Daughter of the Drow (22 page)

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!”

The merchant rose from his chair. Placing both hands on the desk, he leaned down to look directly into the old wizard’s face.

“Risks,” he said in a confidential whisper. “Every follower of Vhaeraun must be prepared to take them.”

With that final taunt, he left Kharza-kzad alone to sputter out his usual denials. It was an odd game, but one Nisstyre enjoyed playing. In time, perhaps Kharza would become so accustomed to the insinuations that he would come to think of himself in those very terms. This was unlikely, to be sure, but a Xorlarrin wizard, a master of the famed Sorcere, would be a prized addition to Vhaeraun’a band.

The merchant hurried from the Spelltower Xorlarrin to his rented house near the Bazaar. Now that he had met Liriel Baenre face-to-face, he was more interested in her than ever. She thought for herself, followed her own rules. No slave to the fanaticism that paralyzed so many of Menzoberranzan’s drow, she was a prime candidate for conversion to the ways of Vhaeraun. Granted, she had in full measure the haughty arrogance of noble females, but that could change in time. In fact, the task of humbling the little princess greatly appealed to Nisstyre.

First, of course, he would have to win her over. That she would hire him for this task was a stroke of purest luck. It was also ironically amusing, for of course the dead drow Liriel had described were his own lost thieves. She had saved him the trouble and expense of hunting them down.

Nisstyre did not mention that fact to her, and he saw no reason to enlighten her now. He hurried to his hired barracks and selected three of his strongest fighters. When they had been briefed and armed, he led them swiftly back to Spelltower Xorlarrin.

Liriel was there already, fairly bursting with impatience. She looked the males over and pronounced them adequate. With Kharza-kzad’s help, she sent the drow fighters into the gate toward their dead comrades. Nisstyre she left to his own resources. If he was not wizard enough to handle such a task, it was better she knew it now. When her forces had gathered, she led them to the site of the dragazhar battle and quickly laid out her plan.

“Five drow came into this cavern. Two of them you see dead before you; the other three are bat food. Now, we can do this one of two ways. We can retrieve what’s left of the three drow in the cave and risk rousing the deepbats, or the three of you can help stage a false battle, then leave a fresh trail to the surface and beyond.”

The fighters exchanged glances. Two of them were plainly relieved at this turn of events—not even the most battle-thirsty drow relished the idea of fighting the deadly bats—but the third, a tall drow with short-cropped hair and a tattooed cheek, sneered in open contempt.

“This was not your original offer,” Nisstyre pointed out. “What of the dragazhar lair? The treasure, the baby deepbats?”

“My original offer specified you would do as I say, without questions,” Liriel said impatiently. “After this task is accomplished, I will show you the cave. You can harvest the bats and treasure later, on your own time.”

The merchant accepted her terms with a bow. “As you say. But I am curious why I am here, if there is to be no battle with the dragazhar.”

“Who says there won’t be?” she retorted. “You wouldn’t ask if you knew how close the dragazhar cave is. The longer you stand there talking, the greater the risk.”

“I see.” Nisstyre considered for a moment. 1 know of another opening to the surface, not far from the Drygully Tunnel. It is nearer, and it is a shorter path to the Night Above. Shall I have my fighters use it?”

Liriel agreed readily. She did not want Fyodor of Rashemen to meet the three drow on his way back. That the human would be back, she did not doubt, and he would be no match for these three trained and well-armed drow. Perhaps he could track Nisstyre’s band to the surface; perhaps he could even catch up with them. But she doubted it. More likely he would follow them as long as the trail lasted, and then once the trail was lost he would go on his way, seeing no reason to return to the alien dangers of the Underdark. That suited her perfectly.

So Liriel supervised the fighters as they hoisted the two dead males and carried them to the mouth of the Drygully Tunnel. Nisstyre came in handy after all, casting spells of levitation that floated several of the giant bat carcasses to the cavern. The wizard also arranged the faux battle scene with gory flair and an artistic eye. In all, Liriel was pleased.

One more thing remained to be done. Liriel selected the largest of Nisstyre’s fighters, the bold male with the dragon tattoo festooning one cheek. In her estimation, this one could best survive what she had in mind. Also, the fighter had made little effort to hide his disdain for this errand. Liriel was not accustomed to such insubordination from a servant and she did not want to see his attitude go unrewarded.

So she ordered the fighter to remove one of the leather bracers that protected his forearms. He did so, and as he held out his arm to her a curious, slightly mocking smile played about his lips. Liriel grabbed his wrist and squeezed it, hard,

“What is your name, and what do you find so amusing?” she demanded.

“I am called Gorlist. I destroy my enemies; I do not waste time laying false trails for them to follow,” the drow said with no little pride. For good measure, he tightened his fist, so the muscles in his arm swelled and rippled impressively. The display of strength broke Liriel’s grip with contemptuous ease.

“No false trails,” she echoed with a touch of dark humor as she renewed her grip on the fighter. “Funny you should say that, Gorlist.”

In a single lightning-fast movement, Liriel drew a knife and slashed a long, deep line across the male’s arm. Gorlist’s eyes widened incredulously as blood gushed from the cut. He snatched his arm from her grasp.

“Do not bind it; do not try to stanch the bleeding in any way,” she instructed him. “Leave a trail to the surface even a heat-blind idiot could follow. Note that I do not insult you by asking you to leave a false trail. Real blood, I’m sure, is much more to your liking.”

“But the loss of blood! I may not survive to reach the Night Above!” he protested.

“Oh, stop whining. You don’t have to bleed all the way to the surface. Just mark the trail to the right tunnel, that’s all I ask,” she said impatiently.

Gorlist’s outraged scowl did not lessen. Apparently, this male did not know his place; Liriel was more than happy to remind him-She took hold of his wrist again. With the forefinger of her free hand, she traced the edge of the cut with one finger,

“If I had wanted to kill you, I would not have cut you there,” Liriel said. Using his blood as ink, she slowly, teasingly traced another line on his arm, this one a fraction to the side. “I would have cut you here”

A knife appeared suddenly in her bloodstained hand, and she pressed hard against the line she had drawn. She met the male’s angry glare with a cold smile and a challenging gaze.

Nisstyre intervened. “And we are grateful for your expertise,” he said as he gently disengaged his fighter’s wrist from Liriel’s grasp. “You, Gorlist, will do as you are bid. The three of you, go with all haste to the surface. And after that?” he asked, turning the question to Liriel. “Where shall they go?”

She paused, not sure how to answer. Her only thought had been to lay a trail out of the Underdark, and she did not know of any surface destination to give them. Wait: yes, she did.

“Waterdeep,” she said decisively.

The merchant captain’s thin lips curved in a smile. “Well chosen. It is a long trip, but one they would soon make regardless. The Dragon’s Hoard has a base near that city.”

“In Skullport?” Liriel asked, thinking it more likely the drow merchants would thrive underground than in a human stronghold.

Nisstyre’s smile broadened. “For a noble female of Menzoberranzan, you know much of the wider world. I would not be surprised if we should meet again soon, my dear Liriel.”

“Not unless you plan to enroll in Arach-Tinilith,” Liriel responded, using a tone of voice designed to quench the too-familiar spark in the wizard’s black eyes. “I shall be there for a number of years.”

“Such a waste,” the merchant said fervently.

“Such blasphemy,” Liriel returned lightly. “But since you are not of Menzoberranzan, perhaps Lloth will overlook your words. Now, perhaps you’d like to see the way to the dragazhar lair?”

Nisstyre followed the girl to the narrow tunnel that led to the deepbat cave. He noted the confident way she moved through the wild terrain, her utter lack of fear despite the fact that they were merely two against the dangers of the wild Underdark. The young female was clearly a seasoned adventurer with a lust for the unknown. Yes, he could lure this one up into the Night Above, Nisstyre assured himself complacently. A push, a nudge, and she would be his.

And, by extension, Vhaeraun’s. In some matters, even the God of Thieves had to take second place.

Fyodor followed the steep tunnel path for many hours, with little sense of how much time actually passed. When he could no longer run, he walked, and he rested what little he dared. After a time—how long or short he could not say—the path leveled off and ended in a small cave.

The darkness here was less intense, and when Fyodor put out the last of his torches, he found he could see well enough. After a quick exploration he found the exit, a small opening just slightly higher than his head and not much larger than a badger hole. Fyodor used his sword to chip away at the rock and soil. When he thought the opening might suffice, he grabbed the edge and hauled himself up. Slowly, laboriously, he eased his shoulders through the opening. Finally he rolled out, exhausted but exultant. For a long moment he merely lay there, breathing hard and taking stock of his surroundings.