Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [40]
away the gold eye the priest had painted on her midriff. She offered a quick prayer of apology to Sune, asking forgiveness for her disheveled condition, and another to Hanali Celanil. She'd had no opportunity to sing the Song of Sunrise that morning or pay reverent homage to the sunset the night before. Perhaps these transgressions were the reason Sune was ignoring her prayers. It was Hanali Celanil who answered. The air filled with the floral scent of Hanali's Heart, and Larajin's exhaustion floated away, the bhsters on her feet closed, and the ache in her muscles eased.
Thankful for this boon, Larajin pulled the tressym's broken feather from the pocket of her shirt and cast it into the water, commending it to the goddess. The broken feather twirled a moment in a pool, flashing red and turquoise and yellow, then it was caught by the current and carried away.
The elves set out again a few moments later, bidding with curt gestures for Larajin to follow. They didn't seem to want her with them and did little enough to aid her but kept her in sight even so, as if worried she would become lost. They were probably just following Dori-antha's orders, since none seemed inclined toward friendship. They spoke no Common and glared at Larajin with fierce looks when she tried to speak to them in the language of the wild elves. Even Doriantha said httle, preferring to save her breath for the tromp through the woods.
Doriantha, however, did seem to care how Larajin was faring. From time to time she doubled back to point out the best path through a thicket or to lend a steadying hand as Larajin tried to cross a stream on a narrow log. When Larajin lagged behind, Doriantha appeared at her side, giving her a drink from her waterskin. Even so, the pace was so rapid that Larajin's strength began to flag once more as the afternoon wore on. With every step, she prayed it would be the last one necessary to take her to the Tangled Trees.
The elves seemed to be in a hurry to get there. Larajin could guess why. They feared retribution, once the humans discovered what they had done.
When they'd crossed Rauthauvyr's Road, Larajin had caught a glimpse of the aftermath of their attack on the caravan. It hadn't been a pretty sight. The elves had smashed the cargo and left the bodies strewn on the road for the crows to pick at. Larajin had nearly tripped over one sellsword whose body was so pincushioned with arrows that Larajin suspected the elves had used him for target practice as he lay dying. After that, she'd averted her eyes, not wanting to see any more bodies. She'd been glad once they were across the road and into the woods once more.
She'd felt no pity for the sellswords, only revulsion at the brutality of the elves' attack. The only one whose fate she cared about was Dray-the poor dupe. Not only had he fallen for Enik's ruse, he'd also had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She hadn't seen his corpse as the elves hurried her across the road, but there was little hope that he had survived the attack.
She whispered a prayer for his soul, hoping whatever god he'd worshiped had taken pity on him. Dray was only a merchant; he hadn't deserved to be slaughtered with the rest of them. Once the Foxmantles learned of this atrocity their wrath would know no bounds. Not even the deepest shadows of the Tangled Trees would provide a hiding place for Doriantha and her band.
In contrast to their callous indifference toward the humans they had killed, the elves had shown a reverence for their own kind. Despite their rush to get away from the road, they had tarried long enough to gather up the bones and weapons from the tomb that Klarsh had unearthed. They packed these gruesome rehcs along with them still-probably carrying them home for reburial, Larajin guessed.
Struggling through the forest behind Doriantha, Larajin wondered if she was doing the right thing in following the elves. Doriantha's band had done Larajin a favor by
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