Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [144]
A surge of rage flowed through the magic portal and struck the wizard like a thunderbolt. The ruby gem in his forehead flared and seemed to burst into crimson flame. Nisstyre screamed in torment, then slumped, apparently lifeless, into the arms of his puzzled drow followers.
Shakti snatched her hands from the bowl and regarded the fading scene with horror. She had not intended to strike, and she had clearly gone too far. Gingerly she reached out one fingertip to touch the scrying bowl. She felt the hum of magic power still sing through the dark red crystal. That was a relief; it meant the tie had not been severed, that Nisstyre still lived. Yet only through his eyes could she see into the Night Above. Until Nisstyre regained his senses, he was of no use to her.
Sobered by this near disaster, Shakti settled back in her chair and regarded the scrying bowl. She had much to learn about her new power and how to wield it to best advantage. But this one thing she had learned: it was not sufficient. Nisstyre was an important ally, but, like all mortals, he was vulnerable.
As she stared thoughtfully at the scrying bowl, the priestess began to ponder other ways to gain access to the power and resources found in the Night Above.
The coming of dawn roused Liriel from a brief, exhausted slumber. She picked her way down to the river to drink and wash. There, placed neatly on the rocky bank, she found a new cloak and a pair of low boots rudely fashioned from soft leather. There was no doubting who'd left them for her.
The drow shook her head in confusion. Humans apparently had a lot to learn about the art of competition! But she donned the gifts and continued downstream. As she walked, the roar of the water grew louder. The river flowed rapid and shallow here. On the far shore, not too far away, were Nisstyre's hunters, shouldering their small boats to portage around the dangerous stretch of water.
Liriel crouched behind some bushes and thoughtfully studied her foe. It would be an ideal time to attack. Though she had little magic left to her, she cudgeled her mind for an innovative way to use a minor spell. The roar of the water made thought difficult, however, and hearing impossible. Bereft of her magic, the drow felt keenly the loss of these other senses.
Fortunately her elven eyes were as keen as ever. At the very edge of her peripheral vision, she saw a familiar, dark figure creeping toward her. Liriel spun as the tattooed male came at her with drawn steel. She pulled her dagger and parried. With a quick, circular sweep of his sword he knocked the blade from her hand, then stepped in closer and seized Uriel's wrist.
Gorlist pressed the keen edge of his blade against her skin. "Shall I mark you, wizard, as you did me?" he demanded. "How can you stop me? Where is your magic now?"
He was taunting her, but Liriel saw the humiliation in his eyes, and she understood what this was about. Drow fighters took pride in their lack of scars-she had probably been the first to lay a blade on him, and in doing so had dealt his pride a dangerous blow.
"What will your master say?" she demanded. "Nisstyre will be furious if you harm me!"
"Perhaps he will be, but not for a while," the male said cryptically. "Nisstyre would not thank me if I marred your skin. He might, however, be pleased to find you humbled." With a cruel smile, he sheathed his blade and dragged Liriel to him.
Her eyes widened with shock and outrage when his intent became clear. There was no time to draw a weapon, no time to cast a spell, but Liriel was not without defenses. She crossed her middle finger over her index finger, braced them into a rigid weapon, and drove her lacquered nails deep into Gorlist's eye.
He roared with pain and lashed out blindly; his fist connected solidly with Liriel's ear and sent her sprawling. Gorlist dashed the gore from his face and leaped at her. Ignoring the ringing in her head, Liriel kicked up and out with ail her strength. Her aim was true, and she was