Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [108]
"Word of the battle there has reached us. A sea battle," he added wistfully, this warrior of a land-locked nation. "Your darjemma, it would seem, was more interesting than most."
He poured tea into wooden cups. Fyodor took one sip and understood why. The acidic brew would no doubt eat right through pewter. He threw back the contents of the little cup and accompanied his swallow by slamming his fist on the table. This ritual completed, he set the empty cup down. Treviel refilled it and nodded expectantly at the young man, clearly waiting to hear the story of this wondrous battle.
"I have just come from my sister's home," Fyodor said apologetically.
The commander threw back his head and let out a deep, belly-shaking roar of laughter. "No need to say more! Even the village storyteller must rest his voice, yes? Sit, then, and drink your tea. Your story can wait until after the Mokosh games. You will go to the mountains with the others?" he asked, noting the strange look that crossed the young man's face.
"In truth, I had forgotten." The thought of leaving Liriel alone so soon after their arrival left him profoundly uneasy. Who knew what sort of mischief she might achieve in his absence? "Perhaps I should wait for the next holiday."
Treviel snorted. "You will go, and you will win. See to it!" he said with a teasing wink.
Fyodor knew an order when he heard one, and a dismissal as well. He managed a wan smile and rose. "No stories, no tea," he surmised.
The older man let out a guffaw and slapped one beefy thigh. "You should live to be so lucky. Drink!"
Fyodor obligingly downed the rest of the bitter brew and took his leave.
A chorus of grating snores greeted him at the barracks. As was custom, most of the warriors had retired early in anticipation of the grueling holiday ahead. Fyodor toed off his boots at the front door and studied the parchment tacked to the doorpost. With sorrow he noted the names no longer listed: Mahryon, his father; Antonea, the swordsmith with whom he had apprenticed; several cousins and boyhood friends. Some of them had been alive when Fyodor had entered his last berserker frenzy against the Tuigan. He hoped that none had died following him on his suicidal charge.
His cousin Petyar's room was toward the end of the barracks. He made his way quietly down the long wooden hall. A thin ribbon of light underlined the door. Fyodor tapped the door faintly then pushed it open.
Two cots filled the room with the scent of fresh hay and dried angelica flowers, excellent for repelling both insects and unwanted dreams. One of these cots was filled from head to foot-and beyond-with the longest, skinniest excuse for a Rashemi warrior Fyodor had ever beheld.
A face still soft from yesterday's childhood regarded him with a mixture of hero worship and welcome. The boy's upper lip was decorated by a faint shadow that looked more like a smudge of axle grease than a mustache. Fyodor sternly resisted the urge to tousle his young cousin's hair. Instead he seized one of the oversized feet that hung over the edge of the cot and raised it for closer scrutiny.
"If you were a pup, I'd suspect that your mother befriended a bear," Fyodor said. "Of course, if you were a pup, I'd have to drown you or risk weakening the kennel. Who would have thought my Uncle Simaoth's litter could produce such a runt?"
Petyar grinned and tugged his foot free. "The cobbler complains that if I grow any more I'll be wearing boots of unmatched leather. He'll have to slaughter two rothй cows to get enough for a pair!"
"If you wish to provide the cobbler with a single piece of leather, there is an easy solution," Fyodor teased. "Those feet were made for dragonhide boots."
The boy chuckled delightedly. "Easy enough, now that you're back home! You'll go snow racing with us tomorrow?"
"Why? Does a white dragon await us in the mountains?"
The gleam in the boy's eyes darkened. "Worse," he said flatly. "A black wolf."
Fyodor received this news in silence. Petyar had been born the same spring as Vastish's firstborn, and the boys had grown up