Daughter of the Drow (18 page)

His blue eyes widened at this unexpected question. “Wyverns attack so,” he said simply.

“Wyverns?”

“They are like small dragons, with pointed, poisoned tails.”

Dragons, she understood, and she could picture such a creature. “And that sword,” she said, gesturing with her knife toward the dull, heavy blade lying several feet away. “Why do you carry such a weapon? What good is a sword without an edge?”

Again, that faint smile. “You see the sword, how large and heavy it is. At most times, I cannot seem to hold on to it. If it were sharp, little raven, would I not cut myself when I dropped it?”

Liriel knew about ravens, too. Some wizards kept them as familiars, and the sleek black birds were both beautiful and treacherous. The comparison pleased her, even if his foolish answer did not.

She rocked back on her heels—as far back as she could go with her wrist still firmly in his grasp—and considered the strange man. A lone human, wandering in the Underdark. Either he was extremely powerful, utterly mad, or more foolish than she could have believed possible, “What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly. His blue eyes searched her face, and he seemed to weigh his words carefully before he spoke. “In my land, it is the custom for young men to go on dajemma. This is a journey to far places, so we may see and understand more of the world.”

“Dajemma” she repeated. What a marvel, that a people would actually encourage their young to travel! She couldn’t help but contrast this attitude with cloistered, xenophobic Menzoberranzan, and a fierce stab of envy and discontent pierced her.

She brushed away the sharp pain, for such was heresy, and turned her attention back to the human. The lust for exploration and adventure she understood with all her soul, but why would any surface dweller choose to travel the deadly Underdark? He had to have some motive beyond simple curiosity. Perhaps he would not willingly reveal it, but she could simply take it from his mind.

Even a novice priestess could cast a spell that allowed her to glimpse the thoughts of another. To do so, she had to touch the sacred symbol of Lloth. Yet one of her hands was firmly trapped by the human, and her other gripped the knife. She could kill him, but not before he crushed the bones of her wrist. An illithid standoff, she thought wryly, remembering the comic sight of two mind flayers facing each other, frozen by each other’s mind-controlling spells. To tip the balance, Liriel reached for another weapon.

She produced her most dazzling smile and turned it full-force upon the human. “Even a snowcat—whatever that might be—must be clever enough to realize when a fight is over. Let go of me, and I shall put away the knife,” she purred invitingly. Then we can

talk.”

The man regarded her with frank admiration, but his eyes remained wary. Then, suddenly, he shrugged and released her wrist. “I suppose there is no harm in it. Why would you help me in battle, only to turn against me now?”

Why indeed? thought Liriel wryly, noting that this man had a lot to learn about drow. On the other hand, she had a lot to learn about humans, and never had she had the opportunity to study one at close hand. She slowly eased away, backing up until she was beyond his reach. Only then did she tuck the knife away.

Liriel touched the symbol of Lloth that hung about her neck and silently spoke the words that would enable her to glimpse into his thoughts. Lloth was with her, and as the spell took form Liriel saw foremost in the man’s mind the image of a tiny golden dagger suspended from a fine chain.

A treasure hunter, the drow thought with disgust, and she rapidly adjusted her opinion of the man downward. For the sake of a golden trinket, he had braved the Underdark alone. Not only was he human and male, but he was also apparently on the simple side.

Yet he had shown both strength and courage. Liriel admired these qualities even in lesser beings. And surely he could tell her more about the surface. It might be amusing to keep him around for a while.

With Liriel, action usually followed on the heels of impulse. She rose to her feet, her chin lifted to a regal angle. “I am returning to my city now. You will come with me,” she commanded.

Her mind worked furiously even as she spoke. She would leave the human at her house in Narbondellyn, under the guard of her other servants, and then return to the Academy, No one would be the wiser. Later, she could always claim she’d bought a human slave from a merchant band. Human slaves were rare in Menzoberranzan, but not unheard oŁ Her tale would ring true enough.

The man studied her for a long silent moment. He clearly did not grasp her intent, for his eyes held no fear and his dark brows met in a frown of puzzlement.

“This is a fearsome land,” he said slowly, “and no place for one alone. If you wish to travel together I will offer you my protection for the length of our shared path.”

“Your protection?” she echoed incredulously, too stunned even to laugh. That a human, and a male at that, should offer to shield her—a noble female drow, a dark-elven wizard and a novice priestess of Lloth—was utterly ludicrous. “You know nothing of the Underdark, do you?”

“It would seem not,” he agreed.

“Look closely,” she advised him, holding her arms out wide to invite his inspection. “Black skin, white hair, pointed ears, eyes that glow red in the darkness. Stop me if any of this sounds familiar.”

“You are drow,” he said, still not understanding. “Good. Very good,” Liriel said approvingly. “You’ve heard of us, then. The drow rule this fearsome land’—your words, not mine—and we make the rules. If I hadn’t come along just now, you’d be deepbat food. By my rules, your life is mine. It just so happens I have need of a new slave.”

The man considered this, tugging thoughtfully at his ear. “But why? You say you have no need for protection.”

“I want to learn more about the surface,” Liriel said frankly.

“Knowledge is a good thing,” he agreed, “and certainly no man could wish for a more beautiful mistress. But no man or woman of Rashemen lives as slave to another.”

Liriel lifted a single white brow. “Perhaps you’ll start a trend.”

“Perhaps not,” he said mildly, but Liriel saw the flash of anger in his blue eyes and she tensed in preparation.

The human lunged for his club. As his hand closed around the grip, Liriel snatched a knife from her sleeve and hurled it. The blade bit deep into the wood and quivered there, just inches from his hand.

Without missing a beat, Liriel conjured a small, transparent globe. Streams of light writhed inside, and the missile pulsed with barely contained power. She tossed it up and down a few times, and a meaningful smile played about her lips.

“A drow fireball,” she said in a casual tone. “They explode on impact. And you may have noticed I hit what I aim at.” The human eased his hands away from the club and raised them in a gesture of surrender. “You argue well,” he conceded.

The wry humor in his voice surprised Liriel. The human showed more wit than she’d anticipated. It was almost a shame to enslave such a creature.

“It would be a waste to leave you here to die,” she mused, speaking as much to herself as to the human. “And die you surely would, alone and virtually unarmed. It’s a marvel to me you managed to survive nearly a full day!”

“Just one day?” he echoed in disbelief.

The drow looked puzzled for a moment, but then her face cleared. “You must have come in through the Drygully Tunnel. The surface entrance is perhaps a day’s travel from this cavern, but I suppose you could have wandered around for any length of time.”

“Just one day’s travel,” the man repeated thoughtfully.

“One,” Liriel confirmed. She stepped closer and prodded him with her foot. “On your feet. We’re leaving, now.”

He did as she bid, and instinctively the drow backed away a step. At close range, the man seemed much larger. Liriel stood perhaps two inches over five feet and had the delicate form common to elves. He was at least a head taller and powerfully built, with broad shoulders and thick-muscled arms. The drow was impressed, but not unduly concerned. With her magic and her superior weapons, she still had the upper hand.

The stranger seemed to realize this, for he gave her a respectful bow. “I am Fyodor of Rashemen, and it seems we will now travel dajemma together. But before I see your land, perhaps you would like to hear a story from mine?”

The drow scowled, puzzled by the strange offer. “There will be time for that later.”

“Oh, but later I may not be able to recall this particular story.”

That, she believed. He did seem a bit slow-witted, with his fearless eyes and slow, deliberate way of speaking. And frankly, she was starting to feel a bit curious about what he might say. There was something about his manner and the cadence of his speech that she found familiar. The stories in her new lore book had much the same flavor. So with a curt nod, she bade him proceed. The man leaned back against the rocky wall and folded his arms over his chest.

“A certain peasant was walking through the forest on his way to market. He had a large sack slung over his shoulder,1* Fyodor began in his deep voice, sounding as calm as if he were sitting by his own fireside. “Nearby a wolf—a large, fierce predator—escaped from a trap and ran for his life, with the hunters close behind. The wolf came upon the peasant and begged him to help. So the peasant hid the wolf in his bag. When the hunters came, the peasant said he had seen no wolf. When all was safe, he opened the sack and the wolf sprang out, teeth bared.”

“The man was a fool for helping such a creature,” Liriel observed.

“So it would seem. The peasant begged for his life, reminding the wolf that he had saved him from the hunters. The wolf merely replied, ‘Old favors are soon forgotten.’

“Now, the peasant was troubled by this dim view of life. He asked the wolf if they might ask the opinion of the next three persons they met. If all agreed that old favors are soon forgotten, the peasant would say no more and consent to being the wolfs dinner. So off they walked, and after a time they came upon an old horse—that is an animal large enough to ride—and asked whether he thought old favors were soon forgotten. The horse thought about this and agreed that it was so. ‘For many years I served my master, carrying him wherever he would go, and pulling his wagon to market. Yet now that I am old, he has turned me out of the pasture to die here along the road.’ The peasant and the wolf thanked the horse and went on their way. In time they came upon an old dog, lying in the shade of a tree, and they put the question to him. The dog responded at once, “Yes, that is the way of the world. For many years I served my master, guarding his house and family. Now that I am old, and my teeth too dull to bite, he has cast me out.’

“Soon after that they came upon a fox, which is a small, clever cousin of the wolf. They told the fox what had happened between them and asked the question. But the fox replied, ‘I do not believe your tale! Surely so large a wolf never fit into that sack.1 And so the wolf, anxious to prove his tale, crawled into the sack. The fox grabbed the drawstring in her teeth and pulled it tightly shut. To the peasant she said, ‘Quickly! Throw the sack and the wolf down yonder ravine, and then we shall discuss what payment you owe me for saving you!’

“The peasant took up the sack and swung it with all his might. As he did, he struck the fox and knocked her into the ravine along with the wolf. Then the peasant stood at the edge of the high cliff and called down to the injured fox, ‘Old favors ore soon forgotten!’”

Liriel laughed, delighted with the unexpected, devious twist at the end. “Do you know other stories like that one?”

“Many.”

The draw nodded, silently confirming her decision to add this human to her collection of servants. She put her scowl back in place and brandished the glowing ball in her hand. “You will walk in front of me. If you try to escape or attack, I will throw this fireball at you.”

“As you say,” he agreed.

Together they left the dimly lit cavern and made their way back toward Liriel’s gate. But the man could not walk in the darkness, and he stumbled repeatedly. Finally, near the mouth of a small tunnel, he stopped and took a stick from his pack. Striking stone against steel, he made a spark and lit the cloth-wrapped end of the stick. The sudden flair of light stung Liriel’s eyes.

“Put that out,” she demanded.

“Unlike you, I cannot see in the dark,” he said mildly. “Nor can I walk farther without a drink. Fighting monsters and telling stories are thirsty work.”

When the drow did not object, the man pulled a flask from his sash and tipped it back for a hearty swallow. He then offered the flask to Liriel. “This was brewed in my homeland. We are famed for such things. You are welcome to some if you like, but it is very strong,” he cautioned her.

Liriel smirked. Many nonPeople, from ores to deep dwarves, harbored this misconception about the seemingly delicate drow. The wines and liqueurs of the faerie elves were not unknown in Menzoberranzan, and although these might taste sweet and light, a few small glasses could send the heartiest dwarf into a snoring stupor. Drow libations—perhaps predictably—were even more potent. So she accepted the flask and took a mouthful.

The liquid had a horrid, acrid taste, and it burned her mouth as if it were molten rock. Liriel spat it out and threw the flask to the ground. The smoky brew spilled out in a spreading puddle. Immediately the man lowered his torch. The liquid caught flame with a loud burst, and a wall of nre sprang up between him and his drow captor.

Liriel reeled back, her hands clasped to her sensitive eyes. Over the roar of the fire, she heard the man’s deep voice. “Good-bye, little raven. Old favors are soon forgotten!”

Anger flamed in the dark elfs heart, as bright and hot as the fire that blocked off the tunnel. How could she have been so stupid! To be tricked by a human, and a male at that! Her pride in her heritage of drow might and magic had led her to underestimate an opponent.

As Liriel’s thoughts flashed over the events of the past hour, she conceded she was probably fortunate to have lost nothing more than a potential slave. And, having wasted so much time with the human, she would be lucky to get back to Arach-Tinilith before the day’s classes began. Still