When Martin awoke, he found himself in darkness. A thin glimmer of light shone at what he assumed was the end of a tunnel. Faint sounds of movement could be heard nearby, shifting slowly through the darkness. Martin tried to move, but he found himself unable to do so. Only his head seemed to be free of whatever bound him. He controlled his breathing and kept his eyes open, slowly letting them adjust to the darkness.

  After a moment, his eyes adjusted, and he could slowly make out the details of his current situation. He was suspended on a massive spider’s web in a large cave. The movement he heard before was a mass of tiny spiders moving along the web. Although they were patterned and sickly colored, they kept their distance from Martin for the moment. Looking at their size, Martin felt that they were not the ones who had woven this web, leading him to fear the return of the one who had.

  Martin’s body was encased in a cocoon, just big enough to envelope his body with only a little room for movement. He wriggled around inside, feeling around in his pockets for his lighter or the thumbtack he had received from Jacques. His pockets had seemingly been emptied somewhere between the Black Dog and the cave. Thankfully, whoever it was couldn’t have accessed his dagger, he thought, willing it into being. Only, his hand was left holding nothing but air. Martin stifled a curse and tried again. Try as he might, he was left empty-handed. Temporarily giving up on the dagger, he tried throwing his weight around in the limited space, hoping to break through the cocoon or break it free from the web it was adhered to. He soon gave this futile struggle up as well. The spiders continued on unimpeded. One little one stopped to look at him for a moment. Martin almost thought he could see the pity in its myriad eyes.

  Think, Martin. Think, he told himself. His eyes closed, and his breathing slowly regulated.

  The last thing he remembered was sitting at the table at the Black Dog, watching the spider. It had descended from the ceiling and began weaving a web in a way that he could only describe as hypnotic. When he awoke, he found himself in this cave.

  Did this cave somehow exist under the Black Dog? Had he been transported out of the city? As he thought about it, the possibility seemed less likely. After all, he had entered the domain of the Weaver God. The Weaver God was a Cosmic operating in the domain of prophecy and dreams. That meant this was either an image of Martin’s future or just an illusion. He temporarily settled on the latter. If it were a dream, that meant the possibility of control existed.

  Martin returned his attention to his right hand. He closed his eyes and revisited the first night he had met Jacques. He had been given the mysterious black stone and had learned to summon and unsummon the Faceless Dagger. Jacques’ teachings that night played back in his head. Not only those, but the teachings of Oddscog and Jacques after he purchased the lighter. It was a matter of following the flow of energy. He was better at it now, but he had not taken much time to practice since his battle with Rafe, something he now regretted. He watched the regret bubble up inside him and, with a breath, let it float away, refocusing on his hand. The rules of this dream were slightly different than those of the real world. If he could understand those rules, he could find the dagger. Martin continued to breathe, following the energy inside himself, some of it leading to a spot just out of reach. That was it. He again tried to summon the Faceless Dagger, and this time—a twitch.

  A slight smile came to his face. A twitch meant he was on the right track and not simply grasping at straws. He refocused following the point where he felt he had just scraped the dagger with his finger tip and prepared to try again, when the thin light at the end of the cave flickered.

  Martin cast his gaze over and felt his smile evaporate.

  The one who had made the web had returned. It was a spider, the same spider that had attacked him at the inn, but now it had grown to an immense size, enough to blot out the light as it entered the cave. Seemingly in no hurry, it began moving toward Martin, its pedipalps moving around like hairy antennae. Martin stifled another curse and refocused for another shot at the dagger. His hand closed, and he could feel the tips of his fingers scrape against the dagger, but again, he was just short.

  The attempt seemed to trigger something in the spider. It stopped suddenly, all its eyes fixed on the cocoon holding Martin, and the pedipalps, previously swaying around rhythmically, were similarly motionless and pointed in his direction. The spider resumed moving, faster than before. The smaller spiders scattered out of the way of the goliath charging toward Martin.

  Martin choked down the panic that was rising within him and closed his eyes. He had time for a single breath, following the flow to the point it disappeared, and reached out, farther than he ever had before for the dagger. As the spider drew nearer, finally, his hand closed on the cold stone of the Faceless Dagger. He wasted no time celebrating and immediately slashed out, ripping through the cocoon. He brought the dagger dangerously close to his neck, pricking the skin slightly as he slipped it down and out to cut the remaining silk free from his body. He could feel the web tremble as the giant spider tensed. He had seen this trick before, and this time, he was ready. Immediately, he started to roll desperately to the right as the spider pounced. It landed hard on the remains of the cocoon just as Martin slipped through a gap in the web.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Martin had just a moment to savor his freedom as he fell through the air. He landed a few seconds later on the hard rock of the cave. He heard the snapping of bones before his brain processed the pain of his leg shattering from the impact. He managed to roll over slightly through the pain to look up at the spider. Through eyes obscured with tears, he could see the spider looking down at him. Its pedipalps trembled for a moment as if it were lost in thought. They became motionless again as the spider made a decision. Resolutely, it began to hack at its own web, opening up a hole big enough for it to slip through.

  Martin tried to move his body and quickly gave up the attempt. His leg didn’t seem to be the only thing broken. His hand was empty again, and he could see the Faceless Dagger lying a few feet away. As he lay there, bleeding out on the cold rock, he felt a strange calm. Scenes from his life as Martin flashed through his eyes. Pictures of the dockyard, of his coworkers, of the lamplighters and bartenders, orphans and merchants he had encountered. He saw the woman who was now his wife, and as his eyes closed, he saw the smile of his daughter. It almost didn’t seem real.

  Real.

  He had a way to know what was real.

  His eyes snapped open. Ignoring the spider, slowly working its way through its own web, he focused on his breast pocket. He had never tried to summon anything other than the dagger before, and the only other object he had tried to influence was the lighter. He tried to bring both techniques together now. His eyes closed again, and his battered lungs limped into a shallow rhythm once again. In his mind, he visualized every detail he could remember, placing it on his breast.

  More sounds of tearing could be heard. He had little time left. Once again, Martin’s eyes opened. The spider tore one last web and then silently stepped off, falling on Martin. Martin swung his arm, slamming his right palm down on his chest. Something penetrated his palm. As the spider plummeted down on top of him, the illusion shattered.

  Martin found himself back at the Black Dog. He rose suddenly in panic, but a strong arm held him to his seat. His vision reacclimated to the light, and he focused on the man across from him. It was Aelar. He had a slightly concerned look on his face, but seeing rationality return to Martin, he relaxed and released his shoulder.

  “About time,” he said. “I was just wondering if I needed to wake you up myself. I hear that way is much more painful for the person in the dream, but you seem to have the pain aspect covered yourself.”

  At those words, he looked pointedly at Martin’s breast. Martin glanced down to see his right hand held tight against his breast pocket. He pulled it away with a small, wet sound. The point of the tack could be seen sticking out of the fabric of his shirt, with a small pool of blood around it. Martin’s hand similarly had suffered its second puncture of the night. Aelar pulled a handkerchief from somewhere and offered it to Martin. Martin accepted it with a word of thanks and tried to clean up the stain using a bit of leftover beer. He left his hand unattended, as already the blessing of the Faceless God was repairing the small hole from the tack.

  “How long was I out?” he finally asked.

  “Maybe twenty minutes at most,” Aelar guessed. “What was the last thing you remember?”

  “You had just sat down in front of the woman in the corner, and then a spider started weaving a web.”

  “Ah, I spoke to Seraphine for only ten minutes or so, so you likely broke the spell in about fifteen. Certainly not a time for the worst Faceless Man.”

  “Did you and Jacques know this would happen?”

  “We anticipated something would happen. The Weaver God will often test those it thinks have potential. I was planning to leave you to your own devices, after all, the winning play is not to fall into the trap to begin with, but the webs of the Weaver God do offer their own opportunities for those who can free themselves. Did you learn anything?”

  “Yes. I believe I did.”

  Martin’s hand flexed under the table, resisting the urge to summon the Faceless dagger. He had touched on the next step of his powers. Whether it was due to the struggles he had overcome the past few weeks, the additional blessing of the Faceless God, or the opportunity to test himself within the Weaver God’s illusion, he wasn’t sure. He was sure he had something to practice in the days to come.

  “Come,” Aelar said. “You did well tonight, and that calls for a drink at a… more relaxing establishment than this one. Next rounds on me.” As Martin followed Aelar into the street, he glanced back at the hooded figure in the corner. The hood was angled down as if looking at the cards she was skillfully manipulating, but Martin could feel her gaze upon him. He held back a shudder and left the Black Dog behind him.

  Later that night, Martin pushed the pin into the bedframe on his side of the bed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he would need it again someday.