[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The foul and acrid smoke of his flaming brand made Grash choke and splutter, but doggedly he followed Darash about the tunnel, attempting to drive off the last of the creatures. All about them lay the lifeless forms of the monsters, some crushed by stone and sword, some twitching out the last of their vermin existence amongst the ooze of their fallen mates. A stench beyond bearing came from the corpses mingling with the reek of the company’s torches to the point where they were near choking despite the rags that they wore about their mouths. Gasping for words, Grash took hold of Darash’s hand. “Come, come,” he said. “Monsters gone, must go, go now.” The woman wheeled upon him, pulling her hand from his grasp. She looked upon him with such hauteur that had Grash been anything more than a slave he might have taken offence. But as used as he was to a life of submission, he could only bow his head before her and avert his eyes.

One of the Dwarves stood forward. He was bloodied and covered with grime and dirt from his labours, but there was a fire in his eye that Grash had not seen before. He recognized the Dwarf as the maniacal one that had charged the beasts as though he cared nothing for his life. Brór spoke thickly through the smoke. “Which way do we go?” he demanded. “Back the way we came to the monster and her trap, or onward into the depths of these tunnels and we know not where?”

It was the Elf woman who spoke next. “We cannot go far, or quickly. There are some who are wounded.” She pointed to where the Man Jordo, more a boy really, lay with his back against the wall of the tunnel. Grash was surprised to hear her speak in such a tone of assurance. He looked at her to ask if the boy could be carried, but she dropped her gaze away from his eyes, seeming to falter before him even as she seemed ready to grow in strength. Both Morgoroth and Zuromor stepped forward in support of the Elf maiden, but it was Zuromor who spoke first. “The Lady is right,” he said. “We must not task the weaker members of the party.” Morgoroth almost looked surprised to have been cut off by the Man, but with his impassive and distant Elvish air it was hard to tell what was going on within the depths of those ageless eyes.

A silence fell upon the company as they looked about from one to the other. Some few looked to Grash, but they were far from the majority. “I believe that the decision has been made for us,” a voice said from the shadows. They turned and saw Aldor emerging from the darkness of the tunnel lying in the direction from which they had fled. “I have scouted up a bit and found another web blocking our escape that way.”

“Can it be cut?” demanded the fierce Dwarf, Dwali.

“I think not.”

“No,” Morgoroth’s voice came into the darkness, “not by any weapons that we here possess. The malice of she who wove them is greater than steel and iron.”

“Then there’s only one way to go,” concluded Aldor, who then looked at Grash and said “We will follow.”

Grash was a bit surprised by this, but as the others seemed to accept once more his leadership he saw no need to counter Aldor’s assumption. Seizing his fast dwindling torch in one hand he turned and trudged down the tunnel. Behind him, Morgoroth lifted the boy Jordo in his arms, while Dwali and Dorim between them supported Brór who seemed to have become a bit unsteady on his feet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her rage at the failure of her spawn to bring down the meat was boundless, and she hissed and spat to herself the most venomous curses she knew. Scuttling through the dark fissures and cracks, her great limbs creaking and her mighty body folding and squishing to conform to every jagged edge of rock, she moved through the eternal night of her realm to where she would spring her final trap. She had not thought that the entire company would fall in the tunnel, but she had thought that at least a few of them would be overcome or weakened, making her assault less risky. Be that as it may, she would come upon them as they were, for she needed meat.

A stab of white pain lanced up through her abdomen as the open wound on her underside caught the wall, and she let out a screech of surprised agony, so unused was she still to the sensation of pain. Hatred of all that lived and breathed flooded her mind so completely that everything else was gone. She would crush the meat with sting and fang and then feast upon their living flesh. Great gobs of spittle fell from her mouth and stained the rock beneath her.

She came to the small crack in the roof of the mighty cavern and squeezed her great bulk through it. Below her, the prey entered from the tunnel. She watched as they tried to take in the expanse of the cavern, but their pitiful eyes could not pierce her darkness sufficiently to see. They felt about the walls, finding her webs blocking every tunnel and crevice, denying all means of escape. She felt their fear rise to a fever pitch as they sensed her presence, and like small, terrified animals they grouped together in the middle of the room, seeking shelter and comfort in the face of their horror.

The time had come. Her hunger was so great that it could no longer be denied. Dropping quickly from the roof of the cavern, she moved toward the meat, her many eyes glinting in the dark with her ancient hatred and lust…