按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
irit 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 feelnoting 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 continnotued 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 sunotperior'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 assailnotant 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 Arach…Tinilith 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 assasnotsin gave her a second's warning； she would be able to handle the threat her…self。
Maybe she could。 The netherspirit would never know； because it had no intention of informing her of its ing。 It took a certain ironic amusenotment 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 straight…backed and cross…legged 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。 I