“We must draw back into the city,” he shouted to the twins. “Your men can hold the line now, but they will soon be overrun now that the Forsworn are here. Lysandir will not strike until everyone is safely inside the city walls.”
Linwyn nodded her agreement. She pulled a horn from her belt and sounded three blasts, signaling retreat. Golaron remounted and held out his hand to his sister.
“Ride with me,” he said. “Your mare can carry the three of them.” Linwyn did not protest. She swung herself up behind him. Iarion coaxed Silvaranwyn into the saddle of Linwyn’s mare. He turned to Barlo. The dwarf shook his head emphatically.
“There’s no way I’m getting on that thing.” He began to back away.
“It’s called a horse, Barlo.” Iarion gave a reassuring smile. “Come on. We need to go now.”
“I won’t do it. It’s unnatural!” Barlo crossed his arms over his chest and stood his ground as if daring his friend to try to hoist him onto the horse’s back.
Iarion knew he would have to persuade the stubborn dwarf to ride or he would be left outside the gates. He decided to try a new approach.
“Well if you’re afraid to ride a horse, just come out and say so.” Iarion said in a reasonable tone.
“I told you, it’s unnatural!” Barlo stamped his foot.
“And so is a dwarf taking an elf to be his best friend. But you didn’t let that stop you.” Iarion let out a heavy sigh. “I guess Silvaranwyn and I will have to ride this fearsome creature without you. I hope I’ll be able to protect the both of us…”
“Great Galrin’s beard!” Barlo tugged at his own beard and cursed in Dwarvish. “All right, elf. You win. No one mocks the courage of a dwarf. Besides, if anything happened to you, and I wasn’t there to protect you, I would never hear the end of it. Now help me get on that beast.”
Iarion smiled and knelt to give his friend a boost. Once Barlo was secure in his position in front of Silvaranwyn, Iarion mounted behind her. He gave the chestnut’s flanks a nudge and they were off. Barlo uttered a startled yelp and clung to the horse’s mane. Linwyn and Golaron rode before them. Now all the guardians of Belierumar were making a run for the gates of the city, which were starting to swing open.
The Forsworn swooped overhead, their drakes breathing deadly missiles. It soon became clear one was an ice drake and the other a fire drake. The screams of dying men, women, and their mounts filled the air. A fiery blast rained from the sky to Iarion’s left, scorching the ground. He used his knees to steer the mare away from the inferno, urging her on in Elvish. The dark creatures on the ground behind them surged forward, cutting down those too slow to stay ahead of them.
Silvaranwyn swayed in the saddle in front of Iarion. He could do nothing but hold her steady. He had never felt so vulnerable and exposed. His back was tensed, waiting for a goblin arrow to hit him from behind. The gates drew nearer. Iarion nudged the mare once more. The enemies behind and above gave the poor beast all the incentive she needed to flee to safety. She put on a final burst of speed and galloped through the gates.
Iarion dismounted and drew his bow. His arrows found several targets in the seething mass of dark creatures trying to reach the city. As the last of the riders came through, the mighty gates swung shut. A few goblins and ogres had managed to get inside.
“Iarion!” Barlo yelled, kicking out his short legs. “Get me down from here! There are ogres to be killed.”
Iarion hoisted his friend out of the saddle and onto the ground. Barlo charged the closest ogre. Iarion drew his knife and attacked some goblins.
The battle was soon over. All the dark creatures that had made it inside the gates lay dead. But Belierumar was under siege. The drakes of the Forsworn shrieked in prelude of their attack on the city, which would surely come at any moment. Iarion looked to the tower.
It was up to Lysandir now.
– Chapter Twelve –
Under Siege
Iarion lifted Silvaranwyn down from the saddle and placed her in Barlo’s care before running off. He heard the dwarf cry out in protest, but Iarion paid him no heed. He wanted to find Lysandir. He wasn’t going to wait to find out whether the Learnéd One could handle the Forsworn on his own.
Iarion tore through the hallways of the tower and ran up the spiral stairs that led to the eastern balcony where he knew Lysandir would be waiting. The dreadful presence of the two Forsworn Ones grew as he climbed. He was about to burst through the doorway and onto the balcony before the despair could overwhelm him, but Lysandir sensed his presence and gestured for him to stay back. The Learnéd One was standing in the shadows, waiting. The screech of the drakes drew near. Their musky stench filled the air.
“Stay where you are,” Lysandir said to Iarion in a low voice. “I appreciate your loyalty, but this is my battle. I cannot allow myself to become distracted with concern for your safety.” Iarion nodded his assent, but drew his bow and nocked an arrow as he blended in with the shadows of the doorway.
Lysandir threw off his dark cloak. With a flick of his wrist, the torches surrounding him sprang to life. The two drakes shrieked and wheeled toward their new target. Iarion tried his best to fight off the now familiar dread that threatened to overpower him.
Iarion finally had the chance to see the creatures at close range. He used the opportunity to scout out these champions of the Fallen One. The ice drake was a huge, white creature with a blue sheen, and pale, reptilian eyes. Its teeth and claws were wickedly sharp and its scaled hide appeared impenetrable. Its serpentine tail lashed as its wings beat the air to keep it aloft and level with the balcony. Iarion could just make out the fire drake behind it. Its skin was a coppery orange. In the darkness, its eyes burned yellow.
The drakes were smaller and less intelligent than their dragon cousins, although Iarion was the only person aside from the Linadar who was old enough to remember the last dragon, who had died during the Northern Wars. Both drakes bore a Forsworn One.
All Iarion could make out was two figures in rough-spun black cloaks. They held the reins of their mounts with gray-skinned hands. Their faces were hidden deep within the shadows of their hoods except for the glitter of hungry eyes. Iarion caught a glimpse of green from one and gold from the other, reminding him these creatures had once been Linadar. He found himself looking away.
The balcony Lysandir had chosen was small. Only one of the creatures could get close enough to attack at a time. The ice drake flew in first, spewing forth its freezing blast. Lysandir raised his arms and a wall of flame encircled him, stopping the blizzard before it could reach him. The surrounding air became chill. Iarion shivered. He could see his own breath.
The ice drake inhaled and prepared to attack once more. This time, Lysandir met the blast with a ball of flame. Both attacks met in midair, creating a huge explosion, which rocked the tower to its foundation. Iarion struggled to keep his feet.
The enormous creature drew another long breath and exhaled a blast of ice and frost. Lysandir countered it with a jet of flame. This time when the forces collided, they struggled for supremacy. The drake seemed tireless as it continued its barrage. Lysandir fought to maintain his attack. The flames pushed the ice back, but only for a few moments. Slowly, the frost worked its way toward the Learnéd One.
Beads of perspiration began to form on Lysandir’s brow, his features twisted in concentration. Iarion could see he was in trouble.
I have to do something!
Iarion pulled two particular arrows from his quiver and nocked them in his bow. They had been gifts from Barlo, long ago. Their tips were wickedly pointed and made of some strange metal forged in secret by the dwarves. Iarion had never needed them before. He sighted and let the two arrows fly.
Somehow Lysandir glimpsed the twin missiles as they sped toward their target. With a single gesture, he surrounded the tips with a nimbus of flame. Protected from the drake’s breath, they flew into its open maw.
The creature uttered a deafening shriek. It broke off its atta
ck on Lysandir and flailed its long neck, trying to dislodge the arrows, which continued to burn. Its wingbeats became panicked and unsteady. The Forsworn One on its back could do nothing but hold on. Iarion saw a flash of gray-skinned face as its hood slipped back.
Lysandir stood firm with arms raised. The fire continued to rage within the drake’s mouth. A sudden burst of flame lit the air and the drake was consumed. With a final cry, it dropped from the sky like a stone, disintegrating into ashes as it fell. The Forsworn One plummeted with it.
Iarion sighed, relief flooding through him. But the battle was not yet over. Now the fire drake flew toward the balcony. Lysandir looked exhausted.
How he would handle this new enemy? Could he fight fire with fire? Even if it were possible, Iarion doubted Lysandir could outlast the fire drake in his current condition. He waited to see what the Learnéd One would do.
As the fire drake drew near, the air warmed, banishing the unnatural chill. The beast inhaled, preparing to strike. Lysandir stood with his arms limp at his sides, as he awaited his doom. Iarion nocked another arrow, but he had a feeling this drake’s breath would incinerate his missile before it could reach its target. He tensed, waiting for Lysandir to act.
The blast came. Iarion released his arrow, but as he had predicted, it burned to ashes in midair. He cried out as he watched the drake’s flame burn through the air toward Lysandir.
At the last possible moment, the Learnéd One threw up his arms and redirected the attack, causing Iarion to realize his own mistake. Lysandir was the Learnéd One of Fire. He could manipulate flame to his will. The drake was engulfed by its own fire. Although it had a natural immunity to flame-based attacks, its rider did not.
A horrible screeching filled the air. Iarion dropped his bow to clap his hands over his ears. The remaining Forsworn One had become a living torch. Lysandir raised his arms higher and Iarion could feel the heat of the flames intensify. The heat increased until Iarion was forced to take shelter in the hallway. The air crackled and shimmered before his eyes. Lysandir seemed undisturbed, but the fire drake was writhing in the air as its rider continued screeching.
Finally, the Forsworn One could bear it no more. It rolled from the back of the drake and plummeted like a fiery comet, screaming as it went. A few moments later, the sound stopped. The fire drake remained, becoming hotter and hotter as Lysandir forced it to burn with its own fire.
The creature was going mad with agony. Another huge explosion rocked the tower as the drake exploded in midair. The blast was so bright, Iarion was forced to look away. He sheltered himself against the wall as a searing gust of hot air blew past him.
He pried his eyes open to see what had happened to Lysandir. He walked out onto the scorched stone of the balcony to find the Learnéd One leaning over the side, chuckling to himself. His beard and eyebrows were singed and his crimson robes blackened.
“Look at them, Iarion!” Lysandir’s voice was rough. He indicated the dark army below. Iarion looked down. The creatures had fallen into confusion. They appeared to be arguing among themselves.
“I thought you said the Forsworn couldn’t be killed,” Iarion said.
“It’s true. But I never said anything about their drakes!” Lysandir resumed his wild laughter, but it soon deteriorated into a series of dry coughs. He made an effort to calm himself.
“The Forsworn will need time to regain their strength and find new mounts. Until then, their army is leaderless. We have only to wait for the arrival of our allies.”
“If they decide to come,” Iarion muttered, not loud enough for Lysandir to hear.
The people of Belierumar took hope from the death of the drakes. They began to believe they might have a chance against such an overwhelming enemy. Greater Men were a proud and grim people. They would fight regardless of the odds, especially with their beloved twins leading them, but it helped to know the dark army was now leaderless.
It was the second day of the siege. Lysandir was taking some well-deserved rest, as were Barlo and Linwyn. Iarion sat at Silvaranwyn’s bedside.
Silvaranwyn looked terrible. She had dark circles under her eyes and her golden coloring remained dimmed. Although Golaron was also supposed to be resting, Iarion could sense him standing in the shadow of the doorway behind him, watching.
“Why is this happening?” Iarion asked Silvaranwyn in Elvish.
“This is what I meant about separating from the Quenya.” Even her voice seemed weak. “I am not to return to Melaquenya, so the Quenya is slipping out of my reach. Every time I use it, it becomes more difficult, and makes me more of a Goladain. Soon I will be like you, unable to tap into the power of the Quenya at all. The only difference is that I will still be able to sense a whisper of its presence.”
“You should go back,” Iarion said. “It’s not too late.”
“I cannot.” Silvaranwyn shook her head in protest. “This is my path. I must find the courage to stay on it. The Quenya has its reasons for having me come with you. I believe if I do turn back, your quest may fail. If you could sense the Quenya and your purpose, would you turn back?”
“No.” Iarion sighed. “I suppose not. Still, it pains me to see you like this.”
“You must steel yourself then, because it will only get worse. It is only a matter of time before I am no longer Linadain.”
“You are far braver than Linwyn gives you credit.” Iarion took hold of her hand. Even it seemed less substantial somehow.
“It is a courage beyond her understanding.” Silvaranwyn shrugged. “It is of no moment. But now I must rest if I am to be ready to continue on with the rest of you.” She stifled a yawn.
“You mean if the siege is ever broken. Our allies might not come.”
“They will come.” Silvaranwyn’s eyes began to close. “Tomorrow…”
Iarion waited for her to finish her sentence, but she had drifted off to sleep. Freeing his hand, he slipped out of the room.
Golaron was already gone.
The day dragged on and the dark army began to regroup. It seemed after some deadly internal squabbling, a few leaders had emerged. The invading forces surged against the gates of Belierumar once more.
The sky was filled with storm clouds, which blocked the sun and gave the dark army the advantage it needed. The men and women on the walls felled scores of them with their arrows, but wave after wave of attacks kept coming. Eventually the sheer numbers of the enemy would overwhelm them. Several ladders were raised against the walls and some trolls were at work on the gate, trying to smash it down.
Iarion and Barlo stood together on the wall. Iarion was slaying as many of the enemy as he could, firing one arrow after another. Each creature screamed as it fell to the ground.
“It doesn’t look good, does it?” Barlo said, as he shoved the top of a ladder off the wall with a grunt. A series of shrieks echoed below as the creatures who had been trying to climb it found themselves flying backward to land atop their own forces.
Another shudder rocked the wall as the trolls threw themselves at the gate.
“The gate won’t last much longer,” Iarion said. “Then there will be fighting in the streets. Lysandir still thinks help will come. I’m not so certain. It has been millennia since the Free Races last joined forces to oppose Saviadro. Even then, the Northern Wars ended in a stalemate. I know it’s important Belierumar stand, but I fear we’ll be trapped here, and the quest will remain unfulfilled.” Iarion narrowed his eyes and let another arrow fly. It was followed by a scream from below.
“If it comes to that, we could always escape through the aqueduct tunnels,” Barlo said. “The elders and the children are already there, waiting for the signal to evacuate. Silvaranwyn is with them. Linwyn and Golaron probably won’t leave, but they will have to understand. One way or another, we’ll see the quest through.” Barlo reached up to clap his hand on Iarion’s back. “I give you my word as a dwarf. You can’t get any better than that.”
“Thank you, Barlo.” Iarion ga
ve him a small smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I just wish I could trust to faith like Lysandir does. In a few moments, the gate will be broken and we’ll be overrun.” A cracking noise split the air as the gate began to give way.
Barlo looked away for a moment, his eyes drawn by movement in the north. “There’s something happening over there. Can you see?”
Iarion turned to look where Barlo was pointing. His narrowed gaze cut through the gloom. He shook his head, unable to believe what he saw.
“Dwarves. They come from out of the mountains. But they don’t wear any clan colors of Dwarvenhome.”
“The clans of Dwarfhaven?” Barlo’s jaw dropped. “The traitor dwarves?”
“I believe so. They must have traveled through the mountains to get here unseen.”
Iarion watched as the traitor dwarves used hit-and-run tactics to get the dark creatures to follow them into the mountains as he and Barlo had done. None of the enemy returned. The attackers at the gate lost their momentum as they were faced with this new distraction.
Eventually the creatures realized it was not a good idea to follow the taunting dwarves away from the battlefield. The dwarves came to them instead. Hundreds of the tartan-clad warriors poured onto the Lower Daran Nunadan to make a stand at the mountains’ base.
“We must join them!” Iarion cried, already running down the stairs. Barlo trotted after him. Linwyn was mounted at the gate, gathering her forces and preparing to charge. Golaron was at her side.
Linwyn gave the order, and the warped and splintered gate swung open. The soldiers of Belierumar flooded onto the battlefield, surprising the distracted dark creatures. Iarion ran on foot, putting his knife to good use. Barlo was beside him, wielding his ax to deadly effect.
Overhead, the heavy clouds burst and the rain poured down. The grass was soon churned to mud. The footing became treacherous for the horses. Several men and women went down before Linwyn gave the order to dismount.
Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) Page 10
