Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [79]
The day was nearly spent when Fyodors shout roused her from her reverie. Liriel heard his distinctive bass voice calling out something about an approaching ship. Armed with her newly learned spells and those stored in her Windwalker amulet, the drow hurried to the deck to investigate this new development.
There were actually two ships-a large two-masted caravel sailing from the west and a tiny dot on the northern horizon that was still well beyond the reach of any eyes but hers.
"The ship is fully armed!" Fyodor exclaimed, pointing to the arsenal of catapults and ballistae on the decks of the approaching caravel. "Perhaps they can help us escape from this creature."
ibn glowered at the young warrior. "Help, from a Waterdhavian ship? it's well that you can fight, boy, since you haven't the good sense the gods gave a clam. That's plain enough by the company you keep," he concluded, casting a significant glance toward Liriel.
The drow ignored the sailor's insults in favor of more important matters. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at the approaching ship. There was an aura of magic about it. Strong magic.
Since leaving her home city, Liriel had noticed that her eyes were becoming more and more attuned to the nuances of power. Menzoberranzan was permeated with magic. She could no more see magic there than she could employ her heat vision when the midday sun turned sea and sky to pale blue fire. Magic was hardly unknown on the surface world, but it was comparatively rare, and Liriel was finding that she could sense its occurrence and gauge its power. So she did not doubt the instinct that warned her of a mighty spellcaster aboard the approaching vessel. Since it stood to reason that a ship's wizard would know more of sea magic than a drow, Liriel planned to take full advantage of the unknown wizard's skill. But first, she had to wrest the Elfmaid from the elemental's watery grasp.
The drow faced the creature and began to chant the words to a part-water spell, her body swaying as she drew power from the weave of magic and reshaped it into an invisible sword. She flung one arm up high, instinctively falling into a battle stance as she lashed out with her eldritch weapon.
But Liriel was near exhaustion, and sea magic was new to her. Her usually lethal aim failed her; the spell, which should have parted the elemental neatly in two, merely lopped off an arm.
Water gushed, like a mighty waterfall, from the wound. The Elfmaid, still in its protective bubble, was swept away on the flow. Sailors tumbled to the deck and rolled toward the bow of the ship. Fyodor, high atop the forecastle, was thrown from his perch and into the air. He hit the bubble of force and slid down its curved surface toward the water. At once he saw his danger: if he fell into the water he would slip down to the lowest part of the magical globe and be crushed between the ship and the bottom of the bubble. His flailing hands found a hold-the wooden bodice of the figurehead's low-cut gown. Fyodor hauled himself onto the perch offered by the elf maid's ample bosom. Holding fast to the statue's pointed ears, he hung on for dear life as the ship plummeted into the sea.
A solid wall of seawater splashed over the domed shield as the ship dropped under the surface of the water. But Liriel's spell held; the air-filled bubble bobbed to the surface, the Elfmaid rocking wildly within its protective shield.
Now that the ship was