Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [119]
The grim truth came to Liriel slowly. "It is a sentence of death."
"Yes. Zofia lent this sword magic so that it might cut those not of Rashemen and that I might stay alive long enough to complete my quest."
"Throw it away," she said passionately. "Get another sword. Your battle rages are under control-you don't need a blunt sword anymore."
"That is not our way," he said softly. "This is the last sword I will wield. That is our law and custom. I must die with this sword in my hand."
Liriel's first impulse was to protest this new example of human stupidity, but memories flooded her mind and stilled her tongue: Fyodor facing drow and Luskan warriors, fighting sea ogres, slaying a giant squid-by cutting his way out from the inside. She relaxed. He had won many battles with that blunt, black sword. Why shouldn't he continue to do so?
A tall, gangling youth trotted toward them, his arms full of what appeared to be a bundle of black sticks and his shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes. He pulled up short and bobbed his head to the "witch" at Fyodor's side. Fyodor quickly completed the introductions and asked what Petyar was about.
"We're to scout the Warrens," the boy said without preamble. "Treviel's orders. The others are waiting at the west gate." He grinned broadly. "There will be a lightning wand for each of us. The vremyonni sent them."
Liriel noted the grim set of Fyodor's jaw. "The male wizards?" she asked.
"Yes," he said shortly. "They live and study and create in a hidden place."
"These Warrens," she concluded. "These are caves?"
The look he sent her confirmed her unspoken concern. Where there were caves, there were tunnels. Where there were tunnels, there might well be drow. She did not doubt that Gorlist would catch up with her sooner or later. This was not, however, the time she would have chosen.
"I'll come with you," she stated.
The boy's face fell. "With all respect, Lady, this is a simple scouting expedition."
Fyodor claimed one of the ebony wands. It was about the length of a big man's forearm and the thickness of his thumb. It had been intricately carved with a tiny design that spiraled up the length of the wand. It was a priceless work of art, created to be destroyed in a single moment.
He lifted this pointedly and raised one brow. "For a simple scouting expedition we need such a thing? Speak truth, Petyar. We are hunting. Not your black wolf, I hope."
Liriel blinked in surprise to hear this term.
"The beast does not travel with any pack," the boy said, his tone defensive, "and a lone wolf often seeks easy prey, becoming a danger to livestock and children."
Fyodor hefted the wand. "Even if you convinced Treviel of that, this was not meant for a wolf."
"I followed it into the Warrens," the boy admitted. "I was hoping to find her lair. What I found instead was a dead drow."
Fyodor glanced at his friend. "This drow was killed by the wolf?"
"Who cares?" Petyar retorted. "A dead drow is a blessing, however it came about, but yes, it appears so. His shoulder was torn open, his throat savaged."
Fyodor drew him away from Liriel and placed himself between the two-whether for Petyar's protection or hers, Liriel couldn't say. Fyodor glanced back at her.
"It is best that you stay close to the village today. Promise me this."
She did and was rewarded by the glad flash in her friend's eyes. His word, his honor-these were no small things to Fyodor. Apparently he considered her refusal to give her word, unless she meant to keep it, a good thing.
For the first time, she wondered how he felt about the deception she had forced them both to live. Perhaps Zofia's word might have been enough to gain cautious acceptance for a drow, but the lie had been told. To the eyes of the truth-loving Rashemi, concealing her nature most likely confirmed it.
"We will talk when I return," Fyodor said gently. He took her hand and raised it to his heart then turned and strode off beside his lanky kinsman.
They met the other warriors at the west gate. Horses