Instead Leifander floated, watching and waiting. He took care not to come too close to any of the men, in case they were sensitive to the unseen. Instead he hovered above them, circling on the roiling currents of hot air thrown off by the multitude of candles. Once, he drifted too close to one of the candelabras and found that open flame still had the power to burn him, even in this form. With a silent hiss of pain, he pulled his body away, leaving the candles guttering in his wake.
The slender officer-Nadire-had turned back to the makeshift table to pour himself more wine and happened to be looking in Leifander’s direction at the time. He frowned at the sudden breeze, but he returned his attention to the wine soon enough, and Leifander relaxed once more.
When Guff was finished with his prayer, Maalthiir began discussing plans for the morning’s march. None of it was of interest to Leifander, save for the fact that Maalthiir would be returning to Hillsfar the next day, leaving General Guff to command the Red Plumes. The news gave Leifander cause for hope. With the bulk of his soldiers there, Maalthiir would take only a bodyguard back to Hillsfar with him. There might be a chance yet to-
What was that Maalthiir had just said, in answer to one of Guff’s questions? Leifander’s attention, like what remained of his body, had been drifting. If he had heard correctly, Guff had asked a question about the poisonous mist that was blighting the forest and how his men might be protected against it. Maalthiir had told him not to worry.
“It has served its purpose,” Maalthiir added. “I’ll have Drakkar dispel it.”
Drakkar? The name caused Leifander to swirl in confusion. The evil wizard had given every impression that he was in the service of the mayor of Selgaunt, yet Maalthiir was speaking of him like an old and trusted friend. Was Drakkar one of the “allies” mentioned earlier?
Nadire, meanwhile, opened one of the crates and rummaged inside it. He drew out a long tube of rolled parchment, then interrupted the discussion of tactics with a faint cough.
“Excuse me, Lord Maalthiir, but has the terminus of the new road been fixed yet?”
Maalthiir gave him an annoyed look. “You know as well as I that it hasn’t.”
Nadire moved two of the candelabras closer to where Maalthiir sat, then opened the parchment-which turned out to be a map-and spread it at Maalthiir’s feet. Leifander, his curiosity piqued, drifted closer and recognized it as a map of the great forest by the names of the Dales that were written around the forest’s outskirts.
“Will it be here?” Nadire asked, pointing at a spot at the western edge of the great forest.
Leifander drifted closer. What was this road they were talking about? Were the humans of Hillsfar-supposed allies of the elves-actually talking about hacking yet another open wound through the ancient forest? Anger swirled within him.
Maalthiir made no answer, only stared at Nadire with a strange expression on his face. Guff, having drained his goblet, squinted at the map.
“You know as well as I do, Nadire, that the best place for a port is-”
The barrel-chested officer started to jab a thick finger into the map, but Nadire’s hand darted out fast as a striking snake, blocking him.
Nadire’s attention wasn’t on the officer, however, but on the candelabras. His gaze darted from one to another-and suddenly fixed on the candles directly behind Leifander. Too late, Leifander realized that their flickering-and his own curiosity-had betrayed him. He swept to the side but wasn’t quick enough. Nadire spoke a word in an ancient human tongue, and a bolt of crackling energy flew from his outstretched fingertips.
Leifander found himself in crow form once more, tumbling to the floor.
“A spy!” Maalthiir shouted, leaping to his feet. “A gods-cursed Sembian spy!”
In that same instant Guff whipped out his sword. The barrel-chested officer leaped between Leifander and Maalthiir, protecting his lord. Nadire, having expended one spell, began chanting the words of a second.
Terrified though he was at having been discovered, Leifander still had one thing in his favor. Nadire had dispelled only one of the spells Leifander had cast upon himself. Still in crow form, he could at least beat a hasty retreat on the wing-if he lived long enough to get out of the tent.
General Guff charged, sword whistling through the air, but somehow Leifander managed to dodge the slash, wheeling in a tight circle inside the tent. Nadire, trying to track him with one hand, held back his spell as Guff got in the way. Maalthiir continued shouting, urging his officers to capture the spy.
Salvation came a heartbeat later, when one of the guards outside threw open the tent flap to look inside. Quick as a blink, Leifander shot through the opening, wings beating so furiously they felt like a hummingbird’s. He climbed with powerful strokes up into the sky-then dived to gain speed and present a more difficult target for Nadire’s spell.
Behind him, he heard Maalthiir howling orders. “Archers! Shoot that damned bird!” he shouted. “Bring down anything that flies.”
One arrow, two-and a flurry whistled into the air, but already Leifander had flown out of range. Silently praising the goddess for maintaining his skinwalking abilities even in the face of Nadire’s spell, he flew far to the south, to reinforce Maalthiir’s false impression that he was a Sembian spy. Only when he was certain he could no longer be seen did he dive to treetop level and turn back in the direction of the forest elves’ camp.
CHAPTER 15
As the tent flap rustled, Larajin jumped in alarm and raised her hand to cast a spell. Beside her, Doriantha drew a dagger with a slither of steel and Goldheart fluffed in alarm. But instead of the person Larajin most feared-Drakkar-pushing his way into the tent, it was Rylith, the person she most wanted to see.
The druid blinked once in surprise to see Larajin inside Doriantha’s tent, then immediately nodded as if finding Larajin there was something she’d half expected.
She looked around the tent and asked, “Where is Leifander?”
“We don’t know,” Larajin said in a tense voice. “Doriantha saw him perched on Lord Ilreth’s manor, and told him to meet her here, but he never arrived. Goldheart spotted him flying over the Red Plumes’s camp a short time later, but then he just … disappeared.”
Rylith’s eyebrows furrowed. “Disappeared?”
Instead of questioning Larajin further, however, she turned to the tressym and uttered a series of mrrows and yrrows, then finally, a soft growl.
Rylith switched back to the common tongue. “His disappearance doesn’t appear to be the Red Plumes’s work. I think it was some spell he cast upon himself-that he somehow managed to render his crow form invisible. As for his safety now…”
Her voice trailed off as a sudden commotion erupted, far from Doriantha’s tent. Larajin could hear the shouts of men, and the faint but unmistakable thrum-thrum-thrum of a volley of arrows being loosed. It sounded as though the noise was coming from the northeast.
“The Red Plumes!” Larajin said, stiffening. “Do you think it’s Leifander they’re shooting at?”
Doriantha joined Larajin in giving Rylith a tense, expectant look, but the druid merely sat quietly, listening. After a moment, the sound of bows stopped, and there were more distant shouts.
“If Leifander is the cause of that commotion, we can only hope he has escaped,” Rylith said. “As to that-we shall see.”
Doriantha nodded in acceptance, but Larajin jumped to her feet. “What? You mean we’re just going to sit here and wait? We should-”
Rylith silenced her with a gesture, then she pulled something out of a pouch that hung at her hip. She began to chant the words of a spell. The object was a fist-sized chunk of amber of a clear, yellow color. Within it was a single speck-an insect, Larajin assumed at first, but then the speck began to move. Larajin and Doriantha leaned closer, and Larajin’s breath caught in her throat as she recognized the moving shape for what it was: a tiny black crow.