Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [138]
"I endangered us both today."
"You saved us both," Fyodor corrected her. "With your magic, you could have escaped the village the moment you were discovered. You stopped when you saw me."
Liriel opened her mouth to reply, realized she had nothing to say, and shut it. Her actions, now that she regarded them, seemed rather strange. "Well, what else could I have done? For all I knew, you'd go into a suicidal snit in the midst of all those people!"
"I would have welcomed the rage," he said bitterly, "but it would not come at my command."
"But you tried?" the drow asked, incredulous that he would do such a thing. Self-preservation was the first law of drow society; what he tried to do would almost certainly have meant his death.
Fyodor just shrugged. They sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the gathering chorus of frogs along the riverbank and watching the waxing moon rise above the hills.
After a time he took a tiny velvet bag from his sash and handed it to the drow. "This is a small thing I found in the market."
Curious, Liriel loosened the string and upended the bag. A length of thin, gold chain spilled into her hand, and with it a large jewel that echoed the rich golden color of her eyes. It was an exquisite piece, for although the chain was old, it was of fine elven make, and the stone looked as if it had been cut and polished by a dwarven craftsman. And in the very heart of the jewel was a small, perfect black spider. Liriel caught her breath. Yellow stones were rare in Menzoberranzan; this was an ornament any priestess or matron might envy!
"How is this illusion done?" she demanded, turning the stone this way and that.
"It is no illusion," Fyodor said. "The stone is amber. It is Common in my land-pretty, but of no great price."
"But the spider?"
"It is real, caught in the stone by an accident of nature. Amber was once sap-the lifeblood of trees. At least," he added softly, "that is the answer given by those who think."
She recognized the familiar, rising note in his voice, and added the words to come: "And those who dream?"
Fyodor was silent for a long moment. "A tale is told in my land of a certain warrior. After the rage of battle left him, he wandered, wounded and confused, deeper into the forest than any man should walk. In time he came to an enchanted place and came to rest beneath a mighty tree. He saw in the distance a maiden of shadows and moonlight, more beautiful than any he had glimpsed either waking or in dreams. Now, it is said in my land that a man dies when his life surpasses his dreams. Thus the warrior passed from life with the image of the maiden before him, and the sightless tree wept golden tears. Whether in sorrow or envy, who can say?"
For the first time in her short life, Liriel was at a loss for words. The day's events, the carefully considered gift, and the graceful tribute in Fyodor's story had touched her and left her deeply confused. For a moment she wished with all her heart she were back in Menzoberranzan. Her home city, with all its chaos and conflict, was easier to understand. She knew the rules there and played them well. She had no idea what to do with the conflicting emotions inspired by this strange world.
But Liriel was not one for introspection. She pushed aside the uncomfortable new feelings and took refuge in something she understood.
The dark-elven girl rose lithely to her feet. Her armor, weapons, and clothing tumbled about her, and soon she stood, clad only in moonlight, before her companion.
Fyodor's eyes darkened. At last, thought Liriel with relief, an expression she knew!