Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [109]
"Has this wolf done any harm?" Fyodor asked at last.
"Not yet. It has been seen lurking near the village."
"How near? The refuse hill? The fields?"
"The forests," the boy admitted.
"Petyar."
The young man responded with a defiant shrug. "Do not say you haven't been warned. The snow race should be a contest, not a hunt! If you are content to be a wolfs prey, so be it. I at least will keep close watch."
"That you will watch closely I do not doubt," Fyodor said somberly, "especially if Treviel's daughters join the race."
A grin edged its way onto Petyar's face. "What of it? There is no harm in looking."
"I will pass that thought along to the fyrra," Fyodor suggested. "Perhaps he will have it carved upon your coffin."
The boy chuckled and reached for the oil lamp. "Time for sleep, or tomorrow morn we won't know whether we're looking at wolves or women."
Fyodor settled down on his cot and sent a wry smile into the darkness. "Sometimes it is difficult to tell."
"Aye," Petyar agreed, in a tone that suggested he had vast experience in such matters. After a moment's silence, he added, "You have met many such women in your travels?"
The wistful tone in the young man's voice was familiar to Fyodor. He had heard it this night from his sister's children, fully two-score neighbors, and even the fyrra. Now he had no heart for more stories and scant voice left to speak them. Instead he offered, "I have known Sashyar all my life."
Petyar let out a hoot of amusement. "Now I have no fear of the fyrra's wrath! Go on, tell Treviel that I admire his pretty daughters. I have a weapon to match yours."
Fyodor thought of the blunt, black sword resting against his cot and prayed with all his heart that the boy's words would never come to pass.
Liriel's tour of the Witches' Lodge was not quite what she had expected. For one thing, the complex was more extensive than she'd gathered from first impression. It went on and on, covering the top of the hill that crowned the village and stretching down much of the back slope. In addition to the great hall and the warriors' barracks, there was a temple to the Three, the goddesses who formed the center of Rashemi worship. The temple was a lovely thing, with a rounded domed roof guarded by a trio of towers. Still, how was such a thing possible?
"One temple for three goddesses?" Liriel demanded.
"One goddess, if you prefer. We worship the triple goddess: maiden, mother, and wise woman," Zofia explained. "They are called by other names in other lands. We of Rashemen also have our names for them, but these are our own and must not be spoken to outsiders. Come – I will show you the bathhouse."
This proved to be a small, round, windowless building constructed of stone and roofed with slate. The old witch pulled open the door. Steam escaped, along with a sudden, rushing energy that was more than air.
Liriel peered inside. In the center of the room was a well filled with rocks that glowed with heat. A large bucket had been suspended over it with ropes running from it to the wooden benches built against the walls. Liriel saw the purpose of this at a glance. Anyone desiring a steam bath would pull a rope and tip a bit of water onto the hot rocks. The drow had similar steam houses, albeit magical ones, in Menzoberranzan.
Fyodor's sister sat on one of these benches, a linen sheet wrapped around her. She gave them a pleasant nod-and vanished.
"The Bannik," Zofia said casually. "A spirit of health and divination. Most bathhouses have one. If you see a familiar person in the bathhouse who should not be there, do not take alarm. It is only the Bannik."
"If I see a familiar person, I'd be a fool not to take alarm," Liriel muttered.
The witch gave her a curious stare. "It is so? You have many enemies?"
"I'm not sure what a Rashemi means by 'many' enemies," Liriel prevaricated.
Zofia let out an amused chuckle. "Well said. It would seem that