蛛后之战(被遗忘的国度系列英文版)-第30部分

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That　was　the　theory；　anyway。　In　point　of　fact；　he　didn't　have　to　give　any　more　orders。　No　doubt　the　warriors　of　Ched　Nasad　were　petent　fighters　in　their　own　right；　but　when　the　sell　swords　swarmed　out　of　hiding；　they　caught　them　entirely　by　surprise；　then　proceeded　to　cut　them　down　with　murderous　efficiency。
Once　Valas　was　certain　his　band　would　be　victorious；　he　started　searching　for　Faeryl　herself。　His　smallness　and　natural　agility　enabled　him　to　thread　his　way　through　the　fury　of　battle　without　harm。
He　found　the　princess　at　the　center　of　the　carnage。　She'd　just　finished　killing　one　of　his　mand。　The　dead　male's　brains　and　bloody　hair　adhered　to　one　end　of　her　basaltheaded　war　hammer。
〃Ambassador；〃　Valas　called。　〃I　have　orders　to　take　you　alive；　if　possible。〃
She　answered　with　a　curse。　He　didn't　blame　her　for　that。　In　her　place；　he　wouldn't　want　to　be　delivered　alive　to　Matron　Baenre；　either。
He　hefted　one　of　his　matched　pair　of　kukris—vicious　curved　daggers—　and　fingered　a　little　brass　ovoid；　one　of　many　trinkets　adorning　his　tunic　and　cloak。
He'd　collected　the　amulets　and　brooches　from　races　and　civilizations　across　the　Underdark。　Fashioned　according　to　alien　aesthetics；　most　of　the　ornaments　were　ugly　and　uncouth　to　dark　elf　eyes；　but　he　hadn't　acquired　them　for　their　appearance；　nor　were　they　merely　souvenirs。　Each　contained　a　different　enchantment。
Three　images；　exact　facsimiles　of　himself；　flickered　into　existence　around　him。　He　edged　toward　Faeryl；　and　the　phantoms　came　with　him。
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。
　
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S　　I　　X　　T　　E　　E　　N
Laughter　echoed　through　the　candlelit　corridors　of　ArachTinilith。　Quenthel　frowned。　She'd　been　expecting　something　to　happen；　eagerly　anticipating　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　particularly　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　FeyBranche　had　not；　as　expected；　turned　out　to　be　one　of　the　traitors。
〃I　don't　know　that；　either；〃　said　the　Mistress　of　ArachTinilith。　She　actually　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；　ineffectual　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　Lolthgranted　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　corridor　with　froth　on　her　lips　and　an　empty　poison　bottle　still　clutched　in　her　hand。
One　of　the　secondyear　students　reeled　from　a　doorway　a　few　yards　farther　down。　Glaring　and　twitching；　she　unrolled　a　parchment；　possibly　one　Quenthel　herself　had　dispensed　from　the　temple　armory；　and　began　shouting　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　drove　her　mad。　She　then　separated　herself　from　her　panions；　either　making　an　excuse　or　just　running　off；　the　better　to　manifest　her　lunacy　in　one　bizarre　behavior　or　another。
It　was　odd　that　the　girls'　panions　never　even　noticed　the　attack　occurring；　odd；　too；　that　the　demon　assaulted　only　one　member　of　a　group　and　not　all—or　that　it　attacked　any；　given　that　the　previous　intruders　had　only　attacked　those　lesser　priestesses　who　attempted　to　hinder　them。
The　unseen　demon's　search　pattern　was　equally　peculiar。　The　location　and　sequences　of　its　attacks　seemed　to　indicate　that　the　being　was　bouncing　erratically　around　from　one　end　of　the　temple　to　the　other。
〃Mistress；〃　said　Yngoth；　〃I　know　what's　happening。〃
〃As　do　I；〃　Quenthel　said。　〃I've　merely　been　confirming　it。〃　She　turned　to　Minolin。　〃FeyBranche。〃
〃Yes？〃　Minolin　asked。
〃You're　in　mand　of　these　others。　You　will　all　evacuate　the　temple。　Get　the　sane　people　out；　and　the　mad　ones；　too；　but　only　if　you　can　do　it　quickly。〃
The　FeyBranche　princess　blinked。　〃Mistress；　we　believe　in　your　authority；〃　she　said。　〃We're　not　afraid　to　stand　with　you。〃
〃I'm　touched；〃　Quenthel　sneered；　〃but　this　isn't　a　test。　I　want　you　to
g°〃
〃Exalted　Mother；〃　Jyslin　said；　〃what's　happening？　Which　demon　invaded　the　temple　tonight？　The　assassin？　Did　it　poison　our　sisters　to　make　them　go　insane？〃
〃No；〃　the　Baenre　said；　〃not　in　the　way　you　mean。〃
〃Then—〃
〃Go〃　Quenthel　raged。　〃Minolin；　I　told　you　to　take　them　out　of　here。〃
〃Yes；　Mistress〃
The　FeyBranche　hastily　formed　them　up　and　led　them　away。　The　corridor　seemed　very　quiet　once　they'd　disappeared。
〃Mistress；〃　said　Hsiv；　〃was　it　wise　to　send　them　away？〃
〃You　question　my　judgment？〃　Quenthel　asked。
The　viper　flinched。　〃No〃
〃You　sought　to　protect　me；　so　I'll　let　it　go。　This　time。　I　dismissed　the　girls　because　they　can't　help　me；　and　I'd　like　to　have　some　underlings　left　when　this　nonsense　is　over。〃
〃They　might　have　guarded　you　from　another　wouldbe　mortal　killer。〃
〃We　can　hope　that　if　Minolin　gets　everyone　out；　there　won't　be　any　more。　Besides；　why　in　the　name　of　the　Demonweb　did　I　create　you？〃
Greenish　candlelight　rippling　on　black　scales；　Yngoth　reared　and　twisted　around　to　look　Quenthel　in　the　face。
〃Mistress；〃　the　viper　hissed；　〃we　are　rebuked。　We'll　keep　watch。　What　will　you　do？〃
〃Wait；　and　prepare　myself。〃
She　found　a　classroom　possessed　of　a　reasonably　fortable　instructor's　chair；　the　high　limestone　back　carved　into　the　stylized　shape　of　a　stubbylegged　spider。　She　sat　down；　laid　the　whip　at　her　feet；　removed　a　thin　shaft　of　polished　white　bone　from　her　pouch；　and　set　it　in　her　lap；　holding　it　at　either　end。
Closing　her　eyes；　she　menced　a　breathing　exercise。　Within　a　heartbeat　or　two；　she　slipped　into　a　meditative　trance。　She　thought　she　would　need　the　utmost　clarity　to　contend　with　the　night's　demon；　because　Jyslin　had　guessed　wrong。　The　intruder　didn't　encapsulate　the　art　of　the　assassin；　nor　the　spirit　of　the　drow　race；　for　that　matter。　It　embodied　the　concept　of　evil。
The　traitor　elves　of　the　World　Above　professed　to　hate　evil。　In　reality；　Quenthel　thought；　they　feared　what　they　didn't　understand。　Thanks　to　the　tutelage　of　Lolth；　the　drow　did；　and　having　understood　it；　they　embraced　it。
For　evil；　like　chaos；　was　one　of　the　fundamental　forces　of　Creation；　manifest　in　both　the　macrocosm　of　the　wide　world　and　the　microcosm　of　the　individual　soul。　As　chaos　gave　rise　to　possibility　and　imagination；　so　evil　engendered　strength　and　will。　It　made　sentient　beings　aspire　to　wealth　and　power。　It　enabled　them　to　subjugate；　kill；　rob；　and　deceive。　It　allowed　them　to　do　whatever　was　required　to　better　themselves　with　never　a　crippling　flicker　of　remorse。
Thus；　evil　was　responsible　for　the　existence　of　civilization　and　for　every　great　deed　any　hero　had　ever　performed。　Without　it；　the　peoples　of　the　world　would　live　like　animals。　It　was　amazing　that　so　many　races；　blinded　by　false　religions　and　philosophies；　had　lost　sight　of　this　selfevident　truth。　In　contrast；　the　dark　elves　had　based　a　society　on　it；　and　that　was　one　of　the　points　of　superiority　that　served　to　exalt　them　above　all　other　races。
Paradoxically；　though；　a　touch　of　the　pure　black　heart　of　this　darkest　of　all　powers　could　be　deadly；　just　as　the　highest　expression　of　forting　warmth　was　the　fire　that　consumed。　Even　folk　who　spent　their　lives　in　the　adoration　of　evil　generally　had　no　real　prehension　of　the　endless　burning　sea　of　it　raging　below　and　beyond　the　material　world；　and　that　was　just　as　well。　Even　a　fleeting　glimpse　could　convey　secrets　too　huge　and　fearsome　for　the　average　mind。　Its　touch　could　annihilate　sanity　and　even　identity。　The　threat　was　sufficiently　grave　that　the　majority　of　spellcasters　hesitated　to　regard　the　force　directly。　They　preferred　to　treat　with　evil　at　one　remove；　by　dealing　with　the　devils　and　undead　that　embodied　it。
But　it　appeared　that　Quenthel's　unknown　enemy　was　the　exception。　He'd　dipped　right　into　the　virulent　fountainhead　and　drawn　forth　a　power　that　dwelled　therein。
That　demon　was　presently　intangible；　a　creature　of　pure　mind。　That　was　why　it　seemed　to　move　and　act　so　erratically；　it　was　passing　not　through　physical　space；　a　medium　in　which　it　didn't　exist；　but　from　consciousness　to　consciousness；　head　to　head。　And　simply　through　that　intimate　contact　it　poisoned　its　hosts；　even　if　it　didn't　particularly　intend　to。　It　suffused　them　with　a　darkness　too　big　and　too　powerful　for　their　little　minds　to　sustain
It　was　searching　for　Quenthel　all　the　while；　to　show　her　the　most　profound　malevolence　of　all。
She　prayed　she　could　endure　the　venom　for　just　a　second；　until　she　worked　the　Xorlarrin's　magic。　She'd　have　to。　Since　the　demon　was　invisible　and　insubstantial；　she　wouldn't　know　it　hadn't　e　close　enough　for　the　talisman　to　affect　until　she　felt　it　infesting　herself。
To　make　sure　she　would　indeed　detect　it；　she　sank　ever　deeper　into　her　trance。　She　became　acutely　conscious　of　the　rise　and　fall　of　her　chest　and　the　air　hissing　in　and　out　of　her　lungs。　The　steady　thud　of　her　heartbeat　and　the　surge　of　blood　through　her　arteries。　The　pressure　of　her　buttocks　and　spine　against　the　chair。　The　feeblest　of　drafts　caressing　and　cooling　her　left　profile。　The　vipers　shifting　restlessly；　brushing　her　feet　and　ankles；　the　touch　perceptible　even　through　her　boots。
Yet　none　of　the　sensations　was　of　any　particular　significance。　They　presented　themselves　so　vividly　only　because　she'd　entered　a　state　of　utter　dispassionate　quietude；　and　thus　receptivity。　A　condition　in　which　she　would　be　equally　cognizant　of　events　within　her　mind　and　soul。
She　recalled　acquiring　this　capacity　when　she　herself　was　a　novice　in　ArachTinilith。　She'd　learned　every　divine　art　easily。　It　had　been　one　of　the　signs　that　Lolth　had　chosen　her　for　greatness。　But　relatively　speaking；　this　particular　mastery　had　e　harder　than　most。　According　to　Vlondril；　unwrinkled　but　showing　signs　of　madness　even　then；　it　had　been　because　Quenthel　was　of　too　dynamic　a　character。　She　had　no　instinct　for　passivity。
Abruptly　the　Baenre　realized　her　thoughts　were　nudging　her　out　of　the　desired　state。　Vlondril　had　also　said　that　was　always　the　way。　The　mind　didn't　like　to　hush。　It　wanted　to　babble。　Quenthel　took　another　deep；　slow　breath；　exhaled　it　through　her　mouth；　and　expelled　that　importunate　inner　voice　along　with　it。
Time　passed。　She　had　no　idea　how　much　time；　nor；　immersed　in　the　meditation；　did　she　care。　The　temple　was　utterly　silent；　which　surely　meant　that　most　everyone　had　exited；　or　perhaps；　in　one　or　two　instances；　perished。
Gradually　it　dawned　on　Quenthel　that　her　trance　wasn't　quite　perfect。　The　dead　quiet；　proof　that　all　instruction；　prayers；　and　rituals　had　ceased；　irked　her　just　a　little；　and　she　doubted　she　could　purge　that　final　hint　of　emotion。　She　cared　too　much　about　her　role　of　Mistress　of　ArachTinilith。　She'd　e　to　the　Academy　intent　on　making　it　grander　and　more　effective　than　ever　before。　Thus　would　she　honor　Lolth　and　demonstrate　her　fitness　to　one　day　rule　the　entire　city。　Instead；　she'd　presided　over　an　extended　disaster；　regular　functions　disrupted；　residents　battered　or　even　dead。
It　galled　her　to　think　how　many　of　her　sister　nobles　would　blame　her；　but　she　knew　it　wasn't　her　fault。　It　was　in　large　measure　the　fault　of　the　teachers　and　students　themselves。　Most　who　had　perished　earned　their　destruction　by　dint　of　their　idiotic　little　mutiny；　and　actually；　that　was　as　it　should　be。　The　traitors　had　violated　the　precepts　of　Lolth。
Indeed；　when　Quenthel　thought　about　it；　the　real　misfortune　might　be　that　weaklings　like　Jyslin　and　Minolin　were　still　alive。　They　were　cowards　and　whiners；　unfit；　but　they'd　survive　merely　because　the　manifestation　of　evil　hadn't　passed　their　way；　and　because　the　Ba