Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [77]
The fighters exchanged glances. Two of them were plainly relieved at this turn of events-not even the most battle-thirsty drow relished the idea of fighting the deadly bats-but the third, a tall drow with short-cropped hair and a tattooed cheek, sneered in open contempt.
"This was not your original offer," Nisstyre pointed out. "What of the dragazhar lair? The treasure, the baby deep-bats?"
"My original offer specified you would do as I say, without questions," Liriel said impatiently. "After this task is accomplished, I will show you the cave. You can harvest the bats and treasure later, on your own time."
The merchant accepted her terms with a bow. "As you say. But I am curious why I am here, if there is to be no battle with the dragazhar."
"Who says there won't be?" she retorted. "You wouldn't ask if you knew how close the dragazhar cave is. The longer you stand there talking, the greater the risk."
"I see." Nisstyre considered for a moment. 1 know of another opening to the surface, not far from the Drygully Tunnel. It is nearer, and it is a shorter path to the Night Above. Shall I have my fighters use it?"
Liriel agreed readily. She did not want Fyodor of Rashemen to meet the three drow on his way back. That the human would be back, she did not doubt, and he would be no match for these three trained and well-armed drow. Perhaps he could track Nisstyre's band to the surface; perhaps he could even catch up with them. But she doubted it. More likely he would follow them as long as the trail lasted, and then once the trail was lost he would go on his way, seeing no reason to return to the alien dangers of the Underdark. That suited her perfectly.
So Liriel supervised the fighters as they hoisted the two dead males and carried them to the mouth of the Drygully Tunnel. Nisstyre came in handy after all, casting spells of levitation that floated several of the giant bat carcasses to the cavern. The wizard also arranged the faux battle scene with gory flair and an artistic eye. In all, Liriel was pleased.
One more thing remained to be done. Liriel selected the largest of Nisstyre's fighters, the bold male with the dragon tattoo festooning one cheek. In her estimation, this one could best survive what she had in mind. Also, the fighter had made little effort to hide his disdain for this errand. Liriel was not accustomed to such insubordination from a servant and she did not want to see his attitude go unrewarded.
So she ordered the fighter to remove one of the leather bracers that protected his forearms. He did so, and as he held out his arm to her a curious, slightly mocking smile played about his lips. Liriel grabbed his wrist and squeezed it, hard,
"What is your name, and what do you find so amusing?" she demanded.
"I am called Gorlist. I destroy my enemies; I do not waste time laying false trails for them to follow," the drow said with no little pride. For good measure, he tightened his fist, so the muscles in his arm swelled and rippled impressively. The display of strength broke Liriel's grip with contemptuous ease.
"No false trails," she echoed with a touch of dark humor as she renewed her grip on the fighter. "Funny you should say that, Gorlist."
In a single lightning-fast movement, Liriel drew a knife and slashed a long, deep line across the male's arm. Gorlist's eyes widened incredulously as blood gushed from the cut. He snatched his arm from her grasp.
"Do not bind it; do not try to stanch the bleeding in any way," she instructed him. "Leave a trail to the surface even a heat-blind idiot could follow. Note that I do not insult you by asking you to leave a false trail. Real blood, I'm sure, is much more to your liking."
"But the loss of blood! I may not survive to reach the Night Above!" he protested.
"Oh, stop whining. You don't have to bleed all the way