“Leifander!” she exclaimed. “But where is he?”
She peered deeper into the chunk of amber. Its base was stippled and seemed to be moving-a pattern she recognized easily, after long days of flying over it: the treetops of the great forest.
“You see these lights?” Rylith asked, pointing out a faint sparkle at one edge of the amber. “That’s Essembra. He is coming back this way.”
Larajin sighed in relief and was surprised to hear Doriantha sigh, too. She’d thought the elf woman a battle-hardened veteran, not one to be overly sentimental about the welfare of individual members of her command. It looked as though Larajin had been wrong about her.
“Rylith,” Larajin said, “I have a problem. Someone else may also be headed this way. Earlier this evening, Drakkar-the wizard who was the cause of my fleeing Selgaunt-cast a spell on me. The spell embedded a magic thorn in my paw. I think it was some sort of tracking spell.”
Rylith’s eyebrows rose at the word paw. “Show me.”
Larajin pulled off her boot and extended her foot to the druid. Rylith peered at it, her tattooed cheeks puckering as she pursed her lips. Placing her amber in her lap, she held Larajin’s foot in one hand and prodded at the sole with a forefinger, as if feeling for something under the skin. She placed the flat of her hand against the bottom of Larajin’s foot and chanted the words to a spell.
A foul, burning smell filled the air, and the spot on Larajin’s foot where the thorn had embedded itself became an intense point of heat and pain. Involuntarily, she jerked her foot back.
“What’s happening?” she gasped.
Beside her, Goldheart sniffed at the foot, then growled.
Rylith shook her head grimly. “The wizard’s magic is too strong. I can’t dispel it.”
Disappointment swept over Larajin as she cradled her aching foot. She’d been certain Rylith could help her.
“Drakkar will come for me, then,” she whispered. “He’ll find me.”
Outside the tent, a stick cracked, and Larajin jumped.
Rylith placed a hand on Larajin’s shoulder. “If he does, may the goddesses protect you. May they grant that you won’t have to face Drakkar alone.”
As if on cue, the tent flap whipped open. Leifander rushed inside, an urgent look on his face.
“Doriantha! Maalthiir is planning to-”
Noticing Larajin and Rylith, he halted in mid-sentence.
“Rylith,” he breathed, placing both hands over his heart and giving a quick bow. “It’s good to see you.” He glanced at Larajin. “And you, Larajin,” he added, though his words were strained. “I’m … going to need your help.”
“You were spying on Maalthiir?” Rylith asked.
Leifander nodded, his eyes sparkling.
“Sit,” Rylith commanded. “Tell us what you’ve seen and heard.”
Leifander did as he was told and began telling the others something about Maalthiir planning to carve a road through the forest to the upper reaches of the Sea of Fallen Stars.
“It must be the reason behind the alliance,” Leifander added. “Maalthiir knew the High Council would never agree to another road being built-especially not now. He probably hoped to gain the council’s favor by sending his soldiers to fight with us. Do you think they’ll grant him permission?”
Larajin, listening while she pulled her boot back on, now knew the name of the “master” Drakkar had spoken of earlier.
“Maalthiir isn’t planning to ask the council’s permission for anything,” she said grimly. “He won’t have to. Not once the drow control the forest.”
Leifander and Doriantha both gave her startled looks. Rylith’s eyes merely widened.
“The drow?” Leifander blurted. “What do they have to do with any of this?”
Quickly, Larajin related the story of what she’d seen and heard at the tower.
“Gods curse Maalthiir-and his wizard Drakkar!” Doriantha exclaimed. “That’s why they’re insisting all of the elf forces march toward Essembra. They hope we’ll leave the rest of the forest unguarded.”
Leifander’s eyes had a thoughtful look. “Drakkar,” he said slowly. “Maalthiir mentioned him.”
“What did he say?” Rylith prompted.
“Something about the mist that caused the blight. He said Drakkar could dispel it.”
“All of it?” Doriantha asked. “Impossible. It’s spread throughout the forest, over an area of many miles.”
Leifander shrugged. “Maalthiir made it sound as though Drakkar could dispel all of it at once with a wave of his hand.”
It was Rylith who made the connection. “The poisonous mist,” she said slowly. “It must be Drakkar’s doing.”
Leifander shook his head. “It’s no mere spell,” he said. “The mist came from wands-like the one I captured.”
“Wands that must have been made by Drakkar,” Rylith said, “and imbued with a spell that made their effects permanent.” As she said the latter, she glanced at Larajin’s foot, then away again.
“Drakkar is at the root of this war,” Larajin said grimly. “He wormed his way into the Hulorn’s confidence, and got him to persuade Sembia’s Merchant Council to use the wands. He knew it would provoke the elves.”
“I suspected as much,” Rylith said, “but there’s more. The choke creeper ‘infestation’ that prompted the use of the wands-it too was deliberate.”
“You mean, someone planted the stuff?” Larajin asked.
She shuddered, remembering how the creeper had nearly strangled her.
As Rylith nodded, Leifander’s eyes widened.
“The Sembians!” he exclaimed. “It must have been them. When I carried the druids’ message to Thamalon Uskevren, in Selgaunt, I saw choke creeper sprouting in his garden. I thought it was a weed he’d foolishly overlooked, but now I see the truth. He must be involved in all of this.” His lips curved in a sneer. “It makes me feel dirty, to have this man’s blood in my veins.”
Larajin’s cheeks flushed with anger as Leifander talked about Thamalon Uskevren-her father-like a common criminal, but it was Rylith who reprimanded him.
“Leifander! I will not have you speak this way. You are not thinking. The Sembians have nothing to gain from this war. It has cut off their trade with the cities of the north. You are wrong about your father. Thamalon Uskevren is a friend to the elves. The choke creeper was in his garden because he was trying to help us-he was trying to find a way to exterminate it without using the wands.”
Leifander’s mouth opened. “You knew this all along? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted you to draw your own conclusions about your father,” Rylith answered.
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Leifander’s face colored. He stared into the distance, then slowly nodded.
“You’re right,” he said at last. “I wasn’t thinking. There is only one person who has anything to gain in all of this.”
“Maalthiir,” Doriantha spat. “All of the strands of the web lead back to him.”
A brief silence followed, broken only by the sound of Gold-heart’s wings rustling as she worried a frayed feather with her teeth. Doriantha held up her dagger. Her eyes glittered as brightly as its polished steel.
“I say we kill the spider,” she said. “Maalthiir must die.”
She started to rise, but Leifander caught her arm.
“Don’t!” he exclaimed. “You’ll only be playing into his hands. Make an attempt on his life, and he’ll have an excuse to turn on us.” He gestured in the direction of the Red Plumes’s camp. “Maalthiir has already tricked us into permitting hundreds of his soldiers to march into the heart of Cormanthor. He’s hoping for a falling out-maybe not so soon as this, but eventually. If an incident doesn’t occur on its own, he’s planning to cause one.”
Grudgingly, Doriantha sank back down again.
“Something has to be done,” Rylith added, “but Leifander is right, Doriantha. Even if you succeed in killing Maalthiir, it will not stop this war. It will only throw tinder on the flames and force us to fight on three fronts: the Sembians, the drow, and the Red Plumes. We will be defeated-and the great forest will be lost.”