“There was a priestess of Armes here,” the harsh voice went on. “I want her. If someone tells me where she is before I count to five, there will be a shiny coin for them. If someone tells me before I count to ten, there will be a lack of a stabbing for them. After that, I shall be liberal with the stabbing. Tell me, where is she?”

There were no words, but the silence behind Lief and Nth changed character distinctly. Lief looked round, face twisting, and Nth took that as implied permission to at last see what was going on.

The first thing he noted was the enormous armored man dominating the entire taproom. His helmed head brushed the low ceiling, and his shoulders were wide enough to make two Liefs side by side. The iron slabs of his mail were black, chased with red sigils that spat and glowered with power. He had a sword at his belt that looked heavy enough to split rocks with, but the weapon seemed to be gilding the lily, given the raw strength that virtually radiated from the man’s gauntleted hands.

After that, Nth could not help noting that at least a dozen patrons were pointing directly at Lief and himself.

“Fuck,” Lief decided. Then the ogrish figure was stomping over.

“Where is she?” the Doomsayer demanded. “Speak!”

3: The Third Rule of Arachnophobics

“WHERE IS SHE?” the Doomsayer demanded. “Speak!”

“I don’t know!” squeaked Lief, just before the mailed hands caught him up by the collar, lifting him effortlessly into the air.

“Where is she? Or there will be a stabbing,” the huge man promised. “Possibly more than one.” He was ignoring Nth, perhaps because Darkness knew Darkness, and the Doomsayer had assumed that nothing like the transformed spider could possibly be associated with his blessed quarry.

“Gone,” Lief got out, choking around his own twisted collar. “Don’t…”

“Where!”

The little man’s eyes flicked sidelong at his drinking companion. “Help!”

Nth stood.

The Doomsayer finally noticed him, the helm tilting toward him without much curiosity as he continued to throttle Lief. “Don’t get involved, brother. This isn’t your business.”

Nth took a step back. Lief exploded into what was probably intended as a tirade of profanity, but came out as little more than a gasp.

The Doomsayer nodded, approving Nth’s discretion. “Now, where—?”

Nth sprang at him. In that moment he knew he was compelled by Lief’s order, by Penthos’s magic, and yet at the same time he wanted to do it. There was no particular loyalty to his enforced companions in him, but he was angry and frustrated and tormented, and he finally had a chance to give rein to his utter disgust at his situation.