蛛后之战(被遗忘的国度系列英文版)-第57章

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alance；　he　dodged　them；　but　in　so　doing；　fell　on　his　rump。
The　rogues　scrambled　forward　to　finish　him。　He　surprised　the　other　stranger　with　a　boneshattering　kick　to　the　ankle；　knocking　him　reeling　backward；　then　reared　up　on　one　knee；　his　sword　raised　in　a　high　guard　for　what　he　knew　was　ing。
Urlryn's　blade　crashed　down　on　his　own；　and　he　felt　the　jolt　all　the　way　to　his　shoulder。　With　both　feet　planted　beneath　him；　the　renegade　could　bring　all　his　strength　to　bear。　Ryld　couldn't。
But　he　was　bigger　and　more　powerful　than　his　adversary　and　was　nicely　positioned　to　hamstring　other　drow。　Teeth　gritted；　he　maintained　his　defense　until　his　enemy　faltered；　then　whipped　the　broadsword　behind　the　rogue's　leg　for　a　drawing　cut。
Urlryn　let　out　a　shrill　cry　and　staggered　sideways。　Ryld　heaved　himself　up　and　turned　toward　the　wizard；　only　to　discover　he　could　no　longer　see　him。　Deprived　of　his　wall　of　warriors；　the　spellcaster　had　conjured　another　defender；　a　vaguely　bearish　thing　with　folded　bat　wings　and　luminous　crimson　eyes；　so　huge　it　nearly　filled　the　corridor。
Ryld　had　watched　Pharaun　exercise　the　famous　Mizzrym　talent　for　illusion　on　numerous　occasions；　and　his　experiences　stood　him　in　good　stead。　He　sensed；　though　he　couldn't　say　how；　that　the　demon　bear　was　just　a　phantasm。　He　limped　forward；　flicked　the　broadsword　at　it；　and　it　popped　like　a　fungus　discharging　a　cloud　of　spores。　It　was　strange　to　think　that；　had　he　believed　in　it；　it　could　have　torn　him　to　shreds。
The　rogue　mage　turned　tail。　Ryld　didn't　want　the　bastard　to　reappear　and　try　to　kill　him　again　later；　so　he　gave　chase。　His　head　and　wounded　leg　seemed　to　scream　in　unison；　and　he　had　to　stop。　The　sorcerer　scuttled　round　a　corner　and　disappeared。　
As　Ryld　waited　for　the　pain　to　subside；　he　realized　he　couldn't　survive　many　more　fights　in　his　present　condition。　He　either　had　to　escape　his　foes　posthaste　or　shed　his　disabilities。
Sadly；　he　had　just　about　e　to　the　conclusion　that　he　was　fated　to　wander　through　the　castle；　ducking　his　enemies　the　while；　until　pure　luck　led　him　to　an　exit。　That　could　take　hours。
He　had　reason　to　hope　he　wouldn't　need　nearly　as　long　to　revitalize　himself；　but　he'd　leave　himself　vulnerable　during　the　process。　He　wouldn't　be　able　to　sneak　in　the　opposite　direction　whenever　he　detected　a　party　of　hunters。　He'd　have　to　stay　in　one　place。　Still；　it　seemed　the　better　option。
He　skulked　along　the　corridor；　peering　into　doorways。　One　led　to　a　desolate　training　hall。　The　target　mannequins　looked　like　ghosts　in　their　shrouds　of　spiderweb。
Near　the　righthand　wall　were　tiers　of　seats；　from　which　spectators　could　watch　the　warriors　train。　If　Ryld　crouched　down　behind　the　structure；　no　one　would　see　him　without　making　a　careful　search　of　the　entire　room。
Besides；　the　master　thought；　going　to　ground　in　a　salle　might　bring　him　luck。　The　dark　powers　knew；　he　needed　it。
He　limped　behind　the　sculpted　seats　and　sat　down　on　the　floor　with　his　legs　crossed。　He　rested　his　hands　on　his　thighs；　closed　his　eyes；　and　menced　a　breathing　exercise。
Spellcasters　smugly　imagined　they　were　the　only　folk　who　truly　knew　how　to　meditate。　They　were　mistaken。　The　brothers　of　MeleeMagthere　had　mastered　the　practice　as　well。　It　helped　them　reach　the　highest　level　of　martial　proficiency。
Spellcasters。　The　thought　reminded　him　of　Pharaun。　It　brought　the　shock　and　anger　flooding　back。
But　at　the　moment；　those　feelings　were　an　impediment。　He　had　to　relax　and　empty　his　mind。
He　could　heal　the　wound　Syrzan　had　left　inside　his　head。　He　could　stop　his　leg　bleeding。　He　could　banish　pain　and　fatigue　and　tap　his　body's　deepest　reservoirs　of　strength。
If　only　the　enemy　gave　him　time。
Pharaun　groped　his　way　onward　for　just　a　few　more　minutes；　then　found　another　staircase；　this　one　a　narrow　spiral　leading　downward。　It　was　almost　as　if　the　mysteriously　silent　Lolth　had　returned　long　enough　to　reward　him　for　his　treachery。
If　so；　he　soon　had　cause　to　recall　that　she　was　a　fickle　and　treacherous　entity　herself。　He　reached　the　bottom　of　the　steps；　headed　down　a　hallway　with　a　high；　arched　ceiling；　and　heard　another　band　of　hunters。　It　sounded　as　if　they　were　just　about　to　round　the　corner　dead　ahead。　Pharaun　looked　around　at　the　blank　walls。　The　corridor　lacked　any　doorways　into　which　a　fugitive　might　duck。
The　wizard　could　run；　but　he　didn't　want　to　retreat　back　the　way　he'd　e。　He　could　evoke　a　curtain　of　darkness；　but　that　would　alert　the　rogues　that　someone　was　hiding　behind　it。　He　could　throw　darts　of　force；　but　it　would　exhaust　his　offensive　magic。　He　decided　to　take　a　chance。
Concentrating　on　the　stolen　House　insignia；　he　shed　his　weight　and　floated　upward　to　stretch　out　horizontally；　his　spine　pressed　against　the　crest　of　the　rounded　ceiling。
The　hunters　passed　below　him；　oblivious　to　his　presence。　He　stared　down；　looking　for　a　fellow　mage。　If　there　was　a　chance　he　could　obtain　new　spell　foci；　he　might　attack　and　the　odds　be　damned；　but　the　males　were　all　warriors。
Once　they'd　gone　by；　he　drifted　back　down　to　the　ground　and　skulked　onward。　He　got　turned　around　once　more；　then　unexpectedly　found　himself　before　a　small　service　entrance　to　a　stable　much　like　the　one　in　his　family's　castle。　Moldy　stone　troughs；　casks；　mounting　blocks；　and　rusty　ironring　hitches　defined　regular　patterns　across　the　floor；　while　musty；　rotting　tack　hung　along　the　walls。　The　aerial　steeds　were　long　gone；　stolen　by　the　conquerors；　evidently；　as　he　didn't　see　any　bones。　Two　rogues　stood　watch；　guarding　the　huge　sliding　doors。
Pharaun　smiled；　threw　his　last　darts　of　light；　and；　without　waiting　to　see　how　much　damage　they　did；　broke　from　cover　and　sprinted　toward　the　sentries。
One　renegade　coughed　blood　and　fell。　The　other　appeared　unaffected。　A　nicelooking　fellow　with　a　single　elegant　tendril　dangling　beside　each　cheek；　he　turned；　spotted　Pharaun；　and　calmly　lifted　his　crossbow。
The　wizard　threw　himself　flat；　and　the　bolt　whizzed　over　his　head。　Still　prone；　he　shot　his　own　crossbow。　The　shaft　plunged　into　the　renegade's　chest。
The　rogue　snarled；　drew　his　scimitar；　and　advanced；　but　only　for　three　steps。　He　stopped；　and　his　arm　fell；　his　sword　clattering　against　the　floor。　An　astonished　look　on　his　face；　he　dropped　to　his　knees。
Rising；　Pharaun　noticed　that　the　dying　male's　garments　were　as　tasteful　as　his　coiffure。
〃Who's　your　tailor？〃　Pharaun　asked；　but　the　renegade　merely　fell　facedown。　〃Ah；　well。〃
The　wizard　strode　on　to　one　of　the　outside　doors；　unbolted　it；　and　shoved　it　open。　Perhaps　the　casters　were　magical；　for　they　worked　as　well　as　ever。　The　panel　rolled　easily　and　quietly　aside。
On　the　other　side　was　a　sheer　drop　to　the　glowing　palaces　a　thousand　feet　below。　Silently　thanking　the　dead　guard's　House；　he　touched　the　stolen　brooch　and　sprang　over　the　edge。
　
C　h　a　p　t　e　r
　
T　　W　　E　　N　　T　　Y
T　　W　　O
Pharaun　could　float　down　a　thousand　feet；　or　he　could　fall；　relying　on　levitation　to　slow　his　descent　at　the　end。　The　latter　course　was　dangerous。　If　he　waited　too　long　to　counteract　the　pull　of　gravity；　he　would　break　bones　or　even　pulp　himself　when　he　landed。
Still；　he　chose　to　plummet；　because　of　what　he　saw　beneath　him。
He'd　lost　track　of　time　inside　the　rogues'　citadel；　but　it　was　plain　that　the　Call　had　gone　forth　around　the　black　death　of　Narbondel；　when　most　dark　elves　had　gone　home　for　the　night。　With　few　drow　about　to　contest　them　for　possession　of　the　streets；　the　undercreatures　had　erupted　from　their　kennels　to　kill；　loot；　and　destroy。　Pharaun　couldn't　make　out　individuals；　but　he　could　see　the　mobs　as　great　surging；　formless　masses　like　the　living　jellies　that　infested　certain　caverns；　and　he　could　certainly　see　the　fires　they　were　setting。　He　could　smell　the　strange；　foul　smoke　of　burning　stone；　and　he　could　hear　the　goblins　shouting。
Perhaps　the　embattled　moners　looked　to　the　noble　Houses　for　succor。　If　so；　they　waited　in　vain。　Sorcerous　power　flashed　white　and　red　from　the　windows　and　baileys　of　the　stalactite　castles　as　the　nobles　struggled　with　their　own　rebellious　slave　soldiers。　For　the　time　being；　at　least；　the　drow　were　pinned　down；　unable　to　brace　the　marauders　outside　their　own　walls。
A　house　was　growing　larger　and　larger　beneath　Pharaun's　boots。　He　made　himself　lighter　than　air　but　still　slammed　down　hard。　The　impact　knocked　the　wind　and　the　sense　out　of　him；　and　when　his　wits　returned；　he　was　bouncing　upward　again。
Restoring　a　portion　of　his　weight；　he　achieved　a　more　graceful　landing；　flattened　himself　against　the　roof；　and　peered　about。　The　goblins　weren't　running　amok　in　his　immediate　vicinity—not　yet—so　he　jumped　down　onto　the　street。　Glad　the　Bazaar　was　just　three　blocks　away；　he　dashed　in　that　direction。
He'd　almost　reached　his　destination　when　a　motley　assortment　of　scaly　little　kobolds；　pigfaced　ores；　and　shaggy；　hulking　bugbears　surged　from　an　alley。　So　far；　the　revolt　was　going　well　for　them。　They'd　manage　to　lay　their　hands　on　spears；　swords；　and　axes；　and　bloody　them；　too。
Pharaun　ran　even　faster。　A　javelin　flew　past　him；　but　the　thralls　didn't　chase　him。　Evidently　they　were　more　interested　in　other　prey。
When　the　wizard　reached　the　marketplace；　he　cursed；　for　the　riot　had　arrived　there　ahead　of　him。　Undercreatures　were　looting　and　burning　the　stalls；　creating　patches　of　dazzling　glare。　Some　of　the　merchants　had　fled。　Others　attempted　to　defend　their　wares；　unsuccessfully　if　they　relied　on　goblin　underlings　for　assistance。
Pharaun　skirted　the　edge　of　the　Bazaar；　witnessing　scenes　of　carnage　as　he　skulked　along。　Laughing；　a　goblin　flogged　his　master's　corpse　with　a　scourge。　A　bugbear　used　her　manacles　to　strangle　a　merchant。　Trapped　in　a　blazing　stone　pen；　riding　lizards　hissed　and　scuttled　back　and　forth　in　fear。
The　first　stall　Pharaun　had　hoped　to　find　intact　was　burning　merrily；　and　the　second　was　crawling　with　gnolls；　growling；　whining；　and　barking　as　they　pawed　through　the　vendor's　goods。　The　Master　of　Sorcere　knew　of　only　one　more　possibility　on　the　perimeter　of　the　Bazaar。　Should　that　one　be　lost　to　him　as　well；　he　would　either　have　to　venture　deeper　into　the　burning；　oreinfested　maze　of　stalls　or　conceive　another　plan。
Warty；　bearded　ogres　overturned　a　twelvewheeled　wagon；　dumping　out　the　dark　elves　who'd　been　making　a　stand　inside。　A　w