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.He had not realized until now, when escape was close at hand, just how oppressive was the Underdark.It stole hope; it shut down the soul.Yet Fyodor remembered the exuberance of the drow girl's laughter, the avid curiosity in her golden eyes.This was someone who lived with intensity and abandon, not some soulless survivor.Yet he could not help but wonder what manner of being could thrive in such a dark and evil place.Fyodor had known hardship and danger all his life, and surviving the last few days had tested his strength and his courage.He could not begin to fathom what the Underdark would do to those who lived out all their days in its depths.The elven girl was beautiful beyond telling, as brave and capable in battle as any maid of Rashemen, but she was clearly, unmistakably drow.What that meant, Fyodor simply did not know.Again the young fighter reminded himself he must keep alert to his surroundings, that this grim and dangerous land was no place for those who dreamed.But as he scrambled up the steep path, the dark lass was with him at every step.Time in Arach-Tinilith traveled at its own pace.Liriel was certain at least two or three days dragged fay during the morning indoctrination session.She silently blessed the countless vigorous, night-long parties she'd attended over the years.Without such training, she would never have developed the stamina needed to stay awake now.Even so, the girl could feel her eyes glazing over as the mistress ranted on and on.Liriel hoped the mistress would mistake her dazed expression for rapt attention.Even the lesson on the lower planes was disappointing.The mistress conjured a viewing portal to Tarterus, which, in Uriel's opinion, was not even an interesting place to visit.It was a place of gray mists and aimless despair.The winding paths didn't seem to go anywhere, and the winged, dog-faced horrors who inhabited the place were fairly banal incarnations of evil.They flew, they shrieked, they tore to shreds any hapless being who ventured into their dark realms.It was all numbingly predictable.Nor did the session provide any entertaining personal drama.Shakti was there, sullen and withdrawn, yet still clearly in the favor of the attending mistress.It would seem her failure had been a private one, Liriel concluded.Apparently Shakti had resisted the urge to run to the authorities with news of the Baenre female's supposed defection.This annoyed Liriel—she had hoped to cause Shakti embarrassment of some sort—but she was also impressed with her enemy's patience and resolve.The Hunzrin priestess was a dogged sort, obviously prepared to stalk her prey for however long it took her to uncover something sufficiently damning.Shakti was shaping up to be a credible foe.As patient as a spider, the Hunzrin priestess would be there watching, always watching, waiting for her enemy to misstep.This knowledge did nothing to brighten Liriel's mood.The afternoon did not promise to be much of an improvement, for once again Liriel had to face the consequences of her unconventional childhood.Weapons training was required of all drow, regardless of class or gender.Liriel was deadly with anything that could be thrown, and she'd always found such expertise to be sufficient to her needs.Unfortunately bolos, slings, and throwing spiders were not in the classic repertoire of a noble female.When draw entered the Academy, they were expected to have proficiency with both the sword and the drow signature weapon: a tiny crossbow used to shoot poisoned darts.The bow was no problem—Liriel could hit whatever she aimed at—but she'd never had much interest in the art of swordcraft.As she was to learn this day, interest was optional; proficiency was mandatory.Her swordmaster was one of the older students at Melee-Magthere.A stocky, rather unattractive male from some lesser family, he seemed alternately annoyed at having to tutor a first-year priestess and delighted to have the chance to lord it over a Baenre female.'Tour wrist is shaking," he scolded her."Just two hours of practice, and you're tiring already!"Liriel dropped her arm so the tip of the heavy sword rested on the floor of the practice hall."I'm not accustomed to holding a sword," she said defensively."That's apparent," the male sneered."I've seen mere children who could fight better.What have you been doing all these years?"She pushed back a damp lock of hair and gave him a hard-edged smile."Ask around.What did you say your name wasr"Dargathan Srune'lett.""House Srune'lett," Liriel mused, looking the stocky fighter up and down."Yes, now that you mention it, I can see the family resemblance."The male scowled, and his face heated to a livid red.The priestesses of Srune'lett were often referred to as the "fat sisters"—not in their hearing, of course—and many members of the clan, both male and female, lacked the lithe, slender form that was the drow ideal.Dargathan, it would seem, was more than a little sensitive about this fact.He raised his sword in a slow, menacing arc."Guard position," he snarled.Liriel faced him squarely and lifted her too-heavy weapon.Before her tired muscles could react, the male lunged in.His sword slashed open her tunic in a diagonal rip that ran from shoulder to waist.She looked down, incredulous, at the silver line of chain mail that showed through.The girl raised murderous eyes to her opponent and held his taunting gaze for a long moment.Then she leaped at him, her sword diving in toward his heart.The male easily batted aside her thrust and danced back with a speed that belied his ungainly physique."Guard position," Dargathan repeated, smugly this time."Work on your stance.You're still exposing too much of your body to your enemy.Remember, left foot back, left shoulder back.Keep the target small."Liriel gritted her teeth and did as she was told.Again and again the male drilled her on stance, walked her through the basic thrusts and parries of single-sword combat.Dargathan might lack the tightly muscled form and lightning-fast brilliance that marked the best drew fighters, but as the hours passed Liriel had to admit he was a credible teacher.The male challenged her every move, demonstrating step by step the skills a fighter would gain through years of laborious study and practice.By the standards of most races, Liriel was a competent fighter.Far more was expected of a drow.As the session went on and on, she slowly redefined her concept of swordcraft and came to realize how little she truly knew of the art.She also ached in every muscle, bone, and sinew."That will do for now," Dargathan said finally
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