Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [51]
A dragon's eyes
Merdrith the Mad, formerly a zulkir among Thay's Red Wizards, pensively scratched his beak of a nose and studied the little silk bag he held at arm's length. Unlike Brindlor, he did not touch the wizard's sigil embroidered on it.
Gorlist sent a quick glance toward the deathsinger. The drow lounged elegantly against the opposite wall, his arms and ankles crossed and his expression politely interested. At his side was one of the young warriors who seemed to shadow the handsome male's every step.
As a general rule, followers of Vhaerun preferred the company of other males. Brindlor wanted nothing to do with females under any circumstances. That suited Gorlist well enough. Brindlor suited him well enough, too-except, of course, for his subtle but stubborn disapproval of the human wizard in their midst.
Gorlist had his reasons for including Merdrith in the band. The wizard might appear to be as dry and wizened as a treant, but the flame of his hatred burned bright. Gorlist was not inclined to trust anyone of any race, but in his opinion obsession granted a singularity of purpose and purity of heart. Merdrith's hatred was one that Gorlist understood well.
"This is the sigil of Laerel Silverhand," the wizard announced. "Haven't seen it for a good fifty years. Not that the past fifty years have been particularly good, mind you."
Gorlist considered these remarks in the light of the description that Stalker Lemming had given of the mysterious lady wizard. Humans aged appallingly in fifty years, yet in the dwarflike human's eyes this Laerel had been young and lovely. He voiced this observation.
"Laerel Silverhand will be as beautiful as she wants to be when your whelp's whelps have turned to dust," the wizard said flatly. "Wizards of great power such as myself find ways to cheat death for a few decades. Laerel has seen centuries come and go. Most likely anyone attempting to follow her path will run into magical traps that could hold a lich prisoner throughout this eternity and the next. You don't want to meddle with her. Mystra's mounds, / don't want to meddle with her!" He tossed the bag to the table, where it landed with the solid chink of many coins.
"I want that gem," Gorlist said resolutely. "Find another way."
The wizard thought this over, stroking the thin, artificially crimson braid that passed for a beard. "These gems were part of dragon's hoard, yes? A dragon never forgets treasure. Scry for the treasure through a dragon's eyes."
"Through a dragon's eyes," Gorlist repeated, in the manner of one who prompts further response.
"Precisely. Ask the dragon," Merdrith said slowly, as if explaining something patently obvious to a rather slow child.
"The dragon is dead," Gorlist returned in kind.
The wizard's aged face crinkled with impatience. "Your point would be?"
Brindlor pushed away from the wall. "I believe I see where this is going. Come along, Falail, and bring a dozen stout lads with you."
The young warrior gave the deathsinger a salute and wheeled off.
"Congratulations on your promotion to commander," Gorlist said with cutting sarcasm.
The deathsinger merely smiled. "I'll try to be worthy of the honor. Shall we?"
Gorlist bit back a retort and followed the deathsinger out of the cavern that served as the wizard's study. His father, the wizard Nisstyre, had never employed a deathsinger and had nothing but scorn for those who did, but Nisstyre, for all his claims about building a new drow kingdom, had been far too timid and furtive. He, Gorlist, would wave Liriel Baenre's scalp, both literally and metaphorically, and let the enslaved drow males know that no female was sacred, none beyond the reach of their swords or the power of their Masked God. For that, he needed Brindlor.
There was a limit, however, to what he would accept from Brindlor. The deathsinger had swiftly found comrades among Gorlist's ranks. As long as he did not attempt to build a more far-reaching power base, all would be well. The moment any drow hinted that his loyalty had shifted, however, would be the last moment of Brindlor's