Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [53]
With those words, the wraith faded away. The half-dragon, too, drifted back into the cave. His wild babbling subsided into an odd, angular little dirge sung in a language Gorlist had never heard.
He spun toward the deathsinger, his face hot with fury. "Only four questions, and you waste one of them on something you knew already?"
"Perhaps I was hoping to be proved wrong," Brindlor said with a wry smile, "but given the wizard we seek and the clues Pharx's spirit yielded, our destination is appallingly clear."
It was not at all apparent to Gorlist. For a moment, the drow envied the deathsinger his knowledge of the human world, his ability to take on the appearance of other races and mingle with strange people in strange places. Such things gave knowledge, and with knowledge came advantage.
But Gorlist was a warrior, not a deathsinger. He would fight the battle, not stay to the side and compose songs about deeds done by better drow!
"You were hired by the Dragon's Hoard for your knowledge of the Night Above," he said shortly. "Earn your pay, and speak plainly."
Brindlor swept into a bow. "As you command. Legend claims that the city of Waterdeep was once a dragon stronghold. The bards of many races sing songs referring to this city as the tomb of ancient dragonkind. In this city is a famous wizard's keep fashioned of black stone. Thus, it appears that we're off to Water-deep to besiege Blackstaff Tower and spirit away the red-haired elf who lives within. That feat, once accomplished, should justify my pay."
Blackstaff Tower, repeated Gorlist silently. He was no expert on Waterdeep life, but even he had heard of this tower and the mage who ruled there.
Justify his pay, would it? If Brindlor could find a way to accomplish this marvel, all the treasure the deepdragon's hoard had once held might be accounted a fair reward!
Not far from the cavern where Pharx's headless bones lay in repose, Liriel and Fyodor waded through a rat-filled tunnel, moving carefully on high wooden stilts. The footrest stood nearly three feet from the ground, and the wood below had been greased to deter the rats from climbing. Even so, the ravenous vermin swarmed wildly around them, climbing over each other in their frenzy to reach the living flesh just out of reach.
Liriel grimaced as she picked her way along. "I'm starting to get nostalgic for those sewer tunnels. With a little thought, I'm sure I could find an interesting way to rid the tunnel of these vermin."
Her companion teetered, steadied himself with a hand to the low rock ceiling. "No magic," he reminded her. "Lady Qiluй's command."
"Command?" Liriel repeated. "What gives you the impression that we're under any obligation to follow her orders?"
"This is her territory," he pointed out. "Her servant told us what to expect in this passage and gave us what we would need to pass through."
The drow kicked away a particularly persistent rodent. "For that we should be grateful? Besides, where's the harm? There's a world of difference between clerical magic and a wizard's spells."
"I don't know what harm might come of it," Fyodor admitted, "but in this matter I am content to remain in ignorance."
Liriel didn't press the point. Qiluй's miscast teleportation spell, the resulting intrusion of the evil drow goddess into Eilistraee's stronghold-this was too new and disturbing.
Suddenly the rats scattered, squeaking in terror. Fyodor dropped to the stone floor and drew his sword. Liriel also tossed aside her stilts but called upon her innate drow magic to keep herself aloft. She pulled a pair of knives from hidden sheaths and waited.
There was a whispering rush, and a spider the size of a hunting dog darted toward Fyodor.
Liriel froze in mid throw. For a long moment she hung there, trapped in a nightmare of immobility as the taboo against attacking a spider warred with the need to protect her friend.
Fortunately Fyodor had no such scruples. He swung his black sword and batted aside the stream of venom the monster spat in his direction. He dived aside,