Elaine Cunningham: The Best of the Realms, Book I

Liriel, however, came to Xandra at the age of five,when she was little more than a babe.

Though most dark elves felt the stirrings of theirinnate, spell-like powers in early childhood, Liriel already possessed aformidable command of her magical heritage, and furthermore, she could alreadyread the written runes of High Drow. Most importantly, she possessed inextraordinary measure the inborn talent needed to make a magic-wielding drowinto a true wizard. In a remarkably short time, the tiny child had learned toread simple spell scrolls, reproduce the arcane marks, and commit fairly complexspells to memory. Xandra was ecstatic. Liriel instantly became her pride, herpet, her indulged and-almost-beloved fosterling.

And thus she had remained, for nearly five years. Atthat point, the child began to pull ahead of the Shobalar's Ascharlexten-agedstudents. Xandra began to worry. When Liriel's abilities surpassed those of themuch-older Bythnara, Xandra's own daughter, Xandra knew resentment. When theBaenre girl began to wield spells that would challenge the abilities of thelesser Shobalar wizards, Xandra's resentment hardened into the cold,competitive hatred a drow female held for her peers. When young Liriel gainedher full height and began to fulfill her childhood promise of extraordinarybeauty to come, Xandra simmered with a deep and very personal envy. And when thelittle wench's growing interest in the male soldiers and servants of HouseShobalar made it apparent that she was entering her Ascharlexten, Xandra saw anopportunity and plotted a dramatic-and final-end to Liriel's education.

It was a fairly typical progression, as drow relationshipswent, made unusual only by the sheer force of Xandra's animosity and thelengths she was willing to go to assuage her burning resentment of GromphBaenre's too-talented daughter.

That, then, was the succession of events that hadbrought Xandra to the streets of Mantol-Derith.

Despite her urgent need, the drow wizard could nothelp marveling at the sights surrounding her. Xandra had never before steppedoutside of the vast cavern that held Menzoberranzan, and the strange and exoticmarketplace bore little resemblance to her home city.

Mantol-Derith was set in a vast natural grotto, acavern that had been carved in distant eons by restless waters, which werestill busily at work. Xandra was accustomed to the staid black depths ofMenzoberranzan's Lake Donigarten, and the deep, silent wells that were the carefullyguarded treasures of each noble household.

In Mantol-Derith, water was a living and vital force.The cavern's dominant sound was that of moving water. Waterfalls splashed downthe grotto walls and fell from chutes from the high-domed cavern ceiling,fountains played softly in the small pools that seemed to be around every turn,and bubbling streams cut through the cavern.

Apart from the gentle splash and gurgle echoing ceaselesslythrough the grotto, the market city was strangely silent. Mantol Derith was nota bustling bazaar, but a place for clandestine deals and shrewd negotiations.

Light was far more plentiful than sound. A few dimlanterns were enough to set the whole cavern asparkle, for the walls wereencrusted with multicolored crystals and gems. Bright stonework was everywhere.The walls containing fountain pools were wondrous mosaics fashioned fromsemiprecious gems, the bridges spanning the stream were carved-or perhapsgrown-from crystal, and the walkways were paved with flat-cut gemstones.Xandra's slippers whispered against a path fashioned from brilliant greenmalachite. It was unnerving, even for a drow accustomed to the splendors ofMenzoberranzan, to tread upon such wealth.

At least the air felt familiar to the subterraneanelf. Moist and heavy, it was dominated by the scent of mushrooms. Groves of giant fungi ringed the central market. Beneath the enormous, fluted caps,merchants had set up small stalls offering a variety of goods. Perfumes, aromaticwoods, spices, and exotic, sweetly scented fruits-which had become afashionable indulgence to the Underdark's wealthy-added piquant notes offragrance to the damp air.

To Xandra, the strangest thing about the marketplacewas the apparent truce that existed among the various warring races who didbusiness there. Mingling among the stalls and passing each other peaceably onthe streets were the stone-colored deep gnomes known as svirfneblin; thedeep-dwelling, dark-hearted duergar; a few unsavory merchants from the WorldAbove; and, of course, the drow. At the four corners of the cavern, vaststorehouses had been excavated to provide storage as well as separate housingfor the four factions: svirfneblin, drow, duergar, and surface dwellers.Xandra's path took her toward the surface dweller cavern.

The sound of rushing water intensified as Xandraneared her goal, for the corner of the marketplace that sold goods from theWorld Above was located near the largest waterfall. The air was especially dampthere, and the stalls and tables were draped with canvas to keep out thepervasive mist.

Moisture pooled on the rocky floor of the grotto and dampenedthe wools and furs worn by the surface dwellers who clustered there-a motleycollection of orcs, ogres, humans, and various combinations thereof.

Xandra grimaced and pulled the folds of her cloak overthe lower half of her face to ward off the fetid odor. She scanned thebustling, smelly crowd for the man who fit the description she'd been given.

Apparently, finding a drow female in such a crowd wasa simpler task than singling out one human. From the depths of one tentlikestructure came a low, melodious voice, calling the wizard properly by her nameand title. Xandra turned toward the sound, startled to hear a drow voice insuch a sordid setting.

But the small, stooped figure that hobbled toward herwas that of a human male.

The man was old by the measure of humankind, withwhite hair, a dark and weathered face, and a slow, faltering tread. He had notgone unscathed by his years-a cane aided his faltering steps, and a dark patchcovered his left eye. Those infirmities did not seem to have hampered hissuccess.

His cane was carved from lustrous wood and ornamentedwith gems and gilding. Over a silvered tunic of fine silk, he wore a capeembroidered with gold thread and fastened with a diamond neck clasp. Gems thesize of laplizard eggs glittered on his fingers and at his throat. His smilewas both welcoming and confident-that of a male who possessed much and was wellsatisfied with his own measure.

"Hadrogh Prohl?" Xandra inquired.

The merchant bowed.

"At your service, Mistress Shobalar," hesaid in fluent but badly accented Low Drow.

"You know of me. Then you must also have someidea what I need."

"But of course, Mistress, and I will be pleasedto assist you in whatever way I can. The presence of so noble a lady honors thisestablishment. Please, step this way," he said, moving aside so that shecould enter the canvas pavilion.

Hadrogh's words were correct, his manner proper almostto the point of being obsequious-which was, of course, the prudent approachwhen dealing with drow females of stature. Even so, something about the merchantstruck Xandra as not quite right. To all appearances, he seemed atease-friendly, relaxed to the point of being casual, even unobservant. In otherwords, a naive and utter fool. How such a man had survived so long in thetunnels of the Underdark was a mystery to the Shobalar wizard. And yet, shenoted that Hadrogh, unlike most humans, did not require the punishing light oftorches and lanterns.

His tent was comfortably dark, but he had no apparentdifficulty negotiating his way through the maze of crates and cages that heldhis wares.

A curious Xandra whispered the words to a simplespell, one that would yield some answers about the man's nature and the magiche might carry. She was not entirely surprised when the seeking magic skitteredoff the merchant. Either he was astute enough to carry something thatdeflected magical inquiry, or he possessed an innate magical immunity thatnearly matched her own.