Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1)

by Smith, Jacquelyn

  – 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?”

  “There is something I can do,” Lysandir shouted back. “But it will only buy us some time.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Barlo bellowed. “Do it!”

  Lysandir muttered some words and the air around them stirred. A ring of fire sprang up from the ground, surrounding them. Several dark creatures died instantly, falling in a pile of ash. Soon only Iarion and his companions remained within the circle.

  The dark creatures howled their frustration from the other side. A few of them tried to cross the flames, but none survived. Iarion and Silvaranwyn shot some arrows through the wall, which became a fiery hailstorm for their enemies. The dark creatures drew back, just out of range.

  “I can keep it up for now, but I can’t hold it forever,” Lysandir said. His face was streaked with soot and sweat. “When it does fall, it will be well after sundown. I probably won’t have enough power left to be of much use.”

  “Maybe they’ll get bored after a while and leave,” Barlo said.

  “That won’t happen.” Lysandir shook his head. “They may have fallen back, but they are still waiting.”

  Silvaranwyn collapsed to her knees and began to vomit. Her entire body was trembling. Barlo rushed to her side, surprising Iarion. He stood beside her, rubbing her back.

  “That’s it,” he soothed. “Let it all out. There’s no shame in it. Everyone feels bad after their first kill. You held yourself together better than most.”

  Iarion was even more surprised when Silvaranwyn flung her arms around Barlo’s neck, sobbing into his beard.

  “I felt them die! It was horrible.” The rest of her words were incoherent.

  Barlo put his arms around her in an awkward fashion. “There, there. It’ll be all right.”

  “What are we going to do?” Iarion asked Lysandir.

  “I don’t know.” Lysandir chewed his lip. “I knew it was likely we would be attacked, but I didn’t expect the force to be this large. I don’t even know how so many of them got this far south.”

  “Perhaps Silvaranwyn can do something. She has magic, doesn’t she?”

  “She does, but the magic of the Quenya is not made for combat.”

  “You mean to tell me this is as far as we go?” Barlo turned to face them, picking flecks of vomit from his beard. Silvaranwyn seemed to have calmed herself. “We’re not even halfway there and it’s already over?”

  “It is out of our hands now.” Silvaranwyn’s voice was raw. She wiped her face with her sleeve. “We must trust our fate to the Quenya. It wants us to succeed.”

  “Well I’m sure that makes the rest of you feel better, but I’m a dwarf. I wouldn’t mind something a bit more solid.”

  No one seemed to have an answer for Barlo’s words. They looked at the glowing eyes waiting beyond the flames. The wall of fire that surrounded them lowered two handspans as Lysandir fought to keep it going. It wouldn’t last much longer. Iarion steeled himself for the inevitable charge to come.

  A cry went up among the dark creatures. Iarion and his companions drew their weapons, preparing for attack. The ring of fire still held, but who knew what madness the creatures had planned?

  Their enemies did not move forward. Instead, they seemed distracted by something behind them. Their ranks parted to reveal a figure on horseback. The rider bore a sword and a small, round shield. Long, brown braids streamed through the air from under the rider’s helm as the mounted figure rode past, cutting down the enemy. Another rider appear
ed in matching garb, but with a larger, kite shield. The second rider was trying to keep up with the first, who appeared to have no regard for their own safety. Together, they cleaved a path through the battle.

  “I’m going to drop the wall!” Lysandir shouted. “This could be our chance.”

  “Yes, well I suppose that’s solid enough to suit me,” Barlo muttered to no one in particular.

  The wall of flames fell and the four companions battled their attackers once more. The riders were working their way toward them. Lysandir threw blazing missiles at large clusters of dark creatures where he could get a clear shot. As before with the Darkling Men, the creatures tried rolling in the grass to smother the flames only to discover they would not go out.

  Iarion, Barlo, and Silvaranwyn advanced, wading through scorched bodies and gore. The two riders continued their slaughter on horseback. Many goblins and ogres were trampled beneath the horses’ hooves.

  Fortunately, there weren’t many trolls. Lysandir turned one into a pillar of flame. Iarion and Silvaranwyn each killed one with an arrow to the eye. The dimwitted creatures stumbled and swayed on their feet, making terrible moaning sounds before they finally fell over, dead.

  Only one remained.

  Barlo got behind it, taking a huge swing at its spine. His ax hit the troll’s back hard, but with no effect. Iarion saw Barlo drop his weapon with a yelp as the shock of the blow reverberated up his arms.

  The troll turned to see what was bothering it. Barlo groped for his weapon. Lysandir and Silvaranwyn were already occupied with their own opponents. The troll’s back was to Iarion, so he didn’t have a clear shot. He slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his knife, running to Barlo as fast as he could, knowing he would probably be too late.

  The rider with the long braids suddenly appeared, using their horse to shoulder Barlo out of the way. The rider taunted the troll, riding around it and taking swings with a sword. With casual grace, the rider sliced off both of the troll’s ears. The troll howled in fury, forgetting about Barlo, who had fallen to the ground. Iarion arrived in time to help him back to his feet.

  As the huge creature bellowed its outrage, the rider pivoted their horse and slid their sword into the troll’s open mouth and up into its brain.

  The creature’s howl was cut short. Its body stiffened before toppling backward. The ground shook from the impact.

  Iarion handed Barlo his ax and they both looked around. The second rider was finishing off the remaining goblins, and Lysandir and Silvaranwyn stood unopposed. It was a rout.

  The Light Elf and Learnéd One joined Iarion and Barlo as the two riders dismounted. Now that Iarion could see them up close, he noticed both wore the dark blue, maroon, and black of Belierumar, the human watchtower city near the Southern Passage. Not only that, but both wore blue-gray cloaks, marking them as commanders.

  The rider with the long, brown braids stepped forward, removing their helm. Iarion felt his eyes widen. The first rider was a woman.

  “Greetings,” she said in the Common Tongue. “I am Linwyn and this is my twin, Golaron.”

  The other rider took off his helm. He was as different from his sister as shadow is to light. Although both of them had the bronze skin of Greater Men, and the same high cheekbones and stubborn, square chin, the similarities ended there.

  Linwyn’s eyes were a deep blue and her hair was almost auburn, an unusual color among her kind. Her brother’s eyes were a murky hazel. His braided hair only reached his shoulders and was the deepest black. Iarion smiled to himself. Even their names had the words for ‘light’ and ‘shadow’ in them. Some Greater Men—royalty in particular—were still named in the elven fashion.

  “We are honored and grateful for your timely assistance,” Lysandir said, stepping forward. He gestured to each of his companions in turn. “This is Iarion, a Shadow Elf from Melaralva, his friend, Barlo, from Dwarvenhome, and Silvaranwyn, a Light Elf from Melaquenya. She is the daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Light Elves. I am Lysandir. I have visited your fair city often, but not for some time.” Linwyn’s eyes passed over each of them in turn. They lingered for a moment on Iarion.

  “You are known to us, Learnéd One,” she said, inclining her head as she spoke. Her brother did the same. “And there is no need for thanks. We would have attacked the dark creatures one way or another. So tell me, why do a Shadow Elf, a Light Elf, a dwarf, and a Learnéd One travel together in these troubled times?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “It is a long tale and we are wearied,” Lysandir said. “If you would like to hear it, then perhaps we could set up camp together at Mar Arin. It was our destination, and it is not far from here.”

  “If you hope to find Numarin there, you will be disappointed,” Linwyn said. “My brother and I just visited there, seeking the Learnéd One’s wisdom. His tower is deserted. We had planned to continue on to Melaralva in hope of making contact with the elves. Perhaps we have met for a reason.”

  She replaced her helm. “My brother and I will ride ahead and prepare a campsite. We are curious to hear your tale.” With that, they both mounted and rode off.

  “Did you see her fight?” Barlo spluttered once they were out of sight. “She was incredible!”

  “It is seldom the women who live among Greater Men decide to take up the sword,” Lysandir said. “Come, let us follow their lead. I feel as though I will fall over if I stand still for much longer.” Iarion and Silvaranwyn hurried to collect any arrows they could salvage from the battlefield.

  The others followed Lysandir north. Mar Arin was a tall shadow in the darkness. Linwyn and Golaron already had a fire started when they arrived. Iarion spread his bedroll on the ground and sank down onto it, exhausted. He pulled out a rag and his waterskin and tried to rinse off some of the grime from the battle.

  He noticed Linwyn watching him under lowered lashes from across the fire. Her brother was staring at Silvaranwyn. Iarion shrugged it off. They had probably never seen an elf before. Greater Men were ancient allies of his kind, but now the elves seldom interacted with them.

  For a few moments, they sat together in silence around the fire, unpacking and eating what food they had brought with them.

  “So, you promised to give us your tale,” Linwyn said once they had all had something to eat.

  “So we did,” Lysandir said. He started at the beginning and explained their quest as best he could. He barely mentioned Iarion’s personal reasons for being involved, which suited Iarion. It was nearing midnight by the time he finished.

  “You were right about it being a long tale,” Linwyn said, her expression thoughtful.

  “Perhaps now you can tell us yours,” Lysandir said. “Why were you seeking Numarin?”

  “A dark army moves toward our home through the Southern Passage.” Golaron’s quiet voice startled everyone. It was the first time he had spoken. “Our father, the Lord of Belierumar, sent us to bring tidings to the Learnéd One, and seek his counsel. We had hoped for his advice on whom we could trust as allies in the coming battle. As you can see, he is gone.” Everyone looked up at the shadow of Mar Arin.

  “I will need to search the tower once the sun has risen.” Lysandir chewed his lip. “We need to know whether Numarin was taken by force, or if he left voluntarily. It is strange he has not contacted me, or the Light Elves, in some time.”

  “If you are traveling north, perhaps we can work together for a common purpose,” Linwyn said. “We need all the support we can muster against the coming army. A Learnéd One, two elves, and a dwarf would be of great help to us.”

  “We don’t have time to get caught up in a war,” Iarion said, shaking his head. He didn’t want anything to delay him in his quest. He felt sorry for the people of Belierumar, but they were strong, and had warriors such as Linwyn and Golaron. They would be fine without his help.

  “I disagree,” Lysandir said, surprising him. “Belierumar is the main line of defense for the midlands. If it should fall, there would be little to stop the d
ark army from moving south to Melaquenya. It will do us no good to recover a portion of the Quenya, only to lose the rest of it.”

  Golaron and Linwyn exchanged glances. Linwyn nodded before speaking. “If you agree to help us, we will accompany you on your quest, if you are so minded. You have seen us fight. We could be useful.”

  Lysandir, Silvaranwyn, and Barlo all looked to Iarion. Iarion noticed a brief flash of puzzlement in Linwyn’s expression before she managed to suppress it. To all outward appearances, Lysandir was the leader of their group.

  Iarion considered the situation. He was loath to do anything that would delay him, but Lysandir had a point about the dark army moving south. Perhaps the Lord and Lady of Melaquenya had underestimated the people of Belierumar. With two fighters such as Linwyn and Golaron traveling with them, their odds of succeeding in their quest increased.

  There was also the matter of blood debt. If the twins had not intervened during the recent battle, it was unlikely Iarion or any of his companions would have survived. He sighed.

  “Your fighting skills would definitely be an asset to us on our journey,” Iarion said. “We are also grateful you came to our aid, saving us from certain death.”

  “So?” Linwyn leaned forward.

  “We will go to Belierumar.”

  – Chapter Eight –

  Missing

  The group rose early the next morning to search the tower. Now that it was daylight, they could see it up close. It was a solitary pillar of white and blue stone with three twisting spires reaching high into the clouds. No cracks or signs of wear marred its surface. It appeared to have been carved from a single, seamless piece of rock.

  The smooth walls were broken only by the occasional arched window of clear glass high above the ground. The frame of each window was chased with intricately carved Elvish runes. The same runes were worked around the pair of matching oak doors that reached a height far above even Lysandir’s head. The hinges were wrought to look like silver vines. The surface of the doors was smooth, with no sign of knob or handle. Both doors were shut.