Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [171]
Liriel's anguished cry echoed through the haunted ruins. She, too, had heard the Ruathen stories of the hamfarir, and she knew only too well what this meant. Fyodor was gone-perhaps slain by some coward as his abandoned body lay defenseless in battle, or perhaps his wandering spirit had not been able to find its way back in time. Always Liriel had known that her journey would not come without great cost, but this was the one price she had not been prepared to pay.
His task completed, his heart at peace, Fyodor"s spirit left the drow in safety and soared back to the ship where lay his body. For a moment he floated above the Holgerstead ship, aware of the battle raging below and the triumph of shapeshifting might that had come over his berserker brethren. But he could do nothing to join them. The immense effort of the hamfarir had taken its toll.
The young Rashemi felt a call that was somehow familiar, a pull too powerful to be denied. He knew a moment's regret for the grieving drow, but then he was beyond all such considerations. Fyodor yielded himself to the summons, and at long last the wandering warrior felt his spirit unite with the magic that was both his hentage and his curse.
Chapter 26
Song of The skalds
in the aftermath of battle, the surviving Ruathen began to understand the extent-and the cost of their victory. The forces that had been arrayed against them had been turned aside, the invaders either destroyed or forced to flee. And the shape shifting magic had returned in force to the fighters of Holgerstead. The ancient glories of their ancestors seemed once again within reach. This gave hope to the survivors even as they went about the grim business of tallying their losses and mourning their dead. The songs of the skalds would be long indeed, but at least they would tell tales of heroism and glory.
As the drow had expected, Fyodor was among those brought lifeless from the ships. For reasons she could not understand, Liriel could not bear to consign him to the funeral pyre. Taking his cold hands in hers, she summoned a gate that would take them both to the foot ofY ggsdrasil's Child.
As she knelt beside the body of her dearest friend, memories ofher drow upbringing crept into Liriel's mind, bringing with them a temptation beyond any she had ever known. It was her habit to yield promptly to impulse, but the enormity of this thought stole her breath: a powerful cleric of any faith could resurrect the dead. She could petition Lloth for one last clerical spell-0ne powerful enough to restore Fyodor to her!
And why not? she asked herself passionately. What was the evil ofLloth, compared to the good that was left undone by this man's having been snatched from life too soon? All that Fyodor had done for Ruathym, all he might do for his beloved homeland-did this not outweigh the cost of one more prayer to the goddess of the drow?
Yet even as she formed the thought, Liriel knew what Fyodor would have wanted her to do. He had died to snatch her from Lloth's hand; she would not dishonor that, or him. And to her surprise, Liriel realized the pledge she herself had made possessed a value of its own.
"Honor," she said softly, understanding the legacy Fyodor had left her. This she had, and her memories, and the Windwalker. She would keep the amulet as a tangible reminder of her promise to never again seek power through evil, no matter how worthy the end.
The Windwalker still hung about Fyodor's neck. Liriel gently undid the chain and clasped the amulet in one hand. To her astonishment, the amulet thrummed with power. The berserker magic she stored within was still strong!
Strong enough, perhaps, to lure a wandering spirit into its enchanted depths?
Hardly daring to hope, the drow twisted open the amulet and released the captured magic-and perhaps something even more precious.