第 24 页

So she'd told him enough about her trip to the surface, including the information on the priestesses of Eilistraee, to whet his interest. She stressed there were drow on the surface who could cast magic, who had powers that those who dwelt below did not know. She promised to learn what she could from them and bring this knowledge back to him. Gromph had questioned her closely, and only when she'd agreed to act as his emissary to the drow community above did he agree to help her.

At least he'd agreed. How he would explain his actions to Triel if the matter came to light was his concern; Liriel was more than content to let the two Baenre siblings fight it out. Still, the expression on her father's face when she'd spoken of a rival deity made her wonder if it had been wise to involve him. What use would ambitious Gromph make of this information?

Nor did she trust Kharza-kzad. Like Gromph, he had his own agenda. This had been made abundantly clear by the wizard's gift of a gate that would enable her to slip out of the Academy at will. Before that, Liriel had assumed the old wizard's interest in her had been strictly personal, that he enjoyed their association for the bragging rights it gave him. Even if he had not told one lying tale, it was apparent he found the company and attention of a beautiful young female gratifying. But there was more. Liriel was convinced her tutor had plans of his own, and that he wished to make her a part of his unseen design.

Still, she needed Kharza-kzad. As a master of the Sorcere, he had access to scrolls and books denied most wizards, and Spelltower Xorlarrin was as well equipped a magical laboratory as Menzoberranzan could produce. This, it seemed, was due in no little part to the wizard's constant and secret trade with the merchants of the Dragon's Hoard.

Which was yet another risk that Liriel had taken. She'd sent for Nisstyre and asked him to sell her every book of human lore he could buy or steal on extremely short notice.

Possession of these books was illegal, of course, and even though such an exorbitant purchase would bring her to near-ruin Liriel saw no alternative. She dared not ask specifically for books of rune lore for fear that doing so would show too much of her hand. The black-eyed merchant was also a wizard, and he knew more about the Lands of Light than any of Menzoberranzan's magic-wielders. He would be more likely than Kharza, even more likely than Gromph, to put together what she planned to do.

Nisstyre, however, had been nothing but helpful. He brought several boxes of books to her and bid her take whatever she liked and return the rest at no cost. He offered to answer any questions she might have about the Lands of Light, and even hinted he would be pleased to act as her guide. He hinted at a great many things, actually, with a boldness that few males of Menzoberranzan would have dared. Although Liriel had little interest in a personal liaison with the copper-haired merchant, she might have taken him up on one or two of his other offers if she'd had the time.

Time. With a sigh, Liriel cast a quick glance at the glowing sands in her hourglass. What little time she'd purchased was almost out, for sooner or later the too-busy Triel would hear of her niece's absence and force her back into Arach-Tinilith. In truth, three days of freedom was more than Liriel had expected.

She had used her stolen time well. She had committed to memory maps of the lands above her, learned more about the people and their ways. What she did not learn, however, was how the amulet in her hand could be turned to her purpose.

Aimlessly, Liriel twisted at the dagger. To her amazement, the tiny hilt turned in her hands and the weapon came free of its sheath.

The dark elf examined the golden object and received her second surprise. It was not a dagger at all, but a small chisel. The tool remained bright and sharp-edged, with not a hint of corrosion despite the water that filled the bottom of the sheath.

"A chisel," she murmured. "Of course!"

The dark elf seized her book of rune lore and paged through it with growing excitement. Near the end she found a crudely drawn picture of an ancient, sprawling oak. The tree was called Yggsdrasil's Child, and its thick, gnarled trunk was marked with the runes of a thousand spells. According to the text, only the most powerful runes could be carved on this tree, and only with tools forged by powerful runecasters and blessed by the gods of the ancient Rus.

Liriel raised the tiny chisel and regarded it with awe. Was it possible she held such a thing in her hand? She studied the picture closely. Yes, some of the markings on the ancient oak were identical to those on the amulet.

But could she, a drow of the Underdark, use this tool to carve a spell onto the sacred oak? The casting of a rune was not like the wizardly spells she wielded with ease and authority. A rune such as she would need was not learned from a scroll, but carved into the mind and heart. And the tool for such a task was a long and perilous journey, such as the ancient Rus had undertaken to expand both their domains and their magical power. Only through change and growth, through hard-won insight, did such a rune come to the caster.

Shaking with excitement, Liriel picked up a large parchment scroll and smoothed it flat. It was a map of the north-lands, and according to Nisstyre it depicted the lands that lay above the Underdark she knew. Her finger found the distant city of Waterdeep and then traced a path across the sea to Ruathym. On that island lived the ancestors of the Rus. And on that island stood Yggsdrasil's Child, the ancient sacred oak tree.

This, then, was her destination. If her journey yielded her the rune she needed, she would cast the spells that would give her permanent possession of her drow magic.

First, though, she would have to carry this magic across the miles to Ruathym. The droplets of water trapped in the sheath had suggested an answer to that problem, for her book of rune lore contained many stories of sacred wells and springs. Water was plentiful in the Underdark and had little potency beyond its common, life-sustaining nature. But Liriel's dark homeland had its own places of power.

"Liriel Baenre, you have finally gone utterly and completely mad!"

This pronouncement, coming as it did from an insane, two-headed purple dragon, lacked some of the impact it might otherwise have had.

"I'm telling you, Zz'Pzora, this will work," the young drow insisted as she chipped away at the wall of the grotto with a small mithril pick. "Just try to hold steady for another minute or two."

"Hold steady, she says," grumbled the dragon's right head, literally talking to herself as she addressed her other head. "What does the drow think we are, a hummingbird?"

The left head's answer was lost in the noise of yet another ringing blow and the thumping whoosh of the dragon's wings as the creature struggled to maintain its position. A warm, strong updraft helped hold the dragon aloft, but hovering in one place was extremely difficult for any dragon under the best of circumstances.

Zz'Pzora's task was complicated by the added weight of the drow who straddled the base of the dragon's dual necks. Liriel was not all that heavy—most deep dragons considered a ninety-pound drow a snack, not a burden—but Zz'Pzora was small for her kind. Nor did the drow balance herself well. She leaned far to the side, and each time she pounded the rock her hold on her dragon mount became just a bit more tenuous. At any moment, the reckless dark elf would take them both crashing to the floor of the grotto.

"Look around you," the dragon's right head begged. The creature dipped dangerously close to the cavern floor, and she beat her purple wings frantically until she had regained her position. "The entire cavern glows with energy! Take something that's easier to get at."

Liriel shook her head and pounded again. A thin crack appeared in the rock, outlined by an eerie blue glow that shone even through layers of magic-dead stone.

"This is the best place, Zip, and you know it," the drow said in a distracted voice. More careful now that the rock had given way, she tapped gently at the wall, slowly enlarging the network of spreading cracks. "The Banshee's Needle holds more magic than any ton of rock in this place."

The Banshee's Needle, a slender bit of glowing rock that seemed to hold and condense the radiations of this hidden cavern, was so named for the banshee—an undead drow female—that had once haunted Zz'Pzora's lair. The banshee was gone long before ZzTzora's time; the dragon's mother had vanquished the undead elfin a horrendous magical battle that may well have contributed to her future offspring's unusual appearance. Whatever the case, the mutant dragon did not like to think about the matter too deeply or too often.

At that moment Liriel dropped her pick to the rocks below and began to painstakingly peel away the layers of rock with her hands and a knife. Zz'Pzora flinched at the metallic crash of mithril meeting stone.

"That could very well have been us, you know," the right head pointed out.

I'm hurrying," Liriel assured the dragon. The drow was well aware of the precarious nature of her situation. She wished she could have brought Kharza along to aid her work with spells of levitation, but the fretful old wizard would likely have died of fright during the trip. Water-running was not a sport for the timid.

Liriel could have floated up to the Banshee's Needle under her own power, but doing so would have exhausted her ability to levitate for the rest of the day. The drow still had to make the long trip up the shaft, and she had to rely on Zz'Pzora to hoist her up. It was not unlikely that the dragon, in a fit of pique, might "accidentally" lose her grip on the rope. So Liriel clung to the dragon's purple neck with one hand as she tapped away at the wall of glowing rock.

Suddenly brilliant blue light bathed the grotto—the Banshee's Needle was free of its rocky sheath. The drow worked even more quickly now, for neither her light-sensitive eyes nor her dragon helper could take much more of this. She carefully inserted the tip of her knife under the exposed sliver of stone and pried it loose. The amulet hung ready about her neck; she dropped the glowing bit of stone . into the sheath and quickly twisted the dagger-hilted chisel back into place.

"Got it!" she exulted. "Let's go down."

Tiamat be praised!" grumbled the dragon, both heads joining in unison in an oath invoking the god of dragons.

The creature swept down toward the cavern floor and skidded to a grateful stop.

Liriel slid off the dragon's shoulders and began to gather, up her magical items. If the renewed glitter of her piwaftui was any indication, her things had more than regained the magic they'd lost in her two moonlit visits Above. And so soon! Usually a new item needed to bask in such sites of power for years in order to become imbued with magic; an item whose magic had been lost completely needed at least a year to regain potency. For the first time, Liriel felt truly confident her plan would work.

"Now what?" the right head inquired. "After all the trouble we've gone through to get that thing, you could at least tell me what you plan to do with it."

I'm going on a long journey, Zz'Pzora," Liriel said happily.

"Good!" huffed the dragon heads in unison. The purple creature settled back on her haunches and folded her arms across her chest in an oddly elven gesture. "You're much more trouble than you're worth," her right head added caustically.

The drow raised a single eyebrow. "And I'll miss you, too," she returned with equal warmth. "But I won't be making the trip for some time, not until I've finished my training at Arach-Tinilith. As a high priestess, HI have the power and status HI need to come and go as I please."

"In that case, you'll be coming again soon?"

Liriel shook her head. "I'm sorry, Zip, but I don't dare leave the Academy again. PI! come to see you as soon as my training is finished."

"Hmmph."

Zz'Pzora pouted. There was no other word for it. The sulky expression looked a bit out of place on the scaly, fearsome faces of the purple dragon, but Liriel found it rather endearing.

"The years will pass quickly, you'll see; my training and my journey will soon come to an end. When I return, would you like me to bring you something from the Lands of Light?" she wheedled, thinking that perhaps naming her destination would lift Zz'Pzora from her dark mood.

The dragon's reptilian eyes—all four of them—widened in surprise. A crafty smile spread across the left head's face.

Until now, the practical right head had dominated the dragon's words and actions, but finally something had ignited the interest of the dragon's flightier half.

"Yes," the head said, and the decisive tone sounded odd in its chirpy, little-girl voice. "Find me a way to get to the surface."

Liriel blinked. "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a spellbook, a treasure of some sort."

"Nevertheless, you have offered, and I have answered."

Again that decisive, passionate tone, so unexpected of Zz'Pzora's left-headed persona. Even the dragon's right head looked at her counterpart with amazement.

After a moment's shared silence, the drow shrugged. "All right, Zip, I'll do what I can."

Promises of both drow and deep dragon were easily made and seldom kept, but Zz'Pzora seemed satisfied with this response. Liriel gathered up the rest of her.magical items and took her place in the shaft. For once the dragon hoisted the drow up without any of the sudden jerks or teasing pauses that usually denned the trip. When the drow reached the top, she heard the faint, distant sound of the dragon's two voices raised in a haunting song of farewell.

For the first time, a touch of sadness tainted Liriel's excitement, and she began to ponder all she would leave behind. She was not entirely sorry the trip lay several years in the future. There was still so much to do, so much to learn and experience, in her native Menzoberranzan. And the more powers she gained, the more she could take with her into the Lands of Light. Yet, whenever her time came, Liriel knew she would be traveling alone in a strange land.

Perhaps, the drow mused as she stepped through the gate that would bring her back to Spelltower Xorlarrin, she might try to keep her promise to the dragon after all.