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“He’s poisoned?”
Another bandit jabbed a finger at the spider molt and shouted, “There’s something on it… a red spider!”
By the light of the glowspores, they squinted hard and, sure enough, saw a red spider, a little smaller than a soup bowl, standing atop the mountain-like molt.
This thing had probably ambushed the bandit who had climbed up earlier.
Small as it was, its poison was vicious.
Old Six’s eyes darted, calculating. He pointed at another molt and barked, “Don’t waste time fighting it! Just take a different one!”
It was a sensible suggestion. Another bandit snatched the bag and started climbing the next-smallest molt.
He was only halfway up when someone below yelled, “Careful! The red spider’s gone!”
Gone? If it’s gone, then it’s probably hopped onto the second molt.
The molts were enormous, casting deep shadows. A tiny red spider could hide in that darkness easily enough. And now that they were watching for it, they realized its movements were terrifyingly fast, so fast the human eye could barely track it.
The second climber tried to guard against it, moving with exaggerated caution, slow as a snail, but that did not help, and he still got hit. After the ambush, he tumbled down the shell just like the first.
At the same time, another bandit—silent,...
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