Daughter of the Drow (15 page)

So descendants of the Rus still lived, Liriel marveled, and they still traveled the seas in their far-sailing ships. Where might that dragon’s wings take her, she thought longingly, if only she could travel with the restless humans! She bent low, gripping the sides of the scrying bowl with both hands as she devoured the image before her.

The boat turned sharply. Its white wings fluttered for a moment and then snapped hard to the other side. Straight ahead, visible over the rampant dragon on the prow, was an island, its edges muted by mist and the spray of water. Liriel knew about islands, for even in the city there were small islets of rock and soil in Lake Donigarten. But this place was no more like the rothe pasture than black, brooding Donigarten was like this sea. The island was huge, with a wild rock-strewn shore and sloping cliffs. And it was green, so green that beholding it hurt the eyes.

Closer and closer the island came, for the boat was flying toward it with astonishing speed. A cove came into view, a large, deeply curving bay sheltered by the tallest, strangest plants Liriel had ever seen. There were docks there, and the tiny forms of the people who waited to welcome the travelers home. Liriel felt the lure of that harbor as strongly as she had heard the call of the sea. Not blinking, hardly breathing, she gazed into the bowl.

Several more minutes passed before she acknowledged the pain smoldering behind her eyes. At first she put it down to her intense concentration; then she noticed the sky was changing color. The wondrous, vivid midnight blue was fading away to luminous silver. The sea also changed, becoming a bright, rose-touched gray that hurt the eyes. Suddenly Liriel understood what was happening.

“Dawn,” she whispered in awe. The sun approaches.”

The sun. The inexorable, searing enemy that had defeated her people in battle against the dwarves, the blinding light that kept them imprisoned Below. Oddly enough,

Liriel experienced none of the fear or loathing she had been taught she should feel. All she felt was a consuming lust to see such wonders with her own eyes. For such a thing, she would give anything, she vowed.

Then the reality of her life returned to her with the force of a dagger’s thrust, and the enticing image in the scrying bowl winked out of view. Liriel slumped back in her chair.

No, she corrected herself; for such a thing, she would give everything.

She might not fear the sun, she whose eyes had been trained to candlelight from her fifth year of life. But Liriel knew what would happen to her if she walked in the Lands of Light. Her dark-elven magic would be burned away.

She’d heard the whispered stories about the disastrous surface war, and how spells went awry and 6pell components disintegrated with the coming of dawn. On the surface, she would be vulnerable as never before. Her magical weapons would lose their potency, as would her armor. Her innate drow powers would fade as well. Liriel supposed she could live without faerie fire, and the delicate flight of levitation, and the magical piwafwi that granted her invisibility. She might even be able to survive without the incredible resistance to magical attack that was a drow’s birthright. She supposed she could live, but walking into such a life would be no different from a musician willingly giving up hearing, or an artist, sight.

Yes, perhaps she • could have her journey into the light, but at the cost of her very identity. Dark-elven magic was more than a collection of spells and powers and weapons. It was her passion and her heritage. It flowed through her blood; it shaped her every plan and act. With it, she was drow. Without it, what would she be?

Like one asleep, Liriel rose from her table and picked up the scrying bowl. She tipped it, letting the water slowly spill out onto the carpeted floor. Then she hurled the scrying bowl aside and flung herself facedown on her bed.

For the second time in her life, Liriel wished she could weep. The first time was the day she had lost her mother. Now she mourned the loss of an open sea, and a newborn dream.

Liriel’s sleepless night left her heavy-eyed and short of temper. Her mood did not improve as the day wore on, not even during the advanced class on the lower planes. Shakti Hunzrin was there, heavily doused with perfume to disguise the lingering scent of the pasture, but her usual scowl had been replaced by a smug little smirk, and she followed Liriel’s every move with measuring, speculative eyes. The stout priestess was plotting something, of that Liriel had no doubt. Although the young Baenre was not overly concerned by this, she was in no mood to play this particular game.

Nor did she have time. Mistress Zeld seemed devoted to filling her new student’s every moment with two different activities, preferably on opposite sides of the Academy. Liriel’s scant leisure time had been taken away so she might attend still more classes, and even her meals were henceforth to be taken in the company of a tutor. Being lectured on the intricacies of clerical protocol was enough to destroy even Liriel’s appetite. She pushed aside her food untasted, although the entree—spiced, steamed snails—was one of her favorite dishes. Liriel literally had to run to keep up with her new schedule, and by the end of the day her arms were heaped high with spell scrolls and lore books to be learned by the following round of classes.

Not one to take abuse silently, Liriel made her way to Mistress Zeld’s study, where she voiced her concerns with her usual vigor.

Mistress Zeld sat in cold silence until the Baenre princess had finished ranting. “The matron mistress bade me to make you into a high priestess in record time. I have my orders,” she said in a soft, menacing tone, “and you have yours.”

There was little Liriel could say to counter that, so she rose to leave. She knew Zeld suspected her of the pranks, and she had thought the mistress was merely trying to keep her too busy to indulge in such mischief. If that had been the case, a little reminder of Liriel’s family name and paternity would probably have been enough to bring the mistress back in line. But since this directive had been handed down from Matron Triel, there was no way Liriel could turn it aside.

Fine, Liriel concluded bitterly as she strode toward her room, heavily laden with her assignments. I’ll become a high priestess before I’m forty-five, for whatever good that will do. I’ll be dead of exhaustion, of course, but at least House Baenre can have the satisfaction of cremating me with one of those snake whips in my hand!

By the time she returned to the dormitory, most of the students were already asleep. The door to her room was intact and locked shut, but the faint, mingled odor of perfume and rothe droppings lingered in the hall. Liriel knew immediately her privacy had been invaded once again.

With a hiss of rage she flung aside her scrolls and books and bent to examine the lock. A quick glance told her what had gone awry. Chirank had not replaced the old lock, as Liriel had directed. All Shakti needed to enter the room was one of her old keys, for the students were not allowed to barricade their doors with spells.

Liriel cursed the ogre for her stupidity, herself for her carelessness, and the book that had kept her up all night with ancient tales and futile dreams. She jerked open the door and stalked in to access the damage.

The lock on her chest of books showed several tiny new scratches, as if someone had tried to pick it. Yet the thin, nearly invisible strand of spiderweb Liriel had stretched along one side of the chest remained unbroken. Shakti might command formidable magic, Liriel conceded, but she had a lot to learn about thievery. Inside the wardrobe all seemed to be as she left it. Not satisfied with appearances, the young wizard shielded her eyes, then cast a spell that would reveal magic.

A sphere of faint blue light blinked into view around her neat pile of travel gear. Liriel reached out to touch the glowing orb; she felt nothing, but the moment her fingertip passed through the light, the sphere popped as silently as a soap bubble. It was an alarm, set to go off when the pile of clothing was disturbed.

So that was what Shakti was up to, Liriel realized with a touch of amusement. The Hunzrin priestess intended to catch her sneaking out of the Academy, If so, she’d have to do better than that!

The dark elf waited until the blue glow of the spell faded away. Several moments passed, for there were many magical scrolls and items in her room and the telltale light made the room painfully bright. When she could see again without discomfort, she carefully, methodically searched her chamber for any other gift Shakti might have left behind.

At last she found it: hidden in the elaborate twists and folds of a wall hanging was a small, oval gem. It was an undistinguished stone, cloudy white with flecks of blue, but Liriel recognized it for what it was. Such a gem could be enspelled for any number of purposes, and was sometimes used as an aid to viewing both distant planes and nearby foes. This gem was beyond doubt some sort of scrying device.

Liriel held the stone in a tightly clenched fist as she debated what best to do. The spells needed to activate the gem were very difficult, and she adjusted her opinion of Shakti Hunzrin upward by several notches. When the priestess was not motivated by sheer rage, she could be a credible foe. Perhaps even a worthy one, Liriel mused.

There was a temptation hidden in that thought, and the young drow seized it immediately. A low, dark chuckle escaped her as the idea took hold. If Shakti wanted to try to catch her sneaking out the Academy, Liriel was more than willing to oblige.

“Very well,” she said aloud, “let the hunt begin.”

First Liriel conjured a sphere of darkness around the gem, effectively locking out spying eyes. That would pique Shakti’s interest and get the game started. Then she quickly dressed in her travel clothes and armed herself with an assortment of small weapons and practical spells. The spellbook Gromph had given her she tucked at the top of her travel bag. By the time she was ready, Liriel had concocted a plan that gave her escape that added, piquant touch of creative revenge.

Draping her piwafwi around her shoulders, she slipped out into the hall. The magical cloak could grant its wearer invisibility, and in her enchanted boots Liriel walked as silently as a shadow. As quickly as she dared, she made her way toward the luxurious suites that housed Arach-Tinilith’s mistresses.

One of these instructors, a newly elevated priestess from House Faen Tlabbar, was reputed to possess in full measure the wanton nature of that clan’s females. Mistress Mod’Vensis Tlabbar seldom lacked for company, not with the masters and students of both the mage school and the fighting Academy so close at hand. In Liriel’s opinion, the bedchamber of a Tlabbar female was an excellent place to stash Shakti’s scrying gem.

That, of course, was the tricky part. To fortify her resolve, Liriel imagined what was likely to take place a few hours hence. The spell she’d cast would obscure the gem for several hours, giving Shakti ample time to take her accusations and her scrying globe to Mistress Zeld. The scene that would be revealed when the sphere of darkness faded would very likely be different than the one the Hunzrin priestess anticipated.

Liriel smiled dreamily as she visualized Shakti’s expression of triumph transform into one of chagrin—and panic. She did not envy Shakti the task of explaining how and why she had intruded thus upon the privacy of Mistress Mod’Vensis. Doing so would take a much nimbler tongue than Shakti possessed!

With that pleasant thought to sustain her, Liriel crouched low and waited. The unusual silence behind the Tlabbar priestess’s door suggested the evening’s festivities had yet to begin.

Soon enough, a handsome young fighting student crept down the halls toward Mod’Vensis’s door. Liriel wondered briefly if there was any truth in the rumor that the Tlabbar females brewed a potion that incited passionate devotion in any male who imbibed it. A good idea, Liriel supposed, if one lacked the time and talent for more conventional seduction. The behavior of the young male seemed to support the rumor, for his manner as he hurried toward the meeting with his mistress displayed more ardor than discretion.

The male moved to the door and began to tap out some elaborate code. Liriel drew her piwafwi more tightly around her to help muffle her heat shadow. She flexed her fingers a few times to limber them up, then crept in closer. With the stealth she had learned from her maid—an enslaved halfling pickpocket—she tucked the scrying gem into the cuff of the male’s boot. The door opened, and female hands bedecked with a lethal manicure and a fortune in gems reached out and yanked the male into the room.

Smiling broadly, Liriel hurried back to her own room. Using a thin-Ťdged knife as a tool, she quickly replaced Shakti’s lock with her old one. Then she closed her door and set a simple alarm of her own: a small pyramid of drinking goblete stacked against the door. It would not be as effective as a magical ward, obviously, but if anyone tried to push open the door, the noise would at least draw some unwanted attention!

One thing remained to be determined: her destination. Liriel took Gromph’s spellbook from her pouch and dropped it open on her study table. Feeling reckless and nearly giddy with the thought of freedom, she closed her eyes and stabbed her finger downward to choose the spell she would cast. She looked down and quickly clasped a hand to her mouth to hold back a shriek of pure elation. Tonight, she was going to the surface. Liriel spoke the word of power that brought Kharza-kzad’s gate into existence. She leaped through, landing in a crouch in her tutor’s suite of rooms in Spelltower Xorlarrin. Kharza was not in his study at this hour, but she followed the soft, grating sound of the wizard’s snores into his bedchamber.

Not all dark elves slept, but Kharza was obviously one who did. A few drow still took their rest in the form of elven reverie, a type of wakeful meditation. With each passing century, those drow dwindled in number. The dark elves, no long able to find peace within themselves, needed the oblivion of true sleep in order to rest. That was fine with Liriel, for it was much easier to track down someone who snored than someone who merely dreamed.