Daughter of the Drow (13 page)

The first thing Liriel did was check her book chest. To her relief, the lock was undisturbed. Shakti had been more interested in browsing through her wardrobe. An image of the stout priestess strutting about clad in some of the more revealing finery popped into Liriel’s mind, and she laughed aloud.

She abruptly sobered and surveyed the damage. Technically, she should tell Mistress Zeld about the intrusion and have the Academy repair the door at once. That would no doubt lead to an inquiry, however, and some things were best left unexamined. Even if she wanted to report Shakti, doing so might focus a bit too much attention on her own recent activities. No, there was a better way.

Liriel hurried down to the kitchens to recruit some manual labor. As she made her way toward the dungeonlike lower levels, she reflected on her recent spate of pranks. In a corner of her mind, Liriel acknowledged that she was privileged and indulged, that she’d led a much different life from that most drow of Menzoberranzan knew. But her charmed existence had ended, and the pranks had been a last—and admittedly dangerous—attempt to deny this reality. Shakti’s blatant attack signaled that she herself had pushed too far. Liriel did not intend to start a war, and she resolved to act with more discretion henceforth. She had seen the obsidian statues in the Academy’s courtyard—all that remained of students who had misstepped—and she did not wish to join them.

The time for midday meal had passed, and the kitchen dungeons were quiet now. There, up to her elbows in a vast kettle of soapy water, was an ogre female. The creature was fully twice the size of the slender drow and seemed fashioned to inspire fear-tinged loathing. Muscles bulged under the ogress’s leathery hide, and canine fangs jutted up from her lower jaw. Her face was set in a hate-filled scowl. Clad only in a leather apron, the ogress attacked the pots with a ferocity that suggested a mortal vendetta against dirt.

Trays of sliced raw fish lay on a nearby table, ready to be spiced and served at the evening meal. The drow selected a nice tidbit and popped it into her mouth, then turned a comrade’s smile upon the ogress.

“Chirank, I have another job for you,” she said.

The female’s face lit up. “If Chirank do job, what you give this time?” she said in a deep growl.

Liriel held up a large gold coin. The ogre seized the coin with a soapy paw and bit down on it hard. She regarded the deep tooth marks with pleasure and grunted happily.

Seeing that the deal was made, the drow took a step forward. “You remember where my room is?

Good. There was a battle of sorts there, and I need someone to clear away the mess at once.”

“Much blood? Drow bodies?” Chirank asked hopefully.

“Not this time,” the dark elf replied in a dry tone. “All it needs is a little light housekeeping. Then there is the small matter of the missing door.”

“Chirank not take,” the ogress said defensively.

“Of course not. But you could, if you wanted to?”

The ogress shrugged, her animal eyes wary.

Liriel came one step closer. “Remember the room where you put the rothe manure? I want you to go there, steal the door, and hang it on my doorposts. You’ll need to replace the lock, as well.”

“Hard to do,” Chirank bargained.

The elf held up two more coins. “You and I both know you can pick locks as fast as any halfling. No one will see you, I promise.”

“You make Chirank look like drow again?” the ogress asked with a mixture of fear and fascination.

Liriel considered. It wasn’t a bad idea. Although Chirank was a house slave and might well be sent into the student quarters on some errand or other, her presence might draw unwanted attention. So Liriel quickly cast the illusion that made the hulking ogre appear to be a delicate drow female dressed in the flowing robes of a high priestess. The drow pursed her lips and considered the overall effect.

“Grab that spoon over there,” she suggested, pointing to a long metal ladle drying on a rack.

As the ogress did as she was bid, Liriel shaped the spell for a second illusion. The ladle in Chirank’s hand changed into the snake-headed whip favored by priestesses. This one was particularly fearsome, with four angrily writhing heads and a handle fashioned from smoke-blackened bone. The ogress shrieked and dropped the whip. It fell to the stone floor with a metallic clatter.

“Hear that? It’s just a ladle,” Liriel soothed. “If you carry that and walk fast, no one will stay around you long enough to realize they don’t recognize the face you’re wearing.”

The drow’s reasoning made sense. Everyone in the Academy, from the lowliest slaves to the most advanced students, gave wide berth to an angry, whip-wielding high priestess. Chirank bent and gingerly picked up the writhing whip. She clanked it against her wash kettle a couple of times to reassure herself it was indeed nothing more than a harmless spoon. Finally she nodded, visibly impressed.

“You got this magic, why you need Chirank?” the ogress asked, reasonably enough. “This Shakti drow fear you, if this magic you use.”

“Let’s just say I prefer not to be noticed,” Liriel said.

The ogress grunted in understanding. She well knew the wisdom of keeping out of sight as much as possible. Even so, she would do all the little drow asked of her, this time and any other. This drow treated her like a pack sister. They didn’t trust each other, but they worked together for theft and for vengeance. That was as close to home as Chirank was ever likely to get again. And with the gold the dark elf gave her, Chirank might be able to have a dagger smuggled in. Ogres were not trusted with sharp utensils of any kind, and for good reason. Chirank was a slave and would no doubt spend the rest of her days laboring for the dark elf priestesses, but when she died it would be an ogre’s death, and her body would be covered with the blood of many drow.

The ogress smiled so fiercely that her tusks pierced the magical illusion and gleamed against her drow-h’ke face.

“Time to raid,” she growled happily.

Later that day, Liriel retired to her newly repaired and neatly swept room to attend to her studies. She had found an interesting scroll in the depths of Arach-Tinilith’s library that gave a spell for conjuring a viewing portal into another plane. It was an extremely difficult spell, one that would stretch her abilities to their limits and beyond. Liriel was in deep contemplation of the scroll when a timid knock sounded on her purloined door.

Her concentration shattered, and pain erupted behind her eyelids. She swore furiously and rubbed at her eyes with her fists. If she had been attempting to cast the spell and lost her concentration, she might well have been killed by the magical backlash. Who could have been so stupid as to interrupt her at such a time? The study hour was sacrosanct, and during this time no priestess was allowed to disturb another. Yet once again came that faint knock.

Liriel pushed back her chair and stalked over to the door. She leaned close to the crack and hissed, “This had better be worth the pain I plan to inflict. Who is it?”

“It is I,” came the muffled response in a familiar, querulous male voice. “Do let me in, Liriel, before someone happens by.”

“Kharza?” she mumbled, startled by the unexpected visit from her tutor. She flung open the door and, seizing the wizard by the sleeve, dragged him into the room.

“I’m so glad you came! You won’t believe what I’m learning to do!” she cried happily. Her anger was completely forgotten; now that Kharza-kzad was here, he could help her with her new spell. She retrieved the scroll from her desk and waved it at him. “This will let me see into other planes! Why did we never study such things?”

“Brow priestesses draw their power and their allies from the lower planes. As you know, a wizard has other sources of power,” Kharza-kzad replied, absently fingering the sleeve of his robe. “We seldom call upon the power and services of abysmal creatures, and they are not really all that entertaining to observe.”

Liriel grinned and sank down onto a heap of cushions. “Even so, you can help me learn the spell. Sit down, Kharza, and stop fidgeting. You’re making me edgy.”

The wizard shook his head so emphatically that the thin white strands of his hair leaped into disarray. “I can’t stay long. I only wanted to bring you this.” He drew a small, dark-bound book from his sleeve and handed it to her.

Intrigued, Liriel opened the book and held it up to catch the feint candlelight. On the pages of yellowed parchment were strange runes, angular like those of the drow language, but simpler and crudely drawn.

“What is this?”

“It is a curiosity I came across,” Kharza said, speeding through the words as if they’d been well rehearsed. “A merchant of my acquaintance sold me a box of books. Some were valuable, some merely interesting. I’m afraid this is among the latter, but I thought you might enjoy it, knowing how insatiable you are.”

Liriel tossed a teasing leer in his direction. “You don’t know the half of it.”

The wizard sighed. “An old drow’s pride is his downfall,” he said, ruefully quoting a familiar expression. “You will never forget my lamentable lack of discretion, will you, or tire of tormenting me?”

“Probably not,” she agreed cheerfully, and then bent over her new treasure. The unfamiliar language was no barrier: a simple spell transposed the scratchlike markings into elegant drow script. Liriel skimmed a few pages, then raised incredulous eyes to her tutor.

“This book is from the surface!”

“Yes, I thought it might be,” he said, shifting uneasily.

“It has stories about a people called the Rus, their heroes and their gods. There’s something in it about rune magic. What is that?”

“You know of course that runes and glyphs can be enspelled and used as defenses,” he began.

“Yes, yes,” she interrupted impatiently. “But this is something different. This is a magic cast by shaping new runes. How is that done?”

“Of that, I know nothing, but it sounds too easy to be powerful.” Kharza-kzad dismissed the notion with a sniff. “Human mages seldom—if ever—reach the level of power we know here Below. I wouldn’t waste any time on the magic system of some long-dead human culture. The book, I thought, might help in some small way to satisfy your longing for far places during the time you are confined in Aracfa-Tinilith.” He shrugged apologetically. “It seems this was hardly necessary. I had no idea you would be studying other worlds so soon.”

The female’s smile was brilliant and genuine. “All the same, the book is wonderful and I shall read every word. That you thought of me at all is gift enough.”

Kharza-kzad cleared his throat nervously. “Then I should be returning to the Spelltower Xorlarrin. If you have no objection, I will conjure the same gate you used to enter my study.”

“Why did you not come that way in the first place, instead of creeping down the halls?”

“I did not copy the spell from your book. And, despite rumors to the contrary, I did not know where your room was,” he said, with an unexpected touch of dry humor. “Without a firm destination in mind, magical travel can be dangerous and unpredictable.”

“Indeed. You might have ended up sharing a bubble bath with Mistress Zeld,” she murmured, her face deceptively serious.

Tes. Ahem. Well.” The wizard hesitated, and his worry lines deepened into a look of near panic. “If you like, I can make the gate permanent so you can step into the Spelltower whenever you like. Then I can continue to help you with your magical studies, and get such supplies and goods as you require to you easily, whenever you wish.” The words rushed out, and he shifted from one foot to the other as he awaited her response.

Liriel’s smile froze. Although the gift of a single book had seemed genuine enough, such extravagant generosity from the wizard simply did not ring true. Kharza-kzad was cautious, fretful, and solitary by nature. He did not care for students and spent more time researching spells and creating wands than he did teaching in the Sorcere;.his title of master was mostly honorary. The only reason he had agreed to tutor her at all was her father’s name and influence. Neither did Kharza enjoy taking risks, yet here he was, offering to flout the rules of Tier Breche in order to continue her instruction. The old drow had a double agenda, of that Liriel had no doubt. But then, so did everyone. As long as she tread carefully, she saw no reason why she could not take what he offered.

“That is very kind, Kharza,” she said. “They try to keep me very busy here, but I’m sure I can slip away sometime soon.”

Tes. Well. You do know where to find me.”

The wizard’s hands flashed through the gestures of the spell, and a faint oval door appeared in the room. He gave Liriel the word of power that would activate the gate, and then stepped out into the freedom of Menzoberranzan.

Left alone, Liriel sighed deeply. If Kharza had deliberately set out to avenge himself for her teasing, this would have been an inspired way to do it. Knowing escape was just one word away would be pure torture to the restless young drow. Her father had given her a book of spells so she might leave the Academy if necessary, but he had later impressed upon her the need to use such spells with extreme discretion. What he probably meant was that she was only to use them at his bidding, she thought with a rush of rebellious anger. But she had enough sense to understand the risk, and to take it only for good cause.

She lit another candle from the flame of a nearly spent stub, and then settled down at her study table to read. The book Kharza had given her was very old, and the stories were simple and rather quaint. These were the stories of a restless people who long ago took to the seas and rivers in longboats, first to pillage and terrorize, then to settle. Yet there was an energy, a love of adventure, that sang from every page. Long into the night Liriel read, lighting candle after precious candle.

She’d never given much thought to humane, but these stories fascinated her. In these yellowed pages were tales of bold heroes, strange and fierce animals, mighty primitive gods, and a magic that was part and fabric of that distant land. Liriel pored over each word, absorbing the language of that long-ago time, the thinking of the people, and their strange magic. Her excitement grew with each page.