Free Book 1 - Bleak Seasons by Glen Cook

if Mogaba discovered what they were doing with
grain supposedly set aside for the horses. I wouldn’t have a
prayer of saving their butts nor would I offer one.
    “What?” One-Eye barked. “Murgen, the man is a
walking provocation.”
    “Watch, bonehead,” Goblin countered.
“It’s already 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 doppelgangers 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