Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [36]
"That is one tigress who can draw blood with velvet paws," he observed wryly. Nisstyre, merchant captain of the Dragon's Hoard, settled down in Kharza's chair and leveled a long, speculative gaze at the older wizard. "She seems very interested in the Night Above. We should encourage that."
"Even if I wanted to, I could do nothing," Kharza said stiffly.
"Oh, but you can." Nisstyre slapped a thin, leatherbound book onto the desk. "This book contains obscure human lore-nothing of great consequence, but it may serve to whet her taste for forbidden subjects. Find a way to get it to her. If I read that girl aright, she will devour it and demand more. Then, you will introduce us. She can return here often, using that gate she conjures so nimbly, and she and I can talk."
"It is risky."
"Wizards who follow Vhaeraun take many risks," the merchant returned slyly. He broke off the wizard's sputtered protests with a fierce glare. "You say you are not of my faith. Perhaps that is true. But you continue trading with me, knowing what you know about me and my work. In many circles, that could raise a few eyebrows." He chuckled briefly. "Not to mention a few scalps. Or do the matrons of Menzoberranzan still indulge in that particular pastime? I've heard a story of some minor matron who routinely scalped her patrons when she tired of them. Had the scalps tanned and sewn together, I believe, and the hair woven into a sort of wall hanging. I do hope she had the taste not to hang it in her bedchamber," he added thoughtfully. "That could prove somewhat daunting to her current favorite."
Kharza swallowed hard, although he knew by Nisstyre's sly expression that the merchant was baiting him. The Xorlarrin wizard drew his tattered dignity about him as best he could and tried to take control of the situation. "I paid you a substantial advance for the Rashemi wands you promised me," he said stiffly. "Yet you return to me without them."
Nisstyre waved the protest away. "A temporary delay. The raiding party preceded me through another gate, albeit one that brought them to a point some distance from this tower. They will arrive in the city any day."
That much was true, if somewhat misleading. Nisstyre prided himself in not telling outright lies. If Xorlarrin read in these words the promise that his paid-for goods would be delivered, well, it was not Nisstyre's fault the old drow heard what he wanted to hear.
His business over, the fox-faced merchant rose to leave. "Don't forget to give that book to the Baenre girl. In time, that little princess will convert to the path of Vhaeraun, of that I am confident." His thin lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "I never thought I would mourn the death of the old Baenre hag, but I'm rather sorry she did not live long enough to witness her granddaughter's defection!"
Blithely unaware her future was being decided back in Spelltower Xorlarrin, Liriel hurried to her house in Narbondellyn to prepare for her last night out. She was hosting a party that night at a mansion rented out for such affairs. A small army of servants tended to the details; she had only to show up and enjoy.
The young drow sat with unusual patience as a skilled servant wove her hair into dozens of tiny braids, then looped and tied the plaited strands into an elaborately contrived whole. Liriel usually left her hair flowing free, but tonight she needed a hairstyle that could hold up to considerable abuse. Her gown for the evening was also durable and designed for movement. Pure white and daringly cut, the dress had several long slits on the skirt to allow her to indulge to the fullest her passion for dancing. Tonight's festivities would include a nedeirra-a wild, acrobatic dance competition-which Liriel would launch with a solo dance. Liriel loved the freedom, the sense of rhythmic flight, that she felt when dancing. In her mind, the rest of the evening's revelry, although pleasurable, would be a pale thing compared to the nedeirra.
When Liriel arrived at the rented mansion,