The speed with which she’d learned it made him jealous. As twins, they were both destined for greatness, but Larajin seemed far more favored by the gods than he. Magic came to her easily, without effort. Even the difficult balance she had chosen-giving equal reverence to two goddesses, one human, one elf-didn’t seem to slow her down. Any spell she turned her mind to, she accomplished, whereas Leifander had learned his magic only through long periods of fasting and solitary prayer, perched high in a sacred oak.
It didn’t seem fair. Why, if they were twins, had the gods apportioned out their blessings in such unequal measure?
Behind him, he heard a plaintive mewing. Glancing back, he saw that one of the tressym-Larajin-had once again dropped behind and was flying in a circle just above the treetops. It was a warning sign that Leifander recognized. Her spell was coming to an end-much sooner than he’d expected. She needed to land.
At least he had one advantage. Unlike Larajin, who could skinwalk for no more than a morning or afternoon at a stretch, he could maintain animal form for days on end, shifting endlessly back and forth between crow and elf. Larajin had to pray anew each time her spell began to falter and hope that one of her goddesses would answer.
Leifander swooped back to where Larajin circled, surveying the forest below for a place to land. They’d come far already. They’d left the crystalline towers two nights before, crossed the River Ashaba, and had come to a place above the Vale of Lost Voices. The slash in the forest below was the trail that linked Essembra and Ashabenford. Rauthauvyr’s Road lay perhaps ten or fifteen miles to the east. If they paused only briefly then flew on through the afternoon and evening, they could reach Moontouch Oak by the next day’s dawn-assuming Larajin’s strength and magic held out.
As he drew nearer to the spot where Larajin and-Goldheart circled, Leifander caught a glimpse of movement in the forest below. Several dark shapes were moving along the trail-two or three, maybe more. He cawed and banked sharply to the left, trying to direct Larajin to a clearing a safe distance from the moving figures, but with catlike perversity she ignored his warning. Instead she dived down and landed on the trail itself, in a spot that would place her directly in the path of whoever-or whatever-was moving along it. Even the tressym had better instincts than that. It circled above the spot where she’d landed, refusing to join her.
Angry, Leifander changed his course, flying toward Larajin. She ought to have more sense than to risk exposing herself to what might turn out to be an elf patrol. He swooped down to treetop level, angling toward the trail.
Leifander gave a strangled caw as he passed over the trail and got a good, close look at the figures moving along it. They were enormous spiders-four of them. Bloated and hairy, as large as dogs, they moved in a tight group like a pack of trained hounds. Even from treetop level, Leifander could smell the foul stench that clung to them like mold to a dead leaf.
What were they doing in this part of the wood? Had they been feeding on the corpses of the human caravan drivers along Rauthauvyr’s Road? Or was there a more sinister reason? Leifander prayed it was not so. This part of the forest was supposedly free from drow.
The spiders glanced up at Leifander as he soared past them. More than one set of legs flailed in the air in his direction, as if the creatures wished they could climb into the sky. Leifander flew on, shuddering. One bite from those venomous creatures would cause a slow numbness to spread through the body until it was paralyzed, and the spiders would feed….
Larajin had landed about a hundred paces up the trail, where the spiders couldn’t see her, but they could see the tressym that fluttered nervously above the spot where she stood. They paused, questing Larajin’s scent. Avile chuckling sound filled the air, and they broke into a skittering run.
Frightened, Leifander flew as quickly as he could to the spot where Larajin had landed. He saw her on the trail below, crouched on the ground with arms outstretched and head bent. She must have just completed shifting back to human form. Unable to do more than caw at her, Leifander was forced to land and shift. As he rose to his feet, the spiders came into sight.
Larajin, however, gave them no more than a quick glance.
“It’s Dray!” she said, pointing into the trees at a spot where the mist had blighted the underbrush, opening up the forest to view. “Something’s happened to him.”
Leifander gave the briefest of glances in the direction she’d indicated and saw a human, either unconscious or dead, who appeared to have been hung by his doublet upon the broken branch of a massive oak tree like a coat upon a hook. The man’s feet dangled a full pace above the ground, just above where drifting mist had discolored the trunk.
Leifander had no time to wonder who the fellow was or how he’d wound up hanging from the tree. The spiders were almost upon them.
“Pray to your goddess!” he shouted at Larajin. “Either skinwalk or do something to help me fight the spiders.”
He heeded his own advice. Touching the feather in his braid, he uttered a quick prayer to the Lady of Air and Wind, beseeching her for just a fraction of her power. At the same time he raised his right hand and fluttered it, as if fanning a breeze.
The spell came-swiftly, thank the goddess. Leifander’s hand speeded to a blur, and a roaring wind sprang from it. He directed the wind at the spiders, no more than a dozen paces away. As it struck, they slowed and hunkered to the ground. Struggling like men in a gale, they at first were blown backward a step or two, but after a moment’s confusion they bent low and used their claw-tipped legs to drag themselves slowly forward.
“We’ve got to shift,” Leifander shouted at Larajin over the roar of wind. “These spiders can climb trees. Flying is the only way we’ll escape them. You go first!”
Larajin shook her head and pointed stubbornly at the spot where the man was hanging. “We can’t just leave Dray. The spiders will kill him.”
“He’s probably already dead.”
“What if he’s still alive?”
“Why do you care?”
“He tried to save my life,” Larajin said. “I owe the same to him.”
That, Leifander could understand, even if he didn’t like it.
He nodded at Larajin and said, “Then we’ll make a stand.”
It didn’t look hopeful, however. The spiders had taken advantage of the twins’ exchange of words and were making headway against the wind. Even with it howling against them, so close were they now that the stink of them filled the air, making Leifander gag.
Larajin clasped the locket around her wrist and called, “Keep your spell going. I’m going to try something.”
She began to pray.
Had he the time, Leifander would have told her that it was probably too late. His spell was already failing. The fluttering in his hand was slowing to the point where his fingers were no longer a blur, and the strength of the magical wind was starting to drop. Made bolder, the spiders forced their way closer-too close to keep them all within the blast of wind. With a triumphant chitter, one of them suddenly found itself unimpeded, and leaped forward. It bit down, grazing Leifander’s forearm even as he jerked it back.
Leifander quickly shifted the aim of his spell and forced the spider back, but too late. A numbness seized his arm, and it felt as if he had banged his elbow against something hard. His fluttering hand slowed, nearly stopped, then one of Larajin’s hands began to glow.
In that same moment, the air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers. She grabbed for his wounded forearm, and the numbness disappeared. For a wild moment Leifander thought that negating the venom was all she intended-that it wouldn’t be enough. In another instant they would be swarmed by the spiders. Already the foul things were crouching, preparing to leap.