Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [15]
Leifander blinked, at first not believing what he had just seen. The thicker patch of mist drifted over the twisting tangle of choke creeper, and every bit of greenery on it wilted. The choke creeper sagged to the ground, like a taut rope suddenly gone limp.
The mist drifted silently on, toward the wood elves' hiding place.
A frightened caw burst from Leifander's mouth before he found the words to warn those below. "The mist!" he croaked, rising to a standing position and cupping a hand to his mouth. "Doriantha, beware! That thicker patch of mist, not more than ten paces to your left-it has the power to kill!"
Although startled, Doriantha reacted quickly, signaling a retreat. As one, the troop of elves scrambled to their feet and began to melt away into the forest.
Leifander, watching from the safety of the trees above, breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the Winged Mother for her warning. The ambush was spoiled. The elves would have to regroup in the forest and fight another day, but-Aerdrie Faenya be praised-Doriantha and her troop had been spared from that mist, whatever it might be.
Leifander closed his eyes and stroked the glossy black feathers in his braids, summoning up the strength of the crow. As he finished shifting, a cry from below warned him that something had gone wrong. Opening his eyes, Leifander cocked his head to peer down at the ground. He spotted the problem in an instant: one of the elves- Jornel, a copper-haired youth whose face was tattooed below the eyes with raindrops, making it look as though he were perpetually weeping-had failed to move away from the ambush point. From his vantage point, Leifander could see that one of Jornel's legs had become entangled in a strand of choke creeper that must have quested in his direction after being awakened by the nestling. Jornel slashed furiously at the vine with his sword, but even as he did, a second strand sprang up and caught his wrist. Held fast, he yanked at it in a futile effort to free himself, eyes bulging in horror as the mist drifted toward him.
Doriantha, signaling urgently for the other elves to stay hidden in the woods, slung her bow over one shoulder and doubled back at the run. She drew her sword to hack at the creeper, but it was clear she would not free Jornel in time. Already the deadly white mist was lapping at him like a sickly smelling, cloying tide.
The vine that held Jornel wilted and went slack, then the mist engulfed him. Doubled over, retching, he tried to stagger out of the mist, but the choke creeper still entaiv gling him slowed him down. Dragging the limp vines behind him, he managed only a few stumbling steps before sagging to the ground, coughing violently.
Leifander saw in an instant what needed to be done. As Doriantha backed away from the approaching mist, he hurled himself into a steep dive. He held his breath as he plunged into the clammy mist and landed next to Jornel.
Using his beak, he seized a loop of the vine that was twined around Jornel's wrist, then leaped into the air, flapping his wings hard. Pain seared his lungs as he took an inadvertent breath, and he could feel the foul-smelling
mist eating at the tips of his feathers. His eyes stung, and his vision blurred.
Weakened by the mist, the vine tore free from Jornel's arm. Dropping the foul-tasting vine, Leifander winged his way out of the mist and took a deep breath of clean air, his feathers and skin still burning from the mist's corrosive touch.
His effort, however, had been in vain. Jornel's leg was still tangled in the vine. His skin was blistering, and a bloody foam bubbled at his hps.
While the other elves watched, uncertain, Doriantha took a deep breath, then leaped into the mist. Blisters erupted on her skin as she untwined the last strand of vine from Jornel's leg and dragged him clear of the mist. Two of her troop ran forward, one to pick the injured elf up, the other to lend his shoulder to Doriantha as she staggered away, coughing violently.
The rumbling squeak of wagon wheels