Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [127]
With the dark naga out of the fight for a while, Liriel had time to consider Fyodor. He was holding off the quaggoth male, but his sleeves were tatterefl and his arms bled freely. She snatched another bolo from her belt, twirled it briefly, and let it fly toward the quaggoth. The long strap wrapped again and again around the creature's neck, gaining momentum with each turn, and the weights on either end hit the quaggoth's head with a pair of satisfying thunks. Still, the deepbear did not go down. It merely gurgled and tore at the straps. The leather thongs snapped easily, and Liriel knew the death frenzy had come upon the creature.
She threw a second bolo, this one at the quaggoth's ankles. The beast faltered momentarily, then continued, in a mixture of hops and shuffles, to close in on Fyodor. Liriel ran forward and leaped at the creature's back, kicking out with all her might. At last, the quaggoth stumbled and went down.
The drow scrambled up and seized Fyodor's arm- "Come on!" she shouted, tugging him along as she kicked into a run. He tucked his sword away and followed her in a headlong flight from the cave.
But Liriel stopped outside, some hundred paces from the opening. "Wait. I'm going to drop the whole thing," she said grimly.
Fyodor watched as the girl sped through the gestures of a spell. She thrust out both hands, and arcane lighting coursed from her fingers, flashing into the cave's dark mouth again and again. Dust flew; solid rock crackled and split. Finally the cave collapsed in an avalanche of dirt and stone.
The drow lowered her hands, and her whole body seemed to wilt. Fyodor put an arm around her and eased her to the ground. He had seen Rashemen's Witches perform such feats in battle, and he realized powerful magic took its toll on the caster. That so young a girl could command such jnagic was astounding.
"Wychlaran" he murmured with great respect, crouching beside her.
She focused on him with effort, her golden eyes distant and glazed "What?"
"It is a title of honor, given to the Witches who rule our land. Is it so with your people? Do such as you rule in your land?"
The drow flincfiftd. "Not at the moment," she muttered, looking away. "Forget the'terms of honor.' My name is Liriel."
Fyodor repeated the name, taking obvious pleasure in the lyric sound of it. "It suits you well."
"Oh, good," she said dryly. "I was hoping it might."
She glanced at him and caught the glint of humor in his eyes. He did not seem at all offended by her sarcasm or ill at ease in her presence. She noted how young he was-little more than a boy, actually. A boy with the muscles of a dwarf and the scars of a warrior. So many contradictions, these humans. This one's blue eyes were clear and ingenuous, his manner of speaking forthright. In Menzoberranzan, such behavior would be regarded as simpleminded. But Liriel could not be fooled twice. She noted the taut readiness of the young man's muscles, the way his hand lingered near the hilt of the wicked hunting knife tucked into his sash.
Just then a rumble of stone came from the ruined cavern. Horror and disbelief froze Liriel in place for just a moment. A second rumble galvanized her, and she leaped to her feet. "The quaggoth," she said urgently.
Fyodor stood with her, but he regarded her with puzzlement.
"The bear-creature!" she shrieked. "It's coming!"
"But that cannot be," he said. His eyes were wary, as if he were waiting for her to try some dark ploy.
Liriel hissed with frustration and launched herself at the stubborn human. They fell together, rolling away from the cave in a tumble of arms and legs. She thrust him away from her and curled into a ball, covering her head with her arms just as the stone-filled mouth of the cave exploded outward. A spray of dirt and rock arched toward them as the quaggoth burst from the ruined cave.
The deepbear was filthy and battered. Patches of dark red stained its fur, and a jagged spur of bone gleamed through the