Daughter of the Drow by Elaine Cunningham Read Free Book Online

Liriel’s delight in adventure or her sense of fun. The female wizard could be remote at times—and downright dull the rest of the time—but Liriel was well accustomed to the limits of friendship.
    “Are we almost there?” Bythnara complained behind her.
    “Soon.”
    “But we’ve been walking for hours, and by now Lloth only knows where we could be! We could die out here, and no one would know the difference!”
    Liriel glanced back over her shoulder and winked at her friend. She did not, however, slow her pace in the slightest. “Correction, Bythnara: you could die out here and not know the difference.”
    The wizard’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat?”
    “Of course not,” Liriel said mildly, turning back to the path ahead. “It’s an insult. When I die, I’ll no doubt realize something has changed. You, on the other hand
    “
    “Perhaps I don’t run through life at your pace, but that is no matter for scorn. ‘Caution is the better part of wisdom.”
    “Bythnara quoted in a tight voice.
    “And the major part of boredom,” Liriel returned lightly.
    “What about you, Syzwick?” she asked the male. Bythnara’s latest consort was the son of a well-to-do perfume merchant. He was obscenely wealthy, highly decorative, spirited yet manageable—all qualities that made him very popular with the females in their set. “Are you having second thoughts, as well?”
    “Of course not,” the male said staunchly, shifting his spear to his other shoulder. “Still, we have been gone quite a long time.”
    “It’ll be worth every moment,” Liriel promised. She stopped suddenly, flinging out a hand to indicate they should do likewise. She pointed downward, and both of her companions gasped.
    The trio stood on the very edge of a riverbank. Several feet below them lay a calm, dark expanse of water. The river ran deep, silent, and very cold. Its waters were said to come from lands of ice far above the Underdark. Although the air here was warmer than the water, a constant cloud of mist floated over the river like a guardian wraith.
    The boat is moored right below us,” Liriel said, pointing down at a long, narrow skiff.
    She leaped out over the dark water. Summoning her natural ability to levitate, she hung in the air for a moment and then floated down to land lightly at the bow of the boat. Her companions followed suit with considerably less gusto. They quickly seated themselves to calm the rocking of the craft. They knew they could not afford to tip over, and not just because of the icy waters.
    For they were hunting pyrimo, small, fierce fish that could strip a full-grown lizard mount to the bone in minutes. These fish were extremely aggressive, known to leap from the water to attack animals that came to drink at the river’s edge. So sharp were their teeth and so powerful their jaws that the first bite was often painless, unnoticed. The pain came quickly enough, though, for any blood in the water summoned dozens of the voracious fish. Hunting them was a dangerous sport, and accidents were not infrequent.
    The first challenge was simply getting this far, for the tunnels that led to the river were seldom traveled and rarely patrolled. The river itself was a hazard—deceptively calm, given to sudden eddies and strong, random undertows. And the fish were dangerous even in death. Their flesh was delicate, tasty—and highly toxic. Carefully prepared, pyrimo were more potent than wine, and any party at which they were served instantly became an event. Fatalities among the diners did occur from time to time, but they were rare. Carefully trained chefs prepared pyrimo knowing their own lives depended on the result.
    But the party was hours away, and before them lay the challenge of the hunt. Liriel placed a booted foot on the bank and shoved hard. Her boat, tethered to the rocky bank by a light mithril chain, glided toward the center of the river. When the craft stilled, Liriel took up her spear and stood in the prow,