Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [130]
"I am proud of you, cousin," Fyodor said at last. "The first duty of a Rashemi warrior is to the land, his first loyalty to the wychlaran."
Some of the ice faded from the boy's eyes. "What will you do now?"
"How well do you know the Warrens?" Liriel asked him.
Petyar found it easier to regard the toe of his boots than the face of a drow. "I often go there," he mumbled. "Why?"
"Are there back tunnels to the place where the hostages are held?"
He glanced up, and nodded cautiously. "Yes, but they are narrow. No more than one can pass at a time."
"Perfect," she said. "Fyodor and I will go with you. I have spells that can counter the spider trap. Once the men are freed, you can lead them back to the clearing outside the Warrens. That's as good a place for battle as any."
"That would be my choice, as well," Zofia agreed. Her gaze swept the circle of witches. "Go, and prepare."
The three young people set out for the Warrens at a run. When they were still some distance away, Petyar stopped beside a large dead tree stump and threw his weight against it. The log fell with a crash, revealing a dark hole beyond.
Liriel's hands flashed through the gestures of a spell, and a sphere of blue light bobbed into existence. This earned her a wondering stare from the boy. She scowled and shoved him into the tunnel, tilting her head to listen to the clattering sound of his fall.
"Not a bad drop," she concluded. "It's safe to jump."
"Little raven!" protested Fyodor.
"It wasn't that steep," she said defensively. "Even if it was, he deserved it."
The Rashemi merely shook his head and followed his cousin into the cave.
The trio rose and regarded their surroundings in the light of Liriel's azure globe. They had emerged in a large cavern. Water dripped from jagged spires of rock high overhead and ran in rivulets toward a deep ravine. Two tunnels led out of the cavern, a broad passage leading westward and a narrow opening leading to the south.
A sound like a rushing wind swept toward them from the larger tunnel, and a full battalion of drow warriors roiled into the room.
Fyodor and Petyar drew their swords, but Liriel stepped between them and the drow. She flung up one hand and issued a sharp, staccato command-a word known only to the nobles of House Baenre and the forces under their command.
The warriors came to an abrupt halt. The leader recovered his surprise first and sauntered forward.
"That's close enough," Liriel said coldly. "You have not been granted permission to approach me."
She spoke in the drow language, dropping back into her old, imperious ways with terrifying ease. Something in her manner gave the warrior pause. "By what right do you command me?" he demanded.
"You wear the insignia of House Baenre. Therefore you are mine."
His thin, cruel lips curled in a sneer. "Triel is matron mother of the First House. Who are you?"
Liriel responded by hurling a gout of magical fire at his boots. The drow danced nimbly back. "Someone who does not care for your insolence," she snarled.
"A female wizard," he muttered. "A Shobalar, then."
Liriel sent him a venomous glare. "Triel didn't pick you for your intelligence, that's clear enough, nor for your knowledge of the House you purport to serve. I was trained by House Shobalar, yes, but I am Liriel Baenre, daughter to Menzober-ranzan's archmage."
The male's smile returned in full. "You have made our hunt all the easier. It is you we seek."
As if a signal had been given, every drow with him drew a weapon. They moved as one, swiftly and silently. Not a single sword hissed as it came free of its scabbard, not a single tiny crossbow clicked as its wielder snapped it into firing position. The silence was eerie, but no less so than the precision. Liriel had almost forgotten the preternatural skill of her people's fighters. She had not, however, forgotten their subtle and devious ways.
She threw up an arm to hold Fyodor back. "As I have sought you," she retorted. "Triel took her time in sending help! Or perhaps it