back. The thing was
massive, but wind-swift and armored like a fortress. He was sure his
sword could break those plates, but he would have to dare to get
close enough, and then strike a deadly blow before it could rend him
to pieces.
It screeched again, held very still, and he slipped back behind
another crop of rock. The screams were perhaps meant to startle him
into motion, but they also echoed from the walls and hollows of the
cavern, and this creature would know them intimately. It would be
able to hear him even if he did not move.
It climbed a great pillar of stone, slow and silent and deliberate,
colors pulsing along its long legs. It moved smoothly, making a
clicking sound with its fanged mouth, holding still as if it were
listening for the echoes to return. Kumura felt the hairs on his
neck stand up. It was stalking him; it was the size of a siege
engine and it hunted like a panther, waiting for him to make a
mistake. He could not win at this game. Sooner or later he would
stumble, or be too slow, and those deadly claws would catch him and
drag him in to the dripping fangs, and then the venom would finish
him.
It crept around the column over him, came down slowly, the hooks
biting into the stone as it descended. Without taking his eyes from
it, Kumura reached down and grasped a bone. He lifted it as silently
as he could, seeing the spider’s mouth twitch at the slight sound,
and then he flung it behind him into the dark. It struck stone,
bounced and rattled, and then the beast screeched and leaped over
him, smashing down among the bones as it rushed away.
Kumura knew he would not have another moment, and so he hurled
himself after the thing, his sword high. It was so fast. It heard
him coming, turned to face him as he reached it and struck a
thunderous blow with his sword. The blade crushed armored plates and
glowing ichor splashed out. The spider screamed, and then it struck
back with terrible force that sent him reeling back, tumbling through
the breaking bones.
It rushed him, eyes glowing like lanterns, and he tried to get up,
hacked at it almost blindly. One of the forelimbs dug into his armor
and ripped it from his shoulder, dragged him towards the hungry
mouth. He struck at the leg but did not have the room to swing
properly; he could not get enough force to cut the armored limb.
The other foreleg dashed the sword from his hands and he was all but
pinned as the fangs opened above him. Desperate, he seized the heavy
limb in his hands, bent all his strength upon the joint and snapped
the leg in half.
Glowing blue ichor gushed out over his hands, and the spider shrieked
and convulsed, hurling him away. He smashed through a pile of bones,
rolled down a slope, and then caught himself at the very edge of a
black abyss. Air rushed up past him, and he knew there was a deadly
emptiness beneath him. He clutched at the stone, clawing through
tumbling bones for a grip. He heard the monster coming, legs
hammering upon the floor like spearpoints. He saw the glow coming,
heard the clattering of the mouthparts, and then it loomed over him
and he could do nothing but deny it the pleasure of devouring him.
With an oath, he let go and fell into the blackness.
o0o
He felt air rushing past him, and then he struck a slope and slid
down, hard stones biting into him. He crashed against an unseen wall
and groaned, feeling as if every skein in his body had been wrenched.
He looked up through the dark, unable to make out more than shadows,
and then he saw the glowing shape of the spider as it began to climb
down after him. He was neither dead nor safe, and he clawed his way
to his feet. He heard water rushing, and it was close.
He half-climbed, half-fell down the steep slope, and then he came to
a narrow ledge that edged along the side of a great abyss – a
canyon cut here beneath the earth. The sound of rushing water came
from far below, magnified and echoing until it was a colossal sound.
Kumura felt his way along the ledge, breathing hard, feeling pain all
over his body. He looked back to the opening, and there the spider
followed.
It moved carefully, the great bulk of it outlined with flickers of
color, drips of glowing blood that trailed from the broken leg. It
stopped, held still, and then it turned and climbed along the wall
above him. The hooked legs dug into the stone, carrying the great
weight, and he saw it press its dagger fangs against the stone.
Surely in the rush of the river below it was blinded, but it could
still feel his movements as echoes through the stone. It still
hunted.
Kumura moved as silently as he could, but there were loose stones
underfoot that shifted and clattered, slid over the edge and fell
into the deeps, and the spider twitched as it felt them, moved closer
along the wall. He saw the red eyes glowing like coals in the dark,
blind yet still seeking.
There was a crack in the wall, a hollow, and though it was small,
Kumura wedged himself into it, crawling back into a space the spider
could never force its way into. Perhaps he could conceal himself
here until it was gone. Perhaps.
The crack widened, and he found himself in a small cave, and in it he
found a corpse. It had not turned to bone as the others had; rather,
it had mummified over years, and the flesh was shrunken and shiny
under the corroded armor. The face seemed to scream eternally into
the blackness, and the glassine hands clutched the hilt of a long
sword.
Eager but cautious, Kumura touched the ancient fingers and they
crumbled under his hands. The sword was long and heavy, meant for
two hands. The straight blade was black as night, and the hilt was
ornate and carved with curling shapes. The pommel was a single black
stone the size of an egg, and the balance was so fine it felt alive
in his hands. He made out arcane sigils etched on the blade. Kumura
knew many ancient languages from his long years alone. There had
been little to do but study. He knew this one, and his fingers
traced over metal, feeling the letters. Lightslayer they
said, in a language as dead as the people who had spoken it.
He grasped the hilt and a strange feeling came over him. The colors
of the world became brighter, more alive, and he saw the striations
in the stone, and the glitter of crystal in the veins. He held the
sword up and brushed the dust from the steel, and all seemed to fall
silent around him, save for some sounds, which became clear as
ringing bells. He felt the reach and weight of the blade, and it
trembled in his hands with an eagerness to strike, as though he held
an asp. With an engine of destruction such as this, he could make an
end of even the spider.
Kumura looked back the way he had come, and he felt no more fear or
hesitation. He crept along the passage, one hand on the wall, and he
looked out into the darkness above the ravine, seeking to spy a
motion or shadow to tell him where his enemy waited. Perhaps it had
gone, and with that thought was a kind of disappointment, a feeling
of loss that he could not slake his steel in blood.
He took another small step out of the cave, bent down and breathing
slow, and then a droplet of glowing blood fell on the stone at his
feet and he twisted to look up. There, on the looming wall of the
cavern, the immense spider hunched like it was carved from the stone
itself. His foot scraped on the stone, and he saw the beast’s
fangs twitch, and then it rushed down upon him like a storm.
It slammed against the ledge, legs slashing for him, gouging the
stone, and it screeched like tearing metal. There was nowhere to
flee, no chance to escape, so Kumura set both hands on the hilt of
the sword and hewed at it, cutting through a leg as though it were
straw, and then another. The fangs reached for him and he leaped
aside, cut through another leg, and the thing lost its balance and
slid over the edge, clawing desperately for a grip. A leg hooked
into the flesh of his leg and pulled him in, and he had a moment
where the fangs rushed for his face, and then he brought the sword
down.
The keen black steel sheared through the armored head, cleaving it in
half like splitting an apple. H set his foot on the beast and ripped
the sword free, raised it for another blow, and then the rock ledge
gave way, and he and the spider both plunged over the edge and fell
into the blackness. Even now it clung to a flailing, desperate life,
and it tried to bite him with its ruined mouth. He struck again as
they tumbled through the dark, wind rushing past them. Glowing blood
splashed around him, and the sword seemed to sing to him, at the
bottom of his mind. A song of death.
He struck again, and again, and then the great ruined spider struck
the wall of the canyon and shattered, fell away from him as he
tumbled past it. The sound of the river came up, and he laughed.
o0o
Kumura woke in daylight, washed on the shore of the river in the
shadow of trees. He coughed out stones and stood, staggering on his
wounded leg. He was cold, but he had always been cold. It did not
bother him very much. He winced at the lances of sunlight that
blazed through the tree branches. Mountains loomed all around him,
and he did not know where he was. He remembered falling into the
black river under the earth, and he remembered being battered against
stones in the swift current. After that, he remembered nothing.
Looking back, he saw that the river emerged from the mountainside in
a cascade that poured down the rocky slope and vanished in a cloud of
mist. Around him he heard the cries of birds, and it was strange to
be once more in the surface world, no longer in darkness. After so
many years, the dark had become his home.
Something dark caught his eye in the shallows, and he saw a stain
there, like a shadow cast by some creature beneath the water. He
stepped closer, and he saw the shape of the sword. The black blade
was driven into the stones at the bottom, and the ebon stone of the
pommel just broke the surface. He was glad to see it, and he reached
into the cold water and grasped the hilt.
When he drew it forth, the world around him went dark, as at a
stroke. There were no new shadows, but it was as though he saw the
world though a dark lens. Blackness flowed out from the sword and
surrounded him, but it was a darkness he could see in more clearly
than he ever had. His single eye saw bright colors and sharp
details. The sword cast darkness around him, and keened his own
vision.
He looked up and saw the sun was like a violet eye, limned with a
nimbus of dark fire. He saw birds on the shore fluttering and snared
in the bushes, unable to see in the darkness. Lightslayer it was
named, and he laughed then. The perfect blade for him, a sword of
night for he who had lived always in night. He had no sheath but he
did not want one now, he wanted to walk shielded from the light of
day.
He followed the river to another falls, and then he climbed up and
stood upon a broken white rock and looked down on the land beyond.
The sun was setting in front of him, and he realized he had come
through the mountains and was in the land on the far side, where he
had intended to be. Across the deep, forested valley below rose
another chain of mountains, black and jagged against the red sky, and
there he saw the campfires of an army in the darkness, and just
beyond, the pass into the mountains men named the Black Gate. Legend
said a dead city stood there, silent in the cold highlands.
It was the fires that drew his eye. There was the enemy he sought.
There was the man with the metal hand who had stolen his eye and his
kingdom. Kumura lifted his new sword, feeling the desire for killing
simmer in his blood like a fever. Now he had his own weapon out of
legend. Now would come the hour of his retribution.
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