“What?” Hidar shook his head, not comprehending.
“You have a choice, Hidar. You can either side with your tribe, or with your friends.”
“You pay tribute to the Forsworn now?” Hidar’s voice broke as he made the accusation. He had also lapsed into his own tongue.
“They are too powerful to be fought. We were foolish to believe otherwise. When their war against the elves is over, they will be the new leaders of Lasniniar, and with us on their doorstep!” Hidar’s father gestured toward the Mountains of Fire. “What else would you have me do? We have no allies. I must do what is best for the tribe. I will kill anyone who stands in my way.”
“Even your own son? Father, I have brought you mighty allies. The real war has yet to begin. We have stolen the Fallen One’s source of power! There is still hope. Do not do this. I beg you.”
“Will you hand it over? If you give it willingly, your friends will be spared a great deal of pain. The Forsworn need not know of your part in this. I will tell them you betrayed your companions.”
“You might spare them pain, but the Fallen One will not. How can you force me to choose between my own people and doing what is right?”
“What will you choose?”
“Father, please…” Hidar’s green eyes pleaded in anguish.
“Choose, Hidar. Now.” The man took his own spear from one of his men and held it ready.
An agonized pause hovered over the two groups. Iarion and his companions slowly began to reach for their own weapons. Even without understanding the exchange, the others could sense the tribe’s hostility. The circle of men surrounding them tightened.
Hidar’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his spear. With eyes closed, his words came out in a tortured whisper.
“I choose them.”
His father gave a grim nod. “So be it.”
Iarion was already in motion, his knife a blurred arc as he swung it through the air to slit the throat of the man in front of him, who was too slow to raise his spear. Iarion didn’t like spilling the blood of any of the Free Races, but it seemed they had no choice. He shifted his attention to the next attacker and tried to forget they were outnumbered. Drinking from the Forbidden Pool had drained him. Exhaustion permeated every fiber of his body. But he had to keep going. Barlo remained at his side.
Somehow they got separated from the others in the scuffle, and were pushed northeast. Iarion and Barlo doubled their efforts, trying to reach their companions, but too many of Hidar’s tribesman stood in their path.
A spear slipped inside Iarion’s guard while he was holding off two other opponents. Iarion tried to dodge at the last moment, but he was too slow. His normally quick reflexes were dulled. He stifled a cry as the spear bit into his side. The wound was not serious, but he cursed nonetheless.
Beside him, Barlo was working furiously with his ax to stem the tide. Taking heart from his friend’s courage, Iarion pushed away the successful attacker with a roar of fury and kicked the spear from his grasp. He knew he and Barlo could not keep this up forever. The others were even farther away now as the two of them were forced to give more ground.
Iarion snarled in frustration at the thought of losing everything they had fought for after coming so far. If he had never tasted the waters of the Forbidden Pool, he would have been the one to guide the group out of the dark lands. Perhaps they never would have met these people. But it was too late for that now.
Iarion’s limbs trembled and he felt his legs begin to give way. The men pushed them farther north. Iarion gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain standing.
He stifled a gasp as a large, dark form flew through the air past his face. It landed on the man closest to him with a growl. Iarion let out a wild laugh of relief.
Sinstari had returned! The cat must have hidden when the Forsworn had captured them and then tracked them all the way here. Now they faced an opponent Sinstari could fight.
Iarion felt a burst of energy from some reserve he didn’t know he had. The men closest to him tried to back away in surprise, but they were too slow. Barlo rallied beside him, uttering a war cry in his own tongue. Sinstari was unstoppable, fighting his way through the men surrounding them with tooth and claw. Soon most of the enemy lay on the ground in pools of their own gore.
The three fighting companions turned to face the remaining men, who were beginning to show signs of fear. Just then a horn sounded in the distance. The men stopped their attack, turned and fled, leaving Iarion, Barlo, and Sinstari unopposed. None of the men looked back as they ran.
“Must be a retreat,” Barlo panted. “I wonder what happened? They outnumbered us three to one.”
Iarion’s exhaustion finally overcame him. His shaking legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground. Sinstari walked up beside him and gave him a look of concern. Iarion reached out and rubbed the cat’s head, scratching him behind his tufted ears.
“Thank you,” he said in Elvish, meeting the Sinstari’s luminous, green eyes. Reassured, the cat began to groom himself clean. His paws and muzzle were covered in blood.
“What now?” Barlo asked.
“I can’t go on right now,” Iarion said, his voice thick with fatigue. “I don’t even think I can move. I need to rest.”
“Well, we probably wouldn’t be able to find the others anyway. It’s getting dark.” The sun was beginning to sink below the mountains in the west. “Can you crawl at least? I don’t like the thought of setting up camp in the middle of this mess.”
Iarion nodded and struggled to his knees. Barlo led the way north, away from the battlefield and Hidar’s village. He stopped when they reached the southern fork of a delta. They had arrived at the banks of the Forgotten Streams. The ocean lay before them to the east, while the Mountains of Fire blocked the west. If there were any more men out there, they could only approach from the south.
Satisfied with the position, Barlo called a halt and began to set up camp. It was all Iarion could do to unfurl his bedroll and curl up on it under his blankets. Sinstari lay beside him.
Barlo fed a small fire. The northern air was too cold to go without one. “Don’t worry. The cat and I will share the watches. You rest.”
“What would I do without you?” Iarion asked with a yawn.
“I ask myself that question almost every day.” Barlo rolled his eyes. “Foolish elf.” Iarion closed his eyes and waited for oblivion to claim him.
Neither of them spoke of the fate of the others.
– Chapter Twenty-Nine –
Separate Ways
Golaron fought like a man possessed, trying to keep the attackers at bay. Silvaranwyn was at his side. Hidar was also with them and Linwyn was somewhere nearby. Golaron could hear his sister’s battle cries as she fought.
At first, Silvaranwyn merely watched in disbelief, her arms limp at her sides. But as it became clear Hidar’s tribe was fully committed to their attack, she began to fire arrows into the fray. Golaron’s heart wrenched at the look of agony on her face as she killed those who had once been free men. Saviadro’s malice had corrupted them like a disease. Even though Golaron and his companions had fled the dark lands, they could not escape his influence.
Golaron cursed. They never should have trusted Hidar. Yes, the man had sided with them against his own people, but he was the one who had led them to this impasse. Golaron blamed himself for not being more vigilant. Now all the Free Peoples of Lasniniar would pay the price.
Iarion and Barlo were missing. Somehow they had become separated from the rest of the group. Golaron hoped they still lived and had the Stariquenya in their possession.
The sun was setting and still they fought. Golaron’s shoulder and arm groaned in protest each time he raised his shield to block another attack. His sword felt heavy in his sweat-slicked grip. Soon Silvaranwyn would run out of arrows and she would be forced to use her knife. Golaron increased his efforts in an attempt to spare her what he could.
Hidar fought like a madman beside hi
m. His face was a mask of anguish as he attacked his own people. When the fighting had first broken out, he had hesitated to join the battle. A hit scored on his shoulder by a fellow tribesman had finally stirred him to action. Now he killed anyone who got within reach of his spear. Still the attackers came on.
Silvaranwyn ran out of arrows. Golaron saw her draw her knife with a look of despair.
“No!” The word was wrenched from his lips. He threw himself in front of her, between her and the men.
He knew he couldn’t hold off all of them, but he had to try. Three men went down. More surged forward. Golaron pushed his hopelessness aside and concentrated on protecting Silvaranwyn. He fought desperately to keep five men at bay. He couldn’t possibly watch all of them at once. He focused only on defensive maneuvers. A brief flash of movement teased the edge of his vision.
“Golaron!” Hidar’s voice rang out in warning.
Golaron turned his head.
Someone had thrown a spear. It was in midair, speeding toward his chest. Time slowed. Silvaranwyn cried out.
Golaron was blocked on all sides. He wouldn’t be able to move out of the way in time. The spear hurtled toward him.
But Hidar was already moving. He dived into the spear’s path in an attempt to knock it from the air. But his arm was extended, revealing his exposed armpit, which was unprotected by his breastplate.
The spear landed with a solid thunk, driven deep into Hidar’s torso. It snatched him from the air, sending him to land in a limp heap on the ground. His own spear slipped out of his hand as his mouth formed a silent ‘oh,’ his green eyes wide.
Golaron nearly forgot himself in his shock. It was Silvaranwyn’s cry that reminded him he had to keep fighting. Bitter tears stung his eyes. He had mistrusted Hidar from the start, and had treated him with disrespect based only on his race. Now the same man had set himself against his father and tribe, and had sacrificed his own life to save Golaron’s.
A deep shame washed over him. He used it to fuel his rage. Now he fought to protect both Silvaranwyn and a mortally wounded Hidar. He heard Linwyn cry out in alarm from somewhere in the fray. As usual, she had surged ahead on her own. But for once, Golaron was not there to watch over her. Iarion and Barlo were still missing. Hidar’s tribe continued their onslaught.
Soon it would be over.
From a safe distance away, Hidar’s father watched the battle unfold. His son’s friends were mighty warriors. Many of his own men fell under their weapons.
Things were not going as well as he had hoped. Hidar had always been a stubborn boy. Still, he had thought his son would see reason, at least for the sake of his own people.
What choice did they have in times like these? To stand alone against the Fallen One when they lived under his shadow was a death warrant.
The older man was distracted from his dark thoughts as one of his scouts came running toward him.
“My chief,” he panted, falling to one knee.
“What news?”
“Your son is dead. He was impaled by a spear intended for one of his companions.” The scout trembled.
“Our people do not cast their spears to miss.” The chief’s voice was hard.
“No, my chief. Hidar threw himself into the spear’s path to protect his companion.”
Hidar’s father struggled to contain a wave of grief. Hidar had been his only child.
“What else?” He forced his voice to remain even.
“The male elf and the dwarf have been separated from the others and driven northeast, but a large wildcat has joined them. Many of our men have fallen.” The scout waited for his chief’s nod to continue. “Also, the woman warrior has been isolated. She is vastly outnumbered. Our men await your orders.”
“And what of the man and the female elf?”
“The elf woman shoots arrows at our men, killing many of them. The man fights like a wild bear, but he is tiring.”
The chief took a moment to consider, knowing more of his men were dying as he did so. He turned to one of his guards. “Sound the signal for retreat.”
“My chief?” The scout frowned.
“My son is dead, killed by his own people. Our numbers have been greatly diminished. We will not risk extinction to gain the favor of the Fallen One. We will take the warrior woman hostage and journey to Nal Nungalid to present her to the Forsworn One that rules there. Once her companions have regrouped and recovered, they will seek her out, bringing the Forsworn One what its master wants.”
“The journey to Nal Nungalid is a long one,” the guard said. “Forgive me, my chief, but why do we not take the woman directly to the Fallen One?”
“It is death to enter the dark lands. Besides, the Fallen One be displeased we have failed to retrieve what he desires. We stand a better chance dealing with one of his Forsworn while its master is distracted with his plans to conquer the midlands.”
“The male elf and the dwarf are too far away to be a hindrance, but what of the elf woman and the man?” the scout asked.
“Make certain the man cannot follow as we make our escape. The elf woman will not follow us on her own.” The chief was loath to injure one of the legendary creatures, especially one of such beauty. “Now go.”
The scout ran off to relay the orders. In a few moments the signal for retreat would be sounded. It was a good plan, and it would spare the lives of many of his men. Still, it did little to comfort him.
Hidar was dead.
He knew the bitter taste of regret that it should come to this. And yet he could not help feeling a surge of pride. As always, Hidar had done what was right, regardless of the cost. But as chief, his father was bound to do what was best for his people. It was a bitter draft to swallow, but it was the cost of survival. The chief sighed and stared off into the distance.
“Forgive me, my son.”
The attackers seemed to double their efforts. Golaron tried to keep up, but he was tiring. His arms were heavy with exhaustion. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer.
One of the men lunged at Silvaranwyn. Golaron threw himself between them, leaving his guard wide open and causing his helm to slip from his head to fall to the ground. One of his attackers struck him across the temple with their spear. A blinding flash shot across Golaron’s vision as it connected with his skull. He could feel the warmth of his own blood spilling over his scalp. His legs gave way and he slumped to the ground.
Silvaranwyn rushed forward and caught his shoulders, easing him down. Somewhere in the distance a horn sounded. Golaron thought he heard his sister call out his name. Miraculously, the attackers put up their weapons and ran off.
Golaron’s head lolled to the side. He was lying next to Hidar. To his surprise, the other man cracked one of his eyes open to look at him.
“Hidar!” Golaron’s gasp was the result of both surprise and pain.
“It’s almost over now.” Hidar’s voice was hoarse. The fatal spear still protruded from his side.
Silvaranwyn knelt to examine him. She shook her head. “I am sorry. There is nothing I can do for you.”
“Hidar.” Golaron burned with a deep shame. “Hidar, I’m sorry. Sorry for everything. The way I’ve treated you, all those things I said when we were in the Fallen One’s dungeon… You were always loyal. I was just too blind to see it.”
“Can’t say I blame you.” Hidar’s breathing was ragged. “My own father has betrayed our cause, along with the rest of my people. I was a fool to have brought us here.” Tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving trails through blood and grime.
“You had no way of knowing,” Silvaranwyn said, squeezing his hand.
“I should have known better.” Hidar was wracked by wet coughs. Some blood spilled from his mouth onto his chest. “My father will always do what he thinks is best for the tribe.” He began to cough once more.
“You should relax.” Silvaranwyn tried to get Hidar to lean back.
“There will be plenty of time for that soon. Who knows? I mig
ht even get to see this Quenya you all talk about.” Hidar managed a weak smile, before turning serious. “But there is something I have to tell you. My father would only call for a retreat if he already had what he wanted, or if he has taken a hostage. He will try to lure you to him on stronger ground.”
Hidar gripped Golaron’s arm. His hand was covered with blood. “Finish the quest, Golaron. Promise me you will see it through. I need to know that one day my people and everyone else in Lasniniar will be able to live in a world where father and son aren’t turned against each other for someone else’s gain. Swear it to me, Golaron.”
“I swear it.” Golaron’s eyes filled with tears.
Hidar looked off into the distance with a look of wonder on his face. “I can hear singing. Can you hear it?”
“I can’t hear any singing.” Golaron frowned. “Hidar…”
Hidar’s grip on Golaron’s arm slackened as he gasped his last breath. Silvaranwyn bowed her head and closed his pale green eyes for the last time.
Golaron sighed. “What now?” he asked, meeting Silvaranwyn’s gaze. “Iarion and Barlo got swept off somewhere. They could be dead for all we know.” He struggled to rise, but was overcome by a wave of dizziness and nausea.
“You are in no condition to move,” Silvaranwyn said. “You have a serious head wound.” She held a piece of someone’s shredded cloak to his skull to stem the flow of blood. The sky was darkening. “You will need to rest for the next day at least.”
“Perhaps Iarion and Barlo will show up by then.” Golaron let his thoughts wander. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright.
“Wait. Where’s Linwyn?”
– Chapter Thirty –
Captive
Linwyn cursed. She had been a fool to leave the others, but when Iarion had gone missing, she had been unable to resist trying to find him.
Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) Page 23
