Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

“A spy!” Maalthiir shouted, leaping to his feet. “A gods-cursed Sembian spy!”

In that same instant Guff whipped out his sword. The barrel-chested officer leaped between Leifander and Maalthiir, protecting his lord. Nadire, having expended one spell, began chanting the words of a second.

Terrified though he was at having been discovered, Leifander still had one thing in his favor. Nadire had dispelled only one of the spells Leifander had cast upon himself. Still in crow form, he could at least beat a hasty retreat on the wing-if he lived long enough to get out of the tent.

General Guff charged, sword whistling through the air, but somehow Leifander managed to dodge the slash, wheeling in a tight circle inside the tent. Nadire, trying to track him with one hand, held back his spell as Guff got in the way. Maalthiir continued shouting, urging his officers to capture the spy.

Salvation came a heartbeat later, when one of the guards outside threw open the tent flap to look inside. Quick as a blink, Leifander shot through the opening, wings beating so furiously they felt like a hummingbird’s. He climbed with powerful strokes up into the sky-then dived to gain speed and present a more difficult target for Nadire’s spell.

Behind him, he heard Maalthiir howling orders. “Archers! Shoot that damned bird!” he shouted. “Bring down anything that flies.”

One arrow, two-and a flurry whistled into the air, but already Leifander had flown out of range. Silently praising the goddess for maintaining his skinwalking abilities even in the face of Nadire’s spell, he flew far to the south, to reinforce Maalthiir’s false impression that he was a Sembian spy. Only when he was certain he could no longer be seen did he dive to treetop level and turn back in the direction of the forest elves’ camp.

As the tent flap rustled, Larajin jumped in alarm and raised her hand to cast a spell. Beside her, Doriantha drew a dagger with a slither of steel and Goldheart fluffed in alarm. But instead of the person Larajin most feared-Drakkar-pushing his way into the tent, it was Rylith, the person she most wanted to see.

The druid blinked once in surprise to see Larajin inside Doriantha’s tent, then immediately nodded as if finding Larajin there was something she’d half expected.

She looked around the tent and asked, “Where is Leifander?”

“We don’t know,” Larajin said in a tense voice. “Doriantha saw him perched on Lord Ilreth’s manor, and told him to meet her here, but he never arrived. Goldheart spotted him flying over the Red Plumes’s camp a short time later, but then he just … disappeared.”

Rylith’s eyebrows furrowed. “Disappeared?”

Instead of questioning Larajin further, however, she turned to the tressym and uttered a series of mrrows and yrrows , then finally, a soft growl.

Rylith switched back to the common tongue. “His disappearance doesn’t appear to be the Red Plumes’s work. I think it was some spell he cast upon himself-that he somehow managed to render his crow form invisible. As for his safety now…”

Her voice trailed off as a sudden commotion erupted, far from Doriantha’s tent. Larajin could hear the shouts of men, and the faint but unmistakable thrum-thrum-thrum of a volley of arrows being loosed. It sounded as though the noise was coming from the northeast.

“The Red Plumes!” Larajin said, stiffening. “Do you think it’s Leifander they’re shooting at?”

Doriantha joined Larajin in giving Rylith a tense, expectant look, but the druid merely sat quietly, listening. After a moment, the sound of bows stopped, and there were more distant shouts.

“If Leifander is the cause of that commotion, we can only hope he has escaped,” Rylith said. “As to that-we shall see.”

Doriantha nodded in acceptance, but Larajin jumped to her feet. “What? You mean we’re just going to sit here and wait? We should-”

Rylith silenced her with a gesture, then she pulled something out of a pouch that hung at her hip. She began to chant the words of a spell. The object was a fist-sized chunk of amber of a clear, yellow color. Within it was a single speck-an insect, Larajin assumed at first, but then the speck began to move. Larajin and Doriantha leaned closer, and Larajin’s breath caught in her throat as she recognized the moving shape for what it was: a tiny black crow.

“Leifander!” she exclaimed. “But where is he?”

She peered deeper into the chunk of amber. Its base was stippled and seemed to be moving-a pattern she recognized easily, after long days of flying over it: the treetops of the great forest.

“You see these lights?” Rylith asked, pointing out a faint sparkle at one edge of the amber. “That’s Essembra. He is coming back this way.”

Larajin sighed in relief and was surprised to hear Doriantha sigh, too. She’d thought the elf woman a battle-hardened veteran, not one to be overly sentimental about the welfare of individual members of her command. It looked as though Larajin had been wrong about her.

“Rylith,” Larajin said, “I have a problem. Someone else may also be headed this way. Earlier this evening, Drakkar-the wizard who was the cause of my fleeing Selgaunt-cast a spell on me. The spell embedded a magic thorn in my paw. I think it was some sort of tracking spell.”

Rylith’s eyebrows rose at the word paw. “Show me.”

Larajin pulled off her boot and extended her foot to the druid. Rylith peered at it, her tattooed cheeks puckering as she pursed her lips. Placing her amber in her lap, she held Larajin’s foot in one hand and prodded at the sole with a forefinger, as if feeling for something under the skin. She placed the flat of her hand against the bottom of Larajin’s foot and chanted the words to a spell.

A foul, burning smell filled the air, and the spot on Larajin’s foot where the thorn had embedded itself became an intense point of heat and pain. Involuntarily, she jerked her foot back.

“What’s happening?” she gasped.

Beside her, Goldheart sniffed at the foot, then growled.

Rylith shook her head grimly. “The wizard’s magic is too strong. I can’t dispel it.”

Disappointment swept over Larajin as she cradled her aching foot. She’d been certain Rylith could help her.

“Drakkar will come for me, then,” she whispered. “He’ll find me.”

Outside the tent, a stick cracked, and Larajin jumped.

Rylith placed a hand on Larajin’s shoulder. “If he does, may the goddesses protect you. May they grant that you won’t have to face Drakkar alone.”

As if on cue, the tent flap whipped open. Leifander rushed inside, an urgent look on his face.

“Doriantha! Maalthiir is planning to-”

Noticing Larajin and Rylith, he halted in mid-sentence.

“Rylith,” he breathed, placing both hands over his heart and giving a quick bow. “It’s good to see you.” He glanced at Larajin. “And you, Larajin,” he added, though his words were strained. “I’m … going to need your help.”

“You were spying on Maalthiir?” Rylith asked.

Leifander nodded, his eyes sparkling.

“Sit,” Rylith commanded. “Tell us what you’ve seen and heard.”

Leifander did as he was told and began telling the others something about Maalthiir planning to carve a road through the forest to the upper reaches of the Sea of Fallen Stars.

“It must be the reason behind the alliance,” Leifander added. “Maalthiir knew the High Council would never agree to another road being built-especially not now. He probably hoped to gain the council’s favor by sending his soldiers to fight with us. Do you think they’ll grant him permission?”

Larajin, listening while she pulled her boot back on, now knew the name of the “master” Drakkar had spoken of earlier.