The moon had risen higher in the sky by the time Dean managed to locate the nest itself. At the center of a gully, a large hollow tree stump stood on its old roots, standing out starkly on the grey rock. From beneath those roots was a hole in the ground – one large enough that a horse and rider could pass through without dismounting. It was there, from somewhere beneath the earth, that Dense sensed the two throbbing pulses of the Queen's essence signature.

  The Queen’s themselves were often docile, tending to shy away from confrontation and protect their egg sacks rather than engage in combat. Killing her would be necessary to stop the egg cycle and end the infestation. But she wasn’t his main target.

  Somewhere nearby, he knew the real threat lurked. The Nest Boss… the patriarch spider tasked with protecting its queen. There were several forms it might take, each one more dangerous than the last. Dean had felt for him, using his mana focus to try to pinpoint the larger spider's location. But he could sense only the little drones as they moved around on the ground and in the trees around him.

  Dean fisted his hand on his knee as he took an assessment of just how many mobs surrounded the area. Close to a hundred by his count. And he must have slain over a dozen on his way in.

  Since manifesting his class, Dean was much stronger than he had been, and his essence abilities certainly gave him an edge. But even so, Dean knew that attacking the nest alone would be a stupid move. Though he possessed the power to kill the queen and at least half of her drones on his own, he’d risk getting swarmed and trapped within the nest itself. Or worse… he might run into the Patriarch when he had already exhausted his supply of essence.

  No, this was a battle he shouldn’t face on his own. Careful not to make any noise, he retreated until the stump was out of sight before breaking into a steady jog. He needed to reach the town and speak to the sergeant about what he’d discovered.

  Dean was so in his own head that he almost failed to hear the voices drifting toward him from beyond the tree line. His gaze snapped up, his senses picking out the human essence signatures long before he saw them. There was a score of them, all gathered around the herbalist's house with lanterns and torches raised high.

  Dean saw several armored men among the mob, and when he heard the tone of the voices, his heart dropped into his stomach.

  “We’ve been lenient for too long,” said Elder Dain, gesturing with his torch towards the house. “Since this… this woman has arrived, there has been no end to our troubles. First disappearances. Then attacks, injuries, and finally, now deaths. Now you know as well as I that the Gods do not reward those who dabble in the arcane arts. Dark magics that deal in spirits and things unseen.”

  “Aye,” said one of his cronies, the word whistling through a missing front tooth. “It’s been nothin’ but trouble since this witch has arrived. Any child could see that.”

  Dean thought he caught a feint smile on the Elder’s face as he opened his mouth, no doubt intending to spit more vitriol. But to his surprise, it was one of the gathered townsfolk who responded.

  “Are you thick in the head?” she asked, her hands rising to her hips. “Gilly-Anne has been nothing but kind to us since the moment she arrived here. Why, just the other day she came over because she heard I’d been under the weather and brought me some soup and lemon tea without even asking for coin. Is that the type of herbal woman you’re putting on trial?”

  “Don’t get takin’ in with her false kindness!” said Dain, raising his voice for all to hear. “This is how Witches get away with it. They lure you into a false sense of security with their words and their kind deeds. But they ain’t naught but a lie. Behind your back, they steal, they cheat, and they practice arcane magic. Blaspheming in the name of our gods! You’ve seen for yourself what happens when one of them are allowed to mingle with the likes of us. Our problems only started when she arrived. Say I’m wrong!”

  “Aye!” roared his cronie again, shaking the fist holding the torch for emphasis. “What Dain says is true. I seen it with me own eyes, that woman ain’t no good!”

  “Shame on you, Marty,” said the woman, scowling. “Didn’t Gilly-Anne and Mary visit your farm and give you a tincture to cure your plow horse's hoof rot before the harvest season?”

  The man looked somewhat abashed.

  “Well aye.. but-“

  “And weren’t you just telling us in the tavern how good he’s been doing since? Tell me, why would a witch hellbent on killing the lot of us spend so much time caring for us?”

  “She’s right!” said another member of the crowd. He turned to face them, the torches casting shifting light on his old bald head.

  “Gilly-Anne has done nothing but care for me and my family since the passing of my wife. I understand the Elder’s concerns. I think we’re all on edge. But I’d not see Dain’s mob threaten anyone until we have all the facts.”

  There was a general murmur of agreement which only seemed to irritate Dain further.

  “Facts,” he said, glaring around at them. “I’ve given you your share of the facts, and yet you choose to ignore them time after time. We are being haunted by something dark, something evil. No one can deny the presence they’ve felt the past few weeks. The Gods are testing us, no doubt. Seeing how long we’ll allow this blasphemy to continue. We ought to repent, repent, and set the record straight.”

  Several men with pitchforks stepped forward, the firelight glinting in their eyes. This, Dean realized, was all Dain’s doing. His men and his orders. A man abusing his power to found his own outlandish superstition. Dean had heard enough. He was about to step out of the tree line and announce his presence when the sound of heavy footfalls caught everyone's attention.

  A man with grey streaks in his dark hair and beard came tromping up the main street, and with him were half a dozen watchmen. Dean saw Dain turn to look, stiffening when he saw the newcomer.

  “Elder Dain,” said the man, his deep voice booming between them. “I expect an explanation of you’re your doing, and why you, your men, and half the village are breaking mandatory curfew.”

  The man wasn’t an Adventuerer – there was no trace of aura to him. And yet, his presence was enough to send a ripple through the gathered townsfolk. Men and women stepped aside, and even some of Dain’s followers, who’d seemed confident before, looked less so now.

  Dain lifted his chin, his expression shifting to one of resignation.

  “Sergeant Frost,” he said. “Stay out of this. My family and yours have no bad blood between us, but if you interfere with justice tonight, there won’t be any coming back.”

  The Sergeant moved through the crowd with careful ease, his eyes never leaving the Elder. Two of Dain’s cronies moved forward, blocking his path, but at a single glare from the man, they hesitated.

  “Step aside,” said Frost smoothly, craning his head up to look at the tallest man. The farmer hesitated, gaze darting between his leader and the Sergeant before he reluctantly moved aside.

  “You claim justice?” said the Sergeant, turning slowly on the spot to look at the gathered crowd. “And yet you show up at the door of a defenseless woman’s house carrying weapons and torches. Tell me, since when has the wisdom of the mob been justice?”

  Dain stepped forward, his eyes hard.

  “We’re no mob, Frost. I warned you. Warned the Lieutenant before he left that if something wasn’t done, eventually we’d take matters into our own hands. Your men ain’t done nothing for this town. Nothing to stop the attacks, nothing to prevent more. And yet you expect us to sit idly by while our own are murdered and kidnapped? You ask too much, Sergeant.”

  “What I ask is that you obey Imperial Law,” said Sergeant Frost. His demeanor was calm, but Dean saw the way the man moved his cloak, freeing up the hilt of his sword.

  “You may have inherited the title of elder from your father, but you are far too young for the post. The Elder was a patient man, one who made decisions based on evidence and reason, not on anger and emotion. You are not him, boy. And you’d do well to remember that in these parts, respect is earned.”

  There was a chorus of agreement, and Dain’s ears reddened at the rebuke. Behind him, his men seemed to rally, eight facing farmers with pitchforks facing off against six armed watchmen. This wasn’t going to end well.

  “Think you can speak down to me, eh, Sergeant. See, men like you don’t seem to understand how things work. You might be members of the Watch, aye, but you aren’t the authority. The council of local elders is. And if they lay hands on me, I’m well within my rights to bring this matter before them.”

  A muscle jumped in the Sergeant’s grisled jaw and he shook his head.

  “For the Gods' sake, Dain, I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to that. I was a friend of your fathers and I’ve known you since you were yay high off the ground.” He placed a hand at hip size, looking up at the younger man. “If you think I mean you harm, then you don’t know me, boy. I want only for you to end this. Call off this mad hunt and come and speak to me man to man. No weapons need be drawn tonight.”

  There was a silence, one in which the crackling of the torches was all that could be heard. Then Dain’s face darkened, and he slowly shook my head.

  “I gave you chances to settle this on your own,” he said. “But when my daughter became the latest casualty, I couldn’t just stand around.” His fist clenched around the torch and he turned to his men. “Drag her out here. The wench has to answer for what happened to my Erin. The girl can barely move… barely walk. You expect me to turn a blind eye to what my girl has endured?”

  He spat on the ground even as his men turned towards the herbalist's house.

  “Don’t do this,” said Sergeant Frost. His voice was harsh, but held with it the note of pain of a man who knew he was going to have to do something he regretted.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “It’s not too late for us to hash this out. What happened to Erin was regrettable, but we,”

  “Regrettable?” Dain spun back towards the man, his face darkening with anger. “My little girl was full of life only days ago. Laughing, playing, and singing songs with her mother. And now? Now she won’t eat. She can barely move in the mornings, and we don’t..” his voice broke. “We don’t know if she’ll ever walk upright again. And it happened after she played with that…. That witch's daughter! So you can shove your fucking regret. Do it.” He called over his shoulder.

  The farmers moved towards the front door, and Dean saw the curtain near the window flutter. He’d been in the house and knew there was only one door. There was a chance Gilly-Anne and Mary could sneak through the window, but Dean didn’t doubt the men would hunt them down sooner than not.

  “If you insist on this path, then you leave me no choice. As the Sergeant of this town, it’s my responsibility to protect those who inhabit her. Even from you, Elder.”

  The Sergeant spoke the last word like an insult. Dean saw the intent shift in Dain’s eyes and knew what was about to happen. The Sergeant still hadn’t drawn his sword, and Dain took advantage of that. He drew a knife from his belt and lunged, thrusting the blade up towards the Sergeant’s unprotected neck.

  The blade never reached its destination. One moment, Dean was standing twenty feet away, and the next, he’d closed the distance. His hand closed around the man’s wrist, stopping the attack dead in the air. Moments later, the shockwave of his essence ability hit the crowd like a blast of air. Several of the farmers stumbled, one of the villagers having to seize the shoulder of another to keep from falling.

  Dean’s aura curled off of him in waves, so strong that it surprised even him.

  “I warned you,” he growled. “I warned you to leave people alone. And yet I return from my search to find you using your power to attack your own. Planning to murder your own watch sergeant for some petty vendetta?”

  “This,” Dain struggled against Dean’s grip. “Doesn’t concern you Adventuerer.”

  “It does now.”

  Dean slammed his fist into the man’s stomach and Dean curled around the blow, dropping to his knees as his breath left him. The Watch Sergeant took that opportunity to rush forward and disarm him, ripping the knife from his hand.

  The farmers, who moments ago had been intent on storming the house, turned on him.

  “Who the hell do you think you are!” snapped one, raising his pitchfork as he charged. Dean sidestepped the clumsy strike and knocked the man in the side of the head. The farmer went limp, unconscious, before he hit the ground. The second farmer raised a club, roaring something unintelligible, which was cut off as Dean tripped him and slammed a knee into his stomach. The man fell to the ground, and the sound of puke hitting the cobblestones made several others wince.

  “Who else?” Dean growled, glaring around at them. “Come on? Where’s your fight? You were all too eager to beat down a defenseless woman and child moments ago, and now you hesitate.”

  One of the farmers stepped forward, his face pale beneath his straw hat.

  “Now, wait a moment Mr. Adventuerer,” he said, holding out a hand. “We were just followin’ orders. Dain here said-“

  “I don’t give a rat's ass what he said. Every single one of you is your own man with your own mind. And you choose to follow this piece of trash?”

  Dain was crawling across the cobblestones on hands and knees, and Dean stalked after him. Dain let out a whimper, twisting around and holding up a hand.

  “N-no,” he said. “You can’t hurt me. You’re not allowed to! The council of elders-“

  “Fuck the council of elders,” snarled Dean, shoving a boot into the man’s chest and pinning him to the ground. “I don’t answer to them, and I certainly don’t answer to you. I’ve met my share of men like you when I was on campaign. You think that your name and status give you a license to terrorize those around you.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” snapped Dain, groaning in pain when Dean twisted his boot. “I’m protecting them! They need me.”

  Dean paused, his head tilted to one side. Then a cruel smile spread across his face.

  “Is that what you think? Alright then. Let’s put it to the test. If even one of these villagers is willing to vouch for you, then I’ll let you and your mob of hooligans go. So,” Dean raised his head, looking around at the gathered crowd. “Is there anyone here who believes that Dain doesn’t deserve what’s coming to him?”

  Dain lifted his eyes, his gaze flicking to each face in the crowd. Many turned their faces away, others only stared, silent as the grave. There was not an ounce of sympathy on their faces, telling Dean what he’d already known. Dain was not fit to be an elder. In villages like this, the authority of a village elder was not wielded like the power of nobility. It was a position of service, a commitment to care for those under their charge.

  Since inheriting his father’s position, Dain had done nothing but terrorize his fellow townsfolk, making them wary of his presence and his dangerous antics.

  Dain’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his gaze seeking out those who had followed him.

  “You traitorous bastards!” he said, his voice going shrill. “You owe me. I’m the reason any one of you had any authority in this town. Without me, you’re nothin.”

  The farmers averted their eyes, all but one. The man was smaller than the others and younger by the looks of him. He strode forward and spat on the ground next to Dain’s head.

  “Authority? Don’t make me laugh. “We didn’t follow you because we believed you were our leader. We followed you because you threatened us that if we didn’t back you when your father died, that you’d win and appeal to the council to strip our lands and livestock to take as your own. We were never your equals; nobody was.”

  Dain laughed, the sound harsh and almost manic.

  “So you were all against me from the start. Suppose I should have known I couldn’t trust trash like you. When the council hears about this…”

  Dean raised his fist, and the man flinched, throwing his hands over his head. A hand landed on his shoulder.

  “Easy lad,” said the Sergeant, stepping forward. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take it from here. I know I likely couldn’t stop you if you wanted to give the boy a bit of tough love, but I ask that you let the proper authority handle this. This case must be brought before the local council of elders. With the charges of inciting mob violence and attempted murder, Dain here would be lucky to get twenty lashes and exile over the noose.”

  The Sergeant said it with a sort of wearily finality that seemed to penetrate Dain’s mind. The man lowered his hands, staring up at the Sergeant in horror.

  “You can’t prosecute me! The council won’t try a case against another elder, they don’t hold the authority.”

  “Aye,” said the sergeant, scratching his beard with a gloved hand. “Which is why we’ll convene a town hall in the morning to take a majority vote on your position. My guess is you’ll find yourself stripped of the title of elder before the sun fully rises.”

  Dain’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process this. There was no warmth in the Sergeant’s eyes, only resigned sadness.

  “I loved your father boy, as did many of us. But you do his legacy a disservice and this time you went too far.”

  His men stepped forward and Dean eased his boot of the farmers chest to allow the watchmen to bind his wrists with rope.

  “You can’t do this. The council will never agree, you’ll see. They side with me.”

  He was still delusional. Even after all these, Dean shook his head.

  “You really don’t see it do you?” he asked. “How wrong you were about the herbalist. About the attacks. About everything.”

  Dain only stared at him, his face a mask of confusion and distrust. Dean sighed, turning to address the gathered townsfolk. A few more had drifted in to join the crowd. No doubt drawn by all the commotion.

  “I found the source of the attacks,” he said. “And it wasn’t ghosts or anything preternatural.”

  In low, calm tones, he explained his investigation and how his search had led him into the forest. He talked about clues he’d found, and how in the end he’d managed to locate the nest beneath the earth.

  “You’re telling us monsters did this?” asked the Sergeant, his face pale. Dean nodded.

  “This nest is large enough that it poses a real threat if not dealt with quickly.”

  “Spiders?” Dain’s eyes flicked between Dean and the Sergeant. “You can’t tell me you believe him. That spiders did this?”

  He croaked a laugh.

  “Outlandish. And even if it were true, it wouldn’t explain what that woman’s daughter claimed to see.”

  “Not at all,” said Dean, his voice calmer than he felt. “If anything, Mary’s account backs up my theory. See, there are different types of Nest Patriarchs. There are warriors, giant spiders who use brute force to pulverize any threat to the nest and queen. They are the most common, but not the most dangerous. What I believe is responsible for attacking the villagers is a Deceptor.”

  The Sergeant’s face drained of blood, and Dean almost smiled when he realized the man knew the name. It had taken him a moment to recall his studies. The question about arachnid and cryptic monsters on the written exam had jogged his memory, however.

  “Deceptor’s,” said Dean. “Are giant spiders that operate on the basis of stealth rather than brute force. They can move quickly, often high up in the canopy of trees, and they possess a unique characteristic. They have markings on their abdomen that Guild Archivists call a “false face” it’s a design meant to stand out in the dark. One intended to mesmerize or distract enemies right before it strikes. That’s what Mary and your daughter saw that night before the attack.”

  Dain’s jaw went slack.

  “No,” he growled, shaking his head as the watchmen yanked him to his feet. “No. My little girl.. she’s injured, she’s..

  “Tell me,” said Dean, lifting his chin. “Were there two puncture marks on your daughter's skin? Somewhere on her back or stomach, maybe?”

  Dain’s eyes widened and Dean nodded slowly, pulling a spider fang out of is inventory.

  “They were made by something like this, only much larger. The fangs have poison in them – a powerful paralytic that can cause grogginess, fatigue, and muscle weakness even days after a bite if not treated. Now Gilly-Anne’s daughter was treated promptly, because the herbalist knows her stuff and wouldn’t allow her daughter to suffer. But you, Dain. You didn’t trust the herbalist. Your daughter was suffering, and she was the only one who could help, but you thought you knew better.”

  “No.” The word was a whisper. Dain’s legs gave out, but the guards holding him kept him upright.

  “She’ll be fine in a few days, no thanks to you. And now, while you sit in a cell for setting a mob on an innocent woman, the rest of us will go track down and exterminate the real threat.”

  Dean turned his back on the man in disgust, turning instead to the Sergeant.

  “I can fight this thing,” he said. “But I’m going to need some help.”

  ***

  High up in the canopy of the trees, the Deceptor watched as the two-legs prepared to enter its forest. It tilted its head, using the enhanced night vision in its exterior eyes to count the threat. Nine. Nine two-legs in one place? That was, as far as it knew, odd behavior. Each of the two legs wore an armored shell, and the Deceptor snapped its jaws in irritation.

  Armored shell two-legs were always harder to kill. And what’s more, the shell was not digestible. It would have to peel it open in order to get to the sweet red meat inside, and even then, sometimes the two-legs put up a struggle.

  No matter. Nine or twenty of the damn things, the Deceptor didn’t have the capacity to care. Its queen would be in need of more meat if she were to lay again the next moon, and it was instinctively driven to oblige that need.

  The Deceptor moved through the trees, watching as the flickering sticks' orange light bobbed up and down. They were far too close to its nest for comfort, and what was more, there was something wrong about them.

  The Deceptor’s instincts, which had kept it alive while it battled its nest brothers for the dominance of patriarchal evolution, were brushing against its senses. Yes, there was something off about this situation, something that the Deceptor couldn’t pinpoint.

  It moved silently in the trees above the ground, careful with its leg placement as it observed the group. Its eyes shifted from two-leg to two-leg until it came to rest on one in particular. Oh, this one was not like the others. For one, it moved with the careful grace of a predator; its steps were light, its head swiveling. And two, it smelled… different.

  The Deceptor paused on the branches above, opening its mandibles and releasing a series of soft clicks. The sound bounced from trunk to trunk, releasing a soft pulse of mana sense as it attempted to read the strange creature. All six of the Deceptor’s eyes glinted as it felt the touch of essence.

  Its instincts had been right, this two-legged was brimming with light. He could bring the other bodies to the queen, but this one… this one was for his consumption alone. The Deceptor was so pleased with its find that it almost failed to notice the two-legged reaction. When it had sent out its mana echo location, the two-leg had tilted its head as if listening.

  Now it lifted its head, turning to look directly up into the trees. The Deceptor froze, instantly activating its essence-masking ability as it narrowed its eyes to slits to avoid the reflection of any light. Simultaneously, it raised the black hairs on its body, causing them to quiver in mimicry of leaves in the breeze.

  After a moment, the two-legged looked away, and the Deceptor watched it, fascinated. Had it sensed its echo location skill? No, that would be… impossible. The Deceptor was always careful, and in its experience, two-legs were so much less aware than monster kind. And yet…. The Deceptor flicked its six eyes in excitement, feeling the familiar battle instinct taking root as its body flooded it with combat chemicals. Tonight, its nest was going to feast on meat. And if it was lucky… if it was careful, perhaps some of that meat would still be alive and kicking.