With an almighty WHOOSH the western end of the funnel of webbing burst into a fireball, the flames dying almost as swiftly as they rose but leaving the silken bridge drifting freely into the shallow canyon the the empty sleeve of a fine shirt. With an ear-splitting screech Shivhi scuttled left and back, dropping out of view to evade the explosion of flame that singed the sensitive hairs on her legs, and Tovrunn chose that moment to spur her mount westward after her companions.
As she caught up with Corson, fleeing on foot with tree limbs whipping across his face as he did, Tovrunn spared a glance back and saw the huge legs once more mount the lip of the gorg... no... the burrow, followed by the monstrous head. And on the far side of the gap she could see dozens of small, ragged figures sprinting toward the fallen log. Even as she paused to drag Corson into the saddle behind her the whizz of arrows and hum of bowstrings filled the air.
As she put her heels to her mount's sides and renewed her retreat flashes came unbidden from Ira. All the familiar could see was a cocoon of webbing, inexorably enshrouding him at the leisure of some unseen captor. Of course an owl stood no chance in these woods - it was a miracle that no monstrous arachnid had snagged him before now. Still, releasing the magic that summoned him would be enough to free the owl from his prison.
Ahead Lancaelad rode hard with Adalric clinging to his back and the foreigner's horse in tow and the corpse of the goblin tracer sandwiched grotesquely between them. Ogre was a brick of muscle and not used to riding hard, so the bulky destrier's muscled flanks were heaving at the sprint. When Lan heard hooves behind him he thought for a moment that maybe some as yet undiscovered breed of shod riding spider was at his back, but as Rhoderick gained ground on and then overtook Ogre on a parallel path through the trees he felt a tremendous relief that at least one other of their party had escaped the sojourn Lan himself had counselled with his life. For more than half their small party to ride out of the Spiderfell alive? Why that was the stuff of heroic ballad! A few of the details would need to be embellished of course, but that was normal.
Speaking of the wild fancies of bards, Lancaelad recalled the story of Richard Endier. They said that Endier's first Count and founder made some cryptic bargain with The Spider generations ago that guaranteed his borders. Of course the Endiers had died out a generation or more ago, but it was true that Endier did not suffer the predations of its awnsheigh neighbour in the same way as Roesone... Perhaps they had just to cross the border to find blessed salvation. And not a moment too soon - a cacophony of horns and drums seemed to be drawing closer from the north, the south, and the east, but even as they did the trees were thinning.
Pivoting in the saddle, Corson raised his shield just in time to catch an arrow bound for Tovrunn's shoulder. He could see low, lethally fast shapes loping fast through the undergrowth on both sides. Goblins had a fondness for tamed wolves as mounts, and were more than capable of shooting from the saddle on their animals. Worse still, the wolves were far better suited to the tangled forest than horses. In a contest of pure speed there was no doubt they would lose unless they got out of the woods.
Not knowing how far the others had fallen behind, all Rhoderick could be certain of was that he was now at the vanguard of their small party's flight. The sounds of pursuit in the far distance were apparent, but the woods were thinning. The undergrowth giving way gradually to leaf-littered open ground, and through the trees ahead he caught glimpses of light.
Cracking the reins, his wide-eyed mount needed little encouragement to increase its pace and after only a few more moments the vision gifted him by elven ancestors was dazzled as he broke out of the treeline and onto a long sweep of yellow grassland. The touch of the sun was once more warm on his skin, not faintly acidic as it had been in the awnsheigh's wood and to the south the dark, blocky silhouette of the Falcon's Roost rose like a sentinel from the rippling prairie.
Pausing for a moment, he wheeled his mount to see first Tovrunn's mount with Corson at the back, his shield peppered with a half dozen black-quarrelled arrows, and then Ogre bearing Lan and Adalric and dragging another shrieking beast along by the reigns, break from the wood and gallop into the light.
Perhaps a horselength or two behind Lan a trio of wolfriders scrambled to a halt, and backed away towards the trees, followed by a couple more, where wolf and rider stood in the shadow of the web-draped canopies and glared. Beyond them Rhod could see a disturbance in the canopies. Mighty trees, likely centuries old bent and leaned away from what must surely be the monstrous Shivhi forging a path through the wood.
Risking no more, Rhoderick waited until the first of his companions caught up then he put his heels once more to his horse's flank and rode for Halfday, thanking the Mother of Rain once more for watching over her humble servant.
