Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [9]
The dragon turned aside, and her fading eyes held a conspiratorial gleam. "You're on your own now."
Gorlist followed the direction of the dragon's gaze, and his crimson eyes narrowed. A young human male strode swiftly toward Liriel, his black sword naked in his hand and his concern-filled gaze fixed upon the mourning drow.
"He lives," Gorlist muttered flatly, disgusted at himself and Nisstyre for allowing the human to survive. When last they'd seen this man, he had been sprawled beside a dying campfire. The drow mercenaries had seen only what Liriel had wanted them to see: the distraction offered by her unclad body and the lie of the human's "death." The truth had hidden behind the dark elves' fascination with the deadly game-known among drow as the "Spider's Kiss" in honor of the female spider who mated and killed-that Liriel had tacitly invited them to contemplate. Gorlist granted the female's devious little ploy a moment's grudging admiration.
All of Liriel's cunning seemed to have vanished with the dragon's death. She cradled the enormous purple head in her lap, rocking it tenderly, all but oblivious to the crescendo of approaching battle.
The drow warrior sneered. So that was the princess's weakness. If the loss of a dragon could so distract her, imagine her state when her pet human lay dead at her feet!
Anticipation sped Gorlist's steps as he unsheathed his sword and crept, silent and invisible, toward the unwitting pair.
Liriel gently put aside the dragon and rose. She jolted back as she found herself nearly face to face with her companion. Her astonishment turned to rage, lightning quick, and in full drow fury she hurled herself at the man, pushing him toward one of the exit tunnels.
"Get out of here!" she screamed. "Stupid, stubborn… human!"
The young man easily removed himself from Liriel's grasp and turned toward the main tunnel. The clamor of swords announced that battle was almost upon them.
"It is too late," he said in bleak tones. As he spoke, magical energy crackled in a nimbus around him-an aura faintly visible to the magic-sensitive eyes of the watching drow warrior. Before Gorlist could blink, the human began to take on height and power.
The drow caught his breath. Once before he had seen this common-looking young man transform into a mighty berserker warrior. He remembered little of the battle that had followed, for the memory had been seared away by the healing potions that had brought him back from defeat and near-death.
No fighter had ever before bested Gorlist with a sword. For a moment he burned to erase this insult in open combat.
Liriel brandished a familiar gold amulet-the Windwalker, the artifact that Nisstyre had considered so important. She snatched a battered flask from the human's belt, pulled the cork free with her teeth, and tipped the flask slowly over the golden trinket.
Shock froze Gorlist in mid-step. Nisstyre had coveted the Wind-walker for its ability to hold strange and powerful magic. With the help of this treasure, Liriel had brought her undiminished drow powers to the surface, something few drow had been able to accomplish. Could she possibly be willing to throw away this hard-won gain?
It was unbelievable, unconscionable! What drow would willingly surrender such an advantage?
For a moment Gorlist was torn. He yearned to reveal himself, to defeat the human, to gloat at the pain the man's death would inflict upon Liriel. Then the human began to sing in a deep bass voice. Gorlist could not understand the words, but he sensed the power of ritual behind the song.
Any delay would put his main prize at risk. Better to dispatch the male quickly and savor the second, more important kill. Still shrouded with invisibility, Gorlist darted forward, his sword high.
The human's transformation ended with a surge of magical growth, one so sudden and powerful that it sent him stumbling forward. The