The Mistress of Spiders and the Hooded Crow
Bill Willingham
May our Lord God bless the Hooded Crow,
May he win the prize at every throw.
Deadly in a fight,
He always does the right,
Let him watch o’er me wherever I shall go.
—One verse of a popular children’s ditty, author unknown
The heavily armed column rode in single file through the deepest part of the woods, as the twisting, narrow road, barely a trail, didn’t allow for a more defensible formation. Twelve mounted riders, including two formerly landed knights, preceded the treasure wagons. Then came the wagons, three in a row, pulled by powerful dray horses, followed by fourteen more riders.
Lord Baron Tolley rode his dazzling white palfrey sometimes with the wagons containing his baroness wife, his daughters, and the entire worth of his household in exile, and sometimes up near his knights. Two loyal knights, out of the three and twenty who owed him fealty. Good and honorable friends, who gave up lands and privileges to stand by him, while so many others turned their cloaks in favor of the usurper.
No others had made it to the rendezvous. Hundreds of men, warriors, merchants, and farmers, and their families were still missing, captured, or worse, dead in lonely fields. After waiting too long for stragglers who never appeared, the baron reluctantly determined they had to move along, or else risk also falling to the usurper, the so-called Dark-Eyed Prince.
Every man in the column was on high alert, as these were woods unknown to them, hiding any number of bandits, or worse. These forests to the west of their former realm were mostly unexplored, but known to contain monstrous things: boggarts, mum pokers, blackbugs, and hellwains, among so many other creatures abandoned by God. It was also rumored to be the lair of witches, swamp hags, and sorcerers—brewers of foul potions and dire curses.
The safer roads to the coast, south of them, protected by powerful incantations, were already overrun by the usurper’s men. Short of surrendering, a trek through the dark unknown was their last recourse, as only desperate men would try this route.
But the dark woods turned out to offer no safety at all.
From the moment they entered it, the forest was alive with the sounds of buzzing insects and cawing birds, in an unending cacophony that threatened to drive a rational person to despair. Trying to ignore the sensory assault by shutting it out of their minds, perhaps the travelers can be forgiven for not immediately noticing the other sounds rising up to join the maddening chorus. Gradually one or two, and then more, began to realize there was a clattering, skittering sound from close above, in the dense boughs overhanging the column. Those were interspersed with a terrible hissing.
The overhanging canopy obscured all evidence of sky, filtering the bright light of day, cloaking everything below in oppressive shades of dark, darker, and darkest green.
Without additional warning, the riders and their mounts found themselves tangled in something that had shot down on them from multiple locations among the leafy ceiling: ropy nets, sticky with a foul substance. Panicked horses reared and screamed their fright, trying to slash against the entanglements, but succeeded in only further trapping themselves and their riders, some of whom were thrown roughly to the earth.
Every man and animal was trapped in the nets, with not a one able to escape, as if the creatures above were capable of diabolical reasoning, and had carefully coordinated their ambush.
A thick and cloying mist settled down on them, along with a sweet-foul smell, that made them want to vomit the contents of their roiling guts, which some did, before darkness engulfed them. Those who took the longest to surrender to the poison mist saw hints of grotesqueries moving among the branches overhead. Large black bulbs of bodies, heads with deadly pincers, multiple glistening eyes, and long, thin, but powerful legs.
* * *
Not a one of them expected to wake from the terror, but gradually they did.
Baron Tolley came to in aching stages, coughing and dry retching. It was night, and he could see stars above him. He was lying on his back, among prickly grasses. Someone propped his head in a strong hand and held a ladle to his lips. He tasted cool water and tried to gulp it down.
“Not so fast,” a voice said. “Too much too soon and you’ll only spit it all up again.”
The grinning man holding him was dressed all in scarlet, complete with a mask and hood, like a jongleur might wear. Or a bandit.
Tolley began to frantically pat himself for a bodkin, or some other tool of defense, but found none. His hand came away from his clothes sticky, trailing pale threads of tack.
“Be calm, noble baron. I’m no enemy. In fact I’m among those who saved you from the spiders. I tell you, it was a near thing. Fortunate then we were hunting them at the same time they hunted you.”
Tolley looked around him. He was lying in an open field, with forest on all sides. The center of the field was lit with a huge bonfire. He recognized many of his own force, also lying senseless or, like him, beginning to recover. Others of his men were groggy but on their feet. Many an armed swordsman stood amongst his people. Some helped his men to walk on their own. Others stripped scraps of thick webbing off of the fallen, handling it only with iron tongs. They carried the scraps over to toss them on the fire.
All of the strangers, of which there seemed to be twenty or more, were dressed like his helper in scarlet. Not identically, but similarly cloaked and masked, some in bright motley, some in tawny brown, others in somber dark. Every masked stranger was armed with a sword or a bow, or both. The baron’s military eye took note that each scabbard and weapon looked as if it had seen frequent use.
The scarlet man helped Tolley to his feet, having to do most of the lifting.
“The lady baroness and my daughters?” Tolley said.
“Good for you, Lord Baron,” Scarlet said. “Your first thought is of them, rather than yourself, or anyone else. It marks you as a man worth saving, making me doubly glad we got to you in time. They’re alive and unharmed, but still troubled by the adventure you had. You’ll find them among the others, sitting by the fire, warming themselves.”
“Seriously? They’re awake? Unharmed?”
“We saved them first, cutting them free of the webs and dragging them out of the poison mists almost before they’d succumbed. ‘Women and children first’ is among our remits.”
“Take them to me, please.”
“Immediately.”
The man in scarlet had to support him most of the way, but in time they made it over to where a majority of the baron’s men had gathered. He quickly found his wife and two daughters among them.
“Who are you?” Tolley said to his helper. “Why did you save us?”
“I’m called Tom Scarlet,” the man said, with a slight flourish that might have been a proper bow, had he not had to still hold the baron to his feet. “Not my real name, as you might guess. The giant of a fellow over there, doing string tricks and shadow puppets for your youngest, is Laughing John, and the pretty girl next to him is his betrothed. For reasons beyond my understanding, she seems devoted to him, but otherwise her judgment is sound. She calls herself the Strawberry Dagger. Others you’ll meet in due course. And you’ll want to speak to our leader, the Hooded Crow. He certainly wants a word with you. But let’s get you fed and reunited with your kin first.”
“One last thing.” The baron clutched at Tom Scarlet’s sleeves. “How many survived?”
“Of your company? All of them. We got to everyone in time. And drove the demon spiders away, killing half or more in the process—sadly, though, at the cost of one of our own. A fair trade, if not an entirely happy one.”
Tolley spent a happy hour in the company of his men and family, checking and rechecking their fitness. They helped each other, carefully cleaning skin that had been exposed, scraping sticky residue of webbing off clothes, and burning the garments that couldn’t be salvaged. Then a petite woman with red hair—Strawberry-something, Tolley recalled—fetched him for his promised meeting with their leader.
The Hooded Crow was tall and slim, and dressed all in black. Like his men, more than a handful of whom turned out to be women, he wore a mask.
“We’re the Rangers of the Westermark,” he said. “Having made ourselves the enemies of Dementus, the sorcerer of Tower Perilous, we take pains to protect our appearances and identities, lest he use them to conjure directly against us. I trust that explains the odd dress and names. I presume you were making your way to the coast, via a less traveled path, to avoid the usurper Whalather’s invading army? The so-called Dark-Eyed Prince?”
“That was our intention,” Tolley said. “The decision was my folly.”
They walked the perimeter of the clearing as they talked, but well away from the tree line, where any number of dangers might still lurk. The sounds of the forest had returned to the normal nighttime screeching and howling.
“Don’t be so quick to scold yourself,” the Hooded Crow said. “You’re the third party in as many days to attempt the forest path, and because of it the only one to survive intact. It’s because we were ready this time. When the sorcerer’s servant, called Mistress of Spiders, set her ambush this time, we were already in the area and prepared to ambush her. We’re still counting the number of her creatures we were able to slay. Already we’ve harvested enough of their poison glands to paint our arrows with death for a year or more.”
“What of our horses? And wagons?” the baron said. “I don’t mean to be greedy, but our lives might depend on our ability to hire a ship, once we make it to Far Darrowey.”
“We’re still working on it. You have to understand human lives are our first priority. The demon spiders tend to prefer horse to human flesh. They’d already cocooned the horses and had begun dragging them away to their deep lairs when we got there. It was actually your good fortune that they do prioritize the animals. Their preference is the main reason we were able to save all of you.”
“I hope you know how grateful we are.”
“We might be able to recover some of your treasure, though I warn you now it’s unlikely. The spiders have no interest in gold and jewels, but the sorcerer does. He commands many human servants as well, whom he’s already sent out to recover material treasures. Once again it was a matter of priority. We could’ve recovered gold, or saved lives. I promise they’ll pay for their wickedness, though. We’ll hunt them over the following days and kill a goodly share of those blackguards. Abide in town, if you want, to see if we can recover some of what you’ve lost, but I warn you again not to enlarge your hopes. In the meantide, I’ve never had the honor of hosting a baron and his august company before. Be our welcome guests tonight and we’ll escort you to Far Darrowey in the morning, which isn’t too far from here. The town should be safe enough, as the usurper’s forces have to consolidate their gains, which I gather now include your lands and castles. I hazard they’ll be at least another season before they reach so far west.”
Two days later, Laughing John and the Strawberry Dagger returned to the ranger encampment deep in the forest, having delivered the baron and his fellow survivors safely to Darrowey, where Sir Neros, the town’s knightly lord and shire reeve gladly took them in.
The ranger camp was already finished with most of the preparations to leave, to set up a new home base elsewhere.
“How did we make out?” John asked the Hooded Crow, lacking mask and hood, as his disguise was no longer needed.
“Not too bad,” he said. “I’d even go so far as to say wonderfully. His stock of horses alone eclipses the worth of our past two jobs. And then there’s the gold. Oh my friend, the gold! I should send a gift to the usurper. His frisky depredations have sent many a rich refugee directly into our hands.”
Nearby, a team of men were dismantling the giant spider demons, deflating the bodies made of painted canvas and inflated sheep’s udders. Then they dismantled the wooden armatures that gave the spiders their shape and articulation. When they were done, two dozen horrific monsters, flattened and folded, would fit into a single cart. The nets that masqueraded as giant webbing always took more of a beating than the other implements of their profession. They were laid out flat on the grass, to make repairs and let the residue of glue dry. When ready they’d be stored in another cart, along with the various noisemakers and supply of “spider venom” in their oversized misting jars.
The men and women worked efficiently, benefiting from frequent experience. Within the hour not a sign would remain in the clearing that anyone was ever here.
Tom Scarlet joined them, dressed now in his less flamboyant traveling clothes.
“We’re about ready to go, boss,” he said.
“Go ahead whenever you like,” the Hooded Crow said. “How’s the treasure evaluation and recovery?”
“A superb haul, and not only chests of specie. We netted clothing, armor, and weapons in abundance. Loaded yesterday, back onto the good baron’s wagons, and they’ve already caught up to the horse wranglers. Already on their way to market.”
When Tom left them to assign rendezvous points, and otherwise organize the different groups who’d melt back into the forest, Laughing John lingered behind.
“Something on your mind, John?”
The big man took a moment to consider his words, before saying, “I liked them. The baron and his people. They were good sorts.”
“And now you feel regret at robbing them of all they had?”
“Something like that. This playacting we do now, this story we perform, it’s fun enough I suppose, but it requires getting to know our victims in our pretense of rescuing them. We can’t but learn the suffering they’ll incur from their loss. I guess I miss the days when we’d simply knock a likely mark over the head and never have to learn a thing about him.”
“They’ll do fine,” the Hooded Crow said. “I had a look at Baron Tolley’s correspondence packet before he woke. Among other things, it was fat with various letters of credit and deposit. The man has stashes of money all over the civilized world, including Darrowey.”
“Words on a page as good as real money? What’s the world coming to?”
“Soon enough that’s the only way wealth will be transported and then our entire band will be out of a job. Might as well enjoy our playacting and mummery while we can. In the meantime, we’ve discovered a way to steal from a man and make him thank us for it afterward. When’s the last time you had to pay for a drink at any tavern? The Hooded Crow and his Motley Rangers are heroes, celebrated throughout the Westermark. What could be better?”