Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

Bending, Larajin dipped her fingers in the water, lost in thought. The tressym butted up against her, and, remembering that the creature was the one who had alerted Drakkar, Larajin flicked wet fingers at the winged cat. The tressym flattened her ears and gave an indignant hiss, then launched herself into the sky.

Larajin watched her go, shaking her head. She’d tried to slip away from Habrith’s bakery without being followed, but somehow the tressym had found her. It seemed Larajin could no more leave the little creature behind than she could escape her own shadow. At least the tressym had the good sense not to pad along behind Larajin like a dog, as she’d made her way to the temple. Instead she’d kept her distance, flitting along from rooftop to rooftop, up where few noticed her.

While she waited for the Heartwarder and her clerics to finish their ritual-they’d be setting out as soon as the Song of Sunrise ended-Larajin stared out through the courtyard’s gate at the street, which was just starting to fill with carriages and passersby. One of them stopped at the gate, and peered in through the wrought iron. For a moment Larajin thought it was one of the guard-that she’d been spotted-then a familiar voice shouted her name.

Realizing it was Tal, she hurried toward the gate, gesturing frantically for him to be quiet. At the same time, she silently cursed. She’d hoped that Tal would sleep until well after she was gone. He’d obviously awakened earlier than usual, found her note, and assumed that she wouldn’t leave the city without paying her respects at the temple. Had Drakkar guessed the same?

Larajin opened the gate and all but yanked Tal inside the courtyard. She shut it hurriedly, then dragged him into the shadow of the wall, where they couldn’t be seen from the street. They stopped beside a pile of bags and crates the clerics would take with them on their journey to Ordulin.

Tal looked as though he’d left the house hurriedly. His doublet was only half buttoned, his hair was uncombed, and a shadow of stubble covered his heavy jaw. He carried a small leather pouch in one hand and a cloth-wrapped object the size of a candlestick in the other. The latter he held in a peculiar fashion, arm extended to keep it at arm’s length from himself.

“Larajin,” he panted, a worried look in his eye. “I’m so glad I found you. Are you really leaving Selgaunt? These are dangerous times to be traveling.”

Larajin nodded. “I have to, Tal. Drakkar-”

“I want to come with you …” Tal said in a husky voice, then, before Larajin could protest, he added, “but I can’t. The Merchant Council is agitating for war against the elves. If it comes, I’m to serve in a company under Master Ferrick. Leaving now would be seen as desertion-as cowardice. I just wish …”

Larajin, horrified by the prospect of war engulfing the lands to the north-lands through which she was about to travel-could only stare at Tal.

Misinterpreting her look, he hastily added, “Don’t worry, Larajin. The elves are only half the soldiers that we are. They’re too simple to understand the tactics of battle. If it does come to war, we’ll squash those savages in a tenday. I’ll march home again without a scratch.”

Larajin said nothing. In his usual blundering way, Tal had insulted her without realizing it, not understanding that Larajin had been born to a mother who was a “savage” and therefore “simple.”

The leather pouch clinked as he thrust it into Larajin’s hands. “There’s twelve fivestars and nearly a hundred ravens in there-all I could scrape together at a moment’s notice. That should help you along.”

It was an incredible sum. “Tal, I can’t-”

Tal waved her protest away. “Yes, you can.”

Thanking him with a silent nod, Larajin found her bag and tucked the pouch inside it.

“I’ve brought something for you to protect yourself with,” Tal continued. “Here.”

He held out the cloth-swaddled bundle. Taking it, Larajin noted that it was heavy. She unwrapped the cloth and saw a dagger, its pommel embossed with the Uskevren family crest. Sliding it out of its sheath revealed a brightly polished silver blade with a strange glyph engraved upon it.

“It’s magic,” Tal said in a hushed voice, as if afraid his words would activate it. “If you say ‘illunathros’ while holding it, the blade will glow with the brightness of a torch. It may also have other magical properties, but I don’t know what…” He hastily amended whatever it was he’d been about to say. “I, uh … haven’t used it that much, so I’m not sure what they are.”

Larajin saw a twinge of guilt in his eye. She refrained from asking whom he’d stolen the dagger from. By the crest on its pommel, she could guess.

“You’re too generous, Tal. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

Out in the street, a member of the city guard called the All’s Well. Larajin glanced nervously at the gate, even though she knew the guard couldn’t see in to where they were standing. Across the courtyard, the sound of singing stopped, as the Song of Sunrise ended.

“I have to go,” she whispered. “The clerics I’ll be traveling with are leaving now.”

Tal’s eyes ranged up and down the crimson vestments Larajin was wearing and lingered on the freshly painted eye of Sune upon her midriff.

Hesitantly, he asked, “You’re not just … making this up as an excuse to follow some cleric on a quest, are you?”

Larajin’s anger flared at his over-protectiveness, but then she realized he was only asking because he cared. Tal wasn’t the one who had sent men after her to force her back to the city, when she’d tried to follow Diurgo Karn on his abortive pilgrimage to Lake Sember eighteen months past. Despite Tal’s animosity with the Karn family and his own personal dislike for Diurgo, he had defended Larajin’s right to follow the dictates of her heart-and of her budding religion. It had earned him stony silence from his father for several days afterward.

“Nothing like that, Tal. The Hulorn’s wizard really did recognize me. The danger’s real enough.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“North, to Ordulin,” she answered, giving him a partial truth.

“Ordulin?” Tal gaped. “Why there? That’s where our armies will be mobilizing, if war comes. It’s no place for-” He paused abruptly at the look Larajin gave him, then changed his approach. “Why not go to ground here, in the temple, and let me deal with the Hulorn’s men? Wouldn’t that be safer?”

“Tal,” she said carefully, “I can’t tell you exactly where I’m going, or why, except to say that I feel the goddess calling me. There are some secrets that have to be kept, even from …” She paused, choosing her words more carefully. “Some secrets that can’t be shared, even between a brother and sister. Can you understand that?”

To her surprise, he nodded. “I suppose we all have secrets,” he muttered.

His gaze shifted to something behind her. Turning, Larajin saw the Heartwarder and four novices heading toward them. She gave his arm a squeeze.

“I love you, Tal. If it comes to war, take care of yourself.”

“You too,” he said gruffly, then he turned and left through the gate, without looking back.

As the clerics shouldered their luggage, chattering brightly about the five-day carriage ride that lay ahead of them, Larajin’s thoughts were grave. She’d known there was tension between Sembia and the elves to the north. She’d heard of caravans being attacked-had known that this was not the best time to be traveling to the Tangled Trees-but she hadn’t realized that Sembia was on the verge of war. If it came to that, the Tangled Trees wouldn’t just be a strange and foreign land, it would be behind enemy lines.