Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [80]
This, even more than the death of her hated rival, was Shakti's dearest dream! She could not quite keep the joy from her face. Finally, an acknowledgment of her gifts and talents! She was ambitious as any other drow, but she did not want to rule. She could manage affairs and processes in an orderly, precise fashion that eluded most of her chaotic kin. She could excel at the task Triel put before her.
Shakti bowed low. "All will be done. I should, however, point out that trade with the surface may be disrupted for some time to come. Some of our merchants are Vhaerun worshipers. Any Under-dark magic they carried with them has long since vanished, and so they are no immediate threat, but they must be kept from returning, lest they discover this secret."
"I agree," Matron Triel decreed. "The wisest course would be to seek out and destroy these merchants. This secret must not spread beyond this chamber."
"What of Liriel herself?"
The matron was slow in answering. "Bring her back if you can, kill her if you cannot. Above all else, we must have the Wind-walker. If it effected so profound a change, who knows what else it might do?"
The appearance of a human wizard and his damnable light spell left Gorlist in a foul mood. He stalked back toward the Dragon's Head camp in silence. Brindlor offered no comment, largely because the dark glares Gorlist sent him from time to time warned against any comparison with Merdrith.
Gorlist stopped at the edge of a ravine. Brindlor kept a judicious pace back. The stench of city sewage and rotting bodies rose from the foul water, and the deathsinger had no desire to contribute his mortal remains to this unpleasantness. The warrior selected a single gem from Liriel's bag and tossed the rest into the sludge.
"Understandable," Brindlor observed, "but a shame nonetheless."
The warrior's glare snapped toward him. "Have no fear. I've saved the choicest gem for you."
He reached into a hidden pocket and took out a large, red stone. This he placed in Brindlor's hand. Before the deathsinger could step back, Gorlist gave his wrist a vicious twist, sending him to his knees and forcing his arm behind his back. He reclaimed the gem and lowered it purposefully to the deathsinger's face.
Brindlor struggled as the sharply pointed gem pressed against his forehead. The ruby flared with brilliant red light and began to sear its way into the deathsinger's skull.
Brindlor awoke on his pallet, although he could not recall making his way there. Nor could he guess how much time he had spent in oblivion. In fact, nothing seemed certain except the throbbing, burning pain just above his eyes.
He carefully touched his forehead and felt the hard, flat surface of the ruby embedded there.
The gem responded to his touch with a flare of searing heat. A vivid image leaped into his mind: a drow priestess with an angular, feral face and a voluptuously full mouth. She stared forward intently, her crimson eyes moving as if she scanned a room.
Nisstyre? she inquired. The words sounded in the deathsinger's pain-benumbed mind like the clanging of bells.
"Speak softly or kill me now," Brindlor mumbled.
"Ah, both the deathsinger and the ruby have awakened," Gorlist said in tones rounded with satisfaction. He came into Brindlor's field of vision and seized the deathsinger's tunic. With ungentle hands he hauled Brindlor into a sitting position and propped him against the wall. That accomplished, he squatted down to eye level and stared intently into the death-singer's face.
"Just repeat what she says. She will hear my words well enough."
Nisstyre? the priestess inquired, more emphatically. Still dazed, Brindlor echoed the question.
"He is dead. Gorlist, son of Nisstyre, now commands the Dragon's Hoard."
You would be this Gorlist, I suppose?
Brindlor relayed the words if not the sneering intonation drow females typically employed.
Who is the stone's new host?
Brindlor decided it was time to speak for himself. "I am Brindlor Zidorian