the crimson spitters would be his best chance.
Sorrell! What's happening? Pendaran's voice. Alert. Tense.
Monster attacking! Sorrell shouted back. Half spider, half drow.
The creature's eyes locked on his.
Sorrell felt a sudden chill. It must have magic! It can see A ray of indigo light flashed from one of the creature's hands. It caught Sorrell square in the chest. Dots of blackness swam before his eyes. His legs wobbled and nearly buckled. His club-suddenly too heavy-sagged in his hands. The monster whipped its abdomen forward and a line of dull brown web shot from fingerlike spinnerets at its tip. The sticky strands nearly smothered Sorrell, fouling his hair and clothing, gumming his face and eyes. He tried to pull free, but the web was stuck fast to the stone wall behind him. The more he tore at it, the more his hands became entangled. The monster, meanwhile, jammed itself into the passageway and plucked Sorrell away from the wall, then began turning him around and around. More web surged from its spinnerets, winding around his legs, binding them tightly together.
Don't let it get away! Pendaran's voice, excited. Keep it busy until we can get there.
Sorrell groaned.
As if it had heard the silent message, the monster laughed. Its voice was disturbingly elflike. Its face, however, was not. Curved fangs sprang out of its cheeks like a pair of scissors opening. Each was beaded with poison at its tip.
Sorrell's hands were trapped by the web; it would be impossible to reach the anti-venom vial on his belt. All he could do was close his eyes and pray. At first, instinctively, to Corellon Larethian, then to Shevarash. He begged the Hunter to hear his plea.
Not yet! he cried. I haven't had a chance to kill The god's reply came like a clap of thunder. A deep male voice, grim as a dirge. Day is Done.
Sorrell's eyes sprang open. He knew immediately what the god wanted, and understood what the result would be. In a quavering voice, he began the lullaby he'd composed for his son: 'Birds have flown home to their nests. I know we all could use some rest…'
A flicker of what looked like white flame sprang to life around the monster's head.
'Close your eyes now, day is done…'
The flame brightened. The monster shook its head and gnashed its fangs.
'Sleep now till the morning comes…'
The monster squeezed its eyes tight against the glare and shook its head.
Tears tumbled from Sorrell's eyes as he continued to sing. The lullaby brought back memories of his son's soft cheek against his own, the smell of Remmie's milk-sweet breath and tiny arms hugged tight around Sorrell's neck, a smaller head on the pillow next to his own.
Gone now. Dead.
Sorrell had vowed, in that dark cellar, never to sing that lullaby again-never to sing again. But what was a vow, compared to a god's command?
'Go to bed, now don't you cry…'
Sorrell's voice broke then, but it had been enough. The monster collapsed on the floor of the tunnel, its eight legs jerking reflexively, claws scraping on stone. Sorrell felt hands touching him, and realized that Nairen and Adair had reached him. He fought to pull himself together as they sliced the webs from him. Distantly, he heard Pendaran's Well done, and felt a calloused hand squeeze his shoulder.
Pendaran turned away, murmuring. His hands made a gesture over the monster. Suddenly released, it sprang to its feet, revived by Pendaran's magic.
Shocked out of his grief, Sorrell snatched up his club. Before he could attack, however, Adair lowered his spear, blocking the way.
Wait, he urged. Pendaran's charming it.
Pendaran said something to the monster in a chittering voice. It grinned back at him and its body bobbed up and down. Then it turned and clambered up onto the ceiling of the cavern, motioning with one of its elflike arms for them to follow. Pendaran's lips twitched-a suppressed smile.
It captured one of the drow, he announced.
He ordered Koora to maintain her position, and Adair, Nairen, and Sorrell to follow him back across the cavern. They did, Sorrell keeping a wary eye on the monster above.
What is that thing? he asked the group.
It was Nairen who answered, as they carefully picked their way between the crimson spitters, A drider. A reject ofLolth, their goddess. Driders hate the drow as much as we do, even though they used to be drow themselves.
Sorrell shuddered. He'd heard that Lolth was a cruel and uncaring goddess, utterly without mercy; that she deformed those who displeased her. He couldn't conceive of worshiping such a deity.
If it's a drow, why aren't we killing it?
Nairen winked. Be patient.
On the far side of the cavern, the drider reached into a shoulder-deep crevice in the rock and pulled out what looked like the top of a broken staff, set with a fist-sized emerald. Chittering at Pendaran, the drider crawled around a bend in the passageway, then touched the gem to the wall. The emerald glowed, and a hole silently sprang into being in the rock. The drider scrambled through it, still holding the broken staff. A putrid smell wafted out of the opening.
Nairen? Pendaran's voice. What can you detect!
Sorrell heard a quick, whispered prayer.
It's a dead-end cavern. There's no sign of a mate. Even so, he held his sword in one hand. Ready.
Adair, keep watch fifty paces on.
The half-elf nodded at his leader, and trotted away.
Pendaran, Sorrell, and Nairen followed the drider into a cavern that was dimly illuminated by more of the phosphorescent lichen. A pool of water filled one end of it. Hanging from a web that spanned the ceiling, twisting slowly in a cocoon of sticky web, was a drow. Only a portion of face showed, the skin black against the dull white of the web. Even though no more than a day could have passed since the drow had been captured, it smelled as though the body was already decomposing. Rancid liquid dripped from it onto the floor.
There's one of them, Nairen said. We'll soon have some questions answered.
But he's dead, Sorrell protested. How-?
On three, Pendaran said, cutting Sorrell off as he met Nairen's eye.
The moon elf's fingers tightened on his sword.
One, two…
Realizing what they were up to, Sorrell started to raise his club. No! Let me The drider whirled to face him, fangs flashing. Three!
Despite the haste dweomer on Sorrell's weapon, Nairen was quicker. With a single stroke, he severed the drider's neck. Blood fountained as the monster collapsed to the floor. Splatters landed on Sorrell's shoulder and arm.
Thanks for the distraction, Nairen said.
Sorrell fumed. 'That should have been my kill,' he said, forgetting Pendaran's strict orders to maintain silence.
Your time will come, Pendaran said, when Shevarash wills it. Then, to Nairen, Cut the body down.
Nairen levitated and sawed through the web with his sword. He lowered the cocoon carefully to the floor. Pendaran squatted beside it and cleared the web away from the lower portion of the drow's face.
Sorrell stared down at the drow-the first one he'd seen up close. A female. The dead scout had the narrow face and pointed ears of a surface elf, but her skin was as black as a starless sky, her hair, bone-white. Even in death, her face had a cruel cast. Sorrell clenched his fists. Nairen caught his arm, as if sensing Sorrell's urge to smash the body, over and over again, with his club. Steadying himself, Sorrell spat on the body instead.
A waste of good spit, if you ask me, Nairen said.
Pendaran tore away more of the webbing from the drow's shoulder, revealing a bandage, dark with dried blood. One arm was swollen to twice its normal size, and bore puncture marks.
Their leader, he observed. The remaining three will be running scared.
