Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [153]
In the garrisons and armory of the Promenade Temple, in the streets and hidden places of Skullport, Eilistraee's followers prepared for battle. At first Liriel was unimpressed by Qilue Veladorn's forces. The temple guard-a motley collection of dark elves, humans, dwarves, and halflings who called themselves Protectors of the Song-numbered fewer than sixty. In Menzoberranzan most of the lesser noble houses had several times that many soldiers, supported by the magic of wizards and high priestesses. Granted, every priestess of the Dark Maiden was trained to the sword, but the so-called Chosen of Eilistraee had no'slaves to spend as battle fodder, no wizardly weapons of destruction, and virtually no offensive clerical spells. The Chosen trusted in their goddess, in their skill at arms, and in each other. It was, in Liriel's opinion, a formula for disaster.
Yet as she watched the preparations, the young drow began to understand the true power at work. Every person in the temple was utterly devoted to Qilue and completely focused on the task ahead. No energy was siphoned off in small intrigues. No one seemed concerned about improving her status and influence. Each had a role and played it well, with an eye to the greater goal.
To Liriel, this was a revelation. She herself was beginning to come to terms with her alliance with Fyodor. From their first meeting, despite their vast and innumerable differences, she'd been drawn by the kindred spirit between them. The thing that Fyodor called friendship was an astonishing paradox: each gave, and neither was diminished. To the contrary, together friends stood to become more than the sum of their individual strengths. This flew in the face of everything Liriel had ever learned or experienced,-but she was beginning to accept it as truth. And dawning on the far horizon of her mind, as she watched the Chosen come together in preparation, was the possibility that something similar to friendship could exist on a larger scale. The young drow had no words for such a thing, but she suspected this discovery might also be part of her journey, might become part of the rune she was fashioning with each passing day.
In the meanwhile, Liriel prepared for battle in her own way. The temple had a small library of scrolls and spell-books, and the young wizard committed to memory several spells that might be useful. She also spent time poring over her book of rune lore, seeking a way to adapt the spell she'd devised to store her Underdark magic in the Windwalker amulet.
After two days of frantic activity, Elkantar, Qilue's drow consort and the commander of the Protectors, called all together in the temple's council chamber. The spies who'd been dispatched throughout Skullport to gather information on Dragon's Hoard activities spoke first.
"Nisstyre has not been seen since the day his band entered the port. Word has it he is ill and remains in the merchant stronghold," supplied a drow soldier.
"That might explain my news," added a stout, well-armed halfling. "The Dragon's Hoard merchants have two ships at dock. They've been ready to sail for days now. Seems they're waiting for something."
"Or someone," put in a grim-faced human. "Nisstyre's lieutenant, a tattooed drow warrior called Gorlist, was seen entering Skullport just this day. He has stood in for Nisstyre on other trade journeys, so they might well set sail now."
Liriel and Fyodor exchanged a dismayed look. "But you killed him!" the Rashemi protested.
"Well, apparently it didn't take," Liriel said, throwing up her hands in exasperation.
"We have more important problems," proclaimed a little-girl voice. This came from Hjrene, a tiny, kitten-soft doll of a priestess. With her elegant gowns and silvery ringlets, the delicate drow seemed the most unlikely of battlemasters. Yet with her first word she commanded the attention of every person in the room. "It is confirmed that a deep dragon-in drow form-walks among