Venom and Song by Wayne Thomas Batson Page A

archers . . . storm the portal?”
    Manaelkin shook his head. “You speak my mind as well, Goldarrow,” he said. “I am a firm believer in overwhelming force. In this instance, however, stealth is our best hope. A frontal attack will only draw out the Spider King’s interest. . . . He might even close the portal altogether.”
    â€œYou will go blindly through the portal,” said Grimwarden. “We do not know where on Earth you will appear. There’s even a small chance that the Spider King has found another world to occupy. It could all be for naught. Nelly, Regis, are you certain you want to volunteer for this task?”
    â€œI am certain,” said Nelly.
    Jimmy eyed Regis. Please don’t go . The only one who heard his thoughts, of course, was Kat.
    â€œAs am I,” said Regis.
    Grimwarden raised his chin and nodded. “Very well. It does present its own set of difficulties, however.”
    Tommy waved his hands about. “You mean, besides sneaking through an entire war host set on killing them and having no idea where the portal spits them out?”
    â€œYes, Tommy,” said Grimwarden, “besides those.”
    â€œLike what?” Tommy asked.
    â€œTime.” All eyes turned to Alwynn. “If Nelly and Regis are gone for but only one hour on Earth, that is almost three days for us here. Depending on where that portal ‘spits them out,’ as you say, it could be weeks for us. Maybe even months.”
    â€œStill, it is a risk we have to take,” said Nelly.
    Goldarrow sighed. “But it means—”
    â€œWe’ll have to leave immediately,” said Regis.
    â€œAgreed,” said Alwynn.
    Grimwarden hesitated. He looked at the Seven. “Agreed.” He stood up straight. “We base as much of our planning as possible around having that map in hand.”
    â€œAnd if it doesn’t come back?” Manaelkin asked.
    Grimwarden said curtly, “Then we will remain in hiding until it does.”
    â€œYou mean a decision will be made by the council, don’t you?”
    Grimwarden turned his back and as he walked away said, “Of course.”

7

Paying the Price
    FERRAL DRAGGED his burden past six gates. None of the Gwar sentries offered to help. “Where is he?” Ferral asked. “The throne room?”
    One of the guards emitted a wet snort. “Bah, throne room? Not hardly.”
    â€œHaven’t seen him in the throne room since last Norander, heh-heh,” said the other guard. “He’s in his Plotting Chamber . . . practically sleeps there.”
    â€œFoul mood today,” said the first guard. “I hope you’ve brought him good news.”
    Ferral inwardly cringed. He’d spent most of the long journey back from the Dark Veil thinking about how he’d break the news. What does it matter? What is the worst the Spider King would do? He could lock me up and make me work in the pits. He might kill me . Ferral shrugged. After what he’d been through, he was ready to die . . . if need be.
    Ferral cast a derisive look at the two guards. “Lazy, the lot of you. After the leagues I’ve trod, you’d think one of you might lend a hand.”
    â€œWhat? And leave my post unattended?” asked the first guard.
    â€œPerish the thought,” said the other, laughing harshly.
    Struggling for a better grip on the huge sack he was dragging, Ferral snorted and continued down the corridor. Just before he passed out of range, he heard a final exchange between the guards.
    â€œHe smells overripe, that one,” said one guard. “Horrible.”
    â€œYeah,” the other replied. “Smelled like he’d been struck by a bolt in the Lightning Fields.”
    Ferral was half-tempted to go back and twist both their heads off, but he refrained for he had more pressing business. He traversed a tall arched hallway and found the stairwell he needed. It spiraled up,