Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [71]
Maybe she really did draw her magic from an elf goddess.
Tal seemed unaffected by the spell-or perhaps he was merely quick witted. He stepped forward and laid a hand on Leifander's shoulder. With only the slightest of winks, he turned to the crowd.
"This man is a spy," he told them. "He serves Sembia." He thumped a hand against the House Uskevren emblem on his surcoat. "He's half human and part of my company. Anyone who wants to challenge him will have to take it up with my commander, Master Ferrick."
The name seemed to carry some weight. More than one sword shd back into its scabbard, but one man, a portly noble in a maroon doublet and hose, wasn't satisfied.
"What about the woman?" he asked. "She's awfully slender. Is she a halfie, too?"
Fear caused Larajin's eyes to widen, but otherwise she kept her composure. "I'm as human as you are," she told the noble, then she yanked the scarf from her head, shaking her hair back from her ears. "Look here-do you see any points?"
Grudgingly the noble shook his head. His was the last challenge. The crowd seemed to believe Tal's bluff. People were already starting to disperse.
The glow surrounding Larajin's locket faded, and the scent of flowers vanished from the air.
"Come on," Tal muttered. "Let's get out of here."
Leifander, seeing the wisdom in this suggestion, scooped up his turban and pulled it back on, making ready to follow. Once he was away from the crowd, on a quiet street, he could try again to summon a crow.
Larajin, however, was slower to react. She stood in place, eyes ghstening, whispering what sounded like a prayer.
"Hanali Celanil, forgive me," she said. "I did not mean to'deny my heritage."
With a heavy sigh, she turned to follow them.
CHAPTER NINE
So that's it, then," Larajin said. "You're leaving. You're not even going to try to help."
Leifander squatted on the second-story balcony of Kremlar's perfume shop, stroking the glossy black feathers of a crow. The bird had come to his whispered prayer as faithfully as a hound to a horn, then it had plucked a downy feather from its breast and offered it to Leifander.
"There's nothing we can do," he answered as he took the feather from the crow.
"Not separately, no," Larajin conceded, "but Rylith said that together-"
"You are a Sembian," Leifander said, "and I belong to the Tangled Trees."
That seemed to be all that he was going to say. Leifander dismissed the crow, which took off into the dusk with a loud caw. He undid a strand of the braid that hung down his back, and lashed the feather securely to it with a length of fine embroidery thread Kremlar had given him.
Larajin turned to Tal, but he only shrugged. "I don't see how the pair of you could stop the war," he said. "It's inevitable. The armies are mobilizing; the militia from Ordulin is already on the march to-"
He stopped abruptly, remembering there was an elf present. Deliberately turning his back on Leifander, he strode to the far end of the balcony and stared up at the evening sky. Sunset painted the western sky a dusky yellow-red; the clouds looked as though they contained a smoldering fire.
Inside, Kremlar fussed with an oil lamp, trimming its wick. The dwarf had invited them up to his personal quarters above the shop and had listened with rapt attention as Larajin told Tal and Leifander about her journey north to the Tangled Trees, repeating what the druid had told her about the twins' destiny. Now he seemed embarrassed to be listening, like a host who finds his guests in the middle of a quarrel. When the wick was at last trimmed he stood nervously, fiddling with the rings that adorned each of his fingers.
On the balcony, Leifander spread his arms. A flutter ran through his tattooed fingers. He turned to Larajin, and gave her a long look.
"Good-bye, sister. May your goddesses protect you. I pray we never have to face each other as enemies."
A shudder coursed through him, long black feathers sprouted at his fingertips, and his body hunched in upon itself and shrank.