Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

Larajin waited until the hoofbeats of their horses had receded into the distance, then she turned her horse and rode back down the trail, stopping in the place where she’d last seen the elf. After a moment, a narrow face peeked out of a crack in a hollow stump a few paces into the forest. The elf squeezed out from inside the stump with difficulty, wincing as her misshapen back brushed against its trunk. She turned to Larajin and gave a peculiar bow, thrusting her arms behind her as she bent at the waist.

As the elf bowed, Larajin could see that the deformity on the woman’s back seemed to be centered upon her shoulders. Just below each was a large hump, its exact shape hidden by the baggy shirt she wore.

“You I thank, lady,” the elf said, though it took Larajin a moment or two to understand the words, which were spoken in a strange accent. It was almost as if the woman trilled her words. Her speech had the inflection of a song.

“Why were those men chasing you?” Larajin asked.

“I … came to Arch Dale after many miles journey,” the woman said, watching Larajin’s face all the while for her reaction. “Soldier with mark on hand, he recognize. He know I come from Hillsfar, by this mark.”

She held up her left hand. On the back of it was a brand identical to the one on Muscle Neck’s hand. Except that the elf’s brand was fresher, still pink.

“I didn’t think elves were allowed in Hillsfar,” Larajin said.

A bitter look crossed the woman’s face. “In arena, only. In games.”

Larajin understood. She’d heard of the arena in Hillsfar-it was known far and wide in Faerûn. The Hillsfar Arena was the scene of fabled contests in which gladiators pitted themselves against fearsome monsters. Ogres, trolls, minotaurs … all had soaked the arena’s sand with their blood.

Muscle Neck must have been one of the gladiators who fought there, and so must this elf, though with her fine bones and deformed shoulders she looked too frail to be a fighter.

“Were you a gladiator?” Larajin asked.

The woman frowned. “I am elf.”

She seemed to think this explanation enough, but it left Larajin unenlightened.

“I thought you said that elves fight in the arena,” Larajin said.

“Elves die in arena,” the woman said. “They are put in, with long chain at ankle. No escape can be make. It makes the crowd to laugh.”

The words were spoken softly, but they made Larajin’s blood turn cold. This woman might have spoken in the third person, but it was clear from the ache in her eyes that she was relating a horror that she herself had experienced. Larajin pictured her unarmed, chained to the center of the arena, frantically trying to escape the sword slashes of a burly gladiator like Muscle Neck while the crowd laughed and jeered.

“You escaped from the Hillsfar Arena, didn’t you?” Larajin said in a grim voice. “That soldier-the one that looked like a half-ore-he was trying to capture you and sell you back.”

The woman nodded, a quick bob of the head.

“What’s your name?”

The elf hesitated, as if trying to decide whether to trust her. At last she answered. “Kith. You?”

Larajin gave truth for truth, answering with her real name, instead of Thazienne’s. “Where are you headed?” she asked.

“To Evermeet.”

Larajin frowned. “That’s a long way from here. Why Evermeet?”

Kith’s eyes brightened. “I be told it is place of all elves, of great magic. I go to … seek a great healing. Then I may follow wind home.”

Healing? The woman must have been talking about her deformity.

“Where is home?” Larajin asked.

Kith answered with a sharp, sweet trill. After a moment, Larajin realized that this must have been the name of the place she came from.

“I’ve never heard of it,” she told Kith, then she added, “If you’re journeying to Evermeet, shouldn’t you be headed west? You must have followed the Moonsea Ride out of Hillsfar. Why didn’t you just stay on that road?”

Kith shrugged and immediately winced. Her deformed shoulders must have pained her.

“Red Plumes would follow,” she answered. “Instead I come through trees, to Highmoon.”

Larajin nodded. Journeying through the great forest made sense. Kith had probably been aided by the wood elves. It also explained how she had come so far with so little. The woman didn’t seem to have a pack or provisions. Having reached Highmoon, however, Kith should have continued west along the road that led through Thunder Gap and into Cormyr.

“You turned south, into Archendale,” Larajin prompted. “Why?”

“Giants,” Kith answered. She said no more, as if that one word was explanation enough. Then, seeing the blank look in Larajin’s eyes, she added, “I am told giants be in mountains through which pierces road. They are enemy to my people. Without my …” She paused, then continued. “I would have no chance against them. I am told of southern road, one that passes south of mountains without piercing. Way of the Manticore. Do you know it?”

Larajin nodded. “That road is a long way from here-at least six days’ journey to the south. There’s no way to cross the river until you reach Selgaunt, and that means entering Sembia, which isn’t exactly welcoming elves at the moment. You wouldn’t be safe in the south. You’d do better to take your chances crossing the mountains. Maybe you could join a caravan. That should offer some protection from the-”

Kith balled her fist and all but shook it at Larajin. “They will see the mark!” she trilled. “They will think of Red Plumes’ coin, and greed fill their hearts.”

“That is a problem, it’s true,” Larajin acknowledged. “Even so, I would recommend the mountains as a better option. You can’t travel any farther south. If you do, you’ll be mistaken for a spy and killed.”

Slowly, with a defeated look on her face, Kith lowered her hand. “All winds blow against I, it does seem,” she said sadly.

“Not all the winds,” Larajin said, trying to sound encouraging. “They blew me your way, didn’t they? And those soldiers aren’t looking for you any more. They’ll be back in Archendale before dark and will soon forget all about you.”

An idea struck her, and she added, “Why don’t you travel with me awhile-at least for the rest of today-and camp with me tonight? Here, climb up on the horse behind me.”

She leaned over in the saddle and extended a hand down to Kith. After a moment, the elf took it. Placing a foot in the stirrup that Larajin had just removed her foot from, she swung lightly up behind her, and settled into place, her legs tucked against the saddlebags. She clutched nervously at the sides of Larajin’s shirt as the horse began to walk. Kith had obviously never been on horseback before.

“Where we are travel?” Kith asked.

“I won’t know that until Goldheart returns,” Larajin said over her shoulder.

“Gold Heart?” Kith repeated. She thought about it a moment. “This be companion to you?”

“A companion, yes,” Larajin answered with a smile. “One whose value I only recently realized.” For the hundredth time that day, she glanced up at the sky through the trees, hoping to see the familiar flash of colorful wings. “I just hope nothing’s happened to her.”

That evening they made camp in the woods-well away from the trail, since by dusk the enormous stone arches of the bridge at Archendale had come into sight. Larajin fed and brushed the horse first-remembering what her adoptive father had taught her about always caring for your animals before attending to your own comforts-then she shared with Kith a simple meal of dried fruit and soldier’s biscuit. It seemed to matter little to Kith that the latter was stale. The elf consumed it ravenously, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Perhaps that was why she was so thin.