Tangled webs - Elaine Cunningham [99]
Ulf looked skeptical. "if this is so, what became of the man? The tales say nereids charm men to drown them, but no one has turned up missing this day."
The drow shrugged, admitting the point but not willing to abandon her theory just yet. She twisted the silver ring that her sea-ogre abductors had placed on her hand. If the unexplained drownings were indeed due to sea sirens, it might be a good idea to give Fyodor her ring of waterbreathing. Men, it seemed, were far more susceptible to the charms of such a creature than were females. Naturally.
"Why have you come here?" the shaman demanded with typical Northman candor. "What do you hope to find on Ruathym?"
"All that Hrolf and Fyodor have said of me is true," Liriel said. "i came on a rune quest, and when the rune is complete, i will use the Windwalker's magic to carve it onto Yggsdrasil's Child."
Ulf scoffed. "Do you know the rituals of casting? Can you so much as find the sacred tree?"
"Show me."
"i will not teach you," the shaman stated bluntly. "it cannot be done. No frail elf has the strength or the will needed to shape a rune."
Liriel bristled. "You speak without knowledge. Name a challenge. If i fail-and i will not-then you may claim to know the measure of my strength!"
A spark of interest kindled in the shaman's cold blue eyes. "You are willing; that much can be said for you. But no, i will not name a test. If your rune quest is a true one, your needed trials will come to you as they must."
"And when i succeed, you will teach me?" Liriel demanded. "You have not yet succeeded," Ulf said coolly, "and i have little faith you will. There is always a price to be paid for a new rune, a price far higher than most are willing to pay." Before the drow could respond, the wooden door of the library was flung open and a yellow-haired youth ran into the room. Liriel recognized ivar, one of the young men who had accompanied her and Fyodor to inthar. His tunic was stained with blood, and his eyes were wild in his beardless face.
"You must come!" ivar said urgently, tugging at the shaman's sleeve. "The hunters! Some are dead, and Aumark Lithyl-"
"The First Axe was slain? How?" demanded Ulf.
"No, he yet lives, but needs tending. A wild boar came upon us near the raVine. Aumark was gored, and badly." The shaman's face turned grim, and he swiftly followed the lad, the curious drow close on his heels. A crowd had gathered around the door of a round wooden hut, but parted at once to allow the shaman through. Liriel hesitated, then pushed her way in behind him. She reasoned the shaman had more important matters on his mind than shooing her away, and she took a place against the rounded wall where she might observe.
The wounded chieftain lay in a rapidly spreading circle of blood. There was a deep gash in his side where the boar's tusks had slashed him. Ulf chanted as he bandaged the wound with soft cloths and smeared a paste of herbs on the surrounding skin. He threw yet more herbs onto the fire; at once the room was filled with fragrant smoke. Liriel noticed with interest that there was a subtle magic in the herbs, the scented steam, and the words of the chant. But Aumark's wound was deep, and the magic of the Northlands would not staunch the flow of blood in time. Already the thick dressing had turned crimson.
The drow came to crouch beside the laboring shaman. "Let me," she commanded. Ulf tensed, then yielded with a terse nod.
Liriel tore aside the dressing and placed one slim black hand over the gaping wound, the other on her amulet of Lloth. She closed her eyes, envisioning the fey darkness of her ancestral home-the stronghold of the Spider Queenand then brought to mind the words of the clerical spell. And as she did, she frantically searched her imagination for something to offer the dark goddess in exchange for the gift of healing she was about to request. Lloth, the chaotic deity of the evil drow, would have no interest in a human warrior unless she, Liriel, could give one.
"Conflict