Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [87]
The riders-all of whom spoke the common tongue, at least in part-glanced at one another, clearly uneasy. Lord Kierin, however, appeared thoughtful.
"I do not share these heresies," Leifander told the riders in a nervous voice. "I am a warrior-a scout for the patrols of the Tangled Trees. My commander, Doriantha, can vouch for my loyalty. I want to fight in this war, not engage in some futile effort to stop it. I want revenge against the humans as much as anyone. I-"
Lord Kierin's hand upon his arm startled him into abrupt silence.
"As a warrior," Kierin told the other windriders, "I am as ready to fight as any of you, but as an elf who has lived many years and seen many good elves die in battle, I know the value of peace. A war averted is always better than a war fought-especially when it is doubtful that it can be fought to victory."
Leifander's mouth gaped at what he'd just heard. Could it be true? He'd expected Lord Kierin to be confident, as certain of victory as Leifander himself was. If so magnificent a warrior had doubts…
Lord Kierin turned to his riders with a grave look. "Somnilthra was a great seer. If what this girl says is correct-if Somnilthra herself prophesied that these two are to heal the rift between elf and human and stop this war, then we must accept that as their role." His eyes sought out Leifander's and he added, "And so must they."
Leifander started to shake his head, then looked around at those who stood on the hilltop. Some of the windriders looked hopeful, others, skeptical. Valatta was shaking her head in disgust.
But both Larajin and Kierin were looking at Leifander expectantly, as if waiting for him to say something. Even the winged elf was listening, her wings now folded and her head cocked to one side. Only the griffons and the tressym were oblivious to the tableaux, the latter having curled itself in a ball atop one of the standing stones and fallen soundly asleep.
"All right!" Leifander exploded at last. "I'll do it." He shook his head and added, in a low mutter, "But by the Winged Mother's mercy, I just wish someone would tell me what it is I'm supposed to do."
*
Later that night, Leifander was aroused from Reverie by the sound of beating wings. Sitting up, he saw the avariel elf-Kith, her name was-climbing into the sky. She hovered for a moment, waving farewell to someone below, then she turned and headed north.
Leifander sighed, wishing Kith had tarried longer before winging her way home. Avariel elves also worshiped the Winged Mother. He and Kith could have found much to talk about.
All around him on the hilltop were the seated forms of eight windriders, their heads bowed in Reverie. Their griffons slept nearby, with heads tucked under their wings. A shadow passed across the hilltop, though no other form, save Kith's, was visible in the moonlit sky
above. It was the ninth windrider keeping watch above, cloaked by the invisibility of a pair of rings.
Moonrise Hill was living up to its name. The standing stones cast long shadows that met at its central point: a moondial on which one could read the season. The moon was just short of full, a glowing white orb that filled the air with a soft blue-white light.
A figure that had been standing at the edge of the hill detached itself from the shadow of a stone and walked back in his direction. It was Larajin. She must have been the one who had bade Kith farewell. Halfway back to the spot where she'd spread her blanket, she noticed Leifander staring at her. She hesitated, then joined him.
'Thank you for agreeing to help me," she said. "I'm glad you finally changed your mind."
Leifander grunted and nodded in Lord Kierin's direction. "I do as I am bid."
T've been lying awake most of the night, trying to think what we could do," she continued, "but I can't come up with any answers. I just wish Somnilthra was still alive so we could ask her what she meant."
Leifander stared at Larajin, confused. "You're speaking as though she was dead."
Larajin