The Stories of Elaine Cunningham
Page 29
Now, if only Mystra would hear…
The warmth of the Lady's presence stole into Liriel's heart, and she knew her prayer had been answered.
A faintly glowing red mist rose from the dirty cobbles. Similar tendrils of mist wafted from the tavern and out the open window, merging with the expanding red cloud.
The murmur of wagers and jests surrounding Liriel gave way to heavy silence. She rose and pushed her way over to the window to watch the answer to her prayer unfold.
The mist began to swirl as if in agitation. Then, almost too quickly for the eye to follow, it took on an unmistakable form. The rainbow-garbed fighter fell away from the still-misty shape of a young red dragon, and he stumbled over the rough cobbles on feet that were suddenly, inexplicably bare.
In the blink of an eye, the mist disappeared. The now-solid creature shook its horned head. A shudder passed down its massive form, making it look oddly like a dog shaking off water. Its eyes focused and took in the grim street, the sleeping harbor beyond. Then it roared, and the brothel patrons dived for cover under tables. Sharlarra sensibly followed suit, leaving Liriel standing alone at the open window.
Most of the revelers heard a dragon's roar and didn't think to inquire further, but Liriel, her mind still opened to the goddess, heard something more: a keening lament for whatever celestial world the creature had been forced to forsake.
For a moment memory burned bright, and Liriel experienced anew the peace and homecoming she'd glimpsed when she had eased Fyodor's spirit into the afterlife.
Tears filled her eyes, and shame her heart. How could she consider, even for a moment, disrupting such bliss?
The resurrected dragon readjusted to life with surprising speed. Its wings snapped open, lifting it from the ground for a short, quick strike. Fanged jaws snatched up the astonished hunter. The dragon wheeled, hopped onto the roof of the low, stone warehouse across the street, and leaped into the sky. It winged off, and for a moment the outline of a dragon and its still-living prey, bare feet kicking wildly, was silhouetted against the setting moon.
The six hunters made a sudden rush for the stables. They mounted their horses and took off in pursuit, loudly promising rescue or vengeance.
Sharlarra was the next to respond. She darted out of the tavern and down a narrow alley. Liriel and Thorn fell in behind, knowing from long experience the star elf's knack for evading pursuers.
They ran until they were certain there would be no pursuit. By then the pre-dawn bustle had begun, and the streets quickly filled with wagons carrying goods to market.
Morning in any city started much the same. Chimneys coughed smoke as hearth fires kindled. The smell of baking bread wafted from a large community oven. Tavern doors began to swing open, and street vendors trundled their carts along the cobblestone. Liriel turned resignedly to Thorn, expecting that the lythari would be ready for her morning meal.
She found her friend regarding her with somber compassion. "So you can do it."
The emphasis was pointed, holding a meaning Liriel could not quite grasp. She made a circular gesture with one hand, inviting further comment.
"Resurrection is a powerful spell, but it always seemed pointless to me. A sentient being restored to life is likely to seek justice by killing his murderer, who is avenged in turn. Death follows death, and so the cycle continues."
"If resurrected people truly wanted to seek justice," Liriel said softly, "they would leave their killers alone and slay instead the people who brought them back."
The lythari nodded. "That is not quite what I meant, but it is truth nonetheless."
Sharlarra, who had been listening to this exchange with uncharacteristic gravity, let out a soft murmur of enlightenment.
"So I guess you got the answer to your prayer," she observed. "And I'm not talking about resurrecting a dragon using dragonhide boots as the required body part. I love the way you think, by the way."
Liriel sent her a quizzical look. "So what are you talking about?"
"It might take me a while to figure out what's going on, but I catch up eventually. We won't be going to Rashemen to visit the resting place of a certain warrior any time soon."
"No." The drow's tone did not invite further discussion.
Sharlarra smile held both sympathy and admiration. "I try to avoid religion whenever possible, but it seems to me most people pray for things to happen without stopping to consider whether or not they should happen. Mystra knew what was in your heart, and answered both questions at once."
"Another truth," Thorn observed, sounding slightly surprised. "Have you any other wisdom to impart?"
The star elf responded with a wink and a smile. "Of course, but you might not see it as such. I think we should leave the city for a few days to do some hunting. I could use a good run, and besides, the taverns here overcook their meat something dreadful."
Thorn responded to the teasing with a derisive sniff, but her eyes brightened at the prospect. "You couldn't run down a sleeping rabbit."
A smile stole across Liriel's face as she listened to her friends' familiar banter. Theirs was a strange sisterhood, perhaps, but it eased the sadness that never quite seemed to go away.
As they walked, Liriel pondered what Sharlarra had said. What if the star elf's whimsical words held truth? What if the gods listened to unspoken prayers? Did they care to know what was hidden in the hearts of their followers? Could they know?
Improbable as it sounded, it would seem so. The life Liriel had known over the past ten years was beyond anything an Underdark drow could have imagined. How could she have prayed for friendship and love, when she understood neither? Perhaps Mystra knew what she most desired, and started to answer these prayers before they took form.
Liriel was profoundly grateful for this, but the thought also left her uneasy. There was much darkness in her soul, and prayers that were best left unspoken and unanswered.
"Lady of Mystery," she whispered, "I will love you as well and serve you as faithfully as any priestess alive. In return, I only ask that you never forget, even for a moment, that I am a drow."
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