Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [38]
When the last jet of steam faded away, the dark elves slipped away in groups of four or five through the many small doors that lined the chamber. There, in small private rooms, they would relax on couches, exchange gossip, and score points in witty conversation as skilled servants massaged them with scented oils. Massage was a favorite treat at parties, and as near to relaxation as the ever-wary drow came.
Liriel forwent her own massage to wander from room to room, taking advantage of the small groups and the unusually mellow mood to chat with her guests. Her friends did not know she would be leaving them tomorrow, but to each one she said an unspoken farewell. In her own fashion.
More often than not, sudden shrieks and gales of laughter marked Liriel's passing. Dark elves delighted in cantrips-small, harmless spells cast to play pranks upon their companions. With her wizardly training, Liriel excelled at this sport. Wherever she went, amorous hands suddenly turned icy, or scented oil changed fragrance to become the signature perfume of a hated rival. The drow, with their dark, wicked sense of humor, considered no gathering complete without a few such pranks, and tonight Liriel had spared no effect to accommodate them.
Much later, content and clad in a fresh change of festive clothing, the guests gathered in yet another hall for dinner. It was an elegant affair with several removes, each served with a different potent wine. The conversation grew raucous soon after the soup course, and here and there a few drow slipped under the tables to contemplate the evening's events or to forge new social alliances. The general anticipation accelerated as the rumor spread that pyrimo would be served as the final remove. Parties such as this often ended with wild merrymaking, and a pyrimo course almost guaranteed the celebration would reach dizzying heights of frenzy.
And so it was.
And so it continued, until the bell tolled that marked the end of the last watch. By law and custom, parties ended at the start of a new day.
Liriel stood at the door of her rented mansion and watched as her guests were helped-or poured, as the case may be-into magical litters or lizard-drawn carriages. Later, her hired servants would toss the less mobile guests out into the street, where they would be collected by their slaves and carted home. Those drow who still possessed a measure of their wits lingered in small groups about the mansion and in the street, as if loath to see the night end. Suddenly the noisy, reeling throng of party-goers fell silent, and their various conveyances gave way to a driftdisc emblazoned with the House Baenre insignia. The magical seat floated toward the mansion in impressive silence, and Liriel's throat tightened as she watched it close in. She ran through life at a pace few could follow, yet this moment had caught her.
And how little Triel had trusted her niece's word! The matron had threatened to send someone to bring Liriel to the Academy if she were late. By Liriel's reckoning, she had hours to spare. Yet seated on the magical conveyance was no less a personage than SosTJmptu, Triel's faithful lap-lizard and apparent lieutenant.
The driftdisc stopped at the mansion's gate and the keeper of the Baenre chapel alighted. Her face puckered with outrage as she picked her way through the crowd and the debris, and she fairly pounced upon her scandalous niece.
"I've never seen such frivolous excess, such disgraceful behavior!" she scolded.
"Really?" inquired Liriel, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "If that is so, you really ought to get out more."
Chapter 6
ARACH-TINILITH
Something must be done about that Baenre brat!" stormed Zeld Mizzrym. The priestess fairly quivered with wrath, and beneath the black and pur-l pie folds of her robe her bosom rose and fell in an indignant rhythm.
Matron Triel Baenre leaned