Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [31]
"Don't go yet." She sidled over to make room and patted the edge of the cot companionably.
Fyodor looked back over his shoulder. He let his eyes speak what was in his heart, but he kept a careful distance from her. "i am ever your friend," he said quietly; "But sometimes, little raven, you expect too much of a man." Understanding flooded the drow's face, then consternation. Once, briefly, they had been lovers. The unexpected, unfamiliar intimacy of the encounter had torn Liriel from her emotional moorings, leaving her confused and shaken. Such things were dangerous-indeed, forbidden!-among the drow, and she'd readily accepted Fyodo~s suggestion that they move beyond that interlude. The friendship between them was intense but difficult; they were still feeling their way through unfamiliar territory: Looking at her friend now, she realized that for him the matter was far from resolved. The thought both dismayed and intrigued her.
"Do you want to stay?" she asked bluntly.
Fyodor smiled gently into her stricken face. "Sleep well. I will see you next moonrise." And with that he left, closing the cabin door carefully behind him.
A storm of emotions buffeted the capricious drow: relief, frustration, and then a surge of purely feminine pique. She snatched a knife from under her mattress and hurled it at the door. It bit deep into the wood, quivering hard enough to give off an audible, twanging hum. The drow rolled over and buried her head beneath her pillow to muffie the mocking sound.
"He could at least have said yes!" she muttered.
At first light, the Elfmaid sailed into the Korinn Archipelago, a scattering of small islands north of the Moonshaes. There was an air of anticipation about the ship that Fyodor noted and mistrusted. Hrolf was especially jolly, full to overbrimming with boisterous humor and badly sung ballads.
The young Rashemi liked Hrolf, more with each day that passed, for the captain had an enormous capacity for enjoyment that was both disarming and contagious. Hrolf took whatever life offered-be it a sudden squall, a drinking horn full of mead, or a tale of adventure-with pleasure and gusto. Unfortunately, he also took more than was his by legal right. It was difficult for Fyodor to reconcile his growing affection for Hrolf with the man's fun-loving larceny, and he dreaded what might occur when they made land.
But the reception lavished upon the Elfmaid's crew immediately put Fyodor's mind to rest. It was late afternoon when they made port on Tetris, a small island of rolling green hills and rocky, windswept coasts. The dockmaster greeted Hrolf by name and urged him to hurry along to the festival. As the crew made their way through the village-a cluster of stone-and-thatch huts that lined the river on its meandering way to the sea-many villagers called out cheery greetings. A small, well-rounded woman with glad gray eyes and cheeks like ripe apples ran to meet Hrolt; her skirts flying and her arms outstretched in welcome; The captain caught her up, spinning her around with ease and then enfolding her in a bear hug.
"His woman," explained Olvir, smiling indulgently as he nodded at the pair. He and Fyodor walked together, following the growing crowd that headed for the hills beyond the town. The two men had become good friends during the voyage, first trading tales of their homelands and then, slowly, confiding pieces of their own stories. From his boyhood Olvir had longed to be a skald, but he could not reconcile himself with the lower status that his warrior culture assigned to their bards. So he went to sea, seeking a fortune to appease his ambitions while collecting the stories that fed his spirit.
"You come to this island often?" Fyodor asked.
"Five, six times a year. 'Tis almost a home port!"
"Still, that seems too seldom for a man and woman as fond as those two."
Olvir shrugged. "Moira will not leave the island, nor Hrolf the sea. They suit each other well; always are they glad to meet and content to part."
The sailor went on to other matters, describing