Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [104]
The priestess raised her pitchfork and waved it before the mirror. Instantly the image of the naga appeared in the glass. The creature's hideous face furrowed in a scowl, and its long thin tongue flicked out toward its reflection.
"Don't fret, Ssasser. But for this reflection, you're invisible," Shakti informed the naga. She knew better than to let the magic-wielding creature out of her sight entirely. The naga was a virtual slave to House Hunzrin, but it was as evil and treacherous as the drow it served. Ssasser would welcome a chance to slay a Hunzrin priestess; indeed, the sly creature began to slink away from the telltale reflection.
"Stay by the mirror, where I can see you," snapped the priestess. "Listen well: you will return to Liriel Baenre's home. Search the place for anything that will help you track her. Return to the Hunzrin compound with the information you gain. Then I will give you a pair of quaggoth to aid you in the hunt. When you kill Liriel and bring me her amulet, you will earn your freedom."
The dark naga's mirrored face brightened at this news. Quaggoth were huge, white-furred, bipedal creatures that looked like the impossible offspring of ogres and bears. They were not particularly intelligent, but they were fierce hunters, strong and cunning in battle. Some drow enslaved them as soldiers or guards. Ssasser loved to command, and with such troops he would surely accomplish the delightful task of slaying a female drow.
"Ssasser hear all that Shakti mistress say. Ssasser bunt now?" the creature implored.
At a nod from the drow, the naga darted toward the small tunnel that led out of the room and wound downward through the walls of the compound.
Shakti smiled, pleased by the dark naga's eagerness. She had a high opinion of the Dragon Hoard merchants, and her decision to work with Nisstyre was not made lightly. Still, there were other hunters at her disposal, and she was determined to put every one of them on Liriel's trail.*
In the hills north of the village of Trollbridge, Fyodor of Kashemen crouched low behind a scattered pile of rocks and peered into a small cave. The sun was rising behind him, but the morning was chill and the rocky soil white with a late frost. The young warrior blew on his hands to warm them and settled down to watch and wait. He had hunted for days; now for the first time, his quarry was within sight.
A spark flared in the depths of the cave, and then another. In moments a tiny campfire let off meager light. There was no smell of cooking meat, but that did not surprise Fyodor. The drow, it would seem, ate their food raw. He had followed these three through the forest, and more than once he'd come across game they'd recently slain. Although he had never lost their trail, not once did Fyodor see the remnants of a campfire. He was rather surprised the dark elves risked one now. Of course, daylight was coming, and a small fire, lit for warmth in this cave on a remote hillside, was unlikely to be spotted.
Before the arrival of each new day, the drow found shelter from the sun. The rough countryside was studded with caves, but this was the first time Fyodor had actually found their hiding place. He'd hunted the drow for days now, starting in the Underdark cavern strewn with the bodies of giant bats and dark elf warriors. Something about the battlefield disturbed him; what exactly, he could not say. He had searched the bodies of the two slain drow and had not found the amulet on either. This did not surprise him, for surely the survivors would take such a treasure with them. So he had followed the bloody footsteps of the three surviving drow to a steep tunnel that led him up into rugged, rocky hills. The drow headed west, traveling throughout the night with speed that Fyodor,