Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [110]
There was only one piece of the puzzle missing. Who was this 'master' Drakkar had just spoken of? Larajin listened intently to the voices below, but heard nothing that would answer that question. The drow spoke greedily of how they would turn the forest into a dark haven for their kind, once the other elves-whom they snarlingly referred to as "sunspit"-were slain. And woe betide any human who dared venture within the tree-shaded wood.
With growing horror, Larajin realized the drow were describing the vision she'd had, back in the Tangled Trees. Dark hands reaching out of the earth, tearing open the flesh of human and elf alike, soaking the ground with blood.
All this would come to pass, if she and Leifander didn't do something to prevent it, but once again, Leifander had gone off on his own-all over a stupid misunderstanding. Larajin had only wanted to warn Tal to turn back, before an elf archer killed him, but Leifander's simmering hatred of humans-only partially suppressed and now reopened like a broken scab-had caused him to suspect the worst of her.
With a sinking heart, Larajin recalled Somnilthra's warning: "Unharness hate, and you will lose everything. Even your very lives."
She had to find Leifander, and fast-before he did something stupid and got himself killed.
Grasping her locket still tighter, she began to pray in a near-silent whisper.
"Sune and Hanali Celanil, grant me the power to skinwalk just once more. I must find my brother. I must fly."
The familiar scent of Hanali's Heart filled the air, and the red glow erupted through her clenched fingers. Larajin drew herself into position, kneeling on the mossy boards with hands clenched into fists to ease their transition into paws. She felt her body contort and contract, felt fur flow down her skin, wings grow from her shoulders, and her spine elongate into a lashing tail. Her whiskers quivered as she caught the buglike smell of the drow below, and she heard their shouts of confusion and alarm. They'd caught the floral scent that accompanied her spellcasting and were shouting questions at each other, asking what it might mean.
It didn't matter. The stairs leading up to her perch were broken. The drow had no way to reach her. Almost laughing, Larajin launched herself into the air, wings beating as she soared from the tower.
In her elation at skinwalking, she'd forgotten about Drakkar. She realized her mistake when the wizard rose through the opening in the roof of the tower, trailing strands of web behind him like a torn veil. Spotting her at once in the bright moonlight, his eyes widened in recognition. He pointed his thorn-studded staff and shouted a word that was unintelligible, even to Larajin's goddess-blessed ears.
Something streaked from the end of the staff in a trail of red sparks, buzzing toward Larajin like an angry hornet. She tucked in her wings and plunged into a steep dive, crashing down through tree branches in an effort to escape. A sharp sting in her right hind paw, however, told
her the maneuver had been in vain. Distracted by the painful sting, she tumbled in mid-air, only managing to find her wings again at the last moment before striking the ground. She flew on, weaving between tree trunks in a frantic bid to escape.
Behind and above her, she heard Drakkar shouting at the drow as they poured noisily from the tower. Could the wizard see her? Despite the screening of branches overhead, it would certainly seem so. Whichever direction Larajin flew, she heard the sound of running footsteps in the forest close behind her. A knife flashed through the air and buried itself in the trunk of an oak she'd just swerved to avoid, and to her right she could hear branches breaking as the drow circled around, trying to flank her. Always from above, came the shouts of the wizard, directing the drow to her.
Flying hard, Larajin twisted her hind foot up and under her belly, straining for a look at it. What she saw in that brief glimpse frightened her still further. A thorn was wedged between