Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [73]
"T'larra kilaj," she murmured, speaking a simple elven cantrip Khelben had taught her, one from archmage's long-ago childhood. Her vision cleared at once.
She stood in a rock-strewn cavern, a rugged place dimly lit by the glowing lichen that clung to the stone walls, and she stared with dawning horror into the equally startled face of a drow warrior.
The drow, a male with close-clipped white hair and a dragon tattoo across one cheek, was crouched over the body of a large lizard, his knife poising in the act of cutting off strips of flesh. The creature was not yet dead. It did not move its stick-straight tail or rigid limbs, but its eyes rolled wildly.
A stray bit of information rose to the surface of Sharlarra's shock-becalmed mind. The Harple treatise claimed that drow preferred to devour living animals, believing that the mixture of pain and terror lent a certain piquancy to the meat.
The dark elf spat out a half-chewed morsel of raw meat and rose to his feet. A sword appeared in his hand so swiftly and smoothly that Sharlarra's eyes didn't perceive the act of drawing it.
The thief shook off the moment of shock and drew her own sword. She did so recognizing the futility of defense, even before she saw the shadows stir and shift. A circle of dark warriors broke free of the endless, underground night and began to tighten around her.
"Zapitta doart!" snapped the drow hunter. Instantly his cohorts' advance stopped. His red-eyed glare flicked to the sapphire still clutched in Sharlarra's hand.
"Are there more?" he demanded, lending the Common speech an accent that was at once harsh and musical.
The elf swiftly followed his line of reasoning. He wanted to know whether someone else might follow.
"More of these gems?" she said, and shrugged. "Three or four, I suppose. This is the only one in my possession, but there were several other uncut stones at the auction and a number of other wizards bidding."
"Give it to me."
Sharlarra's first instinct was to toss the gem to the drow, but she realized that such action could be perceived as an attack. It galled her that it would not be an attack and that she had no other spell prepared. She had stepped into a magical gate, one with a variable destination, without any defensive spell at the ready. It was a mistake no sensible first-year apprentice would make.
One of these days, she really had to start paying closer attention to detail. Demons hid in them, that she knew. Apparently drow did as well.
She stooped slowly, lowering the gem to the stone floor, holding her sword in guard position.
The drow closed the distance between them in a few swift, fluid steps. Before Sharlarra could respond, the dark elf dealt a brutal kick to the ribs that stole her breath and sent her sprawling.
"Lies," sneered the warrior as he stalked a circular path around his victim, "and clumsy lies, at that. Only one gem was missing. Do I think I would fail to learn exactly what price was paid to free the pirate's ship?"
It occurred to Sharlarra that the drow leader was speaking not to her so much as to the other elves. His words were a boast and perhaps also a defense. If there was discord in these ranks, perhaps stoking it might offer her a chance for escape.
She managed to suck in enough air to fuel speech. "Useful knowledge, provided you also know enough about gems to realize when a bit of colored glass had been substituted for a sapphire."
The expression of fury and hatred that crossed the drow's face chilled Sharlarra to the bone. She felt the effort it took the warrior to refrain from glancing at the other dark elves. If he had, he would have seen flashes of malicious pleasure in their crimson eyes and smirks on their dark faces. Even so, Sharlarra knew with cold certainly that she would pay dearly for the leader's embarrassment.
"Stand," the drow commanded.
She did so, ignoring the pain of bruised ribs as best she could. The drow came on, delivering a clattering barrage of jabs and slashes