Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [64]
"There is winter in the air," he commented. "Already the leaves turn to scarlet and gold. In a ten-day, many will fall."
The thief nodded. She remembered enough of woodcraft to realize the difficulty of passing unseen through a denuded woods. The roads would be crowded with caravans carrying goods to far-flung cities and villages, in preparation for the late harvest markets and the long winter that followed.
For reasons she found it impossible to name, the thought of Rashe-men stirred something inside her. Almost irresistibly, she found her eyes drawn east. She looked at the Rashemi thoughtfully.
"My offer to open the gate to the High Forest still stands."
"It is a risk," Fyodor acknowledged.
"What isn't when you're traveling with a drow?"
The Rashemi grimaced and nodded. "You understand perfectly. I wished to have private words with you for another reason. This elf you described, this Thorn. She is a Moon Hunter, and it is not Liriel she follows. The witches of Rashemen sent her after me. If I fall in battle, she will see me home."
Sharlarra nodded thoughtfully. "My people feel strongly about resting amid the roots of their homeland's trees. Thanks for telling me."
"Who are your people?"
The question, though reasonable, set Sharlarra back on her heels. "Oh you know. The People. Elves," she said lightly.
Fyodor merely smiled. "My offer stands, as well. Come to Rashe-men, listen to legends of elf maidens with amethyst eyes."
Her own gem-like eyes grew thoughtful, but she offered no response.
He watched as the elf sped through the complicated gestures of a spell. An oval of liquid magic appeared. Fyodor noted that the trees beyond were faintly visible through it. It was a marvel to him that they could walk through this veil and emerge far away.
This thought brought another to mind. "The horses?"
Sharlarra shook her head regretfully. "Two people, no more. It's the best I can do."
"No matter. We would have to lead the horses through most of the forest anyway. Would you return them to their owners, with my thanks?"
"How do you know they're not mine?"
The Hashemi merely lifted one brow. The elf grinned and swung herself into the saddle. She cantered off, the other two horses close behind.
Fyodor squared his shoulders in preparation for battle and returned to camp. To his surprise, Liriel offered no argument. She swiftly gathered up her things and followed him to the clearing.
They stepped through the iridescent gate-and into an encampment of drow females.
The dark elves reacted like birds startled into flight. Those who appeared to be sleep were on their feet in a heartbeat, weapons in hand. Dancers clad in gowns the color of moonlight dived for their swords. A tight circle formed around the two companions, and beyond that, another.
For a long moment the drow females sized up their captives. "Que'irrerar stafir la temon?" inquired one of them.
The language was similar to the drow language Liriel had spoken since birth, but the intonation was different-softer, more fluid, with gentle trills rather than hard, clicking sounds. Judging from their garb, Liriel guessed they were priestesses of the Dark Maiden. She shook her head to indicate that she did not understand and took off the medallion Qiluй had given her.
One of the drow, a tall female clad in a filmy gown, strode forward and seized the medallion.
"Whom did you kill in order to get this talisman?" she demanded.
Liriel bristled at the accusation. "No one," she snarled. "Now ask me whom I'm willing to kill in order to keep it."
The leader swept a glance across her ranks. All but one stepped back. The one who lingered handed the drow a sword.
Fyodor started forward. His progress was halted by a dozen silver blades-and a burst of magic that froze him as surely as a white dragon's breath. Apparently the leader intended to take Liriel's comment as a challenge and would brook no interference or distraction. He watched helplessly as his friend drew her sword and fell into guard position.
"Dolor," the female snapped, naming herself