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The Spider and the Fly
Someone or something was following her.
Deep within the brooding forest named Cloakwood, Shialla lay unmoving in one of the rare open areas, her body cushioned by the thick grass beneath her, her hands spread wide and the fingertips worked slightly into the soil, sensitive to the vibrations of any approaching creature. She had come here using every one of her hunting skills to the maximum, and now she strained her preternatural senses of smell and hearing to the full, in the belief that in this place she may for once be able to detect the creature that had begun to dog her steps. In these woods, everything was predator or prey. Everything here either hid, hunted, or was hunted in turn. Perhaps here the thing would make a small mistake, and Shialla would learn something more that she could put to use at a later date.
Her cheeks ached from all the smiling and grinning she had done that day, but she knew the importance of subterfuge, of appearing friendly and open to those she met or mingled with. The more one blends in, the less closely one is observed. And truth tell, during her time on the road with her three trusted companions she had found a new ease and a depth of warmth in her soul that surprised her. Given the proclivity of the three men to fill their days with relaxed humor, and with jests and gibes that ranged from downright hilarious to shockingly crude, she had slowly been drawn into discovering and then setting free a sense of humor that she hadn't known she possessed. She had long been able to tell a jest or provide clever and witty comments to anyone she was instructed or employed to entertain, but in the past the things she had said left no echo of merriment within herself. She had always delivered her remarks quite devoid of true feeling, although none with her could ever discern how really cold she was. If she smiled at all it had been predominantly for show, smiles delivered to accomplish a purpose, and only ever occasionally genuine when she was with her beloved sisters, though they rarely had anything to smile about.
For a minute she lost focus and her mind drifted back in time to one of her earliest lessons with Gallander Macchionato, the Red Wizard who had magically fathered and then so malevolently fostered her and her siblings.
She had watched him as he paced carefully back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back, and his head nodding in time with the delivery of each sentence.
"To disarm a man in battle removes much of his threat correct? What use is the greatsword that lies on the ground a body length away from the hand that wields it?"
The wizard expected no reply, nor tolerated one unless asked for. He continued in a rhetorical manner, his dry, sibilant voice sounding almost disinterested in what he was saying.
"It is no less important to disarm a man intellectually and emotionally. Perhaps it is even more so. Win the battle of the mind first, and the rest shall follow like apples falling from a tree. And in this case the apples will fall exactly where I wish them to ... directly into your devious little manicured hands."
He leaned over her on the great stone slab where she was expected to lie whenever he instructed her. The chill beneath her back reflected perfectly in his eyes, and knowing him so well, she willed herself to that familiar place where pain was a distant thing.
"Smile for me now," he said as he reached out and took her right earlobe between his thumb and forefinger and began to twist cruelly.
"Wider, wider still. No, your eyes are still cold, let the smile travel to them also. Yes, yes, that is much better."
He released her ear and reached out again, raising her arms one by one until her hands met above her head, palms up, one wrist crossed over the other.
"Yes, yes," he said,
"Much, much better." The wizard put a hand into one of his robe pockets and withdrew a small pair of iron pincers. This time his voice thickened with obvious pleasure.
"Now let's try that again my clever little kitten."
It was now the small hours just before dawn and the swollen moon had slipped out of sight behind the great dark trees that surrounded her. Shialla brought her mind back to the present and the problem confronting her. Above her the night sky blazed brilliant with stars but she gazed at them unseeing, her mind recalling every detail of her encounters with her mysterious stalker.
It had truly startled her the first time. A sexless whisper so close in her ear. It had called her by name, and then circled around her completely unseen, whispering first in one ear, and then the other. She challenged the creature to show itself, and her companions had reacted immediately by searching for tracks, or casting spells of revelation. None of them, not even the highly skilled tiefling ranger Merrok, who was with them at the time could detect any hint of passage or presence. And still it whispered to her.
"Watching you," it said. "Watching you...."
It departed as abruptly as it had came, and over the following weeks it returned at intervals. It seemed to find her at will, day or night, in open road, woodlands, fields or caves - it did not seem to matter. Always it taunted her, teased her. Made vague, veiled threats and even vaguer promises.
Shialla weighed the facts carefully.
For whatever reason this thing has taken interest in me, it cannot possibly know what I am, nor what I am capable of. It has been eight long years since I left Thay and even there I was a hidden thing. Like my sisters I was one of Gallander's dark secrets, and unless he has chosen to place a bounty on me .. she paused as she assessed that thought ..
No, he will want to keep this personal. When it is convenient for him he will want to destroy my world while I watch. He will be compelled to see me suffer at his hands once more, and I doubt he would send a bounty hunter to collect his prize. Whatever this thing is it does not do his bidding. It does not know that it is my mind, my Gisaeng training that is my true weapon. It has seen me in open battle with bow and blade, and it has watched me track and hunt game, but these are the least of my talents. It cannot possibly be aware of the subtle arts in which I am so deadly.
In all these contacts, in all the times it has sought me out, has spoken to me, has turned it's thoughts to me - it has unwittingly bound itself to me. There is an intricate relationship between the hunter and the hunted, the gaoler and the prisoner, the master and the slave. The longer the time spent together the deeper the subconscious bonds grow, and the more the balance of power becomes exploitable.
Since that first contact I have played it, showed it only and exactly that which I wished it to see.
Once more her thoughts traveled back in time to the tower that had been at once her home, her school, her prison, and the source of her deepest and oldest pains.
The wizard's inner sanctum had thrummed with the constant presence of eldritch power. Across the high domed ceiling random bolts of arcane energy discharged in crackling green glare, then channeled down deep grooves in the blackened stone walls and disappeared through the polished floor. The lurid green light reflected on the gaping mouths and outstretched limbs of the hundreds of petrified creatures that knobbed the walls from floor to ceiling like nightmare fungi in a hollowed out tree. Each creature seemed to scream silently again and again as their faces shocked in and out of darkness.
In the center of the room a massive petrified gargoyle squatted on it's heels, it's head thrown back and it's bestial features twisted in frozen agony. It's enormous ribbed wings were held high and fanned wide like great shields of granite, every frozen bone thicker than the thigh of a man. It's mighty corded forearms were thrust forward at waist height, and the upward curling hands exposed every inch of it's extended talons.
Gallander reclined in it's lap, one hand idly stroking the gargoyle's claws, his gaze moving slowly from one to the other of the young girls as they knelt before him, their heads pressed to the stone below. No clothing or adornments broke the perfect curves of outstretched arm, bowed back or folded leg, and the flawless white skin of their bodies was in stark contrast to the deeply veined and mottled red marble floor beneath them.
"Three pretty white roses in a pool of blood," the wizard mused.
The energy flared again, and the brilliant green light washed the girls in ghastly color and turned the polished red floor black as onyx.
"Three poison green lilies glowing in the night. What lovely, lovely pictures you make for me."
He chuckled then, the sound as thick and clotted as a corpse covered with flies.
When his mirth finally subsided he dabbed at his mouth with a square of silken cloth and spoke again.
"Sit up straight now and pay close attention."
"In a duel between wizards where power is evenly matched, it is the one who can disguise his intentions, the one who can select and release a spell without any forewarning who will be the victor. It is also not always the mightiest spell that succeeds. At times one must do the obvious and expected, or even deliberately and clumsily sacrifice a powerful magic, to provide cover for the smaller casting that can slip under the guard and bring all undone."
He watched them with the unblinking stillness of a snake watching mice.
"To do this successfully one must possess an adamantine will married to impenetrable purpose. The mind must become an impervious shield. An unassailable layering of glittering silver that coats the hidden depths below. This shield can be used for three distinct intents. The first is to show nothing at all. Only a smooth blank wall that will cause your enemies to probe and pry, or to batter at in in impotent frustration. The second use is to perfectly reflect back that which your opponent expects to see, and thereby lull them into complacency and carelessness. The final use is to project onto its surface, any and everything that you wish your victim to see and take note of. A painting of exquisite deception."
He paused once more, his tongue flickering in and out between his lips as he tasted the degree of concentration in the room.
Satisfied with the focus of his silent daughters he continued.
"This is an essential tool for you to acquire. Not only will you use it against any mundane target I set for you, wealthy merchants, arrogant guild heads, or jumped up nobility .... but there will also come a time when you will be set against my peers, against other Red Wizards who strive in vain to become Zulkir. Without mastery of this skill they will tear you wide open and guzzle your secrets, like wolves gutting deer."
He lay back deeper into the embrace of the gargoyle, the shadow from its jutting jaw now covering all but Gallander's viciously pointed chin. His voice seemed to flow out of the darkness then and wrap around them, a disembodied thing of chill echoes and resonance.
"Close your eyes now my little darlings. Listen to your breath travel in and out, in ... and out, in ... and out. Slower now. Slower. As you breathe out let your thoughts go out with the breath. All those foolish little girl thoughts. Those idle bothers, and petty troubles. Let them all go. All go. All go."
Again Shialla returned to the present. She recalled how in her subsequent encounters with the thing she had displayed first nervousness, then bravado, then small fits of impotent anger. She had shown all the tiny physical signs that her stalker could wish to see to encourage it in its apparent success. She had detected early a hint of pride and a sure self-confidence bordering on arrogance in the way it spoke to her. In the things it said. Shialla had let her teeth grind at times, had made the tiny muscles in her cheek twitch and jump, had clumsily tried to see it in shadow or in dust. And the creature grew more taunting and dismissive.
Just recently, deep in a cave in the Troll Claw Hills, it's voice had come whispering to her again. Shialla had pulled back a little way from the group she was exploring with, then turned and retraced her steps by a dozen paces. She had made the feeble excuse of needing to adjust her bracer, and then knelt and hissed at the thing to leave her alone.
"Could you possibly me any more obvious," it whispered in reply.
Shialla knew then that she had it. The scorn in its voice was so strong and full of contempt, that she knew it had accepted her carefully presented persona. Now it was almost complacent. It had underestimated her and that was Shialla's hidden weapon.
A little later on near disaster had struck the party at the hands of a mighty Ogre wizard and his minions. To further its own purposes the stalker had come again and used some kind of scroll to save Shialla from her wounds. Shialla had listened to the rustling of parchment, and then the arcane words being read softly aloud.
She had risen unsteadily to her feet.
"I am in your debt," she had murmured with her head bowed down.
"Yesss," the thing gloated.
"And doesn't that complicate things!"
Despite her pain Shialla had smiled to herself in satisfactiion.
And I always pay my debts in full.
In the Cloakwood a sudden thrill ran through her fingertips, something large was moving closer. She recognized the vibrations almost instantly. One of the giant Phase spiders that hunted these woods was approaching. Shialla allowed her mind to slide into stillness. Her breathing slowed almost to a stop and her heart rate dropped until it was near imperceptible. Her skin cooled rapidly until it was chilled and tinged with blue, and she lay there unblinking and unmoving as the spider's huge questing forelegs tapped at her face and scraped at her body.
As the creature moved away in search of live, warm-blooded prey she thought again of her stalker.
Yes, you are the powerful spider no doubt about that .... but I am the poisoned fly that sooner or later you will take to the center of your web. And then we will see what we will see.