Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [70]
"Distant places," Thorn repeated. "It is said that Rashemi on darjemma are fearless travelers. This is so?"
Liriel, who had been listening in uncharacteristic silence, let out a short laugh. "He's traveling with me," she pointed out.
"Well said," Thorn told her coolly. She turned her attention back to the human. "We walk," she told him, "through the lands of my people."
Fyodor jolted with surprise. Thorn noted the sudden flare of understanding, the way his eyes widened with wonder. Apparently this one had paid close attention to the old Rashemaar tales. More important, he believed them.
"Exile or silence," she reminded him.
"Your secret and my honor," he vowed, holding up two entwined fingers.
Liriel propped her fists on her hips and wheeled toward her friend. "What in the nine bloody hells just happened here?"
Thorn swung a sudden, roundhouse punch toward Liriel's face. Startled, the drow nonetheless managed to throw up both arms, wrists crossed, to block the attack. The elf's blow drove right into the parry and slammed Liriel's joined hands into her face with stunning force. The girl's amber eyes rolled up, and she slumped to the ground.
In a single fluid movement Fyodor drew his sword and stepped between the elf and his fallen friend. "No one harms Liriel while I live," he said quietly.
The elf lifted one ebony brow. "If I wanted her dead, I would have permitted Dolor to finish the task."
"Then why?" he demanded, nodding toward the unconscious girl.
"You know what I am," Thorn said, "and therefore you should not need to ask. You are not like this drow with her talk of 'fairies' or 'gray elves.' You are Rashemi, and you have heard tales of the lands through which we must walk. My people's lands are in this world and yet not. I do not know for certain whether the eyes of a drow goddess can follow us there. I have seen Lolth gazing through Liriel's eyes. I will not take that risk."
The Rashemi accepted this development with a wince and a sigh. "Liriel will not sleep long. Even now she stirs," he pointed out.
The elf took a spring of dried herb from a bag at her belt. "This is from my homeland. The scent of it is very powerful and will hold her deep in slumber."
"You couldn't have mentioned this before?" Fyodor demanded.
"It will hold someone in slumber," she said pointedly. "The amount needed to place someone in a deep sleep is much greater and can be dangerous. Knowing this, would you have chosen the herb?"
A soft groan came from the wakening drow. Fyodor put away his sword. He stooped and gathered his friend into his arms then met Thorn's gaze.
"It was not my choice to make," he said softly, "nor was it yours. You do not wish to invite the Goddess of Spiders into your people's lands. I understand what you did, but I do not like it. Next time we come to a crossroads, speak of the paths we might walk, and let Liriel chose the way she will go."
"Fair enough."
The elf twined the stem of the herb through the weave of Liriel's cloak, so that the dried herb rested against her cheek. Instantly she went limp in Fyodor's arms.
"It will not harm her," Thorn said testily, noting the flash of alarm in the Rashemi's eyes. "Nor will it cause you to be drowsy or forgetful. Keep your wits about you, and come."
She turned and strode into the forest. Fyodor followed with the drow girl in his arms and his blue eyes alight with excitement and anticipation. He would have to reckon with Liriel come tomorrow, but in his heart burned the Rashemi's restless eagerness to see and know.
All young people in his homeland, male and female, devoted a year or more to the wandering they called darjemma. None of them had been permitted to see the place to which Thorn promised to take them-or more accurately, of those few who had stumbled into Thorn's homeland, none had returned. Or perhaps some did return, without memory of the places they had been or the wonders they had witnessed. The herbs of the Moon Hunters were powerful indeed.
A sudden doubt assailed him.