war of the spider queen 4 extinction-第33部分

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Valas；　eyes　blazing。　Then；　like　a　cork　being　pulled　from　a　wine　bottle；　a　portion　of　the　ceiling　disappeared　as　the　spell　bored　a　tunnel　through　it。　Daylight　streamed　into　the　vault。　Valas　had　a　brief　glimpse　of　red　eyes；　streaking　toward　him　less　than　a　palm's　breadth　away…and　the　eyes　were　gone。　Squinting　against　the　glare　of　the　shaft　of　light；　he　looked　around　the　vault。　The　wraiths；　driven　off　by　the　sunlight；　had　vanished。
　　　He　closed　his　eyes　and　breathed　a　deep　sigh　of　relief。　Then　he　glanced　down　at　his　sun　amulet。　The　metal　had　lost　its　bright　gold　sheen。　It　was　left　a　dull；　lead　gray。　All　of　the　rays　were　drooping。
　　　Valas　tucked　the　amulet　inside　his　tunic；　out　of　sight。　It　had　done　its　duty。
　　　So　had　he。
　　　〃I'm　leaving；〃　he　told　Pharaun　and　Danifae。　〃You　two　can　stay　and　fill　your　pockets　with　treasure　if　you　like。〃
　　　He　glanced　down　at　the　floor　and　saw　the　magic　that　had　limned　the　portal　in　light　had　faded。　No　matter；　he　remembered　where　it　was。　As　he　stepped　forward　onto　the　portal；　Pharaun；　the　vault…and　Danifae；　who　had　risen　to　her　feet　and　was　glaring　at　him　with　eyes　that　blazed　more　furiously　than　the　wraiths'　had…all　disappeared。
　　　The　air　around　Valas　was　cooler　and　more　humid；　a　wele　change　from　the　vault's　oppressive　atmosphere　of　death　and　dust。　He　had　the　sense　of　enormous　distance　in　front　of　him　and　a　stone　wall　at　his　back。　Shaking　his　head　to　clear　the　slight　dizziness　that　traveling　through　the　portal　had　produced；　he　saw　Quenthel　and　Jeggred　standing　nearby　on　a　narrow　shelf　of　rock　that　was　splattered　with　bat　guano。　Far　below　the　ledge　a　vast；　dark　lake　stretched　as　far　as　the　eye　could　see；　illuminated　by　beams　of　winter　sunlight　that　shone　in　through　crevices　in　the　rock　above。　The　ceiling　of　the　cavern　was　high　overhead；　but　even　from　a　distance　Valas　could　see　the　thousands　of　bats　that　clung；　sleeping；　to　it。　When　dusk　fell　the　air　would　be　thick　with　them。
　　　〃Where's　Pharaun？〃　Quenthel　asked　urgently；　confirming　Valas's　earlier　guess　about　himself　and　Danifae　being　little　more　than　wraith　fodder；　in　her　eyes。
　　　Jeggred；　meanwhile；　sniffed　at　the　rock　face；　prodding　it　with　a　finger。
　　　〃We　can't　go　back；〃　he　growled。　〃Pharaun　didn't　follow　us…and　we　can't　go　back。〃
　　　〃Pharaun's　still　in　the　vault；〃　Valas　told　them。
　　　The　vipers　in　Quenthel's　whip　gave　Valas　a　baleful　look。
　　　〃You　left　him？〃　Quenthel　spat。
　　　〃Why　not？　The　wraiths　are　defeated…no　thanks　to　you；〃　Valas　grumbled…then　realized　he'd　spoken　out　loud。
　　　Stepping　back　a　pace；　he　lowered　his　eyes；　but　the　reprimand　he'd　expected　did　not　e。　Quenthel's　whip　was　still　in　her　belt；　and　her　attention　was　entirely　on　the　wall　behind　him。　Her　body　radiated　tension　as　she　waited；　silently　staring　at　the　wall；　as　if　willing　Pharaun　to　step　through　it。
　　　A　few　moments　later；　Pharaun　obliged　by　emerging　from　the　portal；　together　with　Danifae；　whose　legs　were　articulated　normally　again；　Pharaun's　spell　having　ended。
　　　Jeggred　growled　softly　at　the　mage；　but　Quenthel　silenced　him　with　a　curt　wave　of　her　hand　as　she　spotted　the　object　Danifae　held　in　her　hands。　It　looked；　to　Valas's　unschooled　eyes；　like　a　forked　twig；　plated　in　silver；　but　Quenthel　seemed　to　recognize　it　at　once。
　　　〃A　wand　of　location；〃　she　said；　holding　out　her　hand　in　silent　demand。
　　　〃It　is　indeed；　Mistress；〃　said　Danifae；　her　face　expressionless。　〃The　rogues　who　were　in　the　vault　before　us　must　have　dropped　it。〃
　　　She　handed　the　wand　to　Quenthel；　bowing　her　head。
　　　Quenthel　stroked　Danifae's　hair　in　what　Valas；　had　he　not　known　Quenthel　as　well　as　he　did；　would　have　taken　to　be　a　sign　of　affection。
　　　〃At　last；　Danifae；　you've　proven　your　usefulness。　This　will　make　finding　the　ship　of　chaos　much　easier。〃
　　　So　fixated　on　the　wand　was　Quenthel　that　she　missed　something　that　Valas　did　not：　the　look　on　Pharaun's　face。　Once　again；　the　Master　of　Sorcere　was　plotting　something。　Valas；　neither　wanting　to　know　nor　caring　what　it　might　be；　turned　away　and　stared；　brooding；　out　at　the　lake。　Then；　spotting　something　in　the　distance　with　his　keen　eyes；　he　stiffened。
　　　〃What　is　it？〃　Pharaun　asked；　peering　in　the　same　direction。　〃More　wraiths？〃
　　　Valas　shook　his　head；　and　pointed　to　a　distant　spot　where　bats　were　frantically　circling　above　a　disturbance　in　the　water。
　　　〃Something's　stirring　up　the　bats　。　。　。　something　big。　And　it's　headed　this　way。〃
　　　
Chapter　Twenty…nine
　　　Ryld　trudged　along　the　open；　treeless　plain；　following　Halisstra's　trail。　She'd　forbidden　him　from　acpanying　her；　saying　the　quest　for　the　Crescent　Blade　was　something　she　had　to　undertake　alone…but　she　hadn't　forbidden　him　from　following　her。　Not　in　so　many　words。
　　　And　so　he'd　bade　her　farewell　when　she　left　Eilistraee's　temple；　then　set　out　after　her　as　soon　as　she　was　out　of　sight。　He'd　been　able　to　trail　her　closely　during　the　three　days　she'd　traveled　through　the　forest；　but　when　she　struck　out　across　the　Cold　Field；　he'd　been　forced　to　fall　back　and　follow　only　under　cover　of　darkness。　Even　with　his　magical　piwafwi　there　was　no　way　for　him　to　hide　on　the　flat；　featureless　plain　in　full　daylight。
　　　He　followed　the　faint　traces　of　Halisstra's　passage：　a　blank　spot　on　the　frosted　ground　where　a　pebble　had　been　kicked　out　of　place；　a　patch　of　lichen　that　had　been　scuffed　off　a　rock；　and　a　concave　fragment　of　bone；　recently　kicked　over；　the　frozen　dirt　clinging　to　its　underside　still　fresh。
　　　Flicking　the　fragment　of　skull　aside　with　the　toe　of　his　boot；　the　weapons　master　stared　across　the　desolate　landscape；　looking　for　Halisstra。　As　far　as　he　could　see　the　frozen　ground　was　studded　with　crumbling　pieces　of　bone；　rusted　lance　heads；　shield　bosses；　and　chunks　of　chain　mail　so　rusted　the　links　had　fused　into　a　single；　solid　mass。　It　was　as　if　the　remains　of　the　armies　that　had　fought　there　centuries　past　had　been　seeded　into　the　ground　in　the　hope　that　they　would　one　day　rise　again。　Yet　nothing　grew　there；　save　for　a　few　faint　traces　of　lichen　on　those　rocks　that　hadn't　been　melted　to　slag　by　the　fiery　breath　of　dragons。
　　　A　bitterly　cold　wind　began　to　blow；　plucking　at　the　ends　of　Ryld's　piwafwi　like　the　ghosts　of　the　dead。　Shivering；　he　peered　into　the　gloom；　searching　for　Halisstra。　She　must　have　still　been　far　ahead　of　him；　he　couldn't　see　her。　Ryld　wondered　if　the　ground　had　swallowed　her　up；　just　as　it　had　the　fallen　armies；　then　he　realized　his　nerves　were　getting　the　better　of　him。　That　was　the　way　of　the　place；　though。　The　bination　of　the　moldering　death　beneath　his　feet　and　the　vastness　of　the　sky　above　him　made　him　feel　vulnerable；　exposed。　If　the　dead　truly　did　walk　that　barren　landscape；　there　was　nowhere　to　make　a　stand　against　them…no　cavern　wall　to　place　his　back　against。
　　　Running　a　hand　across　the　crown　of　his　head…his　close…cropped　hair　had　almost　grown　out　and　would　soon　need　to　be　shaved　back　again…he　trudged　onward；　eyes　constantly　flicking　down　to　search　the　ground　for　Halisstra's　trail。　After　a　few　paces；　however；　he　stopped。　There；　some　distance　ahead　of　him　in　the　direction　Halisstra　had　been　heading…was　that　someone　moving？
　　　Not　someone…something。　The　figure　was　definitely　drow…shaped　but　seemed　to　be　lacking　its　lower　half。　Ryld　could　clearly　see　a　head；　shoulders；　and　arms　silhouetted　against　the　spot　on　the　horizon　where　the　moon　was　rising　behind　the　clouds；　but　below　the　waist　there　was　nothing　but　a　trail　of　dark　fog；　twisting　in　the　wind　like　smoke　from　an　extinguished　candle。　He　didn't　need　to　see　its　legs；　however；　to　determine　which　direction　the　thing　was　moving　in。　It　sped　briskly　along；　stopping　every　now　and　then　to　stoop　down　low　over　the　earth。　With　a　shudder；　Ryld　realized　it　too　was　following　Halisstra。
　　　He　drew　Splitter　from　the　sheath　on　his　back　and　sprinted　forward。　The　ground　beneath　his　feet　blurred　as　his　magical　boots　propelled　him　along　at　several　times　his　normal　running　speed。　To　attempt　stealth　on　the　featureless　plain　was　futile。　All　Ryld　could　count　on　to　tip　the　balance　in　his　favor　was　speed。　That；　and　the　magic　of　the　greatsword　in　his　hand。
　　　Within　moments　he　was　close　enough　to　the　creature　to　see　it　clearly。　The　thing　had　once　been　human。　It　wore　a　soldier's　surcoat　over　chain　mail…the　surcoat　emblazoned　with　a　stylized　tree…and　an　ornate　silver　helmet　topped　with　a　plume　of　white　hair　that　spilled　over　the　creature's　shoulders；　marking　the　soldier　as　an　officer。　The　helmet　shone　in　the　cloud…shrouded　moonlight；　and　the　links　of　the　officer's　chain　mail　still　clinked。　At　least　part　of　the　creature　was　corporeal；　then；　though　Ryld　was　doubtful　it　could　be　wounded　by　a　normal　weapon。　Ryld　was　thankful　he　had　Splitter；　its　enchantments　would　help　even　the　odds。
　　　Ryld　was　still　two　dozen　paces　away…and　closing　the　distance　swifter　than　a　charging　rothe…when　he　heard　the　low　muttering。　He　couldn't　make　out　the　words；　but　the　emotion　attached　to　them　made　him　stagger。　It　was　as　if　he'd　run　into　a　pool　of　chest…high　water。　Waves　of　disappointment；　sorrow；　and　loss　crashed　one　by　one　into　his　chest；　slowing　him　to　a　stumbling　walk。
　　　The　undead　officer　stopped；　then　slowly　turned。　It　was　a　human　male；　with　a　dark　mustache　that　framed　a　drooping　mouth；　and　eyes　creased　with　sorrow。　Every　aspect　of　the　apparition　cried　out　despair；　from　its　drooping　shoulders　to　the　listless　way　it　held　its　dagger。
　　　A　dagger　that　was　thrust；　hilt…deep；　into　its　own　chest。
　　　As　the　eyes　of　the　undead　officer　met　Ryld's；　the　tide　of　emotions　rose　above　the　weapons　master's　head；　drowning　him　in　despair。　With　it　came　a　voice…a　telepathic　voice；　for　the　officer　was　still　muttering；　and　the　movements　of　the　ghost's　mouth　bore　no　relation　to　the　words　that　pounded　into　Ryld's　mind。
　　　It　is　finished；　the　voice　moaned。　Our　army　is　defeated。　It　was　our　duty　to　die　in　defense　of　Lord　Velar；　yet　we　few　did　not　fall。　We　cannot　return　to　him　in　disgrace。　Only　one　course　remains　open　to　us…one　path　that　leads　to　honor。　We　must　take　our　place　beside　those　who　have　already　fallen。　Like　them；　we　must　die。
　　　The　words　echoed　in　Ryld's　mind。
　　　Die。　。　。　die。　。　。　die。　We　must　die。　We　must　take　our　place　beside　the　others；　it　is　your　duty。　You　must　die。　。　。
　　　Rooted　to　the　spot　by　the　intensity　of　the　mand；　Ryld　tried　to　obey。　He　turned　Splitter；　holding　it　by　the　blade　and　placing　the　hilt　on　the　ground　between　his　feet。　All　he　had　to　do　was　lean　forward；　and　his　agony　would　be　at　an　end。　His　honor；　hanging　in　tatters　like　the　banners　of　his　fallen　army；　would　be　restored。
　　　Letting　his　head　droop；　Ryld　stared　down　at　his　hands…and　the　point　of　the　blade　he　held　between　them。　He　leaned　forward　until　the　magically　keen　blade　punched　through　his　breastplate　to　prick　his　chest；　and　felt　the　eyes　of　his　manding　officer　watching　him　approvingly。　All　he　had　to　do　was　allow　his　weight　to　fall　forward；　and　the　defeat　of　the　army　of　Lord　Velar　would　be　。。。
　　　Ryld's　eye　was　caught　by　a　ring　on　the　finger　of　his　own　left　hand。　Shaped　like　a　small；　twisting　dragon；　it　was　obviously　an　insignia　of　some　sort。　The　army　of　Lord　Velar　had　been　laid　low　by　dragons…what　was　a　ring　shaped　like　one　of　those　foul　creatures　doing　on　his　finger？　It　was　just　plain　wrong。　。　。
　　　No　。　。　。　the　ring　was　the　only　thing　that　was　right。　It　marked　Ryld　as　a　Master　of　Melee…Magthere　and　triggered　in　him　a　realization。
　　　He　was　not　an　officer　in　some　army　that　was　defeated　centuries　before　he　was　born。　He　was　Ryld　Argith；　Weapons　Master　of　Melee…Magthere；　citizen　of　Menzoberranzan。
　　　Shaking　his　head　violently；　Ryld　threw　off　the　last　of　the　magical　pulsion。　He　let　Splitter　fall　from　his　hands　and　drew　his　shortsword…a　weapon　that　had　been　enchanted　with　just　such　a　foe　as　this　in　mind。　The　weapons　master　leaped　forward；　plunging　it　into　the　undead　officer's　chest。
　　　His　blade　met　resistance；　just　as　if　it　had　been　thrusting　into　solid　chain　mail　and　living　flesh；　and　the　thrust　did　the　job。　Glancing　down　at　the　sword　that　was　buried　in　its　heart…beside　its　own　dagger…the　undead　officer　let　out　a　groan。　Ryld　yanked　his　short　sword　free　and　danced　back　out　of　range。
　　　A　wisp　of　dark　mist　spurted　from　the　puncture　the　sword　had　made　in　the　undead　officer's　chest。　The　smokelike　substance　that　was　its　lower　body　began　to　swirl。　Within　the　space　of　a　few　heartbeats　its　stomach；　chest；　arms；　and　neck　dissolved　into　dark　mist。
　　　The　head　was　the　last　thing　to　disappear。　As　it　did；　the　undead　officer's　lips　curled　into　a　smile；　and　its　eyes　brightened。
　　　Thank　you；　it　whispered。
　　　A　heartbeat　later；　it　was　gone。
　　　Shuddering　at　his　close　escape；　Ryld　stared　at　the　sword　in　his　hands。　The　blade　was　unblemished；　its　plunge　into　the　undead　officer　didn't　seem　to　have　tarnished　it。　He　peered　carefully　in　each　direction　to　make　sure　there　were　no　more　of　the　foul　creatures。　Seeing　none；　he　returned　his　short　sword　to　its　sheath；　then　picked　up　Splitter　and　sheathed　it　as　well。　He　resumed　his　journey；　following　Halisstra's　trail。
　　　The　sooner　she　finds　this　sword　she's　looking　for　and　leaves　the　Cold　Field；　the　weapons　master　thought；　the　better。
　　　
　　　Halisstra　sank；　exhausted；　into　a　crouch；　feet　crunching　the　dusting　of　snow　that　had　fallen　just　after　the　moon　rose。　She'd　been　searching　for　a　night　and　a　day…and　on　into　a　second　night…without　pausing　for　rest。　She'd　tried　to　cast　the　spell　that　would　help　her　to　locate　the　Crescent　Blade　several　times；　but　though　she　was　certain　she'd　mitted　the　words　of　the　song　to　memory　correctly；　she　might　have　confused　the　melody　slightly。　Either　that；　or　the　darksong　was　still　beyond　her　limited　reach。　She'd　felt　none　of　the　tingling　certainty　that　should　have　led　the　way　to　the　object　she　was　seeking。　The　only　thing　she'd　felt　was　the　incessant　cold　wind　sweeping　across　the　desolate　plain。
　　　She　sat　in　the　darkness；　peering　through　the　gloom　at　the　object　she'd　just　pulled　from　the　breast　pocket　of　her　piwafwi：　her　House　medallion。　When　she　converted　to　Eilistraee's　faith；　she'd　decided　to　set　it　aside　with　the　rest　of　her　past；　but　something　had　made　her　hesitate。　The　brooch　was　magical；　after　all；　and　gave　her　the　ability　to　levitate…but　there　was　more　to　it　than　that。　She　sensed　that　it　was　not　only　a　link　with　her　past　but　with　her　future　as　well。
　　　Setting　the　brooch　beside　her　on　the　snowy　ground；　she　drew　Seyll's　songsword　from　its　sheath　and　raised　the　hilt　of　the　weapon　to　her　lips。　How　did　that　melody　go　again？　It　seemed　strange　to　be　playing　a　song　from　the　bae'qeshel　tradition　on　an　instrument　forged　for　a　priestess　of　the　Lady　of　the　Dance　。。。　or　did　it？　Wasn't　the　raising　of　the　skills　and　talents　of　the　Underdark　to　the　World　Above　the　very　end　for　which　Eilistraee　strove？
　　　For　a　time；　Halisstra　concentrated　on　her　fingering；　trying　the　melody　in　different　keys　and　pausing；　from　time　to　time；　to　warm　her　fingers　by　blowing　on　them。　Though　she　tried　to　concentrate；　her　mind　kept　drifting；　and　her　eyelids　felt　heavy。　After　more　than　a　cycle　and　a　half　of　constant　searching；　she　was　desperately　in　need　of　the　release　that　Reverie　could　give。　She　longed　to　let　it　claim　her；　to　drift　among　her　memories　until　they　soothed　her；　but