The Best of the Realms, Book I

CHAPTER 3

The door of Bythnara Shobalar's bedchamber thuddedsolidly against the wall, flung open with an exuberance that could herald onlyone person. Bythnara did not look up from the book she was reading, did not somuch as flinch. She was too accustomed to the irrepressible Baenre brat to showmuch of a reaction.

But it was impossible to ignore Liriel for long. Thedark elf maid spun into their shared bedchamber, her arms out wide and her wildmane of white hair flying as she whirled and leaped in an ecstatic littledance.

The older girl eyed her with resignation.

"Who cast a dervish spell on you?" sheinquired in a sour tone.

Liriel abruptly halted her dance and flung her armsaround her chambermate.

"Oh, Bythnara!" Liriel said. "I am toundergo the Blooding ritual at last! Mistress just said."

The Shobalar female disentangled herself as inconspicuouslyas possible as she rose from her chair, and she looked around for some pretensethat would excuse her for wriggling out of the younger girl's impulsiveembrace. On the far side of the room, a pair of woolen trews lay crumpled onthe floor. Liriel tended to treat her clothes with the same blithe disregardthat a snake shows its outgrown and abandoned skin. Bythnara was foreverpicking up after the untidy little wench. Doing so then allowed her to put asmuch space as possible between herself and the unwanted affection lavished uponher by her young rival.

"And high time it is," the Shobalarwizard-in-training said bluntly as she smoothed and folded the discardedgarment. "You will soon be eighteen, and you are already well into yourAscharlexten Decade. I've often wondered why my Mistress Mother has waited solong."

"As have I," Liriel said frankly. "ButXandra explained it to me. She said that she could not initiate the rite until she had foundexactly the right quarry, one that would truly test my skills. Think of it! Agrand and gallant hunt-an adventure in the wild tunnels of the DarkDominion!" she exulted, flinging herself down on her cot with a gusty sighof satisfaction.

"Mistress Xandra," Bythnara coldly correctedher.

She knew, as did everyone in House Shobalar, thatLiriel Baenre was to be treated with utmost respect, but even the archmage'sdaughter was required to observe certain protocols.

"Mistress Xandra," the girl echoedobligingly. She rolled over onto her stomach and propped up her chin in bothhands. "I wonder what I shall hunt," she said in a dreamy tone. "Thereare so many wondrous and fearsome beasts roaming the World Above. I have beenreading about them," she confided with a grin. "Maybe a great wildcat with a black-and-gold striped pelt, or a huge brown bear-which is ratherlike a four-legged quaggoth. Or even a fire-belching dragon!" sheconcluded, giggling a bit at her own absurdity.

"We can only hope," Bythnara muttered.

If Liriel heard her chambermate's bitter comment, shegave no indication.

"Whatever the quarry, I shall meet it with equalforce," she vowed. "I will use weapons that correspond to its naturalattacks and defenses: dagger against claw, arrow against stooping attack. Nofireballs, no venom clouds, no transforming it into an ebony statue. ."

"You know that spell?" the Shobalardemanded, her face and voice utterly aghast.

It was a casting that required considerable power, anirreversible transformation, and a favorite punitive tool of the Baenrepriestesses who ruled in the Academy. The possibility that the impulsive childcould wield such a spell was appalling, considering that Bythnara had insultedthe Baenre girl twice since she'd entered the room. By the standards ofMenzoberranzan, that was more than ample justification for such retribution.

But Liriel merely tossed her chambermate a mischievousgrin. The older wizard sniffed and turned away. She had known Liriel for twelveyears, but she had never reconciled herself to the girl's good-naturedteasing.

Liriel loved to laugh, and she loved to have otherslaugh with her. Since few drow shared her particular brand of humor, she hadrecently taken to playing little pranks for the amusement of the otherstudents.

Bythnara had never been the recipient of those, butneither did she find them particularly enjoyable. Life was a grim, seriousbusiness, and magic an Art to be mastered, not a child's plaything. The factthat that particular "child" possessed a command of magic greaterthan her own rankled deeply with the proud female.

Nor was that the only thing stoking Bythnara's jealouslyMistress Xandra, Bythnara's own mother, had always showed special favor to theBaenre girl-favor that often bordered on affection. That, Bythnara would neverforget, and never forgive. Neither was she pleased by the fact that her ownmale companions had a hard time remembering their place and their purpose wheneverthe golden-eyed wench was about.

Bythnara was twenty-eight and in ripe early adolescence.Liriel was in many ways still a child. Even so, there was more than enoughpromise in the girl's face and form to draw masculine eyes. Rumor had it thatLiriel was beginning to return those attentions, and that she reveled in suchsport with her characteristic, playful abandon. That, too, Bythnara disapprovedof, though exactly why that was, she could not say.

"Will you come to my coming-of-ageceremony?" Liriel asked with a touch of wistfulness in her voice."After the ritual, I mean."

"Of course. It is required."

Bythnara's curt remark finally earned a response-analmost imperceptible wince. But Liriel recovered quickly, so quickly that theolder female barely had time to enjoy her victory. A shuttered expression cameover the Baenre girl's face, and she lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug.

"So it is," she said evenly. "I faintlyremember that I was required to attend yours, several years back. What was yourquarry?"

"A goblin," Bythnara said stiffly.

It was a sore spot with her, for goblins were as arule accounted neither intelligent nor particularly dangerous. She haddispatched the creature easily enough with a spell of holding and a sharpknife. Her own Blooding had been mere routine, not the grand adventure of whichLiriel dreamed.

Grand adventure, indeed! The girl was impossiblynaive!

Or was she? With a sudden jolt, it occurred to Bythnarathat Liriel's last question had hardly been ingenuous. Few verbal thrustscould have hit the mark more squarely. Her eyes settled on the girl andnarrowed dangerously.

Again Liriel shrugged.

"What was it that Matron Hinkutes'nat said inchapel a darkcycle or two past? 'The drow culture is one of constant change,and so we must either adapt or die.' "

Her tone was light, and there was nothing in her faceor her words that could give Bythnara reasonable cause for complaint. YetLiriel was clearly, subtly, giving notice that she had long been aware ofBythnara's verbal thrusts, and that henceforth she would not take them insilence, but parry and riposte.

It was well done; Bythnara had to admit that. Shefound herself at a complete and disconcerting lack for words.

A tentative knock on the open door relieved Bythnaraof the need to respond.

She turned to face one of her mother's servants, ahighly decorative young drow male discarded by some lesser house. Inperfunctory fashion, he offered the required bow to the Shobalar female, andturned his attention upon the younger girl.

"You are wanted, Princess," the male said,addressing Liriel by the proper formal title for a young female of the FirstHouse.

Later, the girl would no doubt be accorded more prestigioustitles: Archmage, if Xandra had her way, or Mistress of Sorcere, or Mistress ofthe Academy, or even-Lolth forbid-Matron Mother. Princess was a title of birth,not accomplishment. Even so, Bythnara begrudged it. She hustled the royal bratand the handsome messenger out of her room with scant ceremony and closed thedoor firmly behind them.

Liriel's shoulders rose and fell in a long sigh. Theservant, who was about her own age and who knew Bythnara far better than hecared to, cast her a look that bordered on sympathy.

"What does Xandra want now?" she asked asthey made their way toward the apartment that housed the mistress of magic.

The servant cast furtive glances up and down the corridorsbefore answering, "The archmage sent for you. His servant awaits you inMistress Xandra's chambers even now."

Liriel stopped in mid stride.

"My father?"

"Gromph Baenre, Archmage of Menzoberranzan,"the male affirmed.

Once again Liriel reached for "the mask"-herprivate term for the expression she had practiced and perfected in front of herlooking glass: the insouciant little smile, eyes that expressed nothing but abit of cynical amusement. Yet behind her flippant facade, the girl's mindwhirled with a thousand questions.

Drow life was full of complexities and contradictions,but in Liriel's experience, nothing was more complicated than her feelings forher drow sire. She revered and resented and adored and feared and hated andlonged for her father-all at once, and all from a distance. And as far asLiriel could tell, every one of those emotions was entirely unrequited. Thegreat Archmage of Menzoberranzan was an utter mystery to her.

Gromph Baenre was without question her true sire, butdrow lineage was traced through the females. The archmage had gone againstcustom and adopted his daughter into the Baenre clan-at great personal costto Liriel-and promptly abandoned her to the Shobalars' care.

What could Gromph Baenre want of her? It had beenyears since she had heard from him, though his servants regularly saw that theShobalars were recompensed for her keep and training and ensured that she hadpocket coin to spend at her infrequent outings to the Bazaar. In Liriel'sopinion, the personal summons could only mean trouble. Yet what had she done?Or, more to the point, which of her escapades had been discovered and reported?

Then a new possibility occurred to her, one so full ofhope and promise that "the mask" dissipated like spent faerie fire. Abubble of joyous laughter burst from the dark elf maid, and she threw her armsaround the astonished-and highly gratified-young male.

After the Blooding, she would be accounted a truedrow! Perhaps then Gromph would deem her worthy of his attention, perhaps eventake over her training himself. Surely he had heard of her progress, and knewthat there was little more for her to learn in House Shobalar.

That must be it! concluded Liriel as she wriggled outof the servant's increasingly enthusiastic embrace.

She set out at a brisk pace for Xandra's chambers,spurred on by the rarest of all drow emotions: hope.

No dark elf male took much notice of his children, butsoon Liriel would be a child no more, and ready for the next level of magicaltraining. Usually that would involve the Academy, but she was far too young forthat. Surely Gromph had devised another plan for her future.

Liriel's shining anticipation dimmed at the sight ofher father's messenger: the elf-sized stone golem was only too familiar. Themagical construct was part of her earliest and most terrible memory. Yet eventhe appearance of the deadly messenger could not banish entirely her joy, orsilence the delightful possibility that sang through her heart: perhaps herfather wanted her at last!

At Xandra's insistence, a full octet patrol ofspider-mounted soldiers escorted Liriel and the golem to the fashionableNarbondellyn district, where Gromph Baenrekept a private home. For once, Lirielrode past the Darkspires without marveling at the fanglike formations of blackrock. For once, she did not notice the handsome captain of the guard, whostood watch at the gates of the Horlbar compound. She even passed by theelegant little shops that sold perfumes, whisper-soft silk garments, magicalfigurines, and other fascinating wares without sparing them a single longingglance.

What were such things, compared with even a moment ofher father's time?

As eager as she was, however, Liriel had to steel herselffor the first glimpse of Gromph Baenre's mansion. She had been born there, andhad spent the first five years of her life in the luxurious apartments of hermother, Sosdrielle Vandree, who had served for many years as Gromph's mistress.It had been a cozy world, just Liriel and her mother and the few servants whotended them. Liriel had since come to understand that Sosdrielle-who had beena rare beauty, but who lacked both the magical talent and the deadly ambitionneeded to excel in Menzoberranzan-had doted upon her child and had made Lirielthe beloved center of her world. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, Lirielhad not been able to bring herself to look upon her first home since the dayshe left it, more than twelve years before.

Carved from the heart of an enormous stalactite, thearchmage's private home was reputedly warded about with more magic than anyother two wizards in the city could muster between them. Liriel slid down fromher spider mount-a distinctively Shobalar means of conveyance-and followed thesilent and deadly golem toward the black structure.

The stone golem touched one of the moving runes thatwrithed and shifted on the dark wall, and a door appeared. Gesturing for Lirielto follow, the golem disappeared inside.

The young drow took a deep breath and fell in behindthe servant. She remembered, vaguely, the way to Gromph Baenre's private study.There she had first met her father, and had first discovered her talent for andlove of wizardry. It seemed fitting that she begin the next phase of her lifethere, as well.

Gromph Baenre looked up when she entered his study.His amber eyes, so like her own, regarded her coolly.

"Sit down," he invited her, gesturing withone elegant, long-fingered hand toward a chair. "We have much to discuss."

Liriel quietly did as she was told. The archmage didnot speak at once, and for a long moment she was content merely to study him.He looked exactly as she remembered: austere yet handsome, a drow male in hismagnificent prime. That was not surprising, considering how slowly dark elvesaged, yet Gromph was reputed to have witnessed the birth and death of sevencenturies.

Protocol demanded that Liriel wait for the high-rankingwizard to speak first, but after several silent moments she could bear no more.

"I am to undergo the Blooding," sheannounced with pride.

The archmage nodded somberly and said, "As I haveheard. You will remain here in my home until the time for the ritual, for thereis much to learn and little time for preparation."

Liriel's brows plunged into a frown of puzzlement. Hadshe not been doing just that for the past twelve years? Had she not gainedbasic but powerful skills in battle magic and drow weaponry? She had littleinterest in the sword, but no one she knew could out-shoot her with the handcrossbow, or best her with thrown weapons. Surely she knew enough to emergefrom the ritual with victorious and blooded hands.

A small, hard smile touched the archmage's lips whenhe said, "There is much more to being a drow than engaging in crudeslaughter. I am not entirely certain, however, that Xandra Shobalar remembersthis basic fact."

These cryptic words troubled Liriel.

"Sir?"

Gromph did not bother to explain himself. He reachedinto a compartment under his desk and took from it a small, green bottle.

"This is a vial of holding," he said."It will capture and store any creature that the Shobalar Mistress pitsagainst you."

"But the hunt!" Liriel protested.

The archmage's smile did not waver, but his eyesturned cold.

"Do not be a fool," he said softly. "Ifthe hunt turns against you and your quarry gains the upper hand, you willcapture it in this vial. You can spill its blood easily enough, and thusfulfill the letter of the ritual's requirements. Look…."

He twisted off the stopper and showed her the glisteningmithral needle that thrust down from it.

"Cap the vial, and you have slain your prey. Allyou need do is smash the vial, and the dead creature will lie before you, adagger-the transmuted needle, of course- thrust through its heart or into itseye. You will carry an identical dagger to the opening ceremony, of course, toforestall any possible inquiries into the weapon that caused the creature'sdeath. This dagger is magical and will dissipate when the mithral needle isblooded, to remove the possibility that it might be found discarded along yourpath. If pride is your concern, no one need know the manner of your quarry'sdeath."

Feeling oddly betrayed, Liriel took the glass bottleand pressed the stopper firmly back into place. In truth, she found theunsporting solution appalling. But since the vial was a gift from her father,she searched her mind for something positive to say.

"Mistress Xandra will be fascinated bythis," she offered in a dull voice, knowing well the Shobalar wizard'sfondness for magical devices of any kind.

"She must not know of the vial, or of any of thespells you will learn in this place. Nor does she need to hear of your other,more dubious skills. Please, save that look of wide-eyed innocence to beguilethe House guards," he said dryly. "I know only too well the mercenarycaptain who boasts he taught a princess to throw knives as well as any taverncutthroat alive. How you managed to slip past the guard spiders MatronHinkutes'nat posts at every turn, and find your way through the city to thatparticular tavern, is beyond my imagination."

Liriel grinned wickedly and said, "I stumbledupon the tavern that first time, and Captain Jarlaxle knew me by my Housemedallion and indulged my wish to learn … to learn many things. But it istrue that I have often fooled the spiders. Shall I tell you how?"

"Perhaps later. I must have your blood oath thatthis vial will be kept from Xandra's eyes."

"But why?" she persisted, truly perplexed bythis demand.

Gromph studied his daughter for a long time.

"How many young drow die during theBlooding?" he asked at last.

"A few," Liriel admitted. "Surfaceraids often go wrong-the humans or faerie elves sometimes learn of the attackin time to prepare, or they fight better than expected, or in larger numbers.And it is likely that from time to time a drow dagger slips between ayoungling's ribs. In those rites that are taken Below, sometimes initiatesbecome lost in the wild Underdark, or stumble upon some monster that is beyondtheir skill with magic and weapons."

"And sometimes, they are slain by the very thingsthey hunt," Gromph said.

That was a given. The girl shrugged, as if to ask whatthe point was.

"I do not desire to see any harm come to you.Xandra Shobalar may not share my good wishes," he said bluntly.

Liriel suddenly went cold. Many emotions simmered anddanced deep within her, waiting for her to reach in and pluck one free-yet shetruly felt none of them. Her tumultuous responses remained just beyond hertouch, for she had no idea which one to choose.

How could Gromph suggest that Xandra Shobalar couldbetray her? The mistress of magic had raised her, lavishing more attention andindulgent favor upon her than most drow younglings ever dreamed of receiving.Apart from her own mother-who had given Liriel not only life, but a wonderfulfive-year cocoon of warmth, security, and even love-Liriel believed that Xandrawas theperson most responsible for making her what she was. And that was saying agreat deal. Though Liriel could not remember her mother's face, she understoodthat she had received from Sosdrielle Vandree something that was rare among herkindred, something that nothing and no one could take from her. Not evenGromph Baenre, who had ordered her beloved mother's death twelve years before.

Liriel stared at her father, too dumbfounded torealize that her churning thoughts were written clearly in her eyes.

"You do not trust me," the archmage statedin a voice absolutely devoid of emotion. "This is good-I was beginning todespair of your judgment. It may be that you will survive this ritual, afterall. Now listen carefully as I describe the steps needed to activate the vialof holding."