Iarion knew his moment had come. He dove over the troll’s brow and used both arms to stab his knife in its eye. His blade slid right in, reaching the creature’s small brain. Iarion fell forward as it snapped its head backward to give a wordless cry of pain. Blood and gore poured down Iarion’s arms as he hung from his knife. He clenched his blood-soaked fists around the hilt and gave his arms a wrenching twist.
The troll uttered a horrible scream and began to topple. Iarion pulled his knife free and leaped as the creature fell. The elf rolled to his feet with his blade ready as soon as he hit the ground. The troll shuddered, then went still. But Iarion and his companions had no time to celebrate their victory. Waves of more dark creatures and men pressed forward.
“Fall back!” The voice was Golaron’s. “There are too many. We must fall back.” Iarion saw him force his mount in front of his battle-hungry sister. Linwyn scowled at him, but turned her horse.
It was only the beginning of a slow retreat toward the mountains. Although Iarion and his companions slew many of Saviadro’s minions, too many of the brave but exhausted men of Nal Nungalid were being cut down. The dark creatures continued their advance, even though they were made to pay for each step of ground they gained.
Iarion had no idea what he and his companions were going to do once they reached the mountains. It would be more defensible ground, but would there be enough of them left to take advantage of it?
Iarion’s features twisted into a bitter expression as he fought. If they were defeated and the enemy attacked Dwarfwatch, not only would the women and children of Nal Nungalid be slaughtered, but Lasniniar’s one chance at dethroning the Fallen One could be lost. If the Levniquenya fell into enemy hands, it would be over. Iarion pushed his concerns aside and focused on the next attacker.
The battle lasted for hours. Iarion blinked blood and sweat from his eyes and tried to force his exhausted muscles to stop their trembling. His companions were in no better condition. Linwyn, Golaron, and Hidar had been forced to dismount, sending their horses into the mountains. Their forces had reached the pass where the Great North Road entered the Mountains of Wind.
This was where they would be forced to make their stand. Iarion resigned himself to the inevitable. He continued to fight, even though it seemed hopeless.
The enemy forces surged forward, threatening to crush them. Iarion and his friends remained firm in a desperate attempt to hold their ground. None of them spoke. Linwyn’s battle songs and Hidar’s laughter had gone silent. They conserved what little energy they had left for killing.
Iarion could only hope Lysandir and Silvaranwyn would be able to escape with the Levniquenya to complete the quest. It was all that was left to him. He fought on in despair. At least he could fall giving them a chance to get away undetected.
A roaring cry erupted from behind them. Iarion had no chance to turn to see what the commotion was about. How had the dark creatures managed to circle around behind them? Now he and his companions would be crushed between the two forces.
“Hammer and tongs!” Iarion heard Barlo pant as he fought. “It’s the dwarves!”
Iarion risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Barlo was right. An army of dwarves had come to their rescue. They were fierce warriors. They waded through the masses of dark creatures and men with their axes, singing wild battle songs in their own tongue. Barlo joined in.
The tide of the battle turned. Now it was the creatures that were forced back. Iarion felt a momentary rush of relief, but he knew they couldn’t allow any of the foul things to return to Nal Nungalid and its Forsworn One.
“No quarter!” Iarion shouted over the din. “Let none of them escape!”
The dwarves were happy to oblige. Any opponent that tried to run was struck down by a throwing ax to the back. As the sun was setting, not a single dark creature was left standing.
Iarion bent over with his hands on his knees, panting. His skin was crusted with dirt and blood. He had several small wounds, but nothing serious. Sinstari and Barlo had been good fighting companions.
The cat looked exhausted. Its muzzle was dripping with the dark blood of the Marred Races. Barlo looked as though he were about to fall over. Only his stubborn pride kept him standing. Linwyn, Golaron, and Hidar were in similar shape.
Only a handful of the men of Nal Nungalid had survived. Many of them would not last the night with the wounds they had sustained. It was a bitter victory.
A dwarf with a graying, black beard approached. “Your friend, the Learnéd One, told us of the battle. We don’t have the strength to challenge the forces at Nal Nungalid directly, but we couldn’t allow the foul creatures into our mountains. We’re going to shelter the refugees. You’re welcome to rest and recover at Dwarfwatch.”
“Thank you,” Iarion said in a tired voice. “Your arrival was timely. We wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”
“You and your companions are fierce warriors. The refugees would never have survived without your help.” The dwarf shook the dark expression from his face. “Come. Gather your fallen weapons and we’ll head to Dwarfwatch. It seems we have much to discuss.”
Iarion shook his head. “You have no idea.”
– Chapter Twenty-One –
The Kinslaying
Barlo couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so tired. His exhaustion went right down to his bones. He shook his head when he imagined the scolding Narilga would give him if she knew the kind of battle he had just fought. He wasn’t a young dwarf anymore. He suddenly felt every century weighing down on him.
The winding trail that led through the Mountains of Wind seemed to go on forever. When they finally arrived at the stone doors of Dwarfwatch, Barlo had to suppress a sigh of relief.
“Welcome to Dwarfwatch,” the dwarf who led them said with a bow.
The interior of the city was beautiful in its own, sparse way. It was clear the dwarves who lived there focused more on the forging of weapons than the appearance of their halls. That was the price of living in the shadow of the dark lands.
Barlo was suddenly reminded of his own home, far to the south. It felt like years had passed since he had left his wife and children.
The surviving men of Nal Nungalid were reunited with the other refugees. For all those who rejoiced at their return, there were others who burst into tears to see their brothers, fathers, or husbands had not survived. The man who had led their group turned to face Barlo and his companions.
“Thank you,” he said. “Without your help, the dark creatures would have killed us all. I am sorry I doubted you.”
“These are dangerous times,” Iarion said, clasping the man’s outstretched arm. “You were right to be suspicious. Your people fought bravely.”
Barlo and his companions were led to a suite of chambers. The central room held a table with food and drink, and comfortable chairs for sitting, as well as several washbasins filled with fresh water. Barlo assumed the other rooms that branched off from it were sleeping chambers. As Iarion began to wash the blood and grime from his face and hands, Lysandir ducked out from one of the doorways.
“Ah, good. You made it.” The Learnéd One smiled.
“No thanks to you,” Barlo grumbled to himself, ignoring Iarion’s warning glance.
“That is not true.” Lysandir gave a tolerant smile. “I was the one who sent the dwarves. Now we are even closer to our goal and the dark forces are still ignorant of our whereabouts.”
“I suppose so.” Barlo gave his mouth a sour twist.
“Iarion, Silvaranwyn has been asking for you.” Lysandir stepped aside and gestured for the elf to enter the chamber he had just exited after Iarion had patted himself dry.
Barlo noticed both Linwyn and Golaron watching Iarion as he left and sighed. What a tangle their group had become! The large hunting cat padded after its master.
Those who had fought spent the next several moments washing away the grime of battle. The Learnéd One sat on one of the chairs provided in silence.
The water in the washbasin was completely dark by the time Barlo had finished.
“Lady, there is something I must say.” Hidar approached Linwyn, pushing his fiery hair back in a weary gesture. Linwyn tore her glance away from where Iarion’s retreating back had gone to give the man a suspicious look. Once he had her attention, Hidar continued.
“I am sorry I ever doubted your fighting abilities. You were incredible! You fight better than some men I know.”
“Thank you,” Linwyn said with a look of startlement, seeming completely abashed for once.
Barlo couldn’t take it any longer. “The rest of you are welcome to stand around and chat, but I’m going to take advantage of some dwarven hospitality.” He loaded a tray with food and a large tankard of ale before sitting on one of the chairs with a sigh. The others followed his example.
“Perhaps we should send a tray in for Iarion,” Linwyn suggested, her face an inscrutable mask.
“Iarion will be fine,” Lysandir said with a pointed look.
“What about Silvaranwyn?” Golaron asked. He made no effort to hide his concern.
“I got Silvaranwyn to eat before you arrived.” Lysandir’s voice was gentle.
“Is she going to be all right?” Golaron asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” the Learnéd One said. “She will live, but she is fading.”
“So she will become a Shadow Elf, like Iarion,” Linwyn said.
“Eventually, yes.” Lysandir’s eyes were sad.
“I know about the Sundering that created the Shadow Elves,” Golaron spoke carefully. “They dispersed to watch over the lands and protect them from Saviadro. But something has never been explained to me. How is it that Saviadro managed to steal a portion of the Quenya from the elves in the first place? Surely they keep it well guarded.”
“Indeed, they do,” Lysandir said. “But remember: Saviadro was once a Light Elf and trusted by his people. He communed with the Quenya regularly, so his visits went unnoticed.”
“He persuaded the dwarves to create a vessel for the Quenya by tricking them,” Barlo said, wanting to be the one to reveal his ancestors’ betrayal.
“They could not have known,” Linwyn said. She placed a comforting hand on Barlo’s arm.
“Did no one try to stop him?” Hidar asked, incredulous. “I find it hard to believe he just walked in, took what he wanted, and left without being seen or stopped. I have seen Silvaranwyn’s power and Iarion’s fighting skills.”
“He most certainly was seen,” the Learnéd One said. “The same person tried to stop him. What you are asking me to tell you is the story of what the elves call the Kinslaying.”
“Silvaranwyn mentioned the Kinslaying once before,” Barlo remembered. “I asked her about it, but she changed the subject. Iarion has never spoken of it.”
“Neither of them are here now,” Golaron said, turning to face Lysandir. “Will you not tell us?”
“It is the shame of the elven people,” Lysandir said. His voice became old and weary. “If they did not choose to tell you, it is hardly my place to do so.”
“I think they choose not to tell us only because it’s too painful for them,” Barlo said between mouthfuls. “The boy doesn’t ask to be nosy. Like myself, he asks because it’s a part of someone he cares about. If we’re really going to do this deed, I think we have a right to know the whole story. It must be you that tells us.”
Lysandir sighed. “Very well. But please, do not mention this in front of them.”
Taking a deep breath, he began. “After acquiring the vessel from the dwarves, Saviadro went to the glade of the Quenya in the middle of the night, telling the guards he was taking communion, as was his wont. He kept the dwarves’ vessel concealed in his cloak. The guards allowed him to pass without question.
“Once he was in the glade, he used his magic to activate the vessel. But in his eagerness and greed for power, Saviadro did not bother to look for others first. Another elf was already there. An elf named Alfialys, twin of the lady Eransinta, had also come to the Quenya, woken out of a dead sleep and drawn to its presence.
“Alfialys saw what Saviadro was doing and tried to stop him. Saviadro was surprised to find he was not alone. Enough so that he stopped his siphoning of the Quenya long before it was complete. Alfialys stood between Saviadro and the Quenya and tried to persuade him to abandon his evil scheme. Saviadro pretended to be swayed and embraced Alfialys.” Lysandir’s listeners leaned forward. The Learnéd One paused before continuing.
“Alfialys did not see the knife Saviadro held hidden, another gift of the dwarves. Light Elves abhor killing, and do not carry blades except to guard their borders. Saviadro did the unthinkable. He killed Alfialys. It is the only time in the long history of the elves that one of them has killed another of their own kind.
“Alfialys used the Quenya to summon the guards before dying. Saviadro was forced to flee. The guards were shocked by what they found and hesitated to act. This allowed Saviadro a chance to escape. He fled Melaquenya, with a portion of the Quenya.”
“Eransinta. I’ve heard that name before,” Barlo said.
“It was the birth name of the lady Finiferia, who is wife to Silvaranwyn’s brother,” Lysandir said.
“Yes. Iarion and I saw her wandering the wood in Melaquenya. When she looked at us, it was as if we weren’t even there! Gave me the collywobbles.” Barlo shivered just thinking about it. “Silvaranwyn said she was looking for her lost twin who had died in the Kinslaying.”
“Now you see why you must not speak of this with either Iarion or Silvaranwyn. Not only is it a painful topic, but Finiferia is Silvaranwyn’s sister by marriage. She is a living reminder of the shame of the elves that one of them would choose to take the life of another.” Lysandir looked at each of them in turn.
“I’m sure you won’t have to remind us after that tale.” Barlo gave the others a fierce look, daring them to disagree. If he caught any of them discussing this matter within earshot of the two elves, he wouldn’t hesitate to take steps.
– Chapter Twenty-Two –
Enemy Territory
They rested at Dwarfwatch for the next three days. When Silvaranwyn finally emerged from her chamber, she seemed refreshed, but her new coloring remained unchanged.
Iarion noticed a smug expression on Linwyn’s face when she beheld the Linadain. Silvaranwyn brushed off the concern of her companions, wanting only to focus on their quest. Iarion admired her courage.
The others had been given an audience with Dwarfwatch’s Chief of Clans while Iarion had cared for Silvaranwyn. Their group was to be guided to the Lone Cave, where the dwarves kept watch over the dark lands to the east. Then they would be shown the entrance to a pass that led through the Mountains of Fire, directly into Saviadro’s territory.
This would be the most dangerous leg of their journey, traveling in a land where all called the Fallen One Master, and his power was strongest. Only three of the Forsworn had been accounted for; one was in Nal Nungalid, and two more held the Southern Passage. That left four others that could still be at Saviadro’s side.
Lysandir had asked, but there was still little news of the whereabouts of Numarin. A dwarf scout claimed he might have seen the Learnéd One of Air several weeks ago, traveling the Upper Daran Nunadan off the road and near the Mountains of Fire, which was puzzling news. Why had Numarin left no message or sign? Lysandir did not take the information well, becoming even more withdrawn than usual.
A dwarf, the same sturdy fellow who had led them to Dwarfwatch, arrived to act as guide once more. “Greetings,” he said with a bow. “I’m to take you through the tunnels that lead to Khamudkir, what you would call the Lone Cave.”
“You can show us the trail that leads into the dark lands?” Iarion pressed.
“I can, though none of our people have traveled it in living memory. We have little cause to try to enter the lands of the Kirfundo, the Fallen One. We only watch the pass for any sign of activity.
; “Before you ask, no one has been seen coming or going that way in years, other than a large flock of birds that passed a week ago. A strange bank of clouds obscured the pass from our sight a few weeks before that. We sent some scouts to investigate, but there was nothing to be found. If anyone has gone in or out, they’ve been using the pass in the east, beyond the Mountains of Shadow in the Daran Falnun.” Lysandir’s eyes narrowed at the mention of birds and strange clouds, but he remained silent.
Barlo stepped forward with a grumble. “I apologize for the thoughtlessness of my companions, but we have not yet been properly introduced.”
“Your names are already known to me. You may not have seen me, but I was present at your audience with my brother, our Chief of Clans. I am Galfidar.” He made another bow.
Barlo’s eyes widened. “Your Chief of Clans does us great honor to send his own brother as guide!”
“Who else would he trust to be chief scout and general of our army?” Galfidar said with a shrug. “Now if the pleasantries are all out of the way and you are packed, we can be going.”
The dwarf led them through the streets of Dwarfwatch, past other dwarves who gave them curious glances. An hour passed before they reached a quieter part of the city, deep within the heart of the mountains. The tunnels became more roughly hewn and the ceiling lower. Iarion hunched his shoulders with a resigned sigh, wondering why all the dwarves’ secret tunnels had to be so cursedly low.
“Did you say something?” Barlo turned and flashed him an impudent grin, fully aware of his friend’s discomfort. Iarion gave Barlo a sour look, causing the dwarf to laugh as he turned away.
They eventually arrived at a nondescript rock wall. Galfidar put a hand up against its smooth surface and muttered something in the Dwarven Tongue. The rock opened as a door appeared and moved silently inward. The tunnel continued into the darkness beyond. Two dwarf guards stood on the other side of the threshold, their axes ready. They relaxed at the sight of Galfidar.
Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) Page 18