Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [82]
Fyodor dared not answer. If he spoke his mind, the black-bearded man would surely attack him, and the young warrior knew he would meet drawn steel with the cold fury of a berserker rage. Fortunately, the bounty hunter did not press the point.
"Good silver!" the man repeated to the room at large. "Yet here we sit with our hands in our breeches! Why huddle within walls every moondark? It's time to hunt!"
They say drow are hard to kill," put in another man, a lank fellow with a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. He patted the quiver strap. "But I'm thinking they'll die when you shoot 'em, same as any other wild beast."
Tosker shifted uneasily on his stool. It was clear all this talk of battle did not sit well with him. "Better yet, we could find out where they come out, and seal them in."
"And what would you know about that?" snapped the bounty hunter. He leaned forward over the bar to level a glare at Tosker. "You know the farmlands, but when was the last time you stepped foot beyond the fields? There are more eavee in these hills and woodlands than a dog has ticks. A man could search a lifetime, and not find a place where the drow come out!"
Fyodor knew of such a place, but he could not bring himself to speak. In less than two days' march, provided they had the courage to enter the Underdark, these folk could find the cavern were he had encountered tile drow girl. He could guess what would befall the lass should these hard, bitter people find her, and he wanted no part of that.
There was no doubt in Fyodor's mind that the people of Trollbridge had suffered at the hands of dark-elven raiders. He suspected the drow committed almost as many atrocities as tile stories credited them with. But he had been to war, and he knew what horrors mankind was capable of committing. He had not given up on his own deeply flawed race, and he was not about to condemn every member of another.
Young as he was, Fyodor trusted himself to make such decisions on one person at a time. His limited Sight gave him an occasional glimpse into what was or what might be. He did not depend solely upon it, but he had learned he was as good at reading character as many a wiser man. Even so, the dark elven girl was a mystery to him. Her laughter had been purely elven, a magical sound that reminded Fyodor of faerie bells and delighted babies. Treacherous she certainly was, and as deadly in battle as the stories of drow had led him to expect. Yet she was not animated obsidian, or some walking, breathing caricature of evil. Fyodor had been startled by the look on her face when he spoke ofdajemma. For a moment he saw a kindred spirit behind those strange, golden eyes. Even more troubling was the fleeting but certain conviction that this girl could become as powerful-and as important-as the Witches he had been raised to revere. Most disturbing of all was the sense that his destiny was somehow linked with hers. Yet she was drow! Fyodor did not know what dark secrets might be veiled in such beauty; he only knew he could do nothing that might give the dark-elven girl to these vengeful townsfolk.
So Fyodor kept his peace and finished his breakfast amid the morose company of the villagers. When he had eaten his fill, he bought from Saida the things he would need. The innkeeper charged him more than the goods should have cost, but he did not take the time to bargain. As precious as his moments in the sun had been, they were time stolen from his quest.
As soon as he could reasonably slip away, Fyodor left the village of Trollbridge behind and retraced his steps into the forest. He found the cave opening and wriggled his way inside. The sudden darkness closed around him, and he lit the first of his pine-pitch torches. On impulse, he searched around for a rock big enough to seal the opening, and he hoisted it into place. Then, holding his torch high, he began the steep descent back into the Underdark.
Chapter 13
BOTTLED DARKNESS
Slowly, carefully, Liriel tried to pull the tiny