Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [127]
Out of the corner of her eye, Larajin could see Leifander begin to smile.
"It would also please me if you would speak to Lord Maalthiir and try to make him realize that the forest elves are too strong and that his plans to carve a road through the forest will never succeed."
"But they will!" Drakkar said. "Well use the wands I
created-using the mist, we can clear a road in a tenday." He was obviously trying to impress her.
Larajin shook her head slowly. "Causing further destruction to the forest would make me very sad. And very unhappy with you, Drakkar."
The wizard's face fell.
"Finally, you could speak to the drow and convince them that they're better off in their lairs below ground-that the forest is no place for them."
"I would do anything for you, Larajin, but I cannot accomplish the impossible," Drakkar said. "The drow aren't likely to-"
"Very well," Larajin interrupted, "but my first two requests-you will speak to the Hulorn, and to Maalthiir, won't you?"
For a moment, defiance flickered in Drakkar's eyes, and Larajin thought she had lost him. He gave a great sigh, like a lovesick youth.
"For you, Larajin… Ill do it."
Beside Larajin, Leifander had to pretend to cough, to cover his wide grin. Tal had risen feebly to a sitting position and was gaping at what he heard.
Larajin ignored him.
"There is one thing more you could do for me, if you would," she told Drakkar.
Drakkar's eyebrows lifted. "What is it, my dear?"
She lifted her foot slightly. "This thorn hurts," she said simply. "Could you please remove it?"
"Of course!" Kneeling at her side like a Sembian gallant, Drakkar removed her boot and plucked the thorn from the sole of her foot.
"And this one, too?" Larajin asked, pointing at her tongue.
"Yes. Immediately."
Somehow she kept her face neutral while Drakkar's fingers probed inside her mouth. When the thorn was gone, relief washed through her.
"Thank you," she said, then she let a touch of haughtiness
creep into her voice. Deliberately she adopted the same tone Thazienne used to such good effect on her hordes of lovesick suitors. "Well, Drakkar, what are you waiting for? The Hulorn is going to be the toughest to convince. You'd better start back for Selgaunt at once."
"I…" Once again resistance flickered in Drakkar's eyes-then was gone, as a rush of floral scent filled the air. "At once, my dear," he said, bowing. "At once."
He disappeared with a soft pop.
Leifander turned to Larajin, no longer trying to hide his grin, and asked, "Do you think he'll do it?"
Larajin nodded. "I've never felt the power of the goddesses so keenly as when I cast that spell upon him. He'll do it." She shrugged. "As to whether it's enough to put an end to this war, well, we'll see."
She groaned, at last acknowledging the pain of her injured arm. During the exhilaration of working her magic upon Drakkar, she'd been able to ignore it, but the pain was washing over her in waves, making her feel faint and queasy.
"Now," she told him, "I have to mend this arm of mine."
EPILOGUE
Two figures stood in the forest, watching through a gap in the trees as soldiers with red plumes on their helms trooped past along the road. Riding beside them in an open carriage were four men. Three were officers-one with a vertical scar across his face, another burly and bald, the third a wiry, thin man with fair hair. They stared at the soldiers under their command and shook their heads, as if mightily displeased. The fourth man-who had close-cropped red hair and eyebrows that met in a V-kept turning to look south, back the way they had come, a lovesick look on his face.
The two figures surreptitiously watching the soldiers from the woods-a wild elf with tattooed cheeks and hands and glossy black feathers in his braid; and a woman wearing a red scarf in her hair and a heart-shaped locket at her wrist-turned to each other and grinned, as if sharing a great secret, then they glanced at the woman next to them.
This woman was older than the other two, with gray