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onds　would　almost　be　a　bore。
Two　goblins　spread　out；　trying　to　flank　him。　He　stepped　in　and　swung　Splitter　left；　then　right。　The　undercreatures　fell；　one　dropping　its　crowbar　to　clang　against　the　ground　and　the　other　keeping　hold　of　its　mallet。
The　next　two　bateared　creatures　hesitated。　They　should　have　turned　and　run；　because　Ryld　couldn't　stand　and　wait　for　them　to　ponder　whether　they　still　wanted　to　fight。　The　Prophet　and　the　rogues　were　getting　farther　away　by　the　second。
He　stepped　in　and　cut　downward。　A　goblin；　this　one　possessed　of　a　short　sword—a　proper　warrior's　weapon；　and　some　martial　training　to　go　with　it—lifted　the　weapon　to　parry。　It　didn't　matter。　Splitter　sheared　right　through　its　blade　and　streaked　on　into　its　torso。
Knife　in　hand；　the　fourth　goblin　dodged　behind　its　foe。　Sensing　its　location；　Ryld　kicked　backward。　His　boot　connected　solidly；　snapping　bone；　and　when　he　turned　the　creature　lay　motionless　on　the　ground；　likely　dead　of　a　broken　back。
Ryld　turned　to　survey　the　battlefield。　His　eyes　widened　in　shock　and　dismay。
Pharaun　too　was　on　the　ground。　Three　goblins　crouched　over　him　on　their　bandy　legs。　One　scabrous　creature　had　blood　on　the　iron　spike　that　served　it　as　a　poniard。
Ryld　bellowed　a　war　cry；　sprang　at　them；　and　struck　them　down　before　they　could　do　any　more　damage。　He　kneeled　beside　his　friend。　Beneath　the　elegant　piwafwi；　Pharaun's　equally　geous　robe　had　two　punctures　in　it；　and　was　dark　and　wet　from　breastbone　to　thighs。
〃I　heard　them　ing　a　moment　after　you　did；〃　the　wizard　wheezed。　〃I　didn't　turn　around　fast　enough。〃
〃Don't　worry；〃　said　Ryld。　〃It's　going　to　be　all　right。〃
In　reality；　he　wasn't　at　all　sure　of　that。
〃The　goblin　thrust　through　the　gap　between　the　wings　of　my　cloak。　The　little　bastard　hurt　me　when　Greyanna　and　her　followers　couldn't。　Isn't　that　silly？〃
　　
C　　　h　　　a　　　p　　　t　　　e　　　r
T　W　E　　L　V　E
When　Quenthel　had　decided　she　must　don　armor；　she　had　performed　the　task　as　methodically　as　she　did　everything　else。　She'd　put　on　a　cunningly　crafted　adamantine　get；　a　Baenre　heirloom；　beneath　her　chain　mail　and　piwafwi；　and　it　was　likely　that　protective　collar　that　saved　her　life。
Still；　the　unexpected　impact　on　the　nape　of　her　neck　knocked　her　forward　and　down　onto　one　knee；　and　the　edge　of　her　enchanted　buckler　clanked　against　the　floor。
For　a　moment；　she　was　dazed。　The　whip　vipers　hissed　and　clamored　to　rouse　her；　their　outburst　clashing　with　the　jumbled　howling　of　the　advancing　chaos　demon。
She　felt　something　hanging　down　her　back　and　bade　the　serpents　pull　it　off。　Hsiv　reared　over　her　shoulder；　tugged　the　article　out　of　the　mail　links　and　cloth　with　his　jaws；　and　displayed　it　for　her　inspection。　She　recognized　it　from　the　armory。　It　was　an　enchanted　quarrel　sized　for　a　twohand　arbalest；　and　if　it；　or　one　like　it；　so　much　as　pricked　a　dark　elf's　skin；　it　would　almost　certainly　kill。
Quenthel　thought　her　assailant　had　had　just　about　enough　time　to　reload。　If　so；　the　Baenre　obviously　couldn't　trust　her　cloak　and　mail　to　protect　her—the　first　bolt　had　pierced　them　easily　enough。
Though　it　meant　turning　her　back　on　the　demon；　she　wrenched　herself　around；　remaining　on　one　knee　to　make　a　smaller　target；　and　did　her　best　to　cover　herself　with　her　tiny　shield。
Just　in　time。　A　second　quarrel　cracked　against　the　armor。　A　shadowy　but　recognizably　female　figure　ducked　back　into　an　arched　doorway；　no　doubt　to　ready　her　weapon　again。
Trapped　between　two　foes；　Quenthel　thought　that　if　she　didn't　eliminate　one　of　them　quickly；　they　were　almost　certainly　going　to　kill　her。　Judging　her　sister　dark　elf　the　easier　mark；　she　leveled　a　long；　thin　rod　at　her。
A　glob　of　seething　green　vitriol　materialized　in　the　air　before　her；　then　shot　toward　her　enemy。　Quenthel　could　just　see　the　edge　of　her　opponent's　body　in　the　recessed　space；　and　that　was　what　she　aimed　for。　Even　if　she　missed；　the　magic　ought　to　slow　the　assassin　down。
The　green　mass　clipped　her　foe's　shoulder。　It　exploded；　and　the　dark　figure　jumped。　The　stonework　around　her　was　covered　in　a　sticky　mass　of　something　like　glue。　Quenthel　smiled；　but　her　foe；　apparently　unhindered　by　the　entrapping　magic；　returned　to　the　task　of　cocking　the　crossbow。　Something；　her　innate　drow　resistance　to　hostile　magic；　perhaps；　had　shielded　her　from　harm。
Quenthel　glanced　over　her　shoulder　as　she　slipped　the　rod　back　into　her　belt。　Though　moving　at　a　leisurely　pace；　the　chaos　demon　had　already　traversed　more　than　half　of　the　lengthy　gallery；　and　of　course　its　speed　could　increase　at　any　moment；　just　as　every　other　aspect　of　its　being　altered　unpredictably　from　one　second　to　the　next。
But　if　the　Spider　Queen　favored　Quenthel　and　the　entity　didn't　accelerate；　she　might　have　time　for　another　strike　at　her　foe　of　flesh　and　blood。　Silently　directing　the　vipers　to　keep　an　eye　on　the　demon；　she　turned　back；　and　read　from　a　precious　scroll。
When　Quenthel　pronounced　the　last　syllable；　the　scroll　disappeared　in　a　puff　of　dust　and　a　brilliant　light　filled　the　chamber。　The　dark　elf　in　the　doorway　reeled　and　clutched　blindly　at　the　door　frame。　She　touched　the　slowlydripping　mass　of　glue　and　snatched　her　fingers　away；　leaving　skin　behind。
Quenthel　started　to　read　another　scroll　as　the　air　around　her　stirred；　blowing　one　direction　then　another。　Hot　one　second　and　cold　the　next；　the　gusts　wafted　countless　smells；　pleasant　and　foul　alike。　She　took　it　for　a　sign　that　the　demon　had　drawn　very　close；　and　the　vipers'　warning　confirmed　it。
Still；　she　wanted　to　finish　her　lesser　adversary　off　before　the　girl　recovered　her　sight。　She　pleted　the　spell；　the　exquisitely　inked　characters　burning　through　the　parchment　like　hot　coals。
From　the　elbow　down；　the　enemy　female's　left　arm　rippled　and　swelled；　being　an　enormous　black　spider　with　green　markings　on　its　bristling　back。　Still　attached　to　the　rest　of　her　body；　it　lunged　at　her　throat　and　plunged　its　mandibles　in。
Quenthel　spun　around。　Mauve　with　golden　spots；　then　white；　then　half　red　and　half　blue；　the　demon　loomed　over　her。　Most　of　the　time　it　looked　flat；　like　a　hole　into　some　other　luminous；　turbulent　universe；　and　an　observer　had　only　its　inconstant　outline　from　which　to　infer　its　shape。　Over　the　course　of　a　couple　seconds；　it　seemed　to　bee　an　enormous　crab　claw；　a　wagon　plete　with　driver；　and　a　whirling　dust　devil。　The　length　of　gallery　behind　it　resembled　a　tunnel　carved　from　melting　rainbowcolored　slush　except　for　one　little　stretch。　That　section　appeared　unchanged　until　Quenthel　noticed　that　the　carvings　had　flipped　upside　down。
The　high　priestess　scrambled　to　her　feet。　As　she　rooted　in　her　bag　for　another　scroll；　her　scourge　dangled　from　her　wrist。　The　vipers　writhed　and　twisted。
The　chaos　demon　blinked　from　ochre　to　a　pattern　of　black　and　white　stripes；　and　from　the　form　of　a　simple　isosceles　triangle　to　that　of　an　ogre。　Its　cry　currently　a　mix　of　roaring　and　cawing；　it　swung　its　newly　acquired　club。
Quenthel　caught　the　blow　on　her　buckler。　To　her　surprise；　she　didn't　feel　the　slightest　shock；　but　the　shield　turned　blue；　changed　from　round　to　rectangular；　and　became　many　times　heavier　than　it　had　been　before。
The　unexpected　weight　dragged　her　down　to　the　floor　again。　Resembling　a　cresting　wave；　the　intruder　flowed　toward　her。　She　yanked；　but　her　shield　arm　was　caught　somehow　and　wouldn't　pull　free　of　the　straps。
Rippling　from　magenta　to　brown　stippled　with　scarlet；　the　demon　advanced　to　within　inches　of　her　foot。　Quenthel's　boot　evaporated　into　wisps　of　vapor；　and　pain　stabbed　through　the　extremity。
Finally　her　hand　jerked　out　of　its　restraints；　and　she　flung　herself　backward；　rolling；　her　mail　whispering　against　the　floor。
When　she'd　put　sufficient　distance　between　herself　and　her　foe；　she　rose；　then　faltered。　For　an　instant；　she　couldn't　locate　the　fiend；　and　her　mind　struggled　to　make　sense　of　the　scene　before　her。　Green　and　blue；　shaped　like　an　hourglass；　the　demon　was　gliding　along　the　ceiling；　not　the　floor。　It　was　still　pursuing　her。　The　cursed　thing　was　random　in　every　respect　save　its　doggedly　murderous　intent。
The　entity's　howl　ceased　for　a　moment；　then　resumed　with　a　peal　of　childish　laughter。　Quenthel　snatched　and　unrolled　a　scroll；　which　abruptly　turned　into　a　rothe's　jawbone。　The　a