rmand decided that the gods hated him and then changed his mind. They did not just hate him, they hated everyone. After one of the most memorable Wintersdays he had enjoyed since childhood, it was like being sucker-punched to come marching over the lip of the snowy hill and gaze down into the valley to see the village in shambles. Their laughter and singing died. A queasy feeling lurked in his gut as Brigit’s grip on his hand tightened.

“Oh no,” she sighed.

And then they ran down the icy path toward the still hulk of the ruined barn. Scorched corpses of some strange insectoid creature were mounded up near the smashed fence of the dolyak paddock. Whatever had come and gone with their animals had done so a while ago. Instinctively he ran toward the cottage he shared with Mog and threw open the door, calling for his friend.

“Armie,” called Brigit from out in the yard as he stared into Mog’s little bedroom. It had the stark emptiness of a place that had not been occupied for a while. His favorite green jacket was hanging from a hook on his door and his pipes were still in their case on the table.

He hurried back outside to see the others gathered near the longhouse. A handful of dwarves and a few of the human villagers who had stayed behind to look after things had come out of hiding.

“What’s going on?” he asked her as she gazed up at him, pale and on the verge of tears.

“Dryders. Oh gods, they never came this way before.”

Armand glanced at the enormous carcasses stacked up by the barn. In his travels, he had heard of the vile creatures but had never actually encountered them. They were demonic spiders feared because they were cunning and capable of using magic. He had nothing against spiders, but anything that size should not have that many legs and eyes. They were monstrous, even while dead and charred. Their scything jaws were a nightmare unto themselves.

“I need some volunteers to form a search party,” announced Anluan above the hubbub of the crowd, “Some of our number were taken away and must be accounted for. We will show no mercy to these beasts when we find their lair.”

“I will go,” Armand said an instant after Brigit’s father had spoken.

“We will go,” said Kazuma grimly with Mashiro nodding beside him, “It was foolish leaving this place undefended.”

“There were too many,” Enfys whimpered, “We tried to stop them.”

Armand glanced at the young woman, noting how pale and sick she looked. His gut knotted when he realized Mog was among those who were missing. Seven were gone and it had been a day since the attack. The grim looks on the faces of the mountain folk indicated that they were preparing to find corpses.

“I’ll get my gear,” Brigit murmured, “I’m sorry, Armie. If Mog’s alive, we’ll find him.”

Armand nodded, still stunned and having to ward against the intensity of emotions in those around him. He forced himself to return to the cottage, frightened that he would be left behind and trying to push away thoughts of what might have befallen his friend. He should never have left Mog here alone. He would never forgive himself if he were dead. Grim and silent, Armand donned his sturdiest leathers and the mask that would enhance his spells against the alleged magic of their foes. If the dryders indeed drank blood and hexed their victims, he was more than ready. He had a very special hatred reserved for those who used necromantic powers.

With a jeweled staff in hand, he ran back out to meet the group that had swelled to fifteen strong. Four dwarves in heavy plating led the team with Brigit and her parents. One among them was well versed in tracking, but it did not take an expert ranger to see the tracks the dryders had made when they had dragged away their hapless victims. Barely a quarter of a mile from the village they found the carcass of a dolyak drained of blood and soon after a pair of goats similarly abandoned. Anluan shouted for them to charge forth, his powerful connection to Balthazar lifting them up and emboldening them as they sped over the hard crusted snow.

In this way they traveled over the still frozen terrain, slowing only to take short breaks for bites of food and sips of icy water. It was a relief to find no people among the abandoned corpses, but it was past noon, over a day and a night later. Though tired, Armand was eager to press on, pacing anxiously when they stopped, certain that every minute they wasted meant he was more likely to find Mog dead. Not even Brigit could comfort him.

They found signs that the dryders had pitched a crude camp during the night in a stand of trees. Silk was stretched between the trunks for form a windbreak and hold in the heat. The dwarves grew excited when they found a nearly invisible mark in one of the trees, a message from one of their kin indicating that some of them had lived up until this point. That meant some might still be alive.

“Twenty dryders,” said Fensk, the ranger among the dwarves, “There was an old one among them, and these are the kind that dwell in the ice caves.”

“What does that mean?” Armand whispered to Brigit. She was standing beside him, her mailed hand clutching his.

“I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s not good. Fensk doesn’t seem very happy.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Armand murmured, “Dwarves are hard to read.”

“Why should these be any worse than the ones that dwell in the mountains?” Anluan asked.

“We dwarves know what the darkness holds,” Fensk said, “My people do not go in the ice caves where these dwell. Even after they have moved on, their lair is an abomination. The only good that may come of this is that they prefer fresh meat. They would have gorged on those animals we saw strewn in our path. Our kin might still be alive awaiting their deaths.”

At this faint glimmer of hope, the party moved on with renewed haste. The weather held, cold and dry, even as dusk approached. It was then they began finding dryder corpses. At first there was only one, its bulbous abdomen sliced open and black gore pooled and frozen around the numerous gashes in its flanks.

“A very large bear did this,” said Fensk, narrowing his eyes as they paused to let him read the story in the churned up snow, “Several bear. Some of the dryder stayed behind to fight while the others moved on. See here, there were others wounded.”

There were trails of dark blood on the snow which eventually led to four more dryder corpses ripped apart and dismembered by the sheer strength of clawed limbs.

“These were sacrificed to enable the escape of the others,” Fensk said grimly, “They must have thought these bear were simple beasts. They guessed wrong.”

“Norn,” Anluan said and Fensk nodded.

“The Norn could not resist the allure of a score of dryder. They would have seen it as a worthy challenge.”

Armand glanced at Brigit, wondering why anyone would find that many demonic spiders alluring, let alone one.

“How many Norn?” Anluan asked.

“Five.”

“We continue. If the Norn take issue with our intrusion into their hunting grounds, then we’ll deal with that when we must. If there is even a small chance that our kin might still be alive, we must attempt a rescue.”

“Are these Norn likely to attack us, as well?” Armand asked, wondering what was being left unsaid.

“They are strange,” Fensk said, “Their hunting parties are fearsome and they choose their prey according to how much glory it would bring them. Let us hope they do not also see us as a challenge.”

Armand nodded, deciding he would ask more later. As intriguing as he thought the idea of intelligent giant bears, they were wasting precious time chattering. Anluan seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion for he called them forth, once more summoning the strength of Balthazar to speed them over the hard-packed ice.