Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [3]
To his consternation, he saw no one. The magical shield was little more than an alarm, but only a powerful sorcerer could pass through with an invisibility spell intact. Gromph's white, winged brows met in a frown, and he tensed for battle, his hand inching toward one of the deadly wands on his belt.
"Look down," advised a lilting, melodic voice, a voice that rang with mischief and childish delight.
Incredulous, Gromph shifted his gaze downward. There stood a tiny, smiling female about five years of age, easily the most beautiful child he had ever seen. She was a tiny duplicate of her mother, whom Gromph had recently left sleeping in a nearby suite of rooms. The child's face was angular, and her elven features delicate and sharp. A mop of silky white curls tumbled about her shoulders, contrasting with baby skin that had the sheen and texture of black satin. But most striking were the wide amber eyes, so like his own, that regarded him with intelligence and without fear. Those eyes stole Gromph's annoyance and stirred his curiosity.
This, then, must be his daughter. For some reason that thought struck a faint chord in the heart of the solitary, evil old drow. He had no doubt fathered other children, but that was of little concern to him. In Menzoberranzan, families were traced solely through the mother. This child, however, interested him. She had passed through the magical barrier.
The archmage pushed aside the spellbook. He leaned back in his chair and returned the child's unabashed scrutiny. He was not accustomed to dealing with children. Even so, his words, when he spoke, surprised him. "So, drowling. I don't suppose you can read?"
It was a ridiculous question, for the child was little more than a babe. Yet her brow furrowed as she considered the matter. "I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully. "You see, I've never tried."
She darted toward the open spellbook and peered down at the page. Too late, Gromph slapped a hand over her golden eyes, cursing under his breath as he did so. Even simple spells could be deadly, for magic runes attacked the untrained eye with a stab of searing light. Attempting to read an unlearned spell could cause terrible pain, blindness, even insanity.
Yet the little drow appeared to be unharmed. She wriggled free of the wizard's grasp and skipped over to the far side of his desk. Stooping, she fished a scrap of discarded parchment from the wastebasket. Then she rose and pulled the quill from Gromph's prized bottle of everdark ink. Clutching the pen awkwardly in her tiny fist, she began to draw.
Gromph watched her, intrigued. The child's face was set in fierce concentration as she painstakingly scrawled some wavering, curly lines onto the parchment. After a few moments she turned, with a triumphant smile, to the wizard.
He leaned closer, and his eyes flashed incredulously from the parchment to the spellbook and back. The child had sketched one of the magic symbols! True, it was crudely drawn, but she had not only seen it, she had remembered it from a glance. That was a remarkable feat for any elf, at any age.
On a whim, Gromph decided to test the child. He held out his palm and conjured a small ball that glowed with blue faerie fire. The little drow laughed and clapped her hands. He tossed the toy across the desk toward her, and she deftly caught it.
"Throw it back," he said.
The child laughed again, clearly delighted to have found a playmate. Then, with a lighting-fast change of mood, she drew back her arm for the throw and gritted her teeth, preparing to give the effort her all.
Gromph silently bid the magic to dissipate. The blue light winked out.
And the next moment, the ball hurtled back toward him, almost too fast for him to catch. Only now the light was golden.
"The color of my eyes," said the little girl, with a smile that promised heartache to drow males in years to come.
The archmage noted this, and marked its value. He then turned his attention to the golden ball in his hand. So, the child could already