Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [77]
They came to a small clearing, a pleasant place near a deep, clear pool. Obviously it was a favorite watering place for the forest creatures. Well-worn game trails wound through the surrounding brush, tufts of fur clung to bent twigs. These details were swiftly noted and immediately forgotten, for at the far side of the clearing was a sight that struck the eye like a dwarven warhammer.
Two drow males had been tied to the trees so that their arms were held painfully high overhead. Each of them had one foot caught in a metal device that looked like a tightly clamped jaw with wicked teeth-a trap of some sort. They were dead and had been for quite some time, but judging from the deep wounds left by their struggle against the traps and ropes, they had not died quickly.
"Wolf traps," Thorn said coldly. "These drow are raiders, dwellers of the Underdark. They take joy in wanton killing. Elves, animals, humans-it matters not to them. They died the death they planned for others."
Liriel let out her breath in a long, slow whistle. "You don't take prisoners, do you?"
"At least I did not take their hides," Thorn pointed out. "Return to the matter at hand. These drow are not allied with Vhaerun's worshipers. Examine their insignia. They are of the Underdark."
"You said that before. Why is it important?" Fyodor asked.
"Cast a spell that reveals magic, and you will see."
The drow shrugged and cast the simple spell. Instantly an azure haze filled the clearing. Nearly everything owned by the dead drow glowed: boots, cloaks, weapons.
She looked up at Thorn. "These raiders have been dead for many days. All of this should have faded by now."
"It should have, yes."
Liriel shook her head in astonishment. "How is this possible? I haven't been away from the Underdark for very long. When I left, ' no one could fashion spells or magical items strong enough to withstand the sun. Is it possible that drowcraft has changed so quickly?"
"Something has changed," the elf agreed. "How this happened and what it means is not yet clear. Those who believe the gods know more than mortals, and who have observed the Spider Queen's interest in you might conclude that you play some part in this."
Liriel sat down heavily on a fallen log. "What is going on?"
"That is for Zofia Othlor to discover." The elf's eyes went to Fyodor. "The witch who set me upon your path spoke of your quest for the Windwalker. She saw the drow in a vision."
"She saw Liriel?" he marveled, an edge of hope in his voice. "She saw what would be and approved?"
Thorn made a small, scornful sound. "You know better than that. Visions speak in symbols. The witch saw a raven with golden eyes wearing the amulet around its neck."
Fyodor turned to Liriel. "Zofia Othlor told me to find the Wind-walker and return. Her very words were, 'and she will bring you home.' The Windwalker is my destiny, little raven. I would not say this if the name belonged only to a golden amulet."
The drow reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. "So that's why you were so sure your people would let me into Rashemen," she mused. "You think this Zofia can figure out what's going on?"
He nodded somberly. "She is among the most powerful wych-laran in our land."
"Well, then let's pick up the pace. How much farther have we to go?"
Thorn dropped to one knee. She brushed aside some fallen leaves and pulled a knife from her boot. With a few quick slashes she drew a rough map in the sandy soil.
"We stand here, in the High Forest," she said, tapping a large gray pebble. "The seas are far to the east, and here lies the city of Waterdeep. On good horses, you could have ridden this far in two or three days. Here is Rashemen." She thrust her knife into the soil an arm's distance away.
Liriel's heart sank. "I have no travel spells that would take us that far. You spoke of a shorter path?"
"It takes us through my homeland. There are many gates there, and my people travel them easily, but we cannot risk what happened before." She sent a cool glance