Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [89]
For the first time since he'd met her, Liriel was completely and utterly dumbfounded. Fyodor quickly turned his gaze toward the shore so she could not see the laughter in his eyes. Her befuddlement was comic, in a dark sort of way, but it was also precisely the response he'd hoped to elicit. The shock dulled some of the light in the drow's wild golden eyes and silenced her caustic tongue. For the moment, at least, Liriel more closely approximated the stoic calm expected of the women of the Northlands.
"We may go ashore," he said, pointing to a broadly smiling, gesticulating Hrolf.
"Kill me now," Liriel muttered darkly as she climbed the rail and jumped into the sea. Sloshing ashore, a "respectful" pace behind her friend, she railed silently and bitterly over this new twist in their journey. Taking a secondary role was annoying enough; more disturbing still was the suspicion that this, too, was somehow part of the rune she must form.
These matters filled Liriel's thoughts so completely that she found she had little difficulty keeping silence that evening-not that any words she might have wished to speak would have been heard in the noise of the celebration. It seemed the entire village of Ruathym-the island's largest town-turned out to welcome home the travelers. In the center of the village, surrounded by neat wooden homes and workshops, was a cleared area large enough for all the people to gather. Here, Hrolf told her, the Thingtheir court oflaw-was held, as well as many of their celebrations. Tonight the clearing was bright with bonfires, and the scent of stewed meat and roasted fish filled the air. Raucous laughter competed with loudly told tales as the villagers jostled and thronged about, drinking horns or wooden mugs in hand.
Never had Liriel felt more at odds than in this strange company, and she was grateful for the steady presence of both Hrolf and Fyodor. Among her people she was considered stately-she surpassed the five-foot mark by nearly three inches-but the islanders loomed over her. Almost without exception they were tall and fair, with sky-colored eyes that regarded her with a mixture of hostility and curiosity. Even the women who, unlike drow females, were usually smaller than the males of their race, stood closer to six feet than five. These women might have made fearsome warriors, yet they carried few weapons, and they garbed themselves without any concession to combat practicalities. Long, straight tunics of brightly colored and muchembroidered cloth covered their gowns-and hampered their movements. All of the women wore soft fabric boots, crudely fashioned jewelry, and demure expressions. Liriel was not pleased when one of them, a young female with braids of palest yellow gold, approached her. What had she to say to one of these pallid, insipid wenches?
To Liriel's relief, the fair-haired islander did not address her, but merely fixed a wide-eyed stare upon her that the drow found insulting in its directness.
"Dagmar!" roared Hl'olf happ.ily, scooping the girl up into a brief, ebullient embrace. Keeping an arm around her waist, he turned a beaming smile to the watchful drow and her companion and quickly made the introductions. "This winsome lass is kin to me," he explained, "the daughter of my cousin, Ulf the shaman, and herself soon to be the prettiest bride on the island!"
"Not so, Uncle," the girl said in a low voice. Thunderclouds began to gather on Hrolrs brow. "Don't you be telling me Thorfinn has taken back his pledge! He took Y graine's death hard, i'll grant him that, but so did we all. You're Ygraine's sister, and heir to the prophecy! Thorfinn's troth and rank are yours by right. By Tempus," he swore, pounding a fist into his open palm with a resounding smack, "i'll trounce that young scoundrel within an inch of his worthless life!"
"Thorfinn is dead," Dagmar said bluntly. Her