Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [105]
A sturdy young woman came from the cottage to investigate. She let out a glad cry and ran to Fyodor, her black braids flying. She wrapped him in a fierce hug while the children hopped around and loudly demanded attention.
Fyodor turned to face Liriel, his arm still around the woman's waist. "My Lady, I present to you my sister Vastish. Some of these children are hers. I forget which," he said with a somber face and laughing eyes. The small humans' delighted howls of protest brought a puzzled smile to Liriel's face.
The woman dropped into a low curtsey. "Wychlaran," she said politely, speaking to all three of the mounted females.
It occurred to Liriel that this was only introduction expected or needed. Fyodor's sister saw only the black gown, the mask hanging on her belt, and believed that all was known.
Zofia placed a hand on Liriel's arm. "You must greet your Sisters, then I will show you where you will stay. No outlander can enter the witches' longhouse. You will have your own hut outside the walls. That has not changed since Sylune was last among us. Fyodor will stay there, as well, but he must spend this night with his brothers. There is a new fyrra, and they have much to discuss."
Fyodor hoisted one importunate imp and propped her on his hip. He came over to Liriel and took one of her hands. This he raised to his lips. "You have only to call, and I will come."
His sister's winter blue eyes, so like her brother's, widened in astonishment. "You have become a guardian?"
He nodded, and Vastish sighed happily. "Then you will not be going to the barracks with the other men! That is wonderful news. Since the midsummer moon, I have bribed the children into bed with promises of your stories."
"There will be time for a tale or two before I must report. The others will keep for another day."
"Petyar will be pleased to see you in the barracks. He received his sword while you were gone."
"Petyar my cousin?" Fyodor echoed incredulously. "Little Petyar?"
"He is taller than you now, and eats as if he means to be every bit as broad before the tenday is done."
Brother and sister continued to chatter happily as Liriel rode off. She was intrigued by this strange reception. Fyodor had told her that in Rashemen family was important. That was clear to see. In a few moments, she had added as much to her knowledge of Fyodor as she had learned through months of travel, shared battle, and an intimacy deeper than the drow had ever dreamed possible.
His roots ran deep in this land. He had enough family to fill the Baenre stronghold, friends who welcomed him with foolish joy, and a place in the community. Clearly he was a favorite among the children. From a distance Liriel could hear his deep bass voice lifted in a silly song.
She could see him growing old here, becoming the much-loved village elder and storyteller. And family…
For the first time she considered this particular implication. She and Fyodor were lovers, yes, but children did not necessarily follow. Every drow female with any access to magic at all chose when she would conceive. This was a choice Liriel had never considered. There was nothing in her own family to make her look back with pleasure on childhood or anticipate parenthood with longing. What life could any child born to her and Fyodor know? Half-drow children would never find a place here or anywhere else that she could imagine.
Her pony lowered its head and plodded up the increasingly steep street. Liriel put aside these strange thoughts and focused on her surroundings. At the top of the hill was a large, long building of unpainted wood, a simple design made elaborate by huge carved panels. A steeply slanting roof crowned the building.
"The barracks," Zofia said softly, pointing to a long, low building to the left of the witchs' longhouse. "The berserkers form groups known as fangs. Each has a name. Fyodor belongs to the Black Bear lodge."
"That's appropriate,"