war of the spider queen 1 dissolution-第34部分

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Bits　of　the　assassin　began　to　clot；　to　gum；　and　to　harden　to　a　brittle　rigidity；　at　which　point　they　broke　away。　It　wasn't　truly　injured　as　yet；　but　if　it　wanted　to　keep　it　that　way；　it　knew　it　had　better　strike　back　at　its　assailant。
It　washed　its　leading　edge　over　the　spirit　of　cold　and　discovered　stress　points；　hairline　cracks；　imperfect　junctures。　Of　course…the　prisoner's　structure　resembled　a　mass　of　ice。
Gromph's　agent　materialized　members　like　hammers；　which　pounded　at　the　weak　spots。　It　slid　thin　planes　of　itself　into　the　fissures；　then　thickened　them；　forcing　the　edges　apart。
The　cold　spirit　snatched　its　frigid　claws　out　of　its　foe。　Its　mind　babbled　a　psionic　offer　of　surrender。　The　cloud　of　darkness　ignored　it　and　continnotued　the　attack。
The　freezing　prisoner　of　the　sigil　exploded　into　motes　of　frost。　They　peppered　the　spirit　of　darkness　for　a　second　then　they　were　gone。
Pleased　with　itself；　the　victor　turned；　inspecting　each　of　the　doorways　in　turn；　trying　to　see　if　the　battle　had　attracted　anyone's　attention。　Apparently　not；　and　actually；　that　made　sense。　The　struggle　had　been　relatively　quiet；　conducted　largely　on　another　level　of　existence。
The　darkness　reached　the　entrance　to　Quenthel's　suite　without　further　incident。　Another　sentry　waited　there；　a　spiked　mace　all　but　crackling　with　mystic　force　in　her　hand。　Left　to　her　own　devices；　she　might　hear　her　sunotperior's　distress　and　try　to　intervene；　and　the　spirit　decided　to　prevent　such　an　occurrence。　It　rose　around　the　priestess；　blinding　her；　thickened　a　length　of　itself；　and　whipped　it　around　her　neck。
The　female　thrashed　a　little；　then　passed　out　for　want　of　air。　Her　assailnotant　laid　her　down　and　slid　beneath　the　door。
Scores　of　costly　icons　decorated　Quenthel's　private　rooms；　so　many　that　the　place　seemed　a　temple　of　Lolth　in　its　own　right。　Beyond　that；　however；　the　suite　was　sparsely　furnished；　albeit　with　exquisite　pieces；　as　if　the　Mistress　of　Arach…Tinilith　practiced　an　asceticism　at　odds　with　the　habits　of　the　average　sybaritic　Menzoberranyr。
The　darkness　sent　an　intangible　ripple　of　itself　probing　ahead。　At　once　it　discovered　an　element　of　Quenthel's　personal　defenses。　It　was　not；　as　the　spirit　might　have　expected；　a　hidden　mantrap　woven　of　potent　divine　magic　but　a　simple　set　of　crystal　wind　chimes　rendered　invisible　and　hung　at　a　point　where　any　oblivious　intruder　would　be　sure　to　bump　his　head　on　them。　Apparently　the　Baenre　priestess　believed　that　so　long　as　an　assasnotsin　gave　her　a　second's　warning；　she　would　be　able　to　handle　the　threat　her…self。
Maybe　she　could。　The　netherspirit　would　never　know；　because　it　had　no　intention　of　informing　her　of　its　ing。　It　took　a　certain　ironic　amusenotment　in　sliding　its　smoke　like　form　directly　through　the　dangling　crystals　without　disturbing　them　in　the　slightest。
Eyes　closed；　in　Reverie　no　doubt；　Quenthel　sat　straight…backed　and　cross…legged　on　a　rug。　Along　the　back　wall；　pulses　of　mystical　force　throbbed　from　a　pair　of　iron　chests　and　from　behind　a　theoretically　secret　door。　The　high　priestess　had　invoked　some　formidable　magic　to　protect　her　valuables。　It　was　too　bad　she　wasn't　similarly　careful　with　her　life。
Gromph's　agent　flowed　forward；　and　something　reared　hissing　atop　a　round　little　table。　It　was　the　five　vipers　prising　an　enchanted　whip。　Distracted　by　the　magical　power　blazing　at　the　back　of　the　chamber；　the　netherspirit　had　missed　feeling　the　lesser　emanations　of　the　vipers。
Fortunately；　it　didn't　matter。　The　animate　darkness　had　skulked　too　close　to　its　prey　for　anything　to　balk　it。　It　solidified　a　twisting　strand　of　itself　and　slapped　the　table　over；　sending　the　whip　flying。　At　the　same　time　it　darted；　stretching；　to　pounce　on　Quenthel。
Her　slanted　eyes　opened　but　of　course　saw　only　blackness。　She　opened　her　mouth　to　speak　or　shout；　and　the　demon　shoved　a　tendril　inside。














C　h　a　p　t　e　r


S　E　V　E　N　
For　an　instant；　the　world　blazed　bright　and　hot；　searing　Pharaun's　skin。　However；　when　the　flame　was　gone　it　left　little　more　than　a　tactile　memory　of　pain。　Gasping；　the　wizard　took　stock　of　himself。　Except　for　a　blister　or　two；　he　was　all　right。　Some　bination　of　the　protective　enchantments　woven　into　both　his　vest　and　piwafwi；　his　innate　drow　resistance　to　hostile　magic；　and　the　silver　ring　he　wore　bearing　the　insignia　of　Sorcere；　had　saved　him　from　fatal　burns。
Ryld　had　drawn　Splitter。　An　arrow　whizzed　down　from　a　rooftop　across　the　street；　and　the　burly　swordsman　batted　it　out　of　the　air。　A　huge　flying　mount　wheeled　overhead；　vanishing　from　view　before　Pharaun　could　get　a　good　look　at　it。
〃Are　you　all　right？〃　Ryld　asked。
〃Just　singed　a　little；〃　Pharaun　replied。
〃Here　are　your　rogues；　not　so　canny　after　all。　We'll　either　have　to　rise　into　the　air　after　them　or　pull　them　down　to　the　street。〃
〃We'll　do　neither。　Follow　me。〃
〃Run？〃　the　weapons　master　asked；　swatting　away　another　arrow。　〃I　thought　we　wanted　to　catch　one　of　them。〃
〃Just　follow。〃
Pharaun　began　moving　down　the　street；　meanwhile　peering　upward；　looking　for　his　attackers。　Ryld　scowled　but　trailed　along　behind　him。
The　Master　of　Sorcere　gl