Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [96]
A huge, hideous beast lurched toward them with the strangest gait Liriel had ever seen. The creature had two legs, but its powerful arms reached the ground, and it used them to pull itself along in an odd galloping motion. Matted gray fur covered the monster, and its face was like an ore's with its upturned snout and large, protruding lower canines. Most peculiar were the great black eyes-not just two, but a circlet of them that seemed to surround the creature's entire head like a string of enormous obsidian beads.
Fyodor lifted his cudgel and ran to meet the charge. He ducked beneath a vicious, swiping blow and lunged forward like a swordsman delivering a high jab.
The driftwood club smashed into the monster's face. The creature swore with human fluency and spat out a mouthful of sharp, yellowed teeth. It swatted again. This time Fyodor blocked. The sharp crack of wood against bone rang through the air. Liriel winced, certain that the berserker had shattered his weapon.
The creature loped away, one arm hanging useless. As danger receded, so did the berserker rage. Fyodor seemed to slip down into himself, and he swayed where he stood.
Liriel ran forward and took the club from his slack hand. She pushed him down on the grass. He took the skin flask she offered and drank deeply of the stale water.
"How did you know?" she marveled.
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and pointed to the fallen tree. "See how the upturned roots make a small cave? That is too large a den for an entire warren of rabbits. The uthraki make their homes in such places."
"It's a shapeshifter, then. The spell should have shown its true form."
"Not the uthraki. The usual spells for such things show no more than the presence of magic."
Liriel pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "Well, clearly you're in no shape for hunting. Is it safe to pick mushrooms here?"
"If you know what to pick. There are many deadly mushrooms in these forests. Some will not kill you but will bring strange and terrible dreams. Better for tonight that we eat travelers' fare." He took from his bag some strips of dried meat mixed with what appeared to be berries and herbs.
The drow took one and nibbled off a corner. It was surprisingly good. "Where did these come from?"
"Thorn gave them to us, but we make something very similar in Rashemen. Let's get back to camp."
She rose and extended her hand to him. He accepted without comment-another thing that still astonished Liriel. In her homeland, no one dared expose a weakness of any sort. An offer of help was the sort of insult that led to blood feud. Yet here between friends, this giving and accepting was a simple, expected thing.
Since even a short berserker rage was enormously debilitating, they didn't even discuss who should take first watch. Liriel sat beside her sleeping friend, watching the moon creep across the night sky and feeding sticks to the twin fires that framed their campsite. When she was certain that Fyodor was sound asleep, she rose silently and crept into the darkness.
It seemed to Liriel that Fyodor sometimes forgot the differences between them. The firelight was no advantage to her-quite the contrary. If there was any danger near at hand, she would be more likely to perceive it in the cool shadows beyond.
The drow began to explore the valley in ever-widening circles, avoiding the forest and keeping to the open grassy areas. The valley seemed deserted but for the singing insects in the grass and a small band of stout and shaggy wild horses. She noted with interest that they stood in a small circle, the young ones asleep in the center. All the adults stood, and while one was obviously a sentry, the others slept on their feet. Their heads drooped nearly to the meadow grass, but long velvety ears twisted even in slumber, alert to the slightest sound. The drow, of course, made