Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [127]
Liriel sought farther for Eilistraee's own. She sensed the music unique to many distant places. Each had small, hidden groups of drow, their power humming through the moonlight that bound them. Liriel could sense that many were dancing, too full of joy to hold still.
She rose and began to dance to the silent music in perfect accord with the scattered priestesses. Even the candle she'd lit at dusk seemed to move and sway in time.
The candle.
Liriel stopped short and stared at the candle. It had melted into a large formless glob, a strange thing that looked like a lumpy pillar. Then the eyes opened, fastened on her, and shone with malevolent intent.
There was no mistaking its identity. "A yochlol," Liriel breathed, staring into the tiny creature's eyes.
The handmaid began to grow, and the young drow snapped into action. She leaped forward and smashed her fist down on the candle. Half-melted wax splattered. Again she struck the candle and dashed the remaining puddle and the stand that held it to the floor.
The girl sank down onto her chair and covered her face with her hands, oblivious to the burn and the painful-looking blisters already starting to rise.
"I renounce you," she whispered, rocking in her seat. "I am your child no more, your priestess never again."
In the courtyard beyond the open door, the spectral harper watched with narrowed eyes. Her transluscent hand moved suddenly to the place where an ancient amulet had rested over her once-beating heart. The drow now wore the amulet. More than that-she had awakened it!
The Witch of Shadowdale nodded slowly as many small mysteries converged into one. She who had battled evil in so many of its forms, she who should by her very nature be beyond all fear, knew a moment of pure mortal terror.
Shakti Hunzrin worked her way steadily eastward, following the unrelenting zombie hoard and the vision granted her by the ruby embedded in the deathsinger's forehead.
This male intrigued her. He did not protest the pain of contact, did not respond to her mental questions. He simple allowed her to see what he saw. To Shakti, this was a revelation.
The deathsinger's keen eye picked up nuances she would never have noted on her own, and his keen sense of irony was a piquant frame for the grand tale of revenge that Gorlist intended to weave. For days Shakti was puzzled by the image that Brindlor showed her, but she began to suspect his purpose. He would tell a tale, but his current master would not be the hero of it.
Shakti spent many hours on the long trek thinking of ways to use this.
She and the undead finally reached the meeting place, a series of caverns deep below a mountain ridge humans called Running Rocks.
The deathsinger came to meet her, extending his hand to help her down from her lizard. Ordinarily she would have declined with scorn, but the long ride had left her stiff and sore.
"Where is Gorlist?" she demanded.
Brindlor nodded his head toward a side cavern. The warrior stood there, his narrowed eyes taking in the orderly ranks of female zombies.
In turn, Shakti inspected his forces. A score or two of drow stood behind Gorlist. "This is all?" she demanded.
"We had an unfortunate encounter with some berserker warriors," Brindlor said.
The warrior strode forward. "You took your time getting here," he snarled. "We will attack the humans tonight."
"What are their numbers? Their defenses? What magic have they?"
Gorlist laughed scornfully. "They are human. What magic could they have?"
"These human wizards can be surprisingly resourceful," the priestess said coldly.
"I have seen little evidence of this. We had one of the famed Red Wizards with us. He was killed by a bear."