“Your jealousy is misplaced,” Saviadro said. “I raised Lysandir myself. He served faithfully at my side for centuries. You should be happy another of your brethren is on our side. He will be of great use to our cause.”
He returned his gaze to Lysandir. “You say you bring hostages. How do you recommend we use them?”
“The Free Races of Lasniniar are soft,” Lysandir said. “We can use these prisoners to persuade the men, elves, and dwarves to stand aside as you claim what is rightfully yours. The prisoners I have brought represent the upper echelons of all the Free Peoples.”
“You believe they would be persuaded?” Saviadro leaned forward.
“Do you really think the Lord and Lady of the Linadar would not capitulate at the sight of their own daughter being tortured?” Lysandir’s words fell like blows. Iarion shook his head in denial.
“And if they agree, what then?” Saviadro’s eyes narrowed.
“We use the hostages to take what we want.” Lysandir’s voice went cold. “And then we kill them.”
“Yes!” Saviadro’s eyes glowed with pleasure. “Without the Quenya, Valanandir and Iadrawyn will be powerless. When they see their daughter slaughtered before them, they will be broken. Meanwhile, I will be unstoppable! I will finally be able to crush them beneath my heel. They always believed themselves to be my betters. They will soon learn otherwise.”
Saviadro raised his gaze to the Forsworn. “Two of you fly out to the army in the Lower Adar Daran. They must be prepared. The other two will relieve our guests of their belongings and show them to their new quarters. Lysandir and I have much to discuss.” A flash of bitterness washed over Numarin’s features.
The Forsworn moved to obey. Before Iarion could stop him, Barlo pulled out his ax, determined to make a last stand. Linwyn, Golaron, and Hidar drew their weapons. Silvaranwyn was still crumpled on the stone floor.
Iarion was frozen, unable to move. This couldn’t be happening! Barlo shouted something at him, but he couldn’t seem to understand. The Forsworn moved in and they were all swallowed by darkness as their weapons clattered useless to the floor.
It was over.
– Chapter Twenty-Four –
Stariquenya
It was impossible to say how much time passed before Iarion regained consciousness. He awoke to find himself and his companions in a cool, dank room somewhere deep underground. He rubbed his eyes, hoping they were deceiving him.
When he opened them again, he noticed Silvaranwyn lying beside him on the stone floor. He sat up with a jolt, stark reality setting in. They were in Saviadro’s dungeon. Lysandir had betrayed them.
“I knew it! I just knew it!” Barlo ranted. “I knew he couldn’t be trusted. But no, I allowed myself to be fooled.” He continued in the same vein, swearing in Dwarvish.
“We were all fooled,” Linwyn said with a rueful expression. “Make sure you pass the blame around before taking it all upon yourself. None of us could have foreseen Lysandir’s betrayal.” Barlo grunted.
“Perhaps one of us could have,” Golaron said in his quiet voice. Everyone turned to look at him. “Lesser Men are common vassals of the Fallen One. Doesn’t it seem convenient we just happen to meet one on our way here? And isn’t it interesting Lysandir had no problem with a complete stranger joining our group?” He gave Hidar a pointed look.
“What are you implying?” Hidar’s green eyes widened.
“I already told you, I was on my way to Nal Huraseadro to beg aid for my people!”
“Yet you abandon that quest to tag along with us!” Golaron stood. “Six people you have never met.”
“Speak plainly,” Hidar said, rising to face him. “And think on your accusations. If I were party to Lysandir’s plan, why am I here with you in a dungeon?”
“Perhaps you are a spy to make certain we do not escape,” Golaron said in a deceptively mild tone.
“How could you say such a thing?” Hidar’s face reddened. “I have fought alongside you!”
“So did Lysandir, as long as it suited his purpose.” Golaron took a step forward.
“I knew it would only be a matter of time before you turned against me,” Hidar muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Golaron was right up in the other man’s face now. The others watched, mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them.
“You’ve had it in for me from the start!” Hidar snarled. “Looking down your nose at me with all the pride of your race. You think you’re too good to have dealings with my kind.”
“Perhaps if your kind weren’t always consorting with the enemy, I’d have reason to think otherwise.”
Hidar swung his fist, landing it squarely in Golaron’s face. “That’s not true!” he bellowed.
For a moment, Golaron reeled. Then he shook his head and charged, pinning Hidar against the wall. Iarion knew he should intervene, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. For a few moments, the two men grappled with Linwyn and Barlo standing hesitant on the sidelines.
Then Silvaranwyn was there. Iarion did not even remember seeing her rise. She wedged herself between the two combatants, pushing them apart. They resisted for a few moments before they even realized she was there. Golaron seemed frozen under her silver gaze. He started to say something, but Silvaranwyn cut him off.
“Stop.” Her voice was tired. “I was the one who advised Iarion to accept Hidar as a member of our group. If you have a problem with him, you must take it up with me.”
Golaron stepped back, wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve. “What? But why?”
“The Quenya had shown me he was to be a part of our group. He is necessary to our success. All of us are.” Silvaranwyn lowered her arms.
“Success!” Linwyn snorted. “How can you possibly speak of success now? In case you haven’t heard, we’re to be brought like lambs to slaughter. Did your precious Quenya show you that?”
“The Quenya only shows me what is needful.” Silvaranwyn lowered her eyes.
“And a lot of good it’s done us too,” Linwyn said. “Face it, the Quenya can’t help us now. It failed us. It’s failing you. Each time you try to use it, you become more of a changeling freak.”
“Linwyn!” Golaron took a step back, his eyes full of shocked hurt.
“Come on, Golaron, you know it’s true. You men all fall to your knees before her, but look at her now!” Linwyn began to pace. “And what has she done to aid us? She’s next to useless, always collapsing at the first sign of danger.”
“If not for her, you would have been trampled by your own horse!” Golaron crossed his arms.
“Better to have died on the battlefield than be murdered in captivity!”
“What in Galrin’s name is going on here?” Barlo spoke up for the first time. He shook his head as though waking from a deep sleep. “Why are you all arguing?”
“It’s this place,” Iarion heard himself say. Once he spoke the words, he knew them to be true. The others turned to look at him, as though just remembering he was there.
“Iarion is right. It is in Saviadro’s best interest to have dissention among you.” Lysandir appeared out of the darkness to stand at the barred door to their cell.
“You!” Barlo spat.
“I know you will not want to listen to what I have to say, but I must speak quickly.” Lysandir’s silver gaze met Iarion’s. “I have not betrayed you. What I did was only to prevent you all from being killed. You must take the Stariquenya and go.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?” Linwyn said. “How can you even expect us to trust you?”
Lysandir muttered a word and the door unlocked with a click. “Your belongings are on a table at the end of the hallway. None of the Forsworn dare touch the Levniquenya. Go down the stairs to the lowest level. That is where Saviadro keeps the Stariquenya. I have already dealt with the shields.
“Within that room is the secret tunnel I created long ago when I lived here, dreaming of escape. It has not been tampered with, w
hich means Saviadro still does not know it exists. Search the walls for a stone that feels hot. Press it, and the passageway to the surface will open.”
“You’re serious,” Golaron said. “But how did you manage to create a secret passage in the very room where Saviadro keeps the Stariquenya? Why didn’t you take it with you when you left?”
“What better place to create such a passage than in the room Saviadro believes most secure? I cannot take the Stariquenya, so he never feared to allow me access. Only an elf may come into contact with any portion of the Quenya and expect to live.”
“You’re not coming with us,” Iarion said as he climbed to his feet. His feeling of hopelessness had vanished.
Lysandir shook his head. “If you are to stand any chance of success, I cannot. I must stay to create a distraction and throw Saviadro off your trail.”
“But he will know you have aided us!” Silvaranwyn protested.
“That is my affair. My time here has run out. Now go!” He disappeared into the darkness.
“What new devilry is this?” Hidar said, searching the faces of his companions for answers.
“It’s our chance to fulfill our quest,” Iarion said, stepping through the unlocked door. A flood of relief washed over him that his trust in Lysandir had not been misguided.
“What if it’s another trap?” Golaron asked.
“Better to die taking a false chance at freedom than giving up and staying here, waiting for our execution.” Linwyn shrugged and followed Iarion. The others trailed after her.
The passageway was dark. The only torches were those that lined their cell, which faded quickly into the distance. Iarion allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, seeking contrast in the shadows.
The table with their belongings was right where Lysandir had said it would be. They took a moment to rearm themselves and gather their things. Iarion opened his pack to reassure himself the Levniquenya was still there. Its smooth surface tingled under his questing fingers. Satisfied, he led the others in the opposite direction the Learnéd One had taken, traveling deep below Mar Valion.
He knew when they had reached the chamber. He could feel the ghosts of power that had formed a protective shield. A fell glow came from within.
Iarion stepped across the threshold. Nothing happened. Lysandir had spoken true. The Stariquenya was unprotected. Inside was a circular room of black stone. A basin rose up from the floor made of the same rock. The tainted Quenya lay within its depths. Iarion could feel its power, dark and twisted. It gave off a glow tinged with purple darkness, filling the room with eerie, oppressive shadows. The others stayed outside the chamber, their eyes mirroring their fear. Silvaranwyn looked as though she might be sick.
Iarion pulled himself free of the hypnotic glow. He opened his pack and drew forth the Levniquenya. The silver sphere seemed heavier somehow in the presence of the tainted Quenya. The golden runes that ran around it emitted a sullen glow of their own. Iarion held the vessel in both hands and approached the basin as the others watched from the shadows. The dark light began to dance and churn as he drew nearer. Iarion had to force his hands steady. When he finally neared the basin, he reached out, holding the Levniquenya directly over its center. Iarion held his breath, not knowing what to expect.
The runes flared to life. Iarion’s eyes began to water against the sudden light. The dark light seemed to fight back with a will of its own, resisting captivity. Half-understood words in ancient Elvish filled Iarion’s head in a far-off whisper, increasing in intensity. As the chant crescendoed to its peak, a blast of pure light filled the room, forcing Iarion to close his eyes. The Levniquenya burned hot in his hands, but he refused to let go. A strange absence of sound hammered his ears as everything seemed to rush inward.
Then there was nothing.
Iarion opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by complete darkness once more. For a moment he panicked, thinking himself blind. But the runes of the Levniquenya cut through the darkness, having returned to their pale glow, which was now chased by a violet light. The Stariquenya was inside. He had done it.
Iarion beckoned the others inside. “It’s all right. I’ve got it. Now we just have to find that secret passage Lysandir spoke of. Feel the walls for a warm rock.”
The others shuffled through the entryway, groping along the walls both to search and find their way. Iarion stowed the Levniquenya deep in his pack and turned to help. There was much stumbling around and bumping into one another as they searched. No one found anything.
“Maybe he lied,” Hidar said.
“It has to be here!” Iarion said, his voice betraying his frustration. They had come so far! It couldn’t be over now. “Keep looking.”
“I found it!” Barlo’s gruff voice pierced the darkness. “Over here. Close to the floor.”
“No one but a dwarf would look that low to the ground for a secret door,” Linwyn said. The rest of them crowded close to Barlo, trying not to trip over one another.
“That’s what he was counting on,” Iarion said. “Press it.”
There was a slight groan as part of the wall gave way, revealing a long tunnel, sloping upward toward the surface. For a moment, they stood in silence, unable to believe their freedom was at hand.
“What are we waiting for?” Iarion pushed past the others to take the lead. “Let’s go.”
The two Forsworn Ones who remained at Mar Valion with their master exchanged glances from deep within the recesses of their shadowed hoods.
They both had felt it. Something had happened to the Stariquenya. All the Forsworn were tied to the tainted Quenya, having been marked with it by Saviadro. It both bound them and gave them their dark powers. They could always sense its seductive presence deep within the bowels of Mar Valion. But something had changed. It had become more distant somehow—difficult to reach.
The Forsworn remained silent, having no need of words to communicate what both were thinking.
The Master would not be pleased.
He was busy with Numarin, who was arguing with him over Lysandir’s return. The Master had always been fond of Lysandir. It was no secret. He did not like hearing Numarin’s suspicions, which appeared to stem from jealousy. The argument had caused his mood to sour.
No, the Master would not be pleased at all.
But if the Master himself had yet to notice the change in his source of power, he could not expect the Forsworn to have done so.
How were they to know the change was not the Master’s own doing? Never mind that the timing coincided with Lysandir’s disappearance. The Learnéd One of Fire had claimed exhaustion and presumably retired to his old quarters. His whereabouts were none of their concern until the Master told them otherwise. The Forsworn were nothing if not loyal, shackled to Saviadro by the Stariquenya.
No, the Forsworn were in agreement. They would say nothing of this development until ordered otherwise.
They would bide their time.
– Chapter Twenty-Five –
Diversion
Lysandir stormed into the main chamber after making certain to harass every guard in the tower. Numarin’s presence had provided the perfect distraction for him to help the others escape. Saviadro would never have failed to notice the theft of the Stariquenya if Numarin had not been there, demanding his attention. Now it was time for phase two of Lysandir’s desperate plan. He walked up to the Learnéd One of Air, cutting off whatever conversation he had been having with Saviadro.
“Where are they?” Lysandir thundered, causing Numarin to take a step backward in surprise.
“What are you talking about?” Numarin asked, frowning.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Lysandir seethed. He turned to Saviadro. “The prisoners. They’re gone!”
“What?” Saviadro’s eyes turned from amused to dangerous.
“I just went to check on them and their cell is empty. The lock had been opened by magic. It bore your signature!” Lysandir whirled back to face Numarin, daring hi
s peer to contradict him. He knew the path he walked was a dangerous one.
“You!” Saviadro indicated the two Forsworn Ones who stood watch. “Go to the dungeon and investigate this matter. He turned his gaze back to the two Learnéd Ones. “What is going on here?”
“He lies!” Numarin spat. “Master, I swear it! Lysandir is the traitor.”
“How easily the lies fall from your lips. I know what you are about.” Lysandir pinned Numarin beneath his silver gaze. “You help the prisoners escape with the Stariquenya to wrench it from your master’s grasp. Then, while he is distracted with the search, you slip away to find them on your own. They trust you because you helped them.” Now came the real gamble. “You wrest the tainted Quenya from them and use your elven heritage to claim it as your own, becoming the new Master of Mar Valion!” Saviadro let out a hiss.
“That’s ridiculous!” Numarin said, his eyes wild. “Like you, only a third of my blood is elven. The Master was a full-blooded Linadain when he made the Stariquenya his own and it nearly killed him! How could I hope to survive?”
“The Stariquenya has been tamed,” Lysandir said. He was uncertain whether what he was saying was even possible, but it didn’t matter. The seed of doubt had to be sown. “Perhaps one third would be enough. Tell me you haven’t considered it.”
“I—”
The Forsworn Ones returned, interrupting Numarin’s protests. A tortured whisper filled the room.
“The Stariquenya is gone.”
“And the prisoners?” Saviadro asked. The other Forsworn One nodded.
Lysandir cut in before Saviadro could ask about the magical signature on the lock. “You see? Now if you are telling the truth, Numarin, and if I helped the prisoners escape, why am I still here? Why would I draw attention to my theft?”
Numarin struggled to provide a response. His eyes lit. “Master, if I freed the prisoners, when would I have done so? I have been at your side the entire time since their arrival.” This seemed to give Saviadro pause.
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