Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [141]
She struck the parchment roll from his hand. He shrugged and turned away. "Have it your way. But sooner or later, princess, we will meet again."
"Count on it," Liriel muttered under her breath as the last of the drow hunters slipped from the clearing.
She waited until all were beyond sight and hearing, then dropped to her knees beside Fyodor and began to shake and slap him toward consciousness. All the while, she whispered fervent prayers of gratitude-to any and all drow gods who might be listening-for the fact that Fyodor had stayed obligingly "dead" until the danger was past.
After a few moments of this treatment, the Rashemi groaned and stirred. He sat up, clutching his temples. His clouded eyes settled on Liriel. Memory crept into them, and then puzzlement. "In my land, such things are done differently," he murmured.
Liriel rose abruptly. He reached up and caught her hand. "Why?" he said softly. "I ask of you only this, that you tell me why."
She brushed him aside and began to collect her clothes. "For what it's worth, I just saved your life," she snarled. "Nisstyre and his drow thieves came upon us. They would have killed you, had I not convinced him I'd saved him the trouble."
Fyodor still looked bewildered. "But how could he believe you'd slain me, if he came upon us at such a time?"
"Because it happens." She stopped lacing her tunic and met his gaze squarely. "Such sport is not unknown among my people. One of these games has been named the Spider's Kiss, after the spider who mates and kills."
The man stared at her, clearly aghast. Liriel steeled herself for his response. From what she'd learned of her human companion, she expected revulsion, horror, wrath, perhaps utter rejection.
But he merely shook his head. "Ah, my poor little raven," he said softly. "What a life you must have known!"
What Liriel could not understand, she decided to ignore. "Get up," she said bruskly. "If we hurry, we might still catch them."
Fyodor regarded her strangely. "I know why I must face the drow. But why should you take such a risk?"
They took all my magic! My weapons, spellbooks, even my boots and cloak!"
"But these are mere things," he pointed out.
"Nisstyre has the Windwalker," she said flatly. It was dangerous to tell him this-she had not yet figured out a way to share the amulet's magic-but she saw no other choice. "I saw a dagger-shaped amulet in his hands. Or is this also a 'mere thing,' not worth retrieving?"
Chagrin flickered in Fyodor's eyes, and he reached for his swordbelt. "My apologies, lady wizard! Your need is as great as mine."
They scrambled down the hill after the thieves-Liriel gritting her teeth against the pain of rocks and brambles tearing at her bare feet-and came to an abrupt stop at the water's edge. The drow were already in the river, many yards from shore, poling light wooden crafts toward the swifter water in the river's center. Nisstyre caught sight of them and called a halt.
"Brava, princess!" he called, smiling ruefully. "You tricked me well! Yet by my reckoning, you have lost." He held up a small, dangling object. Moonlight glinted off the dull gold of the ancient dagger. "Until you get this back, I would say the victory is mine!" Nisstyre blew her a kiss, then signaled his drow to pole the boats into the swift-flowing current.
"Get it back," Fyodor echoed softly. He turned incredulous eyes upon his companion. "You had the amulet, all this time! You kept silent, after all I told you. But why?"
Liriel held her ground, but she was finding it inexplicably difficult not to squirm before his accusing gaze. "I had my reasons."
The young man took a long, steadying breath. He reached for her