war of the spider queen 1 dissolution-第89部分

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She　stared　fiercely；　obviously　trying　to　pick　out　the　real　Valas　from　the　false。　It　didn't　help。　When　she　swung；　she　struck　at　the　image　on　his　left。
The　illusion　vanished　on　contact；　and　at　the　same　instant；　he　sprang。　She　couldn't　e　back　on　guard　in　time　to　fend　him　off。　He　hooked　a　leg　behind　her　and　threw　her　to　the　ground；　then　kicked　her　repeatedly　in　the　head　until　she　went　limp。















C　h　a　p　t　e　r

S　I　X　T　E　E　N
Laughter　echoed　through　the　candlelit　corridors　of　Arach…Tinilith。　Quenthel　frowned。　She'd　been　expecting　something　to　happen；　eagerly　anticinotpating　it；　in　fact。　What　she　wasn't　expecting　was　an　explosion　of　mirth；　and　she　couldn't　guess　what　it　meant。
She　strode　forward；　and　her　patrol　followed　behind。　They　seemed　edgy；　but　not　quite　as　reluctant　as　they　had　the　night　before。　The　fate　of　Drisinil；　Molvayas；　and　the　rest　of　the　plotters　had　convinced　the　survivors　that　Quenthel　still　enjoyed　the　favor　of　Lolth；　at　least　to　the　same　dubious　extent　as　the　rest　of　the　stricken　clergy。
The　laughter　rang　on　and　on　until　at　last　the　searchers　found　the　source。　Hunched　over；　her　shoulders　shaking；　a　novice　knelt　before　one　of　the　smaller　altars　of　the　goddess。　Steady　despite　the　paroxysms　of　glee；　her　index　finger　painted　lines　of　graceful　calligraphy　on　the　floor。　Quenthel　couldn't　make　out　what　the　girl　was　using　for　pigment　until　she　lifted　her　hand　to　her　face　like　an　artist　dipping　a　brush　in　a　paint　pot。　She'd　gouged　her　eyes　out；　another　seeming　handicap　that　didn't　impair　her　writing。
The　mistress　stepped　close　enough　to　inspect　the　lines　of　blood。　For　all　her　erudition；　she　couldn't　read　the　characters；　but　she　could　feel　the　power　in　them。　They　pulled　at　her　and　repelled　her　at　the　same　time；　as　if　they　might　yank　her　spirit；　or　a　piece　of　it；　out　of　her　body。
She　wrenched　her　eyes　away　from　the　symbols　and　swung　her　whip。　The　vipers　cracked　into　the　eyeless　female's　back；　their　venomous　fangs　tore　into　her；　and　she　collapsed；　dead　or　merely　insensible。　Quenthel　didn't　parnotticularly　care　which。
〃What　was　she　writing；　Mistress？〃　Jyslin　asked。
〃I　don't　know；〃　Quenthel　admitted；　smearing　the　glyphs　with　her　toe；　〃something　in　one　of　the　secret　tongues　of　the　Abyss。　Scribing　it　may　have　been　a　way　of　casting　a　spell；　so　I　made　sure　she　wouldn't　finish。〃
〃What　was　wrong　with　her？〃　Minolin　asked。
Quenthel　was　still　surprised　that　the　Fey…Branche　had　not；　as　expected；　turned　out　to　be　one　of　the　traitors。
〃I　don't　know　that；　either；〃　said　the　Mistress　of　Arach…Tinilith。　She　acnottually　did　have　an　idea；　but　wasn't　sure　of　it　yet。　〃Let's　move　on。〃
Fifteen　minutes　later；　a　runner；　dispatched　from　a　squad　stationed　in　the　third　leg　of　the　spider；　found　Quenthel　to　report　that　one　of　her　rades　had　gone　mad。　Quenthel　went　to　see　for　herself；　half　expecting　more　gouged　eyes　and　bloody　writing。
But　the　new　dementia　took　a　somewhat　different　form。　The　victim　had　taken　shelter；　if　that　was　the　right　word　for　it；　in　a　small　library　devoted；　for　the　most　part；　to　musty　treatises　on　warfare　in　all　its　aspects。　She　sat　on　the　floor　in　the　corner　defined　by　two　tall　sandstone　bookshelves；　rocking　and　whimpering　to　herself。
Quenthel　stooped；　jammed　her　fist　under　the　girl's　chin　and　forced　up　her　head。
〃Rilrae　Zolond！　What　ails　you？　What　happened？〃
Rilrae's　face　was　blank　and　seemingly　devoid　of　prehension。　Tears　flowed　down　her　cheeks。　She　smelled　of　mucus；　and　the　breath　snuffled　in　her　nose。　She　didn't　answer　Quenthel's　question；　just　made　a　feeble；　inefnotfectual　effort　to　turn　her　face　away。
The　mistress　sighed　and　let　her　go。　She'd　seen　cases　like　Rilrae　before；　generally　in　some　dungeon　or　torture　chamber。　The　junior　priestess　had　experienced　something　sufficiently　unpleasant　to　drive　her　deep　inside　her　own　mind。　Had　Quenthel　still　possessed　her　Lolth…granted　powers；　or　been　carrying　the　proper　equipment；　she　might　have　been　able　to　shake　Rilrae　out　of　her　delirium；　but　as　matters　stood；　the　useless　creature　wouldn't　be　providing　any　information。　Annoyed；　the　mistress　nearly　vented　her　frustration　by　giving　Rilrae　a　stroke　from　her　whip；　but　she　didn't　want　to　appear　rattled　or　upset　in　the　eyes　of　her　followers。
She　led　the　patrol　on　and　eventually　found　a　suicide　sprawled　in　the　cornotridor　with　froth　on　her　lips　and　an　empty　poison　bottle　still　clutched　in　her　hand。
One　of　the　second…year　students　reeled　from　a　doorway　a　few　yards　farnotther　down。　Glaring　and　twitching；　she　unrolled　a　parchment；　possibly　one　Quenthel　herself　had　dispensed　from　the　temple　armory；　and　began　shoutnoting　the　words。　The　Baenre　recognized　the　trigger　phrase　of　a　spell　intended　to　summon　a　certain　type　of　plague　demon。
She　snatched　out　her　hand　crossbow　and　pulled　the　trigger。　Others　did　the　same。　The　flurry　of　poisoned　darts　punctured　the　scroll　and　the　novice　as　well。　She　fell　onto　her　back；　cracking　her　head　against　the　calcite　floor。　The　spell；　still　a　syllable　or　two　from　activation；　dissipated　its　power　in　a　harmless　sizzle　of　red　light。
Quenthel　reflected　that　a　pattern　was　being　clear。　Some　power　struck　a　female　and　more　or　less