Web of Lies

Leyt nodded finally, and Torral turned back to the path. Moments before he stepped onto the ledge, however, Kara’s Heart Sight came back, and she saw the sickly purple of malice in the man’s heart.


“It’s a trap!” Desmon shouted from the back of the line. He barrelled past the soldiers and shoved Kalo to the ground. Torral was facing the rest of them instantly, and flung silver strands at the air above the companion’s heads. Tugging down on them, a great silver net fell down upon the small army, entangling their limbs and binding their weapons in their sheaths. Everyone except Dalaran.

The Koren slashed at Torral savagely, but the old man leaped high over the blow, and disappeared into the shadows of the ceiling.

Leyt roared treason at Torral, but the voice in the ceiling didn’t respond to those, in fact he didn’t respond at all. A voice called out from the darkened corner of the cavern.

“It was foolish of you to come here, Leyt, you and your pathetic band of would-be heroes.”

From out of the shadows, followed by a band of barbarian warriors, came Lord Aphria, an empty crossbow in his hand.

“I thought that the boy would be the greatest threat to his Majesty, considering that fool lad Astrean intended for him to be the assassin. You’re lucky, boy,” he called to Kalo, “That that old fool thought you worth protecting.”

Kalo jerked his head around, and was faced with Desmon’s eyes, the light in them dying. He had a crossbow bolt sticking out of his head, and when he smiled blood leaked from between his lips.

“Sorry, son,” he managed to rasp, “I couldn’t let Brigid down; I couldn’t let her son die like that.”

“Desmon, you fool,” Kalo said softly, but the old campaigner didn’t hear him.

“You’ll die now, traitor,” Dalaran growled, “You and Torral.”

“Quite a threat, Koren,” called a mocking voice from the ceiling, “Very scary. Mayhap you still have a chance to try my fruit,” the voice broke off in maniacal laughter, followed by a chant.

“Itsy bitsy spider, climbed into a fool man’s bed,” the creature laughed in a gruff man’s voice, followed by a sliding sound, as of something slipping down a rope, Dalaran stepped back, eyes focused on the unseen creature in the dark, his sword at the ready, “Itsy bitsy spider, bit off the fool man’s head!” the creature snarled in a melodious, sensuous voice, and the creature appeared from the darkness. It still looked like Torral, hanging from a silver thread, but then the skin paled and went grey, the creature gave a violent twist, and the man’s skin flaked and split; and he appeared to struggle with himself, his skin bulging like a paper bag being struck from the inside. From its back two long, segmented arms split out, tearing the skin, and from the front two more burst like worms from inside his belly. The face tore down the middle and two huge fangs jutted out, followed by a pair of long palps that moved this way and that, smelling the air currents.

The legs reached up and grasped the loose skin around the creature’s head, and tugged down, tearing the skin away, and, emerging from the discarded skin of Lord Torral, a monster remained, a creature that was like some horrible half human half spider. The most terrifying thing about her, though, was how darkly beautiful she was, contrasted against her horrors. Her hair was long and silver white, rippling in unseen breezes and the terrible fangs jutted from a far too human, far too beautiful face, and though four monstrous spider’s legs came from her back and sides, she still had two arms and two legs that were completely human. And there was nothing monstrous at all about her bosom.