Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [4]
Gromph tossed the ball again, this time lobbing it high up toward the domed ceiling. Hands outstretched, the precocious child soared up toward the glowing toy, levitating with an ease that stole the archmage's breath. She snatched the ball out of the air, and her triumphant laughter echoed through the study as she floated lightly back to his side. At that moment, Gromph made one of the few impulsive decisions of his long life.
"What is your name, child?"
"Liriel Vandree," she returned promptly. Gromph shook his head. "No longer. You must forget House Vandree, for you are none of theirs."
He traced a deft, magical pattern in the air with the fingers of one hand. In response, a ripple passed through the solid rock of the far wall. Stone flowed into the room like a wisp of smoke. The dark cloud writhed and twisted, finally tugging free of the wall. In an instant it compressed and sculpted itself into an elf-sized golem. The living statue sank to one knee before its drow master and awaited its orders.
The child's mother will be leaving this house. See to it, and have her family informed that she met with an unfortunate accident on her way to the Bazaar."
The stone servant rose, bowed again, and then disappeared into the wall as easily as a wraith might pass through a fog bank. A moment later, the scream of an elven female came from a nearby chamber-a scream that began in terror and ended in a liquid gurgle.
Gromph leaned forward and blew out the candle, for darkness best revealed the character of the drow. All light fled the room, and the wizard's eyes changed from amber to brilliant red as his vision slipped into the heat-reading spectrum. He fastened a stern gaze upon the child.
"You are Liriel Baenre, my daughter and a noble of the first house of Menzoberranzan," he announced.
The archmage studied the child's reaction. The crimson glow of warmth drained from her face, and her tiny, pale-knuckled hands gripped the edge of the desk for support. It was clear the little drew understood all that had just occurred. Her expression remained stoic, however, and her voice was firm when she repeated her new name.
Gromph nodded approvingly. Liriel had accepted the reality of her situation-she could hardly do otherwise and survive-yet the rage and frustration of an untamed spirit burned bright in her eyes.
This was his daughter, indeed.
Chapter 1
TIME OF TURMOIL
Ignoring the muted cries of pain coming from the I far side of the tower chamber, Nisatyre parted the ^1 heavy curtains and gazed down at the marketet place. The dark elf'seyes, black and unreadable in the faint light of the chamber, swept with a measured, calculating gaze over the scene below.
The Bazaar was one of the busiest places in all of Menzoberranzan, and as heavily guarded as any matron's stronghold- Today even more soldiers than usual were in evidence, keeping the peace with brutal efficiency. As captain of the merchant band Dragon's Hoard, Nisstyre usually appreciated the diligence with which the marketplace was patrolled; it protected local business and made trade such as his possible. Today, however, Nisstyre's sharp eyes also saw opportunity of another kind.
The drow merchant's lips curved as he watched a pair of guards drag away the body of a Calishite peddlar. The human's offense had been slight: he had been a little too vehement in his bartering, and his drow customer had settled the matter with a poisoned dagger. Usually Menzoberranzan's shoppers welcomed such bargaining as the sport that it was. Today, however, the volatile drow were like dry tinder awaiting the slightest spark.
Tb the casual observer, the bustle of the marketplace might appear normal enough. Certain goods were selling extremely well; in fact, demand for staple foods, weapons, and spell components was almost frantic. Nisstyre had seen market days like this many times before, usually up on the surface, when folk settled in for a particularly