Arachnophobia

In the middle of the forest, on a dirt path, rode a man on a horse. The steel of his armour clanking and the soft clopping of his horse were the only sounds to break the silence of the forest. But the man preferred it that way. He didn’t feel himself without his rich, shining armour or the sword belted at his side. He looked like a proper knight of song to all those whom he encountered, sparing from his look only the helmet, unafraid, and even eager, to show his face to all passers-by.

The man’s name was Sir Henry of Torthan, not that anyone knew him by that title. Wherever he went, everyone knew him as Henry Dragonslayer, Henry the Handsome, and Wizard’s Bane. Despite being only twenty-four, Sir Henry held quite the reputation, having slain the dragon Bronzetooth the Wicked, as well as fought in the wars against Garthak the Grim, the last powerful dark wizard to trouble this region of Arrealma. And he’d done it without scarring his face. Henry was undeniably attractive, charismatic, and successful, so even the toughest skeptics were won over.

He had deep blue eyes, shoulder-length ginger hair with loose curls, and a chiseled face with high-cheekbones which was always clean-shaven and free of blemishes. He kept his body in equally good shape, keeping his muscles tight and his skin soft. He rode down the road, smirking slightly as he approached a small but quaint cottage. His smile was gone, however, as a small explosion came out of it. He spurred his horse to a trot, and reigned up to the house. Despite the strange flash of light, there appeared to be no fire.

“Is anyone hurt?” he asked. “Hello?”

The door opened. A beautiful woman stumbled out, coughing, smoke billowing from behind her. She had an oval face, deep blue eyes, long, blonde hair, and looked of an age with Henry. He was no stranger to pretty girls – in fact, he had not yet been to a village where a woman hadn’t swooned over him – but this girl was something quite special. He put on the most noble face he could.

“Could I be of some assistance?” he asked.

She coughed again. Unlike Henry, her face was very dirty (soot, from the looks of it), and her hair was tangled and singed, but it could not hide her beauty.

“No, thank you,” she said, through the coughs.

“What happened here, my lady?”

“I’m nay a lady,” she said, waving the smoke away. “I’m a witch. And what happened here was a potion. I just did nay brew it correctly.”

“A good witch, I hope.”

She sneered. “Well, if I were dark, you wouldn’t still be standing there, would yeh?”

“Fair enough,” he replied. “I am Sir Henry of Torthan, though perhaps you know me as Henry the Handsome.”

She shook her head. “Not heard of you, sorry.”

Henry was taken aback. There wasn’t a person in all of Arrealma had not heard tell of his deeds! Or so he thought. Well, she’d be remembering fondly tomorrow morning, provided she cleaned herself up a little. Witches were still women, after all.

“And your name, miss?”

“Katherine,” she said. “You can be on your way now, sir.”

“Well… do you need assistance on anything at all?”

“No.”

“What about–”

“No,” she replied, looking at him strangely. “You can go.”

Sir Henry looked at her strangely, but did not move. Katherine sighed deeply.

“What do ye want?”

Henry considered for a moment. He hadn’t expected to be turned away so swiftly. He thought perhaps there’d at least be an offer to come inside – it usually happened with women like her. Well, witches were always too smart to go for looks alone, he supposed. He was not the sort of man to force himself upon her, either.

“Where is the next village?” he asked.

“A few hours up the road,” she replied. “It’s named Spider’s Town.”

“Odd name.”

She smiled. “Odd town – problem-wise, anyway. Now, if that’s all, I’ll be back to business.”

“Business? Do you sell potions?”

“It’s an expression,” she sighed. “Are ye needin’ anything else?”

“Not need, I suppose, but–”

“No buts. If you don’t need magical assistance, I can nay help you. Come back when you have a problem only magic can solve,” she closed her door.

Henry steered his horse around and began pacing towards the town. Perhaps he’d have more luck over there. He never could stay in one spot, finding the confines of the library too dull. Henry was not stupid, but he certainly wouldn’t win any scholarly accolades, either. He knew how to fight, he knew a monster from a maiden, and he knew enough to hire the right people to govern his land for him – beyond that, he didn’t need to know anything.

It took him a few hours, just as the witch said, but Henry was able to reach the next village. Several people on the streets looked up – even if no one knew who he was, they knew enough to know Henry was nobility. Normally, Henry’s visits involved him going to the local tavern, revealing his identity, and telling of his exploits to the excited townspeople for the rest of the day, and more often than not ending it with one of the local women. The tavern got a lot of publicity and business, Henry got his much-yearned-for affection, and the locals got to say they’d met someone of great song. It was a good time for everyone. His visit to this town began no differently.

He tied up his horse outside the local inn. A man nearby stared at him as Henry prepared to go inside.

“You’re a knight, sir?” he asked.

“Why yes, I’m Sir–”

“Oh, a knight!” the man said, excitedly. “A blessed knight! You can help us, sir!”

Henry smirked. “Why, I’m sure I can. But I really did just come here for a drink. What problem does your town have, anyway? A horde of angry goblins? A dragon?” he asked, knowing perfectly well it wasn’t any of those things.

“A spider, sir.”

Henry laughed out loud. “Just a spider?”

“Not just a–”

“We can get to the spider later, old man!” he said, still laughing. “Come into the tavern, and I will tell you of my exploits. You may have heard of them.”

The old man stayed outside, however, looking slightly offended. Inside the tavern were about three dozen people – a good crowd, for a town this size. He spotted no less than five attractive women, and placed himself near them so they’d hear of his exploits.

“And who might you be?” asked the tavern-keeper, as they always did.

“Sir Henry of Torthan, or Henry Dragonslayer,” he replied.

“Henry the Handsome?” asked one of the nearby women, at the mention of his name.

“So they say. But you tell me,” he shot her his most dashing smile.

She giggled with delight. Henry ordered mead, and sure enough, as always happened, one of the locals asked him for a story, which, of course he obliged.

Henry, despite his obvious pleasure for women, was more a seeker of attention and adventure than anything – or at least, what he considered adventure. He told the tale of how he’d slain the dragon Bronzetooth, and how he’d fought in the war against Garthak the Grim, all heavily embellished and slanted towards his own bravery. He spent the better part of the next three hours drinking as locals from all over the town came to hear his exploits. All were entranced, and soon two of the younger girls he’d espied earlier were both sitting very close to him. He held his arms around both of them.

“Well, Garthak, as you can imagine by this point, was simply begging for mercy!” said Henry. “Of course I offered it to him if he renounced his evil ways and repented. But no sooner did I offer it than he cast a spell to turn me to stone!”

The two girls gasped dramatically.

“How did you escape?” asked a man, equally entranced but not quite so reactive.

“Well, I was just too quick for him!” Henry laughed. “I dodged to the right,” he said, gently pulling the girl on his right tighter, making her swoon, “I dodged to the left,” he did the same to the other girl, with similar results, “and then I stuck him through,” he finished, squeezing them both tight, causing both women to gasp admirably.

“Isn’t a wizard’s skin like armour?”

“Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t,” said Henry. “I don’t know, Garthak’s magic was very weak before the end. Why, even if that spell had hit me, I doubt anything more would have happened than turning my nose grey.”

“You must have been very frightened, facing him all alone,” said one of the girls at his side.

“Well, you have to do what you have to do, especially when innocent lives are involved.”

“How much did they pay you, sir?”

“Pay?” he asked, chuckling. “A true knight never asks payment! The gratitude of the people is all I need. Of course, it is also rude to refuse an offer of thanks,” he nodded at a third woman, who giggled coyly.

“Hold on a moment!” cried a man. A very large man stood up, with a very serious look – he was not as entranced as the others. Henry knew the signs. He had been listening, and found holes in his story. He’d dealt with these men before, but they’d never been very effective. After all, he was still a knight, and they were still peasants.

“Yes?” Henry asked, unworried.

“Can you help our town?” he asked.

It was the last thing Henry expected. Yet immediately all the people in the tavern, without exception, began nodding in agreement. The women at his side told him how it would be but a trifle for a man of his stature, while the others began taking the idea very seriously. Henry still wasn’t worried. Most of the time what the townsfolk considered a ‘problem’ was something he could easily take on, like a gang of robbers or sometimes a troll – never anything too bad. He avoided towns with real problems.

“Well, I’ll need to hear the problem, but I certainly think I could do it,” Henry replied.

“It’s a spider,” said the large man.

Now Henry listened seriously. What was it with these people and spiders? Had nobody heard of slamming a large book over them?

“What sort of spider?” he asked, chuckling.

“A monster, sir,” said the man. “She’s the queen of all spiders, she is! Taller than any man, including myself, with a belly as big as a horse! A dozen knights have taken her on, and not one of them has been seen alive again. She steals our children and our sheep, all quiet and spider-like – never makes a sound, she doesn’t, and in the dead of night, too. We can’t rightly sleep in our own beds, we can’t. Me own daughter, I sleep in the same bed as her just to protect her, not that I know what good I’d do…”

“Sounds bad,” said Henry, beginning to regret his decision to stay.

He nodded. “The worst part of her is that she never leaves any trace – drags them back to her lair. Once they go in, they don’t go out.”

“What does she look like?”

“A black creature!” said the girl on his right. “Eight eyes, eight horrible, hairy feet, pinchers like swords…” she trembled. “Like a spider made big and given some dark cunning. Her body is black, but not as black as her soul.”

“Sounds like a dark magic problem,” said Henry. “That’s not really–”

“But you’ve fought a dark wizard!” said the man. “Rammed him clean through, you did! What’s a giant spider compared to a dark wizard?”

All the townsfolk nodded in agreement. Henry was right and properly trapped.

“Not really a problem at all, I was going to say,” he smiled nervously. “Point me in the direction of this beast’s lair, and I’ll slay it on the morrow!”

The innkeeper gave Sir Henry a room for free, so sure the townsfolk were that he could slay the beast. But how was he going to slay this mother of spiders, this clearly dark beast from the depths of hell? Most villages with a ‘problem’ usually had no more than a goblin, or a troll, occasionally a Wraith, but he’d avoided towns with big, obvious problems like a dragon or an angry horde or a dark wizard. How was he to fight a killer as silent as the dark itself?