Elaine Cunningham: The Best of the Realms, Book I

To give herself a bit of time, Liriel called upon herinnate drow magic and dropped a globe of darkness over the magic light ahead ofher. That leveled the field of battle, but it did not steal the human wizard'svisual advantages: there was still plenty of light in the cavern to allow himto see. She had not yet seen him, however.

A suspicion that had taken root in Liriel's mind withthe wizard's first attack blossomed into certainty. He had anticipated herresponses; he seemed to know precisely how she would react. Perhaps he had beentrained to know. Setting her jaw in grim determination, Liriel set out to learnjust how well he'd been prepared.

Her hands flashed through the gestures of a spell thatGromph had taught her-a rare and difficult spell that few drow knew of andfewer still could master. It had taken her the better part of a day to learnit, but the effort was repaid in full.

Standing in the center of the cavern, ringed and partiallyshielded by a circle of stone pillars, stood the human. A stunned expressioncrossed his bearded face as he regarded his own outstretched hands. The reasonfor that was all too apparent: a piwafwi, which should have granted himmagical invisibility, hung in glittering folds over his red-robed shoulders. Hehad not only been prepared, but equipped.

The human wizard recovered quickly from his surprise.He drew in a deep breath and spat in Liriel's direction. A dark bolt shot fromhis mouth, then another. The drow's eyes widened as she beheld the two livevipers wriggling toward her with preternatural speed.

Liriel pulled two small knives from her belt andflicked them toward the nearest snake. Her blades tumbled end-over-end,crossing the viper's neck from either side and neatly slicing the head from itsbody.

The beheaded length of snake writhed and looped forseveral moments, blocking the second viper's path long enough for Liriel to getoff a second volley.

She threw only one knife. The blade plunged into theviper's open mouth and exploded out the back of its head with a bright burst ofgore. Liriel allowed herself a small, grim smile, and she resolved to properlythank the mercenary who'd taught her to throw.

It was a moment's delay, but even that much was toolong. Already the human wizard's hands were moving through the gestures of aspell-a familiar spell.

Liriel tore a tiny dart from her weapons belt and spatupon it. In response to her unspoken command, the other needed spellcomponent-a tiny vial of acid-rose from her open spell bag. She seized it andtossed both items into the air. Her fingers flashed through the casting, and atonce a luminous streak flew to answer the one flashing toward her. The acid boltscollided midway between the combatants, sending a spray of deadly greendroplets sizzling off into the cavern.

The human flung out one hand. Magic darted from eachof his fingertips, spinning out into a giant web as it flew. The weird bluelight of the cavern glimmered along the strands and turned the sticky dropletsclinging to them into gemlike things that rivaled moonstones and pearls. Lirielmarveled at the web's deadly beauty, even as it descended upon her.

A word from the drow conjured a score of giantspiders, each as large as a rothé calf. On eldritch threads, the arachnid armyrose as one toward the cavern's ceiling, capturing the web and taking it withthem.

Liriel planted her feet wide and sent a barrage offireballs toward the persistent human. As she expected, he cast the spell thatwould raise a field of resistance around himself. She recognized the gesturesand the words of power as High Drow. The wizard had indeed been trained fortheir battle, and trained well.

Unfortunately for Liriel, the human had been schooled too well. She'd hoped that her fireball storm would weaken the stone pillarssurrounding the wizard, so that they might crumble and fall upon him after themagic shield's power was spent. But it soon became apparent that he had placedthe magical barrier in front of the stone formation, thereby undoing herstrategy. His shield did not give way before her magic missiles, rather itseemed to absorb their energy. It grew ever brighter with each fireball thatstruck. It was a drow counterspell, but it was one that she herself had neverbeen taught.

Finally Liriel lowered her hands, drained by the sheerpower of the fireballs she had tossed into Xandra's magical web-and theknowledge of the full extent of the Shobalar wizard's treachery.

The human had been trained in the magic and tactics ofUnderdark warfare and moreover, he knew enough about his drow opponent toanticipate and counter her every spell. He had been carefully chosen andprepared-not to test her, but to kill her. Xandra Shobalar did not contentherself with wishing for her student's failure: she had planned for it.

Liriel knew that she had been well and thoroughlybetrayed. Her only hope of defeating the human-and Xandra Shobalar-lay not inher battle magic, but in her wits.

Liriel's nimble mind flashed through thepossibilities. She knew nothing of human magic, but she found it highlysuspicious that the wizard cast only drow spells. He had to have had priortraining in order to master such powerful magic; surely he possessed spells ofhis own. Why did he not use them? As she studied the human, the reason for thatbecame apparent. Her fingers closed around the key that Xandra had given her,and with one sharp tug she tore it from the thin golden chain she'dtied to her belt.

Wrath burned bright in Liriel's golden eyes as shereached for the green vial her father had given her. She pulled off the stopperand dropped the key inside. But before she put the cap back into place, shesnapped off the mithral needle and tossed it aside.

Kill or be killed, Mistress Xandra had said.

So be it.

Tresk Mulander squinted through his glowing shieldtoward the shimmering image of his young drow opponent. So far, all had goneas anticipated. The girl was good, just as Mistress Shobalar had claimed. Sheeven had a few unanticipated skills, such as her deadly aim with a tossedknife.

Well enough. Mulander had a few surprises of his own.

It was true that Xandra Shobalar had raped his mind,plundered his vast mental store of necromantic spells. There was one spell,however, that the drow wizard could not touch: it was stored not in his mind,but in his flesh.

Mulander was a Researcher, always seeking new magicwhere lesser men saw only death. Moldering corpses, even the offal of theslaughterhouse, could be used to create wondrous and fearsome creatures. Buthis strangest and most secret creation was waiting to be unleashed.

In a bit of unliving flesh-a tiny dark mole that clungto his body by the thinnest tendril of skin, he had stored a creature of greatpower. To bring it into existence, he had only to make that final separationfrom his living body.

The wizard worked his thumb and forefinger beneath thegolden collar. The enspelled mole was hidden beneath the magical fetter.

Mulander twisted off the bit of flesh, reveling in thesharp stab of pain-for such was a miniature death, and death was the ultimatesource of his power. He tossed the tiny mole to the cavern floor and watchedwith sharp anticipation as the contained monster took shape.

Many of the Red Wizards could create darkenbeasts,fearsome flying creatures made by twisting the bodies of living animals intomagical atrocities. Mulander had gone one better. The creature that rose upbefore him had been fashioned from his own flesh and his own nightmares.

Mulander had begun with the most dreadful thing heknew-a replica of his long-dead wizard mother-and added to it enormous size andthe deadliest features of every predator that ever had haunted his dreams. Thetattered, batlike wings of an abyssal denizen sprouted from the creature'sshoulders, and a raptor's talons curved from its human hands. The thing hadvampiric fangs, the haunches and hind legs of a dire wolf, and a wyvern'spoisoned tail. Plates of dragonlike armor-in Red Wizard crimson, ofcourse-covered its feminine torso. Only the eyes, the same hard green as hisown, had been left untouched. Those eyes settled upon the drow girl-the hunter whohad become prey-and they filled with a brand of malice that was only toofamiliar to Mulander. An involuntary shiver ran through the powerful wizardwho had summoned the monster, a response engraved upon his soul by his ownwretched, long-gone childhood.