Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [146]
Her eyes sparkled with reckless glee. "Let's do it!"
Working furiously, they dragged deadfall wood to the bank and lashed it together into a rude platform. Fyodor tied long loops of rope onto the makeshift craft for handholds, and the two of them waded out with it into the river. They had not gone far before the rushing water threatened to tear the raft from their hands.
The Rashemi shouted for Liriel to get aboard. She scrambled on the back of the raft and wrapped a rope around her hand. She grabbed Fyodor's vest and helped haul him up.
Then they were off, tossed like a leaf on the foam. Fyodor tried vainly to steer, using his cudgel to push away from jagged rocks. Mostly, they just held on as the little raft bounced and spun. The river quickly turned rougher, and the raft lifted and dropped in the turbulent water, like an unbroken horse trying to throw a rider. Above the roar of water Fyodor heard Liriel's wild, exultant laughter. The raft reared up high for a breathless moment, then splashed down hard. Water swept over them in an icy rush.
Fyodor fought with his rope, hauling upward with all his strength to bring the front edge of the raft above the water. If it dipped too low, the raft would flip and they would be tossed into the river's frigid depths. He struggled for several desperate moments before he had the little craft bouncing along again. With a sigh of relief, he glanced back over his shoulder at Liriel.
She was gone.
His heart seemed to leap into his throat. He lunged for her rope and gave it a mighty tug upward, hoping against hope she might have kept her grip. Liriel's head broke the surface of the water, and she gasped in huge gulps of air and foam. Sputtering and coughing, she hauled herself back toward him, hand over hand. As she rolled onto the raft, she batted away Fyodor's hand and pointed. Her eyes were wild, and she shrieked a single word that was lost in the noise of the rapids and the pounding of his heart.
Fyodor turned, and his eyes widened. The river turned shallow ahead, and rocks jutted out of the water like so many grave markers. Beyond was a curtain of spray, and the deep, thunderous roar of falling water.
The wooden raft screeched as it scraped against rock, and then the lashing gave way. Liriel and Fyodor were thrown into a whirlpool of splintering wood and rending water. They tumbled over the shallow riverbed, scraping over gravel and hitting one bruising rock after another. Then, suddenly, they were free, plunging down through the spray-filled air.
They hit the water hard and sank deep. Fyodor fought his way upward, gasped in air, and saw that he was alone-He grabbed his floating cudgel, hooked an arm over it, and plunged his head under to look for Liriel.
The drow floated just beneath the surface of the water, her arms hanging limp and her white hair floating around her in a nimbus. Fyodor snatched a handful of hair and dragged her to the surface. Slowly, painfully, he began to swim to shore.
Because Fyodor*s home village lay on the shore of a small, icy lake, he had learned from childhood the realities of life upon water. He turned the drow onto her back and began to press rhythmically. Finally water poured from her mouth, and she gasped in air. She rose up on her hands and knees and crawled weakly away. Fyodor turned aside, granting the proud elf privacy to rid herself of the water she'd swallowed.
Utterly exhausted and aching in every bone and sinew, the young man sank down on a fallen log. His rest was brief; a revived Liriel ran toward him, her eyes blazing.
The drow leaped at him, sending them both tumbling to the sandy shore. She seized Fyodor's tattered shirt with both hands and dragged him close. His first thought was that the treacherous drow had turned on him again, and this time he could not fault her. He had persuaded her to go onto the impossibly dangerous river, and she had nearly paid with her life. His death, should it come at her hands, would