Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [104]
"I'd been transported to another spot in the woods," Dray explained. "Magically-by Klarsh, as it turned out. It seems, having lost his chance at the, ah… spoils… he was trying to salvage something of value from the caravan: me.
"I had nothing to fight Klarsh with-I'd dropped the sword after the arrow struck my arm-and I knew he had powerful magic. I had no choice but to accompany him through the woods. I expected him to head for Essembra and on to Hillsfar, which was where that lout Enik had said the brigands would lie low with their loot. I was surprised when we went west, instead. When I asked Klarsh why, he said the north was hardly the neutral haven that Enik had expected. He said he didn't want to be 'conscripted,' and that Enik had been a fool."
"Conscripted?" Larajin echoed. "By whom? Have the cities of the Moonsea also declared war on the elves?"
Dray shrugged.
Leifander stared at the human, his patience wearing thin. When would the fellow get to the point? "How did you come to be digging up an elf grave?" he asked, nbd-ding in the direction of the oak.
Dray paled and glanced imploringly at Larajin but continued when she urged him on with a nod.
"I didn't want to do it. Klarsh forced me-with his magic. I was no more than a puppet, jerked by magic strings. It was terrible, being so helpless. The last thing I remember was grabbing one of the roots, to pull it free and suddenly feeling very tired. Then I woke up, here, with you."
The story sounded reasonable to Leifander, but Larajin had one more question.
"Why didn't Klarsh use a spell to move the earth aside, as he had before?"
Dray shrugged. "Maybe he thought it would attract too much attention. He thought there might be other elf patrols in the woods. Perhaps he just wanted to humiliate me by forcing me to do manual labor."
"Or perhaps," Larajin said, "Klarsh intended you to fall victim to the tree's magical ward. As a wizard, he should have recognized the glyph on the tree for what it was. He'd probably decided to abandon his treasure hunt and ransom you instead. I'll bet it was he who took your ring and earring, as proof that he held you captive. The sleeping spell made you easy to handle-and to store. I suppose he intended to leave you here in the woods, hanging on that tree, for your relatives to pick up after they had delivered the ransom."
She glanced at the mist-scarred oak, then at the trail, and the four spider bodies that lay on it, and shuddered.
"You could have been killed by the mist, had it been just a little higher-or by spiders. You're a lucky man, Dray."
"Lucky to have met you, Thazienne," Dray answered with a bow.
Leifander, aware that he might as well be invisible to the human, bristled. His magic had played an equal part in saving Dray's life, and yet it went unacknowledged. It was not in his nature to boast his valor or to seek acknowledgement from a human. Even so, it rankled.
Larajin was oblivious to this slight. Instead she seemed troubled by something. She glanced at the ground, as if collecting her thoughts, then up at Dray.
"I'm not actually Thazienne," she said. "I'm a… relative of hers. My name's Larajin."
Dray's eyebrows rose. "Indeed? A relative, you say? You're an Uskevren, then?"
"Yes, but my mother was from a… part of the family that's not well known."
"Ah," Dray nodded sagely, as if this explained everything.
"A dalliance, then." He studied her a moment, his head tilted to one side. "You're too young to be one of the illegitimate brats Roel was so fond of siring. Was your father Perivel, then? But no, he died when the first Stormweather Towers burned to the ground, years before you would have been born. That would leave…"
Leifander, growing impatient, supplied the answer. "Her father was Thamalon Uskevren," he told Dray, ignoring Larajin's frantic motions for silence. "I am also Thamalon's son."
Dray glanced at Leifander's tattooed face, then burst into laughter. Only when Leifander glowered at him was he able to choke it back.
"Oh that's a good one," Dray sputtered at last. "I suppose