Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [130]
"But the gods demand worship!" Liriel protested.
Ulf shrugged. "if a man dealt falsely with you, would you continue to do business with him? Why should we hold mortals to higher standards than gods?"
The drow considered these words of blasphemy. Strangely enough, they made a certain amount of sense. It was true that the Spider Queen demanded high payment for any of her favors. She herself had successfully bargained with Lloth, when in exchange for the Elfmaid's escape, she had pledged herself as priestess.
Liriel knew a shining moment ofhope-and heresy-as she wondered whether it might be possible for her to be free of this pledge.
But no. The Spider Queen had fulfilled her part of the bargain. Liriel recalled that terrifying moment when the drow goddess had snatched the ship from certain deathand carried it into the Abyss. The Elfmaid returned to the mortal world before any but Liriel could know where they had been, but Liriel would never forget the horror and the despair of that place, and the dark seductive power in the evil that ruled it.
"Now rune magic, that's another thing entirely," Ulf continued, breaking into Liriel's troubled thoughts. "Don't try to make a bargain with Yggsdrasil's Child."
"Why not?" the ever-curious girl wanted to know.
"Why bother? What could you possibly promise that would matter to an oak tree?"
The drow stared at the shaman for a long moment before she perceived the glint of laughter in his eyes. "You might look like Hrolf," she groused, "but living with Sanja has thoraughly warped your sense of humor!"
"i will not try to deny that," Ulf agreed as he turned to leave. He paused and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder when she moved to follow him. "Stay here for a time. Might be that the answers you need will come to you while you dance. Not that Northmen hold with such, but i've heard tell elves do some of their best thinking that way."
Liriel nodded absently. There was some truth in his words, and she had seen-and experienced-the healing and power and joy that the followers of Eilistraee found in their moonlit dances. But what she needed now was not the power of a drow goddess, but something even more dangerous and frightening.
She needed the love of a human man.
Fyodor's days in Holgerstead passed swiftly, for he'd found much to occupy himself. He spent many hours working alongside the village swordsmiths, sharpening the edges of blades and axes. Despite his youth, he had known bitter warfare for more than five years, and he could scent a coming conflict as surely as young Bjorn could sniff out a storm. To his mind, the strange events of recent weeks could only be a prelude to battle. War was coming to Ruathym, of that Fyodor was certain, and he would do what he could to help his brothers prepare.
And brothers they were, for the berserkers of Holgerstead had welcomed lhim into their lodge without question or hesitation. To the young warrior, so far from his beloved homeland-indeed, exiled from his homeland for the danger that his out-Of-co~htrol frenzies posed to his comradessuch acceptance was like water to a parched throat. The Ruathen worked side by side with him, lightening their shared tasks with tales of adventure and rowdy songs. Wedigar, in particular, spent much time with the young Rashemi, telling him many stories of the distant time when shapeshifting berserkers ruled Ruathym and terrorized the seas beyond. Fyodor noted the grim resolve underlying Wedigar's words and knew instinctively that the storytelling was the First Axe's way of reclaiming the heritage that had so recently been turned