Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [117]
So with a few quick words of instruction, he set the four fighters on Liriel's trail. He thought he knew where she might have gone. There were many gates the female might have used, for dark-elven wizardry had opened portals to distant places such as Calimshan. But the price for such incredible power was correspondingly high. The caverns near Drygully Tunnel were the easiest areas to reach through magical travel. They were open, near the surface, and had little interference from the Underdark's radiation magic. At short notice, it might have been the best anyone could do. He felt fairly certain Liriel would have fled using that route.
When the hunters were on their way, Nisstyre and Henge went to the privacy of the wizard's own home. Henge looked none too pleased with the task ahead but he kept his opinions to himself. Nisstyre took note of this and saw no need to comment. There was little liking between the two drow males, but as long as the priest did not openly defy him, Nisstyre was content.
The wizard took out a medallion embossed with a curving, stylized dragon. It matched the tattoo on the face of his lieutenant, Gorlist, and enabled him to find the drow fighter at any time. The wizard fingered the metal and chanted the words that would take him and the cleric to the fighter's side.
The pair of drow materialized in a small cave. There they found Gorlist, along with his two companions, strapping on weapons in preparation for the night's journey. The drow lieutenant did not look particularly surprised to see his leader.
"How long must we maintain this ridiculous facade?" he snapped. "It is effort wasted."
"Our plans have changed," Nisstyre said coolly. "You will retrace your steps toward the caverns with all possible haste. I have reason to believe you will find Liriel Baenre there or nearby. Find her, and bring her to the forest settlement."
Nisstyre noted the fierce gleam in the fighter's eyes and vowed to instruct Gorlist in the art of balancing revenge with necessity. He led the way out of the cave, stooping low to duck through the small entrance.
A rustle of leaves was his only warning. Nisstyre spun to see a black-haired human bearing down on him, his pale club lifted high and cold fire in his blue eyes. Although it seemed impossible to the drow wizard, he recognized his attacker as the crazed warrior whom he himself had buried aьve in an icy tomb in a distant forest glade.
The drow raised one hand, and dark fire spat from his fingers to engulf the persistent human. The man's club swung right through the flame, arcing downward to meet the wizard's head.
Nisstyre heard the thud of impact, registered the way the rocky ground sped up to meet him. He suffered no pain and supposed he should be grateful, but all he felt was cold wrath. The wizard clung to this emotion as he went down into the darkness; he knew desire for revenge was a powerful force, perhaps the only one that would help him fight his way back.
Fyodor kicked aside the crumpled form of the copper-haired wizard and took in the scene before him in a glance. The heat of the berserker rage fueled his body and sped his mind, so it seemed as if the world slowed down around him, giving him time to react, to attack. In his altered state, Fyodor never felt pain, although he knew from the smell of singed leather that the drow wizard's bolt of dark fire had struck his shoulder. Nor did he feel fear, even though his mind coolly registered that he was outnumbered indeed by the three well-armed drow before him.
The first of the