Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

Leifander gave a rattling croak that to Larajin’s ears was clearly a grumble of frustration.

“All right,” he said after a moment. “Let’s see what it is.”

Goldheart, seeing that Larajin and Leifander were at last following, allowed them to catch up to her. As they did, Larajin switched to the tressym’s language, meowing a question.

Goldheart’s answer was cryptic. “He comes,” she yowled back in an excited voice.

The tressym sped up. Unable to further question the creature, Larajin translated for Leifander, who jerked his wings in a shrug.

Goldheart led them south, then turned east to cross Rauthauvyr’s Road. Even in the gloom of dusk, Larajin could see that it was choked with the aftermath of war. Half a dozen wagons of peculiar construction had obviously fallen victim to an elf ambush. They were stopped at odd angles along the road with horses lying dead in their traces. Dozens of bodies-the wagon drivers and the archers who must have been escorting them-lay scattered around the wagons and on the road itself. Larajin grimaced, glad she wasn’t flying low enough to see their terrible wounds.

The only sign of those who had attacked the caravan was a creature that hung, dead, in the broken branches of a tree next to the road. Its body was a mix of eagle and lion, and there was a saddle on its back, though no rider was to be seen. Leifander, when he saw it, gave a strangled caw and swooped down for a closer look.

Goldheart continued to the south, not even glancing at the carnage below. It seemed she had another objective in mind. Larajin hoped it wasn’t far. Already she could feel the looseness of limb that was the first warning of her change back to human form. Soon, she would have to land and rest and pray to renew her spell.

She saw Goldheart descend toward the treetops as if she had spotted something. Larajin glanced over her shoulder, and saw to her relief that Leifander was still following-he hadn’t landed at the caravan. She angled toward the trees to the spot where Goldheart had landed. As she did, she heard the thudding of hooves and the snorting of horses.

Cautious, she landed on a branch and peered down through the tangle of foliage. Her heart leaped to her throat as she recognized one of the riders below. It was Master Ferrick, leader of the company Tal had joined. There was no sign of Tal among the riders, who numbered less than a dozen. All of them rode as though exhausted, and one was injured, with a stained dressing wrapped around his shoulder.

Had Tal’s company already been attacked by the elves, leaving these men the only survivors? Had Larajin’s vision of Tal’s death already come to pass?

The riders were talking together in low voices, but at this height she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She stalked from branch to branch, trying to get closer to the ground. At last she could pick out a little of the hushed conversation.

“… our other patrols?” one of the men below asked.

Most of Master Ferrick’s answer was pitched too low for Larajin to hear, but she thought she made out the words, “… wait for them at…” before the horses thudded on, and the riders were lost from sight again.

A rush of hope filled Larajin. They were going to wait for someone? Did that mean the company had merely split up-that Tal might still be alive?

Launching herself from the branch, she flew through the forest to a tree that lay in the general direction the men were traveling-north-then landed and strained her ears and eyes. So intent was she on watching for the men to reappear that she only realized something had landed beside her when she felt it brush against her. She turned, expecting Goldheart, but saw Leifander instead. She glanced up and saw the tressym circling anxiously overhead.

Though the soldiers were still too far away to hear him, Leifander’s croaking was low, the equivalent of a whisper. The goddesses’ blessing must still have been upon Larajin, for she heard what he said as plainly as if he’d spoken in Common-“Sembians?”-as well as the tightly controlled anger in his voice.

“It’s Tal’s company,” she answered.

Leifander cocked his head as the riders came into sight again, watching. This time, the men below kept silent. More than one was looking around, as if fearful of attack. One of them looked up, and both Leifander and Larajin instinctively froze.

Leifander waited until the riders had disappeared from sight before speaking again.

“Your half-brother is not with them.”

“No,” Larajin admitted, “but Goldheart said Tal was coming this way.”

“What of it?”

“If I can find Tal, I can warn him that the elves-”

“That the elves what?” Leifander cawed angrily. “Have windriders guarding the forest ahead? I think not!”

Frustrated, Larajin dug her claws into the branch. She had no idea what Leifander was talking about, but his accusatory tone galled her.

“We’re on the same side now, remember?” she cawed back. “We’re trying to stop this war.”

“By betraying the elves’ secrets?” Leifander asked hotly. “How human of you.”

“And what of when we reach the druids?” Larajin hissed back. “Will you betray the movements of the men below and get my brother killed?”

Her words had been plain enough, but Leifander was giving her a blank look, his head cocked and his glossy black eyes unblinking. Then Larajin realized why. For some reason, her last few words had come out in the form of a tressym’s angry yowl. Before she had time to wonder why this might be, Leifander launched himself into the air. Larajin, still angry, hurled herself after him, wings beating furiously.

They chased each other through the sky for several moments, he furiously cawing and she howling like a cat.

The trembling looseness that she’d felt earlier returned. Realizing that she had to land-and soon, before her spell wore off-Larajin searched the forest below. She briefly debated trying to find the Sembian riders again, then decided against it. Master Ferrick would recognize her, but his men might not-and Larajin didn’t relish the thought of dying at the edge of a “friendly” sword after startling them in the darkness.

Rauthauvyr’s Road was an equally unappealing place to land-it was too open, too exposed-but she had to make up her mind quickly. Each wing beat was an effort, and the treetops below loomed ever closer.

She tried to get Leifander’s attention, but he seemed unwilling to recognize her plight. Instead it was Goldheart who aided her. The tressym circled above what appeared to be a small opening in the forest. As Larajin drew nearer, she saw it was the circular rooftop of a slender stone tower. It looked long abandoned. The wrought-iron rail that surrounded the top of the tower was rusted and bent, and ivy grew thickly on its stonework, disappearing inside broken windows.

The tower itself, however, looked solid enough, its timbered roof still intact. Larajin felt her limbs lengthening and changing shape, and she realized it was her only option if she didn’t want to fall headlong from the sky.

She was just able to land on the mossy rooftop before her magic left her, returning her with a wrenching jolt to human form. Rising to her feet, Larajin searched the sky for Leifander and Goldheart.

Leifander was a rapidly disappearing dot in the distance, winging his way north. Goldheart however, had remained close by. Larajin waved to her, and as the tressym descended to where she stood, quickly repeated the prayer that would allow them to communicate.

“Goldheart, I need to pray-to regrow my wings,” she told the tressym. “While I do that, I need you to follow Leifander. See where he goes, then come back and find me. Tell me where he lands.”