第 18 页

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…

A slow, admiring smile spread across her face. The blue-eyed human had shown rare cunning. He'd played a good trick on her, one she would long remember.

As Liriel hurried toward the site of the second magic portal, she suspected this night's events would linger in her mind for a very long time.

Chapter Ten

WANDERLUST

Liriel made her way back through the Underdark without further incident, taking the relay of magical gates that moved her steadily back toward Menzoberranzan. Her last spell brought her to Spelltower Xorlarrin. When she emerged through the portal, Kharza-kzad fairly pounced on her. The wizard grabbed his pupil by both shoulders, and the expression on his face suggested he was not certain whether he should embrace her or shake her until her teeth rattled.

"Where have you been so long?" he demanded. "Narbondel's Black Death is long past—the new day approaches! I've been here the entire time you were gone, pacing, nearly out of my mind with worry!"

"Narbondel's Black Death," Liriel repeated softly, absently brushing aside the wizard's hands. On the surface world, that would be midnight. Soon dawn would come to the forest glade, and she would not be there to see it!

On the other hand, she had not realized so much time had passed, and she did not want to be away from the

Academy when the spell obscuring Shakti Hunzrin's scrying stone wore off. There was always the possibility Shakti might convince Mistress Zeld she had been tricked, that someone else had sent prying eyes into Mod'Vensis Tlabbar's bedchamber. The list of suspects, Liriel knew, would be very short indeed.

"Listen, Kharza, I've got to get back to Arach-Tinilith. We'll talk later."

"That's it? That's all you have to say to me? After all I've been through—the terrible risk, the worry, the sleepless hours—the very least you could do would be—"

Liriel stepped through the portal, leaving the wizard fussing and sputtering behind her. Alone hi the silent darkness of her own room, she reasoned Kharza would get over his ire sooner or later. Sooner, if he didn't have an audience. He would have larger worries if it were discovered he'd helped her slip away from the Academy on an unauthorized adventure. It was better for them both that she return at once. This way, if Zeld and her henchdrow decided to storm Liriel's room, they would find their suspected prankster at her study table, chipping away at her mountainous pile of books and scrolls with all the diligence of a mithril-mimng dwarf.

With all possible speed, Liriel stripped off her travel gear and donned the black, red-trimmed robe of a novice priestess. She lit a study candle and placed a few spent candle stubs beside it, then she tossed several books and scrolls onto the floor beside her study table. The general effect suggested a long, frenzied study session had taken place. Liriel nodded in satisfaction and sat down at her study table. All that remained to be done was to actually learn some of this stuff.

Yet try as she might, Liriel could not concentrate on the spells that, under most circumstances, would have commanded her avid attention. The details of her adventure kept coining back to her: the wondrous lights of the night sky, the comforting strength of the mighty trees, the strange customs of the Dark Maiden's priestesses, and the peculiar encounter with the human. It was almost too much for Liriel to absorb.

In particular, the human's story kept coming back to her, playing in her mind like an insistent, remembered melody. Liriel enjoyed the unexpected, devious little twist at the story's end. It was the sort of tale that would delight most drow, were they in the habit of telling and listening to stories. The meaning of the tale, however, puzzled her greatly. When the human had offered her the story, she had been merely curious, thinking storytelling to be an odd human custom, perhaps similar to the wicked verbal thrust-and-parry beloved by the drow. But no, the human's story was too well chosen, too similar to what later occurred between them.

Like the peasant who saved the wolf from hunters, Liriel may well have saved the man's life in coming to his aid against the deepbats. By drow standards, she was more than justified in considering his life hers by purchase. Slaves were taken on much slimmer justification than that. Such as none at all.

But, "Old favors are soon forgotten," the man had told her in his story, and then proceeded to trick her and snatch back his freedom. Was the human apologizing in advance for his duplicity, or perhaps even warning her of his intentions? If that were so, Liriel mused with a touch of dark humor, the man had a dangerously overdeveloped sense of fair play!