Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [138]
They came to each other at the foot of an ancient oak. For once Fyodor did not think of the vast differences between them or of the unresolved emotions that had haunted him since their last, ill-fated encounter. He cared only that this time there was no fear in Liriel's golden eyes. Their union was like nothing he had ever known or imagined-a fierce and joyful thing that in its own way rivaled the abandon of his berserker rage. But this he chose, and with all of his heart.
Much later, Fyodor stroked Liriel's damp curls and watched her as she slept. He himself had no desire to sleep. Never had he felt so alive. For the first time, he allowed himself to admit that he loved this little elfwoman, and he even dared to hope she might return his love.
There was also something about this place that quickened Fyodor's fey senses. He knew nothing of wizardly spells and did not pretend to understand the magic that Rashemen's Witches wielded with such fearful authority, but he could feel the natural magic that lingered in certain glades and springs. Never, not even in the Witches' spelltower that overlooked the enchanted Lake Ashane, had he felt such power in a place. His eyes lifted to the soaring branches of the oak tree overhead, and suddenly he understood why Liriel had chosen to bring him to this place. "Little raven," he said softly. The sleeping drow's eyes flashed open, and she regarded him alertly. "This is Y ggsdrasil's Child, is it not?"
She sat up and regarded him with a brilliant smile. "You can feel it, then. That is a good sign."
Fyodor reached out and took her hands. "This i must know: what happened, to make such a change in you?"
The drow did not need to ask what he meant. "i tried to cast the rune and could not. Until then i'd thought of myself as the keeper of your quest and mine. That lesson was hard enough to learn," she added wryly.
Fyodor nodded, recalling how difficult it had been for the drow to expand her dream to iuclude his. "And now?"
"i realized we must be as one if either quest is to succeed. The rune is not mine only. There are things i need of you," she admitted.
"Whatever you need, the same is yours," he promised softly. "And now that you know this, you are ready to cast the rune?"
Liriel did not miss the note of concern in Fyodor's voice. Something had happened to add urgency to their quest. "Tell me," she demanded.
And so he did, leaving out nothing. The drow listened thoughtfully, her dismay mounting as he described the new turn his curse had taken. She had fought Wedigar in the form of a giant hawk; she did not want to know what sort of destruction a shapeshifting Fyodor could leave behind.
"i will cast the rune," she said with more conviction than she felt. She cast a glance up at the sky; already the sunset colors stained the west. "But i will need time to prepare. If the lore books speak true, a trance will come upon me, and i will carve the rune upon the tree unknowing. Will you stand guard?"
"As long as you need," he agreed.
The drow nodded and began the concentration needed for the casting. She sought the power of the ancient oak, the symbolic embodiment of all life, and sank into it. As she went deeper, the days and nights of her rune quest came back to her in vivid detail, each event and sorrow and joy giving shape to the rune she must use. But try as she might, she could not envision the rune in its entirety.
After a time-perhaps a short time, perhaps not-the drow abandoned this attempt. She did not try to shape the rune, but focused instead on the powers she wished to reclaim, and the need to exorcise the errant magic that kept Fyodor from being the warrior he was meant to be. She chanted her goals silently, and the chant grew in intensity as something dark and compelling slipped into her silent voice. The magic of Rashemen, the magic of the drow.