Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

“Never mind,” Leifander said, dropping his hand.

Even if he warned her that a patrol was nearby, he doubted she would be able to move quietly. The three or four times he’d scolded her already, she’d pouted and said she was trying.

Trying his patience, was more like it.

The tressym landed beside them and began lapping from the stream. The creature-whom Larajin insisted was called Goldheart, though Leifander had never heard of a tressym naming itself before-seemed intent upon following wherever Larajin went. It had been pursuing them since they set out, wings brilliantly flashing as it flew above the trees. Leifander hoped the patrol wouldn’t spot it and send a scout back to learn what a magical creature was doing in this part of the woods.

“We’ll follow the stream,” he told her. “It flows to the north, and it’s our quickest route to the lake.”

Following it was also, he thought, one way to cover the noise Larajin was making. Unfortunately, it meant they wouldn’t be able to hear anyone approaching through the forest either, but Larajin didn’t need to know that.

“When we reach the shore, we’ll travel along it to the west. There’s a headland at the lake’s midpoint that juts out some distance. That should give us the best view, come moonrise.”

Larajin nodded, and wiggled her fingers for the tressym. It came to her as obediently as a lynx and arched its neck as she stroked its sleek fur.

“I’m going to shift into crow form, and scout ahead,” Leifander told her. “If there are any patrols in the area, I’ll see them better from the air.”

Larajin glanced up at the enormous trees that lined both sides of the stream and asked, “Won’t the branches be too thick?”

She wasn’t as gullible as he’d assumed.

“Larajin,” he said. “There’s an elf patrol close by.” He pointed to the east. “They went in that direction only a short time ago. By the grace of the gods, we were a distance behind them and didn’t stumble out into the open while they were still crossing the stream. They’re close enough that I’m worried they’ll spot the tressym. They might assume it’s a wizard’s familiar and double back. If they find you here, this close to Lake Sember, you’re a dead woman.”

Larajin nodded, her face pale.

“I’m going to try to find them and make sure they keep traveling away from the lake. They’ll trust me. I look … like one of them.”

“How will you find me again?” Larajin asked.

Leifander had to smile. “When you get to the lake, find the headland. You’ll know it by the oak tree that grows out of the bluff at the end of it. The tree was struck by lightning years ago and now has a fork near its base, and two trunks.”

Larajin gave him a wry smile. “Hardly a good omen.”

“I’ll meet you at the oak before moonrise,” Leifander continued. “Hide yourself well, and wait for me there.”

The moon crested the trees, spilling a shimmering line of white across the lake’s surface. Lake Sember was truly as beautiful as Diurgo had said it would be. A wide expanse of deep water, the lake was bright turquoise in sunlight, a darker blue by moonlight. Its water smelled fresh and clean, tempting Larajin to slake her thirst, but instead she’d honored the prohibition against any but full-blooded elves drinking from the lake. Hanali Celanil might favor her, but she didn’t want to risk the wrath of the other elf gods.

For the hundredth time since she’d hidden herself in a clump of brambles near the lakeshore, she rose from her crouch and peered into the forest. Wind whispered through the trees, stirring branches into motion. The only other sounds were the deep croaking of the frogs that lived in the rushes farther down the lakeshore and the occasional distant splash of a fish feeding on the insects that hovered over the lake at night.

“Where are you, Leifander?” she whispered to herself. “What’s happened to you?”

She was certain she was in the right spot. A few paces away was the oak tree Leifander had described, its twinned trunks growing at angles to one another. Just beyond it was a drop of a pace or two and the water’s edge.

Beside her, Goldheart sniffed the breeze, then dropped her jaw and inhaled deeply, having caught a scent. She turned her head this way and that, as if trying to catch the direction from which it came.

“What is it?” Larajin asked.

An instant later, she heard a crackling sound that seemed to originate from somewhere out on the lake. The noise was very faint, but it seemed familiar. After a moment, she realized what it reminded her of: spring thaw, in the River Arkhen, when the ice was breaking up.

Goldheart dropped to a crouch and slunk away through the brambles. Once she was clear, she launched herself into the air and flew to the oak. She landed on one of its branches and folded her wings, staring fixedly out at the lake.

Curious, Larajin crawled out through the path she’d made through the brambles. She walked to the oak tree and crouched in the shadow of its trunk, keeping it between herself and the forest. Squinting, she tried to see what had captured Goldheart’s attention.

She spotted it almost at once. It was a finger of what looked like an inverted icicle rising slowly out of the lake some distance from the shore. A second shimmering spire followed a moment later, then a third. They were too distant to make out clearly, but she could see that each was rising from below the water’s surface, one after the other in a line as the moonbeam spread across the lake. There were four of them, each making the crackling noise as it rose, yet leaving the surface of the lake eerily still. Each had to be at least a hundred paces high.

Larajin breathed a prayer to Hanali Celanil and Sune both, thanking them for allowing her to witness this wonderful sight. She stared at the lake until the last of the crystalline towers had finished rising, then glanced at the moon. It seemed to pause for a moment, round and full, just above the tops of the trees, then it continued its ascent into the sky.

Larajin bit her lip, wondering how long the towers would remain above the lake. That part of the legend, Diurgo hadn’t known. They might remain until the moon set again-or they might sink back under the surface after just a few brief moments.

Leifander might know the answer-but Leifander wasn’t there.

Perhaps Larajin should just set out on her own for the crystalline towers. She could instruct Goldheart to wait for Leifander and guide him to the towers, once he finally arrived.

Yes. That seemed like the best idea. But first, to see if she could actually cast the necessary spell.

She glanced up at Goldheart, who once again was sniffing the breeze. The tressym stared down at Larajin, an intense expression on her face. She growled once, low in her throat, and glanced back at the forest. Briefly, Larajin considered asking the goddess to bless her with the spell that would allow her to ask Goldheart what she’d scented, then decided against it. Even if there was something threatening back in the woods, she would, if the goddesses were willing, soon be well beyond its reach.

Climbing down lower on the outcropping of rock on which the lightning-struck oak stood, Larajin kneeled and dipped her fingers in the lake. The water was deep along that section of the shore and as cool as a night breeze. To Larajin’s surprise, her touch stirred ripples that glowed a faint red, like phosphorescence in the sea. She glanced around, and noticed that the fish breaking the surface weren’t producing any such effect. The places where they leaped and landed rippled, but the water there remained a cool, dark blue. Sune was with her.