Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [16]
Curious despite the ache that gripped his lungs, Leifander watched as a strange thing happened. From somewhere within the mist came the sound of a whistle. Hearing it, the sergeant leading the soldiers raised a hand in the air. Teamsters reined in their beasts, and the caravan drew to a halt.
As if blown by an sudden wind, the mist drifted away into the forest, leaving a wilted mush of vegetation on the road. After a moment or two, a row of dark spots crossed this area. Footprints.
The footprints paused in one spot, forming an overlapping cluster next to a thick strand of the dead choke
creeper. A section of the tangled vines moved slightly, as if nudged by a foot.
A heartbeat later, a man dropped the spell that had been cloaking him from sight. Human, perhaps sixty years of age with pale wispy hair over a bulging forehead and soft, fleshy arms, he wore a yellow vest and hose that gave his skin a sickly complexion. Gold rings glittered on every finger of his right hand. His left hand held a slender wand that looked as though it had been carved of bone. Tendrils of white mist drifted from the wand's tip, which was set with a single black pearl.
A silver whistle hung from a chain around the man's neck. He raised it to his lips and blew. Back at the caravan, the sergeant's hand went down, and soldiers and beasts resumed their trudge forward along the road.
Leifander glared down at the man holding the wand, anger burning bright in his breast as he realized he was looking at the origin of the blight that was consuming the forest. Like a nut and its shell, the pieces now fit. This was why the bhght had centered itself upon the road. The caravaners had enlisted the aid of a wizard, one who was using destructive magic to clear Rauthauvyr's Road of the choke creeper that had become so prevalent in the forest. Only humans would be stupid and selfish enough to unleash forces that destroyed not just the creeper but the forest itself.
As if sensing Leifander's glare, the wizard looked up., His eyes fixed on the crow circling overhead, and the fingers of his right hand twitched. Did he recognize this "crow" for what it truly was? Did the raising of his hand mean he was about to cast a spell?
If so, Leifander would never escape in time. Instead of fleeing, he did the unexpected. He tucked in his wings and dived. Pulling up at the last instant, he beat his wings in the wizard's face, raking the man's fleshy cheek with his talons.
Cursing, the wizard reacted instinctively, raising his wand to beat Leifander off.
He'd done exactly as Leifander had hoped.
Twisting, Leifander wrapped his talons around the wand. It felt spongy and slick, like a bone slimed by rot, but the wand was solid at its core. Throwing himself backward, wings beating furiously, he tore it from the wizard's grip.
As the wizard began chanting in a strange, garbled tongue, Leifander realized his folly. Not only had he announced himself as something other than a crow, with his strange, uncrowlike actions, but he had placed himself too close to the wizard for escape.
An arrow shot out of the woods ahead, whispering past Leifander, then another arrow, and another. More than one thudded harmlessly into the ground, or caught in the branches of a tree before reaching the road-but the distraction gave Leifander the chance he needed to escape. Instead of casting a spell at Leifander, the wizard halted his incantation in mid-phrase and began another. The air in front of him shimmered, obscuring him from sight. An instant later an arrow hit this sparkling wall of force-and exploded with a crackling release of energy into a thousand harmless slivers.
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