第 13 页

"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.

Chapter Seven

OTHER WORLDS

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.

The concept of rune magic fascinated her. Some runes were simple and could be taught; others were unique and deeply personal. A caster, she learned, had to fashion such a rune before it could be used in magic. The process was known as shaping. This was done in three steps—planning, carving, and activating. Over the course of a journey, or as the result of a quest or adventure, a rune would slowly take shape in the mind of its caster. Only when the rune was fully realized could it be carved. Many spells specified what surface was required. A simple rune to speed healing, for example, must be carved on the limb of an oak tree.

"What's a tree?" Liriel muttered, and then continued her study.

The final step charged the rune with power through anointing it or reciting the words of a spell. This step also seemed to be highly personal; no purchased spell scroll would yield the secret. Liriel nodded thoughtfully as she absorbed the philosophy. Kharza was right: at first consideration rune magic did seem ridiculously simple. Yet it demanded something of the caster. The magic came from a journey, whether a journey of the mind or the quest of an adventurous wanderer.

A journey. A grand quest.

A wave of longing struck her with the force of a blow. This, she realized suddenly, was what she had craved all her life. This is what all those forays into the Underdark had been about, and the endless social flitting through the city. She was a born traveler, trapped among beings who were content to live and die in a cavern that measured a mere two miles across. Wondrous though Menzoberranzan might be, it was a small place for such as she.

Liriel buried her head in her hands and struggled to keep from screaming aloud. The young female had never known despair, but it closed in on her now. The walls of her room tightened, too, until they threatened to swallow the candlelight.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the moment passed, chased from her mind by a bold plan. Liriel slowly raised her eyes to her scrying bowl.

Why not? she thought rebelliously. If she was allowed to glimpse into the Abyss and study its creatures and its fell secrets, why shouldn't she learn more about her own world? I^rhaps somewhere in the Lands of Light, descendants of the Rus lived out their lives with the lusty, brawling abandon she had glimpsed in this old book. Why should she not find them and study their ways?

It occurred to her that even that might not be enough. Instantly Liriel pushed aside that thought and snatched up the precious spell scroll. She had learned to take what life offered, without reflecting overmuch on what she might not have.

So the dark elf lit yet another candle, and began to study how she might gain a window into the Lands of Light.

Fyodor had no idea how long he had wandered in the Underdark, for here even time seemed distorted and unreal. It was not just that he was deep below the surface, far from the comforting rhythms of the sun and the moon. The constant, raw-nerved alertness required to stay alive gave each moment an incredible clarity, so each lingered in his mind long after it should have given way to the next. In a way, the slowing of time was like that which he experienced during the berserker rage, and it was almost as exhausting.