“I can’t,” Larajin answered. “It’s … an heirloom, but Leifander might be able to spare his dagger.”
“What?” Leifander whirled around and glared at her. He gestured angrily at Dray. “He’s a human. An enemy.”
Amazingly, Larajin moved between Leifander and Dray, as if shielding the human.
“He’s harmless, Leifander, just a merchant. I’d stake my life on it.”
“You’d stake other people’s lives on it, you mean,” Leifander muttered to himself. Then, seeing that Larajin was not going to be swayed from this foolish notion, he added, “Do you think he’ll agree to a magically binding oath?”
Instead of answering, Larajin looked at Dray. The human nodded.
Leifander drew his dagger-smiling inwardly as Dray flinched-then reversed the blade. He spoke a prayer in Elvish, activating the spell that would bind Dray to his oath.
“Touch the hilt,” he instructed.
Dray hesitated only an instant before obeying.
“Now swear,” Leifander intoned, “that you’ll only use this dagger to defend yourself against forest creatures-that you won’t wield it against my people, the elves.”
Dray drew himself up and placed a hand on his heart.
“I swear it,” he said. He blinked once, as Leifander’s spell rooted the suggested course of action firmly in his heart, then he hefted the dagger and added, with a grin, “Truth be told, I’m more a man to avoid fights than prompt them.”
He turned to Larajin. “Thank you for all that you’ve done. Back on the caravan, when I said you were pretty, I wasn’t lying. You’re quite beautiful. If you really were an Uskevren, I’d renew my proposals.” He winked. “But business, unfortunately, must always come before pleasure, even for a Foxmantle.”
Leifander tugged impatiently at Larajin’s arm. “Come,” he said. “Time to shift.”
Leifander squatted and spread his arms, preparing to skin-walk. Larajin nodded, then sank to her knees on the ground, clutching the locket at her wrist. As she began the spell that would shift her into tressym form, however, she cast one last glance over her shoulder at Dray, then she closed her eyes, as if the sight of him was distracting her.
Leifander shook his head at her folly. Dray might be handsome but he had little else to recommend him, and yet he’d won Larajin over with nothing more than a few charming words. It was amazing, Leifander thought, what lengths someone would go to, given the promise of a little romance.
CHAPTER 13
Dusk descended as they winged their way east. Ahead in the distance, Larajin could see a sprinkling of lights straddling a dark slash across the forest that could only be Essembra and Rauthauvyr’s Road. Leifander dipped a wing, indicating that they should land there, but before they drew much closer, Goldheart began acting in a peculiar fashion. She meowed once, loudly and plaintively, and circled off to the south. When Larajin didn’t follow, Goldheart beat her wings furiously to catch up, then repeated her meow-and-turn. This time, she continued to fly away to the south, her tail lashing furiously.
Leifander, oblivious to Goldheart’s antics, flew steadily on to the east. If Larajin turned and flew after Goldheart, would he follow? The battle with the spiders had taught them that their strength lay in keeping together, but there was no guarantee he wouldn’t ignore the tressym and continue the search for Rylith on his own.
Larajin did the only thing she could-she prayed silently, since her tressym vocal chords could not articulate words. She begged the goddess to give her the power of human speech, so she could talk to Leifander. She knew he could understand language, even in crow form. If she could just-
There. A familiar red glow started at the tips of her whiskers and traveled down them like a flame along a wick. Her lips and tongue were tingling, too. She opened her mouth to call out to Leifander, but what burst forth was the caw of a crow.
Leifander understood it, however. Wheeling up and over in a loop, he flew back to her.
“What?” he cawed back. “What’s wrong?”
Larajin jerked her head in the direction of the rapidly departing tressym.
“It’s Goldheart. She’s spotted something and wants us to follow her.”
Larajin started a wide turn toward the south, and Leifander did a loop that placed him beside her, flying in the same direction-for the moment.
“She’s probably hunting,” Leifander said. “We don’t have time for games of cat and mouse.”
“I don’t think so,” Larajin replied. “She deliberately got my attention before turning south. She wants us to follow. I’ve learned to trust her intuition. Goldheart is blessed by the goddess. Hanali Celanil herself may be guiding her.”
Leifander gave a rattling croak that to Larajin’s ears was clearly a grumble of frustration.
“All right,” he said after a moment. “Let’s see what it is.”
Goldheart, seeing that Larajin and Leifander were at last following, allowed them to catch up to her. As they did, Larajin switched to the tressym’s language, meowing a question.
Goldheart’s answer was cryptic. “He comes,” she yowled back in an excited voice.
The tressym sped up. Unable to further question the creature, Larajin translated for Leifander, who jerked his wings in a shrug.
Goldheart led them south, then turned east to cross Rauthauvyr’s Road. Even in the gloom of dusk, Larajin could see that it was choked with the aftermath of war. Half a dozen wagons of peculiar construction had obviously fallen victim to an elf ambush. They were stopped at odd angles along the road with horses lying dead in their traces. Dozens of bodies-the wagon drivers and the archers who must have been escorting them-lay scattered around the wagons and on the road itself. Larajin grimaced, glad she wasn’t flying low enough to see their terrible wounds.
The only sign of those who had attacked the caravan was a creature that hung, dead, in the broken branches of a tree next to the road. Its body was a mix of eagle and lion, and there was a saddle on its back, though no rider was to be seen. Leifander, when he saw it, gave a strangled caw and swooped down for a closer look.
Goldheart continued to the south, not even glancing at the carnage below. It seemed she had another objective in mind. Larajin hoped it wasn’t far. Already she could feel the looseness of limb that was the first warning of her change back to human form. Soon, she would have to land and rest and pray to renew her spell.
She saw Goldheart descend toward the treetops as if she had spotted something. Larajin glanced over her shoulder, and saw to her relief that Leifander was still following-he hadn’t landed at the caravan. She angled toward the trees to the spot where Goldheart had landed. As she did, she heard the thudding of hooves and the snorting of horses.
Cautious, she landed on a branch and peered down through the tangle of foliage. Her heart leaped to her throat as she recognized one of the riders below. It was Master Ferrick, leader of the company Tal had joined. There was no sign of Tal among the riders, who numbered less than a dozen. All of them rode as though exhausted, and one was injured, with a stained dressing wrapped around his shoulder.
Had Tal’s company already been attacked by the elves, leaving these men the only survivors? Had Larajin’s vision of Tal’s death already come to pass?
The riders were talking together in low voices, but at this height she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She stalked from branch to branch, trying to get closer to the ground. At last she could pick out a little of the hushed conversation.
“… our other patrols?” one of the men below asked.
Most of Master Ferrick’s answer was pitched too low for Larajin to hear, but she thought she made out the words, “… wait for them at…” before the horses thudded on, and the riders were lost from sight again.
A rush of hope filled Larajin. They were going to wait for someone? Did that mean the company had merely split up-that Tal might still be alive?