Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [51]
"What about Doriantha?" she asked the elf. "Is she here?"
He shook his head firmly. "No. Gone. Go fight.", "Has she gone to ambush another caravan?" Larajin asked hotly. "Wasn't killing Dray Foxmantle enough for her?"
That earned her a blank look. Larajin tried again, using simpler words. "Who does Doriantha fight?"
"Sembians," the elf said, then added, with a feral grin. "Now is war."
"War," Larajin echoed in a whisper.
That was it, then. The dam holding the mutual hostilities of the elves and the Sembians in check had finally broken. Was that why she'd seen an image of Tal's death?
Was he marching, even now, toward a confrontation with the elf archer who would seal his doom?
And what would happen to her now? This elf didn't seem as friendly as the others had. Instead of smiling deferentially at her, he glowered. In fact, now that the glow of the ale-and whatever had been in that draught Rylith had given her-was gone, Larajin's certainty of her welcome was fading, fast. Had the elves only been pretending to accept her as one of their own? Had she just imagined their smiles?
For the first time since she'd set out on her journey to the Tangled Trees, Larajin reahzed the ramifications of her decision. The elves had seemed so benign, so welcoming, earlier in the day. Did they now see only her human features and consider her a prisoner of war?
She rose to her feet, keeping a wary eye on the owl. "When did Doriantha leave? Can I go to her?"
The elf shook his head. "No go. Stay. Wait. Leifander come. Then you…" Unable to find the word in Common, he linked his fingers together. "Like so again. Prophecy time come, and gods take. All be good for forest elves."
Larajin didn't like the sound of that last part. What did he mean, exactly, by "gods take?" And what had he meant by that gesture? Larajin and her twin had been united that closely only once-in the womb. Did he mean they would be united again in death?
The elf stared at her a moment longer, then turned and stroked the owl. Seeing her chance, Larajin quickly whispered a prayer to Sune, pleading with the goddess to provide her with a spell. If she could command the elf to take the owl away with him, she might be able to slip out of the tent and find someone to help her, but though she prayed fervently, no answer came. There was no rush of magical energy, no red glow from the locket. Even the goddess had turned her back on Larajin.
The elf withdrew from the tent, leaving the owl. Defeated, Larajin turned her prayers toward Hanali Celanil, asking the goddess to fill with compassion the hearts of the elves who now held her prisoner.
As she finished her prayer, she sniffed the air. Was it only wishful thinking, or was there a faint scent of Hanali's Heart in the air? Would the elf goddess persuade her people to spare Larajin's life?
Time would tell.
The sun was rising when Leifander at last flew away from Stormweather Towers. He had sat with Thamalon Uskevren in the indoor garden throughout the night, at first only grudgingly listening, then, as Thamalon talked about Trisdea, gradually asking more and more questions. The old man had managed to convince him that he too loved the Tangled Trees-that his attempt to create a market for the forest's wild nuts and fruits had been made with the elves' welfare in mind. By the end of their talk, Leifander was thinking that if he had to have been sired by a human, he was glad that it had been someone who could see the beauty of the forest as clearly as any elf. When Thamalon tried to persuade him that there were other humans who felt the same-who did not want war with the people of the forest-Leifander had believed him. Almost.
Angrily, Leifander shook his head. He flapped his wings harder, beating the weak notion from his mind with strong, sure strokes. Just because one human was benevolent toward the elves didn't mean the rest could be trusted, he reminded himself. Thamalon was an aberration: hardly