Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [95]
Larajin's mouth turned down in disapproval. "And so you abandoned me," she said. "You turned your back on your duty-and our destiny."
"Only for a short time," he said, a guilty look in his eye.
Combined with his injuries, the look told her that something had happened to change his mind. She waited, silently, for him to tell her what it was.
"I delivered their message," Leifander said at last.
"The commander who received it knew me and had heard the rumors about me being the son of a human-and not just any human, but a powerful merchant of Sembia. She believes that hazel-eyed twins are blessed by the gods- but said half-human twins didn't count. Worse still, she announced that half-elves are not to be counted among our allies nor to be trusted, now that Lord Ulath has declared Deepingdale neutral."
His voice dropped to a pained whisper, and he glanced across the lake at its tree-lined shore.
"I was raised in this forest and am the son of a noble warrior. I'm as much an elf as any of them. I look like an elf, I dress and act like an elf-I am an elf-and yet all they see now is my human half."
"Did they attack you?" Larajin asked softly.
"They claimed I was a traitor. They didn't believe I had only gone to Selgaunt at the druids' request. They tried to hold me, but I escaped. In doing so, I condemned myself. As long as this war continues, I won't be welcome among my people. Neither there," he said, pointing at the forest, "nor in your realm."
He gave Larajin a determined, fierce look and added, "I'm committed to what you called 'our destiny now. Fully. I want this war to end. Let's see if Somnilthra can tell us how to fulfill that destiny."
Larajin glanced at the woman entombed in the ice next to them. "This is her, then?" she asked.
"Of course." Leifander cocked his head. "You must have known that, or you wouldn't have chosen this tower to climb."
Larajin started to smile, but just then the spire of ice shuddered. There was a deep groan, and a crack appeared above them. Splinters of ice, sparkling in the moonlight like shards of glass, tumbled free and fell onto the twins.
Unsteady on the slippery ridge, Larajin grabbed for Leifander's hand. As she steadied herself, her legs cramped from the cold that was seeping up through her bare feet, and she shuddered.
Leifander glanced sharply at her. "You're freezing!" he exclaimed. "Your fingers are nearly blue. Don't you have a spell that can warm them?"
Larajin shook her head. "No more than you have a spell to heal your bruises, it would seem. I tried praying, but the goddesses didn't answer." She touched his injured shoulder gently. "I could heal you, however."
"No time," he said, glancing pointedly at a crack just above where they stood. "Besides, the bruises are only a minor inconvenience. I wish I had a spell that could help you, but the Lady of Air and Wind answers prayers for heat with violence; all she knows is the fury of the lightning strike, and the blazing heat of the wind-whipped forest fire."
He glanced pointedly at Larajin's magic dagger. "That blade produces a cold blue light," he said. "Will it also produce a warm one?"
"I don't know," Larajin answered-then an idea occurred to her. "If it did, we could use it to melt a hole in the ice and reach Somnilthra."
"I heard you shout a word as the dagger fell," Leifander continued. "What was it?"
"Illunathros."
Leifander nodded, as if recognizing the word, then stared at the dagger.
"Why isn't it glowing now?" he asked.
"Its magic only activates if I'm holding it," Larajin said.
"Can I see it?"
Larajin pulled the dagger from its sheath and handed it to Leifander, who turned it over in his hands, peering closely at it.
"Ah," he said. "I thought so. You see here-the Uskevren crest? It's a later addition, welded onto the hilt. The blade itself is of elven make."
"How do you know?"
"The word that activates its magic-it's Espruar. Translated,