war of the spider queen 1 dissolution-第64章

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sed　her　hand　to　her　face；　perhaps　to　massage　her　brow。　No…to　lift　a　tiny　vial　to　her　lips！
Faeryl　pulled　the　trigger　and　her　aim　was　true；　but　by　the　time　the　quarnotrel　pierced　Umrae's　stomach；　the　secretary's　form　was　changing。　She　grew　even　thinner；　shriveling；　but　taller　as　well。　Her　flesh　cooled　and　stank　of　corruption；　leathery　wings　sprouted　from　her　shoulder　blades；　and　her　eyes　sank　into　her　head。　Even　her　garments　altered；　blurring　and　splitting　into　moldering　rags。　No　blood　flowed　from　the　wound　the　poisoned　dart　had　made；　and　it　didn't　seem　to　inconvenience　her　in　the　slightest。　She　didn't　even　bother　to　pull　the　missile　out。
Faeryl　was　furious　at　herself　for　allowing　Umrae　to　trick　her。　Next　time；　she'd　remember　that　even　a　dark　elf　devoid　of　beauty；　grace；　and　facile　wit；　seemingly　undone　by　fear；　was　yet　a　drow；　born　to　guile　and　deception。
The　potion　had　temporarily　transformed　Umrae　into　some　sort　of　undead；　in　which　form　she　likely　wouldn't　suffer　at　all　from　her　usual　clumsiness。　Had　Lolth　not　forsaken　her　priestesses；　Faeryl　might　have　connottrolled　the　cadaverous　thing　with　her　clerical　powers；　but　that　was　no　longer　an　option。　Nor　were　any　of　her　other　retainers　likely　to　notice　her　plight　and　dash　to　her　rescue。　She　had　them　all　too　busy　packing　up　the　house。
It　was　unfortunate；　because　like　most　undead；　except　for　the　lowly　corpses　and　skeletons　spell　casters　reanimated　to　serve　as　mindless　thralls；　Umrae　in　winged…ghoul　form　could　probably　do　grievous　harm　with　any　strike　that　so　much　as　grazed　the　skin；　and　Faeryl　didn't　even　have　a　shield　to　fend　her　off。　How　was　she　to　know　the　spy　would　possess　such　a　potent　means　of　defense？
Umrae　took　a　shambling　step；　then；　with　a　clap　of　her　wings；　bounded　forward。　Faeryl　hastily　retreated；　dropped　the　useless　crossbow；　and　opened　the　clasp　of　her　cloak。　Pulling　the　garment　off　her　shoulders　with　one　hand；　she　unsheathed　a　little　adamantine　rod　with　the　other。　At　a　snap　of　her　wrist；　the　harmless…looking　object　swelled　into　Mother's　Kiss；　the　long…hafted；　basalt…headed　war　hammer　the　females　of　House　Zauvirr　had　borne　since　the　founding　of　their　line。　Perhaps　an　enchanted　weapon　would　slay　Umrae　where　the　envenomed　quarrel　had　failed。
Faeryl　would　have　to　hope　so。　Even　if　she　were　willing　to　stand　meekly　aside　and　let　the　traitor　fly　away；　Umrae；　her　thoughts　perhaps　colored　by　the　predatory　guise　she'd　assumed；　plainly　wanted　a　fight；　and　the　envoy　could　see　no　way　to　evade　her。　It　would　be　stupid　to　evoke　darkness　and　run。　In　undead　form；　Umrae　would　likely　manage　better　in　the　murk　than　its　maker　did。　It　would　be　even　more　pointless　to　try　to　levitate　or　ascend　through　the　use　of　the　air…walking　charm　when　the　shape　shifter　could　simply　spread　her　ragged　wings　and　follow。
Faeryl　waved　her　piwafwi　back　and　forth　at　the　end　of　her　extended　arm；　to　confuse　Umrae　and　serve　as　some　semblance　of　a　shield。　No　one　had　ever　taught　Faeryl　to　fight　thusly；　but　she'd　observed　warriors　practicnoting　the　technique；　and　she　tried　to　believe　that　if　mere　males　could　do　it；　it　would　surely　present　no　difficulty　to　a　high　priestess。
Umrae　lunged；　Faeryl　lashed　the　cloak　in　a　horizontal　arc。　Possibly　thanks　to　luck　as　much　as　skill；　the　garment　blocked　Umrae's　hands。　Her　talons　snagged　in　the　weave。
Surprised；　Umrae　faltered　in　the　attack　and　struggled　to　free　her　hands。　Faeryl　stepped　through　and　smashed　the　pointed　stone　head　of　her　hammer　into　the　center　of　the　servant's　carious　brow。　Bone　crunched；　and　Umrae's　head　snapped　backward。　A　goodly　portion　of　her　left　profile　fell　off　her　skull。
Certain　the　fight　was　over；　Faeryl　relaxed；　and　that　was　nearly　the　end　of　her。　Transformed；　Umrae　could　evidently　endure　more　damage　than　almost　any　creature　with　warm　flesh　and　a　beating　heart。　She　opened　her　mouth；　exposing　long；　thin　fangs；　and　what　was　left　of　her　head　shot　fornotward　over　the　top　of　the　cape。　The　ambassador　only　barely　managed　to　fling　herself　back　out　of　the　way　in　time。
The　piwafwi　was　stretched　taut　between　the　two　batants；　as　if　they　were　playing　tug…of…war。　Both　yanked　on　it　simultaneously；　an