第 46 页

She looked up. Over them stood Gorlist, a bloodied sword in his hand. "Your turn," he said with dark satisfaction.

Cold wrath coursed through the drow girl, pushing aside her grief. "Hand to hand," she challenged, and the fighter accepted with a nod and a smirk. With careful, deliberate movements Liriel stoppered the amulet, locking her Underdark magic firmly into place. She rose and pulled her dagger. The two drow crossed weapons with a ringing clash, and the deadly duel began.

Liriel knew at once that Gorlist's skills far outclassed her own. At first it was all she could do to hold off his furious, pounding slashes. The male was taller, heavier, and more experienced. But Liriel's hours of practice told, and she fought with more skill than she'd thought she possessed. Yet she knew she couldn't outfight Gorlist. Her only chance was to out-think him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Qilue step through the portal, followed by her priestesses. They did not see her, or hear the sounds of the fierce duel over the clamor of the larger battle just now spilling into the treasure hall. The drow females drew their singing swords and rushed toward the tunnel entrance to intercept the mercenaries that Iljrene herded relentlessly downward.

Suddenly Liriel knew what she must do. Slowly, deliberately, she let Gorlist work her backward toward the invisible portal that led out to the Dragon's Hoard ships. Qilue's presence here meant the vessels had been secured, offering safety and escape.

When she reached the portal, Liriel feigned a stumble. Gorlist, triumphant, lunged in for the killing blow. With the speed of thought the girl levitated into the air, whirled, and kicked the fighter through the portal. Gorlist disappeared as if he had never been.

Liriel, still magically aloft, cast the spell that would close the portal and lock out her adversary. When that was done, she floated down and cast a quick glance around the cavern. A few merchants still fought, but most had fallen to the singing blades of the Dark Maiden's priestesses. At last she was free to go to Fyodor's side.

She ran to him, stooped down, and found he still breathed. Her arms encircled her friend, and her bright head bowed in the sincerest prayers of her life. Her entreaties did not name the goddess, but Liriel had no doubt who listened and heard.

It was thus that Qilue found her. The priestess placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. Liriel looked up, clearly uncertain what the priestess might do now that the battle was over. She clutched the Windwalker, and her golden eyes blazed defiantly. "Nisstyre is dead, the followers of Vhaeraun routed. The Windwalker is Fyodor's and mine now. We've earned it!" she snarled.

The priestess smiled down at the fierce young drow. "Not yet," Qilue said, "but I strongly suspect that, in time, you will."

Chapter 26

PATHWAYS

The black ruby crystal gleamed bright as blood in the light of a circle of candles. Shakti Hunzrin bent low over the bowl, her nearsighted eyes drinking in the ____ scene magically laid out before her. Nisstyre was dead, and Liriel's final taunt still echoed in the priestess's ears. But the sight before her was ample proof that she had not lost, after all.

In the dark circle of the scrying bowl was a hideous face, the face of Shakti's new ally—a creature from another plane. Not the Abyss, but another, lesser traveled place. Few drow knew of such beings, and fewer still dared to consort with them. Those who did trod a razor-thin path. On the one side was the promise of immense power; on the other, madness and servitude. The risks were great, but so was the potential reward.

Shakti Hunzrin had developed a taste for both, in nearly equal measure.

Back in the Promenade Temple, the followers of JSilistraee mourned their dead and tended the wounded according to their usual custom: they sang and they danced. Music, eerie and haunting, filled the cavern for days. Some of the songs were prayers for healing, others praise to the Dark Maiden for victory.

The Chosen found strength and solace in their dancing, but they also took time to tend to practicalities. The dragon's wealth was added to the temple treasury to be used in aiding the many who fell prey to the dangers of Skullport. Some of the coins would help pay the expenses of rearing and training the more than dozen drow children who had been added to the Promenade's ranks. Elkantar took charge of this task himself, tending the children with a fierce devotion reminiscent of a brooding she-dragon watching over her eggs.

Nor was Liriel idle. She worked and danced alongside the silver-haired drow, doing whatever was needed. She ventured out into Skullport from time to time, seeking adventure and planning her next steps. She could not forget that most of her journey lay before her, that the rune she needed was as yet unformed.

She also haunted the hallway outside Fyodor's room. His wounds were mending, but slowly, and only on the third day after the battle was she allowed to see him. There was much she needed to tell him, so he could understand what lay ahead.

The Rashemi listened as Liriel told him what she knew of rune magic. First the shaping, in which a rune was formed through a journey of discovery. Then the carving of the rune on the sacred tree Yggsdrasil's Child, using as a tool the chisel hidden inside the Windwalker amulet. Finally, the casting of a spell that forged insight into power.

"So you see, I have to go to Ruathym. I've booked passage. The ship leaves in a few days."

Fyodor nodded and took her hand. "It is right for you to go, little raven. In my land, no wychlaran would consider giving up her power for another, as you would have done in the dragon's cavern. I will never forget that, or you."

The drow stared at him. Understanding came to her, then rage. Snatching free her hand, Liriel leaped to her feet, head held high and eyes blazing. "After all this, do you still think so little of me? Or do you doubt I'm wizard enough to wield the Windwalker for us both?"

"It is not that," he said somberly. "I doubt neither your friendship nor your powers. But the journey you describe is not one I wish to make."

Liriel fell back a pace. It had never occurred to her that Fyodor might not wish to come with her. "To see the land of your ancestors!" she wheedled.

"It is a worthy dajemma" Fyodor agreed slowly, warming to the entreaty in her eyes, "but I do not want to endanger you so. You take a great risk, to travel with me as I am."

So that was it, Liriel thought with relief. Humans worried about the strangest things! Risk!

"It hasn't been dull," she agreed happily, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "You've got to get better fast, for the ship leaves as soon as the captain is released from a certain dungeon. I'd have thought it nearly impossible to get arrested in Skullport, but Hrolf the Unruly has a certain flair for such things. Let me tell you…"

With a smile, Fyodor leaned back against his pillows, well content to yield the role of storyteller to another. His excitement grew as he listened, for the plans Liriel unfolded far exceeded any dreams for dajemma that he, the dreamer, had ever dared to fashion. Whether or not he ever regained control of his berserker .magic, the journey she described would be well worth taking.

But what pleased him most of all was the knowledge that their journey together was just beginning.

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