第 21 页

This discovery supported one of her suspicions: in pursuit of the amulet, Fyodor had followed a band of drow into the Underdark. What the man planned to do once he caught up with the drow, Liriel could not begin to fathom. He fought well enough, but he was one lone human against the deadliest fighters of these deep realms!

It did not occur to Liriel to ask what she herself might do, alone against a band of drow fighters. After all, she was a Baenre princess and a wizard, and deadly determined to find the Windwalker amulet.

She searched the rocky floor until she found a series of blood drops leading out of the cavern. Some of the bats had survived Fyodor*s sword and cudgel, and one of them had been wounded badly enough to leave a trail. Since wounded deepbats invariably returned to their lair, she suspected its flight would retrace the path that had brought it to this cav- ern. Liriel conjured a globe of faerie fire so she might follow the trail. Excitement sped her steps as she traced the way toward the site of the first battle.

The blood-drop trail ended in a vast, dark cavern. There was no light here, none of the phosphoric rock or glowing plants that lit what she had come to think of as Fyodor's cavern. But Liriel saw well enough. Patterns of heat in the air, in the rock, gave the grim landscape a precision and nuance the light-sighted could not begin to imagine. In the Underdark, even the coldest stone held some heat.

And the corpses of two drow males, as cold as their stone tomb, gave off the dull, bluish glow peculiar to lifeless flesh.

Liriel hurried toward the dead elves. She dropped to her knees and began to search the bodies. Her efforts turned up a number of fine knives and trinkets, but not the amulet she sought.

Swallowing her disappointment, the female sat back on her heels and considered the situation more closely. The males had been commoners, and neither wore an insignia that claimed alliance to one of Menzoberranzan's noble houses. They were well armed, but even so it was odd there were only two. Liriel dared the Underdark alone because of the magic she commanded, but only drow wizards went out in such scant company. These males had no spellbooks, no bags of strange components, no wands or other magic weapons. They were definitely trained fighters, probably thieves, and nothing more.

Both of the dead males had suffered strikes from the dragazhar's fangs and wing claws, but none of these wounds were deep enough to prove fatal. These drow had likely been killed by strikes from the deepbats' poisonous tails.

Liriel rose to her feet and conjured another globe of faerie fire. Holding it high, she surveyed the cavern. The bodies of a dozen dragazhar littered the cavern, attesting to a long and bitter fight. Was it possible these two drow had fought alone?

But no, there were weapons scattered on the cavern floor, more than these two dead drow could possibly have wielded. Two fine matching swords, slender and carved with runes, caught Liriel's eye. She stooped and ran her fingers along one of the shining blades; magic throbbed through the sword like a pulse. These were priceless weapons, the pride of the drow who had wielded them. She abandoned the idea that the surviving drow had fled, leaving the bodies of their two comrades behind. No dark-elven fighter would leave such weapons unless he was long past need of them.

A few paces beyond the discarded weapons, Liriel saw a spattering of cold, dried blood. She searched for several moments before she found the next splotch, some ten feet away. Suddenly she understood what had happened here.

Deepbats usually took their prey back to the lair for leisurely snacking, especially if they felt threatened. A battle with drow would certainly qualify as that—Liriel marveled the dragazhar had persisted so long against such odds. They must have needed food very badly. It was odd, though, that they'd left two bodies behind.

After a moment's hesitation, Liriel once again began to follow a bloody trail. The deepbat lair must be very close. As large as the dragazhar were, they could not carry the bodies of full-grown drow very far.

As she suspected, the cave was not far away. Its mouth was placed high on the rocky wall of the tunnel, a near-horizontal slit that seemed too narrow to admit the giant bats. Liriel leaped up, grabbed the ledge, and hauled herself up for a peek.

Only a few adult dragazhar were in the cave, asleep and hanging by their tails from the cavern's ceiling. There were also many young, perhaps forty or more. These baby dragazhar were rather cute, with their well-groomed, jet black fur and plump, small bodies. They hung sleeping in a neat row, by all appearances sated and content.

Liriel nodded as several pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The necessity of feeding so many young had driven the dragazhar to attack a drow party. The bats had left the two poisoned dark elves behind, probably because the baby dragazhar could not feed upon poisoned flesh. Judging from the number of young, Liriel estimated the cave was home to several hunting packs of bats—at least three or four score of adults. That was certainly enough to destroy a small party of drow fighters-She carefully scanned the low-ceilinged cave. Few drow ventured into such areas, but those who did claimed they were veritable treasure troves. Liriel had a very specific treasure in mind.

The drow cast a cautious glance over each shoulder. The tunnel was dark and silent for as far as she could see. The bats were out hunting again, except for the few nursemaids left behind to tend the young. Liriel realized her chances were not good; on the other hand, they'd never be better.

Liriel pulled herself up onto the ledge. Clutching her piwafwi close, she edged into the lair. The acrid smell of bat guano assaulted her, and she blessed the enchanted boots that allowed her to walk without the sickening crunch that should have heralded her intrusion. She had not gone far when her foot nudged something soft. She crouched for a closer look.

It was the body of a tall drow male—or what remained of him. Fine chain mail had turned aside the fangs of the deep-bats and left the torso mostly intact, but the limbs were little more than bone. Two other bodies lay nearby, in no better condition than the first.

If Liriel had needed a reminder of the importance of stealth and silence, she could not have asked for a better one. Carefully she patted down the partially eaten bodies. She found a good supply of poisoned darts and several very nice knives. Usually she would have taken such items, but these bodies would be searched later, and she did not want anyone to suspect she had already been hi the cave.

Several moments passed before Liriel found what she sought. One of the dead drow wore a leather pouch, suspended from his neck by a long thong and hidden beneath the chain mail vest. In the bag was a three-inch dagger, tucked into a rune-carved sheath that hung from a broken chain. Clutching the amulet triumphantly in her hand, Liriel backed out of the lair.

She hurried back to the relative safety of the glowing cavern and examined her trophy more closely. Yes, it was the very trinket she had glimpsed in Fyodor's mind. She understood now how such a thing could lure a man into the Underdark. This, if it was indeed the Windwalker, was a unique magical treasure, an artifact from a long-gone era of strange and powerful sorcery. Finding such a thing was a worthy We quest. Possessing it was worth all the risks Fyodor had taken.

Would take. With that thought, Liriel's triumph evaporated and her face creased in a scowl. Of course the human would return, and if she had found the dead merchants, he might also. The man had certainly shown himself to be strong and resourceful. But without the benefit of elven boots and the shielding invisibility of a piwafwi, he would no doubt join the drow fighters as food for the deepbat young.

Liriel did not stop to ponder why she should care about the matter one way or another. There was no time to waste, and she quickly formulated a plan that would accomplish what needed to be done. She took out her spellbook and summoned the magic gate that led to Kharza's tower. What she had in mind would require the wizard's help.

But Kharza was not alone when she stepped into his study. Her tutor sat behind his desk, his pale-knuckled hands clasped tightly before him. Lounging in a chair nearby was a drow male, probably the most strikingly exotic dark elf Liriel had ever seen. His long, copper-colored hair was bound back in a single thick tail, and in the faint candlelight his eyes gleamed as black as his ebony-hued skin. His angular face was defined by fine, high cheekbones, a sharply pointed chin, and a thin blade of a nose. He was slender and richly dressed, and his manner suggested both pride and power. Liriel took in all this with a glance, and just as quickly dismissed him. Another time, she might be interested, but now more important matters absorbed her attention.

"Kharza, we must talk," she said quickly, glancing pointedly at the stranger.

Before the wizard could respond, the red-haired drow rose to his feet and swept Liriel a polite bow. "I would greet you, lady, but I do not know your name and house," the male said. "Kharza-kzad, would you be so kind?"

The wizard's worry lines deepened into veritable canyons, but he launched into the formulaic introduction. "Liriel of House Baenre, daughter of archmage Gromph Baenre, may I present to you my associate Nisstyre, captain of the merchant band Dragon's Hoard."

Nisstyre's black eyes lit up and he bowed again. "I was not expecting such an honor. Our mutual friend assures me you were pleased with his recent gift?"

"The book of human lore," Kharza said reluctantly, noting Liriel's blank expression. "Nisstyre was the source of it."

"And I would be happy to supply you with others, if you should so desire. The Dragon's Hoard is famous for procuring anything, regardless of cost. I'm sure the wizard would be happy to attest to our discretion. We have been supplying his house for many years."

Such arrangements, Liriel knew, were not uncommon. Many of the noble houses sponsored merchant bands, for such was their only tie with the world outside Menzoberranzan. In turn, the threat of retaliation from some powerful matron granted the merchants a degree of security they might not otherwise have enjoyed. Liriel recognized at once the value of such an ally, and she turned the full force of her smile upon the exotically handsome male.

"I do not require any books tonight, but perhaps you can help me with another matter. I need to hire some discreet muscle."

The merchant lifted one copper-colored brow. "There are mercenary bands in this city, I believe."

"Yes, and most answer to some matron or other," she said, dismissing that possibility. "This is personal, and private."

"I see. What, exactly, did you have in mind?"

"1 found a drow patrol in the tunnels, killed hi battle with dragazhar. I want some of the bodies moved to the mouth of the Drygully Tunnel, along with a few of the dead bats. There you will set the scene to make it appear the battle occurred in that place."

Nisstyre studied the girl for a long moment. "Such a thing could be done, but I fail to see its purpose."

Liriel's chin rose to a regal angle. "Accept the task or decline it, but do not presume to question me."

"A thousand pardons, lady," the merchant murmured without a trace of sincerity. "And if I accept, I trust you can fund such an expedition?"

He casually named a price; it was steep, but not nearly as high as Liriel would have expected.

"You shall have that and more," she promised. "I can give you your fee now, in gold or gems as you wish. I will also show you the location of the dragazhar lair. You're welcome to all the treasure you care to dig out of the bat guano. I don't lay claim to any of it. In addition, I counted some forty dragazhar young. Deepbats are popular companions to wizards; harvest a few of the young for training as familiars, and you'll earn your fee again, some twenty times over. All this you may have, provided you do as I say—without question. Do you accept these terms?"

Nisstyre smiled. "With pleasure."

"Excellent. Kharza, I need you to come, too."

The wizard balked. "I, enter a dragazhar lair?"

"Well, why not? What good is magic unused?"

"But—"

"If we disturb the deepbats' food supply, they will attack. Count on it. And from what little I could see, I'd say the cave holds a large community, at least six hunting packs. Well need an extra wizard."

"I believe I can assist you there, my lady," broke in the merchant. "Like yourself, I am well versed in the Art."

Liriel looked the copper-haired male up and down, and she believed his claim. Merchant captains often possessed great wealth and influence. No one could attain a position of such power without considerable might of arms or magic, and this one did not have the look of a fighter. He was too thin, too finely drawn, almost effete in his elegance.

"Will he do, Kharza?"

"His skills are adequate," the old drow said grudgingly.

Liriel nodded. "Good. Let's get started, then."

"What, now?" the merchant inquired.

"Of course now!" she snapped. She snatched up an hourglass from Kharza's desk, turned it over, and set it down with a thunk. "I must collect some things from my room. Get three of your best male fighters—three, no more—and meet me here before the sands run out." With that, she conjured the portal to Arach-Tinilith and fairly leaped into it.

"How interesting," Nisstyre said, turning mocking black eyes upon his host. "You did not tell me Liriel Baenre has been to the surface."

"How did you—" Kharza-kzad broke off suddenly and bit his lip in consternation.

"How did I know?" the merchant mocked. "It is obvious, my dear colleague. Not the particulars, of course, but the general idea is plain. As you may know, the Drygully Tunnel leads to the surface. The little princess wishes to discourage someone from following her back into the Underdark. What better way than to stage a fearsome battle? Scatter the bodies of a few drow fighters, several monstrous bats, and the most intrepid of surface dwellers who stumbles upon the scene might think twice about pursuit. Quite ingenious, really. What I would like to know," he said thoughtfully, "is what foe she considers worthy of such effort."

I'm sure I have no idea," the Xorlarrin wizard said, folding his arms across his meager chest. "And I'm even more certain I don't care to find out!"