Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [136]
Garbed in shirt, breeches, and boots donated by some of his berserker brethren, Fyodor worked steadily beside them. His thoughts, however, were with his wounded friend. When Alfhilda came again into the courtyard to bring a report, Fyodor listened as avidly as any Holgersteader to her words.
"The shaman says Wedigar will live. His wounds, however, are many and grievous, and he will not fight for many days. He asks, therefore, that you accept Fyodor of Rashemen as First Axe in his stead, to lead you in battle until such time as he can resume his post. And there is more," she said, lifting a hand to still the rising murmur of astonishment. "Wedigar names Fyodor as the heir to Holgerstead, according to the law and custom of this village, until the day the girl Dagmar bears him a shape-strang warrior son. I accept the customs of this land and the duties given my husband and lord," she concluded softly. "Can you, his sworn men, do otherwise?"
Her face was regal; her eyes defied them to pity her. The men fell silent before the force of Alfhilda's words and the depth of the proud woman's devotion. Then, as one, they drew their weapons and laid them at Fyodor's feet. In solemn unison, they echoed the pledge spoken by the stalwart Northwoman.
"To the First Axe of Holgerstead, all blades be pledged. In peace and in battle, we will follow."
Fyodor stood, silent and stunned, as his berserker brethren pledged fealty. He could not repudiate the charge that Wedigar had laid upon him, but neither could he bear this burden for long. Although he had not turned on his comrades in his latest and most terrible battle frenzy, the sheer power of it horrified him. He had listened to Wedigar's stories of the shapeshifting warriors, but it had never occurred to him that he himself might take on animal form. It was bad enough that he fought without consent of his will. This utter and complete loss of self was more than he could abide.
The Rashemi knew he would have to travel to Ruathym village the next day and tell Liriel all that had transpired. Unless the drow wizard could cast the rune successfully and soon, Fyodor felt he would have no choice but to seek out Wedigar and beg him to fnish the task he was prepared to do at the water's edge. The young berserker could not take his own life; this was strictly forbidden a warrior of Rashemen. Death was a gift that could come only at the hand of a trusted friend, or, perhaps, a swift and treacherous foe.
When the night's grim work at last was done, Fyodor went to the room given him in the warriors' lodge. He stripped off his borrowed clothing and fell gratefully into bed, too tired to care that the faces of slain multitudes would haunt his dreams.
A soft tap at the window roused him from slumber. Despite his exhaustion, Fyodor responded with a warrior's reflexes. He was on his feet at once, his cudgel in hand. He hauled it high overhead as the shutter swung inward.
A pale head poked into the room, and light blue eyes grew wide as they fixed upon the ready weapon in his hands. Fyodor recognized the shaman's daughter, and as he lowered his cudgel, he heaved a sigh of mingled relief and exasperation.
Dagmar crawled in through the low window and sank at once into a deep curtsy. "You saved my new home, Fyodor of Holgerstead, and no doubt my life as well. For this i thank you."
"i accept your thanks," he murmured with a wry smile, "but could they not have waited until morning?"
The woman rose swiftly to full height and met his eyes. "Not as i would wish to express them," she said frankly. Her meaning was unmistakable. Fyodor fell back a step, and suddenly he remembered he was unclad. He reached for Wedigar's cloak and wrapped it around him.
"The mantle of First Axe suits you well," she said, "but it is not needed just now." With these words she parted the folds of the cloak and laid both palms upon the young man's chest.
Fyodor caught her wrists and put her hands gently away. "You are Wedigar's