蛛后之战(被遗忘的国度系列英文版)-第11部分

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Four　of　them　were　twisting　this　way　and　that；　watching　for　danger。　The　fifth　kept　its　cold　eyes　staring　at　Gromph；　not；　the　Archmage　was　convinced；　because　his　sister　suspected　him　of　trying　to　murder　her。　Or　rather　she　did；　but　not　specifically。　She　simply　had　too　many　viable　suspects。　There　were　subordinates　who　aspired　to　be　Mistress　of　ArachTinilith；　and　the　myriad　foes　of　House　Baenre。　Perhaps　it　was　even　Triel　seeking　to　forestall　the　all　but　inevitable　day　when　Quenthel　would　challenge　her　for　preeminence。
〃Enchantments　can　attenuate　with　time；〃　said　Gromph；　honestly　enough。
〃The　new　ones　will　be　stronger。　Strong　enough；　I　trust；　to　keep　you　safe　in　ArachTinilith。〃
〃It　isn't　just　the　temple　at　risk；〃　Quenthel　snapped。　〃Next　time；　a　demon　could　attack　Sorcere　or　MeleeMagthere。〃
Don't　count　on　it；　Gromph　thought；　but　he　said；　〃I　understand。〃
〃I've　seen　enough　for　now；〃　said　the　mistress；　her　scowl　deepening。　〃Don't　let　your　males　slack　off。　I　want　the　defenses　plete　before　you　leave　to　cast　your　spell　into　Narbondel。〃
〃Consider　it　done。〃
Quenthel　turned　and　walked　back　toward　ArachTinilith。　The　primary　entrance　to　the　imposing　spidershaped　temple　had　bee　merely　an　oddlooking　hole。　The　artisans　hadn't　yet　finished　repairing　the　crumpled　adamantine　leaves　of　the　gate。　Gromph　smiled　to　think　how　that　must　annoy　his　sister。　Knowing　her　as　he　did；　he　was　fairly　certain　the　unfortunate　metalworkers　had　already　felt　the　weight　of　her　displeasure。
Well；　perhaps　they　wouldn't　have　to　bear　it　for　much　longer。　He　fingered　a　small　ornament；　a　black　stone　clasped　in　a　silver　claw　dangling　over　his　heart。
Quenthel　hadn't　asked　about　the　trinket；　nor　had　Gromph　expected　her　to。　He　always　wore　his　amulet　of　eternal　youth　and　the　brooch　that　helped　him　imbue　Narbondel　with　radiant　warmth。　Beyond　those　two　staples；　he　tended　to　adorn　the　Robes　of　the　Archmage　with　a　constantly　changing　array　of　charms　and　talismans；　depending　on　his　whim　and　the　particular　magical　tasks　he　expected　to　perform　that　day。　His　sister　had　had　no　reason　to　suspect　that　this　particular　trinket　was　of　any　particular　significance；　certainly　not　to　herself。
If　she　had　noticed　it　at　all；　she　probably　assumed　the　stone　was　onyx；　ebony；　or　jet。　In　actuality；　it　was　polished　ivory　cut　from　a　unicorn's　horn　after　Gromph　slew　the　magical　equine—sacred　to　the　despicable　elves　of　the　World　Above—in　a　necromantic　rite。　The　orb　was　only　black　because　of　the　entity　he　had　placed　inside　it　only　two　hours　before。
〃That　was　her；〃　he　murmured；　too　softly　for　any　of　the　spell　casters　bustling　about　him　to　overhear。　〃Did　you　take　her　scent？〃
Yes；　the　demon　answered；　its　silent　voice　like　a　nail　scratching　the　inside　of　Gromph's　head。　Though　it　was　unnecessary。　I　may　not　possess　the　power　of　sight；　but　that　has　never　hindered　me　as　I　sought　my　prey。
〃I　was　just　making　sure。　Now；　can　you　succeed　where　Beradax　failed？〃
Of　course。　No　one　of　your　world　has　ever　escaped　me。　Afterward；　I　will　feast　on　Quenthel's　soul；　one　tiny　morsel　at　a　time。
Most　likely　the　netherspirit　would　do　exactly　that；　and　if　it　failed；　Gromph　had　six　more　waiting　in　line　to　pick　up　where　it　left　off。　Perhaps　it　wouldn't　even　e　to　that。　He　had；　after　all；　manipulated　events　in　such　a　way　as　to　inspire　more　mundane　assassins。
A　thirdyear　student　came　scurrying　up　with　a　stubby　chalcedony　wand　in　his　hand。　Recalled　to　more　immediate　concerns；　Gromph　sighed　and　prepared　to　teach　the　youth　how　the　device　worked。
Pretending　to　take　an　interest　in　an　itinerant　vendor's　rack　of　cheaply　fed　and　poorly　balanced　daggers；　Ryld　turned　and　surreptitiously　surveyed　the　intersection。
A　fellow　with　what　the　weapons　master　suspected　were　selfinflicted　sores　on　his　legs　chanted　for　alms　and　shook　a　ceramic　bowl。　Since　it　was　a　rare　if　not　demented　dark　elf　who　ever　felt　the　tug　of　pity；　the　beggar　sat　near　the　entrance　to　a　shabby　boarding　house　catering　to　nondrow。
A　female　hurried　by　with　a　hooked　and　pointed　pole—virtually　a　pike；　when　one　really　looked　at　it—on　her　shoulder　and　a　giant　weasel　on　a　leash。　She　was　plainly　an　exterminator　headed　out　to　rid　a　household　of　some　substantial　infestation。
A　snarling　noble　from　House　Hunzrin　drew　his　rapier　and　lashed　a　moner　with　the　flat；　evidently　because　the　latter　had　been　a　trifle　slow　stepping　out　of　his　way。　The　Hunzrins　were　notorious　for　their　virulent　arrogance。　Perhaps　it　stemmed　from　the　fact　that　they　controlled　the　greater　part　of　Menzoberranzan's　agriculture。　Or　maybe　they　were　pensating　for　the　fact　that；　for　all　their　wealth；　they　were　stuck　living　in　〃mere　East。〃
Any　number　of　other　rather　drab　and　hungrylooking　souls　rushed　on　about　their　business。
〃Reliving　childhood　memories？〃　the　wizard　asked。
〃You　fet；〃　Ryld　replied；　〃I　was　born　in　the　Braeryn。　I　had　to　work　my　way　up　to　get　to　Eastmyr。〃
〃I　daresay　you　took　one　look　around；　then　kept　right　on　climbing。〃
〃You're　right。　Just　now；　I　was　checking　to　see　if　someone's　tailing　us。　No　one　is。〃
〃What　a　pity。　I　was　hoping　that　if　we　asked　enough　questions　in　diverse　male　gatherings；　some　more　friends　of　the　runaways　would　try　to　murder　us；　or　at　least　seek　to　learn　what　we're　about。　Perhaps　the　rogues　are　too　canny　for　that。〃
〃What　do　we　do　now？〃
〃Visit　the　next　vile　tavern；　I　suppose。〃
They　started　walking；　and　Pharaun　continued；　〃Say；　did　I　ever　tell　you　how；　two　days　into　my　first　mission　to　the　World　Above；　I　wound　up　having　to　tail　a　human　mage　while　the　sun　was　blazing　in　the　sky？　I　was　blind　with　the　glare；　my　eyes—〃
〃Enough；〃　Ryld　said。　〃You've　told　this　a　thousand　times。〃
〃Well；　it's　a　good　story。　I　know　you'll　enjoy　hearing　it　again。　There　I　was；　blind　with　the　glare　。。。〃
As　the　two　masters　strolled　on；　they　passed　a　doorway　sealed　with　a　curtain　of　spider　web。　Forbidden　by　sacred　law　to　disturb　the　silken　trap　until　such　time　as　its　builder　ceased　to　occupy　it；　the　luckless　occupant　of　the　house　had　placed　a　box　beneath　his　front　window　to　serve　as　a　makeshift　step。
Across　the　way；　a　ragged　halfbreed　child；　part　dark　elf；　part　human　by　the　look　of　her；　brushed　past　a　drunken　laborer；　then　quickened　her　pace　a　trifle。　Ryld　hadn't　actually　seen　her　lift　the　tosspot's　purse；　but　he　was　fairly　certain　she　had。
Pharaun　came　to　a　sudden　halt。　〃Look　at　this；〃　he　said。
Ryld　turned；　the　long；　fortable　weight　of　Splitter　shifting　ever　so　slightly　across　his　back。　On　a　wall　at　the　mouth　of　an　alley；　someone　had　clumsily　daubed　a　rudimentary　picture　of　a　clawed　hand　surrounded　by　flames。　Though　it　was　small　and　smeared　in　paint　that　barely　contrasted　with　the　stone　behind　it；　Ryld　was　slightly　chagrined　that　Pharaun　had　noticed　it　and　he　hadn't；　but　he　supposed　wizards　had　a　nose　for　glyphs。
〃Do　you　know　what　this　is？〃　asked　Pharaun。
〃An　emblem　of　the　Skortchclaw　horde；　one　of　the　larger　tribes　of　ores。　I've　been　to　the　Realms　that　See　the　Sun　a　time　or　two　myself；　remember？〃
〃Good；　I'm　glad　you　confirm　my　identification。　Now；　what　is　it　doing　here？〃
Ryld　took　a　reflexive　glance　around；　searching　for　potential　threats；　and　said；　〃I　assume　some　orc　painted　it。〃
〃That　would　be　my　supposition；　too；　but　have　you　ever　known　a　thrall　to　do　such　a　thing？〃
〃No。〃
〃Of　course　not。　What　slave　would　dare　deface　the　city；　knowing　that　each　and　every　drow　takes　pride　in　its　perfection？〃
〃A　crazy　one。　We've　all　seen　them　go　mad　under　the　lash。〃
〃Whereupon　they　attack　their　handlers。　They　don't　creep　about　scrawling　on　walls。　I'd　like　to　questions　the　people　in　these　houses　on　either　side。　Perhaps　someone　can　shed　some　light　on　this　occurrence。〃
〃You　get　curious　about　the　strangest　things；〃　Ryld　said；　shaking　his　head。　〃Sometimes　I　think　you're　a　little　mad　yourself。〃
〃Genius　is　so　often　misperceived。〃
〃Look；　I　know　this　puzzle　is　going　to　nag　at　you；　but　we're　right　in　the　middle　of　trying　to　find　the　runaways　and　so　save　your　life。　Let's　stick　to　that。〃
The　tall；　thin　wizard　smiled　and　said；　〃Yes；　of　course。〃
They　walked　on。
〃But　eventually；〃　Pharaun　said　after　a　moment；　〃when　we've　located　the　rogues　and　covered　ourselves　in　glory—or　at　least　convinced　Gromph　to　let　me　continue　breathing—I　am　going　to　inquire　into　this。〃
They　traveled　another　block；　then　a　column　of　roaring　yellow　fire　fell　from　the　sky；　engulfing　Pharaun's　body。　Wings　beat　the　air；　and　an　arrow　streaked　at　Ryld。　

The　netherspirit　couldn't　see　the　new　enchantments　surrounding　Tier　Breche；　but　as　the　uttermost　attenuated　projection　of　its　substance　washed　over　them；　it　could　feel　them。
Metaphorically　speaking；　the　wards　were　not　unlike　a　castle。　There　was　the　motte；　the　steep　slopes　of　which　would　slow　an　enemy's　approach　while　the　defenders　rained　missiles　down　on　him。　Atop　that　loomed　the　thick；　high　walls；　virtually　unbreachable　and　un　climbable。　Amid　those　was　the　recessed　gate；　defensible　by　spears　and　arrows　loosed　from　three　directions。　Within　the　passage　itself；　murder　holes　gaped　in　the　ceiling　to　rain　burning　oil　on　the　invaders'　heads；　while　beyond　it　rose　a　gatehouse　with　battlements　at　the　top；　another　barrier　to　enclose　the　first　section　of　the　courtyard　and　turn　it　into　a　killing　pit。
Gromph's　first　counter　magic；　the　one　that　had　admitted　the　late　and　unlamented　Beradax　to　the　temple；　had　stormed　the　fortress　like　a　rampaging　army　equipped　with　catapults；　rams；　and　siege　towers。　The　archmage's　second　effort　resembled　a　mine　sappers　had　excavated　to　pass　unobtrusively　beneath　the　walls。　Except　that　this　hole　ran　though　extra　dimensional　space。
As　the　netherspirit　understood　it；　this　method　of　egress　was　arranged　by　the　Baenre　elder　male　so　that　the　occupants　of　ArachTinilith　would　experience　another　kind　of　terror。　They　had　already　discovered　the　dread　of　a　screaming　alarm；　and　they　would　learn　the　fear　that　came　when　death　slipped　into　their　midst　without　any　warning　at　all。
Pulling　in　the　longer　tendrils　of　its　ectoplasmic　substance；　the　entity—　it　and　its　kind　had　no　names；　an　advantage　in　that　most　wizards　therefore　lacked　the　ability　to　summon　them—poured　its　formless　form　into　the　tunnel；　albeit　not　without　a　measure　of　trepidation。　If　Gromph's　magic　was　unable　to　neutralize　the　conjurations　of　his　minions；　this　was　where　the　spirit　would　discover　it　in　some　unpleasant　way。
As　it　crept　down　the　mine；　it　sensed　the　wards　poised　above　and　around　it；　enchantments　like　hanging　axes；　precariously　balanced　and　eager　to　fall；　or　taut　tripwires　attached　to　crossbows；　or　caltrops　strewn　lavishly　underfoot。　The　constructs　of　mystical　force　fairly　quivered　like　living　things　with　their　pulsion　to　slay；　but　none　of　them　detected　the　intruder。
The　other　end　of　the　tunnel；　which　would　not　exist　for　mortal　eyes　unless　they　were　magically　augmented；　opened　on　a　corridor。　The　netherspirit　climbed　out　and　took　its　bearings。　It　was　inside　one　of　the　spider　leg　annexes　of　ArachTinilith；　some　distance　from　Quenthel's　suite；　but　that　was　all　right。　It　was　confident　that　nothing　could　bar　its　path　to　its　target。
The　intruder　hunched　and　drifted　around　a　corner　and　saw　a　novice　standing　watch。　Happily；　the　dark　elf　female　didn't　notice　it；　though　that　was　scarcely　a　surprise。　For　some　reason　it　didn't　fully　understand；　Gromph　had　given　it　the　guise　of　a　demon　of　darkness；　and　it　was　all　but　indistinguishable　from　the　ordinary；　empty　gloom　behind　it。　The　netherspirit　yearned　to　kill　the　mortal；　but　Gromph　had　forbidden　it　to　do　harm　to　anyone　but　Quenthel　unless　she　was　fool　enough　to　stand　between　it　and　its　appointed　prey。　With　a　pang　of　regret；　it　slipped　past　the　sentry　and　on　down　the　corridor。　Soon　it　came　upon　a　row　of　cells。　Within　the　square　little　rooms；　students　recited　their　devotions。
So　eager　for　bloodshed　was　the　entity　that　the　hall　seemed　to　last　forever。　Soon　enough；　though；　the　spirit　reached　the　spider's　cephalothoraxes。　This　was　the　round；　firelit　heart　of　the　temple；　home　to　the　grandest　chapels；　the　holiest　of　altars；　and　the　quarters　of　the　temple's　senior　priestesses。
The　intruder　flowed　into　a　spacious　and　largely　empty　octagonal　chamber；　where　the　air　was　perceptibly　cooler　than　in　the　surrounding　rooms　and　hallways。　Statues　of　Lolth　stood　between　the　eight　open　rectangular　doorways；　and　inlaid　lines　and　curves　of　gold　defined　a　plex　magical　sigil　on　the　floor；　a　pentacle　seemingly　focused　on　a　nexus　of　power　at　the　exact　center　of　the　room。　The　same　figure　adorned　the　lofty　ceiling；　reinforcing　the　enchantment。
The　netherspirit　had　no　particular　desire　to　discover　what　that　enchantment　was。　It　crawled　along　the　walls；　making　sure　not　to　touch　the　edge　of　the　design。
Waves　of　power　beat　from　the　middle　of　the　figure　as　something　woke　or　became　more　real　in　the　center　of　the　chamber。　A　sharpness　tore　into　the　top　of　the　spirit's　vapor　like　body；　stunning　it　for　an　instant　with　a　burst　of　unexpected　pain。
Something　jerked　the　living　darkness　toward　the　middle　of　the　chamber。　It　realized　that　despite　its　lack　of　solidity；　something　had　caught　it　with　the　equivalent　of　a　hook　and　line。　It　also　understood　that　simply　avoiding　the　pentacle　hadn't　been　good　enough。　Apparently　when　one　entered　the　room；　one　was　supposed　to　say　a　password　or　something。
The　pulling　ended　abruptly；　and　the　pain　diminished。　Shaking　off　its　shock　and　disorientation；　the　darkness　cast　about　and　discerned　the　being　crouching　over　it。　The　attacker　was　nearly　as　amorphous　as　itself；　but　the　essence　of　it　was　fixed；　hard；　a　mass　of　knobs　and　angles。
The　attacker　extruded　additional　lengths　of　itself　to　transfix　the　darkness。　The　piercing　burned；　made　the　spirit　shake　uncontrollably；　and　seemed　to　be　leeching　out　its　strength。
This；　Gromph's　agent　realized　with　a　kind　of　wonder；　was　the　cold　that　could　extinguish　a　mortal　life　in　a　heartbeat。　The　intruder　had　never　felt　the　sensation　before—not　in　a　painful　way—and　shouldn't　have　been　feeling　it　at　all；　but　the　prisoner　of　the　pentacle　wasn't　just　cold。　It　was　the　essence　of　cold；　the　pure　idea　of　cold　given　life；　just　as　the　netherspirit　to　some　degree　embodied　the　concept　of　darkness。
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　continued　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　mys