Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [63]
"A wizard from the Harkle clan-eccentric bunch, even as human wizards go-conducted a lengthy interview with a wandering drow from your home city. Harkle wrote a treatise, which has been circulated among city leaders and leading wizards."
Liriel smirked. "Which of these things are you?"
"Both, and more besides," Sharlarra returned with mock gravity.
They shared laughter and passed the flask again. "I've had occasion to speak with Qiluй. She told me a few things about the drow."
"How do you know her?"
"Through her sister Laerel Silverhand, the lady-and possibly the sole redeeming virtue-of my former master, the archmage of Waterdeep."
Liriel considered this for a moment. Her gaze shifted to Fyodor, and an expression of hope and contentment lit her remarkable eyes. Sharlarra wondered briefly what message the drow had heard in these words. With a pang of regret, she realized that she lacked the time to find out.
The elf rose to her feet and brushed off her clothes. "If you like, I can summon a gate that will take you to the High Forest and cut days from your travel."
An expression of alarm crossed Liriel's face. She told Sharlarra what had transpired in Skullport. As she listened, the elf pondered the possible ramifications of her involvement in the plight of these two fugitives. But where would she be if Laerel hadn't stood with her when she was ass-deep in sewer snakes?
Sharlarra shrugged off Liriel's warnings. "I'm not afraid of Lolth."
The drow's eyes flamed. "Then you're a fool!"
"I've heard that," she said mildly, "but at least I'm a fool who knows some useful spells."
Liriel pursed her lips, considered. "Perhaps you can help me with this."
She unrolled a tapestry and explained to what it was.
Sharlarra was doubtful but she gave it a try. Several failed spells later, a simplified legend lore spell yielded one important bit of information.
She shook his head. "This is elf magic. Ironically, it's the one school of magic I know nothing about."
"Faerie elves," Liriel said, speaking the words like a curse.
"Never heard of them," Sharlarra said easily. "We've got moon elves-they're usually ready for a good time-gold elves, about whom the less said the better, forest elves and wild elves-the lines there tend to blur a bit-and sea elves. Legend has it that there once were elves known as avariel, winged elves. There might still be some, for all I know. We've even got lythari, elves who can transform into wolves. But faerie elves?"
"That's what we call all elves who are not drow."
"Well, maybe it's time to learn some new insults," she suggested. "You want to get a moon elf's blood boiling, call him a gray elf. To really flick off a gold elf, call him a moon elf."
Liriel took this in. "There really is that much division between the elf races?"
"Stupid, isn't it?"
The drow was quick. Sharlarra saw the flash in her eyes as she caught the point, the thoughtful gleam as she considered it.
"Elf art and magic has been around for a very long time," the thief continued. "I heard that you saw the ruins of Ascarle. The elves who built it were overcome centuries ago, and the magic that lingered was altered to fit a darker purpose. It is much the same in Myth Drannor. The ancient mythal still exists, and there are many who seek ways to twist it."
"My people among them," Liriel added. Sharlarra saw the drow's quick, rueful smile, and knew that this bit of information had clicked into place. Reluctantly, she rose to leave, and with a start she realized that she really didn't part ways with the drow. Already there seemed to be a bond between them, an easy sisterhood that was compelling as it was unexpected.
"There's a hunter after you," she said bluntly. "A tall elf woman who calls herself Thorn. She's a champion of Eilistraee, which means she's got some magic to back up her weapons. Watch yourself."
"I will walk with you for a while," Fyodor offered.
Sharlarra untied her horse and led it back toward the spring. They paused in the clearing. The Rashemi threw back his head and drew in