Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [6]
The captain nodded happily, recognizing the significance of this find. He'd been dragged down to this dungeon through a succession of gates. The keys would speed their escape, though each gate was also guarded by magical traps and at least one species of ugly, well-armed creatures. Neither prospect worried Hrolf Unlike most of his people, he held magic in high regard, and he'd seen enough of this elf maid's talents to entrust that aspect of the escape to her. As for the other-well, he had a sword now, didn't he?
*****
Fyodor of Rashemen leaned against the rail of the ship, gazing out over the noise and confusion that was Skullport. Merchants, sailors, and dockhands milled about the rotting wooden docks, busying themselves with a dizzying variety of wares. Flocks of wykeen, a kind of sea bat indigenous to the underground port, wheeled and screeched overhead. The black water lapped at the ship with a restless rhythm that echoed the pulse of the far-distant seas. Yet there was no moon to order the tides, no sky at all but a soaring vault of solid stone.
This teeming underground city, so different from the villages of his distant homeland, astounded Fyodor. Most amazing to him was the peace that existed between ancient enemies, all in the name of trade. Dwarves tossed crated cargo to orcs; humans hired themselves out to beholders; svirfneblin bartered with illithids. It was just as well, this unnatural harmony. A nearby fight-any fightcould set him off on a deadly battle frenzy.
Fyodor was a berserker, one of the famed warriors of Rashemen, a champion among the protectors of his homeland. Unlike his brothers, however, he could not control the rages or bring them on at will. When the Witches who ruled his land had come to fear that his wild battle-rages might endanger those about him, they sent him on a quest to recover a stolen artifact, an amulet known as the Windwalker. Its magic was ancient and mysterious, but the Witches thought it might be used to contain the young warrior's magical curse. Thus Fyodor's only hope for controlling his battle rages, and ending his exile from his homeland, lay in the amulet-and in the magic of the drow girl who carried it.
His search for the Windwalker had taken him from snow-swept Rashemen into the depths of the Underdark, where he'd met the beautiful young wizard. Liriel had been first an enemy, then a rival, and finally a partner and friend. Fyodor had followed the drow across half of Faerun and would gladly travel with her to Ruathym-and not just for the magic she wielded.
The young man's eyes, blue as a winter sky, anxiously scanned the crowded streets. Liriel had arranged passage on this ship for them both and had promised to meet him here. She was late. He could imagine far too many things that might have detained her.
"Troubles?"
The laconic question jarred Fyodor from his grim thoughts. He turned to face the ship's mate, a ruddy, redbearded man much his own size and build. Nearly six feet tall and heavily muscled, the sailor had the look of a Rashemi. Fair-skinned and blue-eyed, he had a certain familiar directness of gaze and an open countenance defined by broad planes and strong features. The sailor's resemblance to Fyodor's own kin did not surprise the young man, for they no doubt had ancestors in common. The ancient Northmen who'd settled the island of Ruathym had also traveled far east to Fyodor's Rashemen. "Just wondering when we'd be off, Master…"
"ibn," the first mate supplied. "Just ibn. We sail with the captain."
Fyodor waited, hoping the man would elaborate. But ibn merely pulled a pipe from his sash and pressed some aromatic leaves into the bowl. A passing sailor supplied flint and stone, and soon ibn was puffing away with stolid contentment.
The young warrior sighed and then subsided. Clearly,