Tangled Webs (49 page)

For a long moment Fyodor stared at the drow, fearing mightily that she had lost her wits-and perhaps her soul-under the strain ofher Llothgranted power. Then he saw the joy shining in her eyes, and it dawned on him that he need not obey her command.

At long last, they were both truly free.

“Stay with us and make your home on Ruathym,” urged Aumark Lithyl as he stood at water’s edge with the Rashemi and the drow. “I’There is a place of honor here for you both.”

Days had passed since the battle’s end, and life on the island had fallen back into its familiar routine. Fyodor’s gaze swept the now-familiar landscape, taking in the village beyond the cove and the hills that cast long green shadows over both. In this wild and warlike land he had truly found a home, and he discovered to his surprise that the leavetaking did not come easily.

“Wedigar is nearly well, and he can choose his successor from any number of shapestrong heirs. He has released me from my pledge; I am honor-bound to return to Rashemen,” he replied simply.

Aumark nodded, accepting the young warrior’s duty. “I’And what of you?” the First Axe asked, turning to Liriel. “You have heard that Glammad has offered to yield the ruling of Hastor to the Raven. In ancient times, this village was led by rune-casters; it seems that all of Ruathym is eager to return to her former glories.”

“I’Thank you, no,” the drow said without hesitation or regret. “I’I have pledges of my own to keep. A cleric must be found who can unravel the tapestry and release the spirits of the elves and men entangled within. I must also seek tutors for a certain sea elf. Xzorsh shows genuine talent for the art of magic, but I lack the patience or the skill to teach him myself. It is one thing to do, another thing altogether to teach,” she muttered with a touch of exasperation. “I know now why so many of my tutors quit in despair!” Fyodor passed a hand over his lips to hide his sudden smirk, for he was certain there was more to the story than Liriel’s words suggested. He could not imagine the fiery drow had been the most biddable of students.

“We must go now,” he said, placing a hand on Liriel’s shoulder.

She nodded and stepped lightly along the plank that rose to the deck of the waiting ship. The Ruathen crew took her presence among them in stride; the three Waterdhavian men aboard, however-the lordly young man known as Caladorn and the two seal hunters—eyed the dark elf with a mixture of dread and foreboding.

Fyodor noted this with a touch of resignation as he followed Liriel onto the ship. The measure of acceptance she had won here on Ruathym had not come easily; surely she knew life elsewhere would be an endless struggle. He wondered why the drow was so determined to leave, but he dared not hope her answer would be the one he most longed to hear.

That night, in the cabin they shared, he asked why she had refused the opportunity to rule in Ruathym.

“I’I have seen what power can do, and I want no part of it,” Liriel said at once, snuggling into his arms like a contented cat. “I’I am content to be a wizard and to seek adventure. I have no ambition-and no desire—to rule anywhere. And I will not!” she vowed fervently.

But Fyodor believed otherwise. He had long suspected the girl was destined for a role of great power-he considered his brief, magical servitude as evidence of this. But, being wise beyond his years, he kept his opinions on th~ matter to himself. And holding Liriel’s needs above his own dreams, he hid his deep disappointment at her answer. “I’And after Waterdeep, what then? Will you return to Skullport and take a place among the chosen of Eilistraee?” he asked.

The drow recoiled as if he had struck her. “I had thought to go with you to Rashemen,” she said with quiet dignity. “I’Or is there another who awaits you there?”

Joy flooded the young man’s heart. He quickly claimed Liriel’s hand and raised her fingers to his lips. “I’Of course I want you with me! But I know what faces you in the world and would not ask you to walk this path unless you came to it yourself. But no matter where you might have chosen to go, for so long as I live, there would be no other for me,” he swore.

“I’Nor for me,” the drow repeated. As the implication of this sunk in, her face took on an almost comic look of dismay. “I’One male,” she muttered distractedly. “By all the gods-it isn’t natural. It just isn’t done!”

Fyodor burst out laughing; he simply couldn’t help it. “I’I will do my best to stave off boredom,” he promised her in a droll tone. “I’And it may comfort you to know that humans do not live so very long.”

“I’How long is that?”

He shrugged. “I’Sixty, perhaps seventy years.”

“That’s all? Well, at least that’s some consolation,” Liriel said tartly, sending him an arch, sidelong glance. “I’It’s well to know there’s a reasonable end in sight!”

Fyodor chuckled, reading the truth of the matter in her golden eyes and deft hands. Apparently Liriel had come to terms with her sentence of monogamy. At the very least, she seemed determined to make the best of matters.

Much later he held the sleeping drow in his arms and thought of the journey that lay ahead. A struggle awaited them both, for dark elves were known-and hated-in his rugged homeland. His hard-pressed kinsmen would be appalled by the elf woman whom Fyodor’s destiny, and his heart, had chosen for him. The hazards that lay before him and Liriel were many and real, the joys only those that they could find together, or in each other.

And yet Fyodor did not doubt that these would be enough to content them both. As to Liriel’s prospects, he chided himself for dismissing them so soon. The elven girl was resilient, resourceful, and possessed of a quirky charm that spoke to hearts other than his.

“I’How long will it be,” he murmured in jest, “I’before you rule among Rashemen’s Witches?”

As if in response, Liriel’s lips curved in a knowing smile. For a moment, Fyodor thought his words had awakened the ever-alert. Yet as he studied her repose, the truth of the matter came to him slowly, and filled him with a contentment beyond words.

What thoughts sweetened her sleep, Fyodor could not say, but this much he knew: the drow had learned at last what it was to dream.