[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.It flailed around, clearly unhappy, then reared back and dived for the princess, burying its other fang into her neck.Mariko screamed.She beat at the creature's face with her fists, but it was no use.She could feel the poison pumping into her body.Her head started to float, and her arms felt heavy.Her legs and stomach cramped up, and she tried to curl into a ball.Looking up, the spider's eyes seemed to waver, and the dim light in the room flickered.Her body went limp, and she laid her arms on the ground beside her, unable to struggle any further."Claw," she said."Please.please."With her last bit of strength, she reached to her neck, gripping the locket the Claw had given her, and undid the clasp.+++++"Where in the Nine Hells could she be?" Jallal Tasca growled.This was not going well.First the cloakers, then the princess escaped.What else could go wrong?Coming around a bend in the hallway, Jallal and his guards stepped into an open room—a crossroads with passages leading off in four different directions.He threw his hands in the air."Any guesses?"He turned to look at the others who accompanied him.None of them had been seriously hurt in the cloaker attack, but they just stared at him, not responding, clearly unhappy about their current situation.The scream came from the hallway to the left.Jallal lifted his sword and bolted toward the sound."Come with me!"At the end of the passage the group entered a high ceilinged room, awash in a pale purple light.Against the right wall, a pair of huge spiders faced each other, hunched over something—or someone.Drawing closer, Jallal came around a large stone pillar to see the limp body of Princess Mariko, pinned to the ground by a huge spider's fang."Damn," cursed Jallal, his anger starting to rise."The Matron is not going to be happy about this."Chapter ThirteenWe're all going to die," Whitman muttered as he left the palace, heading down the darkened road toward the docks.He clasped his hands together, fidgeting with them on the long walk."We're all going to be eaten, torn to shreds by those.those vile.disgusting.repulsive.repugnant.unseemly.dirty.hairy beasts." His knuckles were white from his own grip, and his palms were damp with worried sweat.As he went, his mind wandered through all the terrible, disgusting ways a man could be killed.Torn to shreds by slavering, diseased beasts ranked pretty high.He relived the scene in his head, watching from afar, as he had, the death of the entire unit of soldiers who had approached the Obsidian Ridge.He didn't want to end up like one of them.He didn't want anyone else to end up like that either.Crossing over from the dirt and stone road onto the wooden slats of the wharf, Whitman wrapped his cloak tighter around his chest.It was not particularly cold here.In fact, the damp air coming off the water was quite refreshing on a warm, spring evening.But something about the docks always gave Whitman the shivers.Down a few blocks, he turned into a darkened dead-end alley.At the end was a single, wooden door with a plaque attached to it.On the plaque was the relief carving of awoman, her long hair flowing around her face, a tiara on her head—the symbol for the temple of Waukeen.Knocking on the door, the king's scribe waited, his eyes darting around the shadows, nervously watching, assuming someone was waiting in ambush in every corner.After a few moments, the latch on the other side slid noisily across the wood, and the door opened."What are you doing here?" asked a voice from the dark interior."I'm here to see the Matron," Whitman said in a stern voice."Let me in."The door swung wide, the burly guard stepped aside, and the king's scribe was allowed in.Three armed men stood in the hall.One shut the door while the other two searched Whitman, patting him down for weapons."Believe me," he said, as they checked under his cloak, "there is nothing to find.Even if I had a weapon, you'd still all be safe."The men finished their search and left him be."He's got nothing."Whitman adjusted himself, annoyed by the intrusion."I wouldn't know how to use it anyway.""Go inside," said the guard who had opened the door."I'll let the Matron know you are here."Whitman did as he was told, heading down the corridor and descending a long set of steps.He had never been inside this building before, but he had heard the stories.The meetings of the underworld council took place here.For a criminal, this was a sort of a holy shrine.Every infamous figure in the Erlkazar underworld was said to have walked down these steps.Several had even died here—killed as a punishment for wronging another member of the council, or perhaps for simply disappointing the Matron.At the base of the stairs, four guards waited.As Whitman approached, they took hold of one huge steel door, andtogether they pulled it open.The heavy hinges groaned as they rotated and let the metal door swing wide.Whitman nodded to the men as he stepped through the doorway.A huge, wooden table dominated the inside of the room.Mage-lit stones sat in sconces on either end and in the middle, filling the chamber with cold, bluish-white light.The door closed behind him with a tremendous clang, and Whitman stepped down from the entrance to the middle of the room.Besides the table, the chairs, and the sconces, there was nothing else in the room, except four huge metal doors—three that led out to the corridor where Whitman had just come from, and another on the opposite side of the room.That door swung open, smooth and silent, and out stepped a woman, a tight purple robe adorning her body, a veil over her face.She stepped down into the room, the only noise of her passage the light brushing of her hem against the stone floor."What are you doing here?" she asked, taking a seat at the far end."We have to talk," replied Whitman."You compromise yourself by coming.""I'm aware of the consequences," replied Whitman."But the situation is growing dire.We're running out of time."The Matron tapped her fingers against the wood table."This is why you came to me?""Matron, we are gambling with the lives of everyone in Erlkazar.We must turn over Princess Mariko, and we must do it now."The Matron stood."I am aware of the situation, Whitman.But I disagree with your assessment.""Then you are blinded by your greed.We are risking too much.The stakes have gotten too high.""You're overreacting.""You saw what happened to the soldiers the king sent out to negotiate with the Obsidian Ridge.""I know what happened.""Are you prepared to let that happen to all of us? Never mind the Elixir business.Are you willing to lose every one of your followers? Every one of your associates? Every customer in the kingdom?""There are risks with every venture," replied the Matron."But there are rewards too.""What reward? What is all of this worth to us?"The Matron took a deep breath."Freedom," she replied."The freedom to run our trade the way we want to, without the meddling of the monarchy." She thought for a moment."And for control.The right to control our own destinies and marketplace without interference.""You risk all of this for a little bit of freedom? For the ability to run our business without the fear of reprisal?""Don't be so shortsighted." The Matron slammed her fist against the table."Some of the largest conflicts in the history of this world have been over freedom.What we're talking about here—it's not just about a little more breathing room, or even about greed.It's about the future.It's about establishing a foothold here in Erlkazar, where we cannot only run our businesses, but also decide what rules we live by.Us.Ourselves.Not some silver-spoon-fed monarch who did nothing more to earn the right to govern than be born."The Matron came around the table."But I tire of this argument [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.It flailed around, clearly unhappy, then reared back and dived for the princess, burying its other fang into her neck.Mariko screamed.She beat at the creature's face with her fists, but it was no use.She could feel the poison pumping into her body.Her head started to float, and her arms felt heavy.Her legs and stomach cramped up, and she tried to curl into a ball.Looking up, the spider's eyes seemed to waver, and the dim light in the room flickered.Her body went limp, and she laid her arms on the ground beside her, unable to struggle any further."Claw," she said."Please.please."With her last bit of strength, she reached to her neck, gripping the locket the Claw had given her, and undid the clasp.+++++"Where in the Nine Hells could she be?" Jallal Tasca growled.This was not going well.First the cloakers, then the princess escaped.What else could go wrong?Coming around a bend in the hallway, Jallal and his guards stepped into an open room—a crossroads with passages leading off in four different directions.He threw his hands in the air."Any guesses?"He turned to look at the others who accompanied him.None of them had been seriously hurt in the cloaker attack, but they just stared at him, not responding, clearly unhappy about their current situation.The scream came from the hallway to the left.Jallal lifted his sword and bolted toward the sound."Come with me!"At the end of the passage the group entered a high ceilinged room, awash in a pale purple light.Against the right wall, a pair of huge spiders faced each other, hunched over something—or someone.Drawing closer, Jallal came around a large stone pillar to see the limp body of Princess Mariko, pinned to the ground by a huge spider's fang."Damn," cursed Jallal, his anger starting to rise."The Matron is not going to be happy about this."Chapter ThirteenWe're all going to die," Whitman muttered as he left the palace, heading down the darkened road toward the docks.He clasped his hands together, fidgeting with them on the long walk."We're all going to be eaten, torn to shreds by those.those vile.disgusting.repulsive.repugnant.unseemly.dirty.hairy beasts." His knuckles were white from his own grip, and his palms were damp with worried sweat.As he went, his mind wandered through all the terrible, disgusting ways a man could be killed.Torn to shreds by slavering, diseased beasts ranked pretty high.He relived the scene in his head, watching from afar, as he had, the death of the entire unit of soldiers who had approached the Obsidian Ridge.He didn't want to end up like one of them.He didn't want anyone else to end up like that either.Crossing over from the dirt and stone road onto the wooden slats of the wharf, Whitman wrapped his cloak tighter around his chest.It was not particularly cold here.In fact, the damp air coming off the water was quite refreshing on a warm, spring evening.But something about the docks always gave Whitman the shivers.Down a few blocks, he turned into a darkened dead-end alley.At the end was a single, wooden door with a plaque attached to it.On the plaque was the relief carving of awoman, her long hair flowing around her face, a tiara on her head—the symbol for the temple of Waukeen.Knocking on the door, the king's scribe waited, his eyes darting around the shadows, nervously watching, assuming someone was waiting in ambush in every corner.After a few moments, the latch on the other side slid noisily across the wood, and the door opened."What are you doing here?" asked a voice from the dark interior."I'm here to see the Matron," Whitman said in a stern voice."Let me in."The door swung wide, the burly guard stepped aside, and the king's scribe was allowed in.Three armed men stood in the hall.One shut the door while the other two searched Whitman, patting him down for weapons."Believe me," he said, as they checked under his cloak, "there is nothing to find.Even if I had a weapon, you'd still all be safe."The men finished their search and left him be."He's got nothing."Whitman adjusted himself, annoyed by the intrusion."I wouldn't know how to use it anyway.""Go inside," said the guard who had opened the door."I'll let the Matron know you are here."Whitman did as he was told, heading down the corridor and descending a long set of steps.He had never been inside this building before, but he had heard the stories.The meetings of the underworld council took place here.For a criminal, this was a sort of a holy shrine.Every infamous figure in the Erlkazar underworld was said to have walked down these steps.Several had even died here—killed as a punishment for wronging another member of the council, or perhaps for simply disappointing the Matron.At the base of the stairs, four guards waited.As Whitman approached, they took hold of one huge steel door, andtogether they pulled it open.The heavy hinges groaned as they rotated and let the metal door swing wide.Whitman nodded to the men as he stepped through the doorway.A huge, wooden table dominated the inside of the room.Mage-lit stones sat in sconces on either end and in the middle, filling the chamber with cold, bluish-white light.The door closed behind him with a tremendous clang, and Whitman stepped down from the entrance to the middle of the room.Besides the table, the chairs, and the sconces, there was nothing else in the room, except four huge metal doors—three that led out to the corridor where Whitman had just come from, and another on the opposite side of the room.That door swung open, smooth and silent, and out stepped a woman, a tight purple robe adorning her body, a veil over her face.She stepped down into the room, the only noise of her passage the light brushing of her hem against the stone floor."What are you doing here?" she asked, taking a seat at the far end."We have to talk," replied Whitman."You compromise yourself by coming.""I'm aware of the consequences," replied Whitman."But the situation is growing dire.We're running out of time."The Matron tapped her fingers against the wood table."This is why you came to me?""Matron, we are gambling with the lives of everyone in Erlkazar.We must turn over Princess Mariko, and we must do it now."The Matron stood."I am aware of the situation, Whitman.But I disagree with your assessment.""Then you are blinded by your greed.We are risking too much.The stakes have gotten too high.""You're overreacting.""You saw what happened to the soldiers the king sent out to negotiate with the Obsidian Ridge.""I know what happened.""Are you prepared to let that happen to all of us? Never mind the Elixir business.Are you willing to lose every one of your followers? Every one of your associates? Every customer in the kingdom?""There are risks with every venture," replied the Matron."But there are rewards too.""What reward? What is all of this worth to us?"The Matron took a deep breath."Freedom," she replied."The freedom to run our trade the way we want to, without the meddling of the monarchy." She thought for a moment."And for control.The right to control our own destinies and marketplace without interference.""You risk all of this for a little bit of freedom? For the ability to run our business without the fear of reprisal?""Don't be so shortsighted." The Matron slammed her fist against the table."Some of the largest conflicts in the history of this world have been over freedom.What we're talking about here—it's not just about a little more breathing room, or even about greed.It's about the future.It's about establishing a foothold here in Erlkazar, where we cannot only run our businesses, but also decide what rules we live by.Us.Ourselves.Not some silver-spoon-fed monarch who did nothing more to earn the right to govern than be born."The Matron came around the table."But I tire of this argument [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]