Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [36]
Leifander was surprised to see several plants he recognized-plants he had thought grew only in the shade of the Tangled Trees. Lady's Lace moss, Burlbush heavy with ripening nuts, a tangle of Honeyfruit vine, and the delicate white blossoms of the triple-leafed Lady's Promise. In the moist air scented with growing and blooming things, he felt a sudden pang of familiarity, then he reminded himself that this was all artificial- that humans must have stolen these plants from his forest and transplanted them to their stinking city. With an added snort of disgust, he noted tiny fingers of choke creeper growing out of three pots whose other seeds appeared to have sprouted and died. The human gardeners didn't even recognize a dangerous infestation when they saw one.
Through the greenery, Leifander could see a man dressed in knee-high boots, blue hose, and a gold doublet with sleeves slashed in blue and white. He stood in profile at one of the windows, the finger of one hand tapping his clean-shaven chin as he stared at the northern horizon with a troubled expression. He was taller than
Leifander, but only of average height for a human, with a trim, muscular build. Had he been an elf, his white hair and slightly stooped posture would have caused Leifander to guess his age in the middle hundreds, but this was a human, to whom a single century comprised a lifetime. Leifander pitied their race. By the time he was this man's age, Leifander would still have the reflexes and appearance of a youth.
As if feeling Leifander's stare burning into him, the white-haired man turned. At the same time, a sharp pricking in Leifander's shoulder reminded him of the swordswoman at his back. He stepped forward briskly, and-in deference to the mission the druids had assigned him-placed a hand over his heart and gave the human at, the window a courtly bow.
"Thamalon Uskevren, I presume?" he said in the common tongue.
"I am indeed he who bears that name."
Startled, Leifander looked up. Thamalon had spoken in the language of the forest elves-and not in the harsh, guttural accent humans normally mangled the language with. Instead, every syllable was perfect, articulated with flowing grace. Leifander wondered where and how Thamalon, a human of the south, had learned the tongue.
The sword pricked Leifander's back. "Well?" the woman demanded. "Are you going to introduce yourself? Let's hear this message that you snuck into Stormweather Towers to deliver."
Something flashed in Thamalon's deep green eyes-a warning to his daughter? One hand patted the air, instructing her to lower her rapier.
"A httle less impetuosity, Thazienne, if you please," he said in the common tongue.
A moment later, Leifander heard steel slithering into a sheath behind him. The woman-Thazienne-stepped from behind him and stood to the side, mahcious curiosity dancing in her eyes as she waited to hear what he had to say.
Leifander cleared his throat and held Thamalon's eye. He'd deliver his message quickly, then get on to the important part-asking this man for information about his father.
"My name is Leifander," he said in his own language. "I am an elf of the Tangled Trees. I bear a message from the Circle of the Emerald Leaves."
He paused, watching to see if Thamalon recognized the name. Thamalon nodded briefly. He did.
"The druids wish you to raise your voice in the Sembian council to state that the elves have attacked Sembia's caravans with good cause, to revenge the magical bhght humans brought to the great wood. While most of the elves wish war, there are some… who will work for peace."
Thamalon's eyes bored into Leifander's. "But you're not one of them, hmm? You'd rather fight."
Leifander squared his shoulders. "I do as I am bid."
"Odd, that the druids would choose you to deliver their message. Are you certain there isn't another message you came to deliver, a message from