Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [91]
The Rashemi considered the invitation. The ruined keep known as inthar had featured largely in Olvir's shipboard stories. An ancient stronghold shrouded with magic and mystery, it might well be the place for him and Liriel to begin their quest. Fyodor accepted the invitation. Before he could ask Dagmar for more detail about the expedition, the call of hunting horns cut through the din of the crowds. Instantly the villagers stopped their merriment and made their way in silence to the central bonfire. They ringed the leaping fire and sat cross-legged on the ground in a well-ordered circle. The groupings were apparently based upon clans, for Dagmar led him over to the place where Hrolf and another man enough like him to be his twin sat with an assortment offair-haired women and children. Beside Hrolf sat Liriel, her face as composed as that of an obsidian statue, but her eyes burning with a heat rivaling that of the central fire. The drow, Fyodor noted with a touch of foreboding, was not enjoying her first night on Ruathym.
in truth, Fyodor's observation was only partially correct. Ruathym and its customs were utterly foreign to Liriel, but that very strangeness whetted her curiosity. At the moment, she was focused entirely upon the scene unfolding in the middle of the clearing.
Before the bonfire stood the largest warrior Liriel had ever seen. The drow shaded her sensitive eyes with one hand as she studied the man. Nearly seven feet tall he was, in late midlife but still in prime strength. His lined face and knotted muscles reminded Liriel of a weathered oak. His fair hair had faded to gray, but his eyes were bright and blue and proud. Liriel was accustomed to the smooth perfection of drow beauty, but she sensed the history in that face-challenges met, battles won, character tested and tried until it was as strong and steady as the oak he resembled. Liriel knew instinctively that this man was an important leader among his people, even before he lifted his voice to speak.
"i am Aumark Lithyl, First Axe of all Ruathym. Let any who would challenge step forward."
The words seemed to be a formality, for none of the younger warriors so much as blinked. In Menzoberranzan, status-conscious soldiers would have cheerfully slain their brothers and climbed over the still-warm bodies for such an opportunity. Liriel studied Aumark Lithyl as he spoke, trying to understand what there was about the man that could inspire such unnatural loyalty.
But the leader spoke only a few words before yielding the floor to the village skald, a white-haired gnome of a man who declaimed songs about Ruathen heroes of recent and ancient times. The scald, in turn, called upon Hrolf to share news of the wider world.
To Liriel's way of thinking, Hrolf was fully the equal of any storyteller she knew. Even though she had lived through the events he described, she listened, entranced, as the captain told the story of the Elfmaid's trip-the battles they had seen, their unusual escapes, the treasures they brought to the island through trade and thievery. There was a glow of pride about the captain as he described Liriel's contributions to the adventure, and although the drow noted that the villagers shifted uneasily as Hrolf described her feats of magic, the looks they cast over her changed from grim curiosity to wondering awe. It was, in her opinion, a vast improvement.
When at last Hrolf paused for breath, he called upon Fyodor. The young warrior rose, completely at ease before the large crowd as he began to speak of his own quest. He spoke of Rashemen, of the Time of Troubles when longdead heroes and ancient gods walked the lands-a terrible time when magic went awry and the people were tormented by horrendous nightmares. Then came the Tuigan invasion and the devastation of his land. He told of his own part in the war, his growing acclaim in battle, and the everincreasing strength of his battle frenzies. Candidly,