R. A. Salvatore - The Dark Elf Trilogy 1 Homeland (Dragonlance)

The yochlols 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 an-swered his unspoken question. It caught hold of Altons lay-ered 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 desper-ate roll. He scrambled to his feet and turned back, to see Al-ton slapping and stomping wildly, trying to get out of the main host of the crawling things.

Do not kill them! Masoj screamed. Th kill spiders is for-

bidden 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 Altons shoulder, cutting a deep line. The wizard stared in disbelief, then turned an ugly grimace on Masoj.

You had one on your shoulder the student explained.

Altons scowl did not relent.

Ungrateful? Masoj snarled. Foolish Alton, all of the spi-ders are on your side of the room. Remember? Masoj turned to leave and called, Good hunting over his shoul-der. He reached for the handle to the door, but as his long fingers closed around it, the portals surface transformed into the image of Matron Ginafae. She smiled widely, too widely, and an impossibly long and wet tongue reached out and licked Masoj across the face.

Alton! he cried, spinning back against the wall out of the slimy members reach. He noticed the wizard in the midst of spellcasting, Alton fighting to hold his concentration as a host of spiders continued their hungry ascent up his flow-ing robes.

You are a dead one Masoj commented matter-of-factly, shaking his head.

Alton fought through the exacting ritual of the spell, ig-nored his own revulsion of the crawling things, and forced the evocation to completion. In all of his years of study, Al-ton never would have believed he could do such a thing; he would have laughed at the mere mention of it. Now, how-ever, it seemed a far preferable fate to the yochlols creeping doom.

He dropped a fireball at his own feet.

Naked and hairless, Masoj stumbled through the door and out of the inferno. The flaming faceless master came next, diving into a roll and stripping his tattered and burning robe from his back as he went.

As he watched Alton patting out the last of the flames, a pleasant memory flashed in Masois mind, and he uttered the single lament that dominated his every thought at this disastrous moment.

I should have killed him when I had him in the web

A short time later, after Masoj had gone back to his room

and his studies, Alton slipped on the ornamental metallic

bracers that identified him as a master of the Academy and

slipped outside the structure of Sorcere. He moved to the

wide and sweeping stairway leading down from Tier

Breche and sat down to take in the sights of Menzoberran-zan.

Even with this view, though, the city did little to distract Alton from thoughts of his latest failure. For sixteen years he had forsaken all other dreams and ambitions in his des-perate search to find the guilty house. For sixteen years he had failed.