Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [90]
As he'd anticipated, the young priestess received his flattery with a complacent smile. She nodded to the wizard, who handed the soldier a small vial.
"When you are safely inside, drink this potion. It will reverse the spell and return you to your normal size," the wizard instructed.
"Be certain you are not seen," Shakti added. "Kill the servants only if you must. Once you are sure we will not be detected, you may let me in through the back. The doors will almost certainly not be warded from the inside."
At a nod from the priestess, the wizard began to cast the spell. Eyes closed, he half sang the arcane words in a long, drawn-out chant, all the while sweeping the air with elaborate gestures. Shakti sat calmly through the spell, patient for once despite her eagerness. Considering the price of this spell and the reputation of the wizard, she'd expected a bit of a show.
Through it all, the soldier stood at attention: tense, stoic. The chant rose to a high, wailing note, and the wizard ended the spell with a flurry of hands and a brief flash of purple light.
Smoke, the same eerie purple hue as the vanished light, wafted from the wizard's outflung hands. It streamed unerringly to the soldier and surrounded him, head to foot, like a drow-shaped cloud. Immediately the cloud began to move inward, compacting itself against the soldier's body and pressing him on all sides.
The male's eyes bulged as the magic haze tightened around him. Slowly, inexorably, the draw's body began to give under the pressure. Agony twisted his face, and his mouth opened in a shriek of anguish. On and on it went, the shrinking and the screaming.
Shakti leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with twisted pleasure as she watched. Finally the male was small enough to suit her purposes, and she stopped the wizard with a nod. The purple smoke dissipated at once, and the soldier, now small enough to sit on Shakti's hand, slumped to the floor.
"By the way, this may hurt," the mage said casually.
The priestess took in the wizard's sated expression, the perverse delight in his eyes, and saw opportunity written there. Even in vengeance, Shakti was a frugal manager, as canny as any merchant in the city.
Tour fee," she said, handing the wizard coins totaling slightly less than the agreed-upon amount. She nodded pointedly to the tiny drow on the floor, and her single raised eyebrow suggested the wizard had already been amply paid by the pleasure his spell brought him.
The wizard did not argue with her silent logic. He took the offered coins and, with a final satisfied glance at his handiwork, slipped out into the darkness that was Menzoberranzan.
Shakti stooped and picked up the soldier, marveling at how fragile the fighter was at this size. She could crush him merely by tightening her fingers. Only with great effort did the priestess restrain from following the tempting impulse.
Instead she promised herself a treat when this was over a dozen tiny soldiers, acting out a battle to the death for her amusement. How marvelous, how godlike, that would feel! How thrilling, the sense of power! It would be as if she were touching the very shadow of Lloth. Such a thing was more than an amusement, the young priestess rationalized; it would be an act of devotion, and well worth the high price of the wizard's spells.
Shakti tucked the male into the front of her robe. He should be secure enough, clinging to the chain of her bouse insignia and wedged in her ample cleavage. It pleased her, this blatant reminder of the power females wielded over lowly males.
Shakti Hunzrin was not one for subtleties.
The Hunzrin priestess stooped, under the pretense of picking up a dropped package, and surreptitiously placed the miniature fighter near Liriel's front door. As instructed, he sprinted toward the lizard door and pressed it inward.
Shakti took a deep breath and began to walk away. She would circle around and approach the house from the back. If all went well, her tiny spy