"01 - Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham 1.0.palmdoc.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Starlight And Shadows)

half-understood reasons, did she want to try.
"Bythnara slipped and fell in," she said at last.
Syzwick's forehead furrowed in puzzlement, and he waited for Liriel to
elaborate. When she did not, he accepted the lie with an eager nod.
"Bythnara was reaching for a fish when the boat struck one of those little
eddies," he said, improvising. "We were tossed about in a circle. She lost her
balance and fell. We tried to reach her, but the pyrimo were upon her too
quickly."
He held his breath as he awaited the female's response. Slowly, a grim smile
crept across Liriel's face, and Syzwick let out a sigh of soul-deep relief.
"One more thing."
"Anything!" he swore fervently.
"Planning a deed requires layers upon layers; you know this. But after the fact,
do try to keep things simple, hmm?"
Syzwick was silent for a moment. "Bythnara slipped and fell in," he echoed.
"Good boy," she said dryly. "You should also bear in mind that pyrimo can kill
in more ways than one. I would hate to see one of my dinner guests develop,
shall we say, a fatal case of indigestion."
"I won't say a word," he promised. "Not ever."
Liriel nodded, and her smile hid more than she cared to acknowledge. "In that
case, let's get you and these fish back to Menzoberranzan."
It was turning out to be one of those days, Liriel observed, when nothing seemed
to go according to plan. She'd intended to deliver Syzwick back to the city
along with most of the pyrimo catch, then head back into the Underdark to barter
off the rest of the toxic little goodies. She had several deals to make, some
spells to learn, a tutorial to attend, a few scores to settle, and an
assignation with a certain mercenary to keep—all before that night's festivities
began. In short, it was supposed to have been a fairly typical day.
First came the hunting "accident;" then, just as she was leaving her house—a
miniature castle in Narbondellyn that her father had given her on her
twenty-fifth birthday—the silent alarm on her Baenre ring began to pulse.
Liriel's brow furrowed with annoyance as she dug around for the ring in the
bottom of her bag. She was supposed to wear the insignia at all times, but she
never wore rings. Her long, shapely hands were one of her favorite features, and
she liked to ornament them with elaborate painted tatoos and glittering nail
polish, but she refused to wear rings. She could hurl a knife with the best
tavern cutthroat alive, and, although most drew contended jewelry did not throw
off their aim, Liriel figured she took enough chances without adding that
particular risk.
She found the ring and clenched it in her hand. Yes, there it was again: a
silent, magical alarm, attuned to her senses alone. She'd heard it only once
before, when the ring was given to her a couple dozen years ago. Every noble in
Menzoberrauzan carried a house insignia; House Baenre went one step further and
kept each of its members on a magical leash. At the sound of the alarm, the
Baenre in question was supposed to drop everything and hasten to the family
fortress. Until now, Uriel had been spared such a summons. Muttering
imprecations, she saddled her riding lizard and spurred it toward her ancestral
home.
House Baenre was a sprawling, impressive affair. The natural rock formations
were stunning enough, but over the centuries Baenre matrons had added elaborate