Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [113]
Judging from the wary looks on some of the elves' faces, Leifander was not the only one with doubts. Lord Kierin turned to Maalthiir and placed both hands over
his heart, bowing low. Maalthiir, a smug look on his face, clasped the windrider's shoulders in what had to be a false show of friendship.
It seemed to satisfy the assembled elves, however. Heads began to nod and a murmur of approval filled the room. Leifander knew what they must have been thinking. If so mighty a hero as Lord Kierin could bow to Maalthiir, the human must have renounced his evil ways.
Leifander, however, saw something they did not: the frozen smile on Lord Kierin's normally scowling face. He reahzed, with a sudden terrible clarity, that there could only be one explanation. Leifander had betrayed Lord Kierin's true name to that wizard, Drakkar. He, in turn, must have confided it to someone, who in turn conveyed the information to Maalthiir. The lord of Hillsfar had used that secret in a foul manner, to bend Lord Kierin to his will.
Nearly ill with guilt, Leifander vowed he would make Maalthiir pay for this evil deed-that he would, at the very least, kill the man and- set Lord Kierin free. But how? It would be suicide to attack Maalthiir in a hall filled with Red Plumes. He decided instead to wait until the man was alone-or nearly so, with as few of his guards around him as possible-then he would strike.
In the hall below, the assembly was already breaking up.
"We march in the morning!" Lord Ilmeth shouted. "Pray to your gods for victory on the morrow!"
Leifander drew back from the edge of the rooftop as the soldiers began spilling out down the stairs, into the street. Among the elves, he saw a face he recognized. Surely Doriantha, of all elves, did not support this alliance? He leaned out and cawed softly down to her. She started, then glanced up and gave her head the slightest of shakes. At the same time, her fingers moved, conveying a swift and silent message: "Meet. Tent. Forest."
She stopped signing and hurried down the street. An instant later, Maalthiir emerged from the manor and strode down the stairs, flanked by his officers. Leifander
crouched atop the column, hoping he hadn't been seen. He watched Maalthiir climb into a carriage. After a moment it rumbled up the street.
Springing into flight, Leifander followed the carriage. As he'd suspected, it drove out through the town's northern gate and rumbled toward the Red Plumes's camp.
Doriantha had left the walled portion of Essembra, and was walking toward the tents of the forest elves. She was careful not to glance up at the sky, even though she must have been curious as to whether or not Leifander was following her. Leifander wheeled in a circle, uncertain. Should he meet her at her tent first? If he did, he might miss a chance at Maalthiir.
Climbing higher into the sky, he circled over the Red Plume camp, watching, until the carriage at last drew up in front of a large tent hung with red pennants. Maalthiir stepped out of the carriage and strode inside.
Gliding through the humid night air high above the camp, Leifander thought. Maalthiir's tent was guarded not only by the Red Plumes who stood at attention outside but also, almost certainly, with magical wards that would announce an enemy's approach in an instant. How then, to get inside?
Leifander dipped into a faint current of air that ruffled his feathers, and he let it blow him along for a moment or two, savoring its coolness. If only he could render himself invisible, he might have a chance, but that was not in the repertoire of spells granted by the Lady of Air and Wind. No, the spells she blessed the faithful with dealt with the creatures of wing and feather or with harnessing the power of the stormy winds.
That was it. The winds…
Leifander began to pray. From his beak came the harsh cawing of a crow, but in his mind he heard his prayer as distinct words.
"Winged Mother, come to my aid. Transform my body into one of your gentle breezes. Turn feather,