With a sinking feeling in his heart-for he could guess the answer-Leifander asked, “What is my part in this?”
“Go to the city of Selgaunt, and find Thamalon Uskevren,” Rylith said. “Speak to him. Remind him of the love he once had for … the Tangled Trees. Plead with him to steer Sembia toward a course of action that will placate the High Council-one that will heal the rift between elf and man.”
“I have never been to a human city,” Leifander said. “I couldn’t…”
It was a half-hearted protest. Already his mind was turning over the possibilities. He would deliver his message to Thamalon Uskevren, then press the human for information about his father, insist that he arrange a meeting between father and son.
“Don’t worry,” Rylith said with a twinkle in her eye. “Selgaunt is not far-as the crow flies. Now listen closely, while I relate what you are to say.”
CHAPTER 3
Larajin kneeled on a carpet of fragrant rose petals, her reflection rippling in the pool beside her. The cleric who kneeled in front of her rinsed his brush in the water, scattering flakes of gold, then dipped it again into a pot. Concentrating on Larajin’s bared midriff, he applied moistened gilt paste to her skin with delicate, tickling strokes, marking her as one of the novices who would be traveling to the temple in Ordulin.
The temple of Sune was tranquil at this hour of the morning, filled with the soothing sounds of fountains and harmonious voices chanting the Song of Sunrise under the direction of the Heartwarder. The clerics stood in a group on the other side of the sacred pond, arms stretched to the skies, moving slowly in perfect unison through the ritual exercises that accompanied the song. Closer at hand, flowers, kissed by the first pink rays of the sun, slowly opened their blossoms, while brilliant yellow songbirds flitted from branch to branch amidst the topiary.
In this peaceful setting, Larajin could almost forget the fact that a powerful wizard wanted her dead; the Hulorn’s men were no doubt scouring the streets outside even now, searching for her. Exhausted from having been up all night, she sighed, wishing that she could lie down beside the pool and be lulled into a peaceful slumber.
When she’d arrived at the temple just before dawn, it hadn’t seemed to matter that she was no more than an initiate. While Habrith had a quiet word with the temple’s Heartwarder, the clerics had welcomed her, given her their blessings, and clothed her in Sune’s vestments: a crimson robe, cut to reveal her midriff, sandals embossed with Sune’s winking eye, and a red silk scarf to tie back her hair. They had noticed the locket at her wrist and recognized it for what it was-a devotion to Hanali Celanil-but had just smiled, and commented that it must be difficult to serve two goddesses who were rivals for the same heart.
Yes, Larajin thought, she could happily tarry here forever, safely hidden within these walls. She looked up, and saw the tressym perched on the wall above, intent upon the songbirds. Larajin shook her head, willing the creature to go away. She didn’t think the clerics would react kindly to having their songbirds being killed and eaten. The tressym leaped into the air and dived into the courtyard. Larajin tensed-but the tressym bypassed the songbirds, instead gliding to a graceful landing beside the sacred pool.
The tressym bent to sniff the water, then began lapping delicately. Once she finished her drink, she stretched with catlike grace, extended one brilliant wing, and preened red and turquoise feathers with long, sure strokes of her tongue.
“She’s a beauty,” the young cleric said, pausing in his art to admire the tressym. “Is she yours?”
“She seems to think so,” Larajin quipped. “Or perhaps she thinks that I am hers.”
The cleric laughed. Auburn-haired and long-lashed, he wore the garb of the temple: tight-fitting crimson hose capped by a padded codpiece, and a crimson shirt whose short sleeves revealed finely chiseled muscles. The shirt ended well above his midriff, exposing the deep red lines tattooed into his flesh: the pattern of Sune’s lips, symbolically pressed against his belly in a sacred kiss.
He dabbed his brush back in the pot, and paused a moment before continuing his work. “Will your journey be a lengthy one, Mistress?”
Larajin did not know how to answer him. She was about to leave behind everything she knew and everyone she loved. Would she find protection among the wild elves of the Tangled Trees? More than that, would she find family, a new home?
“Mine will be a long journey,” she told the cleric, the exhaustion of not having slept making her words heavy. “One I may be on for the rest of my life.”
The cleric applied one last tickling brush stroke, then regarded the finished work appreciatively.
“Indeed? Then may Sune watch over and protect you for all of the days of your journey … and all the days of your life.” He brushed his lips against her midriff, sealing his design with a kiss.
Larajin flushed as the warmth of his lips spread up and down her body. The blush spread to her very toes and fingertips-which, she saw, were surrounded by a faint red aura-and prickled through her scalp. When the magic that had accompanied the blessing took hold, it left her feeling rested and refreshed.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“My pleasure, Mistress.” He gathered up his brushes and pot of gilt paste. “I hope to see you again, should your journey at last come to an end.”
Larajin’s eyes lingered on the cleric as he departed the courtyard-he was very good looking, even for one of Sune’s chosen.
She rose and cast a pebble into the pool and watched as ripples spread across it. No answer was given to her silent question. Perhaps even the goddess did not know what Larajin would find amidst the Tangled Trees. Unless the answer was the thing that was reflected in the pooclass="underline" herself.
Bending, Larajin dipped her fingers in the water, lost in thought. The tressym butted up against her, and, remembering that the creature was the one who had alerted Drakkar, Larajin flicked wet fingers at the winged cat. The tressym flattened her ears and gave an indignant hiss, then launched herself into the sky.
Larajin watched her go, shaking her head. She’d tried to slip away from Habrith’s bakery without being followed, but somehow the tressym had found her. It seemed Larajin could no more leave the little creature behind than she could escape her own shadow. At least the tressym had the good sense not to pad along behind Larajin like a dog, as she’d made her way to the temple. Instead she’d kept her distance, flitting along from rooftop to rooftop, up where few noticed her.
While she waited for the Heartwarder and her clerics to finish their ritual-they’d be setting out as soon as the Song of Sunrise ended-Larajin stared out through the courtyard’s gate at the street, which was just starting to fill with carriages and passersby. One of them stopped at the gate, and peered in through the wrought iron. For a moment Larajin thought it was one of the guard-that she’d been spotted-then a familiar voice shouted her name.
Realizing it was Tal, she hurried toward the gate, gesturing frantically for him to be quiet. At the same time, she silently cursed. She’d hoped that Tal would sleep until well after she was gone. He’d obviously awakened earlier than usual, found her note, and assumed that she wouldn’t leave the city without paying her respects at the temple. Had Drakkar guessed the same?
Larajin opened the gate and all but yanked Tal inside the courtyard. She shut it hurriedly, then dragged him into the shadow of the wall, where they couldn’t be seen from the street. They stopped beside a pile of bags and crates the clerics would take with them on their journey to Ordulin.
Tal looked as though he’d left the house hurriedly. His doublet was only half buttoned, his hair was uncombed, and a shadow of stubble covered his heavy jaw. He carried a small leather pouch in one hand and a cloth-wrapped object the size of a candlestick in the other. The latter he held in a peculiar fashion, arm extended to keep it at arm’s length from himself.