Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [118]
"Only to save your own life. Promise me this."
The words came quickly to the drow's tongue, but she found she could not speak them. She shook her head, unwilling to make a promise she doubted she could keep. To her astonishment, Fyodor looked oddly gratified by this.
"The day dawns," he said softly. "Vastish will expect us soon."
He took her hand, and they walked to the cottage where his sister's family lived. Already smoke rose from the chimney, and a kettle of boiled grains mixed with what appeared to be dried berries bubbled on stove.
Two small boys hurled themselves at Fyodor and attached themselves to his legs. A taller girl, one close enough to maidenhood to be mindful of her dignity, hung back, eyeing her brothers with disdain.
Vastish shook her wooden spoon and gave one of the urchins a light swat on the rump with it. "Do your manners fail you, or just your eyes? Can't you see that there's a wychlaran present?"
The children fell back, abashed, and dipped into jerky little bows. "You bring grace to this household," the trio chanted.
Liriel smiled uncertainly. Drow children the size of these males were still being word-weaned and were seldom seen except by the one or two people who oversaw this training. She had never had anything to do with anyone so small.
She gave her name and received the children's names in turn. Lacking other ideas, she suggested, "Perhaps a story before we eat?"
The boys greeted this with great and loud enthusiasm, Vastish with a grateful nod. Fyodor settled down and pulled a nephew onto each knee.
"Long years ago, a hero known as Yvengi walked the land. Times were troubled, and many brave men fell in battle. Yvengi's father was a great warrior, a berserker equal to any man alive, but one day he faced a foe that had neither blood nor breath."
"The demon Eltab!" the younger boy put in excitedly.
"None other," Fyodor agreed. "Yvengi knew that his strength and his sword would be powerless against the demon's armored hide, so he prayed to all the spirits of the land and was granted a magical sword. Not even a demon could stand before Hadryllis. Eltab fled to Thay-"
"To walk among mortal demons!" the child chimed in.
"You know the tale," observed his uncle with a smile. "Then you know that in each turn of the family wheel-from father to son, mother to maiden-another great sword will be raised for Rashe-men."
"Like yours," the boy said in worshipful tones.
A deep silence fell over the room. Judging from the stricken expression on the females' faces and the red flush staining the older boy's cheeks, Liriel surmised that some important taboo had been broken.
The little one glanced from one face to another, looking as puzzled as Liriel felt. "There is magic in this sword," he insisted.
Fyodor looked to his sister. An expression of mingled pain and pride crossed her face. "Thrisfyr has the gift," she said simply. "It is already decided that he will join the vremyonni. He will go to the Old Ones for training before next winter's snows."
"A great honor," he said softly. Vastish smiled but not without irony.
The morning meal passed swiftly with nothing more serious to mar it than a mug of spilled milk. They thanked their hostess and left to tend to the day's business.
"What was all that about?" Liriel asked softly as soon as they were beyond hearing's range. "What did the little boy say that made your sister turn pale?"
Fyodor's shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. "When we first met, you commented on my blunt sword. I told you that it was thus fashioned so I would not cut myself. You thought I was merely being foolish, but I spoke the simple truth. A warrior who cannot control his battle rages is given such a sword, and for several reasons. First, so he is less likely to harm his brothers. Second, so he does not cut himself and die by his own hand. There is no greater disgrace to a Rashemi than this. Finally, so he will die with honor and purpose. The berserkers