Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

“The spell worked!” Larajin exclaimed with relief.

“It did indeed,” Leifander added a moment later. He too was staring into the amber, watching Larajin’s plan unfold. “You see? Maalthiir’s drawn away from his men and has led Doriantha to a quiet corner to talk. Just look at the desire, burning in his ugly eyes. He’ll be asking her to lay with him in another moment. Yes, there! They’re leaving the hall together.”

With that last comment, Leifander’s voice had dropped to a low growl. Tearing his eyes away from the amber, he leaped from the boulder and began pacing back and forth across the clearing.

Watching him, Larajin suddenly realized something. Her brother had feelings for Doriantha. The elf warrior, in turn, cared for Leifander. Hanali Celanil had blessed them both, though their love had yet to fully blossom.

Larajin offered up a prayer for Doriantha’s safety, imploring the goddesses to give the archer’s budding romance with Leifander time and tranquility in which to blossom. It would be a grim thing indeed if Maalthiir or his officers were to discover Larajin’s plot and Leifander were to lose a second woman he adored to the Red Plumes’s wrath.

Intent upon her prayer, Larajin at first didn’t pay any attention to Rylith’s quick intake of breath, but then the druid spoke in a strangled whisper.

“No-what was Doriantha thinking? She has stabbed him!”

“Who’s been stabbed?”

A glance into the amber gave Larajin the answer. She saw Maalthiir staggering into the great hall, hands clasped to a stomach that was leaking red. The officer with the scarred face sprang immediately to his side, easing him to the ground and laying hands upon his wound, probably invoking a healing spell. In that same instant, Doriantha came into view.

Leifander, who had joined Larajin and Rylith in peering into the amber, let out an anguished cry.

“What is she doing-why doesn’t she flee? She’ll be killed!”

Doriantha was pointing behind her, at the hallway she’d just emerged from. Two of Maalthiir’s men seized her-strangely, Doriantha did nothing to resist them-while the remaining three ran in the direction she’d been pointing. After a few moments they reappeared, forcing two captives ahead of them at sword point.

Rylith let out a relieved sigh as the two men holding Doriantha released her and gave quick, apologetic bows.

“All is well. It appears that it was not Doriantha who attacked Maalthiir, but someone else-two humans. My guess is they are Sembian spies.”

“Sembians?” Larajin asked in átense, low voice.

A sense of premonition gripping her, she peered more intently at the amber in Rylith’s hands. The two captives were on their knees, one with blood running from a gash in his leg, the other holding his head as if he’d been struck. As Larajin watched, their hands were forced behind their backs, and bound.

Maalthiir, his bloody wound stanched by magic, sat up groggily and said something. The officer who had been tending him nodded, then strode over and slapped the captive with the wounded leg. He barked an order over his shoulder, obviously relaying Maalthiir’s orders. One of the Red Plumes bent his bow, stringing it.

The second captive-the one who had been holding his head-turned to see what was happening. As he did, Larajin recognized his face. Suddenly, she knew what would come next-she’d seen it in her vision.

“Goddess, no!” she said in a high, tight voice. “That captive-it’s Tal. They’re about to execute him!”

Heart pounding, Larajin winged her way toward the town as fast as she could fly. Fear lent an urgency to each stroke of her wings, and determination made her ignore the oldiers in the streets below who were pointing up at her and shouting. An arrow sang past her, barely a pace away, but she only realized the soldiers below were shooting at her when a second arrow, closer than the first, snagged her wing and sent her tumbling. Furiously, she beat her wing to loosen it from her feathers, then recovered and flew on.

A short distance behind her, a small black shape trailed in her wake. Leifander had skinwalked only a heartbeat or two after Larajin did, but whether he meant to help her or to try to stop her was unclear. Nor did it matter. The only thing Larajin could think of was Tal.

Swooping down to street level, she flew toward Ilmeth’s Manor. With a rush of relief, she saw that Tal was still alive. Two Red Plumes had dragged him out onto the street, and were trying to force the struggling Tal to his knees. The archer-one of the Red Plumes-stood a few paces away, an arrow nocked but the bow held loosely at his side. The other captive lay on his face in the street in a pool of blood, the point of an arrow protruding from his back. The soldiers threw Tal face-first onto the ground beside the body, then took a quick pace back. The archer raised his bow as Tal struggled to rise.

Howling her fury, Larajin dived at the archer. She raked him with all four feet, claws tearing at his face. Above her, she heard a hoarse caw, and from behind her came a stranger sound-the snarl of an angry dog. She risked a glance back, and saw Tal rising to his feet, getting ready to run. There was no time to see if he made it, however. She had to avoid the archer, who flailed at her, cursing.

Larajin scratched his arm, but her claws slid harmlessly off the thick leather bracer that protected it. His fist connected with her head, knocking her spinning through the air. She crashed into a wooden rail in front of the building opposite Ilmeth’s Manor, and felt something crack in one wing, then she fell heavily to the ground. Shaky, unable to rise, she looked up and saw the archer aiming his arrow at her.

So this is how I’m going to die, she thought, vision blurring from the pain of her injured wing. Silently, she began to pray. Goddess enfold my soul in your love, I-

A heartbeat before the archer loosed his arrow, a large dark shape streaked up the street. Leaping into the air, it struck the archer full in the chest, knocking him down.

The other two soldiers-Ilmeth’s men-were also in trouble. Leifander, still in crow form, had landed on the rooftop above Larajin and was flapping his wings furiously. The blast of magical wind he summoned caught the two full on, tumbling them backward like blown leaves against the steps of Ilmeth’s Manor. Inside the manor, Red Plumes officers shouted orders, drew steel, and tried to join the fight. The wind howled in through the open doorway, driving them back.

At last able to rise to her feet but still unable to straighten her injured wing, Larajin looked around. She saw no sign of Tal-she prayed that meant he’d escaped-but she did finally get a good look at her savior. It was an enormous wolf that stared back at her with bright green eyes. Amazingly, the wolf reared up and walked like a man on its two hind legs. Bending at the waist, he reached down with paws that looked like elongated, hairy hands, picked her up, and gently cradled her to his chest, then he ran.

The pain of her injured wing nearly made Larajin faint. Gentle though he was, the wolf-creature couldn’t help but jostle her as he ran. Larajin had a dim sense of buildings flashing past, then a gate, and shouting soldiers, and arrows singing past. Head lolling, she happened to look up and saw Leifander flying low and hard after them, then trees were on either side and the wolf-creature’s run became a series of leaps and zigzags as he made his way deeper into the forest.

The pain in her wing was intense, all consuming. Larajin tried to cast a healing spell, but the prayer would not come to her lips. She found herself unable to maintain concentration, and she began slipping out of tressym form. Her torso and limbs elongated, fur and feathers shrank back into her skin, and her injured wing became an injured left arm. The wolf-creature, suddenly finding his burden increased tenfold, staggered under the increased weight and nearly dropped her. Sagging to his knees, he lowered her to the forest floor.