Tangled Webs: Starlight & Shadows, Book II by Elaine Cunningham

Author:Elaine Cunningham [Cunningham, Elaine]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786960200
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2011-08-23T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

RUATHYM

Liriel knew she would never forget her first glimpse of Ruathym. They reached the island at twilight, and the setting sun framed the land with a spectacular display of brilliant clouds and gilded sea. But the image that would ever cling to Liriel’s memory was not that of the island’s rugged coast and fingerlike coves, or the picturesque villages and rounded green hills beyond, or even the deeply forested mountains that cast long purple shadows in the dying light. It was the look on Fyodor’s face: joy mingled with poignant longing.

“One would almost think you were returning home,” she commented.

Fyodor nodded, not taking his rapt eyes from the hills. “It is very like. If indeed my ancestors came from this place, I think I know how they must have felt when first they saw Rashemen.”

His dream of homecoming was contagious, and for a moment Liriel missed the familiar tunnels and caverns of the Underdark. A stab of pain—and jealousy—pierced her. In all likelihood, she would never again see her ancestral home, and it troubled her that Fyodor was so clearly eager to return to his. Not that she begrudged him his homeland. She simply realized, suddenly and forcefully, that their shared journey was all she had. Now Ruathym was within their sights. After they reached their long-sought goals, what then?

This thought had never occurred to the drow before. She was not much given to introspection, and she found it deeply troubling. Since the day she had been thrust from Menzoberranzan, Liriel had thrown herself into the perilous journey, following a rune quest meant to culminate with the permanent possession of her drow powers and Fyodor’s ability to once again control his berserker might.

But indeed—what then?

Liriel had little time to ponder this troubling thought, for the Elfmaid swept toward the island with breathtaking speed. It was a dangerous passage. Large, barren rocks thrust upward from the sea, much like the stalagmites of her homeland, forming a lethal maze that only the best—and best informed—sailors might navigate. And the harbor beyond lacked conventional docks; a rounded cove with a sweep of pebble-strewn beach served as the only landing. Shallow-keeled boats, both large and small, had been drawn up onto the beach, and a few massive piles had been driven into the sea floor to provide mooring for deeper ships. To one of these Hrolf headed, flying toward land with an abandon that had the fearless drow staring with astonishment.

Then the square sail dropped, and the oars fell deep into the water. The Elfmaid slowed abruptly, and Hrolf and his men leaped the rail and dropped into the chest-high water of the cove. Ibn stayed to secure the ship to its mooring; the others waded for shore with joyous haste.

Their approach brought a glad rush from the village beyond. Children, some of them already nightshirted for bed, evaded their mothers’ grasping hands and splashed into the water to throw themselves into the arms of returning fathers or brothers. The Ruathen women, for

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