Free Bleak Seasons by Glen Cook

happening.”
    One-Eye gasped, suddenly astonished, then frightened. Ignorant in the dark arts, it took me longer to catch it.
    Shadows snaked through that blazing dust cloud, thin things little more than suggestions but with something flitting back and forth amongst them. I thought both of a weaver’s shuttle and of spiders. Whichever, web or net, something was forming inside the blazing dust.
    They did call him Shadowspinner.
    The glimmering cloud grew larger and brighter. The web grew with it.
    “Shit,” Goblin muttered. “Now what do we do about this?”
    “Exactly what I’ve been trying to get out of you two clowns for the last five minutes!” I bellowed.
    “Well!”
    “Maybe you could pay attention over here if you can’t do anything about that!” Bucket yelled. “Murgen, those fools have gotten so many ropes up that we can’t.… Shit!” Another barrage of grapnels fell amongst us. In moments they showed the strain that meant some moron was trying to climb them.
    So much for my belief that there was no chance the southerners could scale my wall.
    Guys were hard at work with knives and swords and axes. Imaginary people stood around looking fierce. I heard a man grumble that if he had half a brain he would have sharpened his knives. Rudy reminded him, “If you kept your pecker in your pants more you’d have time.”
    Some Jaicuri women, naturally, inevitably, did what they had to do to survive.
    Doing my part, I hacked on ropes but kept turning to check that light and the webs forming inside it.
    Goblin howled, creased by a nearly-spent arrow. The cut, on his cheek, was trivial. Arrows have little energy by the time they reach us. He was outraged because fate dared show him the back of her hand at all.
    He danced around. Words of power virtually dripped from his mouth in pastel colors. He waved his arms. He foamed at the mouth. He jumped up and down, shrieked, flapped his arms.
    His doppelgängers all did the same. It was quite a show.
    In all likelihood the gymnastics and yelling had nothing to do with results eventually achieved but I don’t mind showmanship as long as he produces. Croaker was right. Showmanship is the biggest part of the game.
    Everything hemp within three hundred yards burst into flame. That was a happy eventuality where our relationship with our attackers was concerned but not something likely to wring cries of joy from anyone else, either. Temporary defense works began to fall apart. Our artillery pieces flared and died. They had included lots of rope. Some guys use rope for belts. Some wear sandals made of rope. Hemp is a commonplace everywhere. Some fools like One-Eye even smoke it.
    Cletus bellowed, “Goddamn you, Goblin, I’m gonna chop your ass into cat food.” The rest of us just pulled our pants up and amused ourselves by dropping masonry bits mined from our cellars onto the cursing tangle of limbs wriggling at the foot of the wall.
    One-Eye ignored all that, though he took a moment to smirk at the side effects embarrassing Goblin. Then he began to stare at the glow rising from the enemy camp. And began to stutter.
    “Come on, shithead,” I growled. “You’ve played with this stuff for ages. What have we got here?” Not that I wanted to know. That web of shadow woven into the light was now obvious to all but the blind.
    “Maybe we might ought to head for the cellar,” One-Eye suggested. “I promise you, me and the runt ain’t gonna do nothing with that. Bet you even Longshadow would be bugeyed if he was here to see it. The man put a lot of work in, getting that ready. It’s going to get real unhealthy around here real soon.”
    Without investing a quarter of the study time Goblin agreed. “If we seal the doors and use the white candles we can hold out till sunrise.”
    “This some kind of shadow magic, then?”
    “Some kind,” Goblin agreed. “Don’t ask me to look so close I catch its attention.”
    “Heaven forbid you should actually take a risk. Can