Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [95]
"Moonstone," she decided. "Your name is Moonstone."
Her mount bobbed its head in obvious accord, then it neighed again, louder and more insistently.
"Where are we going?" she translated and again received an affirmative response.
Sharlarra hadn't thought this far ahead, but the answer came to her quickly. What better destination than the adventure that had captured her imagination since the day she'd stolen Liriel Baenre's gems?
"You'll like Rashemen," she told the ghost horse. "I've heard they're fond of spirits there."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
return of the witch
Dawn was still hours away when the Witch-boat's shallow hull crunched softly on the peb-bles of the Rashemen shore. The two companions climbed out and gazed over the valley toward the somber tower. Liriel set off toward it at a brisk pace.
Fyodor caught her arm. "Before we go any farther, there are things you should know about this land."
"You've been telling me stories since we met," she pointed out.
"A drop in the ocean. Every place has its tales and legends. The valley between the shore and tower is known as White Rusalka Vale. We call this a silent valley. That means there are some places within it where no magic can be cast other than that which is in the land. The witches can use magic, but no one else."
The drow's eyebrows lifted. "Smart. In Underdark cities, we do much the same thing. It's like a magical moat around a castle."
"It is much the same idea, yes." He scanned the valley. "We should make camp."
They settled down in a small curve of the river and built a pair of fires. Liriel took the water skin Fyodor offered and made a face at the stale, musty taste.
"The water here runs fast and clear. Surely we could drink it."
"Tomorrow," he said firmly. "Tonight we must stay away from the river's edge. Promise me you will do this."
The drow bristled. "I know how to swim."
"If you meet a rusalka, you will learn how to drown," he responded. "Water spirits haunt this river. Some say that they are the ghosts of drowned maidens, and that may be so. Sometimes their attacks seem deliberate, but other times they cling to the living as if in remembered panic, dragging them under the water with them."
"You're just as dead, either way," Liriel concluded and eyed the darkening water with new respect.
"It would be well to stay within the circle of firelight, too," he added.
The drow acknowledged this with a curt nod. "I'll sit first watch. Thanks to that faerie elf, I've had enough sleep to last a tenday."
"Thanks to that faerie elf, you are alive," he pointed out.
Liriel puzzled over this. "Why would she bother?"
"Honor? Decency?"
"Not likely," the drow mused. "I suppose it's possible that she's honorable and decent, but she had to have a reason for what she did. Everyone does."
Lirel's stomach grumbled. She felt as hollow as if she'd gone a tenday without food, though she realized it had been only two days.
"Let's hunt." She rose and pulled a pair of throwing knives from her belt.
They walked only a few paces into the forest when Liriel noted the rabbit emerging from the roots of an enormous fallen tree. It was beyond her accurate throwing range, but it seemed in no hurry to leave its den. She flipped her knife into throwing position and began to creep forward.
Again Fyodor seized her arm and indicated with gestures that she should wait. He unstoppered his jhild flask and took a swig.
Liriel's eyes rounded with astonishment. "A rage for a rabbit? How does one hunt Rashemaar squirrels-with summoned demons?"
"Check the rabbit for hidden magic," he told her. He began the chant that brought on the berserker rage.
She quickly cast the spell that revealed hidden magic. A soft aura surrounded the rabbit. Its head snapped up, and