Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [143]
Yet the cleric could not move openly against his captain.
He'd tried, once, only to find he'd exchanged one sort of slavery for another. Many years ago, Nisstyre had lured Henge into Vhaeraun's service, extracting an oath of blood-bond in payment for escape from Ched Nasad. Any failure of loyalty carved deep, magically inflicted cuts onto Henge's body. The priest still bore the scars of his early rebellions and small failures to serve; after many years, however, he had learned exactly where the parameters of the bond lay. There were still some small things he could do, and he watched and waited for an opportunity.
Suddenly Nisstyre's voice faltered, and his hands went to the eye-shaped gem embedded in his forehead. Gorlist, obviously thinking himself dismissed, left the wizard's side with an abruptness that set the boat rocking dangerously. The cleric beckoned the young drow over. He handed Gorlist a silver ear-cuff.
"This is a small thing that you might find useful. No matter how skilled the warrior, certain tasks are dangerous. Wear this, and any wound you receive will heal."
Pride and practicality warred in the fighter's eyes. Then Gorlist cast a surreptitious glance at Nisstyre and slid the ear-cuff into place.
Back in Menzoberranzan, Shakti had had little time to spare for her merchant partner. Her mother, Matron Kinuere, was delighted with the addition of a high priestess to her arsenal and encouraged by the favors shown them by House Baenre. She promptly began plotting a war against House TuinTarl. The unnatural peace would end sooner or later, and those who were prepared to act with little notice would gain advancement.
Shakti, therefore, had been inundated by the demands of her new responsibilities. She did not mind, but rather listened well, learning skills she intended to wield herself someday, and on a much grander scale. But she did not forget her hunters; when no word come from Ssasser, she gave up the naga and the quaggoths as lost. Nisstyre, however, she could and would keep within her hand.
When at last the priestess had an hour to call her own, she took out the black-ruby scrying bow! and cast the spell that linked her to the drow merchant. A strange scene came into view: small boats traveling a river bright with sparkling lights and swift-running water. With Nisstyre were several drow fighters, and he was arguing with one of them. To get his attention, Shakti sent a quick burst of pain to the ruby eye. The wizard winced, and his hands rose to touch his forehead. The movement brought the golden amulet dangling from one hand into Shakti's line of vision.
"You have done well," she complimented him, and her words were carried to his mind by the telepathic link. "And now?"
I take the amulet to the south, to have its magic studied by drow wizards there. When its secrets are known to me, I will return to Menzoberranzan.
Shakti nodded. She was confident the wizard would do as he said; how could he not, when she could follow him wheresoever he went and slay him with a thought? Yet there was a formal, cautious feel to his mental response that she distrusted.
"And what of Liriel Baenre?"
She will not be returning to Menzoberranzan.
The traitor-priestess threw back her head and cackled with delight. Desiring to see for herself the details of her enemy's death, she cast a clerical mind-reading spell and sent it along the crimson path. Vhaeraun had been generous; of all the gifts granted her by the God of Thievery, Shakti relished most these small plunderings of the mind and the spirit. From Nisstyre's memory she plucked his last image of Liriel. The princess, although decidedly more bedraggled than Shakti had ever seen her, was very much alive and pacing like an angry panther along a rock-strewn shore. Snakti's mood plummeted and her red eyes narrowed.
'You lied to me! She lives!"
Have I said she didn't? As I recall, you required only that Liriel not return to the city. That has been assured.
"It is not enough!"