Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [54]
Then he heard the whine of some unknown missile, the shattering explosion as it hit some target to the west. Even down in the hold the crackle of fire and the smell of burning wood and flesh came to Rethnor. Only two ships left, he noted dimly as the room began to spin out of control. Still, the odds favored Luskan, and he was confident.
Liriel prowled about the warship, wrapped in her piwafwi and invisible in the surging waves of battle. Again and again her dagger slipped between some Northman's ribs, or slashed a hamstring. Perhaps it was not the most noble of battle techniques, but Liriel was pragmatic. As the drow saying went, "The unseen knife cuts the deepest." Trusting Fyodo~s battle rage to keep him safe, she sought out Hrolf and silently decimated the circle of fighters around him. An expression of almost comic outrage suffused the pirate's face when he saw his opponents had inexplicably fallen. He spun on his heel and went roaring offin search ofnew playmates. Liriel stepped over the body of the man she'd just slain, intending to follow Hrolf-for where the captain went, so did most of the action.
A strong hand seized a handful of the drow's cloak and hair, then yanked her sharply backward. She stumbled, tripping over the fallen man behind her.
The agile drow recovered quickly. Catching herself before she could fall, she dropped to the deck and threw herself into a side roll. The move wrenched her piwafwi from the hand of her attacker, but it also threw the cloak open and dispelled the invisibility charm. Liriel came up into a crouch, a knife in each hand, ready to throw into the eyes of whatever canny Northman had perceived and attacked her.
To her astonishment, ibn stood over her, a grim smile on his red-bearded face and Fyodor's distinctive driftwood cudgel in his hand.
The drows first thought was that Fyodor had fallen in battle, despite the power and prowess granted by his battle frenzy. It did not surprise her that ibn would bring her the news-0f all Hrolf's men, only he would find pleasure in delivering such a blow.
Fear tightened, like bands of mithril, around her chest and throat. She rose to her feet, her face a dark and regal mask, her eyes steadily fixed upon the mate's gloating face. Before the stunned and grieVing drow could guess his intent, ibn hauled back the cudgel and swung it fiercely toward her. The rock-hard driftwood club caught Liriel in the middle with a strength that folded her over and forced the air from her lungs. She collapsed to the deck, completely unable to draw breath.
ibn snatched up a net and tossed it over her; then he stooped down and plucked her off the deck. Holding her easily in his arms, the sailor covered the distance to the rail in two steps. Without hesitation, he threw the bound and helpless elf into the sea.
"it is fire, and it is ice."
Once, not so long ago, Fyodor had used those words to try to tell Liriel what the berserker rage was like. Never had the words rung so true as at this moment.
The battle fury burned fierce in Fyodor's blood, and his sword seared its way, like a black flame, through the throng of fighters. Just as powerful, and every bit as deadly, was the ice. The magic that sped Fyodor's sword arm also seemed to freeze time itself, slowing the movements of all those around him to a sluggish crawl, giving him time to think and react. The frenzy enhanced some of his senses and benumbed others. Although his body bore the mark of many wounds, he felt no pain. Nor did he tire. Each swing of the heavy sword came as easily as the last.
Yet the ice was a prison, as well, a fastness to rival any dungeon stronghold. Fyodor could not help but fight; he had to fight until no more stood against him. He could do nothing but fight. And so he had to watch, helpless in the grip of his own killing fury, while the treacherous first mate threw Liriel