Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [132]
It was odd, Nisstyre mused, that Gorlist had fixated hie wrath upon Liriel, rather than on the human fighter who had so grievously wounded him. As he walked, Nisstyre's thoughts lingered long upon that strange human, and on the amulet the human had once wielded and that Liriel now possessed.
He also speculated on the possible connection between two such disparate beings. Obviously they had met, for who else would merit the elaborate ruse Liriel had staged to discourage pursuit into the Underdark? She knew of the human and feared him; that much was clear. But how had they met, and what might transpire if they met again? It was impossible a proud Baenre female might join forces with a human male, and that was well. The wizard did not like the prospect of Liriel's dark-elven magic acting in concert with the huiyan's incredible battle rage. Vhaeraun's followers were too few to risk in battle against such odds!
Throughout the day Liriel and Fyodor took turns keeping watch, taking what little rest they could. The drow trusted her magic circle to keep out prying eyes, but such offered little protection against physical attack. Both of the travelers stayed wary, not only of the dangers that -surrounded them, but of each other.
Since they could not sleep, they talked. Fyodor related one tale after another. Some were heroic in nature, others frankly comic, but all had layers of meaning that intrigued the drow. Equally fascinating to her was a recurring theme: the comparison Fyodor constantly made between "those who think, and those who dream." Drow-except for those declining few who took their rest in the form of elven reverie-did not dream in either their sleeping or waking hours. They thought and plotted and schemed, and then they slept. Liriel herself did not enter reverie, but she wondered if her determination to follow a rune quest qualified as a dream of sorts. If this were so, then perhaps she was also a dreamer at heart. It was a concept utterly foreign to a Menzoberranzan drow, yet it seemed to fit her, and it filled a void she had never before defined.
So did the laughter they shared many times throughout that day. In turn serious and playful, Fyodor viewed the world with wry, dark humor not so very different from her own. His deep bass chuckle joined hers frequently. This was not the drow way, for dark-elven humor was usually a contest, a pleasure taken at the expense of another. She even enjoyed Fyodor's teasing, which was utterly devoid of the malicious intent common to her kin.
Fyodor told her about his land, and the lands he had passed through, and the battles he had seen. Although she recognized in his words a love of travel and adventure to equal her own, Liriel was surprised to note he had little apparent interest in the art of fighting for its own sake.
"If you do not care for swordcraft, how is it you fight so well?" she demanded.
The young man shrugged. "Rashemen is a small land, surrounded by powerful enemies. Every Rashemi learns to fight at an early age."
"So do drow. There is more to you than that," Liriel stated calmly. "I have seen a few humans in Menzoberranzan. Some fight better than others, but all die easily enough. You cling to life with more fortitude than seems natural."
Fyodor sat silently for a long moment, regarding her with a calm, measuring gaze. For a moment Liriel recalled the mind-reading spells of Lloth's clergy, and she wondered whether this human was weighing her in some invisible measure of his own. It seemed unlikely a mere human male, a rough-clad commoner at that, could command such magic, but Liriel was no longer so quick to draw conclusions. When the young fighter nodded and began to speak of matters closely held, she had the strangest feeling she'd passed some sort of test.
The drow listened closely as Fyodor told her of Rashemen's berserker warriors, and the strange malady that severed him from the brotherhood that defended his land. He had been sent away; no longer able to control his battle