war of the spider queen 1 dissolution-第43部分

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　hadn't　expected　it　to　employ　stealth　and　attempt　to　poison　her；　though　in　retrospect；　that　tactic　made　perfect　sense。
The　question　was；　had　the　demon　done　all　it　planned　to　do；　or；　since　its　first　ploy　had　failed；　would　it　strike　at　her　in　some　other　way？
Off　to　the　west；　someone　screamed；　the　sound　echoing　down　the　stone　halls。　Quenthel　had　her　answer；　and　it　was　the　one　she'd　expected。
Her　heart　beat　faster；　her　mouth　felt　drier　still；　and　she　realized　she　wasn't　eager　to　confront　this　new　intruder；　certainly　not　without　the　supnotport　of　her　personal　guards。　Yet　she　was　mistress　in　these　halls；　and　it　was　unthinkable　to　turn　tail　and　let　an　invader　make　free　with　her　domain。
Besides；　if　she　fled；　the　cursed　thing　would　probably　track　her　anyway。
Leaving　her　fallen　patrol　with　their　useless　magical　treasures　strewn　about　them　on　the　floor；　she　strode　toward　the　noise。　She　shouted　for　other　underlings　to　attend　her；　but　no　one　responded。
In　a　minute　or　so；　she　entered　a　long　gallery；　where　wall　carvings　told　the　history　of　Lolth　as　it　had　occurred　and　as　it　was　prophesied：　her　senotduction　of　Corellon　Larethian；　chief　deity　of　the　contemptible　elves　of　the　World　Above；　their　union　and　her　first　attempt　to　overthrow　him；　her　disnotcovery　of　her　spider　form　and　her　descent　into　the　Abyss；　her　conquest　of　the　Demonweb　and　her　adoption　of　the　drow　as　her　chosen　people；　and　her　future　triumph　over　all　other　gods　and　ascendancy　over　all　creation。
A　silhouette　appeared　in　the　arched　entry　at　the　far　end　of　the　hall。　It　changed　color　and　shape…humanoid；　quadruped；　blob；　worm；　cluster　of　spikes…from　one　instant　to　the　next。　Somehow　perceiving　Quenthel；　it　let　out　a　cry。　Its　voice　sounded　like　a　wavering；　cacophonous　jumble　of　every　noise　she'd　ever　heard　and　some　she　hadn't。　Within　the　first　discornotdant　howl　she　caught　the　shrill　note　of　a　flute；　the　grunt　of　a　rothe；　a　baby　crying；　water　splashing；　and　fire　crackling。
Quenthel　recognized　the　demon　for　the　profound　threat　it　was；　but　for　a　moment；　she　was　less　concerned　for　her　safety　or　fired　with　a　fighter's　rage　than　she　was　surprised。　Poison　surely　suggested　an　assassin；　yet　the　demon　before　her　was　plainly　an　embodiment　of　chaos。
The　spirit　started　down　the　gallery；　and　the　walls　bulged；　flowed；　and　changed　color　around　it。　Quenthel　reached　into　the　leather　bag　hanging　from　her　belt　and　brought　out　a　scroll；　then　something　hit　her　hard　in　the　back　of　the　neck。

*　*　*

Ryld　peered　about　the　room。　Judging　from　the　sunken　arena　in　the　center　of　the　floor；　the　ruinous　place　had；　in　another　era；　served　as　a　drinknoting　pit…one　of　those　rude　establishments　where　dark　elves　of　every　stanottion　went　to　forget　about　caste　and　grace　for　a　few　hours；　guzzle　raw　spirit；　and　watch　undercreatures　slaughter　one　another　in　contests　that　were　often　set　up　in　such　a　way　as　to　give　them　a　ical　aspect。　
In　other　words；　it　would　have　been　a　crude　sort　of　place　by　the　stannotdards　of　elegant　Menzoberranzan；　but　it　had　grown　cruder　since　the　goblinoids　had　taken　it　over。　Scores　if　not　hundreds　of　them　packed　into　the　space；　and　the　mingled　stink　of　their　unwashed　bodies；　each　race　malodorous　in　its　own　particular　fashion；　was　sickening。　The　loud　gabbling　in　their　various　harsh　and　guttural　languages　was　nearly　as　unnotpleasant。　It　all　but　drowned　out　the　rhythmic　thuds　that　filtered　through　the　ceiling；　but　of　course　the　shaggy　gnoll　drummer　on　the　roof　wasn't　playing　for　the　folk　already　inside　but　to　guide　others　still　in　transit。
To　Ryld's　surprise；　a　fair　number　of　the　creatures　assembling　there　hailed　from　outside　the　Braeryn。　He　observed　plain　but　relatively　clean　and　intact　garments　suggestive　of　Eastmyr；　and　even　liveries；　steel　collars；　shackles；　whip　marks；　and　brands…the　stigmata　of　thralls　who'd　sneaked　away　from　their　mistresses'　affluent　households。　Obviously；　those　who'd　e　from　beyond　the　district　couldn't　have　heard　the　drum　through　the　magical　buffers。　Some　runner　must　have　carried　word　to　them。
Still　magically　disguised　as　ores；　though　not　the　same　ones　who'd　tricked　the　two　bugbears；　the　masters　of　Tier　Breche　had　squeezed　into　a　corner　to　watch　whatever　would　transpire。
Certain　no　one　would　hear　him　over　the　ambient　din；　Ryld　leaned　his　head　close　to　Pharaun's　and　said；　〃I　think　it's　just　a　party。〃
〃Do　you　see　them　celebrating？〃　Pharaun　replied。　His　new　porcine　face　had　a　broken　nose　and　tusk。　〃No；　not　as　such。　They'd　be　considerably　more　boisterous。　They're　waiting　for　something；　and　eagerly；　too。　Observe　those　female　goblins　chattering　and　passing　their　bottle　back　and　forth。〃　Pharaun　nodded　toward　a　trio　of　filthy；　bandy…legged　creatures　with　flat　faces　and　sloping　brows。　〃They're　aquiver　with　anticipation。　If　they're　still　as　giddy　after　the　gathering　breaks　up；　we　may　want　to　seek　solace　for　our　frustrations　in　their　hairy；　misshapen　arms。〃
Certain　his　friend　was　joking；　Ryld　snorted　。　。　。　then　realized　he　wasn't　quite　sure　after　all。
〃You'd　have　relations　with　a　goblin！〃
〃A　true　scholar　always　seeks　new　experiences。　Besides；　what's　the　point　of　being　a　dark　elf；　a　lord　of　the　Underdark；　if　you　don't　exploit　the　slave　races　to　the　utmost？〃
〃Hmm。　I　admit　they　might　be　no　worse　than　one　of　those　priestesses　who　demand　you　grovel　and　do　exactly　as　you're…〃
〃Hush！〃
The　drum　had　stopped。
〃Something's　happening；〃　Pharaun　added。
Ryld　saw　that　his　friend　was　correct。　A　stir　ran　through　the　crowd　and　they　started　to　shout；　〃Prophet！　Prophet！　Prophet！〃
The　master　of　Melee…Magthere　didn't　know　what　he　expected　to　see　next；　but　it　certainly　wasn't　the　figure　in　the　nondescript　cloak　and　hood　whose　upper　body　appeared　above　the　heads　of　the　crowd。　Perhaps　he'd　climbed　up　on　a　bench　or　table；　or　maybe　he'd　simply　levitated；　for　this　〃Prophet；〃　plainly　beloved　of　the　lower　orders；　appeared　to　be　a　handsome　drow　male。
The　Prophet　let　his　followers　chant　and　shout　for　a　minute　or　so；　then　he　raised　his　slender　hands　and　gradually　they　subsided。　Pharaun　leaned　close　to　Ryld　again。
〃It's　possible　the　fellow's　not　really　one　of　us；〃　the　wizard　said。　〃He's　wrapped　in　a　glamour　somewhat　like　ours；　but　his　spell　makes　every　obnotserver　perceive　him　in　a　favorable　light。　I　imagine　the　goblins　see　him　as　a　goblin；　the　gnolls；　as　one　of　their　own；　and　so　forth。〃
〃What's　inside　the　illusion？〃
〃I　don't　know。　The　enchantment　is　peculiar。　I've　never　encountered　anynotthing　quite　like　it。　I　can't　see　through　it；　but　I　suspect　we're　about　to　learn　his　intentions。〃
〃My　brothers　and　sisters；〃　the　Prophet　said。
His　voice　sparked　another　round　of　cheering；　and　he　waited　for　it　to　run　its　course。
〃My　brothers　and　sisters；〃　he　repeated。　〃Since　the　founding　of　this　city；　the　Menzoberranyr　have　held　our　peoples　in　bondage　or　in　conditions　equally　degraded。　They　work　us　until　we　die　of　exhaustion。　They　torture　and　kill　us　on　a　whim。　They　condemn　us　to　starve；　sicken；　and　live　in　squalor。〃
The　audience　growled　its　agreement。
〃You　witness　our　misery　everywhere　you　look；〃　the　hooded　orator　connottinued。　〃Yesterday；　I　walked　through　Manyfolk。　I　saw　a　hobgoblin　girl…child；　surely　no　older　than　five　or　six；　trying　to　pick　up　a　scrap　of　mushroom　from　the　street。　With　her　teeth！　Her　hands　wouldn't　serve。　Some　drow　had　magically　fused　them　together　behind　her　back　so　she　would　live　and　die　a　cripple　and　a　freak。〃
The　crowd　snarled　in　outrage；　even　though　their　races　monly　ennotgaged　in　tortures　equally　cruel；　albeit　far　less　varied　and　imaginative。
〃I　walked　through　Narbondellyn；〃　the　Prophet　said。　〃I　saw　an　ore；　parnotalyzed　in　some　manner；　lying　on　the　ground。　A　dark　elf　slit　his　chest；　spread　the　flaps　of　skin；　cut　some　ribs　with　a　saw；　and