The Last Satyr: The Two Paths Part 2
After the Battle

Ronthiel blinked. A large, panting spider approached where he lay. He still could not get up. He could see the fallen satyr a short distance away hadn’t moved at all. The elf still clutched his crystal gem, cracking it again to brighten its light while trying to make out whether what was approaching was friend or foe. Yet now the light at least shone, no longer blacked out by Lolth’s magic.

A feeling of welcome relief washed over Ronthiel like a gentle tide when he recognized the figure of Leradien coming towards him, like a radiant sunrise after a long, dark night. Yet then the darkness returned. He tried to smile but couldn’t. His vision faded and his numbing fingers dropped the light. Slowly, he slipped into a stony, cold stare, and did not move further. She knelt over him in concern, her wondrous hair floating like a cloud of silk about him.

“Did she bite you?” Leradien asked him in deep concern.

But there was no answer, just that wide-open stare. In Lolth's cold, vicious desire to make the elf suffer, Leradien realized the spider goddess had bitten him. Lolth’s endless cruelty made Leradien want to hunt the monster again, this time in revenge.

She returned to him his bow, elf stone, and dagger before checking on the boy. Leradien knew he was already alive before she reached him, for a drider’s spider instincts always knows these things. Still, he moved even less than Ronthiel, meaning not at all. She found no broken bones when she checked him, but there was a big bump on the back of his head from where he had landed. She saw his knife lying on the ground and, being half-drow, still hated it, for she knew its purpose well. But, when she found it covered in Lolth’s blood, she could not resist picking it up.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the boy’s knife, its blade now tainted with the shimmering hue of Lolth’s silver blood. The tantalizing scent of the blood mingled with the musty air of the cavern, sending a shiver down Leradien’s spine with each heartbeat. Leradien hesitated, her fingers hovering over the weapon, torn between revulsion and an inexplicable fascination. Finally, with a steadying breath, she raised the knife, feeling the weight of its grim purpose in her hand, and brought it to her lips. The taste of the blood was like a bitter poison, yet strangely intoxicating, awakening a primal hunger within her that she struggled to suppress.

She gazed at it for a moment and then licked the massive blade clean before returning the knife to the boy’s sheath.

She had tasted that blood before when she pierced Lolth’s neck with her own bite. It was not the yucky, distasteful black blood of the Fell creatures but was instead exactly like the magical silver blood of the fairies. That was a blood Leradien found maddeningly delicious, one that left her hungry for more. Already it filled her spider demon with the thirst and longing desire to be sated with it—if that was even possible. Once more she wanted to chase after the escaping Lolth, and would have earlier, only by the time she righted herself, she had lost her quarry. It was with reluctance she returned to the others, for the blood of Lolth was that sweet. Even now, for a brief instant, she again thought of chasing Lolth down for more. Yet, instead, she did what was most important and found the boy’s bow and then lifted him up and draped him over the top of herself. She gently picked up Ronthiel in her arms and headed towards Ched Nasad. There was no time to lose. The "Kiss of Lolth" was poisonous.

Meanwhile, in the dimly lit depths of Ched Nasad, a sense of dread swept over Marroh, young Joe, and Amien as they listened with serious faces to the Black Dragons’ daring and dangerous plan to breach the formidable man-orc guard at Thera Pass.

“The Black Dragons,” explained Graybeard to them, “believe they can get us past the man-orc guard at Thera Pass. That pass leads to Ridder Mark Cavern. There is an ancient dwarf city there called Mills Breath and, beyond that, the Three Candles, which is the way to the surface. You may recall Marroh mentioning the dwarves broke into a drow cavern. That's when a war began between the drow and the dwarves of Mills Breath. Since then, we have heard no more word from that city. We don’t know what we will replace there, but that is where we are headed. By the same way the dwarves broke in, we shall break our way out. Marroh tells me that the dwarves do well in a battle against drow but not so well against orcs. I fear this is the reason Vhaeraun sent his man-orc army to the Ridder Mark Cavern—to deal with us and the dwarves there. By now, they hold Thera Pass to block our way to Mills Breath. Even if we reach that place, it may be a tomb for dwarves and a house for goblins, perhaps. I do not know. But, whatever it is, we shall replace out.”

“Against the man-orcs at Thera Pass, we must replace an ally,” added Sar, the satyrs’ keeper. “We have two days in which to do it.”

“My people are waiting,” said Shinayne, “to guide you through the man-orc sentries. We wish you luck. For our lives, and those of the satyrs, depend upon your success.”

“We will not fail you,” vowed Marroh, looking up into her beautiful eyes with all the sincerity he could muster.

Leradien had reached Ched Nasad by the road. The place was empty of life; the ruined city lay abandoned once again. Both the drow of the Black Dragons and the satyrs of Sar had already moved on, taking the road for Ridder Mark Cavern, what with Lolth’s army so close behind.

Leradien felt like a lost soul in the desolate cavern. None of the boys had yet to even move, and likely never would again. Ronthiel was growing as cold as a statue in a forgotten tomb. Soon, they would both be swallowed by the icy embrace of eternity.

She hurried on ahead to catch up. With help, there might still be time to save them.

But inwardly, deep down, she knew the terrible truth.