Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [68]
Liriel gritted her teeth and did as she was told. Again and again the male drilled her on stance, walked her through the basic thrusts and parries of single-sword combat. Dargathan might lack the tightly muscled form and lightning-fast brilliance that marked the best drew fighters, but as the hours passed Liriel had to admit he was a credible teacher. The male challenged her every move, demonstrating step by step the skills a fighter would gain through years of laborious study and practice. By the standards of most races, Liriel was a competent fighter. Far more was expected of a drow. As the session went on and on, she slowly redefined her concept of swordcraft and came to realize how little she truly knew of the art. She also ached in every muscle, bone, and sinew.
"That will do for now," Dargathan said finally. "There are two main tenets of swordcraft: know the basics, and prepare for the unexpected. We've made a start on the first. With hard work and excellent instruction, there might yet be some hope for you."
With that smug pronouncement, the male sheathed his sword and strode from the practice hall. Liriel waited until he reached the door, and then called his name.
Dargathan turned back to see his pupil holding her sword like a ready javelin, high and back over her shoulder. Her eyes gleamed with dangerous light as she hurled the weapon straight at him. The sword flew hard and true, and the blade wedged deep into the crack between the doorpost and wall. It quivered there, just inches from his wide-eyed face.
"Thank you for the lesson, most excellent of instructors," Liriel said sweetly, hands on hips and stance tauntingly feminine. "But perhaps next time we should work on preparing for the unexpected?"
To further underscore her point, she snatched her bolo from a hidden pocket and began to twirl it overhead. The male turned and fled the room, his superior airs completely abandoned.
It was possible, Liriel noted as she tucked her preferred weapon back out of sight, to have a little fun now and again even in Arach-Tinilith.
As soon as the evening chapel was over, Liriel hurried to her room. Nothing, not even the burning stiffness brought on by her grueling practice session, could deter her from making her final journey to the surface. For her last secret jaunt out, no other destination would suffice.
Liriel quickly dressed and armed herself. She noticed as she did that her piwafwi had lost a bit of its luster, that her tread in the enchanted elven boots was a little less silent. It amazed her that an hour's visit to the surface could so diminish her drow magic. How, she wondered, did the priestesses of Eilistraee survive? How much of their magic, their heritage, did they abandon ao they could dance in the moonlight? Were they drow still, or merely dark-skinned faerie? These were but a few of the questions she wanted to ask of the Dark Maiden's priestesses.
The young wizard quickly studied the spells she would need, then summoned the portal that would take her into Kharza-kzad's study. She hoped her tutor was already asleep so she might be spared his endless questions. But to her surprise, low, angry male voices came from the wizard's private rooms. Her natural curiosity urged her to investigate; Kharza was such a reclusive sort that the presence of another dark elf in his retreat must signal something truly momentous.
But the moonlight beckoned her with a call too powerful to be ignored, and once again she made her way through the whirling tunnel that led to the forest glade.
Again she found herself on her knees clutching the ground. Again came the startling impact of the vivid green that surrounded her on every side. And again she heard the dark elven music, the eerie, twisting melodies that were so familiar. Of course, in the Underdark, such music would not be played on a harp. The drow considered that instrument to be both insipid and disturbing. But here, in the moonlight, the delicate silvery tones of the