Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [133]
"That's utter nonsense!" Liriel interrupted heatedly. "After seeing you in battle, I can't think of another fighter I'd rather have at my back!"
The young man sent her a faint, fleeting smile. "You do me honor, little raven. But consider the dangers. I must fight until all who stand against me are gone. This is not always the best course, for me or those who fight with me. But what I fear most," he said softly, "is what I may become before the fighting stops. You saw what I did to the bear-creature. I swear by my soul, I would never have done such a thing had I been able to choose my own course. And if I cannot order my own actions now, how soon before I cannot tell friend from foe?"
Liriel nodded. "I see your problem."
"Then you will also understand the purpose of my dajem-ma. The Witches who rule my land sent me to find an ancient amulet that can store this dangerous power, so I can once again call it forth at will."
Oh, she understood, all right. Liriel's heart suddenly felt leaden beneath the weight of the stolen Windwalker. "You don't say. An amulet that stores magic," she echoed dully.
"That is so. How its magic works, I do not know."
Perhaps not, but she did. It gave Liriel little pleasure to know she understood more about the Windwalker's magic than did Fyodor, perhaps more even than Rashemen's Witches. The amulet was hers now, purchased at staggering cost, and so it must remain. And yet…
"What happens if you never regain the amulet?" she demanded.
He shrugged and poked at their campfire. "It means my life, and whatever aid my sword might have given my troubled land."
Liriel rose abruptly. She walked toward the mouth of the cave, motioning Fyodor back when he would have followed her. After all that had passed between them, she needed a few moments' solitude to put things in order.
The day was nearly spent, but just beyond the cave all was brilliant, golden light. The drow gazed out as long as she could bear it, trying to wean her eyes to the light of surface world. It would be many days before she could walk out beneath the sun in comfort. The question that troubled her now was whether or not she would walk alone.
She could not abandon her own quest, for doing so could well mean her life. Knowing what she did of her people's power-mad greed, Liriel doubted she could ever return to the Underdark, with or without the coveted amulet. Nor could she long survive on the surface without her drow magic. She was a wizard, not a warrior, and although her skills at arms were considerable they were not sufficient to sustain her in this hostile world. No, she could not give up the Windwalker.
Indeed, why should she? Fyodor of Rashemen was a human, a male, and a commoner, and thus by any measure Liriel had ever known, he was unworthy of her notice. Why, then, this unwonted concern for his success? It was a question that puzzled and angered the young drow.
But most of all, what frustrated Liriel was this: that one person could not increase unless another were diminished. It had ever been so, and until now she had never questioned this simple fact of life. Now she railed against harsh reality and searched the winding pathways of her dark-elven mind for another way.
And yet, when at last Liriel returned to the soothing darkness of her shared camp, she did so with the Wind-walker amulet hidden at the very bottom of her travel bag.
At twilight Liriel and Fyodor stole from the cave and retraced their path toward the ruined cavern. As they neared the battlefield, a cloud of interrupted ravens rose from their feasting with loud squawks of displeasure.
Fyodor's face settled in grim lines as he surveyed the day-old carnage. Liriel suspected the Rashemi did not relish this reminder of his latest battle frenzy, but she strode quickly over the rock-strewn ground toward the bodies of their fallen foe. There were answers there that she must have.
She ignored the battered quaggoth remains and knelt beside what was left of the dark naga. The creature's blue scales were dull and