Theron Nightshade's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Theron reached the crags by midday. The mammoth-fur jacket held the cold back, but it could not solve his real problem. White webs stretched across the rock ahead. Somewhere inside hung the frost-thread he needed. He stopped at the edge of the nest and did not move. He knew nothing about the spiders. One wrong step could wake the whole swarm before he cut a single strand. His fox growled low. Her ore-flecked fur bristled along her spine. She would not go closer. Theron crouched behind a boulder and watched. The threads trembled when the wind touched them. He saw no spiders yet. He did not know if they hunted by sight, by sound, or by the pull of their webs. Guessing would get him killed. "You'll want to stay off the webs," a voice said behind him. Theron spun, blade half-drawn. A lizard man stood on the rocks, grinning. Green scales showed at his throat above a thick winter coat. A rope and ice pick hung from his belt. Speckled frills ran down his neck. He held up both clawed hands, easy and calm. "Name's Ridge Scalecrest. I climb these crags for fun." He looked at Theron's drawn blade and laughed. "You don't look like you're here for fun." "You know the spiders," Theron said. It was not a question. "I've watched them for years." Ridge crouched beside him, unbothered. "They feel the web, not the ground. Step on the silk and they come fast. Cut it slow, from the outside, and they barely stir." He pointed with one claw. "The old threads at the edge. Those are the ones you want. They've already left them." Theron studied the webs again. Now he saw the pattern. Fresh silk near the center, bright and tight. Loose, pale strands hung at the rim, abandoned. His chest loosened. He had a way in. "Why help me?" Ridge shrugged. "You looked about to kill yourself. Bad for the view." He unhooked the ice pick from his belt and pressed it into Theron's hand. "Hook the thread. Pull from the side. Don't yank." Theron crept to the edge of the nest. He slid the pick under a loose strand and drew it toward him, slow. The silk came free without a sound. It shimmered, blue and white, like frozen water spun into cloth. He wound it around the pick's handle, strand by strand, until a full bundle gathered there. The webs at the center never moved. He backed away and did not breathe until the rock hid him. The frost-thread glittered in his fist. He had it at last. Ridge clapped him on the shoulder. "Now get down before dark. Something always comes when the sun drops." Theron looked at the silk, then at the long climb below. He had the last piece for his blade. But the forge lay two days back, and he still owed a debt to the dwarf who waited between.