Chapter 15
The Raven’s Call

Fyodor left for Holgerstead later that day. Wedigar had sufficiently recovered from the injuries he’d incurred while in animal form to feel ready to travel, but he was hesitant to do so alone. Fyodor and Liriel tried to convince him he was free from the nereid’s charm, but Wedigar was haunted by the things he had done while under the evil creature’s seductive power. He would not risk the possibility that he might again turn upon his own people, and he exacted a pledge from Fyodor to watch over him and stop him should he prove a danger. The young Rashemi could not deny him this, for he himself had lived with such fears for many months.

With both Hrolf and Fyodor gone, Liriel felt alone and exceedingly restless. She buried herself in the Green Room’s treasures, learning all she could of Ruathen lore and history, but the knowledge of rune magic that she needed remained just beyond her grasp.

Unlike the magic she knew, runes could not be learned through reading and study. Life was the necessary conduit for such knowledge. Some simpler runes could be taught and had been passed on from master to seeker from time beyond memory. A few were gifts from the gods, but the most personal were shaped through the questing journey. This Liriel knew, and her frustration increased as she read. Her journey, to all appearances, had come to an end. What, then, was she to do now?

And there was also the matter of the hideous creature she had glimpsed behind the face of Xzorsh’s sea-elffriend, and the chilling evil that surrounded him. Liriel could not rid herself of the feeling that she ought to warn the sea ranger. It would not be an easy task, for it was plain that Xzorsh was fond of his companion, and she doubted he would hear words spoken against him. And what proof did she have, except for the Lloth-given vision?

With a heavy sigh, the drow opened a lore book and began once again to study the turbulent history of the Northlands. But the saga of slain heroes, endless warfare, and titanic sea battles could not hold her attention. At last she thrust the book aside and hurried from the Green Room to the cove where the Elfmaid was moored.

Liriel quietly slipped aboard and searched the hold for the device that Hrolf had used to summon the sea-elf ranger. She dropped back into the water on the seaward side of the ship and turned the crank on the small box. A series of clicks and squeaks ensued, and the drow leaned back against the Elfmaid’s hull to wait. Liriel suspected Xzorsh had not gone far, but even so the wait was painful, and for the first time she regretted her decision to lend her ring of water-breathing to Fyodor. If she’d had it, she might have gone out in search ofXzorsh.

Perhaps an hour passed before she saw the dark shape moving swiftly toward her. Liriel took a deep breath and plunged beneath the water, swimming out to meet the summoned ranger.

The first blast of power took her unaware. Like an iron fist, it thrust into her mind and gripped her will, dragging her closer. But Liriel had in full measure the dark-elven ability to shake off magical attacks. She thrust aside the mental intrusion and pulled her dagger. Just in time—the creature who’d attacked her rounded a stand of waving seaweed and came into full view.

The creature was fishlike, with an enormous, bulbous head and three vertically stacked eyes. Faint purple light shone from these eyes and cast an eerie nimbus in the water. Slender tentacles rippled behind like locks of hair as the creature’s sharklike tail propelled it forward with terrifying speed.

Liriel drew in a startled gasp of seawater. An aboleth! Such creatures inhabited the hidden waters of the Underdark, but she had not thought to encounter one here. She spun and with frantic haste swam for the surface, speeding her way with her innate powers of levitation.

The drow shot from the water, coughing and sputtering. Seizing the rail of the ship, she hurtled over and dove for the deck. She rolled several times, as fast as she could, putting as much distance between herself and the lethal beast as possible.

A long, thin tentacle snapped into the air with a whiplike crack. Seawater flew in a sharp spray, mingled with dark droplets of venom. Liriel shielded her face with her arms and prayed that none of the drops would find her. When no stinging pain came, she dared to look up.

Two tentacles gripped the rail. With a mighty tug, the aboleth heaved itself upward. The ship rocked wildly, and Liriel began to slide toward the rail. She grabbed a knife from her sleeve, thrust it deep into the crack between two boards, and hung on for her life.

A silent shriek tore into her mind, a mental blast that spoke of rage and pain and frustration. The aboleth’s massive body splashed fully back into the water, but the clinging tentacles remained where they were, twitching uncontrollably.

Lirielleaped to her feet and ran over to the rail. Two of her throwing spiders clung to the severed tentacles, their killing magic spent. The water below churned wildly, thick with swirling ichor and the flashing of silver weapons. Then Xzorsh came into view, his green head breaching the surface along with the heaving, struggling aboleth. The ranger straddled the creature, the knife in his webbed hands flashing as he stabbed down repeatedly.

Nor was his the only weapon brought to bear against the aboleth. The drow’s keen eyes made out the forms of several other fighters-man-shaped, but with silver-green skin and legs that ended in fins rather than feet. Each of these warrior wielded a three-pronged silver pitchfork, and they wheeled and darted like eels as they attacked the enormous monster.

Liriel whirled and ran back to the weapons rack. She seized a harpoon and leaped into the neck-deep water. The fighters-all but Xzorsh-scattered at once. The drow lunged at the aboleth’s eyes, putting her full weight behind the blow. The weapon sank deep into the middle orb, and the creature’s struggles finally ceased. With a grimace of disgust, Xzorsh slid away from the dead monster.

“Who were those people?” Liriel demanded, shielding her eyes with one hand as she gazed out into the water, hoping for another glimpse of the strange warriors.

“They are tritons,” the ranger replied in a troubled voice. “Of them little is known. They do the sea elves no harm, and sometimes they come to the aid of goodly folk.

And just as often, not. My people believe they come from the plane ofwater, and that their purposes originate there. I suspect their interest is not in you, so much as in the elemental creatures arrayed against you.”

The drow nodded thoughtfully as she took this in. In her opinion, the ranger’s fears were well-founded. Elemental creatures of any sort were rare; she had encountered far too many for mere coincidence. Most had fought against her and her friends; these tritons had come to her aid. Liriel knew with the assurance of one born and bred to Menzoberranzan-style intrigue that she was caught up in something bigger than she could yet comprehend.

“Tell me all you know,” she demanded.

Xzorsh told her of the merrow who had wielded the weapon of a triton. The tritons were skilled and fierce warriors, unlikely to be overcome unless the merrow had attacked in large numbers under a commander with more intelligence and battle knowledge than sea ogres usually possessed. He told her Sittl had been abducted by a band of merrow and brought to the shores of Ruathym.

The drow nodded thoughtfully, thinking of the nereids that haunted the waters near Inthar and the elemental that had kidnapped the Ruathen ship. For some reason, Ruathym seemed to be the focus of extraplanar creatures. But who commanded them, and to what purpose?

“A wizard could have summoned that water elemental,” Liriel mused, “but no wizard commanded that nereid. The creature still possessed its soul-shawl. There are creatures of the Underdark about, too. A banshee-the spirit of a really nasty drow female—has taken up residence in a well, though how in the Nine Hells it got there without anyone noticing is beyond me. Banshees generally tear up the countryside for a while before finding a lair and settling down. And an aboleth, of all things! What in the name of Lloth’s twisted legs are we dealing with?”

The ranger shrugged helplessly. “Strange happenings have been occurring below the waves, as well. A message Sittl sent to the mermen ofWaterdeep harbor was altered before it reached its destination. Seldom is the Relay tainted so! Innocent men’s lives were lost as a result. And I must see Hrol£; else three more will soon die. Where is he? Wasn’t it he who summoned me?”

“No, that was me. HroIrs still off fishing in the mountains, or so his kinsman believes.” Liriel took a deep breath and plunged in. “I needed to warn you about Sittl. With my magic, I can glimpse into a person’s mind, determine his motives. I did that just before I set the two of you free. You passed, more or less; he didn’t.” Quickly she described the creature she had seen and the sense of evil that surrounded it.

Xzorsh listened in tight-Iipped silence. “I have heard of this drow goddess of yours. You will forgive me if I don’t trust the visions she sends.”

The drow had no argument to counter this. “But what was that creature? And how do you explain what I saw?”

“I cannot,” he said shortly. “Nor do I wish to discuss this further. Sittl and I have been friends and partners for years. He has given me no reason to distrust him, and I will hear nothing more said against him.” He paused and eyed Liriel with sudden curiogity. “You said I passed your test, more or less. What evil thing did you see in me?”

“No vision of strange creatures, if that’s what you mean. But it seemed to me you wanted something more from the situation than you were admitting,” she said with uncharacteristic candor.

The sea ranger’s eyes lit up. “That is so! All my life I have wished to learn more of magic, and I dared to hope you might teach me. I have heard magic is expensive to learn and to cast, but I can pay. Perhaps these might be a start?” So saying, he took two large rings from his bag and dropped them into the drow’s hand.

Liriel glanced at the jewelry, then did an astonished double take. One of the rings, a thick band of gold set with a large flat-cut onyx, exuded an aura of powerful magic. The other was a signet ring of silver, with a raised symbol that was reminiscent of the house insignia worn by most of Menzoberranzan’s nobility. Something about the ring was familiar, and she studied the design: a stylized, simple picture of five ships with single, triangular sails. She knew that design; she had just seen it reproduced in the lore book that spoke of the Northmen’s ceaseless warfare. It was the official seal of the High Captains who ruled Luskan, a port city north ofWaterdeep and the blood-rival of Ruathym. This was important information. She only hoped it had not come too late.

She raised blazing eyes to the sea-elf’s face. “Where did you get these?”

“From the severed hand you asked me to retrieve,” he responded, puzzled by her vehement reaction.

“And you didn’t see fit to mention them?”

“You asked only for the hand. I did not think gold and gems would serve your purpose, else I would have given them to you,” Xzorsh said.

Liriel threw up her hands in exasperation. Yet she had no time to vent her ire, for it was possible she held in her hands the clue to Ruathym’s troubles. Luskan was a rich and powerful port-perhaps powerful enough to command the forces that were arrayed against the island. The problem would be to convince anyone that this might be so.

“I’ve got to get back,” she said abruptly.

The elf caught her arm when she turned. “Three men are stranded on a small island not too far away-some of the seal hunters Hrolf set adrift. I promised them I would send a boat for them.”

Liriel sniffed and pulled free. “And who will ask for this boat-you or I? You just broke out of their prison, remember? They think you and your friend conjured the magic that ruined a good door and a whole lot of ale, and they’re not too happy about any of it. Show up in Ruathym, and one of those axe-happy villagers will chop you into fish bait before you can say two words. Me they avoid, or treat like an unweaned child. They might have listened to Fyodor, but he’s away.” But even as she spoke, her gaze skimmed the pebble-strewn shore. “Can you sail one of those small boats?” she asked, pointing.

When he nodded, the drow immediately began wading toward the shore. She made her way to a trim little craft and held both hands out, palms down. Xzorsh saw her lips move, and then the boat rose into the air-just a bit-and floated silently off the beach and out over the water. The boat settled down beside him, so gently that it barely made a ripple. From the shore, Liriel cast a look over each shoulder and then indicated with emphatic gestures that he should leave at once.

Xzorsh hesitated for only a moment. Theft was not part of his creed, yet he saw no other way to rescue the men than to borrow this boat for a time. As he raised the sail, he vowed he would see the boat returned to its owner as soon as possible. He pulled taut the lines and set the little boat on an eastward course.

It occurred to him, some time later, that Liriel had not answered his request for teaching. The sea-elf’s shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. At least she had not said no. For now, at least, he still had his dreams.

As Liriel hurried back to the village, she debated who best to approach with her information. The men of the Eltmaid might support her; after all, they had been attacked by three warships led by a High Captain of Luskan. Yet she doubted anyone had recognized the man, or they surely would have spoken of it. Hrolfwould certainly listen to her and, with the help of the ring she held in her hands, he could almost certainly convince the other villagers. But Hrolf was not here.

Who, then? Ibn was entirely out of the question. The scheming first mate would probably try to turn her efforts against her. Bjorn? Of all the men aboard, the young artist had been most accepting of her—even admiring, in a shy sort of way. Yet he was a mere lad, and a rather frail and scrawny one at that. Liriel had noticed that in Ruathym only warriors were truly taken seriously. Finally she settled on Olvir, the would-be skald. The storytelling sailor was the most likely member of Hrolf’s crew to possess knowledge of other lands and the leaders who ruled them. Olvir had a fondness for tales and would listen to her and perhaps help, for Fyodor’s sake if for no other reason. It had not escaped Liriel’s attention that the two men had become friends during the long voyage.

The drow repeated her request for directions a dozen times before she found someone who would tell her where Olvir’s cottage lay. Some of the villagers snubbed her outright, others were too awed by the very sight of the drow to pay heed to her words, and still others showed keen suspicion about her purpose in seeking out the man. Liriel had no doubt Olvir would be amply forewarned of her coming. Indeed, the seagoing skald met her outside the cottage, while his wife and children looked on curiously from behind the half-shuttered windows. He listened politely enough, but he merely shook his head when she asked him to accompany her to speak with the First Axe.

“This is one keg you don’t want to tap,” he said bluntly. “Ruathym and Luskan have a treaty-the Captains’ Alliance, some call it. The last war with Luskan near to grounded us, so many ships were lost, and we’re in no shape to take on another battle. Aumark Lithyl is a warrior, but he knows this to be true.”

“He may have no choice but to fight,” Liriel pointed out. “So you say. But even if this ring is what you believe it to be, did you see it on the hand of the warship’s commander? When the hand was attached? Well then, seems like all you got is a sea-elf’s word. That won’t hold much water around these parts-Iess now than usual, what with all the good ale those pointy-eared, magic-casting bastards poured into the sea!”

Nor would they listen to a dark-elven female. Olvir was kind enough not to speak the words aloud, but Liriel heard them nonetheless.

Frustrated beyond words, she made her way back to the Green Room to search for more pieces to the puzzle. Perhaps if she could present a more detailed and reasoned whole, the stubborn males who ruled this place would give her a hearing.

One very important part of the puzzle was the myriad of strange creatures she had encountered. Liriel brought to mind the image of the hideous fish-man, and she set to work finding all the information she could about such creatures. Even if Sittl was all Xzorsh thought him to be, the long-haired sea elf was in this to the tips ofhis green ears. Someone considered him important enough to have him abducted and brought to the shores ofRuathym. If, indeed, he’d been “abducted” at all.

It didn’t take Liriel long to find a familiar-sounding description, for creatures known as sahuagin were apparently frequent scourges of the northern waters. She wondered why Xzorsh had not mentioned this. He must have recognized the creature she was describing. Puzzled, she continued to read, burning candle after candle. The night was nearing the dark hour of Narbondel-midnight, the humans called it-before she thought she understood what prompted the stiff angry expression on the sea ranger’s face when she’d spoken of the creature she’d glimpsed beneath his friend’s handsome facade.

Some sages believed the evil sahuagin frequently gave birth to mutated young, babies that resembled sea elves in all things but a rapacious nature. It was supposed that most of these children were slain at birth. Liriel nodded as she read this; the drow killed all babies born with the slightest defect, and they would certainly destroy any child who was identical in form to a racial enemy; But some of these mutated sea children were spared, raised as sahuagin but with the knowledge that they would in time live among the sea elves. As spies and assassins, these sahuagin, known as “malenti,” could do untold damage to the sea-elven enemy.

Liriel could well imagine why Xzorsh had rejected her suggestion so vehemently; Sahuagin and sea elves were mortal enemies. How could he believe this ofhis friend and partner? The resemblance between malenti and sea elves also suggested a shared ancestry, and Liriel was not a bit surprised to read that many sea elves denied the very possibility that malenti existed. Drow would slay anyone who so much as suggested the dark elves might bear an ancient kinship to kua-toa, the fish-men creatures of the Underdark. Liriel suspected that surface- and sea-dwelling elves were not without similar pride.

Yet she could not reject the idea that Sittl might be such a creature. She had to know if this was possible, and the best way to do so would be to see a sahuagin with her own eyes, to see if the resemblance ran true to the Llothgranted vision.

As was usually the case with Liriel, action followed quickly upon decision. The young wizard hurried back to Hrolf’s cottage. She cast a longing glance at her bed. Since leaving the ship she had been able to follow no set pattern of waking and sleeping hours, and the rumpled covers looked wonderfully inviting.

No time, she decided as she took from her pack a copy of the spellbook her father had given her. Any spell in that book could take most of the night to learn and cast.

Liriel paged to a particularly difficult spell-the one that had first introduced her to the priestesses of Eilistraee. The first time she had ventured to the surface, the wizard who served as her tutor had insisted that she seek out a company of dark elves. The spell had been attuned to search for such beings and to carry her to an open place a safe distance away. It was an unusual spell, every bit as difficult as she remembered. This time she did not have the assistance of her powerful drow mentor. It was nearly dawn when Liriel at last was ready to try.

The drow began to chant softly, swaying as she did, her hands weaving in a seemingly random, seeking pattern. She felt a sudden chill, the sharp tang of a cold northern wind, and knew the casting had worked. Exactly where the spell had taken her, she could not know.

All around her was the sound of the sea. She opened her eyes and scanned the shore. Here it was rocky and wild, with no natural harbor. Above her was a sharp cliff; beyond that wisps of smoke drifted lazily into the sky. Liriel wrapped herself in her piwarwi and floated up to the top of the bluff so that she might investigate the settlement beyond.

A glance told her she was still somewhere in Ruathym. The cluster of cottages were built of wood and decorated with intricate, interlocking arches and high-peaked roofs, a style identical to the buildings of a Ruathym village.

In the village, all seemed well. The cottages were silent; hounds slept undisturbed in the courtyards. Yet Liriel trusted in the spell that had brought her to this place, and she swept a seeking gaze over the village and the shore beyond.

Her keen eyes caught the shimmering ripple as something broke the surface of the sea. A hideous, fishlike head with huge round eyes and ears like small black fins emerged from the water. With quick, furtive movements the creature pulled itself out onto the rocks and scanned the bluff above. Roughly man-shaped, it was covered with dark green scales. Fanged jaws, like those of the deadly pyrimo fish found in Underdark waters, opened and closed as the creatures spoke sounds Liriel could not hear. It was a signal, apparently, for at least a score of other creatures crept from the waves and began to scale the cliff that separated the sea from the village.

“Sahuagin,” Liriel whispered excitedly; There could be no doubt. These were the creatures described in the lore books, identical to the thing she had seen when she’d looked into Sittl. The long-haired sea ranger was almost certainly a malenti-a mutated sahuagin passing as a sea elf-and Xzorsh’s life might well depend on her ability to convince him of this.

The drow’s first impulse was to reverse the spell that had brought her here so she might warn the sea ranger at once. But as she watched the creatures scale the cliff her resolution wavered. One of them, smaller and slower than the others, failed to find a secure hold for its webbed foot. It slid painfully down the rocky incline, and the claws on its feet grazed one of its elders as it went. The larger sahuagin lunged like a striking snake, jaws snapping viciously at the offending creature and sinking deep into the soft tissue beneath its rib cage. After tearing off a large chunk of flesh, the big sahuagin calmly chewed and swallowed. Its now-dead comrade continued the slide, falling unnoticed to the rocks below.

Liriel swallowed hard. She had little love for the patronizing, stubborn humans of Ruathym, but neither did she like the idea of abandoning them to the murderous sahuagin. Yet she could not warn the villagers; they would likely fear her as much as they did the fish-men. No, she’d have to handle this one on her own.

The drow reviewed what she had learned of the creatures. They hated light-they were as pained by it as any Underdark drow-and they feared spellcasters. That would do for a start.

Liriel readied the spells she needed and waited until all the creatures had scaled the bluff. In precise and orderly formation, they crept past the invisible drow toward the sleeping village, their bulbous black eyes bright with fierce anticipation.

At Liriel’s command, a curtain of yellow faerie fire blazed up along the edge of the bluff cutting the sahuagin off from the sea and casting their long, hideous shadows into the village beyond. Instantly the sahuagin stopped their advance, casting frantically about for some means of escape. But there was none. The sudden bright light roused some of the villagers, and cries of alarm began to spread.

In moments the warrior-bred Ruathen poured from their cottages, fully armed and ready to do battle.

One of the sahuagin, the large and casual cannibal, whistled out some sort of command. The others fell into a wedge-shaped formation, their weapons-a motley and no doubt stolen collection of spears, tridents, and hauberkssnapped up before them. Liriel noted that the big sahuagin took up a position at the very rear, and that the creatures got progressively smaller as they neared the forward point. This did not surprise her-drow did not expend their leaders in battle, either. The sahuagin were apparently ranked according to size and strength, with those of lesser rank taking the greatest risks.

Liriel once again called upon drow magic and limned the sahuagin chieftain with faerie fire, so that it blazed like a green torch. The creature clacked and whistled frantically as it pawed at itself with its clawed hands, as iftrying to extinguish the flames. The others, momentarily deprived of command, faltered, and the strict formation fell apart. But then the Ruathen were upon them, and the sahuagin knew what to do. They fell into battle with vicious delight, attacking the humans with their slashing talons, rending jaws, and stolen weapons.

The drow tossed back her cloak and advanced on the leader. She dropped the faerie fIre that surrounded the large sahuagin and pulled her long dagger in preparation for its attack. But the creature merely stared at her, its fishlike eyes intelligent beyond her expectations, and filled with rapt awe. To Liriel’s astonishment and chagrin, the sahuagin fell to its knees and briefly touched its scaly head to the ground in an unmistakable gesture of adulation. Liriel did not even want to think about the implications of this. She kicked out hard, catching the sahuagin under its scant chin and sending it sprawling backward. Instinctively the creature drew a knife and parried her first lunge. Leaping nimbly to its feet, the sahuagin faced her down and presented its long knife in a weird parody of a drow challenge. Liriel responded with a feint and a quick, slashing cut. The sahuagin blocked, blocked again, then riposted. Its movements were fast, fluid, and oddly elven. As the battle progressed, Liriel was hard pressed to hold it back, though she was by far the better trained. The unlikely opponents stood toe to toe, exchanging swift and ringing blows. Liriel was relieved that this one, unlike its brethren, did not employ the sahuagin’s darting, deadly bite in battle. She was fully occupied by its swordcraft!

At long last she slipped past the creature’s guard and sank her dagger deep into its gut. She gave the weapon a vicious twist and wrenched it out, then thrust in again. The dying sahuagin’s knife dropped from its nerveless claws, and the creature once again fell to its knees, its eyes bright with adoration and fixed upon Liriel’s dark, elven face. The drow delivered a backhanded slash to the creature’s throat, ending its misery and quenching the incomprehensible, fervid light in its black eyes.

The strange encounter left Liriel feeling shaken and somehow tainted. She shook off the lingering, queasy dread and whirled to address the nearest opponent.

A large sahuagin had managed to toss a weighted net over a red-clad warrior and was poking at the trapped man with a long spear. None of the thrusts hit a vital point; the fishman was toying with its prey with obvious and sadistic glee. Without thought, Liriel conjured a small fireball and hauled it back for the throw. Startled by the sudden burst of light, the sahuagin spun to face her. Its viciously grinning jaws fell slack with astonishment as it faced the magic-wielding drow, and terror froze the creature in place. Pitiless, the young wizard hurled her weapon with deadly accuracy. The fireball flew unerringly into the creature’s enormous mouth. The explosion sent a spray of gore and ichor flying, and the headless sahuagin dropped heavily to the ground.

Liriel stepped over the body and crouched beside the wounded man. Her dagger flashed as she quickly cut him free from the entangling net. Although he bled from a dozen shallow wounds, it was apparent that he could yet fight. The drow pressed one of her own knives into his hands. Hauling him to his feet, she gave him a firm shove in the direction of the nearest sahuagin. The man tossed a quick, grateful nod toward the drow and then flung himself into battle, roaring an oath to Tempus as he went.

A brief, faint smile curved Liriel’s lips. The Ruathen were warriors to the core, ready to respect and accept another warrior who had proven worthy-perhaps even one as strange as she. The thought brought her a moment’s warmth, and then it fled as the crush and turmoil of battle closed in about her.

The drow fought alongside the N orthmen, using all the battle skills at her command. Her bolos spun around the legs of the fish-men and sent them sprawling; her throwing knives buried themselves in the eyes and throats of the sahuagin; her dagger dripped with greenish ichor. When at last the invaders lay dead, the eyes of all the Northmen settled upon their strange ally.

“You are dock-altar, yet also a rune-caster,” one of them ventured in an awed tone. “It has been long years since such a rune-casting warrior led this village in battle, but in ages past it was ever so. Most of the people of Ruathym do not much care for magic, but here we remember the ancient ways and honor them. How are you called?”

For some reason Fyodor’s special name for her danced ready on her tongue. “Raven,” she said simply.

This brought approving nods from the warriors. Liriel remembered the tales Fyodor and Olvir told, ancient stories that claimed ravens visited the battlefields to guide the spirits of the slain into the afterlife. Yes, it was a good name for a drow among Northmen.

She let the men lead her into the village, which, it seemed, was only a few hours’ walk north of the village of Ruathym. They promised to show her the way back after the songs were sung to honor the slain. And so she sat in a place of honor beside the village chieftain-the man she’d saved from the sahuagin’s net-listening as the village skald spun out the lineage and deeds of the men who had fallen during the sahuagin attack, and watching as sparks from the funeral pyre leaped high into the clear blue sky; It was a strange ceremony, yet the drow found it oddly moving. In Menzoberranzan, the dead were usually interred in small, airtight stone crypts dug into the solid rock that lay north of the city cavern. This was a matter of practicality, not respect. The bodies were simply stored there until a need arose for battle fodder or slave labor, at which point a wizard would be called upon to animate the corpses. Only priestesses of Lloth were cremated. Here on Ruathym, this honor was apparently extended to all, even the lowliest thrall.

The day was nearly spent before Liriel saw the highpitched roofs of Ruathym village. As she walked, one of the skald’s songs echoed in her memory-a newly composed ballad that honored the little warrior known as the Raven. For the first time, the adrift and restless drow felt a tendril of herself reach out and take root in this strange land. And one more curving line was added to the rune that was slowly taking shape in her mind.