Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1)

by Smith, Jacquelyn

  The Darkling Man launched another series of attacks, coming in fast. Iarion dodged and parried, which only infuriated his opponent. The man threw himself at Iarion in a wild advance. One of his blows grazed Iarion’s upper arm, drawing a stinging line of blood. The man let out a maniacal laugh.

  “I would have let you and your men live, if you had only listened to your friend and gone home,” Iarion said, ignoring his wound.

  “Ha! Then you are a coward, just like him. And now I’m going to kill you too.” He grinned.

  The man brought his sword in for the killing blow, but Iarion was ready. He had gotten a good feel for his opponent’s methods. He brought up his knife to block the blow. The slight curve of his own blade allowed him to catch the sword. With a deft flick of his wrist, Iarion twisted it from the man’s grip, sending it through the air to land several feet away.

  Iarion didn’t hesitate to press the advantage. He sliced his dagger across the man’s throat. The man fell to the ground in an arterial spray, his eyes wide and blood seeping from between his lips.

  “You were a fool to mistake mercy for cowardice,” Iarion said as he watched the light go out of the man’s eyes.

  He turned away in disgust and wiped his dagger clean on the wet grass. He also cleaned the dead man’s sword and tucked it into his belt. It was time to rejoin his companions.

  Iarion tore a strip from one of the fallen men’s cloaks to form a makeshift bandage for his arm, then gathered as many of his arrows as he could salvage. Once his quiver was refilled, he ran off to find his friends.

  He did not have far to go. Barlo had his ax out and ready and wore a worried expression. He and the others, with perhaps the exception of Silvaranwyn, were startled by Iarion’s sudden appearance from the fog. Barlo covered his surprise with a scowl.

  “Where have you been? You should have been back ages ago,” he grumbled, putting his ax away.

  “I was otherwise engaged,” Iarion said.

  “Not by choice I take it, from the bandage on your arm. I knew I should have gone with you!” Barlo frowned. “What’s with the sword?”

  Iarion pulled it from his belt and held it out for the twins to look at. “I came across a band of Darkling Men. They were deserters. Their leader bore this.”

  “It is the work of Nal Huraseadro,” Linwyn said, inspecting the weapon. “Perhaps it was taken from their missing messenger. If we give it to the Wild Elves, they can see it returned.” Iarion nodded his agreement.

  “If they were deserters, what was the problem? Surely they couldn’t hear the delicate footsteps of a stealthy elf such as yourself!” Barlo smirked.

  “Their leader wanted to attack the Fey Wood,” Iarion said. “He thought if they slaughtered the elves who live there, he and his men would be welcomed back to the army as heroes, rather than being punished, or killed.” Iarion’s expression darkened with his words.

  “So you fought them alone, without waiting for us,” Barlo said.

  “There was no time. The men were arguing among themselves. I had to take advantage of the situation. I couldn’t let them reach the wood.”

  “How many were there?” Barlo pressed.

  “Perhaps fifty.” Iarion shrugged.

  “And you killed them all?” Hidar’s eyes widened.

  “As I said, they were fighting among themselves. Others fled. I used the mist to make them believe there was a host of elves firing at them. I killed those who remained.”

  “We should push on for the wood,” Lysandir said. “The dark army may send out patrols to look for these deserters. It would be better if we left the area without being seen. It is for the best that Iarion took care of the Darkling Men. Any who are captured on their way past Nal Nungalid will only say they were attacked by a host of elves, rather than our mixed and notable group. The Forsworn will think nothing of it.”

  “We should be able to reach the wood by sunset if we leave now,” Iarion said.

  They soon reached the area where Iarion and the Darkling Men had battled. Hidar’s eyes widened once more as he took in the scene, letting out a low whistle. Even Barlo gave a grunt of approval.

  Iarion found himself shivering. His clothes were damp with sweat from his earlier exertion and his nervousness at returning to the Fey Wood. The sun was nowhere to be seen in the mist, and the cool air pressed his clothes against his skin.

  He raised the hood of his cloak and sent part of his mind into a meditative state that would raise his body’s temperature, while the other part remained alert. Control over mind and body was a specialty of the elves, and Iarion had spent thousands of years perfecting his technique. In a matter of moments his shivering stopped and his body temperature increased.

  The Fey Wood began to fill the northwestern horizon. The giant oaks were just starting to turn crimson among the pines. Iarion could hear the familiar rush of the Wild River getting closer. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Lysandir continued to lead the group. Iarion had not volunteered. The Learnéd One had limited contact with the Beliadar, but he led them without hesitation to the ford that crossed the treacherous river. Iarion remained at the back of the group. He knew they were being watched. The elves would not allow anyone to enter their territory unchallenged.

  The challenge came when they were halfway across the river. A single Wild Elf stepped out from the shadows of the trees. His skin was the same dusky color as Iarion’s. His long hair hung in auburn braids and he had the deep green eyes that were common among his kind. His face was marked with green and brown paint and he wore the skins of several animals as clothing. Other eyes peered out at them from the trees.

  “Why have you come to the wood of the Beliadar?” he demanded in Elvish.

  “We have come seeking a safe way to travel north past Nal Nungalid,” Lysandir said in the same language.

  “What business could you possibly have in the north? Returning to your old master, perhaps?” The elf’s hand rested near the hilt of his knife.

  “Our business is our own and not something to be discussed out here in the open.” Lysandir’s silver eyes flashed.

  “No one passes our borders unnoticed. And if you wish to pass through our territory, your business is our concern. You travel with a strange group.” The elf eyed the others. “What are you doing traveling with a Greater Man and Woman, a Lesser Man, a Linadain, a dwarf, and some mysterious, cloaked fellow?”

  “As I said, I will not discuss the details of our situation here. Your borders are not as safe as you believe them to be. A member of our group came across a host of Darkling Men deserters looking to invade your wood only a few hours ago.” A hint of frustration crept into the Learnéd One’s voice.

  “Our scouts found their corpses. Killed off one another, it seems. You tell me nothing I do not already know.”

  “The men were not all killed off by one another, but by the same member of our group who found them. If not for us, you would be fighting off an invasion right now.”

  “It is true many died by knife and bow, which none of the Darkling Men carried. Still, you expect me to believe they were killed by a single member of your group?” The elf smirked. “Forgive my skepticism. You appear to have some mighty companions, but I do not believe it. In my long life, I have only ever known one person capable of such a feat, and I do not see him among you.”

  Iarion sighed, knowing the time had come for him to reveal himself. Using the others to shield him from view, he allowed Lysandir and the elf to continue their argument as he unslung his bow and sent an arrow whistling through the air.

  It clipped the elf’s head, taking one of his long braids with it to land with a solid thunk in a nearby tree. The braid hung, swinging. It was a trick Iarion had perfected during his time among the Beliadar, who enjoyed combining games of skill with those of daring.

  The elf’s mouth dropped open. “It cannot be!” He clutched at the ragged remains of his severed braid.

  Iarion stepped forward and pulled back the hood
of his cloak.

  “I have returned.”

  – Chapter Eighteen –

  Old Flames

  Barlo did not understand any of what was said, but there was no mistaking the look of shock on the Wild Elf’s face when Iarion stepped forward.

  The other elves, who had been standing in the trees, came out into the open, murmuring among themselves. They had similar coloring and clothing as the elf who had challenged the companions. Iarion walked past his friends to join them on the far bank of the river. His expression was unreadable. He approached the leader and waited for a reaction.

  A moment of tense silence followed as the first Wild Elf looked Iarion over. Then he threw his arms around Iarion, his face split with a wide grin. He said something to Iarion in Elvish.

  “Please,” Iarion said in Common, “let us speak so my friends can understand.”

  “As you wish,” the elf said haltingly, “although we do not speak the Common Tongue often. We only use it in our dealings with the men of Nal Huraseadro in trade. You travel with unusual friends.”

  “We’re on an unusual quest. May we enter your wood?”

  “Any friend of Iarion is welcome in the Fey Wood.” The elf turned to face the rest of them. “I am Falan. Please forgive my rudeness. We are a reclusive people and guard our lands fiercely. If I had known Iarion was among you, I would have welcomed you right away.” He gave Iarion a curious look.

  “It’s been a long time,” Iarion said, looking sheepish. “After the way I ran off, I didn’t know whether I would be welcome here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! For years, you lived as one of us. We do not forget. We all knew your wandering spirit would become restless. My heart tells me you are not destined for a quiet life.” The elf slapped Iarion on the back. “The others will be so excited to hear of your return! Your mates and children have missed you.”

  Barlo saw Iarion flush at Falan’s words. Linwyn’s eyes flashed before she managed to school her expression. Falan beckoned them into the wood. Iarion followed, and the rest of the group fell in line behind him.

  Barlo had traveled beneath the boughs of Melaralva and Melaquenya, but the Fey Wood was unlike either of them. It was more a feeling than anything else. Unlike the quiet serenity of the other two forests, the air was filled with the sounds of life. Birds chirped in the trees, the song of insects filled the air, and squirrels quarreled and scolded in the branches above. A sense of vibrancy and wildness permeated the forest, as though everything was more alert and alive. It made Barlo jumpy.

  Curious elven eyes peered at them from between the trees as they passed, muttering to one another in their own tongue. Barlo saw strange huts made of mud, branches, and leaves, which blended in with the trees. More elves emerged as they passed, many of them naked except for some paint. They seemed unconcerned with their nudity and walked about as if it were of no consequence.

  Barlo wasn’t the only member of his group to avert his eyes. Iarion had described these people to him before, but it was different to actually see them and try to picture Iarion as one of them. Linwyn looked as though her eyes were about to pop out of her head. Silvaranwyn appeared mildly curious, but Hidar gawked. It was the first time since he had joined the group that he ceased in his endless stream of song, whistling, and chatter.

  They reached a clearing at the heart of the wood. Two elves sat on chairs of finely carved wood, entwined with vines. Both wore crowns of leaves and berries. The woman had flaming red hair, while the male elf’s was a rich brown. Both had the same piercing, emerald green eyes as Falan.

  Their guide made an exaggerated bow. “Greetings, my lord and lady. It is my honor and privilege to present to you Iarion Carivanyar and his companions.” He stepped aside with a grin. Although Barlo did not speak Elvish, he knew Carivanyar was a surname Iarion had earned among the elves. It meant, ‘the Lost Wanderer.’

  “It pleases me to see our son does not jest,” the Lord of the Wild Elves said.

  “Iarion, it has been far too long.” The lady smiled. “Beliriel and Luniwyn will be so pleased.”

  Iarion flushed to a deep shade Barlo had never seen on him before. “Please allow me to make the introductions,” he said with a bow as he tried to recover. “I travel with the Learnéd One, Lysandir, the daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Linadar, Silvaranwyn, the children of the Lord of Belierumar, Linwyn and Golaron, the son of the Chief of the Tribe of Horn, Hidar, and the Chief of Clans of Dwarvenhome, my good friend Barlo.” Iarion turned to face his companions. “I have the honor of introducing to you the Lord and Lady of the Beliadar, Numadil and Salimarawyn.”

  “You keep prestigious company,” Lord Numadil said with a nod. “What brings you to our wood?”

  “We seek a way northward past Nal Nungalid that will not draw attention,” Lysandir said, regaining control of the conversation. “We also bring tidings of the coming war in the south, in hopes of gaining the support of the Beliadar.”

  Salimarawyn frowned. “There is more to your story than you claim. Now is not the time for us to hear your tale in full, but you already know we are an insular people. We hold ourselves apart even from other elves, and do not concern ourselves with the affairs of the world beyond our wood.”

  “You cannot afford such luxuries any longer,” Lysandir snapped with impatience. “The world has changed. The Beliadar will be needed to weather the coming storm.”

  “Perhaps.” The lady shrugged. “But most likely not. It is not our way. But that decision is yet to be made, and is ours to make.” She gave Lysandir a pointed look.

  “Tonight, we celebrate the return of our beloved Iarion,” Lord Numadil said in an effort to smooth things over.

  “He defeated over a score of Darkling Men who intended to invade us, single-handed!” Falan announced.

  “Then he is doubly welcome.” The lord smiled. “Falan, take our guests to refresh themselves while a feast is prepared. The celebration will begin at moonrise.”

  Falan nodded and led the group away from the clearing. Elven men and women ran up to Iarion as they passed, greeting him in Elvish. Iarion seemed overwhelmed by the attention, struggling to speak. Barlo saw Linwyn giving Iarion dirty looks behind his back.

  Falan showed them to a large guest hut made of tanned hides near a spring.

  “Refresh yourselves and make yourselves comfortable here. I will return for you when the feast is prepared.” Falan blended into the wood and disappeared. Several moments of silence fell over the companions now that they were alone.

  “Not the kind of welcome you were expecting, is it?” Barlo asked his friend.

  Iarion flushed. “I should have known better. The Beliadar are good people.”

  “But they are isolated,” Lysandir said. “Silvaranwyn’s people will need all the help they can get to prevent the Fallen One from claiming the Quenya. Iarion, you must convince them.” His piercing, silver gaze met the elf’s.

  Iarion looked doubtful. “I will try, but I don’t think it will work. The Beliadar only fight to protect their wood and its creatures. As long as Saviadro is distracted by events in the midlands, they will not see the danger.”

  “We need their support,” Lysandir pressed.

  “I will do all I can,” Iarion said. The Learnéd One let the matter drop.

  “We should never have come here,” Barlo heard Linwyn say under her breath, too quietly for anyone but Barlo and her twin to hear. Golaron gave her a warning look. Barlo was the only one to notice the exchange. He sighed, sensing there would be more trouble to come.

  Silvaranwyn looked strained. She took advantage of the opportunity to bathe her face in the spring before lying on a bedroll of fur to rest. Barlo saw Golaron watching her closely.

  Hidar was still silent, drinking in his surroundings. It was unlikely he had ever seen so many elves before. Barlo still hadn’t made up his mind about that one. Had Iarion made the right decision?

  Later, Falan returned to escort them to the feast. He led them
back to the large clearing where the lord and lady held court. Now it housed a long table, laden with food.

  The clearing was lit with torches that almost made it seem light as day. Off to the side, a group of musicians played pipes, drums, and other percussive instruments while a naked, painted elf danced in a frenzy to the wild beat, his braids flying. A circle of elves surrounded the performance, clapping in time to the dancer’s steps. Linwyn looked away. All the other guests were now clothed, for the time being, at least.

  “Iarion! There you are.” A pair of elf maidens approached. They looked to be only a year apart in age. Their resemblance to Falan was unmistakable. Both wore beaded feathers in their braided hair.

  “I think I will leave you to catch up with my sisters,” Falan said to Iarion with a sly wink before disappearing into the crowd.

  One of the elf women pulled Iarion in for a familiar, lingering kiss before passing him off to the other. Linwyn looked as though she were about to be sick, but remained transfixed.

  “Beliriel! Luniwyn!” Iarion greeted them breathlessly. It seemed he was making a new habit of blushing.

  “The lord and lady’s daughters?” Linwyn said in a strangled voice.

  “Iarion is smart, strong, and handsome.” One turned to address Linwyn’s shock. “A fine prize for any man or woman who can win his affections. He has sired many strong Beliadar children for the tribe. Who better for the daughters of the lord and lady?”

  A younger elf with green eyes and silver hair that was unmistakably Iarion’s bounded over to throw himself at him, chattering away in Elvish. Linwyn mumbled an excuse and fled in the direction of the guest hut. Barlo watched her go, waiting for Golaron to follow. But her brother was too busy at Silvaranwyn’s side, fending off shameless would-be suitors of the beautiful Light Elf. Iarion was oblivious of Linwyn’s pain, catching up with several of his former ‘acquaintances.’

  Barlo waited a few moments before trotting after Linwyn, pausing only to take a plate of food and two goblets of wine with him. No one was going to miss him here. Besides, without any ale, it wasn’t his kind of party anyway. He got the strong impression Narilga wouldn’t approve, with naked elves and all.