Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

She wept with relief as darkness finally claimed her.

Larajin woke to the patter of rain and the smell of wet leaves and soil. She lay on a bed of soft moss, covered by a light sheet, one hand outstretched. Cool, wet leather pressed against the back of her hand-the side of a tent.

It was too dark to see anything clearly. The walls of the tent were dark, and it had been pitched deep in the forest, with a tangle of branches shrouding it from what must be an overcast sky. The resulting gloom was as dark as a cave.

Larajin lay in the darkness, wondering what had happened. Her first thoughts were of Tal. Was he still alive? Had that truly been a vision of his death she’d seen? If so, when was it going to happen-now, or in the future? There was no way to know and little she could do to warn or protect Tal while she lay there in that tent, so far from home. The thought left her with a hollow in her stomach even deeper than her hunger pangs.

Hours must have passed since the celebration in the forest clearing. Had they carried her to this tent to recover from the druid’s spell? Larajin was confused, groggy from her long sleep, hungry, and in need of relieving herself.

She sat up and located the faint line of gray that was the tent flap. Through it blew a cool breeze that smelled of rain. As she sat up and crawled toward the exit, something shifted. Larajin saw the dim outline of a creature, perched on the horizontal pole just above the tent flap, peering at her. Enormous round eyes gleamed in the darkness, then blinked. The creature shifted again, and Larajin heard a rustle of feathers.

“Goldheart?” she asked hopefully. She reached out in the darkness to stroke the tressym.

A loud hoot filled the tent, stopping her short. The creature unfolded its wings and flapped them once, warning her away. This was no tressym. It was an owl-an enormous one, as large as a hunting dog. It peered balefully at her, snapping its beak at her questing fingers. She pulled her hand back.

As the need to relieve herself grew more pressing, Larajin tried once again to crawl outside. The owl, however, beat its wings furiously and rose from its perch, raking the air in front of it with its talons and snapping its beak. Its message was unmistakable. It didn’t want Larajin to leave the tent.

Warily, Larajin searched for another exit but found none. She was frustrated and puzzled. Had this creature crept inside the tent while she lay sleeping? Or had one of the elves deliberately placed it there to prevent her from leaving? She had read in one of the books at Stormweather Towers that wood elves used owls as watchdogs.

Whatever the reason for it being there, the owl was clearly not going to let her get past it.

Feeling her way around the tent, she located a wooden bowl and dumped out the cold food that filled it. She used it to dig a hole and relieved herself, then covered the hole with earth and settled back onto her mossy bed, glaring at the owl. Whether the creature had been left there or crawled in on its own, she’d had enough of the thing.

“Hello!” she shouted in Common. “Rylith! Are you out there? What’s going on?”

Lantern light flickered against the walls of the tent, and voices called out to one another in the elves’ tongue. Then one side of the tent brightened. A moment later, moving shadows appeared and grew on its side.

The owl, which had returned to its perch, ruffled its wings a second time when the tent flap beside it opened. An elf poked his head through the entrance, peered at Larajin from under bangs that dripped with rainwater, and nodded when he saw she was awake. He said something to her in his own language, then switched to broken Common.

“You wait,” he said. “Rylith gone.”

“Where is she?” Larajin snapped.

“Travel to setting sun.”

“She’s journeyed west? Where to?”

The elf’s only answer was a stony look. There were some questions, it seemed, he wouldn’t answer.

Frustrated by his silence, Larajin chafed. She’d expected Rylith to come to the tent, to explain what had happened-what the purpose of her spell had been. Larajin felt no different than she had before, but the magical energy must have done something to her, had some lingering effect. She also wanted to ask Rylith what her vision had meant. Not the part about Tal dying-that was clear enough-but the multitude of voices shouting at her. Larajin didn’t have the patience to just sit in this tent and wait. She’d have to find a way to get to Rylith, wherever she was. Perhaps Doriantha could help.

“What about Doriantha?” she asked the elf. “Is she here?”

He shook his head firmly. “No. Gone. Go fight.”

“Has she gone to ambush another caravan?” Larajin asked hotly. “Wasn’t killing Dray Foxmantle enough for her?”

That earned her a blank look. Larajin tried again, using simpler words. “Who does Doriantha fight?”

“Sembians,” the elf said, then added, with a feral grin. “Now is war.”

“War,” Larajin echoed in a whisper.

That was it, then. The dam holding the mutual hostilities of the elves and the Sembians in check had finally broken. Was that why she’d seen an image of Tal’s death? Was he marching, even now, toward a confrontation with the elf archer who would seal his doom?

And what would happen to her now? This elf didn’t seem as friendly as the others had. Instead of smiling deferentially at her, he glowered. In fact, now that the glow of the ale-and whatever had been in that draught Rylith had given her-was gone, Larajin’s certainty of her welcome was fading, fast. Had the elves only been pretending to accept her as one of their own? Had she just imagined their smiles?

For the first time since she’d set out on her journey to the Tangled Trees, Larajin realized the ramifications of her decision. The elves had seemed so benign, so welcoming, earlier in the day. Did they now see only her human features and consider her a prisoner of war?

She rose to her feet, keeping a wary eye on the owl. “When did Doriantha leave? Can I go to her?”

The elf shook his head. “No go. Stay. Wait. Leifander come. Then you …” Unable to find the word in Common, he linked his fingers together. “Like so again. Prophecy time come, and gods take. All be good for forest elves.”

Larajin didn’t like the sound of that last part. What did he mean, exactly, by “gods take?” And what had he meant by that gesture? Larajin and her twin had been united that closely only once-in the womb. Did he mean they would be united again in death?

The elf stared at her a moment longer, then turned and stroked the owl. Seeing her chance, Larajin quickly whispered a prayer to Sune, pleading with the goddess to provide her with a spell. If she could command the elf to take the owl away with him, she might be able to slip out of the tent and find someone to help her, but though she prayed fervently, no answer came. There was no rush of magical energy, no red glow from the locket. Even the goddess had turned her back on Larajin.

The elf withdrew from the tent, leaving the owl. Defeated, Larajin turned her prayers toward Hanali Celanil, asking the goddess to fill with compassion the hearts of the elves who now held her prisoner.

As she finished her prayer, she sniffed the air. Was it only wishful thinking, or was there a faint scent of Hanali’s Heart in the air? Would the elf goddess persuade her people to spare Larajin’s life?

Time would tell.

The sun was rising when Leifander at last flew away from Stormweather Towers. He had sat with Thamalon Uskevren in the indoor garden throughout the night, at first only grudgingly listening, then, as Thamalon talked about Trisdea, gradually asking more and more questions. The old man had managed to convince him that he too loved the Tangled Trees-that his attempt to create a market for the forest’s wild nuts and fruits had been made with the elves’ welfare in mind. By the end of their talk, Leifander was thinking that if he had to have been sired by a human, he was glad that it had been someone who could see the beauty of the forest as clearly as any elf. When Thamalon tried to persuade him that there were other humans who felt the same-who did not want war with the people of the forest-Leifander had believed him.