R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation by Richard Lee & Reid Byers
Authors: Richard Lee & Reid Byers
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really had nowhere to run, and if the wretch weren’t mired in a blind panic, he’d know it.
At least she could deliver the stroke that would seal his doom. She hurried to the edge of the landing, saw that the blistered, bloody-headed fool was better than halfway down the radiant diamond steps, and pronounced, as quickly as possible, the long, awkward arcane word that would make the staircase vanish. That alone wouldn’t kill him unless he lost his head. The ability to levitate granted by the same brooch that allowed him to pass through the House’s doors would keep him from falling. Limited to strictly vertical movement, however, he ought to make an easy mark for spells and arrows.
She spoke the final syllable. Just as the steps seemed to pop like a bubble, Pharaun leaped, his long legs making him look like a pair of scissors spread to the maximum possible width. He barely made it onto the flattened apex of the gigantic stalagmite that served as the stair’s lower terminus.
Greyanna was impressed. That jump was an impressive display of athleticism for a battered scholar of hedonistic habits. Not that it would do him any good. He really had run to the end of his race. She leaned out and shouted for the foulwings to kill him. Winded, still stumbling off-balance from hurdling across the empty space, Pharaun surely couldn’t fend off both of them at once.
Grotesque winged predators that commonly reeked of their caustic ammonia breath, the foulwings bespoke the Mizzrym’s power and magical prowess and lent the first step on the path to their citadel a certain style that mere soldiers could not match They also made terrifying watchbeasts. With a snap of their clawed, batlike wings, in no wise hindered by their lack of legs, they spun their long-necked bodies around to loom over Pharaun. Forked snouts with fanged jaws at the end of either branch came questing hungrily down. From her perch, Greyanna looked on with a rapacity no less keen than theirs, albeit a rapacity of the soul.
Pharaun shouted something. Greyanna couldn’t quite make it out, but it didn’t seem to be a magical word, just a cry of fear or a desperate plea for mercy—a plea the giant beasts would not heed.
Except that they did. They hesitated, and he lifted his hands. Their deadly jaws played delicately about his fingers, taking in his scent.
She cried again for the brutes to kill him. They twisted their heads around to look at her, but he spoke to them once more, and they ignored her command.
Greyanna stared in amazement. Pharaun had no doubt had some limited contact with the foulwings, for after all, he lived in the same castle with them, but she knew he’d never ridden one. Only the females of House Mizzrym enjoyed that privilege, and it was only by riding that you established genuine mastery over the creatures. How, then, could he possibly enjoy a rapport with them deeper than her own?
Pharaun scrambled onto a foulwing’s back, and both it and its fellow sprang into the air. Obviously her brother had managed to dissolve the enchantment that made the beasts want to sit contentedly at their post.
The wizard managed his mount more deftly than Greyanna herself could have done without benefit of saddle, bridle, and goad. He shot her a mocking grin as he turned to flee. The other, riderless foulwing soared and swooped aimlessly, enjoying its liberty.
Greyanna shook off her stunned disbelief. She still desperately wanted to know how Pharaun had learned to ride the creatures— probably Sabal had taught him, but how had they managed it without anyone else finding out?—but she wasn’t going to stand there pondering the question. The answer was less important than the kill.
She turned and looked around. Those guards whom Pharaun had addled were disoriented still, but some of the soldiers he’d battered with hailstones appeared to have regained their composure.
“Shoot him!” she shouted, pointing at the rapidly receding target.
At least she could deliver the stroke that would seal his doom. She hurried to the edge of the landing, saw that the blistered, bloody-headed fool was better than halfway down the radiant diamond steps, and pronounced, as quickly as possible, the long, awkward arcane word that would make the staircase vanish. That alone wouldn’t kill him unless he lost his head. The ability to levitate granted by the same brooch that allowed him to pass through the House’s doors would keep him from falling. Limited to strictly vertical movement, however, he ought to make an easy mark for spells and arrows.
She spoke the final syllable. Just as the steps seemed to pop like a bubble, Pharaun leaped, his long legs making him look like a pair of scissors spread to the maximum possible width. He barely made it onto the flattened apex of the gigantic stalagmite that served as the stair’s lower terminus.
Greyanna was impressed. That jump was an impressive display of athleticism for a battered scholar of hedonistic habits. Not that it would do him any good. He really had run to the end of his race. She leaned out and shouted for the foulwings to kill him. Winded, still stumbling off-balance from hurdling across the empty space, Pharaun surely couldn’t fend off both of them at once.
Grotesque winged predators that commonly reeked of their caustic ammonia breath, the foulwings bespoke the Mizzrym’s power and magical prowess and lent the first step on the path to their citadel a certain style that mere soldiers could not match They also made terrifying watchbeasts. With a snap of their clawed, batlike wings, in no wise hindered by their lack of legs, they spun their long-necked bodies around to loom over Pharaun. Forked snouts with fanged jaws at the end of either branch came questing hungrily down. From her perch, Greyanna looked on with a rapacity no less keen than theirs, albeit a rapacity of the soul.
Pharaun shouted something. Greyanna couldn’t quite make it out, but it didn’t seem to be a magical word, just a cry of fear or a desperate plea for mercy—a plea the giant beasts would not heed.
Except that they did. They hesitated, and he lifted his hands. Their deadly jaws played delicately about his fingers, taking in his scent.
She cried again for the brutes to kill him. They twisted their heads around to look at her, but he spoke to them once more, and they ignored her command.
Greyanna stared in amazement. Pharaun had no doubt had some limited contact with the foulwings, for after all, he lived in the same castle with them, but she knew he’d never ridden one. Only the females of House Mizzrym enjoyed that privilege, and it was only by riding that you established genuine mastery over the creatures. How, then, could he possibly enjoy a rapport with them deeper than her own?
Pharaun scrambled onto a foulwing’s back, and both it and its fellow sprang into the air. Obviously her brother had managed to dissolve the enchantment that made the beasts want to sit contentedly at their post.
The wizard managed his mount more deftly than Greyanna herself could have done without benefit of saddle, bridle, and goad. He shot her a mocking grin as he turned to flee. The other, riderless foulwing soared and swooped aimlessly, enjoying its liberty.
Greyanna shook off her stunned disbelief. She still desperately wanted to know how Pharaun had learned to ride the creatures— probably Sabal had taught him, but how had they managed it without anyone else finding out?—but she wasn’t going to stand there pondering the question. The answer was less important than the kill.
She turned and looked around. Those guards whom Pharaun had addled were disoriented still, but some of the soldiers he’d battered with hailstones appeared to have regained their composure.
“Shoot him!” she shouted, pointing at the rapidly receding target.
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