Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [89]
Larajin's eyes blazed. "Then why wouldn't you take it back?"
"I will," he assured her. "Right now." He touched a forefinger to his lips, then smacked it against his open palm, withdrawing the curse. "There. It is done."
Larajin stared at him a moment, as if gauging his sincerity, then she nodded.
"Thank you, but even if the gods are placated, the elv,es aren't. Nor are the humans. More lives than just Tal's hang in the balance-thousands more. Once again, will you help me try to stop this war?"
Leifander glanced at the form of Lord Kierin in Reverie. He knew how the windrider would answer his protests. A soldier did his duty, no matter how hopeless the battle seemed.
"We should get some rest, if we're going to set out in the morning," Leifander said at last. "We'll need our wits about us to make it as far as the lakeshore."
Larajin's smile was as bright as the moonlight.
"Thanks," she whispered, and squeezed Leifander's hand.
Leifander squatted, studying the faint footprint on the rock beside the stream. It had been made by a bare foot, like his own and was fresh. The faint smudge of mud was still drying in the hot sun. Considering the way the person had been careful to step around the ferns, leaving them unbent, the print was no doubt left by a forest elf-part of a patrol, probably, and moving fast through the forest. That was fortunate, since it meant the patrol was
well ahead of them and rapidly increasing the distance.
Larajin finished drinking from the stream and splashed noisily through the water, stumbling on a stone and overturning it, leaving an obvious sign of her passage. For the hundredth time that day, Leifander winced in silent annoyance. Did the Sembians teach their people nothing about stealth? She was as noisy as a moose shouldering its way through the woods.
"What were you looking at?" she asked.
He pointed at the footprint, but she glanced into the stream instead.
"The fish?" she guessed. "They look too small to eat."
Her stomach growled. They'd had nothing since morning, when they shared the windriders' breakfast, and it was late afternoon.
"Never mind," Leifander said, dropping his hand.
Even if he warned her that a patrol was nearby, he doubted she would be able to move quietly. The three or four times he'd scolded her already, she'd pouted and said she was trying.
Trying his patience, was more like it.
The tressym landed beside them and began lapping from the stream. The creature-whom Larajin insisted was called Goldheart, though Leifander had never heard of a tressym naming itself before-seemed intent upon following wherever Larajin went. It had been pursuing them since they set out, wings brilliantly flashing as t flew above the trees. Leifander hoped the patrol wouldn't spot it and send a scout back to learn what a magical creature was doing in this part of the woods.
"We'll follow the stream," he told her. "It flows to the north, and it's our quickest route to the lake."
Following it was also, he thought, one way to cover the noise Larajin was making. Unfortunately, it meant they wouldn't be able to hear anyone approaching through the forest either, but Larajin didn't need to know that.
"When we reach the shore, we'll travel along it to the west. There's a headland at the lake's midpoint that juts
out some distance. That should give us the best view, come moonrise."
Larajin nodded, and wiggled her fingers for the tressym. It came to her as obediently as a lynx and arched its neck as she stroked its sleek fur.
Tm going to shift into crow form, and scout ahead," Leifander told her. "If there are any patrols in the area, Fll see them better from the air."
Larajin glanced up at the enormous trees that lined both sides of the stream and asked, "Won't the branches be too thick?"
She wasn't as gullible as he'd assumed.
"Larajin," he said. "There's