Our trip takes us higher, deeper into the Hinterlands, and up into the beginnings of the Tempest Hills. The days grow colder, though not cold enough for snow. I’m very grateful for that, as I wrap myself in my cloak and trudge northward along the meager track. Forage is scarce, to my dismay, and even game is hard to come by. With Rigi’s help we’re able to bring a rabbit or two to ground, but not much more. Our supplies won’t last much longer at this rate.

We camp in an abandoned cave one night, and beneath a tree another. The Ironlands in general are a sparsely populated, lonely place, but these hills give new meaning to the word “wilderness.” We are almost a week from Raven Hill when we consume the last of our supplies. Reluctantly, we make camp and spend a day scouring the area for anything edible.

There is a small copse of trees not far from our chosen campsite, and I set my mind to search there first. I’m imagining a family of rabbits, or even just a squirrel or two. For that matter, I wouldn’t mind finding a few sad berries clinging to the remains of a berry bush. Anything.

I’m hardly two steps into the copse, and admittedly paying more attention to the ground than what’s in front of me, when I run headlong into mass of sticky threads. Cursing, I step back, looking up and around. The threads cling annoyingly, but I’m able to pull myself free without too much trouble. I can’t imagine what they might be from. They seem like spider webs, but there is no spider large enough to weave them. At least, I’ve only ever heard campfire horror stories about such creatures—myths, certainly…

Of course, that is exactly when something enormous drops from the canopy above. It is pure luck that it misses me—I had pulled away from the web and stepped back abruptly to get a better view of the strings, which saved me. The…thing…is easily as large as a horse, and it shakes the ground with the force of its landing. Quick as lighting, it spins on eight hairy legs, each taller than I am, and faces me with a mouth of slavering mandibles and fangs.

With a shout I stumble backwards, pulling my staff around to defend. Somehow I stay on my feet, and even manage to land a strike on one of the creature’s legs.

What is this thing? It’s like something straight from legend. Old Callie used to tell stories during the winter about things like this, but we all thought he was a liar. Well, I know better, now.

The thing is fast, and it rears up at me, preparing to strike. Drawing on my reservoir of essence I conjure a double of myself—not an actual double, just a kind of picture in the air—and jump to the side. The spider is completely taken in by the illusion and pounces on it. I strike it from the side, hitting it between a pair of its legs, right where it’s abdomen is thinnest, and hear a satisfying crunch. The spider-thing hisses and leaps back, but I can see that it is unsteady on its legs now.

Not even thinking, I charge at the beast, thrusting with my staff like a sword and driving the blunt end into one of its great, faceted eyes. There is an explosion of ichor, a scream, and then the spider is slumped to the ground, its legs already curling beneath itself in death.

Panting heavily, I pull my staff from the beast’s eye and kneel to wipe it clean on the heather that covers the ground. I hear footsteps and turn to see Delkash running up from the campsite.

His eyes grow wide as he looks at the spider. He looks briefly at me, nods his head, and then walks back toward the camp.

I shake my head and climb to my feet. “Delkash!” I call. My hands are shaking in a delayed reaction to the excitement.

Delkash looks back at me.

“What was that?”

He glances at the corpse and shrugs. “Harrow spider of some kind, most likely. They like copses like that.”

I look deeper into the copse and wonder if there’s any food there…but then also wonder if there might not be more of these creatures hiding inside. I decide that I’d rather go to bed hungry than risk another confrontation. I got very lucky, and I know it.

The next night we find a rough traveller’s cabin, stocked with wood from a nearby forest. We set out together, this time, to forage, and though it takes us until after dark, we are able to trap a few rabbits and find some fibrous root vegetables. We eat well, for the first time in days, and even manage to save enough for a few more meals besides.

The track has faded by now, years of disuse all but erasing it, and we hope that Makari’s directions are trustworthy. There are small patches of snow on the ground now, and at night the temperatures grow bitterly cold. We manage to find just enough food to keep us moving, but supplies have been tight.

We’re nearly two weeks from Raven Hill when we come upon the valley we’ve been looking for. There can be no mistaking it—everything around is desolate and barren, but below us in the valley the vegetation is lush and green. Steam rises from a few places, probably hot springs, contributing to a warmer environment. At the far end of the valley, nearly a mile away, a collection of ruined buildings cluster together, overgrown with thistle and brush and wildflowers.

The valley is tempting, but with darkness falling I’m nervous about what might be hiding there. We camp in the lee of a boulder and try to forage before sleeping. We find nothing. I’m hopeful that tomorrow we’ll have better luck down below.