Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [139]
The followers of the Dark Maiden might revere Eilistraee, but they were still drow. No one could hate more bitterly, or cling so persistently to a grudge. Liriel suspected that she would find no welcome from Qiluй and her followers.
Perhaps Eilistraee herself would accept her. The goddess had shown her favor to Liriel more than once. And what of the moonmagic Liriel had cast, the sound of moonsong that echoed through her senses still? Surely that was sign that the goddess had not turned away! Perhaps she could live as Thorn did and find a solitary, goddess-blessed purpose of her own.
As if in response to her thoughts, a wild cry rose from among nearby trees, a voice that was not quite elven. She took off toward the sound and soon picked up the clatter of steel.
She leaped the tangle of roots that stood in her way and burst into the clearing. Her eyes took in Thorn in battle against Gorlist. The drow warrior caught sight of her and stopped in mid-lunge. He quickly recovered and stuck aside Thorn's riposte with a brutal slash. He shouldered past the elf woman and lifted his blade overhead to catch and parry the strike she aimed at the back of his neck.
Liriel thrust out one hand, warning Thorn back. "Go hunt down some of the others," she said. "This battle is mine to fight, and it has been long in coming."
"Too long," Gorlist snarled. He crossed the distance between them in a running charge, holding his sword high overhead and screaming with a fury too long repressed.
She got her sword out in time to haul it overhead with both hands. The blades met with a force that sent her staggering backward.
Gorlist pressed his advantage. He thrust in hard with a high lunge, deftly disengaged from Liriel's parry and struck again a few inches to the side. The tip of his sword thrust hard against Liriel's breastbone, where the Windwalker rested over the mark it had burned deeply into her skin The amulet saved her, but she gasped in pain.
Wild, triumphant laughter burst from the warrior. He slashed his blade across one shoulder, cutting through her shirt and tracing a long, stinging line across her shoulder.
"Now you are marked," he gloated. "Your first scar. Let's see how many more you can bear before you die." Spittle flew from his lips. His sword flashed up toward her face. Liriel managed a high parry that turned his blade aside. It skimmed through her hair. Gorlist wrenched it free, tearing a lock from her scalp.
"That's another," he said as he came in again.
The two drow danced along the stream bed, their swords clattering in a deadly duet, but the long night and the powerful spellcasting had drained Liriel's strength. She felt as if she were moving through water or slowed by a nightmarish lethargy. More than once the vengeful warrior got past her guard.
His blade skimmed the knuckles of her sword hand, opening a long red line. Blood poured over her hand and the hilt it gripped.
Gorlist leaped into a deep, lunging attack. Liriel parried, knowing what was surely to follow. As she expected, he moved his sword in a small but powerful circle, twisting the sword from her wet hand. He kicked the falling sword and sent it spinning into the stream.
Liriel dived under his next attack and rolled aside, reaching for the throwing knives in her boot. She threw these at the advancing drow. He batted them aside and kept coming.
Again she rolled, grabbing and throwing whatever knife came to hand. Gorlist struck them down with contemptuous ease. The cold waters of the stream closed over her, shocking her into full awareness of her situation. Her weapons were gone, her spells all cast.
She leaped to her feet and faced her enemy with defiant pride. It was all she had left.
An enormous black bear paused at the forest's edge, gazing out over the battlefield with pain-clouded eyes. The rocky ground was littered with the bodies of the slain, and the wheeling multitude of ravens formed dark clouds against the morning sky.
The bear's wounded paw gave way, and he stumbled to the ground. Fyodor felt the