Heirs of Prophecy: Sembia: Gateway to the Realms, Book V (Sembia Gateway to the Realms 5) by Lisa Smedman

Author:Lisa Smedman [Smedman, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786956814
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2010-03-25T00:00:00+00:00

Leifander waited in the sewer, squatting on a ledge just below a grate that gave a view of the street above. Sunlight streamed down through the grate, forming a barred square on the ledge beside where he crouched in the shadows. The man who had rescued him—Tal, his name was—had climbed up through the grate while a wagon was parked above, using it to cover his emergence from the sewer. He’d gone to find Leifander some clothes to cover his nakedness and had left the woman to wait with him.

The woman stood in ankle-deep sewage farther back in the shadows. She looked as though she’d like to be out of the muck, but there wasn’t room on the ledge for both of them, unless she wanted to risk being seen by those passing above. At least she had boots to keep her feet dry. She alternated looking up at the grate with sideways glances at Leifander, but didn’t stare at him directly. After a moment, he realized why. Humans were uncomfortable with nakedness. Several times she seemed on the verge of speaking, only to hesitate and say nothing.

Leifander’s bare feet were slimed with sewage that felt as though it had crept into every pore. He wriggled his toes and grimaced at the slippery feeling. He wished for a cool, cleansing rain, but the sky above was a flat, hot blue.

Ignoring the woman, he began to pray in his own language. The Winged Mother had sent one crow to him already. Perhaps she would send another. All he needed was one feather, then he wouldn’t have to worry about clothes or creeping about in an enemy city. He could just fly away.

“What’s that you’re chanting, Leifander? “the woman asked suddenly. “Is it an elven prayer? I’m a cleric, as well. I worship one of the elf goddesses, Hanali Celanil.”

Leifander snorted at her foolish prattle. A human claiming devotion to an elf deity? Ridiculous. He ran a hand in frustration through the tufts where his braids had been, concentrating on his prayer.

The woman didn’t take the hint. “Are you praying to Aerdrie Faenya?” she persisted. “Are you casting a spell?”

Angry, Leifander switched to the common tongue. “You’re interrupting,” he told her bluntly, then he realized what she’d just said.

This woman not only knew his name, she knew which goddess he worshiped. A suspicion suddenly dawned.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Your sister,” the woman said, finally turning to meet his eye. “Your twin sister, Larajin.”

He stared at her a moment. So it was all true. He did have a twin sister. Yet she looked nothing like him, and her mannerisms were as crass and fumbling as any human’s. How could two people who shared the same womb have turned out to be such opposites? The gods must be laughing at the joke they had played.

“You don’t look like an elf,” he told her. “Or even like a half-elf.”

Her eyes flicked to his ears and the tattoos on his face and hands. “You don’t look like a half-elf either.

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