Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [55]
Liriel hurriedly skirted the pond to examine one of the trees more closely. She stroked its rough skin, then plucked one of the leaves and crushed it between her fingers so she might breathe its scent.
Everywhere she looked was green, bright and vivid in the brilliant light of the rising moon. The vision in her scrying bowl had not fully prepared her for that. Green was the rarest color in the Underdark, and here there were so many varieties of green that the single word did not begin to cover all the shades and nuances. Liriel wandered deeper into the grove, touching this tree and that, exploring the scents and textures and colors of the forest. Then, with a soft cry of delight, she bent to pick up a small, familiar object.
It was an acorn, an oft-used design in her new lore book. She stood and examined the leaves of the tree just above. Yes, the shape was right. This, then, must be an oak, the tree mentioned so often in the rune magic of the ancient Rus.
On impulse, Liriel climbed into the oak tree's arms and scrambled up as high as she could go. Finding a comfortable perch, she leaned back and gazed out over the pond below and the bills beyond. It was a wonderful thing, this tree. She could see why rune magic used the oak tree's power to aid in healing. There was a grandeur and mystery to this tree she had never seen in Underdark plants, not even the largest wild mushrooms. She thought of myconids, rare sentient mushroom-people taller than drow, and she wondered what manner of tree-creatures might dwell in this wondrous forest.
Then the scent of smoke came to her on the dancing wind, and the rich smell of roasting meat. Liriel had almost forgotten Kharza-kzad's insistence that she use a gate enspelled to seek out a drow encampment. The smoke, she supposed, must come from such a camp.
She knew she should show herself to the drow strangers immediately, before they sensed her presence and launched an attack. On the other hand, the scent of roasting meat alone did not signify she had found other People. Drow ate their food raw as often as they cooked it. She did not relish the idea of stumbling into the midst of humans or, even worse, faerie elves.
Then the music began, and Liriel knew at once the gate spell had worked as intended. The music was familiar, with an eerie, haunting melody and intricate layers of rhythm. The pure, silvery tone of the pipe was new to her, but the style was unmistakably drow.
Liriel climbed down from her oaken perch and crept through the too-green plants toward the inviting music. She paused at the edge of a small forest-cavern-a patch of open ground surrounded by trees-and gazed in wonder at the gathering before her.
There› whirling and leaping around a blazing campfire, danced a score of dark elf females. Four others hung back beyond the circle, playing silvery flutes and small drums. Without exception, the females were tall, and the muscles on their bare limbs were taut and long and powerful. Each had long, silvery hair that seemed to capture and hold the firelight. Apart from their height, these females looked just like the drow she knew in Menzoberranzan-slender, fey, achingly beautiful. They had no more concern for modesty than any of her peers, for they were clad only in scant, gossamer gowns that whirled about their legs like smoke.
The tallest of the females broke away from the group.
She stood, smiling, her hands outstretched in a gesture of welcome toward Liriel's hiding place.
"Join us, little sister," she called in the drow tongue.
Just those words, and then the dark elf whirled away to resume her ecstatic dancing. Liriel, poised for a fast retreat, paused to consider the invitation. If the strange female had approached her with conversation, Liriel