Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [76]
"The elf!" the man with the thick neck shouted. "Did you see an elf run past just now?"
His horse pranced under him and snorted its impatience, as if eager to resume the chase.
Larajin felt her eyes narrow slightly, but she kept her face composed. She recognized the hand of the goddess when she saw it. After failing to intervene on behalf of the Harper agent who was beaten by the mob in his shop in Ordulin, Larajin was being given a chance to redeem herself.
"Oh, dear," she exclaimed, casting her face into a worried expression. "That must have been what I heard just
a moment ago. A scream. It was just before I passed a spot near a cliff, where the trail had crumbled away. This elf of yours must have gone over the edge!"
She turned to stare behind her, toward the section of trail she'd just ridden.
"Right. Let's take a look, lads."
Spurring his horse forward, the leader of the soldiers rode past Larajin. Her own horse shied away, pinching her leg against the trunk of a tree. The other two soldiers followed in his wake. Larajin heard the hoofbeats abruptly slow-they must have come to the bend where the trail turned to follow the cliff edge-and she nudged her own horse forward. As she rode past the spot where the elf had darted into the woods, she glanced neither right nor left, in case the soldiers were looking.
She'd ridden no more than a hundred paces before the soldiers returned, this time riding at a trot. As they passed, forcing her horse to the side of the trail, Muscle Neck waved his thanks. The back of his right hand had a strange scar on it; a pattern of raised hnes that looked like a brand.
Larajin waited until the hoofbeats of their horses had receded into the distance, then she turned her horse and rode back down the trail, stopping in the place where she'd last seen the elf. After a moment, a narrow face peeked out of a crack in a hollow stump a few paces into the forest. The elf squeezed out from inside the stump with difficulty, wincing as her misshapen back brushed against its trunk. She turned to Larajin and gave a peculiar bow, thrusting her arms behind her as she bent at the waist.
As the elf bowed, Larajin could see that the deformity on the woman's back seemed to be centered upon her shoulders. Just below each was a large hump, its exact shape hidden by the baggy shirt she wore.
"You I thank, lady," the elf said, though it took Larajin a moment or two to understand the words, which were spoken in a strange accent. It was almost as if the woman
trilled her words. Her speech had the inflection of a song.
"Why were those men chasing you?" Larajin asked.
"I… came to Arch Dale after many miles journey," the woman said, watching Larajin's face all the while for her reaction. "Soldier with mark on hand, he recognize. He know I come from Hillsfar, by this mark."
She held up her left hand. On the back of it was a brand identical to the one on Muscle Neck's hand. Except that the elf's brand was fresher, still pink.
"I didn't think elves were allowed in Hillsfar," Larajin said.
A bitter look crossed the woman's face. "In arena, only. In games."
Larajin understood. She'd heard of the arena in Hillsfar'-it was known far and wide in Faerun. The Hillsfar Arena was the scene of fabled contests in which gladiators pitted themselves against fearsome monsters. Ogres, trolls, minotaurs… all had soaked the arena's sand with their blood.
Muscle Neck must have been one of the gladiators who fought there, and so must this elf, though with her fine bones and deformed shoulders she looked too frail to be a fighter.
"Were you a gladiator?" Larajin asked. The woman frowned. "I am elf"
She seemed to think this explanation enough, but it left Larajin unenlightened.
"I thought you said that elves fight in the arena," Larajin said.
"Elves die in arena," the woman said. "They are put in, with long chain at ankle. No escape can be make. It makes the crowd to laugh."
The words were spoken softly, but they made Larajin's blood turn