蛛后之战(被遗忘的国度系列英文版)-第21章

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e　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　mystic　force　in　her　hand。　Left　to　her　own　devices；　she　might　hear　her　superior'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　assailant　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　ArachTinilith　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　assassin　gave　her　a　second's　warning；　she　would　be　able　to　handle　the　threat　herself。
Maybe　she　could。　The　netherspirit　would　never　know；　because　it　had　no　intention　of　informing　her　of　its　ing。　It　took　a　certain　ironic　amusement　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　straightbacked　and　crosslegged　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。
　
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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　st