Denner was running. He could hear the buzzing somewhere above him. He didn't dare look back to see where it was. The ground was uneven, and the jungle swallowed up the path on all sides. He was sweating, and his lungs and his veins burned. His vision was closing in at the edges, and it was getting difficult to concentrate. And the buzzing was getting louder.

Above, the imperfect light of the intertwined moons shone on the canopy, casting strange, dancing shadows on the jungle floor. They were distracting. Every one was another movement the Delver needed to track, if only for a moment. But each moment was precious, especially to Denner Fabellian. The pain from his poison had been with him for months, but it had been growing steadily worse, a process that had been gathering speed since Dammerdall. Sometimes, it was almost too much for him to take.

Suddenly, the buzzing exploded in his ears, and Denner realized that he had a more pressing concern than his gradual death. A quick one. Despite his concerns, Denner could not stop himself from glancing over his shoulder. The moment he did, however, his foot found a root protruding from the ground, and Denner fell. He crashed hard and skidded to a stop, forcing himself to roll over onto his back, finally catching sight of his pursuer.

Vespathi. Hunter-Hornet. Wasp-Warrior.

The gigantic humanoid insect fluttered slowly down toward the Delver, its inhuman face set in an expression Denner couldn't read. Somehow, he suspected a smirk. The Vespathi was below one layer of canopy but above another, which was the only thing standing between the wasp and his prey. In the moonlight, the Delver could see two weak glints, one from the wasp's spear and the other from his stinger. Both were pointed squarely at Denner Fabellian.

As the Vespathi descended, Denner started to convulse, the poison in his veins flaring again. The muscles in his arms and legs locked, and his back went into a spasm. A moment later, it did it again, only much, much worse. The pain contorted Denner's body, arching his back and slamming his skull against the hard ground. As his vision swam, Denner thought he saw the Vespathi struggling with something in the canopy, but in the next instant, the pain redoubled, and Denner Fabellian lapsed into unconsciousness.

When Denner's mind finally crept back to awareness, he knew he was somewhere else. He was still in the jungle; the heat alone told him that. But there was a different sort of feel here. It was more open, which Denner could sense from the breeze that blew across his face. As he forced his eyes open through his lingering pain, Denner saw that the jungle was somehow lighter here, although the intertwined moons still hung in the night sky. After a moment of clearing his vision, the Delver saw the source of the light.

He was in a large, circular depression in the jungle floor which was covered sparsely above by vines and leaves, but between each of them was strung an unbelievably massive gossamer web. The natural silk seemed to catch the light of the moons within its strands, and then cast the silver light downward to the ground below. There was something eerily calming about the effect. As the web waved in the breeze, the light it cast shifted in an unearthly cascade, setting the entire valley in a constant swirl of light and shadow.

With considerable effort, Denner forced himself up to a sitting position. His vision spun as he did. The Delver tried to gently massage his forehead, but it did little to help. Eventually, his sight cleared, and Denner looked out over the circular valley, trying to find a singular point to focus on, which was proving difficult against the shifting light. It seemed almost as though the valley floor were undulating in an uneven tremor, as though some mild earthquake were shaking everything but the Delver himself. It was a disorienting experience.

Another attack of pain from within forced Denner's eyes shut again. With all the reserves of his will, he struggled to retain consciousness. The attack seemed to last for hours to the poisoned man, and he gritted his teeth as he began to sweat against the torment. When the pain passed, Denner found himself lying on his side. He did not remember lying back down. Denner grimaced and sat up again, failing twice before finally succeeding. He tried to fight back the tears, but they were a flood that refused to be dammed. Denner had never had a second attack so soon after the first. It didn't take a healer to know what that meant.

Denner stared down through tear-drenched eyes and imperfect, gossamer light, and he saw the valley floor move. The Delver shook his head to clear out the dizzying effects of his spasm, but the ground still seemed alive. He brushed the tears out of his eyes to clear their obstruction, but it still didn't help. Finally, the Delver scanned the valley for one spot where the light fell consistently, and then he saw it. It was not the ground that was moving, but rather the hundreds, or probably thousands, of spiders covering it.

It took Denner several moments to truly process what he was seeing. The entire circular valley was quite literally covered in spiders, ranging in size from those Denner could barely see to those several times as large as he was. The Delver tensed, reflexively backing away from the creatures, although he was not particularly close to them. Suddenly, Denner realized he had no idea where he was. As cautiously as possible, Denner looked around him. He was sitting in a hollowed out cavity in a massive tree branch, suspended above the valley. The tree branch was lined with webbing, although curiously, the webbing was smooth to the touch, and did not stick.

"Ah, my little fly awakens," a soft, silky voice spoke from above the Delver, causing Denner to freeze. He could sense movement, and could feel vibrations within the webbing lining his tree branch cage. Denner swallowed air, and forced himself to look upward. His jaw clenched at what he saw. Filling the Delver's vision was the underside of a gigantic spider, longer across than he was tall. It was difficult to see in the imperfect light, but it looked darker than a moonless midnight, with countless hairs or spines protruding from its legs and body. And it was easing itself closer.

Suddenly, the spider dropped, closing the remaining distance between itself and the Delver with nerve-shattering speed. Denner would have jumped backward, but he was frozen from fear. The impact of the spider's drop made Denner turn his head away, and when he turned his head back, he was surprised to see a face smiling at him. A human face, or there abouts. She was an attractive woman, nearly beautiful, with dark skin and piercing black eyes. Her dark brown hair was pulled tight behind her head, and she was smirking at Denner. The Delver allowed his gaze to drop lower, appreciatively, until they settled at her lower abdomen, where her human body merged into that of the hairy spider he had seen. Denner had seen centaurs before, but never one as a spider rather than a horse.

"It has been ages since I have seen a human on Oorkonde,” she said, looking the Delver up and down. “I would very much like to hear your story.”

Denner found himself staring at the strange creature, unable to respond to her. After a long moment, the spider woman sighed. “I always endeavor to be an accommodating hostess, particularly to guests who are sure to be interesting. And perhaps you would be more inclined toward conversation if I were to share your custom of clothing myself.”

Denner tried to stagger an apology for staring, but the spider woman merely laughed and gestured above her. Almost instantly, dozens or perhaps hundreds of spiders of varying sizes swarmed in from above and below, covering the strange woman’s torso almost completely. Initially repulsed, the Delver watched in stunned amazement as the spiders set to work, spinning their silk and moving in a complex pattern across her upper body. All the while, she wore an expression of mild amusement as she watched Denner watching her. After just a few moments, the spiders began to move away, just a few at a time, until all of them had vanished back into the trees, leaving a crude shirt of shimmering white silk behind them. The spider-woman took a moment to straighten the bizarre garment as Denner stared, utterly confounded. Somehow, the shirt was even more flattering to her beauty.

“There,” she said with a pleasant smile. “Now, perhaps, we can talk. Yes?”

Finally, Denner shook himself out of his distraction. “Yes, sorry. I’m just…”

Denner’s reply was cut off almost immediately by a particularly vicious fit of coughing and convulsing, one that yet again nearly cost the Delver his consciousness. When the attack finally passed, Denner found himself breathing heavily and shaking. He took a moment to compose himself before staring up at the woman.

“You are ill,” she noted matter-of-factly. Still, there seemed to be some degree of concern on her face.

Denner forced himself to nod. “Beyond sick. I’m dying.” He tried to look around, but the effort hurt his neck. “I don’t want to impose on your hospitality, but I could really use any help you could offer.”

The woman looked surprised. “And what leads you to believe that I can help you?”

Denner hung and shook his head. “Nothing,” he admitted. “I was only hoping. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. It’s all I have left.”

The spider woman folded her arms over her chest and seemed to consider Denner. “Perhaps I am what you have hoped to find. Perhaps not.”

“Meaning no offense,” Denner ventured, “but I suspect not. I’m rarely that lucky.”

The woman laughed again. “No, I suppose you are not. When I found you, you were being chased down by a particularly ill-tempered Vespathi.” This seemed to remind her of something. “Speaking of which, you and I already have an account to settle.”

“We do?” Denner asked, confused.

She nodded. “Yes. I saved your life from the wasp. Now you owe something to me in payment of that service.”

Denner furrowed his brow. “But I didn’t ask you to, so I couldn’t have agreed to payment.”

“You were in no condition to ask when the service was rendered,” she pointed out. “Although I suspect had you been in such a condition, you would have agreed to my terms. And besides, if you disagree with the terms now, I can always return you to a comparable situation, and we can discover your reaction then.”

“No, thanks,” Denner sighed. “I just tend to end up on the losing end of bargains.”

“Somebody has to,” she commented. “But I think you will find my prices to be more than fair.”

“I don’t have much of a choice than to find them fair, do I?” He glanced over at her, but she just smiled back. Finally Denner exhaled, and ran one shaking hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Fine. Let’s hear it, uh, what was your name?”

Her smile widened, but her eyes narrowed. “True names have great power. Do not think I would give you mine, only for the asking.”

Denner shrugged. “I’ll give you mine first, then. I’m Denner Fabellian.”

She stared at him for a long time, then shook her head. “You are a strangely honest man, Denner Fabellian. Very well. I have gone by many names in many places, and am remembered differently in each of them. But if you wish to call me by a name, the one I would prefer you use is Lady Nasina.”

Denner nodded, smiling to himself. “I’ll remember that. So what is this price you say I owe you, Lady Nasina?”

“Perhaps the easiest price you have ever paid. You see, Denner Fabellian, I deal in stories. And for one such as you, I suspect you have a great wealth of them hoarded away.”

“What do you mean, ‘one such as me’?”

“Come now,” she said. “I told you that I have not seen a human on Oorkonde for more than an age. They do not live on this plane, and so they must come from elsewhere.”

“You seem to know a great deal about my kind.”

Lady Nasina looked away for a long moment, then nodded to herself and looked back. “I, too, can ‘walk the Eternal Web, Denner Fabellian. So yes, I know a great deal about our kind.”

Denner nodded. He should have suspected as much. “So, you just want me to tell you a story? I know hundreds of them. I can recite you entire volumes if you want, or varying translations. For example, have you ever heard the fable of Wolf and Owl? ‘Once, in a time that was and never was, Wolf was walking…’”

“Not just any story, Denner Fabellian,” Lady Nasina interrupted. “While my prices are easy to pay, I am still a shrewd negotiator. You may pay me with a story, but I will choose that tale.”

“Oh,” Denner said, looking away. “So, then, what did you have in mind?”

She smiled. “I wish to know how you came to be poisoned by whatever vile venom is flowing through your veins.”

“How did you…”

“Know?” She interrupted again, laughing. She indicated around the circular valley. “I have spent my life with and among every breed of spider I have found. Look around you, Denner Fabellian. Look at this valley, at my children. Countless breeds, numberless shapes and sizes. You do not truly believe all of them are native to this plane, do you? Of course not. I have brought most of them here, a sort of refuge for them. A paradise, of sorts. I have seen enough of venom to be considered quite an expert.”

Denner shivered, thinking of all those spiders crawling below him. And above, he suspected. He was so distracted thinking about them that for just a moment, he missed the meaning in Lady Nasina’s words. When that meaning finally hit him, he was so surprised that he moved to walk, but the movement triggered another convulsion, and he collapsed back down again. He struggled for several minutes, but mercifully, the attack was not a bad one. Once it finally passed, he looked back up at her, allowing hope to enter his voice.

“You can help me, can’t you?”

Her smile faded. “We shall see. First, though, your story.”

Denner nodded, composed himself, and then began. He told Lady Nasina everything, starting with his heart-breaking trip to Carghora, which led to his even more ill-fated journey home to Elentry, which led to his meeting Syl, and from there, the unthinkable cascade of madness that was the war of the Wheel, and ultimately his poisoning. Lady Nasina listened with rapt attention, barely even blinking as she absorbed every word of his story. By the time the Delver finished, his throat was dry and his voice tired, but Nasina seemed satisfied.

“That is quite the tale, Denner Fabellian. Truly, I pity your journey. It has not been easy for you, certainly. I must say, as well, that you have an amazing ability to recall even the minutest detail of your adventures.”

“Sorry,” Denner said, scratching the back of his head. “Remembering everything sometimes makes it hard to know what not to tell people.”

“You need not apologize,” Lady Nasina said hastily. “I found the detail fascinating.” She stopped talking and simply stared at the Delver, softly biting her bottom lip. After a long pause, she nodded to herself again. “I have decided to offer you my help, Denner Fabellian. I can make no promises of success, you understand. But I will try, if you wish.”

“I do,” Denner said immediately, then hesitated. He remembered, as he did everything else, that Lady Nasina did not offer her aid without a price. “But before I agree, what story will you want in return?”

The spider woman smiled. “You are a clever one. Yes, I will expect payment for my aid, and it is a story not easily told. But I believe that your particular skills will allow your success.”

“What do you mean?” Denner asked, growing concerned.

“It is not only spiders and Vespathi who inhabit Oorkonde,” Lady Nasina began. “There are many creatures here, each with a proud and noble tradition and history. Most of their tales are known to me. But there is a recent event about which I know little. The snakefolk of Pyt have recently fought a war with the Pardusi, the leopardfolk. While these folk have never truly been allies, open war between the two is a rarity. If you can discover the cause of the war, I will help you.”

Denner brought one hand up to massage his forehead. It was drenched in sweat, and he suspected it was not merely from the heat. But as he felt his right arm begin to convulse from yet another attack, he knew he had no choice. Denner tried to bring some sort of magic to bear against the coming attack, but it was no good, and the Delver felt his veins erupt in mind-shattering pain. This time the pain was too much, and once again he blacked out, the only mercy he was ever allowed anymore.

When Denner woke up again, he was no longer in the massive hollow branch, but rather in a partially covered recess in the ground. It was much cooler here, and Denner was lying on a wide slab of stone covered in a surprisingly comfortable amalgam of moss and silk. He was surprised to see that he was shirtless. He was also surprised to find that his chest had begun to break out in purple-blue blotches that spoke to the depth of his illness. The Delver grunted as he tried to find the strength to move.

“Awake again, I see,” Lady Nasina spoke from close by. “I was beginning to fear for you.”

Denner could not get himself to a seated position, but he was able to raise his head to look at the spider woman. She was across the small recess, standing next to a crude wooden table. On the table were a variety of glass and metal implements which Denner recognized almost immediately. He had last seen their like in Cyrryc Adda’s lab on Dammerdall. They were alchemical equipment.

“Do you really think you can help me?”

Lady Nasina sighed. “I do not know. But I would like to try, if you wish me to.”

Denner laid his head back down. “The last one to try said that time was running out. He said that the poison was a combination of several venoms, and that each time my heart beat, it was mixing them more. If they get too mixed, it will be impossible to know what the cure is.” Denner paused, thinking back to Dammerdall. “Of course, I don’t think he was ever interested in helping me anyway.”

“If what you were told is true, Denner Fabellian, then it would be best if you make your mind up quickly. If you wish to trust me, we should begin immediately. If you do not, than you had best begin searching for someone you will trust.”

Denner thought for several long moments, but he knew the truth. He had no time. It might already be too late, or he might have only a few minutes left before the cure was lost to him forever. There was no way to know, and no time to find out. As a single tear trickled down his cheek, Denner nodded. “Whatever the cause of your war is, I’ll find it.”

“Good,” Lady Nasina said. “We should draw blood now, before you leave. It will give me the most time to attempt to find the answer.”

Denner swallowed, remembering the large snake fang that Cyrryc Adda had used for the same purpose on Dammerdall. “I’m not fond of needles,” he commented.

“I have none,” she assured him.

“Oh, good,” Denner said, starting to look over at her again. “So what will you be using to…”

He stopped short as he saw a spider scurry across the floor over to Lady Nasina, a large, furry spider over a foot long, with large fangs working back and forth. As Lady Nasina bent and picked it up, Denner felt himself trying to ease away from them. As she was walking toward Denner, the spider woman noticed his reaction, and shook her head.

“We need to draw blood, and this is the only method I have available to me. I do not like it any more than you do, but it must be done.”

“I just don’t want that…thing…anywhere near me, okay?”

Lady Nasina stopped, her smile vanishing in an instant. “Denner Fabellian.” She spoke his name with a stern tone, as a mother might speak to a badly behaved child. He looked into her eyes and saw a strange sort of anger there. After a moment, she composed herself and held the spider up, showing it to the Delver. “This is a spider, Denner Fabellian. A rare breed, even on his home plane. You may not like his form, and you may fear the danger he and his brethren typically pose to you. But this one has agreed, of his own volition, to help you. He is willing to draw your blood into himself, your poisoned blood, so that I may study it. He does so knowing that it will kill him. He does so because he does not wish for another living being to suffer when he can perhaps help. Do not dare to dishonor him and the sacrifice he is willing to make for you.”

Denner bowed his head. He could feel his cheeks burn, and he was sure he was turning red. “I’m sorry.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Denner felt the large spider as Lady Nasina set it down on his abdomen. The spider adjusted its weight and positioned its head just above Denner’s left elbow. It then seemed to intentionally lay one limb on Denner’s left hand, as if to comfort him, although Denner suspected he was simply imagining things. The spider then waited as Lady Nasina spoke.

“While you were unconscious, I devenomed him. It was a painful process, and he will die from it soon. It was his choice, and I honor him for that. His fangs cannot poison you any further, and he should be able to draw enough blood for me to study, hopefully without leaving you too weak for your journey.”

Denner forced himself to look down at the large arachnid perched on him. “Thank you.”

Strangely, the spider looked over at him, but if it gave any reaction to the Delver’s words, Denner was unable to recognize it. Then, without warning, the spider turned back to the arm and lunged, digging fangs deep into Denner’s flesh. Denner screamed in surprise and pain, and closed his eyes to try to block it out. It didn’t seem to work. The moment seemed to last forever, and the pain never subsided. He could almost feel his blood vanishing into the spider, almost feel himself grow weaker with each passing second. But then finally, mercifully, the spider pulled away. Lady Nasina was there in an instant to bandage his wound, although she sped through the process, eager to get working on the spider before it could succumb to the venom in Denner’s blood. Denner tried to watch, but his head started swimming a few seconds later, and within a minute, he had passed out.

At dawn the next morning, Denner set out, riding a spider that was half again as long as he was. Lady Nasina had insisted that he take the gigantic mount, regardless of his apprehensions. Despite the Delver being thoroughly terrified of the thing, he eventually acquiesced when the spider woman had pointed out how often Denner had fallen unconscious over the past day or two. She reminded him that doing that in the jungle with nothing to guard your fallen form was a good way to be eaten, and while Denner didn’t think she needed to have been as graphic in her descriptions as she was, he agreed that she had made her point.

Lady Nasina had given the Delver detailed directions both to the Pyt snakes and to the Pardusi leopards, which Denner had listened to half-heartedly. He knew he would remember them anyway, but the directions were secondary. Lady Nasina had already told him to seek out the elder of whichever tribe he chose to ride to, and that alone was already triggering his natural Delver ability. He could sense them even now, could mentally feel the pull of their presence, even through the dense jungle surrounding him. Finding the snakes and the leopards would be easy. Convincing them to tell him their story rather than kill and devour him, he suspected, would be an entirely different issue.

Denner rode through the jungle until midday without stopping. It was a strange experience, riding a spider. It was, as Denner quickly learned, entirely different from riding a horse. The spider’s wider frame made it impossible for the Delver to drape his legs around either side of the animal as he would with a horse. Instead, he was forced to sit cross-legged atop the carapace with the small of his back pressed against the creature’s bulging abdomen. The spider’s massive black legs bent upward on either side of him, like a cage. This, combined with the lack of any sort of saddle or reins, made Denner feel more like a prisoner than a rider.

The jungle itself was a beautiful, if sweltering, scene. Everything was a vibrant green, from the large leaves to the strangling vines to the moss covering the ground and the trees. And everything was alive. The sounds of life echoed off of the trees, a chorus of insects, birds, and mammals. It was unlike anything Denner had ever heard before. He had been in forests before, and even jungles, but this one seemed to have its own, unique song to sing. Denner found himself thinking about Daneera and how much she would love to see this unmolested jungle. The Delver shook his head. That thought would only lead to other, less pleasant concerns. He had to focus on his task.

Denner and his mount stopped shortly after the sun began to move away from its zenith above the canopy. They had come to a small stream, and evidently, the spider had decided it was time for both of them to get a drink. It approached the stream and bent itself low to the ground, extending two of its legs on the right side, as if inviting Denner to dismount. The Delver shrugged and did so, and the spider silently moved over to the water and slowly began to drink. Denner sighed. The air in the jungle was humid, and although he had exerted almost no energy throughout the day, Denner was sweating heavily in the heat. Without a word, he moved to the stream as well, filling a flask he had with him a bit upstream from his silent companion. He drank as much as he could, refilled the flask, and then conjured a second, just to be sure. By the time he was done, the Spider was staring at him, once again bent low with two legs extended. Denner sighed, and climbed onto its back once more.

A few hours later, as the shadows of the canopy were beginning to deepen, Denner noticed that the ground was soft under the spider’s legs. He began to hear water sloshing with each step the arachnid took. Denner closed his eyes and focused on his target, allowing his abilities as a Delver to come into sharp clarity. His suspicions were correct. They were close now. The elder of the Pyt was within shouting distance, although Denner could not yet see anything but the usual jungle foliage. Softly, Denner laid a hand on the spider, urging it to stop. Denner briefly considered casting an illusion, but he quickly dismissed the idea, realizing that he had no idea what the Pyt snakes looked like. Besides, in all likelihood, the snakes had spotted him long ago.

It took only a handful of seconds before Denner’s suspicions were confirmed. As one and from every direction, numerous snakefolk surged out of the water surrounding them, armed with spears and rope. Denner reflexively tried to back up, but he had nowhere to go. The spider seemed unconcerned, or at least, Denner sensed no change in its behavior at the sudden appearance of eight Pyt snakes armed for battle. The snakes leveled their spears at Denner and indicated for him to step down. In response, the spider lowered itself all the way to the ground and extended its legs.

Thanks for the help, Denner thought.

“What is it?” asked one of the snakes.

“No idea,” another one said.

“Well, it’s no Pardusi, whatever it is. Should we let it go?”

“It rode a spider into our lands,” another pointed out. “Whatever it is, it is a trespasser. We should kill it. Likely a spy for the cats.”

“It carries no weapons,” one mentioned. “It is no threat to us.”

“What of the spider?”

“If it were going to attack, it would have.”

Denner nodded, deciding to risk interrupting their debate. “I only came here to learn.”

The snakefolk all jumped back, holding their spears at the ready and pointing them directly at the Delver. “You speak?” One of them asked, indignant. “What manner of creature are you?”

Denner shrugged. “I’m a human.”

The snakes all looked at one another, confused. Denner continued. “I have come here to…”

Suddenly, Denner found he couldn’t breathe. As he reached up toward his throat, his arm locked and started to shake. The Delver had only a moment to shake his head before the convulsion hit him, hard. His chest seemed to compress on either side, and his stomach constricted. His legs locked painfully, and he lost all control of his balance, falling face first to the ground beneath him. Then the pain took over, and Denner could not concentrate on anything but the torment. His vision was just beginning to blur as a new snake slithered up behind the others.

“What have you done to it?” She asked.

“Nothing, Elder,” the foremost Pyt snake said. “I swear, we were merely speaking to it, and suddenly it started shaking and fell to the ground.”

The Elder seemed to consider. “Very well. Bring it to my hollow.” She glanced over at the large spider and froze for a moment, then pointed at it. “Make sure…that…stays here. Or leaves. Just so long as it doesn’t come into the village.”

Four of the Pyt snakes moved to pick up Denner’s convulsing body, but mercifully, he could already feel the attack passing. By the time they had reached the Elder’s hollow, the spasms had stopped, and Denner’s sight was returning to normal, although his right eye seemed to sting a while longer. The hollow was surprisingly welcoming. It was dry and cool, a small tunnel dug into the ground on a sort of island in the near-marsh that the Pyt snakes seemed to live in. The snakes laid Denner down in a bed of straw and leaves, but he forced himself to sit as the Elder stood, blocking his only path back outside. She dismissed the other snakes, then turned to examine the Delver.

“Are you well enough to speak, stranger?” she asked.

Denner massaged his chest above his heart, but nodded. “I’m as well as I’m going to get.”

The snake cocked her serpentine head to one side. “Very well. Why have you come to us this day? You must understand that we have great reason to be distrustful of strangers in these times.”

“That’s why I’ve come,” Denner said. “I wish to know about these times. I have been told about your war with the Pardusi, but I do not know the reason for it.”

“Why does the reason matter to you?”

“I always want to learn more,” Denner gave his usual answer without even thinking. It was what he told anyone when they asked him why he wanted to know something, because it was the truth. Denner never understood people who didn’t want to learn. When the Elder said nothing, he thought of a more applicable answer. “Because I want the truth of your story to be told beyond the reaches of your village.”

“Ah,” the Elder said, brightening. “You wish to prevent the spread of the Pardusi lies! Very well, stranger. That is enough for me to call you ally, if not friend. You see, not far from here is a vast field, a field known as Sulkisnewel. It has since the time of the Great Ancestors been the spawning ground of our kind. We lay our eggs there, so that they may be watched over by the Passed, and eventually hatched into the world. It is sacred to us. It is sacred, we thought, to all.”

“But the Pardusi didn’t honor it?” Denner asked.

“No,” the Elder said, her tone growing angry. “Once a cycle, when the intertwined moons fly horizontally through the night skies, we go into Sulkisnewel and check on our eggs. But the last time we did, we found many broken, and many more stolen. The tracks of the Cat were everywhere, and we followed them back to their nearest village. The fur-fiends were gone, but we found shells of our young there, their eggs clearly destroyed. We moved the rest of the eggs back here, where we can protect them, but the sin the Pardusi have committed is unforgivable. The remaining young were recently born into the world, the first generation in the Long Memory to have been born beyond the eyes of the Passed.”

The Elder hung her head. Denner shook his. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I wish there was something I could do.”

She looked up at him. “Whatever you are, you are not our kind. You owe us nothing, and you seem unable to help, regardless. But I thank you for the sentiment. We have made the Pardusi pay for their trespass, though I fear we have paid all the more. Still, our dead have been avenged, though we shall need to abandon Sulkisnewel, which grieves me. Perhaps, in a few generations, we will find our way back. If you wish to do something, stranger, please do as you have said. See to it that our tale is told to those outside the Pyt. Let the atrocities delivered unto us be always remembered.”

Denner agreed, and although the Elder offered him the hospitality of her tribe, Denner and his massive spider mount were beyond the village in less than an hour. He had what he needed. He knew the story of the war between the Pyt snakes and the Pardusi, and that was all Lady Nasina had asked for. The spider set a brisker pace as it worked its way home, but something was bothering Denner. After a few hours of riding, it became too much for the Delver to take, and he again laid a hand on the spider’s back, asking it to stop. The sun’s light was almost completely gone now, and the intertwined moons were giving a poor imitation through the thick canopy. Suddenly, Denner made up his mind.

“We’re not going back to Lady Nasina yet,” he said, hoping the spider would understand him. “She sent me to get the tale, and I don’t think I have it yet.”

Denner closed his eyes, delving through the hidden mysteries of the jungles of Oorkonde, searching for the Elder of the Pardusi until he felt that inaudible click in his mind that signaled he had found his target. Silently, his spider mount accepted this new direction, and started creeping off into the darkness, with Denner sitting on its back as he tried to peer into the shadows. After one full night of riding, three painful convulsions, and half a dozen scratches from a Pardusi sentry, Denner found himself in a crude grass hut, staring across a small fire at the Elder of the leopard people. He was a proud cat, his back straight and his head high, but there was a sadness in his feline features that even Denner could recognize.

“You smell of the snakes, stranger,” he noted. There was a tinge of threat in his voice, but it was overpowered by curiosity.

“I just came from the Pyt,” Denner admitted, seeing no wisdom in lying to the man. “I asked them for the same thing I am asking you. I wish to know the true cause of the war between your people.”

“One does not seek truth from a snake any more than he seeks wheat from a fruit tree.”

“Which is why I have come to you,” Denner said, being careful to neither agree nor disagree with his host.

“Very well, stranger. The cause of the war is no secret, and I lose nothing by sharing it with you. The cause was a desecration. A desecration of a holy place. The holy place.”

“Sulkisnewel.”

The Elder nodded once, slowly. “Sulkisnewel.” For as long as the sun and the moons have blessed the sky, Sulkisnewel has been a sacred place to the Pardusi. There, once a cycle, when the moons pass vertically through the sky, we travel there to bury those of our tribe who have gone on to the Greater Hunt. It is a great honor, and it is our treasured tradition that those honored shall rest forever in the arms of Oorkonde.

“But when last we made the journey, we discover to our eternal horror that the graves of our ancestors have been desecrated! We could smell the snakes’ odor hanging heavy in the air, see their twisting tracks in the grass that blankets our honored. It is an insult. No, beyond an insult. It is an unforgivable sin. And now, Sulkisnewel is lost to us. We have hurt the snakes badly, but we are now too few to retake the sacred field. Our dead must rest elsewhere, a shame I fear I cannot bear.”

The Elder took several minutes to compose himself, and when he did, he asked Denner to leave, and to remember the true history of the war. Denner left and once more rejoined his spider mount, but he found himself even more bothered by the story of the war than he had after visiting the Pyt snakes. The spider started making its way back toward the valley where Lady Nasina and the spiders were, but once again, Denner stopped it with a hand. He simply couldn’t let the issue drop.

“I have to know.” He paused, closing his eyes and delving. When he felt the click, he pointed behind him, to a place between the lands of the Pardusi and the Pyt snakes. “Let’s go to Sulkisnewel.”

The journey took most of the remainder of the day. They stopped several times, twice for water, and twice for Denner’s spasms. Mercifully, the convulsions had yet to rob him of his consciousness, although that simple mercy did little to comfort the pain-ridden Delver. The sun was just setting when they reached the field. Denner had been wondering the entire time what they would find, and if the sacred field would offer any clues that the Pyt snakes or the Pardusi catfolk couldn’t.

Denner heard his answer even before he saw it. He remembered everything with pure, unaltered clarity, but he somehow knew that, even if he had had a rotten memory, he would have still recalled that sound. The unmistakable buzzing of the Vespathi. The hornetfolk. Denner eased the spider to a slow crawl just before they broke from their jungle cover. The Delver stared upward in a mixture of amazement and terror. There, on the field sacred to the Pyt snakes and the Pardusi, was a gigantic hornet’s nest, at least several stories tall. From Denner’s position, the entire structure was backlit by the fading sunset, making it look all the more ominous. While difficult to be certain from this distance, Denner thought he could see the nest lined with cat skulls and broken egg shells.

The buzzing in the sky grew louder, and Denner started to panic. After having been chased by a Vespathi warrior once, he was in no hurry to do so again. He and the spider turned back around into the jungle, but at least one Wasp-Warrior was already on their trail. The spider was moving fast, faster than it had during their entire journey, and Denner was doing everything he could to hold on. The buzzing continued to grow louder, and the spider responded by increasing its pace even more. Denner was gripping the spider’s hair with a death grip, but luckily, the buzzing was falling away. They were outpacing their enemy.

Then, suddenly, Denner’s entire body exploded in pain. The convulsion hit so suddenly and so painfully that neither he nor the spider had time to react. Denner lost his grip on the spider just as it was climbing up toward the canopy, and the Delver went flying hard to the ground, landing with all his weight on his left shoulder. His vision went black for a moment, or perhaps a great deal longer, but when he could see again, his sight was filled with a Hunter-Hornet whose spear was resting just below Denner’s chin.

“You did it, didn’t you!” Denner yelled without truly realizing what he was doing. “The Vespathi! You set the Pyt snakes and the Pardusi against each other! You set up the war!”

The wasp seemed to consider him for a long moment, then laughed. “Whatever you are, you are more clever than the snakes or the cats. Pity it will do you no good.”

“I heard everything,” a sibilant voice sounded from Denner’s right. The hornet looked over just as the Pyt Elder slithered from the undergrowth.

“As did I,” the Pardusi Elder added, stepping through the tangle to Denner’s left.

The wasp panicked then and tried to take to the air, but the moment he did, Denner’s spider mount crashed through the vines and leaves above him, landing on the Vespathi and instantly beginning to tear the shocked creature apart. Denner was panting heavily as he allowed his illusions of the two Elders to vanish. Even he was surprised he had been able to conjure them so flawlessly despite the pain he was in. After a few moments, the spider seemed to finish with the wasp, and it scooped Denner up and set him on its back. Without a sound, the spider started off back toward the valley of the spiders.

Lady Nasina listened intently to every word the Delver spoke as he recounted both his journey and the story of the war, both the fictitious versions that had been orchestrated for the Pyt and the Pardusi, and the true story of the Vespathi trickery. Numerous spiders surrounded them as he spoke, including the silent mount that had seen him through the trek. They were back in the small alcove of earth that the spider woman used as her lab, where the heat of the jungle was lessened somewhat by the cool breeze. When Denner finally finished, Lady Nasina smiled.

“Thank you, Denner Fabellian. That was quite the story. I must admit, I am impressed by your ability and your desire to delve into the truths of the matter. I fear most in your position would have stopped after speaking with the snakes.”

“It didn’t feel right to stop there,” Denner said. “It wasn’t the whole story.”

“No,” agreed the spider woman. “I believe you have more than adequately paid me for whatever services I might render to you.”

Denner sat up straight, not even trying to disguise his hopeful expression. “Have you studied the blood, then? Can you help me?”

Lady Nasina’s eyes sank as Denner spoke. “I have studied the blood, yes.”

Denner waited, expecting her to continue. When she didn’t, he tried to spur her on. “And? What did you find out? Do you recognize any of the venoms?”

“I…” she began, and then stopped again, shaking her head. Denner was just about to speak, but Lady Nasina cut him off. “I am truly sorry, Denner Fabellian. I tried. But what you were told is true. The venom in your veins was comingling. And once it combined fully, there was no way to identify the venoms.”

Denner felt himself grow pale. “No…”

“I am sorry…”

“No…” Denner repeated, interrupting her. “It can’t be too late. It can’t be.”

Lady Nasina laid a hand on her forehead, running it upward and over her hair. “The blood could not tell me anything. It had already combined, making the components indistinguishable from one another.”

Denner said nothing, instead staring off into space as he let the reality of his situation sink in. Suddenly, Lady Nasina slammed her fists down on her worktable and yelled an incomprehensible sound. Caught off-guard, Denner’s head snapped over to her. He was surprised to see a tear in the corner of her eye.

Finally, she looked back over to him. “I have…grown fond of you, Denner Fabellian.” She looked away. “I do not wish for your story to end this way.”

Denner hung his head. “Me, neither.” After a long pause, he looked up again. “Isn’t there anything you can do? Or someone else you know of who might be able to help me?”

Lady Nasina shook her head. “If the venom were still separate, I am certain I could find the components, and make an antivenom. But the comingling is permanent. Your blood will never again tell us what we need to know. Only a pure sample, from before it became too mixed, could help us now.”

Suddenly, Denner’s mind clicked, his Delver senses alerting him that the thing he was searching for was found. Denner swallowed hard. “If you had that sample, you could cure me?”

“I believe so,” she said, dejected. “But it is impossible now. I am so sorry, Denner Fabellian.”

Denner exhaled sharply. “It’s not impossible,” he said, clenching his jaw. “It exists, and I know where it is.”

“What?”

“An alchemist named Cyrryc Adda drew my blood before it turned. Just before he tried to kill me.”

Lady Nasina looked suddenly hopeful. “You can find it, then?”

Denner scowled as his flawless memory jumped back to the Dual-Walkers’ tower on Anissem. But it was not his poisoning he was remembering, but rather the words of Fisco Vane afterwards. He could picture the Shark’s face, could hear him speaking those words again, when he had said, “finding something and acquiring it aren’t always the same thing. And if you ‘find’ something for this little bug you’ve got, but can’t ‘acquire’ it, would you rather have the coin, or not have it?”

Finally, he looked over at the dark skinned spider woman. “I can find it. But I think there’s only one person who can acquire it for me.”

Lady Nasina’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Denner frowned. “The only man in the Multiverse I can’t find.”