Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (6 page)

“
Iarion!”
Barlo’s eyes widened. “What stopped you?”

“I couldn’t do it. No elf has ever done it before. Then again, no elf has ever had reason to.” Iarion shrugged. “I suppose a part of me has always believed there must be a reason I am the way I am, and that there must be an answer out there somewhere. This could be it.

“So if I seem cold about what Silvaranwyn and her family are going through, it’s only because I know they can see the path that is laid out in front of them. They know more about what is happening than they let on. I, on the other hand, am embarking on a potentially fatal quest and I might as well be blindfolded.”

“You aren’t the only one, Iarion,” Barlo said. “Try to remember that.”

“Thank you, Barlo.” Iarion gave his friend a small smile. “You’re a good friend. I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

“As if you could leave me behind!”

“Are you ready to depart?” Valanandir asked. Silvaranwyn had stepped back from her family and was brushing tears from her cheeks. Iarion, Barlo, and Lysandir joined her. They were packed and ready to go.

“It grieves me that we did not meet under better circumstances,” Iadrawyn said. “Melaquenya is not usually a place of sorrow. Perhaps when you return and the Quenya is made complete, we can share a happier visit.”

“Good luck on your quest.” The lord smiled before turning serious. “All of Lasniniar hopes for your success. Farewell!”

The three companions bowed to the Lord and Lady of Melaquenya, thanking them for their hospitality. Silvaranwyn stepped forward to lead them from the forest. With heavy reluctance, Iarion turned and left the glade of the Quenya behind.

–
Chapter Six –

A Dark Past

As their group left the golden and silver trees of Melaquenya, Iarion felt the comforting presence of the Quenya fade. He hoped he would live long enough to feel it once more.

Once Silvaranwyn led them out of the forest, Lysandir resumed the lead, taking them through the Rolling Hills to the west and north of Melaquenya. They wanted to stay under cover for as long as possible before crossing the open grasslands of the Adar Daran. They made camp that night within the northernmost border of the hills.

Silvaranwyn had been quiet all day, and fell asleep after the evening meal. Lysandir sat by himself with his back to the campfire, looking out into the night. Iarion and Barlo sat together by the fire.

“Iarion, what is the Forbidden Pool?” Barlo asked after a long silence.

“What?” Iarion looked up. He had been lost in his own thoughts.

“The Forbidden Pool. The lady said you would be tempted to drink from it.”

“Oh.” Iarion shrugged. “It’s a magical pool.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s beyond the Mountains of Fire in the dark lands. It is fed by the Nightrush River.”

“Why is it forbidden?”

“Well it’s not forbidden, exactly,” Iarion said. “It’s just very dangerous to drink from it.”

“Why would you want to drink from it then?”

“Because it gives insight to those who taste its waters.”

“Yes,” Lysandir said, “but at a great price.” Barlo looked up, startled. The Learnéd One joined them by the fire.

“I drank from it once, a long time ago.” Lysandir’s silver eyes looked past them.

“And what did it show you?” Barlo asked. His expression seemed torn between curiosity and dislike.

“It showed me many things. Some of them true, others false. Even the things that were true were warped and twisted to seem dark and terrible. The Forbidden Pool can grant insight, but it will take away all your hope if you let it.”

“Why did you drink from it?” Barlo persisted. Iarion was surprised at Barlo’s daring.

“I drank to find a way to escape the dark lands without Saviadro’s knowledge.” Lysandir held Barlo under his gaze. “I believe you wanted to know earlier about the second betrayal of the dwarves. I will tell you.” The dwarf shifted, but did not flinch.

“Valanandir and Iadrawyn foresaw the need for people who could be a link between the
Linadar
and the rest of Lasniniar; people who could use the magic of the Quenya without having to be near it, and without the risk of fading. Three of us were bred by crossing the best of the
Linadar
, dwarves, and Greater Men, with the help of the Quenya.

“Numarin, Feoras, and I were born. We were raised in Melaquenya by the lord and lady themselves. They taught us the ways of the Quenya so we could manipulate the three elements most elves do not concern themselves with: air, water, and fire. We were created as a counterbalance to the Forsworn, who had begun to roam the lands.”

A look of pain crossed Lysandir’s features. “Saviadro learned of our existence and decided he wanted one of us for himself. We were still young and corruptible.

“There was a dwarf named Hilgur. His wife was part of the breeding program that produced the Learnéd. Saviadro had his forces abduct Hilgur’s son, Bilrugo. His creatures told Hilgur he would only see his son again if he delivered one of the Learnéd in exchange.

“Bilrugo was Hilgur’s only son. In those days, dwarves entered Melaquenya freely, and his wife still lived there. I was the first child he found.”

Lysandir’s eyes closed. “Hilgur told me a surprise was waiting for me outside the forest. I had always wanted to see the outside world, and I trusted him. Young and untried, the dark creatures overpowered me easily. They gave Hilgur his son and fled north with me in their custody. Saviadro was very pleased. He wanted to raise me as his own pet Learnéd One. At first, I resisted. But no one came to rescue me.

“Eventually I reasoned if I pretended to go along with Saviadro’s plans, I might be given enough freedom to escape. It took a long time for me to earn his trust. I spent hundreds of years in Mar Valion at his side before I was able to slip from his grasp. Even then, I had to turn to the Forbidden Pool to find a way out of the dark lands.”

“Saviadro didn’t try to stop you?” Barlo asked.

“He did not realize I was missing until it was too late. I never fully communed with the Stariquenya, so he had no link to track me.”

Barlo frowned.

“I know what you are thinking,” Lysandir said. “I have seen that look many times before. Did Saviadro allow me to escape? Am I a spy? As I fled for Melaquenya, I was met with those same questions as people realized who I was. I was shunned. Only Iadrawyn and Valanandir were convinced of my story.

“I spent the next few hundred years wandering the lands, making up for lost time. When I didn’t immediately betray the Free Races to the Fallen One, some began to think perhaps my story was true. But I am still considered an outcast and potential traitor by many, all because of Hilgur.”

The only sound that answered Lysandir’s words was the occasional crackle of the campfire. Finally, Barlo broke the silence.

“What happened to Hilgur?”

“He tried to return to Dwarvenhome with his son, but the dwarves had already learned of his folly. He was banished. The elves closed Melaquenya to all outsiders and communication with the dwarves ceased. He and his wife and his son traveled on what is now called Traitor’s Road. They went to Dwarfhaven, to live in exile.”

“And they were welcomed there?” Barlo’s expression was shocked.

“For a time.” Lysandir sighed. “But the machinations of Saviadro went deeper than Hilgur suspected. While Bilrugo was held hostage by Saviadro’s creatures, one of the Forsworn had corrupted him. In Dwarfhaven, he began to sow discord among the dwarves while creating his own, loyal faction.

“His actions led to the Dwarven Wars, where the clans battled over the legacy of Hilgur and Bilrugo. Saviadro’s plan was successful. He had managed to turn some of his enemies against one another. After many years, the clans who supported Bilrugo were wiped out and the history behind the wars was conveniently forgotten.”

“I had no idea.” Barlo gave himself a shake. “We’ve had no contact with Dwarfhaven for generations, but they’re still considered traitors. I’ve heard hints and vague mentions of those names, but they were always hushed up.”

“With good reason. It is the dwarves’ secret shame.” Lysandir watched Barlo’s response. Several moments passed before the dwarf spoke.

Barlo straightened, his expression resolute. “This is a story that needs to be told. When I return from this quest, I will hold a clan meeting and bring this out into the open. I will tell this story to my children. For years, I’ve wondered at our rift with the elves. I can’t believe the lord and lady let me into their wood!”

“The
Linadar
listen to the voice of the Quenya,” Lysandir said. “Do not count on getting the same reception from other elves.”

“Iarion, why did you never tell me this story?” Barlo turned toward his friend.

“It was Lysandir’s story to tell.” Iarion lowered his eyes. “And to be honest, I couldn’t bear to tell you. It didn’t matter to me anyway. I’ve lived longer than any
Goladain
. I’ve learned not to hold one person accountable for the guilt of a nation over something long forgotten.”

“Now you see how rare your friendship with Iarion is,” Lysandir said. “And now that all your impertinent questions have been answered, it is time we got some rest. We have a long journey to Mar Arin tomorrow.”

–
Chapter Seven –

Friends in Need

Iarion and his companions traveled across the Adar Daran in broad daylight. The tall grass swayed in the summer breeze. Silvaranwyn looked around in wide-eyed wonder as she walked, taking in their surroundings. Iarion smiled. The
Linadain
had never been beyond the borders of Melaquenya before.

Iarion scanned the area as well, but for different reasons. He and Barlo had already been caught off guard crossing the grasslands. It wouldn’t happen again. He felt a small shadow pass overhead and looked up. It was a gull. He had never seen one this far inland before. The bird circled once before flying northeast and out of sight. Iarion shook his head and refocused his attention on the swaying grass.

Lysandir kept them moving all day. They only made one brief stop at noon for food, water, and rest. The Adar Daran was quiet. It was rare for Saviadro’s creatures to attack during the day, but they had already done so once before. They continued their trek in silence. Lysandir maintained a brisk pace, his eyes narrowed as he walked. Barlo had loosed his ax from his belt, holding it ready as he lumbered behind Iarion.

The outline of Mar Arin grew on the horizon as the sun began to set. Lysandir pushed an even harder pace. They did not want to be caught in the open after dark. Even Silvaranwyn was alert now. She seemed to give off a pale, red-golden glow as the last fingers of the sun reached across the land.

Iarion was distracted by a flash of light in the distance. It was the glint of steel. Lysandir stopped, raising his hand for silence. He had seen it too. He turned to face them.

“There are dark forces ahead.” He spoke in a quiet voice. “Iarion, Silvaranwyn, what can you see?” Both elves shaded their eyes to look.

“It is a large group,” Iarion said with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “More than we can handle. They are moving south, fast. I think they have already spotted us.”

“It is a group of goblins, ogres, and trolls,” Silvaranwyn said.

“There is nowhere for us to run or take cover.” Lysandir sighed. “We must make ready to meet them. No matter what happens, we cannot allow the Levniquenya to fall into their hands.” Everyone nodded.

They formed a line and waited. Iarion and Silvaranwyn nocked their bows and took aim. Beside them, Barlo gripped his war ax with both hands. Lysandir stood with his arms at his sides. An unnatural, warm breeze stirred his hair and robes.

The dark creatures drew closer. The goblins were in front, loping before the trolls and ogres in their bow-legged, spider-like gait, often using their hands to help move them along.

Iarion and Silvaranwyn opened fire. Two goblins fell to the ground with a scream. The dark forces halted for a moment in silence. Then a huge war cry erupted as they began to charge.

Both elves managed to fire several more arrows before the creatures came too close. Iarion and Silvaranwyn slung their bows back onto their shoulders and drew their knives. Silvaranwyn was pale and shaking.

She had never killed before.

The realization hit Iarion like a blow. Now she would have to do it up close with her knife. He hoped for their sakes that she would be able to stomach it.

Iarion was allowed no other observations. The enemy was upon them. The goblins were first, all pale green skin and slitted, red eyes. Lysandir burned them with a single touch. Barlo swung his ax, sending the head of the one closest to him flying. Iarion thrust at one with his knife while Silvaranwyn attacked another.

Once they had eliminated most of the first wave, the ogres moved forward. The hairy creatures were tougher to kill. They fought with their tusks and cudgels, their small eyes glowing in the gathering dark. Their foul reek filled the air. The trolls roared in the background, unable to get close enough.

These creatures did not fight as an organized group. The Marred Races did not mix well. It was chaos. No matter how many Iarion and his companions killed, more stepped forward to take their place. He and the others were soon panting with exertion, covered with blood and gore. Time slowed.

Some trolls managed to lumber forward, swinging their maces and large fists. Their rough, gray skin was difficult to pierce with any conventional weapon, and they were often too stupid to know when they should be dead. The four companions had gone from fighting in a line, to standing back to back in a cluster, trying to hold off the onslaught. The living were climbing over the bodies of the slain to reach them.

“We can’t keep this up much longer,” Iarion shouted over the din. “Do we have a plan?”