war of the spider queen 5 annihilation- 第9部分

　　　
　　　Ryld　drew　the　whetstone　slowly　along　Splitter's　razor　edge。　The　enchanted　sword　hardly　needed　sharpening；　but　Ryld　found　he　was　always　better　able　to　think　when　he　was　performing　the　simple　tasks　of　a　soldier。　The　sword　had　no　outward　signs　of　an　intelligence　of　its　own；　but　Ryld　had　convinced　himself　some　years　before　that　Splitter　enjoyed　the　attention　he　gave　it。
　　　He　was　alone　in　the　crumbling；　weed…choked　hovel　he　shared　with　Halisstra。　The　sounds　and　smells　of　the　forest　all　around　him　managed　to　invade　even　that　personal　time　with　his　sword　and　his　thoughts。　He　knew　he　was　as　relaxed　as　he　would　ever　be　on　the　surface　in　the　daylight　under　the　endless　sky…at　least；　when　Halisstra　wasn't　with　him。
　　　The　Master　of　Melee…Magthere　was　alone　because　he　hadn't　been　invited　to　the　circle　that　Halisstra　had　gone　to　join。　The　curious；　heretical　surface　drow　were　planning　something；　and　Halisstra　and　her　newfound　toy…the　Crescent　Blade…were　obviously　a　big　part　of　it。　He　had　killed　the　raging　animal　that　attacked　him；　and　as　many　times　as　Feliane　had　tried　to　explain　it　to　him；　he　couldn't　imagine　why　that　made　him　an　outcast。　Still；　Ryld　knew　he　had　been　left　out　for　more　than　that　one　reason。
　　　He　sat　alone　also　because；　unlike　Halisstra；　he　had　not　openly　rejected　the　Spider　Queen　nor　openly　embraced　her　sun…ravaged　rival；　the　Lady　of　the　Dance。　Ryld　didn't　understand　that　frivolous　goddess　of　theirs。　The　Lady　of　the　Dance？　Were　they　to　set　their　lives　along　a　path　defined　by　dancing？　What　sort　of　a　bizarre　goddess　could　draw；　much　less　mete　out；　power　from　something　so　pointless　as　dancing？　Lolth　was　a　cruel　and　capricious　mistress；　and　her　priestesses　held　her　power　close；　but　she　was　the　Queen　of　Spiders。　Spiders　were　strong；　resourceful　predators…survivors。　Ryld　could　see　himself　as　a　spider。　Spiders　knew　no　mercy　and　never　asked　for　forgiveness。　They　spun　their　webs；　caught　their　prey；　and　lived。　Spiders　made　sense；　spiders　had　power；　and　power　was　all　any　drow　needed。
　　　Apparently　not　every　drow。
　　　Still；　Ryld　knew　that　there　was　a　third　reason　why　he　sat　sharpening　his　sword　while　the　females　plotted　and　planned；　and　that　was　precisely　because　he　wasn't　a　female。　In　Menzoberranzan；　Ryld　Argith　was　a　highly　regarded　and　well…respected　warrior；　a　soldier　with　powerful　friends　and　much　to　remend　him　to　his　superiors。　He　led　a　fortable　life；　wielded　some　items　imbued　with　powerful　magic…the　greatsword　not　the　least　of　them…and　was　even　trusted　to　be　a　principal　member　of　the　vital　expedition　in　search　of　their　silent　goddess。　Despite　all　that；　Ryld　Argith　was　a　male。　As　such　he　would　never　be　anything　but　second；　and　he　well　knew　likely　not　even　that。　He　would　lead　other　males；　other　warriors；　but　would　never　mand　a　female。　He　would　be　asked　his　opinion；　and　that　opinion　would　occasionally　even　be　considered；　but　he　would　never　make　decisions。　He　would　be　a　soldier…a　tool；　a　weapon…but　never　a　leader。　Not　in　Menzoberranzan　among　the　daughters　of　Lolth　and　not　in　the　sun…baked　forest　among　the　dancing　priestesses。
　　　Three　reasons　for　being　left　out；　Ryld　thought；　while　at　home　there　is　only　the　third。　Three　reasons　to　go　home　to　Menzoberranzan。
　　　One　reason　to　stay。
　　　In　the　past　lingering　hours　of　solitude　Ryld　had　thought　often　of　returning　to　the　Underdark。　Pharaun　and　the　others　would　have　moved　on；　continued　their　quest。　Likely　they'd　all　forgotten　about　the　Master　of　Melee…Magthere　who　had　left　the　City　of　Spiders　with　them。　Ryld　held　no　illusions　about　his　worth　to　the　likes　of　Quenthel　Baenre；　and　Pharaun　had　at　least　once　proved　that　Ryld's　life　was　less　important　than　the　wizard's　convenience；　let　alone　the　Master　of　Sorcere's　own　well…being。
　　　Pharaun；　however；　was　predictable。　Ryld　knew　the　mage　and　knew　what　to　expect…even　if　that　meant　expecting　betrayal。　Pharaun　was　a　dark　elf；　not　only　well　tuned　to；　but　prone　to　revel　in；　his　drow　nature。　Quenthel　Baenre　was　the　same；　which　was　why　they　so　irritated　one　another。　Those　two　and　the　others…even　the　laconic　Valas　Hune…were　like　spiders　too：　predictable；　efficient　survivors。　Ryld　saw　himself　in　the　same　terms；　and　being　in　like　pany　had　a　pelling　draw。
　　　Until　he　thought　of　Halisstra。
　　　In　his　years　in　Menzoberranzan；　Ryld　had　enjoyed　the　pany　of　more　than　a　handful　of　females；　but　like　any　male　in　the　City　of　Spiders　he　knew　well　enough　not　to　allow　attachments　to　run　too　deep。　He　had　known　from　time　to　time　that　he　was　a　plaything；　a　tool；　a　dalliance；　a　performer…but　never　one　of　those　surface　elf　words；　those　oddities　such　as　lover；　panion；　friend；　husband。　Those　words　had　no　meaning　until　Halisstra。
　　　Ryld　tried　and　tried；　but　he　couldn't　understand　the　hold　the　First　Daughter　of　House　Melarn　had　on　him。　He　had　even　drawn　upon　the　unique　power　of　Splitter　to　dispel　whatever　magic　she　had　cast　on　him　to　draw　him　along　with　her…but　there　was　no　magic。　She　had　cast　no　spell；　sang　no　bae'qeshel　ballad；　slipped　him　no　potion　to　wrap　herself　around　him　so　tightly。　She　hadn't；　Ryld　mused；　even　done　or　said　anything　too　different　than　things　he'd　heard　before；　though　in　the　past　such　things　were　said　in　tones　of　mockery　or　even　cold；　bitter　irony　by　those　dozen　or　more　drow　females　who　had　had　him。
　　　Halisstra　had　simply　smiled　at　him；　held　his　gaze　with　hers；　touched　him；　kissed　him；　looked　at　him　with　fear；　longing；　regret；　pain；　anger；　desperation　。　。　。　looked　at　him　with　honesty。　Ryld　had　never　seen　any　of　it　before；　not　on　the　black　face　of　a　dark　elf；　not　in　the　cool　gloom　of　the　Underdark。　He　could　feel　her　when　she　was　close；　as　if　she　gave　off　some　ripple　that　tuned　his　senses　to　her。　She　was　simply　Halisstra；　and　the　Master　of　Melee…Magthere　was　dumbfounded　to　find　that　was　enough。　Her　mere　presence　was　sufficient　to　drag　him　away　from　a　life　that　was；　and　would　continue　to　be；　as　rewarding　as　a　drow　male　could　expect。
　　　There　he　was；　putting　up　with　the　same　things；　still　the　male　whose　strong　sword　arm　would　be　called　into　service　on　a　second's　notice　but　who　would　not　dine　at　the　same　table。
　　　The　fourth　reason　that　he　was　alone　that　day　and　had　been　alone　for　much　of　the　day　before　roared　into　Ryld's　mind　then；　and　he　let　it　e；　but　only　for　a　moment。
　　　They　mean　to　kill　her；　he　thought　as　a　chill　raced　down　his　spine　and　the　whetstone　that　had　so　slowly　and　so　carefully　and　so　rhythmically　been　drawn　along　his　blade　came　to　a　sudden　stop。　They　mean　to　kill　Lolth。
　　　Ryld　closed　his　eyes　and　drew　in　a　long　breath；　calming　his　suddenly　racing　heart。
　　　It　was；　after　all；　why　Halisstra　had　been　sent　to　retrieve　the　Crescent　Blade。　It　was　why　the　Eilistraeen　priestesses　put　up　with　the　obviously　unpleasant　presence　of　the　Master　of　Melee…Magthere…at　Halisstra's　demand。　It　was　why　Halisstra　stayed　and　why　she　carried　herself　with　a　confidence　and　posure　he　hadn't　seen　。　。　。　well；　never　in　the　outcast　from　the　ruins　of　Ched　Nasad。　It　was　why　Halisstra　no　longer　trembled　in　fear。　It　was　why　she　woke　in　the　morning　and　why　she　drew　breath　during　the　day。
　　　In　Eilistraee's　name；　Halisstra　Melarn　meant　to　murder　the　Queen　of　the　Demonweb　Pits　in　her　sleep。
　　　Ryld　set　the　whetstone　in　motion　again　and　smiled。
　　　Maybe；　he　thought；　she's　more　like　a　spider　than　she　wants　to　admit。
　　　
　　　Valas　held　the　crystal　to　his　left　eye　and　scanned　the　chamber。　He　stood　in　the　deep　shadows　at　the　edge　of　where　the　tunnel…a　very　old　lava　tube…emptied　into　the　pyramidal　cavern。　The　ancient　monastery　was　obvious　to　even　his　unaided　darkvision。　Set　against　the　northern　wall　of　the　cathedral…like　space　off　to　Valas's　right　was　a　half　circle　of　stone；　perhaps　seventy…five　feet　in　radius。　The　curved　wall　rose　as　tall　as　two　hundred　feet　before　rounding　to　a　domed　roof；　with　the　apex　about　thirty　or　forty　feet　above　that。　Two　huge　slit　windows；　not　much　wider　than　Valas　was　tall　but　eighty　feet　in　length；　were　set　high　on　the　walls。　A　thief　might　have　to　climb　the　brick　wall　for　a　dangerous　hundred　feet　before　being　able　to　slip　inside。　Between　the　two　tall　windows　and　a　few　feet　below　their　bottom　edges　loomed　a　pair　of　small；　dark　holes　tall　enough　that　Valas　might　be　able　to　step　through　them　without　dipping　his　head。　Below　those　round　holes　a　drooping　oblong　opening　led　into　the　pitch…black　interior　of　the　ruin。
　　　The　windows；　the　two　round　holes；　and　the　oblong　opening　gave　the　ruined　monastery　the　look…obviously　intentional…of　a　frowning　face。
　　　Stalactites　had　formed　along　the　upper　edge　of　the　mouth　and　hung　down　to　form　ragged　fangs；　and　dripping　water　had　carried　centuries　of　sediment　onto　the　dome　so　that　a　wide　patch　of　smooth　white　flowstone　capped　the　far　end　of　the　great　head　like　some　gaily　off…kilter　hat。　What　grim　ceremonies　might　have　been　held　before　that　giant　face　Valas　didn't　bother　to　imagine。　The　centuries　that　had　passed　since　his　ancient　ancestors　had　abandoned　it　had　been　unkind　to　the　building；　but　Valas　knew　that　the　ravages　of　dripping　water；　mold；　and　earthquakes　hadn't　touched　the　gate　that　rested　inside　it。　Twice　before；　though　many　years　gone　by；　Valas　had　climbed　into　that　drooping；　melancholy　mouth　and　passed　between　two　rune…