interrupted.
“I must leave you,” Ginafae’s spirit continued, glancing around nervously. “You must release me!”
“But I need some information from you, Matron Ginafae.”
“Do not call me that!” the spirit shrieked. “You do not understand! I am not in Lolth’s favor …”
“Trouble,” whispered Masoj offhandedly, hardly surprised.
“Just one answer!” Alton demanded, refusing to let another opportunity to learn his enemies’ identities slip past him.
“Quickly!” the spirit shrieked.
“Name the house that destroyed DeVir.”
“The house?” Ginafae pondered. “Yes, I remember that evil night. It was House—”
The ball of smoke puffed and bent out of shape, twisting Ginafae’s image and sending her next words out as an indecipherable blurb.
Alton leaped to his feet. “No!” he screamed. “You must tell me! Who are my enemies?”
“Would you count me as one?” the spirit image said in a voice very different from the one it had used earlier, a tone of sheer power that stole the blood from Alton’s face. The image twisted and transformed, became something ugly, uglier than Alton. Hideous beyond all experience on the Material Plane.
Alton was not a cleric, of course, and he had never studied the drow religion beyond the basic tenets taught to males of the race. He knew the creature now hovering in the air before him, though, for it appeared as an oozing, slimy stick of melted wax: a yochlol, a handmaiden of Lolth.
“You dare to disturb the torment of Ginafae?” the yochlol snarled.
“Damn!” whispered Masoj, sliding slowly down under the black tablecloth. Even he, with all of his doubts of Alton, had not expected his disfigured mentor to land them in trouble this serious.
“But …” Alton stuttered.
“Never again disturb this plane, feeble wizard!” the yochlol roared.
“l did not try for the Abyss,” Alton protested meekly. “I only meant to speak with—”
“With Ginafae!” the yochlol snarled. “Fallen priestess of Lolth. Where would you expect to find her spirit, foolish male? Frolicking in Olympus, with the false gods of the surface elves?”
“I did not think …”
“Do you ever?” the yochlol growled.
“Nope,” Masoj answered silently, careful to keep himself as far out of the way as possible.
“Never again disturb this plane,” the yochlol warned a final time. “The Spider Queen is not merciful and has no tolerance for meddling males!” The creature’s oozing face puffed and swelled, expanding beyond the limits of the smoky ball. Alton heard gurgling, gagging noises, and he stumbled back over his stool, putting his back flat against the wall and bringing his arms up defensively in front of his face.
The yochlol’s mouth opened impossibly wide and spewed forth a hail of small objects. They ricocheted off Alton and tapped against the wall all around him. Stones? the faceless wizard wondered in confusion. One of the objects then answered his unspoken question. It caught hold of Alton’s layered black robes and began crawling up toward his exposed neck. Spiders.
A wave of the eight-legged beasts rushed under the little table, sending Masoj tumbling out the other side in a desperate roll. He scrambled to his feet and turned back, to see Alton slapping and stomping wildly, trying to get out of the main host of the crawling things.
“Do not kill them!” Masoj screamed. “To kill spiders is forbidden by the—”
“To the Nine Hells with the clerics and their laws!” Alton shrieked back.
Masoj shrugged in helpless agreement, reached around under the folds of his own robes, and produced the same two-handed crossbow he had used to kill the Faceless One those years ago. He considered the powerful weapon and the tiny spiders scrambling around the room.
“Overkill?” he asked aloud. Hearing no answer, he shrugged again and fired.
The heavy bolt knifed across Alton’s shoulder, cutting a deep line. The wizard stared in disbelief, then
“I must leave you,” Ginafae’s spirit continued, glancing around nervously. “You must release me!”
“But I need some information from you, Matron Ginafae.”
“Do not call me that!” the spirit shrieked. “You do not understand! I am not in Lolth’s favor …”
“Trouble,” whispered Masoj offhandedly, hardly surprised.
“Just one answer!” Alton demanded, refusing to let another opportunity to learn his enemies’ identities slip past him.
“Quickly!” the spirit shrieked.
“Name the house that destroyed DeVir.”
“The house?” Ginafae pondered. “Yes, I remember that evil night. It was House—”
The ball of smoke puffed and bent out of shape, twisting Ginafae’s image and sending her next words out as an indecipherable blurb.
Alton leaped to his feet. “No!” he screamed. “You must tell me! Who are my enemies?”
“Would you count me as one?” the spirit image said in a voice very different from the one it had used earlier, a tone of sheer power that stole the blood from Alton’s face. The image twisted and transformed, became something ugly, uglier than Alton. Hideous beyond all experience on the Material Plane.
Alton was not a cleric, of course, and he had never studied the drow religion beyond the basic tenets taught to males of the race. He knew the creature now hovering in the air before him, though, for it appeared as an oozing, slimy stick of melted wax: a yochlol, a handmaiden of Lolth.
“You dare to disturb the torment of Ginafae?” the yochlol snarled.
“Damn!” whispered Masoj, sliding slowly down under the black tablecloth. Even he, with all of his doubts of Alton, had not expected his disfigured mentor to land them in trouble this serious.
“But …” Alton stuttered.
“Never again disturb this plane, feeble wizard!” the yochlol roared.
“l did not try for the Abyss,” Alton protested meekly. “I only meant to speak with—”
“With Ginafae!” the yochlol snarled. “Fallen priestess of Lolth. Where would you expect to find her spirit, foolish male? Frolicking in Olympus, with the false gods of the surface elves?”
“I did not think …”
“Do you ever?” the yochlol growled.
“Nope,” Masoj answered silently, careful to keep himself as far out of the way as possible.
“Never again disturb this plane,” the yochlol warned a final time. “The Spider Queen is not merciful and has no tolerance for meddling males!” The creature’s oozing face puffed and swelled, expanding beyond the limits of the smoky ball. Alton heard gurgling, gagging noises, and he stumbled back over his stool, putting his back flat against the wall and bringing his arms up defensively in front of his face.
The yochlol’s mouth opened impossibly wide and spewed forth a hail of small objects. They ricocheted off Alton and tapped against the wall all around him. Stones? the faceless wizard wondered in confusion. One of the objects then answered his unspoken question. It caught hold of Alton’s layered black robes and began crawling up toward his exposed neck. Spiders.
A wave of the eight-legged beasts rushed under the little table, sending Masoj tumbling out the other side in a desperate roll. He scrambled to his feet and turned back, to see Alton slapping and stomping wildly, trying to get out of the main host of the crawling things.
“Do not kill them!” Masoj screamed. “To kill spiders is forbidden by the—”
“To the Nine Hells with the clerics and their laws!” Alton shrieked back.
Masoj shrugged in helpless agreement, reached around under the folds of his own robes, and produced the same two-handed crossbow he had used to kill the Faceless One those years ago. He considered the powerful weapon and the tiny spiders scrambling around the room.
“Overkill?” he asked aloud. Hearing no answer, he shrugged again and fired.
The heavy bolt knifed across Alton’s shoulder, cutting a deep line. The wizard stared in disbelief, then
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