Windows opened and people peered out at the goings-on, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Many poured out of their homes to line the streets, cheering. Children threw flowers as the group passed. Linwyn grinned and waved. Even Golaron wore a grim smile.
They followed the stone road between the houses and through the empty marketplace until they reached the tower. Barlo admired the fine workmanship of the black and gray stone. The large blocks forming the cylindrical watchtower were set snugly together with barely a hint of a seam, the signature of dwarven masonry. The arched windows were leaded glass and several balconies could be seen high above. It was an imposing structure.
As they reached the tower entrance, the people fell silent. Linwyn and Golaron dismounted and handed the reins of their mounts to a pair of sleepy pages who were already waiting. Linwyn led the way up the stone steps, followed by her brother. The wooden doors swung open.
The twins continued to lead the way into a great hall. The high walls were lined with torches that had likely been lit just before their arrival. The reflection of the flames danced on the polished stone. At the far end of the hall was a tall window that revealed a clouded view of the night sky. Below it were two large thrones of obsidian that seemed to be fused with the dais. Two matching, lesser seats that appeared to have been added long after the tower’s construction stood at the greater thrones’ right hand. Barlo guessed they belonged to Linwyn and Golaron.
A man sat in the throne closest to the two lesser seats. The large throne to his left was empty. He had the same proud nose and stubborn chin as the twins, although his bronze face was lined and careworn. He had Linwyn’s deep blue eyes and Golaron’s dark locks, which were threaded with silver. He wore fine robes of black, maroon, and dark blue trimmed with fur, and a simple crown wrought of gold. He exuded a fierce pride. He seemed at ease with the trappings of power. Barlo judged he was a man who expected to be obeyed.
The twins approached the throne, removing their helms to kneel in unison. Lysandir signaled for the rest of their group to wait.
“Rise, Lady Linwyn of Belierumar,” the man said in a ringing voice. Linwyn stood. The man stepped down from the dais to fold her into an embrace. He stepped back and gave her an approving look.
“I am glad of your return, my daughter,” he said. “As are our people. I hear you fought bravely to breach the army that sits on our doorstep.”
“I did not do it alone,” Linwyn said, gesturing to the rest of her companions. She turned back to face her father. “Golaron fought bravely as well.”
“Indeed? I heard he had to be rescued from the fray in order to reach the gates.” The man turned a scathing glance upon Golaron’s kneeling figure. Golaron flushed, but remained silent. “It is a pity he cannot kill goblins as easily as he ripped the life from my beloved Telari as he exited her womb.”
“Father!” Linwyn placed a protesting hand on his arm. It seemed this was a long-standing argument.
The man waited several moments before lowering his glare from his son. “Rise, Golaron, and step aside so I might meet your brave companions.” He gave a negligent wave. Golaron did as he was bid without complaint.
Lysandir stepped forward, silently urging the others to follow. “Greetings, Lord Eranander,” he said with a bow.
“Lysandir!” The Lord of Belierumar smiled. “You are most welcome in our time of need. It has been too long since you last visited. But you are not the Learnéd One I was expecting. What news of Numarin?”
“All in good time, my lord. First, allow me to introduce the remainder of our group. This is Barlo, Dwarvenhome’s Chief of Clans. Standing next to him is Silvaranwyn, a daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Light Elves, and the Shadow Elf standing next to her is Iarion, who has been my friend for many a year.” As Lysandir named them, they each stepped forward and bowed.
“A fine company!” Lord Eranander’s eyes had grown wide. “You must tell me how such a strange group of companions came to travel together. And Iarion, I have heard you showed a high degree of courage and skill in your rescue of Linwyn’s brother.” He gave Golaron a sidelong look of contempt before continuing. “My men were impressed. But please, let us adjourn to a more private and comfortable setting so you may tell me your tale in full. I am most eager to hear it.”
Lord Eranander rose and led the way from the hall to a chamber used for entertaining noble guests. Several cushioned couches and chairs were clustered around a low table. Detailed tapestries depicting the history of Belierumar adorned the walls. A cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace, warding off the nighttime chill.
Barlo flopped onto a low, cushioned footstool with a grateful sigh. It had been a long night. The others took seats around him. A servant entered bearing a tray of food and goblets of wine. Fresh fruit, bread, cheese, and a carved roast made Barlo’s stomach rumble. He wrinkled his nose at the drink. The dark wine made by men tended to sour his stomach.
“I don’t suppose you have any ale?” he asked the servant without much hope.
“No, but we do have a fine mead imported from Nal Huraseadro.”
“That’ll do nicely, thank you.” Barlo’s eyes lit up. The servant bowed and left.
Lord Eranander watched the exchange with a smile. “As soon as our dwarf is comfortable, perhaps we can begin. Please, refresh yourselves.”
A few moments later, the servant returned with a large tankard of mead. Barlo took a long swallow and sighed. It was an excellent batch.
“Now, if you would be so kind?” The lord gestured for Lysandir to begin.
Lysandir launched into their tale. It took some time for him to tell it. Barlo found himself yawning and covered his mouth before anyone could notice. The others looked tired as well, even the elves.
Lord Eranander was very interested in the news they had brought. He showed surprise at the presence of dark creatures so close to Melaquenya. He gave no reaction when Lysandir told him of their encounter with the Forsworn One in the Narrow Pass.
“I see that news of one of their kind so far south is not new to you,” the Learnéd One said.
“Sadly, it is not.” Lord Eranander shook his head. “The army that moves toward us and holds the Southern Passage is led by two of the evil creatures. We have no way of sending news to our kin in the north. It concerns me that the army has traveled so far south without a warning from Nal Huraseadro. I fear the worst.”
“Two Forsworn Ones?” Lysandir’s eyes widened. “We knew five of the seven were abroad, but I had assumed they would split up to create as much widespread chaos as possible. It seems Saviadro wants victory here in Belierumar to be certain before moving south to Melaquenya. If Belierumar falls, there will be no obstacle between his army and the midlands.”
“What can we do to defeat such a force? Thousands of dark creatures wait in the pass with the Forsworn.” The lord looked weary.
“There is still hope.” The Learnéd One gave a brief smile. “Iarion, Barlo, and Silvaranwyn will be strong additions to your forces. The Forsworn also do not know I am here. They will be surprised when they find they have me to contend with.”
“I thought you said they cannot be killed as long as the tainted Quenya remains,” Linwyn said with a sly look, as though she were hoping to catch him in a lie.
“I did say that.” Lysandir nodded. “But I have powers at my disposal that can cripple them. You will see.”
“Will it be enough?” Lord Eranander pressed.
“Probably not.” Lysandir sighed. “We will have to look to others for aid.”
“Who can we ask?” Linwyn shook her head. “We have few connections with the elder races, and my father just told you we cannot contact our kin in the north. Even if there were someone who would come to our aid, how could word possibly reach them in time? The dark army will strike soon. Our freedom is counted in hours, not days.”
“You may have few connections with the elder races,” Lysandir said, “but the rest of us do not. Iarion can send word to Melaralva
for the Earth and Wood Elves. Barlo can summon his people from Dwarvenhome. And as for how quickly this can be done, Silvaranwyn can take care of that for us.” Lysandir smiled in the confused Light Elf’s direction.
“And what of you?” Linwyn asked. “Does the mighty Learnéd One who has the power to cripple the Forsworn not have any ties that can be of use?”
“I do, but none of you will like it.” Lysandir paused before continuing. “I wish to send word to Dwarfhaven.” Barlo was about to protest when Linwyn cut him off.
“The traitor dwarves? Surely you jest!”
“That was a long time ago,” Lysandir said. “I have visited them many times over the years. They are deeply ashamed of their ancestors’ crime of harboring Hilgur and his son. They wish to make amends. Not only do I believe they will answer my summons, but they are the only ones who could arrive before the dark army attacks. They are the only potential allies we have between the Barrier and Jagged Mountains. Even if we send word now, the others will arrive after the initial attack.”
“Lysandir is right,” Lord Eranander said. “In times like these, we must take whatever allies we can get and be grateful. What will you need?”
“Some ink and parchment. Iarion and Barlo will write missives to their people while Silvaranwyn and I make a visit to one of your balconies.” Lysandir rose and beckoned. Silvaranwyn looked too tired to protest.
Lord Eranander summoned a servant. Once the supplies arrived, Barlo and Iarion worked on their messages. Barlo addressed his letter to his wife. Narilga would do what was needed. He added brief, private greetings to her and the children, letting them know he was accompanying Iarion on a quest of great importance. He knew they would understand.
Shortly after Barlo and Iarion finished their letters, Lysandir and Silvaranwyn returned. Silvaranwyn’s golden face was pale. She sat next to Iarion and leaned against him for support.
“She used her magic to call a falcon,” Lysandir said. “She asked the falcon to find the closest Sky Elf and summon them here.”
“And how long will that take?” Linwyn asked.
“A few hours at most,” the Learnéd One said. “We know the Lord and Lady of the Linadar planned to send Sintadar messengers to Melaralva. There are most likely others in the area, acting as scouts. The Sky Elves are the fastest messengers one could hope for. We have only to wait.”
Although Lysandir seemed in good spirits as he continued to enjoy his food and drink, the other companions sat in exhausted silence. Iarion coaxed Silvaranwyn into eating some fruit, speaking to her in their own tongue. Barlo was glad the elf had patched things up with her.
Linwyn watched with them an odd look, while Golaron remained expressionless. Lord Eranander observed his children’s behavior, curiosity in his eyes. Lysandir seemed oblivious to all this as he continued his happy eating, devouring his meal with relish. He was just finishing when someone burst through the door.
“My lord.” It was a member of the guard. He sketched a nervous bow. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but a strange creature has arrived. An elf with wings! He does not seem to speak the Common Tongue. I thought it best he be brought to you.”
Lord Eranander raised an eyebrow and gave Lysandir a speculative look. “You did well,” he said to the guard. “Show him in.”
The man stepped aside to allow the stranger to enter. The eyes of all the humans present widened. The Sky Elf’s golden skin, white hair, and blue accented wings seemed to shimmer in the torchlight. His clothing was a mottled gray. He bowed to Silvaranwyn and began to speak in Elvish.
Iarion translated for the rest of the group. “He says: ‘Greetings, Golden One. I am Iarasinta. I have answered your summons. How may I aid you?’”
Lysandir answered, speaking rapidly in Elvish. Iarasinta responded.
“Lysandir is asking him to deliver our messages,” Iarion said. “Iarasinta agrees. He has already sent the falcon on to summon two more of his kind who are in the area. He will take Lysandir’s message to Dwarfhaven and the other two will travel to Dwarvenhome and Melaralva. Iarasinta will return afterward to act as a scout for us in the Southern Passage.”
“With coloring like his, will he not be seen?” Linwyn asked.
Iarasinta turned to her, sensing she was speaking of him. Iarion translated Linwyn’s words into Elvish.
The Sky Elf smiled and focused his blue eyes inward. Linwyn gasped as the coloring of his skin, hair and wings shifted in the light to match his surroundings. Even at close range, knowing the elf was there, he was difficult to see.
Barlo gave an impressed whistle. “Well that’s handy.”
“The Sintadar can use their connection with the Quenya to bend the light on their bodies,” Iarion translated Iarasinta’s explanation. “He says, ‘We do not enjoy being easy targets. But now I must leave if I am to deliver this message and return. Farewell.’” The Sky Elf made another bow before showing himself out.
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” Barlo said with a yawn, “but I feel much better about our situation.” The others nodded their agreement.
After the other two messengers had arrived and departed on their errands, the companions went to bed. Barlo lay on a soft mattress in the room he and Iarion had been given to share. The idea of sleep seemed strange. The sun was starting to rise. But only moments after Barlo’s head hit the pillow, he sank into oblivion.
Hours later, Barlo woke feeling restless. Iarion continued to sleep in his bed across the room. Careful not to wake his friend, Barlo climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. He went into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him. The dwarf guessed by the position of the sun it must be around noon. His stomach rumbled its agreement. He decided to go in search of the kitchens.
The dwarf wandered the corridors of Belierumar’s tower. The halls were mostly empty. All the able-bodied citizens were out on the walls, preparing for the coming battle. An expectant hush had fallen over the tower. But Barlo could hear muffled voices, raised in argument, coming from somewhere down the hall. Curious, he followed the sound to the closed doors of the chamber they had relaxed in the night before. He ducked into the shadows of a nearby alcove to listen.
“Linwyn, I forbid you to go on this mad quest!” Lord Eranander shouted. “I need you here. Your people need you here!”
“These people have come to our aid, even when this battle is none of their affair!” Linwyn snapped. “Don’t you think they would rather go on their way and fulfill this ‘mad quest,’ as you call it? A quest that could change the fate of Lasniniar!”
“Elves’ tales! Who are we to meddle in the matters of the Quenya? It is none of our concern.” Lord Eranander paused before continuing in a more controlled voice. “If you are so set on giving our help in exchange, then let your brother go while you stay here with your people. I am certain your friends will understand.”
“You hope if I go without Linwyn I will not return,” Barlo heard Golaron say.
“You have walked in your sister’s shadow long enough. Or do you fear what will happen without her there to rescue you?”
“I will go without Linwyn if she so chooses,” Golaron said. “I have always done everything I could to please you, Father, despite knowing it will never be enough.” His voice was sad.
“You are correct. It is not enough. Unless you can find a way to bring back the woman you stole from me the day you were born, it will never be enough.”
“I am going with them, Father,” Linwyn said. “I must. If not for their aid, we might not win this battle. I gave my word. I will not go back on it. Mother intended for Golaron and I to eventually rule Belierumar together as co-regents. I will not be parted from him now.”
“We have yet to see what will come of their so-called ‘aid.’” Eranander sighed. “Very well. If you are set on going, I will not stop you, though it will grieve me to see you go. But I sense you have other reasons for wanting to go on this journey.”
“Perhaps,” Linwyn said.
“But those reasons are my own. Take heart that Golaron and I will do our best to make Belierumar proud in a matter of great importance.”
“I hope for your safe return, my daughter. Golaron.” Lord Eranander acknowledged his son before exiting the room.
Barlo flattened himself against the wall, but the lord passed him without noticing, striding down the hall at a brisk pace. Some brief words too quiet for Barlo to hear were spoken between the twins before Golaron walked out of the room and headed in the opposite direction his father had taken.
Barlo saw what might be his only chance. He ducked inside the room before Linwyn could depart. She sat alone on one of the couches, her head bowed. She seemed lost in thought and did not notice Barlo’s entrance.
Barlo cleared his throat. “Excuse me.” Linwyn looked up at him, startled. “May I have a word with you?”
“Certainly,” she said, recovering quickly. “What is it?”
Barlo sat across from her. He took a deep breath. “We need to talk about Iarion.”
Linwyn’s blue gaze narrowed. “What about Iarion?”
“Come now, lass. I may be a crusty, old dwarf, but I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him.” Barlo gave her a knowing look.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Linwyn said as her cheeks flushed. “And even if I did, I don’t see what business it is of yours.”
“You’re right,” Barlo said. “It isn’t my business. But there are a few things about Iarion you should know.”
“If you’re going to tell me about him and the Light Elf, don’t bother. I have eyes, you know.”
“What are you talking about? Iarion and Silvaranwyn?” Barlo shook his head. “No, no. You’ve got it all wrong. That’s just my point. The success of this quest is crucial for Iarion. All his long life, he’s searched for a way to connect with the Quenya. This may be his only chance. It’s all he can focus on. He has no attention to spare for much else, if you catch my meaning. Reuniting the Quenya is the center of his world right now.”
Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) Page 8