Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1)
Read Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) Online
Authors: Jacquelyn Smith
Soul Seeker – A Novel of Lasniniar
Jacquelyn Smith
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2011 Jacquelyn Smith
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Contents
Chapter Two -- Bad News from an Old Friend
Chapter Three -- A Fragile Hope
Chapter Five -- The Levniquenya
Chapter Seven -- Friends in Need
Chapter Nine -- Strengths and Weaknesses
Chapter Ten -- Family Troubles
Chapter Eleven -- The Element of Surprise
Chapter Thirteen -- Making Amends
Chapter Fourteen -- Scouting Ahead
Chapter Sixteen -- A Change in Plan
Chapter Seventeen -- Consequences
Chapter Eighteen -- Old Flames
Chapter Nineteen -- What Comes After
Chapter Twenty -- Chance Meetings
Chapter Twenty-One -- The Kinslaying
Chapter Twenty-Two -- Enemy Territory
Chapter Twenty-Three -- Betrayal
Chapter Twenty-Four -- Stariquenya
Chapter Twenty-Five -- Diversion
Chapter Twenty-Six -- Dark Waters
Chapter Twenty-Seven -- A Heavy Burden
Chapter Twenty-Eight -- Homecoming
Chapter Twenty-Nine -- Separate Ways
Chapter Thirty-One -- Dark Dreams
Chapter Thirty-Two -- Decisions
Chapter Thirty-Three -- Worst Fears Realized
Chapter Thirty-Four -- Diplomacy
Chapter Thirty-Six -- The Call to Battle
Chapter Thirty-Seven -- Catching Up
Chapter Thirty-Eight -- Playing it Safe
Chapter Thirty-Nine -- The Art of Persuasion
Chapter Forty -- A Cold Welcome
Chapter Forty-One -- Confrontation
Chapter Forty-Two -- Dwarf Code
Chapter Forty-Three -- News from the South
Chapter Forty-Four -- Blood Ties
Chapter Forty-Five -- A Desperate Plan
Chapter Forty-Six -- In the Dark
Chapter Forty-Seven -- Among the Enemy
Chapter Forty-Eight -- Forsworn
Chapter Forty-Nine -- The Tide Turns
Chapter Fifty -- The Final Betrayal
Chapter Fifty-One -- Shadow Elf
Chapter Fifty-Three -- In the Eye of the Storm
Chapter Fifty-Four -- The Quenya
Chapter Fifty-Five -- Aftermath
Chapter Fifty-Six -- Revelations
Chapter Fifty-Seven -- Destiny
Chapter Fifty-Eight -- Parting Ways
Historic Overview of the Elven Tribes
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Soul Seeker
Jacquelyn Smith
For my husband, Mark.
Thank you for always believing in me. I couldn’t have done this without you.
–
Chapter One –
Ambush
Iarion walked alone on Traitor’s Road. Midnight had already come and gone. The world of Lasniniar was silent, except for the patter of the falling rain.
Was he truly alone?
He kept his pointed ears strained for any sound of pursuit. His elven eyes pierced the darkness with ease, twin points of silver-shot sapphire.
Nothing.
Iarion shivered. He was already soaked through. His shoulder throbbed in pain from an arrow wound. He had managed to pull the shaft free, but his left arm hung limp at his side. As far as he could tell, there was no festering burn of poison, but it was difficult to say for certain. Every drop of rain that trickled into his pierced flesh stung.
He cursed his inattention. He was used to traveling alone and taking care of himself. He should know better. But he was in familiar territory and so close to home that he had allowed himself to become complacent.
Had he killed all the goblins? He thought so, but there had been so many. There shouldn’t be any goblins in the midlands, so far from their home in the north. It was a bad sign.
The Jagged Mountains loomed to his left, keeping the road cloaked in darkness. Being
Goladain
—a Shadow Elf—had its advantages. If anyone was following him, at least his dusky skin and silver braids would make him difficult to spot.
Iarion muttered a curse as he shifted his pack, pulling his injured shoulder. At least Dwarvenhome was close by. He had already planned to visit Barlo before returning to his own kind in Melaralva. Now that visit had become a necessity. He smiled to think of how the dwarf would scold him when he saw Iarion’s wound.
Iarion was careful to maintain his tense vigil for the remainder of the journey. Of his goblin attackers, there was no sign. His aching muscles went slack with relief when the dwarf stronghold came into view. The huge stone entryway was an imposing work of beauty, carved right into the mountainside. It was guarded by several dwarves bearing axes. Various clan tartans were visible among their armor.
One of the older dwarves recognized Iarion and gestured for him to pass, while the younger ones looked on in surprise at their elven visitor.
Had it been that long? Iarion used to know all the guards.
Under the mountain, the polished stone streets were empty. Iarion followed the lamplit route that led to Barlo’s home. Carved reliefs of dwarven history and legend, accented with metal and gems, flickered as he passed. Barlo’s clan lived in the eastern section of the sprawling dwarven city. As Dwarvenhome’s Chief of Clans, Barlo had the largest dwelling.
Iarion arrived at the arched stone doorway marked by a flag of Barlo’s personal tartan and tapped softly with the bronze knocker. After a few moments, he heard the sound of muffled footsteps from inside. The door opened a crack and a pair of sleepy, deep blue eyes peered up at him.
“Narilga,” Iarion whispered in the Common Tongue so as not to wake the dwarven children who slept inside. “It’s me.” The door opened, revealing a dwarven woman with long, tousled black hair wearing a linen shift.
“Iarion.” She nodded a greeting, as though late night elf visitors were a common occurrence. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed his limp arm.
“Well, it seems you’ve gone and gotten yourself injured again. You’d best come in.”
She stepped aside to allow Iarion to enter, holding a finger to her lips. Iarion had to duck his head to get through the door.
“You sit there,” she said in a hushed voice, gesturing to a couch by the fireplace. “I’ll go wake Barlo and put the kettle on.”
Iarion hung his dripping cloak on a peg by the door and took a seat near the banked embers of the fire. A few moments later, Barlo shuffled into the room on bare feet, rubbing his eyes and yawning hugely.
“So you’re back.” He cracked his brown eyes open wide enough to get a good look at his friend. His roving gaze stopped at Iarion’s shoulder wound.
“You’ve hurt it
again?
Well, that’s what you get for traveling without me, you fool elf. What was it this time?” He rubbed at his thick, brown hair before trying to smooth down his beard.
Iarion rolled his eyes and smiled before turning serious. “Goblins. They were in the Narrow Pass.”
“Ha! They even jumped you in the same place. You should have been paying more attention. But seriously, goblins shouldn’t be this far south. No one’s seen any dark creatures ’round here since you got jumped twenty years ago.” Barlo tossed a fresh log into the fireplace and stirred the flames back to life.
“I know. That’s why they caught me off guard. They attacked under the cover of darkness as a storm was coming in.”
“Too crafty by half for goblins. I don’t like it. Saviadro’s up to something.”
Narilga came back into the room, bearing a tray of bandages, herbs, and steaming water. She jerked her chin toward the elf.
“Let me see it.”
Iarion pried off his tunic with a hiss. His dried blood had stuck the fabric to his skin in some places. He crouched so Narilga could get a better look.
“Well, it’s not as bad as it could be,” she said. “It doesn’t look to be poisoned. If it were, you’d have passed out by now. Still, you’re lucky those wretched creatures don’t use arrowheads. Now let me patch it up for you.”
She poured the boiled water on the wound. Iarion bit back a scream. For a moment, his vision swam.
“That was the hard part,” Narilga said. “This should help the pain and keep it from going septic.” She smeared some mashed up herbs on his skin. A cooling sensation spread across Iarion’s shoulder. He let out the breath he had been holding and blinked his eyes to clear them.
“There. Now, I’m just going to bandage that up for you.” She bound the shoulder with deft fingers. “All done. You’re going to want to try to rest that arm for the next few days.” She gave Iarion a pointed look. Iarion did his best to appear meek.