Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1)

by Smith, Jacquelyn

  “My master hopes you have better sense than your predecessor,” the goblin said. The chief’s second-in-command must have nodded. “Good. You will order your tribe to stay here and with our army. If your chief was correct, and the others are coming here, we will need every able body we can get. We will hold to the original bargain. If the others my master requires are captured, you and your men will be free to go. If your chief was wrong, and they do not come, you will be sent to the front lines when we march on the south.”

  “What of the woman?” the man stammered.

  Linwyn could hear the evil grin in the creature’s voice. “Do not worry. She is in good hands. Now go.”

  Linwyn heard the sound of the door opening and closing as the man left. Linwyn remained silent, not knowing what to expect. Rough hands untied her gag and removed her blindfold. She had to blink several times before she could make out her surroundings.

  The room was dark, save for two torches burning in brackets on the wall. It was a great hall, most likely where the Lord of Nal Nungalid had once held audience. The large windows were covered with heavy velvet curtains. All other ornamentation had already been stripped as plunder.

  The body of Hidar’s father lay on the floor. His face was contorted in a silent scream, his limbs twisted in unnatural rigor. There wasn’t a mark on him. A goblin stood beside her, the creature that had led Hidar’s father here. It loomed over her, showing its pointed teeth.

  “Welcome to Nal Nungalid,” it sneered. “I hope you enjoy your stay.” If the goblin hoped to see Linwyn cower at his words, he was disappointed. Fury rose within her, defying her instinct to yield.

  She spat at his feet. “I find your hospitality lacking. No matter. I do not intend to take advantage of it for long.”

  The goblin raised its hand to strike her, but a voice from the shadows stopped it in midair. Linwyn did not need a translation this time. The meaning was clear.

  “Leave us.”

  The goblin flashed her a look of hatred before going out the door.

  A moment of deep silence followed. Then a dark figure detached itself from the shadows surrounding it to stand before her. The meaning of the word ‘Narash’ became clear.

  It was a Forsworn One.

  The deep hood of its cloak kept its features from view, but the familiar despair filled her, suffusing her body and mind. It loomed over her, saying nothing.

  Linwyn had never felt so alone. She swallowed and felt a single tear slide down her cheek unbidden. If she thought she had known helplessness and fear before, it was nothing compared to this. It was more than she could bear. With a choked sob, she bowed her head in submission.

  – Chapter Thirty-Four –

  Diplomacy

  Three days had passed since Iarion had sent his gull messenger. On the first day, he, Barlo, and Sinstari had climbed down the bluffs that led to the beach and set up camp to wait for the answer Iarion sought.

  He refused to tell Barlo what he was up to. He did not want to raise his friend’s hopes only to have them dashed. They had seen no one since the battle with Hidar’s tribe. They could only hope the others were safe.

  Iarion felt a surge of guilt at leaving them behind and pushed it away. He was giving them a chance to survive. He looked out at the endless expanse of ocean. Would he ever see any of them again?

  Such thoughts were forced from his mind when he saw sails on the horizon. Relief washed over him. His message had been answered.

  “Pack your things,” he said to Barlo. “It’s time to break camp.”

  “Where are we going? To ask the fish for help? We’ve waited here for three days without any explanation from you and now you want to break camp. Crazy elf.” Barlo continued to grumble as he packed.

  The ship made good time. Soon even Barlo could see it. He gaped in amazement.

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  The trireme dropped anchor before reaching the shallows. It bore gold-edged, triangle sails and a blue flag emblazoned with a silver shell. A lifeboat was lowered over the side and rowed to shore by two elves, while a third sat between them. Iarion ran into the water to help pull it in.

  Once the boat was safely on land, the third elf stepped forward. His long, silver hair, blue-green eyes, and gleaming fish mail brought back a flood of memories.

  “Alfiabalas.” Iarion embraced him. “You came.”

  “Iarion.” The other elf smiled. “It’s been a long time. I had to come. The ladies would’ve seen me drawn and quartered if I’d ignored your message.”

  Iarion noticed Barlo’s frown and realized they had lapsed into Elvish. He switched back to Common.

  “This is my companion, Barlo.” A head-butt against his leg reminded him of another presence. “And this is Sinstari. We need your aid.”

  “I guessed as much.” Alfiabalas’s speech became halting in the unfamiliar language. He made a bow to Barlo and the wildcat. “It is an honor to meet friends of Iarion. Now what is it a humble Sea Elf can do for you?”

  “A humble Sea Elf indeed!” Iarion laughed. “From the looks of your ship, your crew, and your attire, I would have to guess you are now the captain of the Rasadar fleet!”

  Alfiabalas shrugged with a smile. “Your guess is correct.”

  “Then you are exactly the elf I need to speak with. Barlo and I are on a dangerous quest to thwart the Fallen One. We have just fled his domain with the Stariquenya.

  “There was a battle in the Daran Falnun, and we were separated from our companions. Now the Lesser Men search for us. We need passage to the south so we can make our way to Melaquenya to reunite the Quenya before Saviadro strikes. I was hoping you could at least sail us past the Barrier Mountains, if not all the way to the Rillin and the gateway of Melaquenya.” The words tumbled from Iarion’s mouth.

  Alfiabalas’s eyes widened and several moments passed before he spoke.

  “If what you say is true, I would be glad to aid you. But Feoras has charged me with bringing you to Rasdaria. He desires to speak to you, as do several others.” The elf gave Iarion a suggestive wink before turning serious. “Besides, we would have to go there anyway to get resupplied before I took you on a longer voyage.”

  Iarion considered. It would be nice to visit Rasdaria, but he chafed at the thought of delay. Still, if the Lord and Lady of the isle allowed Alfiabalas to sail him south, it would save time and potential interference.

  It would also be good to see Feoras. The Learnéd One of Water could be helpful in fulfilling their quest. Barlo waited in silence, trusting Iarion to make the decision.

  “All right.” Iarion sighed. “Let’s go.”

  “What about the dwarf?” Alfiabalas asked. He had switched back to Elvish.

  “What do you mean?” Iarion said in Common.

  Alfiabalas looked uncomfortable and forced himself to speak the same language. “I am sorry, but no dwarf has ever set foot on our isle. You may bring Sinstari, but the dwarf must stay behind.”

  “What?” Barlo spluttered. “Now let me get this straight, Master Elf. You want to leave me behind, but you’re willing to take the cat?”

  “I am sorry.” Alfiabalas said once more, flushing as he did so. “It is unprecedented.”

  “Just because it’s unprecedented does not mean it cannot be done,” Iarion said. “Alfiabalas, the only reason it has never happened before is because there was never need. There is now. Barlo has given up everything to stay at my side. I cannot leave him behind. He has walked the Fey Wood, and been a guest of Lady Iadrawyn and Lord Valanandir in Melaquenya. Surely he is worthy.” The old prejudices of his race were starting to wear on him.

  Alfiabalas frowned. “I do not like it, but if he has met Valanandir and Iadrawyn, who am I to turn him away? I have no idea what my lord and lady will say, never mind Feoras.” He sighed. “Very well. Gather your things and get in the boat.”

  Iarion enjoyed being on the deck of a ship again. It had been a long time, but he quickly regained his sea legs.


  Barlo was another matter. It seemed there was a reason dwarves did not usually have much to do with water. He was only aboard the ship for a few moments before his face turned green. He spent the rest of the journey with his head hanging over the side. Sinstari curled up in an out-of-the-way spot and slept in the sun.

  It took most of the day to reach their destination. As the dark lands faded into the distance, Iarion began to feel a sense of relief. They were slipping out of the Fallen One’s influence.

  The sky was turning pink as the silhouette of Rasdaria came into view. A single twisting spire rose into the sky in the center of the island. It was Mar Ras, the tower where the Lord and Lady of the Rasadar ruled.

  Barlo pulled his head back over the rail and wiped flecks of something unpleasant from his beard. “I think I hate you,” he said to Iarion. “Why couldn’t you leave me behind?”

  “You’re the one who insisted on coming.”

  “Well, you could have warned me about this.”

  “To be honest, I didn’t even think of it. I never get seasick.” Iarion shrugged.

  “I never get seasick,” Barlo parroted in a singsong voice. “I could just smack you one right now.”

  “Just take some deep breaths,” Iarion said, demonstrating. “In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

  Barlo followed Iarion’s advice. “Hey! I do feel a bit better.” He took a few more breaths, encouraged by his progress.

  “Oh, no. Wait—” Barlo ran back to the side and heaved once more. Iarion shook his head in sympathy.

  Suddenly, they were in the wide harbor of the island and the elves were lowering a gangplank. Barlo pushed himself away from the side and barreled past the crew, splashing his way toward shore. Once he reached dry land, he threw himself facedown upon the earth and lay there.

  Alfiabalas smiled. “Welcome to Rasdaria.”

  Once Barlo had collected himself, Alfiabalas led them to the tower. The path beneath their feet was lined with shells, their familiar presence flooding Iarion with memories. As the tower drew nearer, Barlo’s eyes widened. Mar Ras was a beautiful structure. Its delicate spire was tiled with seashell and pearl, giving it an opalescent glimmer.

  “Iarion, you never told me of this.” The dwarf’s tone was accusatory.

  “You like our tower?” Alfiabalas asked.

  “I would very much like to know how it was constructed.” Barlo looked up in admiration. “That mail you’re wearing also interests me. It looks light, but strong.”

  “It is fish mail,” Alfiabalas said. “It is crafted from the scales of a certain fish. We are often on the water, so we need something light in case we go over the side, as well as something that will not rust.”

  “Brilliant!” Barlo shook his head in amazement.

  The trip to the tower was short. Rasdaria was not a large isle. The Sea Elves watched them as they passed, looking up from their work. Most were either fishing or building and repairing ships, although they did pass a smithy along the way. A few recognized Iarion and called out his name in greeting. Iarion waved back.

  Few Rasadar lived on the island. It was home only to the lord and lady, Feoras, and shipwrights, as well as a few other craftspeople. The rest of their kind lived in the Forest of the Sea on the mainland.

  Alfiabalas ushered them through the shimmering archway of the tower. Sinstari padded behind them. The main hall was decorated with rugs and tapestries of blue, green, silver, and white—the colors of the sea. The lord and lady sat on twin thrones under a large window, flanked by three elf maidens with long, silver hair.

  Iarion stifled a groan. Alfiabalas chuckled at Iarion’s discomfort before excusing himself with a bow. The three elf women squealed in delight and ran forward to embrace him. Iarion forced himself to remain still.

  “You came back!” the one with blue eyes cooed in Elvish.

  “I always knew you would,” the one with green eyes said, shouldering her way in front of the others.

  “Now you can make your choice!” The third batted silver eyes at him.

  Iarion gently disentangled himself from the flock. They were Rilriel, Nimrilriel, and Rasniwyn, the three daughters of the Lord and Lady of the Rasadar.

  Years ago, he had spent time living among the Sea Elves to see if they could give him the answer to his problem. It was during that time he had gone on a voyage to Ralvaniar, the land where the elves were first born, hoping to find something. All that remained was a huge, circular waterfall where the continent had once been.

  This was also when the daughters of the lord and lady had taken a liking to him. They constantly competed for his favor, each hoping to win him as husband, and perhaps future Lord of the Rasadar.

  This created a difficult situation for Iarion. He had no interest in becoming a lord, even if the Rasadar would accept him. And unlike the Beliadar, the Sea Elves took things like chastity and monogamy very seriously, especially where their leaders were concerned. So instead of bedding all three of them and keeping the peace, Iarion had no choice but to turn them all down. The only way for him to bed any of them would be if he wed them first, which would never happen. It was what had forced Iarion to leave the isle.

  “As I have said in the past, I can never choose between three such lovely maidens.” Iarion tried to regain his composure.

  Barlo was watching the exchange with great interest. Although the dwarf could not understand what was being said, he no doubt got the gist of it. Iarion stifled a groan, knowing he would hear about it later.

  “We will have to see about that,” Rasniwyn said with an arch of her brow.

  “All right, you have all had your fun,” their father said. “Now run along and leave the poor elf in peace.” The three of them giggled and left.

  Iarion breathed a sigh of relief. Now it was only him, Barlo, Sinstari, and the lord and lady. The lord and lady both looked the same as Iarion remembered them. Lord Telariras’s silver hair and eyes had not dimmed with the passage of years. Although his features were stern, there was a kindness in his eyes. Lady Raslynia’s flowing hair was still the purest white, like the crest of a wave. Her eyes shifted between clear blue and murky green, depending on her mood. They were currently somewhere between the two colors, and unreadable.

  “Never before has a dwarf been brought to the shores of Rasdaria,” she said in the Common Tongue.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” Iarion said with a bow. “It was only at my insistence that Alfiabalas brought him. I understand your desire to be apart from the rest of Lasniniar, but times are changing. Barlo has been my close friend for many years and he is Chief of Clans among his people. His honor is the highest.”

  “Indeed, times are changing. Although we are isolated here on our isle, we can feel the turn of the tide.” Telariras sighed. “So tell us, why have you come? You have not sought our counsel for many long years.”

  Iarion took a deep breath and launched into their tale. On a hunch, he made a point of glossing over Lysandir’s actions at Mar Valion. Although there were times during his narrative that the lord and lady’s eyes widened with interest, Iarion could tell much of what he said was not news to them. A knot of fear formed in his stomach.

  Outside, the sky grew dark, casting shadows in the audience chamber as the torches were lit. There was a long silence after he was finished.

  “You bring interesting news.” A tall figure in muted, blue-green robes detached itself from the shadows. Torchlight revealed chestnut hair, a long, graying beard, and eyes like deep pools of water.

  Feoras. Sinstari let out a low growl.

  Iarion felt a stab of certainty, his subconscious fear surfacing.

  “The gulls over the Wild Lands. It was you. That was how the Forsworn knew we were coming. You’ve been spying for Saviadro!”

  “It is true.” For a moment, Feoras’s gaze dropped. “The Rasadar are my people. They are like kin to me. I am only trying to protect them from what is to come. The Fallen One promised they would be left alon
e if I aided him.”

  “You did not consult us on this decision,” Telariras said, turning to glare at him. “It is true we do not involve ourselves with many of the affairs of the mainland, but this will affect all of Lasniniar! If Saviadro gains all of the Quenya for himself, none of us will be able to fulfill our higher purpose and become Linadar.”

  “I understand what you are saying,” Feoras said, “but you must see there is no hope in resistance. He is too strong. Both of my brothers now serve him. He is unstoppable.” His shoulders slumped. “Although Iarion did not mention it, I have seen it through the eyes of my birds. Both Numarin and Lysandir sit at the side of the Fallen One.”

  “This is dire news,” Raslynia said. “Numarin has always been proud and fond of power, but Lysandir has been deep in counsel with the Linadar for centuries.”

  “It seems it was all an act to gain our trust,” Feoras said.

  Iarion exchanged glances with Barlo, who nodded. It was time to take a gamble.

  “All is not as it seems,” Iarion said.

  “What do you mean?” Telariras asked, his silver eyes narrowing. “Explain yourself.”

  “I did not tell you everything. Lysandir only pretended to be back on Saviadro’s side so he could work against him. It was Lysandir who freed us from Mar Valion and helped us gain access to the Stariquenya.”

  Feoras frowned. “But I saw—”

  “How old is your news?” Iarion pressed. “The night we escaped, we saw a lightning storm centered on Mar Valion. When Lysandir set us free, he said he was going to create a diversion so we could escape. I believe he cast doubt on Numarin’s allegiance and challenged him in order to solidify his position at Saviadro’s side. And with the storm we saw, I also believe only one of them could have survived.”

  “We did see such a storm on the eastern horizon several nights ago,” Telariras said.