Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [23]
"Sell your soul to the dark powers on behalf of goodly folk, and this is the thanks you get," she said flippantly. "Oh, yes, I definitely see the allure in a life of service."
Xzorsh looked shocked, and doubly so when Fyodor chuckled. The warrior clapped the sea elf on the shoulder. "It is only her way of speaking," Fyodor assured him. "All will be well."
The elf nodded uncertainly. He vaulted over the rail and slipped into the waves without sound or splash. Fyodor watched him go, and the expression in his winter-blue eyes did not match his reassuring words.
All will be well, Liriel repeated silently. She had never once heard this sentiment expressed during her years in Menzober-ranzan, but humans seemed inordinately fond of it. Some of them actually believed it to be true.
The bleak look on Fyodor's face proclaimed he knew better.
She twined her arms around his neck and let him gather her close, marveling anew at the comfort in a simple embrace. Before he buried his face in her hair, Liriel noted his troubled expression. Most likely, she surmised, concern that his words to Xzorsh shaped a pledge he could not keep. She could think of few things more likely to trouble her friend. Drow promises were like the thin wheaten sea biscuits that formed a staple of the seafarer's diet: easily made, easily broken. To Fyodor, a promise was as immutable as sunrise.
It occurred to Liriel, and not for the first time, that humans led incredibly complicated lives.
CHAPTER TWO
A wolf is always a wolf
The drow and the Hashemi stood together for a long moment, entwined in each other's arms. After a while Fyodor stepped back and attempted a smile.
"This is thoughtless of the others. A long sea journey is hard enough on a man without such reminders of what they cannot have."
Liriel's white brows shot up. "If you're feeling generous enough to suggest sharing the wealth, forget it. You're more than enough for me."
"Words I have heard from many a fair maiden," he said lightly.
"Really? How many?"
He sent the drow a questioning look.
She shrugged. "Just wondering how many human women I'll have to kill once we get to Rashemen."
Fyodor's jaw dropped. "Little raven, I was speaking in jest!" he sputtered.
The drow let out a crow of laughter. "You really thought I was serious?"
"Sometimes it is hard to tell," he said carefully.
She considered that and found it reasonable. "I suppose it would be."
They fell silent, sharing the moonlight if not their individual thoughts. After a while she glanced up at Fyodor's profile and gave him a teasing poke in the ribs.
"You're wearing your storyteller face," she observed, referring to the far-off, pensive expression that preceded one of his tales. Her people's few storytellers existed to extol the victories of the ruling matrons and their warriors. She found an odd appeal in the notion that guidance and wisdom could be found in ancient legends. Not that she would ever admit to this, of course.
He absently captured her hand in his. "Storyteller face? What does such a thing look like?"
"All serious and tight, like you're trying to hold in a sneeze. Must be the mold growing on those old tales of yours."
Fyodor met her teasing with a somber stare. "A story, yes, but not one of the old legends."
He released her hand and propped his elbows on the rail. "A few years ago, my sister Vastish found a wolf pup in the forest, an albino runt that would never have survived in the wild."
"I know of these wolves," Liriel interrupted eagerly. "Beautiful and fierce they are said to be! A drow I killed a while back gave me some lorebooks about the surface world. I didn't kill him for the books," she added defensively, noting the incredulous expression on Fyodor's face. "Forget it. Say on, and I'll be silent."
"The villager elders counseled Vastish on her folly," he continued. " 'A wolf will always be a wolf,' they said. 'It will steal chickens, chase the children at play.'Vastish was