Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [131]
Contained but not subdued, Liriel fixed a blazing, defiant stare upon her captor. Fyodor returned her gaze with equal intensity. Always he was alert for an attack from this unpredictable drow, but as he studied her face he read not treachery, but wrath.
"What?" he demanded.
"You killed a spider! The punishment for your crime is death," she spat at him.
Fyodor"s face fell slack with astonishment. "You cannot be serious," he sputtered.
"Spiders are sacred to the drow goddess, you ignorant peasant!"
The man considered this with sober interest. He'd been through much of late, and his nerves had tightened nearly to breaking. In his current state of mind, the draw's claim struck him as utterly, delightfully absurd. "Am I to understand," he said slowly, "that you worship bugs?"
Maintaining her dignity under the circumstances was no easy matter, but Liriel was equal to the task. Her small chin lifted imperiously. "Yes, of course. In a manner of speaking."
Fyodor stared at the drow for a moment, then dropped his head to rest in the tangled waves of her hair. His body began to shake. Laughter started in his belly and erupted into a full-throated roar, and he rolled helplessly onto his side, holding his ribs and rocking back and forth.
The moment she was free of his weight, the drow leaped to her feet, a throwing spider ready in her hand. The sight of this weapon sent the man into fresh gales of mirth.
Liriel glared at Fyodor, too baffled by his strange behavior to respond properly to his blasphemy. So she merely stood and waited for the human's incomprehensible laughter to subside.
At length he came to himself, wiping tears from his eyes. "I can return to Rashemen without delay," he said, and his blue eyes twinkled despite the sober set of his face. "For now I have surely heard everything."
Chapter 21
THE WINDWALKER
Nisstyre strode along in the strong morning light, his face protected and hidden by the folds of his hood. Despite the efforts of his drow priest, Nisstyre was not yet strong enough to cast the powerful spells needed for magical travel. He and his fighters were reduced to hiking back to the caverns. It was risky for drow to be about during the day, and all of Nisstyre's dark-elven comrades-particularly Gorlist-grew increasingly restive as the day passed.
When finally they reached the first of the cave-filled hills, the late-afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rocky landscape. The wizard, whose eyes were most accustomed to cruel daylight, was the first to see the four still figures lying in the distance. Nisstyre cursed softly and fervently when he recognized the drow he'd sent in search of Lьriel Baenre.
He hurried over. To his relief, all were still breathing. Even better, the small shaft of a dart protruded from one hunter's shoulder.
Nisstyre stooped, tugged it free, and sniffed at the arrowhead. The distinctive scent of drow sleeping poison-a potion based upon Underdark magic-still clung to the tiny weapon.
"She actually did it!" muttered the wizard.
So pleased was Nisstyre by this discovery that he kicked the hunters awake with less force than he might otherwise have employed. The poison that felled them lasted only a few hours, so it was likely Liriel had not gone far. That is, she could not have gone far on foot Nisstyre prayed Liriel had not traveled from this place by magical means. There were ways to track wizards who trod magic's silver paths, but such were beyond even his skills.
A shout of triumph interrupted his troubled thoughts. Gorlist called him over and pointed to the small, faint mark of an elven boot.
Nisstyre came, but his hands flashed in furious, silent communication as he reminded the young fighter of the importance of stealth. Gorlist nodded in agreement, but he waited through the chastisement with all the patience of a drawn arrow.
Quick to recognize effort wasted, Nisstyre waved the eager drow on to the hunt. He made very certain, however, that he stayed close to Gorlist. Now that he knew the full measure of Liriel's worth,