Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [100]
“Bashed into a wall,” he said ruefully.
Glancing back, Saryon saw lights leaping down the corridor, gaining on them rapidly. “Lets go!” he gasped and ran forward, only to stumble very quickly backward with a cry.
A huge black spider, nearly as large as the corridor itself, hung in a gigantic web spun across their path. A sudden vision of having plummeted into that web in the darkness, of hairy legs crawling over his body, of stinging poison paralyzing him crowded into Saryon’s mind, leaving him so weak and drained that he could barely stand.
Leaning back against the wall, he stared at the hideous spider that was watching them with fiery red eyes. “It’s useless,” he said quietly. “We can’t fight them!”
“Non … sense!” Simkin remarked. Flying over to Saryon, he grabbed the catalyst by the arm and tugged him down the corridor, heading for the web.
“Are you mad?” Saryon gasped.
“Come on!” Simkin insisted. Dragging the terrified catalyst along after him, he lunged straight for the body of the huge spider.
Frantically, Saryon tried to break free of Simkin’s hold, but the young man, now filled with magical energy, was too strong. The spider’s red eyes loomed larger than twin suns, its hairy legs reached out, the web was wrapping round, suffocating him ….
Saryon closed his eyes.
“I say, old friend, I can’t keep this up for ever,” came an aggrieved voice.
Opening his eyes, Saryon saw, to his amazement, nothing.
The dark corridor stretched ahead of them, empty except for Simkin, who hovered in the air near him.
“What? The spider—” Saryon glanced around wildly.
“Illusion,” Simkin said scornfully. “I was … fairly certain … it wasn’t real. Elspeth’s good … not that good. Real spider in the wink of a … finger? Hah!” He snorted. “Coursh,” he added, struck by a sudden thought, his eyes widening. “Always possibility, I’spose … real spider … posted to guard corridor. Never occurred to me. Almin’s blood, we dashed right into the middle of the web!” Seeing Saryon’s horrified expression, the young magus shrugged and clapped Saryon on the shoulder. “Could have been a bit sticky for us, couldn’t it, old fellow?”
Too exhausted to speak, Saryon could only draw in painful breaths and try to push the terror out of his mind. Shouts behind him helped considerably.
“How far do we have to go?” he managed to ask, stumbling forward.
“Round … bend.” Simkin pointed. “I think ….” Glancing at the catalyst staggering wearily along the ground beside him, the young man asked, “You going to make it?”
Saryon nodded his head grimly, though his legs had long ago lost any sensation of feeling and seemed to be just so much dead weight for him to carry around. The shouts were getting closer. Glancing behind again, he could see the dancing lights, or perhaps it was spots bursting before his eyes. He wasn’t certain and, at that moment, he didn’t care. “They’re gaining,” he croaked, his voice catching in his throat as a sharp, swift pain tore through his side.
“I’ll stop that!” Simkin said. Whirling about in midair, he raised his hand. Lightning shot from his fingers, exploded on the cavern ceiling, and immediately the air around them was filled with booming thunder, falling rock, and the choking smell of sulfur.
Blinded, deafened, and in dire peril of being struck on the head by the collapsing cavern roof, Saryon hurled himself forward, assisted by Simkin. “That ought to keep them busy,” the young man muttered in pleased tones as they dashed down the corridor.
The catalyst had no idea what happened after that. He ran and stumbled and fell, and had the vague impression of Simkin hauling him to his feet, and ran some more. He had the hazy remembrance of pleading with Simkin to let him lie down and die in the darkness and end the burning pain that was tearing through his body. He heard shouts behind him and then the shouts stopped and he wanted to stop, but Simkin wouldn’t let him and then there were shouts again and finally … sunlight.