Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [114]
She remembered the White Rusalka Vale, and a grim possibility occurred to her. Perhaps some of those drowned maidens had been greedy in life, determined to loot a sacred spring or river. She didn't suppose the guardian spirits took kindly to that.
"Or so people would assume," she mused, adding a layer of drow logic to this unfamiliar place. "What better place to dispose of a rival or victim? What better explanation than 'the Rusalka did it' when a body washes ashore?"
Liriel felt the ghost before she saw it. Cold fingers, no more substantial than wind, brushed her shoulder.
The drow whirled and stared into a pair of empty white eyes. No delicate maiden, this. The ghost was white but appeared far most solid than the wispy dragon spirit. Liriel got a quick impression of muscle under sodden leather armor and noted the empty scabbard. The odd cant of the colorless head suggested a broken neck. A warrior, perhaps, slain during one of Rashemen's many invasions.
All this Liriel took in with a glance. She sprang to one side and rolled away. The ghost lunged and seized her ankle.
The drow kicked out with her free foot, lashing out repeatedly at the surprisingly solid spirit. The dead warrior woman headed for the pool, dragging the drow with her.
Liriel seized a rock. It came loose in her hand, and she let it go. The fingers of one hand dug furrows in the ground as she flailed about with the other, seeking something to halt her deadly progress. All she needed was a moment or two, long enough to cast a spell.
She remembered suddenly that she knew no wizard spells that would protect her against the determined rusalka. Learning them had seemed foolish, when a simple clerical spell worked just as well.
And clerical magic was dependent upon the favor of the goddess.
Even as the thought formed, Liriel's hand closed around something slender and strong. She seized it and looked up into a pair of multi-faceted black eyes. With a shriek, she released her hold on the giant spider's leg.
Ask, suggested a silent voice, one Liriel had hoped never to hear again. Lolth's power had followed her even into this alien place, tempting her, haunting her.
The rusalka dragged her inexorably toward the pool. Liriel twisted onto her back, trying to break the dead warrior's grip. That failing, she lashed out repeatedly with her free foot, connecting with the solid form again and again. None of her efforts had any effect.
Mist rose from the pool and surrounded the dead warrior. Before the drow's frantic eyes, it took the shape of an enormous dragon's head. The misty jaw gaped wide and lunged for the ghost. The rusalka let go of her prize and reached for her empty scabbard. A startled expression crossed the ghostly face. Liriel got the distinct impression that this was not the first time this warrior had been surprised by the lack of this weapon. Frozen once again in its moment of death, the rusalka offered no resistance to the dragon. It was swallowed by the spring's guardian and, strangely enough, disappeared into the less substantial form.
The dragon sank back into the stream, leaving Liriel on the bank. For just a moment, the drow caught a glimpse of her jeweled knife below the bubbling surface and understood that the impulsive tribute had saved her life.
Perhaps more than her life. The giant spider, the minion of Lolth, had also disappeared.
Liriel rose and dressed herself. She tied the mask back to her belt. Changing her appearance back to that of the human Sylune did not make her feel much better. Lolth had found her, and the stubborn goddess would be less easily fooled than the villagers of Dernovia.
Zofia had been right, she thought grimly. This was indeed a haunted land, and if it truly was her destiny to see the spirits to their rightful homes, where in the nine bloody hells was she supposed to start?
Gorlist glanced up sharply as the sound of scuffling feet approached the cave's opening. His mercenaries had finally