Tangled Webs (14 page)

There was hope in his voice, but Liriel saw in his eyes that he did not believe this could be so. Eilistraee was the goddess of those drow who forsook the dark tunnels and evil ways, the goddess of dance and the hunt. The Dark Maiden encouraged her followers to create beauty, to aid travelers, to live in peace and joy beneath the sun and the moon. Fyodor knew that Liriel was a child of the Underdark.

Her fingers instinctively closed around the amulet of Lloth, as if to shield her friend from the Spider Queen and all that the goddess represented. “I was trained as a wizard from a young age,” Liriel said steadily. “That is what I am. But before I left Menzoberranzan, I was sent to the clerical school. I was there but a short time, hardly enough to be accounted a priestess!”

“But your prayer was answered with magic,” he persisted. Liriel shrugged. “If a goddess is willing to grant me power, I’d be a fool not to take it!”

“But at what price?” Fyodor asked earnestly. “Liriel, I have heard many terrible stories of the drow and their goddess. You have given me to know that these stories are but a dim shadow of the life you knew. If this is so, what good can possibly come from such as Lloth?”

The drow thought carefully before speaking, for such questions were new to her and the answers were still forming in her mind.

“Do you remember what Qilue Veladorn asked me, when we asked her and the other drow of Eilistraee’s temple to help us get the Windwalker back? She asked why I wanted to retain my drow powers—and what I intended to do with them. I am learning that there are many things that can be done. Stopping Nisstyre and his nest ofVhaeraun worshipers was one. Through the power of Lloth, I learned that the spirits of these elves did not move beyond the mortal realm. They were trapped through sorcery: If Lloth grants me the chance and the power to free these elves, I will take it!”

“But Lloth is evil, is that not so?”

“Of course,” Liriel said without pause. “But Lloth is also powerful, and so my people worship her. I used to scorn the drow’s constant scrambling for more and more power, like so many silly dragons collecting ever bigger heaps of gold. But I’m starting to see that power is also a tool,” she concluded thoughtfully. “If I have it, and use it to worthwhile ends, does the source of it truly matter?”

Fyodor shook his head, not certain how to answer. He was deeply gratified to see how far Liriel had come; these were hardly the sentiments of the spoiled drow princess he had met in the tunnels of the Underdark. From the beginning he had sensed Liriel’s potential, and through his Sight had caught fey glimpses of a destiny that might well rival the mightiest of Rashemen’s Witches. He was proud of her growth, and he could not find words to refute her reasoning. But still he was uneasy.

“Come,” he said at last. “Let us tell Hrolfthat Ibn sleeps in the hold. That will buy a little time, but we must figure out what to do next.”

Liriel smiled her thanks and slipped her arms around his waist. “Devious, you are!” she said teasingly. “Given time, you might make a creditable drow!”

He returned her friendly embrace and quickly disengaged himself: Not so much, this time, from the temptation her nearness presented, but because of the admiration in Liriel’s voice. He was not proud of the deception he’d suggested, but to Liriel such acts were worthy of praise. She took great pride in her heritage and considered comparing him to a drow the highest possible compliment.

Fyodor’s feelings of confusion deepened when he listened to Liriel explain the matter to Hrolf, for she spun out the web of deception with obvious relish. He could not help but wonder how far Liriel had truly traveled from the tunnels of the Underdark, and the ways of Lloth.

Xzorsh did not reach the Elfmaid until the following dawn, for he saw no need to hurry. Although he already knew the reason for his summons, the sea elf listened carefully to Hrolf’s recitation of the facts. He briefly considered telling the pirate where the surviVing seal hunters had taken refuge, but he knew there were no answers to be found there. The best Xzorsh could do for his slain kindred was to take them home to be buried with honor in the coral catacombs hidden deep in the sea. So he said nothing when Hrolf sent two men-his first mate, who was strangely groggy and the object of much teasing by his fellows, and the young warrior who’d killed the giant squid—0ut on a small boat to look for the adrift sailors. It was effort wasted, and it made Xzorsh’s tasks as guardian more difficult, but the sea elf let it pass. He did not trust what Hrolf might do upon learning that Lord Caladorn and the others had escaped Umberlee’s judgment.

Under Xzorsh’s direction, the Ruathen sailors returned the slain elves to the sea. Far beneath the waves, sea folk from the nearest settlement awaited to take them to the distant city they had once called home. Sittl, Xzorsh’s partner, had arranged all, and he awaited the ranger now in the depths. The other ranger would not come near the Elfmaid-his distrust of humans ran too deep.

At the moment, Xzorsh could hardly blame him. There was evil below the waves as well as in the world of humans, but the young sea ranger was deeply shaken by the brutal, senseless nature of these deaths. He was also troubled by the brief conversation he’d had with the drow. She had pulled him aside, told him of the strange fate that had befallen the spirits of the elves at the hands of some unknown sorcerer. Apparently she’d hoped he might be able to shed some light on the matter. But to Xzorsh such use of magic was horrifying and utterly beyond his understanding. He left the humans and their disturbing drow passenger as soon as possible to seek the familiar comfort of his friend’s presence.

But Sittl’s mood was even darker than his own. “I often think the world would be better if Umberlee took every human that so much as stuck a toe in the water,” he said grimly in the clicks and whistles of the seaelven dialect. “And I will never understand why you spend so much time and concern on that pirate!”

Xzorshsent him a strange look. Sittl knew ofhis pledge. To sea elves, a pledge was an immutable bond! “Hrolf saved my life,” he reminded his friend.

“So you have told me many times, but that was before we met. You were little more than a child then!” Sittl retorted. “The debt was paid in full long ago!”

“How can you say such a thing?” the ranger marveled, aghast that the practical, reliable Sittl could harbor such blasphemous ideas.

His partner turned aside. He did not answer for a long moment, but his mottled shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh, sending an eloquent rift of bubbles floating upward. “One of the females was once my lover. The dead child was mine,” he said flatly. “Forgive my harsh words against the human pirate; I am not myself.”

Xzorsh reached over to clasp his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. If you had told me of your loss, I would have spared you this task.”

The elf shook his head. “We have our duties,” he said, and when he turned back to Xzorsh his face was composed. “What must we do now, to honor your pledge?”

“The others will see to the slain People. We two watch over Hrolf and his men. I need your help, for one of us must keep Hrolf’s ship in sight, the other ensure that the two men who seek the seal hunters come to no harm. I cannot help but think,” Xzorsh said slowly, “that the Elfmaid is in grave danger. There are forces at work that I do not yet understand.”

“The drow?”

“Perhaps,” the ranger said, and it was his turn to avert his eyes. This was as close to an untruth as ever he had told. Xzorsh did not trust the drow, but she knew magic and he did not. He would have to depend on her help to fmd and free the spirits of the slain sea elves. It was an impossible alliance and the most dangerous task he had ever considered.

Why then, Xzorsh wondered, did the very thought of it fill him with elation?

Three days passed, and neither the crew of the Elfmaid nor Ibn and Fyodor in their smaller boat caught sight of the adrift sailors. The two vessels tacked back and forth across the warm waters of the River, crossing paths repeatedly as they searched for the small boat. At last Ibn decided the effort was in vain.

“Theyre not on the River anymore, that’s what,” the first mate proclaimed. “Umberlee took ‘em, and that’s the end of it. We might as well get back to the ship.”

Fyodor gave reluctant agreement. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed the company of the taciturn sailor, but he hoped the time away from the ship had tempered Ibn’s wrath against Liriel. The mate had not once brought up the matter. Fyodor took that as a good sign.

The two men rowed hard, and before long they had the Elfmaid in sight. Once on board, Ibn strode directly over to Hrolf:

“Call a Thing,” he demanded, using the ancient word for a council of law. By Northman law any ship’s officer had the right to request that such council be convened, but only to deal with matters of grave import.

Hrolf eyed the first mate warily. “What’s this about, lad?”

“The female, that’s what. She attacked me—a ship’s officer-with her drow sorcery.”

“You seem hale enough,” the captain pointed out. “Would you be happier if she’d left me dead?” Ibn retorted. “A hit or near miss, in the eyes of the law it’s all the same, and well you know it!”

Perplexed by this development, the captain turned his gaze slowly over the men who had gathered to hear Ibn’s words. Almost without exception, they nodded agreement to Ibn’s assessment of the matter.

Hrolf sighed and turned to Fyodor. “You’d better bring her topside, lad. We’ve got to get to the root of this.”

The young warrior nodded grimly and disappeared into the hold. He and Liriel returned to find the men seated in a tight semicircle on the deck.

“The Thing begins,” Hrolf said, his face creased with regret. “You stand before the ship’s council, Liriel Baenre, accused of attacking a ship’s officer with sorcery. What do you say to this?”

The drow’s chin lifted defiantly. “Whatever the man’s position, has he the right to creep up on me, to threaten me with a knife? As you can see, Ibn is strong and well. I did nothing but stop his attack. If I’d attacked him, he’d be dead. If you doubt the truth of this, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate,” she said, leveling a cold glare at her accuser. ‘And if using my so-called sorcery defies your laws, why did you not object when we came through the gates at Skullport?” “Those are good points,” Hrolf said hopefully.

Ibn folded his arms over his chest. “The charge stands,” he growled. “She tossed me into a damned big spiderweb and shot me with one o’ them accursed darts.”

“But why didn’t you come forward sooner, lad?” “Yourself sent me off in that blasted little tub before my head cleared,” Ibn retorted. “And don’t think I’m happy about the rest of you lads thinking I got into the mead, or that I don’t know good stuff from tainted. She musta splashed it on me!”

“Spiderwebs, darts smaller than your little finger, and a half swallow of honey wine-it’s a wonder you survived all that,” Liriel observed with acid sarcasm.

Some of the men chuckled, and Hrolf passed a hand over his bewhiskered mouth to cover a smile. But Ibn’s face turned an angry red.

“I upheld your orders, Captain-I didn’t lay hand on the wench. Not even when I found her casting magic in the hold, talking to them pickled elves like they was old cronies-holding hands with one of ‘em! It was clear as sunrise that she knows more about all that than she’s let on.” The mate paused to let those words sink deep. “I been sailing with you a long time, Hrolf: I expect you to do right by me and by them.”

Oh, well done, Liriel thought with grim admiration. She knew Hrolf well enough to realize that Ibn had touched several of the captain’s sensitive spots.

A perplexed Hrolf chewed his mustache as he considered his dilemma. Most of the men had begun to accept Liriel’s presence among them, and all of them seemed willing to grant her strange ways some leeway; But there were things that even he as captain could not ignore. If any other man had thrown weapons—Qf any sort-at the first mate, it would have been considered tantamount to mutiny. The standard punishment was a quick toss overboard. Granted, Ibn had pulled a knife on the lass, but it sounded as if he thought he had a good reason to do so. “Three ships behind us, closing fast!” came the urgent voice of the man on watch.

The captain exploded to his feet, a look of intense relief on his face. “We’re under attack, lads!” he roared out. “And Tempus be praised for it,” he muttered into his beard.

Xzorsh and Sittl saw the approaching warships before the humans perceived their danger.

“Three to one. It does not look good for your human friend,” Sittl observed.

The ranger shook his head. “Hrolf and his men fight well. They also have the magic of a drow and the might of a berserker on their side. I saw that human destroy a giant squid. All things considered, the odds are not so bad as they might seem.”

Sittl considered this. “I think calling reinforcements would be a wise precaution. Since you will no doubt wish to stay in honor of your pledge, I will see to it.” He smiled a little and placed a webbed hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Promise me, though, that you will watch the battle from a safe distance.”

Xzorsh nodded, grateful for the understanding and support. “But the sea elves are long gone. Whom will you summon?”

The other elf’s smile broadened and turned wry: “You’ve been so concerned with the humans oflate that you’ve forgotten there are as many peoples below the waves as above!”

The ranger acknowledged this gentle hit with a feigned wince. Sittl grinned, then turned to swim swiftly away to the west.

Left alone, Xzorsh turned his full attention upon the coming battle. As he watched the large warships close in, he wondered whether his assessment might have been overly optimistic, and he hoped Sittl’s reinforcements would not be too long in coming.

*

Five days after his ships left the docks ofLuskan, Rethnor spotted another vessel, far to the west and silhouetted against a twilight sky. The High Captain took up a spyglass and peered into it. He gave out a derisive sniff. For some reason the ship had dropped sail, and it had turned so that he looked straight at the ridiculous wooden figurehead-a garishly painted statue of a woman with elven ears and improbable curves.