Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [148]
Laid out before them, looming over a broad plain and several busy trade roads, was Waterdeep, City of Splendors. An exuberant smile lit the drow's face. She flung her arms wide, as if she could gather the whole into her embrace.
How wonderful it was, this city perched between sea and sky! The air here had a delightful salty tang, and it carried a low, restless murmur that could only be the voice of the sea. The city itself was bigger than Menzoberranzan, and bustling with activity. Wagons and horses carried a steady stream of people through the gates. Liriel's arms dropped to her sides.
"The gates," she murmured, seeing the problem at once.
"All who wish to enter must pass armed guardsmen," Fyodor added in a troubled tone. He glanced at his companion. Even with hood and gloves, she could not pass as human without the aid of a spell. And her spells had all been used in the hazardous journey westward.
The drow nibbled at her lower lip as she studied the city walls. Surely there was some weak point, some way she could slip in unnoticed. But no, the walls were high and thick, and the surrounding plain offered little cover. She watched the merchant caravans and pondered smuggling herself in. No help there-the guards searched each wagon carefully.
Muttering an oath, Liriel turned her attention to the plain. It was grassy and smooth, dotted with small clusters of bushes and a few shade trees. In that pleasant spot were raised a number of pavilions: tents fashioned from bright
Klaine Cutmingham cloth and decorated with elaborate coats of arms. Milling about the idle tents was a throng of humans, dressed in vivid silks, lush furs, and jewels. The spring breezes bore the scent of savory foods and the sound of music and revelry. Wealthy, idle people enjoying an outdoor feast, Liriel concluded.
Then the music changed, taking on the stately, measured tread of a promenade. Liriel's eyes narrowed. She noted the dizzying variety of the humans' costumes-some of which were enhanced by magic-and the way the dancers paraded past a flower-draped dais. A slow smile curved her lips. The dark elves had a similar custom: formal dances known as illiyitrь. Most of these were political affairs fraught with dangerous, nuanced posturing, but occasionally a promenade was an excuse to compete in less lethal ways; wealth, beauty, and ingenuity were flaunted through clever disguises and extravagant costumes.
Suddenly Liriel knew how to get into the city.
The drow watched and waited until a man and woman, giggling over some wine-induced bit of wit and clinging to each other for support, made their unsteady way toward the privacy of the bushes clustered at the base of the hill. The woman was small and slim, dressed in a gown of clinging white silk. On her head was an elaborate headpiece, now slightly askew, that mimicked the ears, mane, and horn of a unicorn.
"Wait here," Liriel hissed at Fyodor.
Before the Rashemi could respond, she slid from her horse and made her silent way down the hillside. Fyodor heard a couple of faint, dull thuds. After a few moments' silence, the drow emerged triumphant, her arms full of shining silk.
Fyodor eyed her warily. "You didn't-"
"Kill them?" she finished cheerfully. "Effort wasted! Those two were barely standing; all they required was a little push. They'll waken with not much more of a headache than they've already earned through overindulgence. And I left a handful of coins to cover their losses," she added dryly. "Something tells me you wouldn't take kindly to a little harmless thievery."
The drow promptly stripped off her travel-worn clothes and pulled the gown over her head. She combed out her hair and let it fall in a wild cascade around her bared shoulders, then fastened her amber-encased spider pendant about her neck. Hushing Fyodor's protests, she handed him the "borrowed" robe-somewhat grass-stained but still exquisite-to put on over his travel clothes. Then she took a length of red