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

grasp and skipped over to the far side of his desk. Stooping, she fished a scrap
of discarded parchment from the wastebasket. Then she rose and pulled the quill
from Gromph's prized bottle of everdark ink. Clutching the pen awkwardly in her
tiny fist, she began to draw.
Gromph watched her, intrigued. The child's face was set in fierce concentration
as she painstakingly scrawled some wavering, curly lines onto the parchment.
After a few moments she turned, with a triumphant smile, to the wizard.
He leaned closer, and his eyes flashed incredulously from the parchment to the
spellbook and back. The child had sketched one of the magic symbols! True, it
was crudely drawn, but she had not only seen it, she had remembered it from a
glance. That was a remarkable feat for any elf, at any age.
On a whim, Gromph decided to test the child. He held out his palm and conjured a
small ball that glowed with blue faerie fire. The little drow laughed and
clapped her hands. He tossed the toy across the desk toward her, and she deftly
caught it.
"Throw it back," he said.
The child laughed again, clearly delighted to have found a playmate. Then, with
a lighting-fast change of mood, she drew back her arm for the throw and gritted
her teeth, preparing to give the effort her all.
Gromph silently bid the magic to dissipate. The blue light winked out.
And the next moment, the ball hurtled back toward him, almost too fast for him
to catch. Only now the light was golden.
"The color of my eyes," said the little girl, with a smile that promised
heartache to drow males in years to come.
The archmage noted this, and marked its value. He then turned his attention to
the golden ball in his hand. So, the child could already conjure faerie fire.
This was an innate talent of the fey drow, but seldom did it manifest so early.
What else, he wondered, could she do?
Gromph tossed the ball again, this time lobbing it high up toward the domed
ceiling. Hands outstretched, the precocious child soared up toward the glowing
toy, levitating with an ease that stole the archmage's breath. She snatched the
ball out of the air, and her triumphant laughter echoed through the study as she
floated lightly back to his side. At that moment, Gromph made one of the few
impulsive decisions of his long life.
"What is your name, child?"
"Liriel Vandree," she returned promptly. Gromph shook his head. "No longer. You
must forget House Vandree, for you are none of theirs."
He traced a deft, magical pattern in the air with the fingers of one hand. In
response, a ripple passed through the solid rock of the far wall. Stone flowed
into the room like a wisp of smoke. The dark cloud writhed and twisted, finally
tugging free of the wall. In an instant it compressed and sculpted itself into
an elf-sized golem. The living statue sank to one knee before its drow master
and awaited its orders.
The child's mother will be leaving this house. See to it, and have her family
informed that she met with an unfortunate accident on her way to the Bazaar."
The stone servant rose, bowed again, and then disappeared into the wall as
easily as a wraith might pass through a fog bank. A moment later, the scream of
an elven female came from a nearby chamberЧa scream that began in terror and
ended in a liquid gurgle.
Gromph leaned forward and blew out the candle, for darkness best revealed the