Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [62]
The elf averted her eyes. "Couldn't tell you. Each clan or settlement has its own customs."
"But surely-"
"A band of Thayan slavers caught me when I was a child. I was dragged down to Skullport and sold." She gave a quick shrug. "Hard to leave a childhood you never had."
They sat in silence for a moment. "And now you're a wizard," said Liriel.
"I know a few spells, but it's not my first profession." By way of explanation, Sharlarra held up one of Liriel's throwing spiders.
The drow's eyes rounded with astonishment, then narrowed in menace. The moment quickly passed, and she threw back her head and laughed delightedly. "Well done! I'd like to learn that trick." Sharlarra took a silver flagon from her bag and passed it to the drow. She took an experimental sip, and her amber eyes widened with surprise and pleasure.
"That's qilovestualt! How did you get hold of a drow wine?" The elf spread her hands in modest disclaimer. "You can get anything in Waterdeep, provided you've got deep pockets, light fingers, or disreputable acquaintances. No-keep it," she said when Liriel tried to hand it back.
Instantly the drow's eyes turned wary. Few people, whether they lived beneath the sky or under fathoms of stone, gave something for nothing. Sharlarra smiled a little, understanding the path her thoughts had taken. "Tell me about the drow, and we'll consider the debt paid."
Liriel lifted one snow-colored brow. "What do you want to know?" "Anything. Everything!"
A small smile curved the drow's lips. She handed Sharlarra the flask and motioned for her to take a sip. At a precisely timed moment, she said, "Well, to begin with, that wine is made from fermented mushrooms."
The elf gave a startled cough, a reflex that sent the potent beverage searing down her throat and spurting from her nose. After a few moments spent coughing and sputtering, she wiped her streaming eyes and gave a rueful smile.
"Drow humor?"
"A very tame example of it," Liriel agreed with a grin. "There aren't many ways to have fun in Menzoberranzan. Playing tricks is one of them-the more malicious, the better."
"Things tend toward chaos, do they?"
"Of course! How else would the structure be maintained?"
The elf's brow furrowed. "You maintain structure through chaos?"
"There's another way?"
She chuckled at Liriel's genuine puzzlement. "Tell me how that works."
"On the surface, it's very simple. Everyone and everything has a rank. First comes the Houses-you would probably call them families, or clans. They are ranked according to strength, with the matrons of the most powerful houses ruling on the Council of Eight. Within each House is a constant battle for rank and position. It's the same in the schools, the arenas, the guilds, the markets, even the festhalls."
"I think I'm beginning to understand," Sharlarra said. "There's constant competition within a rather rigid structure. That would account for the fine drow weapons and the fabled power of your magic."
"In part," Liriel agreed, "but bear in mind that there are two ways for a sword smith to rise in rank. One, he can work very hard and improve his craft. Two, he can simply kill the better smith." She smiled again, but this time the smile didn't reach her eyes. "That technique also requires good weapons and powerful magic."
"Good point," the elf said. "Don't take offense, but from what I've heard of the Underdark drow, it's safe to assume that the second method is the one most preferred."
Liriel's smile disappeared completely, and her amber eyes turned grave. "Where drow are concerned, it's never safe to assume anything."
"I'll keep that it mind."
They passed the flask of drow liquor back and forth a few times. Fyodor joined them, took the offered flask, and tossed back a swallow of the bitter brew without a grimace or flinch.
"How do you know anything about the Underdark drow?" Liriel wanted to know.
Sharlarra waved aside Fyodor's offer of his own flask. She had very unpleasant memories of a morning after her first flirtation