Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

“Doriantha,” Larajin said, “I’m going to tell you something I know will sound crazy, but please hear me out. Leifander and I will need your help.”

Before Doriantha could reply, Larajin turned to the druid and said, “Rylith, we’ll need your help, too. Would you be able to use your amber to locate Maalthiir?”

Rylith nodded.

Larajin turned to her brother and asked, “Leifander, could you summon up a breeze and use it to carry a small, light object in a precise path over a distance of several hundred paces?”

He made a dismissive gesture. “Child’s play.”

“Could you do it if you could only see the object in Rylith’s amber?”

“I suppose,” he said, frowning, “but to what end? And what object?”

Larajin picked up a downy feather that Goldheart had preened from her wing, noting with satisfaction that it was predominantly red-Sune’s sacred color.

“This feather,” she said.

Leifander and Doriantha stared at her blankly, but on Rylith’s face Larajin saw the dawning of a smile. Quickly, Larajin began to speak.

Larajin completed her prayer and held up the tressym feather. Small and downy, it was perhaps the most unusual “weapon” of war ever wielded. Tiny though it might be, it vibrated with magical power. Its color had deepened to a vivid crimson that almost seemed to glow in the darkness, and the scent of Hanali’s Heart wafted from it as though it had been soaked in perfume.

“It’s ready,” she told Doriantha. “Now it’s time for you to kiss it.”

Doriantha hesitated, her lip curling, then leaned forward. She gave the feather the briefest of kisses, and stared skeptically at it.

“Are you sure this will work? Isn’t the enchantment on it too obvious?”

“Only up close,” Larajin said. “It’ll be Leifander’s job to blow the feather up against Maalthiir in such a way that he doesn’t see it coming until it’s too late.”

Overhead, a thickly leafed duskwood tree swayed in the wind, throwing a patter of shadows across the moonlit forest floor. The breeze-cool and refreshing, and carrying rich woodland scents-had been summoned by Leifander. He sat cross-legged on a mossy boulder, eyes closed and arms extended. His hands drifted in lazy circles, fanning the breeze that fluttered the glossy black feathers in the end of his braid.

Rylith, standing next to him, peered intently into her amber. “I see him,” she said softly. “Maalthiir is at the center of a group of soldiers. He has just passed through the northern gate and is walking in the direction of the manor house.”

Larajin nodded. “We’d better hurry. Once he’s indoors, it will be more difficult.”

She strode to where Leifander sat and held the feather up in front of him. “Ready?” she asked.

He drew a deep breath, opened his eyes, then nodded. Larajin let go of the feather, which started to drift to the ground. Leifander exhaled. Caught by his breath, the feather at first tumbled through the air, then seemed to find its bearings. It floated away through the forest, weaving its way through the trees.

“Quickly,” Larajin told Rylith. “The amber.” Then, to Doriantha, “Go now. The feather will reach him before you do.”

As Doriantha slipped away into the night, the druid raised the fist-sized chunk of amber so Leifander could peer into it. The image inside, which a moment ago had shown a group of Red Plumes striding up Rauthauvyr’s Road, suddenly shifted. Something rushed into view from a distant point, deep within the amber’s yellow depths. It drew close enough for Larajin to recognize it as the tressym feather-and it was gone.

“What’s happened?” Larajin asked, alarmed.

“Watch,” Rylith said.

Larajin did, and saw that the image inside the amber had changed yet again. Instead of the view being fixed at a single point, like a watcher looking down from above, the objects inside the amber seemed to lunge wildly past while the viewpoint constantly changed. A tree appeared, loomed close for a moment, then was gone. A clump of ferns raced up from below-then tumbled away as the view soared up toward the sky like a bird. The angle shifted wildly to avoid a tree branch that suddenly came into view, then a level course once more.

Watching, Larajin realized that the amber was showing the world from the perspective of the feather. Blown by the breeze, tumbling this way and that, it floated out of the forest and into a clearing, then drifted above an expanse of trampled earth that Larajin recognized as Rauthauvyr’s Road. A palisaded wall loomed ahead-and a moving carriage, the passage of which sent the feather spiraling-and the open gates approached, and passed by.

Dizzy, Larajin had to look away for a moment to clear her head. She watched Leifander instead, marveling at his control. He was drawing air in through his nostrils and blowing it out through pursed lips in a constant stream, like a trained musician. Eyes locked on the amber, he shifted his head ever so slightly this way and that, altering the flow and direction of his magical breeze. His brow was furrowed in a look of intense concentration, and a trickle of sweat rolled down his temple and tattooed cheek, eventually dripping from his jaw. He ignored it, his chest rising and falling slowly, hands still fanning the air.

Larajin turned her attention back to the amber. The feather moved through the town, drifting over rooftops and corrals, seeking the road Maalthiir and his men were walking. As it passed over the chimneys of the temple of Gond, the image inside the amber tumbled wildly as a current of hot air from a chimney caught it, and for several heart-stopping moments Larajin thought Leifander had lost control of the feather. When the view steadied, the street zoomed up from below.

Walking along it were six men. Their figures enlarged inside the amber as the feather drifted down toward them. One of the figures-an officer with a scar running in a vertical line down one cheek-looked up as if sensing something was wrong, and Larajin held her breath. Maalthiir, walking beside him, noticed his officer looking up and glanced in the same direction, a look of bloodthirsty anticipation on his face, as if he was expecting the return of the crow that had spied on him earlier.

As Leifander blew out the last of his breath in a rush Maalthiir’s face enlarged, filling the amber completely. Closer still-a square, stubbled jaw-and closer still-tight, cruel lips-and-

Nothing. The amber was empty.

Leifander slumped, closing his eyes. His breathing became rapid and shallow, and his skin paled. Larajin reached for his shoulder, thinking he was going to fall, but then his eyes opened and his back straightened.

“I did it,” he said in a proud voice. “The feather struck Maalthiir full on the lips. It was amazing. Never have I felt so close to the Lady of Air and Wind. I felt like a nestling, enfolded in her powerful wings.”

“And now it’s up to Doriantha,” Larajin said. “May Hanali Celanil and Sune watch over her, and protect her.”

That brought Leifander down to earth.

He gave Rylith a worried look and asked, “Can you see her in the amber?”

The druid spoke a flowing phrase in Elvish. A figure appeared within the amber. It was Doriantha, walking along Rauthauvyr’s Road. Anxiously, Larajin peered over Rylith’s shoulder, watching as Doriantha was challenged at the gate, then allowed to pass through. Doriantha hurried up the road, toward the manor, then up its steps. The view shifted then, showing her entering the great hall. Figures were clustered at the end of it. Maalthiir, his officers, and Lord Ilmeth of Essembra were there. They were involved in an animated discussion, heads close together, but when Doriantha entered, Maalthiir glanced up and the scowl on his face softened. When Doriantha placed a hand above her heart and gave a graceful bow, the scowl melted from his face. A moment later, after beckoning Doriantha forward and listening to her speak, his expression changed to a dreamy smile.