In the Lair of the Night Thing

Iona stood at the back of the crowd with her giant spider companion. Chitter's venom-filled chelicerae clicked in time to the wild, skirling music of the drums and pipes near the clanfire, but the well-trained arachnid remained near her human's side. Surveying the encampment, Iona could see that the majority of the huts and tents are empty; nearly everyone in the clan had come to the central clanfire to mourn the loss of the dwarvish leader's son.

Khelarr and Shotavi were nearer to the massive fire than Iona, speaking to the assembled members of the clan as the mourning rites drew to a close. Iona, Chitter, and the two other members of their small band had come to the clan of Skarna Two-Axe to investigate the bounty on the monstrosity known only as the Night Thing.

A sharp wail from the godmarked shaman marked the end of the mourning ceremony, and the clanfire fell from its leaping, snapping heights and collapsed into a bed of glowing embers. The frenzied dancers broke free from their trance, some of them falling onto their rumps from tiredness. A sigh of mingled exhaustion and relief moved through the crowd—even Iona felt the release of tension from her position in the shadowy outskirts.

Shotavi, with her big mouth, must have said something that offended someone. She let out a shrill yelp as a thrown punch caught her full upon her face, and stumbled backward from the force of the blow. Two more of the clanfolk looked ready to gang up on the maple dreas, but Khelarr stepped in. The goliath's booming laugh sounded forced, but he offered something from his pack that Iona couldn't see in the unsteady firelight. Whatever it was, it seemed to smooth things over. Iona's gaze drifted away from the members of her traveling band.

The shaman raised his head, the fierce ruddy glow of the clanfire embers catching on the curving horn that protruded from his forehead like a tusk from the mouth of a massive boar. He locked eyes with Iona, and the woman stiffened in response. Nonetheless, she gave a nod of acknowledgement to the other magic user, and after a moment more the shaman severed the line of connection between them to speak with a member of the clan.

Hey-la, Iona, Khelarr boomed, the goliath wading through the crowd of smaller beings as he moved toward her. Iona swallowed a sigh at the attention he drew. The bounty looks good, and everyone we've spoken to so far has had useful things to tell us. Are you ready?

Khel, don't be hasty, Shotavi scolded, her voice strained and nasally around a broken, bloodied nose. She cocked her head at Iona and flashed a smile that failed to reassure the mage. The job does seem very profitable, although of course it isn't without its dangers. But something like this might be connected to your quest to find that Red Stone, eh? Hey-la... where's Chitter?

She scouts for me, Iona murmured, and sat down in the dirt as her consciousness fled her body to follow her arachnid companion through the nighttime darkness of the clan's encampment.

Chitter scurried along the outskirts of the encampment's encircling palisade, moving steadily towards the shaman's tent. The giant spider remained undetected by the denizens of the camp and their beast-companions, her many legs helping her to glide from shadow to shadow. She reached the edge of the godmarked shaman's tent, and the fine hairs on her eight legs picked up the vibrations in the air that denoted speech. Iona's consciousness, traveling along with the spider's, was better able to interpret them.

The shaman's voice came from within the tent: We cannot leave the camp until the new child... but, wait, I sense... Spider, go tell your master to come speak with me. I will not play spying games.

Iona came back to herself, then swallowed a curse as Chitter returned to her side. She could have learned more! She could have—but Khelarr and Shotavi watched her, their faces drawn and nervous. Even after two moons of traveling together, her sapient companions didn't know what to make of her and her arachnid friend.

I must converse with the shaman, Iona said, pulling herself upright and ignoring Khelarr's offered hand.

Shotavi nodded, then began rifling through her pack for various sachets of herbs. I want to stop this bleeding, she mumbled, and hawked up a mouthful of blood and phlegm to spit onto the ground.

Much better, Shotavi said, her voice clear again. She grinned ruefully at her companions. Let's go see that godmarked now.

There's no need for a crowd, Iona said. I will be fine—

We are a team, Khelarr rumbled, his deep baritone holding a note of warning and reproach. We said we would help you find the Red Stone, just as you will help us with our own quests. Now, we'll go visit the one-horned godmarked. He may have useful information for us as well.

Fine, Iona said, and turned on her heel to march towards the shaman's tent. Chitter followed her. Shotavi and Khelarr exchanged a look, then did the same. They picked their way through the crowd of clanfolk, although most of the assembled people cleared on their own when they saw Chitter trailing behind the grim mage with the deathly white facepaint.

Enter, the shaman called as Iona raised her hand to knock on the tent pole. Iona's mouth tightened into a half-grimace, but she nonetheless ducked around the tent flap. The interior reeked of incense, and Iona had to clear her throat to stop from coughing. The low, smoky fire didn't so much banish the darkness as nibble at its edges, giving light to shadowy half-shapes and partial silhouettes. The horned shaman's eyes reflected the light as glittering pools of amber that seemed deep enough to drown in.

Welcome, the shaman said. His unblinking gaze held Iona like a vise. I am Suuru, devotant of Gwehrsus the Boar. You have come seeking more than to help us against the Night Thing that wants to destroy our clan. It was not a question.

Yes, Iona admitted. I am looking for the hag who calls herself the Mother of Nightmares, who has taken the Red Stone from my clan. Do you know of her?

I have not, Suuru replied. But there are no doubt others in the world who have. Your destiny has brought you here during our time of need, and for your aid I will scry the next step of your journey towards this Mother of Nightmares.

Iona's own eyes reflected the low, guttering fire. I will consider this, she murmured.

You will do more than consider, a new voice said. The leader of the clan and chief among its mourners, Skarna Two-Axe, entered the shaman's tent through a secondary entryway. Carnelian crystals glittered in her hair, and a ridge of more of the red-orange mineral carved its way down the dwarf's jaw and neck. Chunks of raw emerald formed her eyes.

We've already decided to help, Khelarr said from behind Iona. The goliath had to squat down to fit inside the doorway of the tent, his knees bent upwards to his chest. Shotavi squeezed in around him to stand beside Iona.

Good, Skarna said. Her haggard face grew even more weary. I assume you seek the weapon of my clan in exchange? She held up the one-handed axe that she carried, its flint blade still stained with black ichor from the last nocturnal clash with the Night Thing... the same clash that had taken the life of her son, Brakar, and caused the trampling of her daughter, Adaki.

Khelarr's eyes lit up as he looked at the weapon, but his interest was more polite than anything else; the dwarf-sized axe, though blessed with the power of this clan's patron deity, would be absolutely tiny in his massive hand—and none of the other members of his adventuring band used this kind of weapon.

No, the goliath said. We seek information.

We will provide whatever we can, Skarna said. She nodded to Suuru. Our godmarked will tell you of your quarry.

Suuru hummed a soft tune that went round and round and up and down, never settling on any particular melody, as he tossed a handful of dried herbs onto the fire. The smoky air within the tent became even more thick and oppressive as the herbs burned. Shotavi moved to raise the tent flap, but stopped at the chieftain's hiss of negation.

Iona leaned towards the fire, staring deeply into its bright heart and breathing the aromatic smoke. She blinked hard, and her sight darkened with the onset of a vision from the shaman's past.

A black, star-drenched sky.

The clanfire, blazing and leaping.

The shadows, writhing and twisting.

The clanfolk, screaming and running.

The warriors and hunters, attempting to rally as the Night Thing snapped up Brakar in its jaws.

Skarna, wailing in horror and grief as her son and heir's broken, lifeless body fell to the dirt from the monster's maw.

The Night Thing's eyes, glowing like emerald balefires.

Iona relayed the vision to her comrades. Shotavi covered her mouth with her hand in horror, but Khelarr rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

It did not fear the light of the clanfire? the goliath asked.

No, Iona whispered. Nor the hunters' spears. Its gaze was... intelligent.

And it went directly for Brakar?

This time, Iona nodded. It ignored the other warriors, even when they shouted and waved torches.

How big was it?

The size of a tyrantmaw and roughly the same shape, but many-legged like Chitter. At this, Iona rested a hand on her companion's fuzzy cephalothroax for reassurance. The spider shivered at her mistress' touch, instinctively scuttling a few handsbreadths closer to the human woman, which provoked a hard swallow of revulsion from Skarna.

Khelarr didn't seem to notice this. He stared into the distance as he thought, and it was many long moments before his gaze sharpened on Suuru.

Shaman, the goliath rumbled. Do you vow to scry for us if we slay this monstrosity?

The shaman touched the starburst tattoo at the base of his throat. So I vow, he replied.

Khelarr nodded and touched the same tattoo, in the same place, on his own body. Then I shall vow to end the Night Thing, and my companions with me.

Shotavi murmured assent and touched her tattoo, as did Iona—and if the mage's affirmation came a half-heartbeat late and somewhat dubious, nobody took any notice.

What now? Iona asked.

Khelarr took charge. Chieftain Skarna, is there any aid you can render us before we set out? Any wisdom you can impart? Any hunters you can spare as guides?

Skarna sighed. Although as strong as the rock that she had been hewn from as an infant, she seemed smaller now, and greatly careworn. The loss of her firstborn and heir had forced her to draw from the deepest reserves of her normally indomitable spirit. No, she admitted. We are stretched as thin and taut as drumskin at present; any further strain will, I fear, cause the clan to collapse.

Khelarr nodded his understanding. Then we set out immediately. Let's go.