to voice some impotent complaint to Jeggred, but the words stuck in his throat.
There were more than the two rats that ran past him. There were dozens of them, hundreds perhaps, and they swarmed over Jeggred.
Something's wrong, thought Pharaun, marveling even as the words formed in his head at how slowly his mind was working after days of tedium aboard the anchored ship.
The draegloth looked more annoyed than anything else. The rats were crawling over him, tangling themselves in his hair, nibbling at any loose fold of skin, but they could not pierce the half-demon's hide. More of them were climbing onto the deck. Pharaun could hear splashing in the water on the other side of the demonic vessel. It sounded as if dozens, even hundreds more rats were swimming up to the ship.
Pharaun started casting defensive spells on himself, watching as Quenthel finally looked up and over at her nephew.
The Mistress of the Academy's eyes widened, then narrowed as she watched Jeggred smash one rat after another in his bigger set of hands, while his smaller hands brushed others off his face. Quenthel slowly rose to her feet, the vipers tangling loosely, affectionately around her legs.
"Jeggred?" she asked.
"Rats," was the draegloth's grunted reply.
Pharaun layered more magical protections over himself as Quenthel started toward the draegloth.
"Raashub," Pharaun said, keeping his voice steely and cold.
The demon flinched at the sound of his name but didn't look up.
"What are you doing, Raashub?" Pharaun asked between two more spells of protection. "Stop it. Stop it now."
The demon looked up at him with smoldering eyes and hissed, "It's not me. They're not my rats."
Pharaun couldn't shake the feeling that the uridezu was telling the truth-at least, a version of the truth.
"Pharaun?" Quenthel said, and the mage detected a trace-more than a trace-of panic creeping into her voice. "What are all these rats . . . ?"
"Pay close attention, both of you," Pharaun said, at the same time readying a more offensive spell. "There's ano-" A globe of darkness enveloped Quenthel.
Any drow could have done it but not only a drow.
The unmistakable sounds of a physical struggle resounded from inside the slowly undulating cloud of blackness. Something hit the deck, and something cracked. Pharaun changed direction before he'd actually begun casting the spell he'd had in mind. Instead, he formed thewords and gestures to a spell he hoped would eliminate the darkness.
From inside the gloom, Pharaun could hear the shriek of metal being dragged across metal-or was it bone against bone?
His spell went off, and the darkness blew into nothingness.
Suddenly visible, Quenthel lay on her stomach on the deck. She was patting the carved bone surface in front of her, reaching for her scourge, which lay just out of her reach. Her nose was bleeding, and she winced every time she bent her back.
Standing over her was another uridezu.
The demon was, like Raashub, a humanoid rat. Smaller than Raashub, thinner, it wore tattered rags that left little of its mottled gray body to the imagination. Its long, pink tail was spattered with pustules. Cold black eyes stared down at the high priestess with murderous intent. Foam gathered at the corners of its fang-lined mouth, and angry yellow claws curved at the ends of its spindly, arthritic fingers.
"Jeggred . . ." Pharaun said, glancing over atthe draegloth.
The half-demon was covered head to foot with rats of every size and description. It was as if all the vermin in the Lake of Shadows had staged some sort of family reunion-one that took place on, under, and all around the draegloth. They swarmed onto him faster than he could kill them, though he was dispatching the rodents four at a time.
Pharaun ran quickly through possible spells, stepping forward a few paces toward Quenthel.
The uridezu smashed her on the back with its tail. The high priestess's face was forced into the bone-hard deck. Blood sprayed, but not much, and she took the strong hit with a grunt.
Pharaun was impressed. Something made him set aside his first choice of spell. Too much, he thought, for only one . . .
The Master of Sorcere looked over at Raashub. The demon captain's eyes were darting rapidly between Quenthel and the newcomer.
He's testing us, Pharaun thought. The wily bastard gated in one of his kind and is setting it against us so we can show off, reveal our strengths and weaknesses.
Raashub might have been bound, but he was a demon still, and there was always fight left in a demon-it always had a