Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [39]
"Must you?" Thamalon asked. "A pity. I'd have liked to have told you more about your mother."
Thazienne, having been roundly scolded, was keeping her silence, but her eyes spoke volumes. She shook her head, obviously still not believing a word of it.
Thamalon turned to her. "Please leave us, Thazienne. I wish to speak to Leifander in private."
Thazienne opened her mouth to protest, then thought better of it. Lips pressed together in a tight, angry line, she turned on her heel and strode away.
Thamalon watched the door close behind her, then turned back to Leifander. His eyes lingered on the ring at Leifander's throat.
"I think there will be much for us to speak about," he said. "Did you know that your mother was a Harper?"
Surprised, Leifander shook his head. If it were true, not even the elves of the Tangled Trees had known it. What other surprises did this man have in store?
His curiosity piqued, he said grudgingly, "I'll stay… until I've heard you out, but then I must go."
"Fair enough," Thamalon said. He motioned to a bench under one of the windows. Leifander sat on it, on the far side from where Thamalon settled. Sire this man might be, but father? Never.
The older man looked off through the window at the stars, and absently tapped a finger against his chin, thinking.
"Well then," the human mused. "Where to begin?"
CHAPTER FIVE
Larajin followed the wild elves east through the forest. The route they took was a winding one, along game trails all but invisible to Larajin's eyes. Even before dusk fell, she was completely turned around. When the darkness became complete, she would have lost her way entirely, save for the firm grip Doriantha had on her elbow.
Larajin expected the elves to halt for the night, but they stopped only briefly to eat a few handfuls of dried berries and to drink from a stream. Then they journeyed on through the darkness, winding their way between the trees as if they had the eyesight of owls. Even Larajin, with her excellent night vision, was hard-pressed to keep up the pace.
By the time morning dawned, she was exhausted. Even if they had stopped long enough for her to perform the morning devotions, she would have been too tired to do them properly. She kept hoping that Doriantha would at last announce that they had reached the Tangled Trees, but the march east continued as the sun rose in the sky. The farther they got from Rauthauvyr's Road, the thicker the forest became. Larajin stumbled over roots and fought her way through prickling branches, skinning her hands and muddying the knees of her trouser skirt in scrambles up steep slopes.
The elves seemed unperturbed by the forest, moving through it with the quiet canniness of wild animals. Their bare feet skipped lightly across moss-slick stones that sent Larajin skidding into icy streams. They deftly avoided the broken branches of wind-fallen trees that snagged and tore Larajin's clothing and knew how to space themselves so that a branch bent by the elf ahead did not strike the person following.
After receiving yet another stinging slap in the face from the bent branch of a fir, Larajin wondered if the elves were deliberately leading her through the densest forest growth in an effort to test her ability to follow them. Resolving not to appear weak, she blinked the grit out of her eyes and stumbled stubbornly on, hot, sweaty, and footsore. More than once she heard low mutters from those ahead, always including a word that was spoken as though it were a curse-a word in the Elvish tongue she was coming to recognize-the word for human.
Larajin glanced up at the sky frequently, hoping to see Goldheart winging her way above the treetops. Once, she saw a flash of crimson and her heart leaped-until she realized that it was only the brilliant red plumage of a woodpecker. Reminding herself that she had released the tressym from any further obligation, Larajin eventually stopped looking for her. It was all she could do to keep her exhausted eyes open-and to watch for the next tree root.
When the