The wings might not have been good for flying, but Noble had noticed another useful quality.
Holding one in each gauntlet, she placed them edge to edge and lowered herself into one of the holes in the hardened fabric. Then, opening her arms wide, she made each wing as heavy as her Ascended strength could carry.
The two wings came together like crashing guillotines, snipping the silk like it was made of paper.
Robbed of its strength, the crimson dome ripped under the pressure of the Master's makeshift scissors, putting up no resistance against the wings of a creature who had helped make it.
Bits of red dirt formed as the structure crumbled.
'Almost there. Now!'
Having made it halfway around the coffins, Noble gave the mental command.
Flint released his hold on the ice, letting it melt away back into the air. The dome shuddered, lurching to one side.
That is just what Noble needed. She grasped the chrysalises, feeling a torrent of essence flow out of her to envelop the hill.
Cracks formed between the spots where the green poison had bubbled. As the dome continued to destabilize, the fissures widened. The center portion broke away.
'Got you!'
The cocoons rose as the other fabric crashed to the ground, adding to the growing pile of debris and bodies.
With the coffins safely hovering high overhead, Noble turned her attention to the secondary goal—finishing the horde.
Even inside the length of the tether, Flint had fared well on the ground with Orrin.
As soon as the healer had helped the Shieldbearer recover from the moth's poison, the pair had worked to decimate the Mourners before they could reach Noble and the silken hill.
'I'm here to help!'
Flint spared her a glance as she came alongside the other two.
'About time, Blondie! Get to work!'
Ignoring the sarcasm, the Floating Master tossed one of the wings at the closest monster. It punctured the Mourner's scales with ease,
The voice of the Spell rang in her ears.
Then, like her Dreamscape's namesake, she whizzed above the moths' heads, dragging her Zenith in one hand and the second wing in the other.
The backs of the creatures were cut and jabbed, each one succumbing to its grievous wounds. Only one put up any real fight.
It shifted at the last possible moment, rearing up to clamp its mandibles on Noble's arm.
Instead of a mouthful of metal and flesh, the moth received a block of ice in its oversized jaw. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a wing landed like a battle ax between the creature's eyes.
Noble turned to see Orrin brush off his hand.
"You were right. Those wings work well for killing them."
The Shieldbearer pulled his sword again, but no more enemies came.
The ground around them was covered in shades of red: the creatures' blood mingled with the two types of thread. The thread was quickly disintegrating and turning to dust, as the rivers of blood were soaked into the dry ground.
Silence settled over the land.
Now there was only one enemy left: the Widow.
She stared at them from her lair, her eyes burning with indignation.
But other than the slight flapping of her broken wings, the enormous abomination did not move.
They could leave it for someone else to vanquish. It would take time for the Widow to subdue more minions. The few that might have escaped would not be enough to sustain her.
There was always the chance that without her Mourners, she could do no more harm.
But Noble doubted it. Like the Bloom of Doubt in her last Nightmare, the minions of the Widow were able to alter the mindset of those within their reach.
If the Widow could coerce the Mourners to follow her, then her powers were even more persuasive.
Since she was the source of the funeral sacrifices, the warriors could not let her remain.
Like her victims, the Widow would die.
There was one big problem.
The abomination in question was ensconced completely underground.
"Well, what's the hold-up? Let's go!" Flint lifted his sword for the next attack.
"No," Noble hesitated. "I'm not going in there."
"Ugh, you and your aversion to getting dirty! You are covered with monster blood, and a little dirt is what hurts your vanity?" Flint rolled his eyes and took a step forward.
The Shieldbearer laid a hand on his companion's shoulder.
"Lady Bel is right," Orrin studied the cave, "It's a trap."
Looking closely, Noble saw it as well.
The opening looked ordinary enough, but the red thread that seemed carelessly cast off by the moth monarch was really an intricately designed web. Either the Mourners had created it to protect their Widow, or the mistress of the cave had designed the tapestry herself.
Tripping even one wire would cause the whole device to vibrate, trapping the interloper for the veiled monster to devour.
Flint's eyes opened wide. His foolhardiness had almost landed him in his enemy's clutches.
Noble and Orrin would have saved him, but then he would have been in their debt. How obnoxious would that have been?!
The Widow glared at him, sending a chill down his spine. Flint rolled his shoulders.
"So, what's the plan?"
"We'll have to lure it out," Noble chewed her lip.
Flint clicked his tongue.
"Lure? What are you going to use as bait?"
The three humans tilted their heads to look up at the sky and the two objects overhead.
There was only one thing that would be likely to bring the Widow from her hiding place.
Noble shook her head. "We can find another way."
"I want to see them." Orrin tried to keep the emotion out of his voice.
The cocoons lowered through the sky, coming to rest gently beside the Shieldbearer.
The faces of Livia and Drusus peeked out from where Orrin had cut away the thread, looking as blue and lifeless as before.
Orrin looked away.
"They were willing to lay down their lives to help our people survive. They would want us to use any means necessary to keep that creature from hurting anyone else."
"Are you sure?" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think we can salvage enough of the unused thread from the moths to make a copy of the…"
"No. A decoy won't fool the creature. I've watched her eyes. She hasn't taken them off of her prize. We have no other choice."
The Widow hissed softly. Noble braced herself for another mental attack, but nothing seemed to occur.
That was somehow more unnerving.
The call became clearer and more rhythmic. Like the beating of a drum, the sound rang out, calling them to action.
"Come. Come. Come. You. Must. Come."
The word was not spoken in the human tongue, but the message was clear.
Lifting the crimson cocoons, Noble watched the Widow's gaze shift. She was hungry.
The coffins moved slowly forward. The wings of the widow fluttered.
"Come. Come. Come."
The rhythm continued to build.
'You want us to come?' Noble's violet eyes shone with intensity. 'Be careful what you wish for.'
Noble would go. The funeral would continue.
But the only hunger that would be satisfied was her sword's.