Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [124]
Liriel's eyes ached in an effort to take in the enormous distances. From the maps she had studied, she knew she'd emerged somewhere west of the great woodland where the Chosen of Eilistraee danced. There were fewer trees here, and none of them had the mystic grandeur of that wondrous forest. The plants reminded her of verdant dwarves: small, tough things that had won their place through grim struggle with rock and soil.
Then voices came to her on the night wind-harsh yet musical sounds that could only be drow. For a moment Liriel thought her pursuers had found her. Then she remembered the strange, linear path sound took up here in the open air, and she knew the voice came from beyond the cave.
She pulled her piwafwi close about her and spoke the words that would grant her invisibility. Even so, she shrank back behind the sheltering rock and crouched low to wait and watch. It might be that these drow were like the ones she had encountered in the forest: helpful and welcoming. Liriel hoped it would be so, for she felt very alone and vulnerable in this dismal land.
Soon the dark elves came into sight. Lithe and dark-clad, their white hair covered by the cowls of their capes, the drow walked with admirable stealth. Even so, Liriel knew at once these were not drow of the Underdark. There was no aura of magic about them, and although the night was bright, their eyes shone with the red light that indicated the use of the heat-spectrum. Even Liriel, whose eyes were trained to candlelight, could see perfectly without infravi-sion in the bright light of the moon. Were these hunters' senses so dulled that they could not?
Wrapped in her piwafwi and shod with enchanted elven boots, she had the advantage of invisibility and silence. She crept closer to see what these strange drow might be about. They grew uneasy as she closed in, looking furtively about and fingering their weapons, as if their hunting instincts perceived what their senses could not.
How long must we wait? signaled one of them in the drow's silent language of gesture and facial expression.
The wench will come this way, insisted another. We will search as long as we must.
Four males, daring to waylay a female? It was outrageous, unthinkable! Wrath burned bright in Liriel's proud heart, focusing her thoughts for the first time since she'd left Spelltower Xorlarrin.
She unwrapped a package of darts that had been coated with sleep poison and fitted the first of several into her tiny crossbow. This would be the second test of the amulet's power, for the drow poison was magically distilled in places of high-powered radiation. Its essence did not survive in the open air.
With quick, sure motions, Liriel fired the dart. The tiny arrow found its mark, and one of the dark hunters leaped in surprise. He reached behind him and tore the dart from his backside, looking at it in almost comical disbelief for a moment and then pitching senseless to the ground.
The female grinned and gave her golden amulet a grateful pat. She fired three more darts and watched as the last three hunters reeled and tumbled. When all had succumbed to the sleep poison, she threw back the folds of her sheltering cloak and strode forward, determined to get some answers. She straddled the drow who'd been last to fall and slapped him back toward consciousness.
The dark elfs eyes flickered open. Groggy, fighting the poison, he struggled to focus on his tormentor.
"Who are you looking for?" she demanded in the drow tongue.
His eyes settled on the small golden dagger hanging about her neck. "I… think… you."
Liriel rocked back in dismay. How could it be that even surface drow sought her? She grabbed handfuls of her captive's cloak and shook him, hard.
"Who sent you?" she demanded. "Who?"
But the male was beyond speech; the poison had taken him. Liriel swore and rose to her feet. With deft, certain movements