Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

“I didn’t have a chance to tell you before now,” Tal continued. “Especially with …” He shrugged. “Master Ferrick ordered us not to tell anyone when we’d ride-A careless word is oft o’erheard’ is his motto.”

Larajin was only half listening. Her mind was entirely on the immediate problem. Leifander was gone, and she was trapped, once again, in Selgaunt. She could guess where Leifander was headed-back home to the Tangled Trees-but in order for her to follow him, she’d somehow have to get out of the city.

Suddenly, she realized the answer. “Tal-how large is Master Ferrick’s company?”

Tal frowned. “Nearly two hundred riders. Why?”

“Do you think one more would be noticed?”

Tal was quick to guess her plan. He thought a moment, then answered, “You’d need armor and a surcoat and a horse.”

“Could you get them for me? Would you?”

He nodded. “You can ride with us to Ordulin and take refuge there until Drakkar has at last given up his search for you. Ordulin should be a safe place to wait this war out.”

“Thanks, Tal.” Larajin gave her half-brother a grateful hug, then she turned to Kremlar and said, “I will take you up on that offer of a guest bed, after all, Kremlar, but just for one night.”

Kremlar nodded.

The scratching of claws against glass drew Larajin’s eyes to the balcony door.

“Goldheart!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

The answer was obvious enough. The tressym was trying to get inside. She stood on her hind legs, wings folded against her back and forepaws scratching at the leaded glass. Over and over she pawed at it, then, when the people inside failed to promptly open the doors, she launched herself onto the rail of the balcony and perched there, wings flapping urgently.

“Gods protect us,” Larajin exclaimed. “Let her in, Kremlar, before one of the guard sees her!”

It was Tal, however, who grabbed the key from Kremlar, sprinted for the doors, and opened them. As the tressym leaped down from the rail and padded inside, Kremlar trotted beside her, trying to herd her along by waving his hands in shooing motions.

“Don’t let her near the furniture,” he said in an anxious voice. “That chair cost me a hundred and twenty ravens.”

Seemingly in response, Goldheart paused to knead the carpet. As her long white claws hooked its plush weave, tearing little tufts in the wool, Kremlar made a strangled noise and fluttered his hands more urgently. Goldheart looked up at the dwarf with wide, innocent eyes, then turned her back on him and walked straight up to Larajin and sat at her feet.

Yrrow?

Larajin stared down at the tressym. Was it just her imagination, or had Goldheart just spoken to her? Her ears heard a meow, but her heart heard a word: “Yes?”

A second meow, and again the echo of words in Larajin’s mind: “You called for me?”

The air was thick with a flowery scent. Kremlar, who had fallen to his knees to pat the damaged carpet threads back into place, looked up and sniffed.

“That fragrance,” he said, brows furrowed with the concentration of a connoisseur. “Sune’s Kisses, if I don’t miss my guess.”

Larajin heard all of this in a strange echo, as if Kremlar’s voice was coming from the bottom of a deep well. The only thing she heard with clarity was the voice of the tressym, who stood like a soldier at attention, wings neatly folded and forelegs stiff and straight.

“Yes, Lady?” she asked. “How may I be of service?”

This had to be Hanali Celanil’s work. Larajin could think of no other reason why the tressym would suddenly develop human speech. She dropped to her knees and mirrored the tressym’s pose, leaning forward on her hands.

“Goldheart, I need to find out where Leifander went-can you help?” As she spoke, a part of her mind registered the fact that her throat and mouth were making sounds like the meowing of a cat. Yet she could hear her words-and Goldheart’s reply-as plainly as if they were speaking in the common tongue.

“He turned into a birrrrd,” Goldheart answered with the faintest of growls. “A strange-smelling bird.” A pink tongue darted out to wet thin lips. “He flew away.”

“Could you follow him?” Larajin asked.

Goldheart’s pupils dilated. “Chase!” she said excitedly. Her claws flexed into the carpet.

“Yes, chase,” Larajin said, “but don’t hurt him. Just follow-see where he goes, then come and find me, and tell me where he is. Can you do that?”

Larajin had no doubt the tressym could accomplish the task. No matter where Larajin had gone, in the past two ten-days, Goldheart had been able to follow her-somehow even managing to include herself in the spell Larajin had cast to transport herself back to Selgaunt. The question really was, would Goldheart do it?

The tressym considered the request, then closed her eyes for an instant. It was the feline equivalent of a smile.

“I’ll do it.”

She rose, stretched, and rubbed her cheek affectionately against Larajin’s arm, then turned and padded out onto the balcony. With a bright flutter of colorful wings, she launched herself into the air and was gone.

Tal, looking down at Larajin, uttered some garbled words. After a moment-when Larajin’s ears had stopped tingling-she was able to grasp their meaning.

“That creature spoke to you?” he’d asked, a perplexed frown on his face. “What did it say?”

“She’s going to follow Leifander and tell me where he’s flown to,” Larajin explained. “I’m going after him.”

Tal’s face clouded. “Why bother?” he grumbled. “He already said he wouldn’t help you.”

“He’s my twin brother, Tal,” she said. “It’s important that we’re together-the gods themselves are working to bring that about. Somehow, we’ve got to try to stop this war. I don’t know how-I just know that we must.”

She reached up and brushed an unruly strand of dark hair away from Tal’s eyes.

“You’ve got to believe me, Tal. This is important. For everyone. Especially for you.”

Tal’s face paled. “Let’s get ready, then,” he said brusquely. I’ll fetch you a uniform, and ready a horse. In the morning, we’ll ride.”

Disguised as a soldier of Master Ferrick’s company, Larajin slipped out of Selgaunt without incident. Guards in the gatehouse that opened onto the High Bridge gave the riders only a bored glance as they rode from the city. Larajin, clad in a mail shirt and surcoat, her hair tucked under a wide-brimmed cap, was no more to them than another soldier.

The company rode north throughout the morning, making good progress. When the sun reached its zenith, they stopped to water the horses and eat a quick meal. As she dismounted, Larajin spotted a familiar flash of color in the distance. Goldheart had returned and had landed behind a clump of bushes not far from the road.

Taking her leave of the other soldiers-pretending she was going to relieve herself behind the bushes-Larajin sought the tressym out. She cast the spell that would allow them to communicate and quickly learned that Goldheart had indeed been able to follow Leifander. The route he’d taken, however, was a surprise. Instead of winging due north, as Larajin had expected, he’d followed the River Arkhen. He’d flown upriver for several miles, continuing to follow the river almost until dawn, then at last shifted back into elf form to enter the Reverie.

“You did well, Goldheart,” Larajin said, stroking the tressym. Goldheart gave a rumbling purr of pride, closing her eyes in a catlike smile. “Now I want you to return to where you last saw Leifander, find him again if you can, and continue to follow him until he ends his journey-until he spends more than a single night in one place. Can you do that?”