Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [87]
Thorn glanced up at the sky. "The only other things I might try involve moonmagic. It's a waning moon-not good for the needed spells-and at any rate it won't rise in time."
The Rashemi knelt at Liriel's side. Her face felt cool to his touch, and her breathing was nearly imperceptible. The deathlike slumber that had hidden Liriel's path from Lolth's prying eyes appeared to be deepening.
"Is there anything else we could try? Anything at all?"
"Throw her in the water," suggested Thorn. "The shock might wake her, provided it doesn't stop her heart first."
Fyodor sat back on his heels and thrust one hand through his hair. The Lake of Tears was bitter cold even in summer, but he'd seen Liriel swim and survive worse. He had little fear of her drowning. She still wore the ring of water breathing the illithid's minions had used during an attempt to kidnap her. "What of the guardians?"
"If the water spirits don't want your drow in Rashemen, you might as well know now as later," she pointed out.
There was reason in that argument, so Fyodor set to work. He quickly shed his boots, unbuckled his weapons belt, and stripped off his garments. No Rashemi entered the water clothed or armed. To do so was an affront to the spirits who dwelt in most rivers and streams, ponds and wells. The Ashane was the most haunted body in the land. As Fyodor peeled off the sleeping drow's garments and weapons, he marveled, as he always did in such circumstances, that so small a girl managed to hide so many blades about her person.
Finally he stood with Liriel in his arms. He waded a step or two into the water-the shore dropped off too quickly for him to go much farther-and tossed her into the lake.
Liriel came awake cursing and sputtering, her arms flailing the icy waters. She took in her situation almost immediately and tested the depth with her feet. The bottom eluded her, so she began to swim the few needed strokes to the shore.
Cold hands closed on her ankles, and suddenly she was being dragged deeper into the water. She heard Fyodor call her name, heard the splash as he dived after her.
Her captors were faster still. Liriel twisted as best she could and managed to catch a glimpse of them. Two elflike females skimmed effortlessly through the water, barely moving their naked green limbs. The drow snatched at the swiftly passing reeds, desperately trying to get a handhold.
When the nereids finally released her, she swam for the surface and took stock of her situation.
The nereids had dragged her well away from the shore. Moving steadily westward was a long wooden boat, its prow elaborately carved and brightly painted. The craft appeared to be unmanned, yet it changed direction and came directly toward the paddling drow. Liriel's mind raced. If she was awake, their journey to Rashemen must be completed-or nearly so. She racked her brain for information about boats in Fyodor's country. At once, there came to her the memory of the warrior's tales of the powerful Witchboats.
She snatched a quick breath and dived deep. The Witchboat came to a stop directly over her. She began to swim toward the western shore, glancing up frequently at the magical boat. It followed her but remained a length or two behind. There was room for her to come up for air when she needed to do so. Apparently the boat had no intention of drowning her.
Liriel considered her situation further. Fyodor had said that a powerful witch called Zofia Othlor had foreseen her coming. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that the witch had perceived their approach and sent both the nereids and the boat to bring them to Rashemen's shores.