Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [65]
"Liriel."
A strange expression crossed the priestess's face, and her sword lowered just a bit. Sensing an advantage she did not quite understand, Liriel lunged.
The female spun away, light as thistledown, and responded with a lightning-quick riposte. Liriel leaped above the blade, employing her levitation ability to gain height.
A murmur of surprise rippled through the company, quickly taking on angry overtones. Fyodor's heart sank. This simple act, so natural to Liriel, had indelibly marked her as a drow of the Underdark. Few drow could bring their innate magic to the surface, much less retain it for any length of time.
The priestess was not to be outdone. She pointed her sword toward Liriel and flung her free hand toward the moon. A thin stream of light filtered through the trees in a sharply slanting stream and fell upon the drow's bare feet. She slid up the moonbeam toward Liriel, sword leading.
Liriel released her levitation spell, dropping out of range. Her opponent also leaped to the ground and landed in a crouch. She tamped down like a cat and hurled herself at the smaller drow. Liriel fell flat, rolled away. In a quick fluid motion she rose and leaped forward into a deep lunge. The other drow parried.
The moon rose high, and the silent stars watched as the deadly dance continued. Liriel fought as best she could, but the other drow was taller, stronger, more skilled. Some instinct Fyodor did not understand prompted the drow female to keep the pace fast and furious-too fast for Liriel to draw one of her many throwing weapons. Forced to react, she could never make the battle her own.
The numbness in Fyodor's hand gave way to a painful prickling. With effort, he managed to edge it slightly toward his sword. The drow females encircling him leaned in, and the tips of a dozen swords pierced the skin of his neck.
"If you move again, you die," snarled one of the drow.
The threat caught Liriel's ear. She snapped her gaze back toward him, her eyes wide with anguish and denial.
That moment of inattention was all the priestess needed. She lunged, her sword scraping along Liriel's until the hilts met and tangled.
Liriel went for a knife. The other drow seized her wrist. A quick twist disarmed Liriel and sent her weapon flying. A second twist brought her to her knees. Dolor laid the edge of her sword against the vanquished drow's throat.
A throaty growl pierced the expectant hush, and a tall, black-haired elf woman appeared in the clearing. She took in the situation in a glance then threw herself at Liriel's captor.
They rolled together. Liriel scuttled away away from battle and toward her discarded sword. The pale-skinned elf quickly overcame Eilistraee's priestess, though it seemed to Fyodor that the drow didn't put up much of a resistance.
Liriel snatched up her sword and crouched in guard position. "You and me, Thorn," she said, beckoning the elf on with one hand.
The elf woman sniffed and turned back to the priestess. "I can appreciate your concern, Dolor, but this drow is under my watch."
"Your protection?" the priestess said in disbelief.
"My watch," the elf repeated firmly. "If she needs killing-and I'm not convinced that she doesn't-the task falls to me."
CHAPTER EIGHT
unpleasant truths, dangerous lies
Shakti made her way back to House Hunzrin openly and in triumph. She had been honored by Matron Triel Baenre. No matter what Gromph Baenre heard, he would not dare move against her.
Not yet, at least.
A lone priestess paced the courtyard of the Hunzrin compound, glancing toward the gate every few steps. Shakti recognized her mother and smiled.
The guards at the gate did not immediately recognize her. She showed them her house insignia and gave them a pop-eyed glare. They made the connection and ushered her through.
She approached her mother and dropped to one knee. "Matron Kintuere," she said formally.
The older drow studied her with narrowed eyes. "What is the meaning of this long absence? You left the academy-the city!-
without my permission. Now I must learn