weeping, why she no longer seemed to have any difficulty maintaining her ability to levitate. Had he taken
his gaze from that longed-for key, he might have recognized the look of cold triumph in her golden eyes.
He had seen that expression once before, briefly, on the face of his own apprentice.
But pride had blinded him to treachery once before, and had lured him into a mistake that had
condemned him to a sentence of death, a sentence that had been commuted into lifelong slavery.
When the understanding of this finally came, Mulander knew that this mistake would truly be his last.
Chapter Seven: Ritua
l
Liriel Baenre returned to Menzoberranzan after a mere two days, battered and bereft of a bit of her
abundant white hair, but grimly triumphant. Or so everyone assumed. Not until the ceremony was she
required to give formal proof of her kill.
All of House Shobalar gathered in the throne room of Matron Hinkutes'nat for the coming-of-age
ceremony. It was required, but most came anyway for the vicarious pleasure to be had in witnessing the
grisly relics, and to relive the pride and pleasure of their own first kills. Such moments reminded all
present of what it meant to be drow.
At Narbondel, the darkest hour, Liriel stepped forward to claim her place among her people. To
Xandra Shobalar, her Mistress and mentor, she was required to present the ritual proof.
For a long moment, Liriel held the older wizard's gaze, staring into Xandra's crimson orbs with eyes that
were cold and fathomless-full of unspoken power and deadly promise. This, too, was something she had
learned from her dreaded father.
When at last the older wizard's gaze faltered uncertainly, Liriel bowed deeply and reached into the bag
at her waist. She took from it a small green object and held it high for all to see. There were murmurs as
some of the Shobalar wizards recognized the artifact for what it was.
"You surprise me, child," Xandra said coldly. "You who were anticipating a 'gallant hunt,' to trap and
slay your prey with such a device!"
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"A child no more," Liriel corrected her. A strange smile crossed her face, and with a quick, vicious
movement, she threw the vial to the floor.
The crystal shattered, a delicate, tinkling sound that echoed long in the stunned silence that followed-for
standing before the Mistress of Magic, his green eyes glowing with malevolence, was the human wizard.
He was very much alive, and in one hand he held the golden collar that had imprisoned him to Xandra's
will.
With a speed that belied his years, the human conjured a crimson sphere of light and hurled it, not at
Xandra, but at the dark-elven male who stood guard at the rear door. The hapless drow shattered into
bloody shards. Before anyone could draw breath, the bits of elven flesh whirled into the air and began to
take on new and dreadful shapes.
For many moments, everyone in the throne room was busy indeed. The Shobalar wizards and
priestesses hurled spells, and, with arrows and swords, the fighters battled the winged creatures that had
been given birth by their drow comrade's death.
At last, there was only Xandra and the wizard, standing nearly toe to toe and blazing with eldritch light as
their spells attacked and riposted with the speed and verve of a swordmasters' dual. Every eye in the
throne room, drow and slave alike, was fixed upon the deadly battle, and all were lit with vicious
excitement as they awaited the outcome.
Finally, one of the Red Wizard's spells slipped past Xandra's defenses: a daggerlike stab of light sliced
the drow's face from cheekbone to jaw. The flesh parted in a gaping wound, deep enough to reveal the
bones beneath.
Xandra let out a wail that would have shamed a banshee, and with a speed that rivaled that of a weapon
master's deathblow, she lashed back. Pain, desperation, and wrath combined to fuel a blast of magic
powerful enough to send a thunderous, shuddering roar through the stohe chamber.
The human caught the full force of the attack. Like a loosed arrow, his smoking body hurtled up and
back. He hit the far wall near the ceiling and slid down, leaving a rapidly-cooling streak on the stone.
There was a hole the size of a dinner plate where his chest had been, and his sodden robes were a
slightly brighter shade of crimson.
Xandra, too, crumpled, utterly exhausted by the momentous spell battle, and further weakened by the
copious flow of blood that spilled from her torn face. Drow servants rushed to attend her, and her sister
clerics gathered around to murmur spells of healing. Through it all, Liriel stood before the matron's
throne, her face set in a mask of faint, cynical amusement, and her eyes utterly cold.
When at last the Mistress of Magic had recovered enough breath for speech, she hauled herself into a
sitting position and leveled a shaking finger at the young wizard. "How do you dare commit such an
outrage!" she sputtered. "The rite has been profaned!"
"Not so," Liriel said coolly. "You stipulated that the wizard could be slain with any weapon of my choice.
The weapon I chose was you."
A second stunned silence descended upon the chamber. It was broken by a strange sound, one that no
one there had ever heard before or had ever expected to hear:
The Matron Mother Hinkutes'nat Alar Shobalar was laughing.
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It was a rusty sound, to be sure, but there was genuine amusement in the matron's voice and in her
crimson eyes.
"This defies all the laws and customs," Xandra began angrily.
The matron cut her off with an imperious gesture. "The rite of blooding has been fulfilled," Hinkutes'nat
proclaimed, "for its purpose is to make a true drow of a youngling dark elf. Evidence of a devious mind
serves this purpose as well as bloody hands."
Ignoring her glowering daughter, the matron turned to Liriel. "Well done! By all the power of this throne
and this house, I proclaim you a true drow, a worthy daughter of Lloth! Leave your childhood behind,
and rejoice in the dark powers that are our heritage and our delight!"
Liriel accepted the ritual welcome-not with a deep bow this time, but with a slight incline of her head.
She was a child no longer, and as a noble female of House Baenre, she was never to bow to a drow of
lesser rank. Gromph had schooled her in such matters, drilling her until she understood every shade and
nuance of this complicated protocol. He had impressed upon her that this ceremony marked not only her
departure from childhood, but her full acceptance into the Baenre clan. All that stood between her and
both these honors were the ritual words of acceptance that she must speak.
But Liriel was not quite finished. Following an impulse that she only dimly understood, she crossed the
dais to the place where a defeated Xandra sat slumped, submitting glumly to the continued ministrations
of the House Shobalar priestesses.
Liriel stooped so that she was at eye level with her former mentor. Slowly she extended her hand and
gently cupped the older drow's chin-a rare gesture that was occasionally used to comfort or caress a
child, or, more often, to capture the child's attention before dictating terms. It was unlikely that Xandra, in
her pain-ridden state, would have consciously attached this meaning to her former student's gesture, but it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]