Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [37]
All eyes were upon her as she began to stamp a rhythmic counterpoint to the drum. Her arms started an intricate weave, and one by one other drums joined in, as well as strange percussion instruments known only to the drow. Then a deep-voiced flute began to play a strange, compelling tune, a melody that had once been sung by elves in the Lands of Light, many centuries past. Those long-dead elves would not recognize their song; its fey magic had shifted and changed to reflect the beings who now played it. Beautiful still, the music retained all of the mystery of the elven race, and none of the joy. The drow had forgotten that emotion. But they understood pleasure, and they would pursue it wildly in an attempt to fill the unrecognized void in their elven souls.
The tempo of the music quickened, and over the ragged, syncopated rhythm of the drums the flutes wailed and soared in eerie melody. Liriel twirled and leaped in time to the music, and her body dipped and swayed as she beckoned to the waiting drow. Then, with a sudden flash of magical fire, the dark dancer was outlined in faerie fire of purest white. That was the signal all had awaited, and the other drow poured onto the dance floor.
Even in dance, the dark elves competed with each other. Some used their natural ability to levitate to perform intricate soaring leaps. Others shunned acrobatics and went right to seduction, trying to draw as many greedy eyes as possible with then* writhing, sensuous movements. Yet regardless of style, all the drow listened carefully as they danced; within the intricate music were hidden clues that told what was to come. The rhythm was uneven, with the strong beats coming unexpectedly, almost randomly. Those who failed to read the music aright were in danger of missing a beat. Any drow who misstepped was immediately limned in faerie fire by one of the wizards who encircled the dance floor and watched intently as the dark elves whirled and leaped and stomped. These dancers had to leave the floor to a chorus of barbed comments and mocking laughter. But their fun was not entirely ruined, for all remained on the sidelines to place bets concerning who might next follow them.
On and on went the music, with few of the skilled drow missing the complex steps. Ebony faces shone with sweat, and some of the dancers began to discard outer garments. Sometimes a nedeirrct continued until many of the dancers dropped from exhaustion, but Liriel had other plans for the evening. From her place on the center of the dance floor, she signaled for the finale.
One of the hired wizards floated high over the dancers. His hands wove a spell, and in response the music began to quicken, speeding toward an impossible tempo. The magic touched the dancers, as well, and their feet kept pace with the pulsating music. Paster and faster they whirled, and multicolored faerie fire blinked into being on every dark elf, turning the nedeirra into a firestorm of dancing lights. Finally the drums joined in a roll and the flutes soared to a last keening note. Then, suddenly, the room went dark and silent.
It was a spectacular spell, and the drow applauded delightedly. Then, as was custom following a nedeirra, the dancers began to remove their finery. Personal servants rushed forward to collect the discarded clothing.
The party-goers were ushered, unselfconsciously naked, into another room. This was a large, low-ceilinged chamber whose walls, floor, and ceiling were honeycombed with vents. Scented steam poured into the room, cleansing the dancers and soothing weary limbs. The direction and intensity of the steam's flow changed constantly: one moment massaging with short, pulsing bursts, the next playing over the dark elves' skin like a gentle, sultry breeze. As