Gamble King Chapter 24. The Spider

The Master had seen it! The fire! The beautiful, perfect flame that had burst from deep within, scorching the stone ceiling above!

The spider bounced and bounced, unable to contain the excitement bubbling through every part of its tiny body.

Look what I can do, Master! Look what I can do!

The new abilities had appeared so suddenly--first the flames, then something even more wonderful--all while being near the Master's magnificent presence.

It had to be because of the Master. Everything good came from the Master.

The Master looked up at the black mark on the ceiling, then down. His expression was so thoughtful, so wise. Even when he was surprised, the Master was thinking deep thoughts that were too complex to understand yet.

"Hey," the Master said slowly. "What the hell are you?"

Oh! Oh! The Master wanted to know more! The spider's abdomen practically glowed with pride. This was the perfect moment to show the other new thing, the even more amazing thing that had appeared.

The spider puffed itself up as tall and dignified as possible, trying to be very proper and ceremonial like the Master deserved. Then, with the most careful movements, it unfolded what had been hidden against its sides.

Wings!

The most beautiful, perfect wings! They were see-through like morning dew and caught the light from the Master's window in sparkly patterns. The spider gave them a little test flutter--up, up into the air for just a moment before landing again.

Look, Master! Look what else I can do now!

The Master leaned forward, and his whole face changed. He was studying everything so carefully, analyzing with that incredible mind that understood so many things.

"You've got wings too?" the Master whispered.

The spider practically vibrated with joy. The Master was impressed! The spider did a little loop in the air, showing off just a tiny bit because the Master seemed to like it. Then it landed on the windowsill very carefully and folded its wings just so, trying to look as presentable as possible.

The Master's expression was full of wonder now, the kind of amazed look that meant he understood how special this was.

Yes! This was exactly what the spider had hoped for!

The Master stared for a long moment, his brilliant mind clearly processing the significance of what he'd witnessed. The spider held perfectly still on the windowsill, wings tucked neatly, waiting for the Master's judgment.

"Damn," the Master said finally. "That's dope."

The spider's entire body went rigid with attention.

Dope.

The Master had spoken a word of power. It had to be--the way his voice carried such certainty, such finality. The spider had never heard this particular word before, but the Master's tone suggested profound meaning.

The spider studied the Master's expression carefully. There was satisfaction there, approval, but also something deeper. The Master's eyes held a quality of recognition, as if he had identified something significant that went beyond mere flame-breathing or wing-bearing.

What was dope? What profound truth was the Master communicating?

The spider considered the context. It had demonstrated new abilities--manifestations of power that had emerged in the Master's presence. The Master had observed, analyzed, and then pronounced this single word with such conviction.

Perhaps... perhaps dope referred to the fundamental nature of transformation itself. The spider had changed, evolved, become something more than what it was before. And this change had occurred not through its own efforts, but through proximity to greatness.

The realization struck like lightning.

Dope was the Master's way of acknowledging that growth was only possible when one remained close to sources of wisdom and power. The spider had not become flame-bearing and wing-gifted through solitary effort. It had happened because it had chosen to dwell in the Master's presence, to seek his company rather than hiding in dark corners like lesser creatures.

The Master was teaching that transformation required dedication to something greater than oneself.

The spider's abdomen began to glow softly with gratitude. Such wisdom, delivered in a single word. The Master could compress entire philosophical concepts into the most economical language.

The spider bowed as low as its small frame allowed, wings spreading briefly in a gesture of profound thanks. The Master had not merely approved of the new abilities--he had revealed the very principle that made such growth possible.

To remain near sources of greatness. To choose proximity over isolation. To understand that one's potential could only be realized through devotion to worthy ideals.

Thank you, Master, for this lesson.

The Master extended his hand, palm upward in clear invitation.

"Come over here for a bit."

The spider's legs nearly gave out from excitement. An invitation! A direct summons to approach the Master's person! This was beyond anything it had dared hope for.

It scurried across the stone floor and climbed carefully onto the Master's palm, settling itself with as much dignity as possible. The warmth of the Master's skin was extraordinary--like basking in perfect sunlight.

"Let me show you to Gerth for a second," the Master said, and suddenly they were moving.

The Master strode through the castle corridors with purpose. Each step was smooth, controlled, deliberate. The Master's other hand came down occasionally to give gentle pats--small touches of approval that sent waves of pure contentment through the spider's tiny form.

Yes. The Master was satisfied with the progress. These pats were clearly rewards for the demonstration of new abilities. The spider had pleased him, had proven worthy of this honor.

The corridors blurred past as they walked, stone archways and tapestries becoming a backdrop to the most important moment of the spider's existence. To be carried by the Master himself, to be shown to others as though the spider mattered--it was overwhelming.

They stopped before a heavy wooden door. The Master raised his free hand and knocked firmly.

"Gerth! Gerth!"

The spider's abdomen began to glow softly. Perhaps this door was an obstacle preventing the Master from his important business.

Shall I burn this door for you, oh Master?

The spider was already gathering heat in its core when the door swung open to reveal an old man with deeply furrowed brows and the general expression of someone who had been rudely interrupted.

"What?" the old man demanded. "Have you no respect for a man's privacy? Barging about the castle like some--"

The spider's glow intensified dramatically. This creature--this inferior being--dared to address the Master with such disrespect? Dared to lecture him about manners and privacy as though the Master were some common servant?

You dare?

But then the old man's eyes fell upon the spider, and his complaints stopped mid-sentence.

"Why is that spider glowing?" he asked, leaning closer. "And why is it so bloody large?"

The spider drew itself up to its full height, wings spreading slightly in indignation.

I have been blessed with abilities beyond your comprehension, old one. The Master's presence has awakened powers within me that transcend the limitations of common spiders. What you see before you is progress, growth, the very manifestation of--

"He breathes fire!" the Master announced.

The old man blinked once, then stepped aside.

"Enter, then," he said with resignation. "Though I suppose I've no choice in the matter now."

The Old One peered down at the spider with that perpetual frown of his, studying the markings across its back.

"The pattern on his back looks like..."

"A dragon, right?" the Master finished.

The Old One's frown deepened. "Aye. And you said it could breathe fire?"

I am a HE!

The Master glanced down at the spider, then back at the Old One. "I think he doesn't like you calling him 'it.'"

Yes! Thank you, Master! You understand!

The Old One raised an eyebrow. "You can understand him?"

We have surpassed the stage of simple speech, Old One, the spider said proudly. The Master and I communicate through means that transcend even my comprehension. Such is the Master's power that he perceives my thoughts without need for crude vocalizations.

"Well, no," the Master said as a sign of modesty. "But I feel like he doesn't like you much. He's been glowing since he saw you."

The Old One stepped closer, ignoring the comment entirely. He circled slowly, his examination methodical. "You said he could breathe fire?"

"Yeah, and he has wings too." The Master turned toward the spider. "Show him your wings!"

The Old One opened his mouth. "You think he can understnad y-"

Observe, Old One!

The spider spread its wings with dramatic flair, the translucent membranes catching the torchlight beautifully.

The Old One's words died in his throat. He stared for a long moment, then crouched down for a closer look.

"By all the hells," he muttered. "He does understand you."

"See?!" the Master exclaimed, pointing at the spider. "See?!"

"Intelligent response to command," The Old One said quietly. "Understands human speech. Physical transformation beyond natural limits." He stood slowly, stroking his beard. "When did this happen?"

"Just appeared," the Master said. "Found him in my chambers this afternoon. Already like this."

"Already transformed?" The Old One's frown deepened. "No gradual change? No smaller form you'd seen before?"

"I don't think so. One moment my room was empty, next thing I know there's a glowing spider shooting fire at my ceiling."

The Old One was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving between the Master and the spider. "Creatures don't simply manifest from thin air, boy. Not like this." He paused, studying the spider's dragon-like markings more intently. "These patterns... they're not random. They follow the specific markers."

The spider preened slightly at the attention, though the Old One's tone was growing increasingly serious.

He shook his head slowly. "Harek, you... you've bonded with a monster."

The spider's glow flared bright orange. A warning shot of flame erupted toward the Old One's ceiling, singeing the wooden beams black.

I am NOT a monster, he declared with considerable dignity.

The Master and the Old One looked at each other. Then back at the spider. Then at each other again.

"You should probably not call it a monster," the Master said. Wise as always.

The Old One nodded slowly. "I should not."

You are at least reasonable, Old One, the spider observed with satisfaction. Perhaps there is hope for your education yet.

"Obviously he's not a normal spider," the Master continued, "but why do you look so pale?"

The Old One's frown deepened further. "The dragon pattern and the attributes it has... this means he is not just any monst--" He caught himself again. "Being. Harek, this was a dragon. You bonded with a dragon."

The Master fell silent for a long moment.

The spider tilted his head, confused.

I am no dragon. I am a spider. A very special one, yes, blessed by the Master's presence, but still a spider. You clearly lacks the perception to see the obvious truth before you, Old One. Your eyes must be failing along with your manners.

The Old One cleared his throat. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know!" the Master threw his hands up. "What do you mean a bond?"

"It means the creature saw you as a sort of companion." The Old One glanced at the spider, who was watching him intently.

He then made a subtle gesture toward the door. The Master caught it and started edging backward.

"Right, well, that's..." the Master took another step toward the door. "Interesting."

The spider's head tilted. Something was happening. His Master was moving away. This seemed wrong.

Master? He started forward.

"No!" the Master said quickly. The spider stopped, confused. "Uh, I mean... no. Can you stay here for now? Please?"

Of course, Master. Your will is my command.

The Master and the Old One backed out of the room. The door closed with a soft click.

"What have you done, boy?" the Old One's voice was muffled but urgent. "What the hells have you done?"

The spider settled himself comfortably on the floor. The Master had given him an order, and he would obey. Though he did wonder why they'd left so suddenly. Perhaps the Master was planning to return with proper refreshments. Or maybe he was going to fetch some teaching materials to help the Old One understand proper forms of address.

Yes, that was probably it. The Master was clearly very thoughtful that way.

***

Gerth seized Max's arm with surprising strength for his age, dragging him further down the corridor. His weathered face had gone pale as parchment, and his usual gruffness had shifted into something closer to panic.

"Seven hells, boy," Gerth muttered, glancing back at his door as though expecting the spider to burn through it. "Seven bloody hells. Do you understand what's happened here?"

"Not really," Max said, allowing himself to be pulled along. "You said something about dragons?"

"Aye, dragons." Gerth's grip tightened. "And bondlings. And the fact that you've somehow managed to entangle yourself with one of the most dangerous creatures in all the known world." He stopped abruptly, turning to face Max. "Tell me true, boy. How did this come to pass? Did you seek it out? Perform some ritual? Speak words of binding?"

Max shook his head. "I was just sitting in my room practicing magic. The spider dropped down from the ceiling, I let it sit on my finger, and then it started breathing fire."

"Just... dropped down." Gerth's frown could have carved stone. "From your ceiling."

"Yeah."

"And you touched it."

"Well, yeah. It was just a spider."

Gerth closed his eyes briefly, as though praying for patience. "By all that's sacred and profane, Harek." He opened his eyes. "We must speak with your lord father. Immediately."

"Sure," Max said, which seemed to surprise Gerth.

"Sure? That's all you've got to say? Sure?"

"What else should I say? You're clearly worried about something serious, and you know more about this than I do." Max shrugged. "If we need to tell my father, then we tell my father."

Gerth stared at him for a long moment, then resumed dragging him down the corridor. "At least you've developed some bloody sense lately."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Gerth's urgency evident in his pace. Max found himself thinking about chapter 345 of Sabo's novel—the one where Bjorn had encountered a dragonlord in the ruins of Old Halyron. It had been one of the more disturbing chapters, actually.

The thing about dragonlords, Sabo had written, was that the name was misleading. Most people heard "dragonlord" and imagined some mighty warrior commanding a great beast, the dragon bowing to human will and wisdom.

The reality was considerably less flattering.

Dragons weren't native to this world. They were entities from elsewhere—minor aspects of destruction, authority, and raw power that occasionally crossed into the mortal plane when the barriers grew thin. Most scholars believed they came from the same realm as the Aspects themselves, though infinitely less powerful.

They were creatures of millennia, not decades. Ancient beyond human comprehension, with memories that stretched back to the rise and fall of entire civilizations. They remembered grudges older than the oldest human kingdoms. They planned on timescales that made mortal lifespans utterly irrelevant.

And they got bored.

That was the crux of it. Dragons lived for thousands of years in a realm where time moved differently, where entertainment was scarce and novelty precious. When the tedium became unbearable, they would pierce the veil between worlds and seek amusement among mortals.

Their favorite game was creating dragonlords.

The process was simple: select an interesting mortal, shower them with attention and minor gifts, then begin issuing tasks. The dragon would frame each demand as an adventure, a quest worthy of their chosen champion. Fetch this ancient artifact. Conquer this rival. Burn this city because their architecture offends me.

The mortal, intoxicated by the attention of such a magnificent being, would comply eagerly at first. They felt chosen, elevated, blessed by the favor of something that existed beyond normal reality.

But dragons viewed humans the way humans viewed particularly useful horses. You didn't hate your horse, you didn't torture it unnecessarily, but you also didn't hesitate to ride it to death if the situation demanded it.

The tasks would escalate. The dragon would demand increasingly dangerous, impossible, or morally horrific acts. And when the mortal finally balked, tried to refuse, or simply failed to provide adequate entertainment...

The dragon would dispose of them and select a new toy.

Dragonlords rarely lasted more than a year. The few who survived longer did so by being exceptionally creative in their methods of providing amusement. They became living puppets, dancing to the whims of creatures that remembered the birth of mountains.

In recorded history, there had been numerous mortals who managed to form relationships with dragons that could be called partnerships rather than enslavement. True dragonlords were rare but not unheard of.

But Max only knew details about two of them from Sabo's writing.

One was an elf named Symareth the Gloaming, who'd somehow negotiated terms with her dragon that lasted eight hundred years until both disappeared into the eastern wastes.

And the other was Korven the Far-Walker, a human explorer whose insatiable curiosity about the world's mysteries had amused a white dragon enough to form a genuine alliance. Together they had sailed beyond the frozen ocean at the world's edge, seeking whatever lay in the endless white beyond the known world. Neither had ever returned.

Sabo had mentioned others in passing--great names from history who'd achieved true partnership--but had never bothered to detail their stories. Max wished now that he'd paid more attention to those throwaway references.

The dragon heart from Dragonmeet had come from a full dragon that the Lich summoned and killed before it could defend itself, which was about right since apparently you had to be either the main character or the final boss to actually kill dragons, and Max was neither.

Their other obsession was wealth—gold, silver, precious gems, anything that caught light and held value.

They hoarded treasure not from greed but from some fundamental compulsion tied to their nature as embodiments of power and authority. Wealth was a visible manifestation of dominance, and dragons collected it the way mortals collected trophies.

They found Tredor in one of the gardens.

Max had passed through this section of Frosthold countless times without really looking at it.

The architecture was completely different from the rest of the stronghold.

Where Frosthold's northern walls were all sharp angles, this place curved. The stone itself seemed to flow rather than having been carved, following organic lines that reminded Max of tree branches or river bends. Delicate spires twisted upward in spirals, their surfaces covered in intricate patterns that looked almost like writing but weren't quite.

Elven work. Dhardian, specifically.

The garden itself was laid out in concentric circles, each ring containing different types of plants that would have been spectacular in spring. Now, under a layer of fresh snow, everything looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. Ice crystals clung to bare branches in formations too perfect to be accidental. The pathways were clear stone that seemed to glow faintly in the gray afternoon light.

At the garden's center sat a memorial. It was Elsa's. Harek's mother.

It wasn't large or ostentatious. Just a simple stone seat carved from what looked like black marble, facing a small reflecting pool that had frozen solid. Above the seat, a slender column rose about eight feet high, topped with something that might have been a flower or a flame - the snow made it hard to tell.

Tredor sat on the stone seat, perfectly still.

He faced the monument with his back to the archway. Holding a small bundle of blue flowers in his lap - the only spot of color in the entire white landscape. His breath came out in small puffs that dissipated quickly in the cold air.

Max had seen this before. Every morning, every evening, and sometimes - when things seemed particularly stressful - in the middle of the day. Tredor would take those blue flowers, walk to this garden, and sit in complete silence for about one hour. He never moved. Never shifted position. Just sat there like he was having a conversation with someone Max couldn't see.

It was the only time Tredor ever looked completely at peace.

Max and Gerth stopped at the garden's edge, snow crunching softly under their boots. Neither spoke. There was something about this place that demanded quiet.

And so they waited...

And waited.

...And waited.

Then:

"Is there something you need?"

Tredor's voice carried clearly across the garden despite its soft tone. He hadn't turned around. Hadn't given any indication he'd noticed their arrival.

"My lord," Gerth cleared his throat. "I apologize for the interruption, but we have a situation that requires your attention."

"I see."

Tredor stood slowly, setting the blue flowers carefully on the stone seat. When he turned to face them, his eyes went immediately to Max.

"Are you causing trouble again, son?"

Max frowned. "Why would you think that?"

"You have the face."

"What face?"

"The face you get when you've done something you know I'm not going to like." Tredor's mouth quirked upward slightly. "Same expression you had when you were seven and convinced the stable master to let you ride Thunder."

Max felt heat creep up his neck. "Well..."

Tredor's eyebrows rose. The slight smile disappeared.