Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [88]
The drow started for the surface. Suddenly her way was blocked by another elflike female, a familiar creature with a beautiful blue face and insanity burning bright in her sea-green eyes.
Liriel twisted in the water, but she was not fast enough to evade the genasi's leaping attack. The blue creature seized Liriel's hair and dragged her to the surface.
The drow fought with every ounce of ferocity she possessed. They tumbled and kicked and clawed, churning the water into foam.
Finally Fyodor made his way out to the battling females. He thrust his way between them and tucked one under each arm. He stood and made his way to shore in three quick steps.
Liriel wriggled free and lunged for her pile of weapons. She snatched up a long knife and whirled back toward her foe.
"Why did you fight me?" the creature demanded, her angry gaze fixed accusingly on Liriel and her blue fists propped on her hips. "You could have been drowned."
"You've just answered your own stupid question," Liriel shot back. "I was trying to keep you from drowning me."
The genasi looked genuinely shocked. "You thought I was trying to kill you?"
"Seems like a reasonable assumption, given our last encounter."
The genasi frowned as she struggled to sort through this logic. "Vestriss is dead," she said at last.
It was Liriel's turn to be puzzled. "Vestriss? The illithid?"
"I killed her," the genasi said proudly. "I, Azar, daughter of the Elemental Planes. The walking squid will never again enslave her betters."
This was starting to make sense-after a fashion. "Vestriss sent you out after me. We fought, you lost. So you traveled halfway across Faerыn to drag me ashore when you thought I was drowning. Why?"
"The illithid wanted you dead," Azar explained. "That is reason enough to want you alive. You inspired hatred in me, so of course I owed you a debt. It is no great matter for me to travel from one body of water to another."
With that "explanation," the genasi splashed back into the Ashane.
Liriel pursed her lips and shot an inquiring glance at Fyodor. "Is there lots of water around here?"
"Many streams and rivers, and hot springs as well." She gave him a wry smile. "Chances are I won't be lonely, then. Rashemen's given me quite a reception so far."
"We haven't arrived yet," Fyodor said lightly, but there was something in his eyes that turned the words into warning.
The drow quickly dressed and armed herself. The Witchboat was making its way toward them at a slow, stately pace. As they waited, Fyodor took out a knife and began to chip away at a thick piece of driftwood. The wood was extremely pale, almost white, and marked by tightly-packed swirling patterns. "Pretty," she observed.
"Rashemaar ash. There is no wood stronger." Liriel recalled the cudgel he had carried when they first met. "Not a bad weapon," she said. "It's lightweight, hard, and strong." "All that and more. Rashemaar driftwood holds the power of the land and water both." "That's important?"
"It can be. There are strange creatures in this land. Some must be fought, others appeased, and some avoided. Sometimes it is difficult to tell which is which or to know how just what is required," he cautioned. "It is best that you take my lead."
"I'll be as docile as a Ruathan maiden," Liriel promised, a demure smile on her lips and a wicked gleam in her eye. They exchanged a smile that was both teasing and deeply intimate.
Thorn rose from her place by the fire. Her stern face was softened by a faintly wistful expression. "The Witchboat's approach is slow, no doubt to give you two time to warm yourselves. For that, my presence is not needed." She lifted a hand in farewell. "Run swiftly, hunt well."
She turned away and with a few quick strides disappeared into the forest.
Liriel settled into Fyodor's arms and began to loosen the fastenings of his vest. "I could get to like that elf. Who would have thought?"
He chuckled and smoothed back her wet hair. "Docile Ruathan maiden?" he teased her.
"Why not? Anything's worth trying once."
The moon rose, the fire burned low, and the patient