Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1)

by Smith, Jacquelyn

  “Any news?” the general asked them in Common.

  “Nothing to report,” one of the guards said with a shake of his head, handing him a torch.

  Galfidar exchanged a few quiet words with both of them before moving on. The door swung shut behind them. The dwarf general held his torch aloft, leading Iarion and his companions onward.

  “We’re out from under the mountains now,” he said in a hushed voice. “It’s a short journey to the Lone Cave.”

  “Why are there no torches on the walls?” Hidar asked. His voice echoed weirdly.

  Other than the torch Galfidar carried and the two in brackets at the doorway behind them, the rest of the tunnel was in complete darkness.

  “All my men know their way through this passage by touch alone and need no light. Should the Lone Cave be taken, I wouldn’t leave a lighted highway for the enemy to follow back to our city. The tunnel has many twists and dead ends that are even more difficult to navigate in the dark. An enemy could spend weeks down here and never find their way back out.”

  Hidar nodded his respect before asking another question. “And what if they did somehow find their way to that door?”

  “My brother and I are the only ones who know the phrase that opens it. It can’t be opened by force. Even if the guards were tortured, they cannot reveal what they do not know.”

  “Has the Lone Cave ever fallen?” Golaron asked.

  “No, but the Fallen One knows we’re here, watching him. Every precaution must be taken.” Galfidar continued to lead them through the winding tunnels, taking different turns at each fork without hesitation while ignoring several larger passages as he went.

  “You know much of our quest’s chance of success lies in secrecy,” Lysandir said. “Is it wise for your men to see us? Surely it would not be difficult for them to guess our purpose here.”

  “I have already arranged for a change of shift once you are gone. The dwarves stationed here will be replaced with others returning from a scouting expedition near Nal Nungalid. They will arrive overland to replace the guards at the Lone Cave, as well as those at the tunnel door. They will have no contact with the city and no knowledge of your visit. My men who will be switching off duty have been sworn to silence. They’ll take the tunnels back into the city with me to be discharged on leave, which will be spent safely inside Dwarfwatch’s walls.”

  “You are quite thorough,” Lysandir said with appreciation. “My apologies for doubting you.”

  “The dwarves of Dwarfwatch are the only truly free people to live so close to the shadow of the Fallen One. No one understands the need for secrecy more than we do.”

  The rest of the journey continued in silence. Iarion’s back and shoulders began to ache from being hunched over for so long. The confinement was also making the others restless. Sinstari slunk along beside him, his green eyes seeming to glow in the near darkness. Just when Iarion thought they would never reach their destination, Galfidar disappeared around a sharp corner, taking the light of the torch with him.

  Iarion gasped. He wasn’t the only one. They others scrambled to catch up. But as they followed the way the dwarf had gone, the tunnel opened into a large cave.

  The ceiling was high enough for the tallest of them to stand upright. A small spring bubbled somewhere in the back of the cave, and a fire was banked against the northern chill. A dwarf guard was huddled in blankets, snoring loudly while another lay flat on his stomach at the mouth of the cave, holding a strange tube of metal up to his eye. He scrambled to his feet at the sound of visitors and sketched a bow to Galfidar.

  “Anything to report?” Galfidar asked.

  “Nothing, Scoutmaster.” His eyes darted from one member of their group to another, but he kept his questions to himself.

  “What’s that?” Barlo’s eyes lit with curiosity as he indicated the tube.

  “It’s a farseer,” Galfidar said. “It uses lenses of glass to help us see great distances.” He took the device from the guard and handed it to Barlo, who promptly held it up to his eye.

  “Everything looks so tiny!” he said, turning the farseer on the group.

  “Here,” Iarion said, who already grasped the way the device worked. “You’re looking through the wrong end.” He turned the tube around in the dwarf’s hands and guided him to the cave opening. “Now try.”

  After giving Iarion a foul look, Barlo held the farseer up to his eye. “You can see for leagues with this thing!”

  Galfidar smiled. “We find it quite useful in our scouting.” Barlo returned the device with obvious reluctance. Galfidar handed it back to the scout, who resumed his post.

  The dwarven scoutmaster led the group to a low table and pulled out a weathered map, unrolling it for all of them to see.

  “We are here.” He pointed out a marking on the map before tracing his finger eastward toward the Mountains of Fire. “The pass lies here. It winds through the mountains and emerges south of the Dark Forest. You should have a look through the farseer before you set out.”

  “There is no need,” Lysandir said with a faraway look. “I am familiar with the pass.”

  Barlo shot Iarion a meaningful glance. Iarion shook his head at Barlo’s mistrust. Lysandir had escaped from the dark lands. This pass was obviously the way he had come through the mountains.

  “I recommend you rest while you can and leave under the cover of darkness,” Galfidar said. “As far as we can tell, the pass is unguarded and unused.”

  “What can we expect on the other side?” Golaron asked.

  “I cannot help you with that. No dwarf who has ventured into the dark lands has ever returned. You will have to trust the Learnéd One’s memory.” Galfidar’s expression and tone were unreadable.

  Iarion unfurled his bedroll and lay down for a nap. Sunset was only a few hours away. He wanted to be prepared for the next leg of their journey. He saw Golaron helping Silvaranwyn get settled while his sister looked on.

  Iarion smiled as Sinstari curled up against his back. The cat must be eager to get back out into the open after the long trek through the tunnels. Iarion had seen him walk to the cave’s entrance to sniff at the fresh air, but he would not leave Iarion’s side.

  Barlo’s snores soon matched those of the other dwarf guard, but somehow Iarion managed to drift off to sleep.

  When Iarion woke, the cave was almost dark. He heard the sounds of the others beginning to stir. He packed his things and ate a small meal of dried rations from the dwarves’ stores before refilling his waterskin from the spring.

  He felt a light touch on his shoulder. It was Lysandir. “It is time.” Iarion nodded.

  “Our thanks to both you and your brother for all the aid you have given us,” Lysandir said to Galfidar.

  “May the strength of the First Father be with you on your quest,” the dwarf said with a bow.

  Lysandir led them out into the darkness on foot. They would have to make the journey without their mounts. There had been no way to take them through the tunnels to the Lone Cave.

  Iarion looked up, grateful to be out in the open. The night sky was cloudy, which worked to their advantage. They would be less conspicuous on foot anyway. The shadows of the Mountains of Fire loomed before them.

  “Why are they called the Mountains of Fire?” Linwyn asked. “I have heard of mountains that erupt in flame, but these do not look like such.”

  “They are the breeding ground for Saviadro’s fire drakes.” Lysandir’s voice floated back to them. “His ice drakes nest even further north. We must risk no further speech. The Fallen One has spies, and their ears are sharp.”

  They continued in silence. Iarion strained all his senses for any sign of watchers in the darkness. Although he could not see or hear anything, a heavy sense of foreboding crept over him. The others seemed oblivious. Only Silvaranwyn seemed aware something was amiss. When their eyes met, she gave him a frown followed by a slight shake of her head.

  They finally reached the foot of the mountains.
The pass lay before them. Still no challenge came. Iarion’s nerves were taut, waiting for the unseen blow to fall. Lysandir met his eyes briefly, his gaze unreadable. The Learnéd One led them into the mountains.

  The trail was narrow, and they were forced to move slowly in the near-total darkness or risk injury. Iarion’s uneasiness grew with each step. His hand rested on the hilt of his knife, ready to draw it free at any moment. He noticed the feeling had finally spread to the others as well. They looked around with narrowed gazes of suspicion.

  Sinstari was missing.

  Iarion looked around with a frantic glance, but the cat had disappeared. Iarion tried to remember the last time he had seen his feline companion and failed. Sinstari would not have been taken without a struggle. He must have left of his own accord. It was not a good sign. Barlo gave him a questioning look, but Iarion only shook his head. Something was wrong.

  Lysandir continued to lead them. He seemed untroubled by the pallor of shadow that had fallen over their group. Sinstari’s disappearance only caused Iarion’s uneasiness to deepen. Despair crept in. He found himself stopping. The others stared at him, but only Silvaranwyn met his gaze with understanding. She could feel it too.

  Hopelessness.

  Iarion looked down and saw the few blades of grass that grew between the rocks at his feet begin to wither.

  They were not alone.

  Iarion looked up. Everyone had drawn their weapons. Silvaranwyn was falling, and time stood still. Before them on the path stood two of the Forsworn, their cloaked forms dark pools of shadow. Wild with panic, Iarion looked back and froze.

  Two more Forsworn Ones blocked the path behind them. Iarion tasted the bitterness of defeat.

  They were surrounded.

  – Chapter Twenty-Three –

  Betrayal

  For a moment, no one moved. Then Linwyn sprang into action.

  “For Belierumar!” She ran at the closest of the Forsworn, her sword drawn.

  Iarion watched in numb horror. Golaron cried out and moved to stop her, but he was too slow.

  The Forsworn One remained still. But as Linwyn got within striking distance, she stumbled as though she had slammed into an unseen wall. Her expression changed to one of utmost despair. Her sword clattered to the ground and she fell to her knees. Golaron rushed to his sister’s side.

  Lysandir locked his gaze on the Forsworn Ones before them, who remained motionless. In fact, they seemed to be waiting for something. Several moments passed before Lysandir looked away.

  “Put up your weapons,” he said in a toneless voice.

  “What?” Hidar whirled to face him. “Are you mad?”

  “If they wanted to kill us, we would be dead by now,” Lysandir said. “They wish to take us prisoner. Our only hope now lies in cooperating.”

  “I will not be led away like a coward!” Hidar shouted.

  “You cannot kill them,” Lysandir said. “Linwyn couldn’t even land a single blow! There can be no honorable death in battle against them. They will not allow you to be killed before their master has what he wants. Now put up your weapon.”

  Linwyn still looked dumbstruck as Golaron helped her to her feet. Iarion did the same for Silvaranwyn.

  Hidar frowned. “But—”

  “I said, put up your weapon!” Lysandir snapped, his silver eyes flashing.

  Hidar looked to Iarion, who nodded, seeing no other course of action.

  “Very well,” he grumbled, withdrawing his spear. “I suppose you would best understand your own kind. It seems you are a traitor after all.”

  Lysandir looked away.

  The Forsworn ushered them through the pass and into the dark lands. Iarion didn’t know what he had expected, but not this. He felt completely numb. They had failed. A small part of his mind still took in their surroundings as they were led toward their doom.

  A forest came into view as they left the shadow of the mountains behind. For once, the sight of trees gave the Wood Elf no joy. The firs and pines were mostly bare, although some of them still bore brown needles. Their limbs were dark and twisted, as though tortured by the tainted Quenya housed within. There were no birds, or any other signs of life. The air was dead and cold. They entered the Dark Forest.

  Iarion didn’t know how long they traveled. Somehow he kept an arm around Silvaranwyn, helping her along. Her face was ashen. As Linadain, entering the heart of the Fallen One’s territory was almost more than she could bear. She trembled under Iarion’s arm.

  All his companions seemed cowed by the despair of the Forsworn. They were herded along in silence. The only thing that kept Iarion moving was Lysandir’s presence. If anyone could get them out of this nightmare, it was the Learnéd One, although Iarion failed to see how it was possible.

  Iarion could sense it was almost dawn, but the sky remained dark. A large mass of clouds covered the dark lands, blocking the sun. Iarion drew his eyes away only to see the tower rise before them through the trees.

  Mar Valion, the seat of Saviadro’s power, was a single spike of black rock. Perhaps it was obsidian. Barlo would know. Whatever the tower was made of, the dark stone seemed to absorb what meager light remained in the overcast sky. It could not be compared to Belierumar or Mar Arin. It was too crude by comparison. Iarion had the feeling most of the tower’s complex lay sprawling deep within the earth below, like hungry roots burrowing in search of hidden sustenance.

  Two trolls stood guard at the tower’s entrance. They hastened to swing the large doors open for the Forsworn and their captives, bowing and scraping as they did so. The Forsworn paid them no heed.

  Iarion found himself stopping at the threshold. Silvaranwyn had dug in her heels, her head shaking back and forth in silent denial. Her silver eyes were wide with unshed tears. The entrance yawned open before them, a fey light coming from somewhere deep within.

  The Forsworn turned their dark cowls upon the two elves. Iarion felt an icy ball of fear growing in the pit of his stomach. Somehow it cut through the fog of despair. He spoke soothing words to Silvaranwyn in Elvish, urging her to take the final steps into what would most likely be their tomb, feeling like a traitor all the while.

  Trembling, Silvaranwyn allowed herself to be led. The others followed. The Forsworn took them down an echoing passageway that led to a central chamber. The time it took to arrive at their destination seemed too short. Iarion looked around to see a large, semicircular room with a dais at the far side. The room was open to the dark sky above. The tower’s spire thrust high into the clouds overhead, casting a shadow like a long, clawed finger.

  A throne rose from the floor, made of the same stone as the rest of the tower. A figure sat upon the throne, cloaked and hooded in deepest black, with fiery eyes looking out from the shadows. Bony hands gripped the arms of the throne, their flesh charred and blackened by the portion of the Quenya they had stolen millennia ago. Iarion felt his knees go weak. Beside him, Silvaranwyn stumbled and fell.

  It was Saviadro.

  “Thank you.” The Fallen One nodded to the Forsworn, who drew back to stand out of the way. “You have done well.” His hollow voice was full of amusement.

  “So,” he said, turning his attention to his captives. “You thought to enter my domain undetected? Let me see… The daughter of my most hated enemies, Valanandir and Iadrawyn, the children of the Lord of Belierumar, the Chief of Clans of Dwarvenhome, the son of a chief of Lesser Men, a Shadow Elf, and my old friend and sometime apprentice, Lysandir.” His terrible gaze lingered for a moment on Iarion before moving on. “Somehow I do not think you decided to drop by for a social visit. No, if my informant is to be believed, you are here to try to take something that belongs to me.”

  A second figure stepped forth from the shadows behind the throne. Iarion’s mind shrieked in denial at what he saw. It was a tall man in blue and silver robes. He had dark eyes and his coal-streaked, white beard had been brushed to a point.

  Lysandir gave the man a look of disgust. “Numarin. I might ha
ve known.”

  “Have you been looking for me, Brother?” Numarin sneered.

  “You are no brother of mine.” Lysandir’s voice was filled with contempt. Saviadro seemed amused by the exchange, his glowing eyes narrowed as he watched.

  “Indeed. I am what you could never be, Lysandir. A loyal ally to an unquestionable power.”

  “You dare speak to me of loyalty?” Lysandir raised his voice and took a step forward. The Forsworn tensed, but did nothing. “While you have been off spying and playing it safe, I have spent years living among the Linadar, convincing them I was worthy of their confidence. While you have merely brought news, carried like a coward over the borders of this land by flocks of birds, only to be spotted by dwarves, I have come openly with willing hostages!” He swept out his arm, gesturing to his companions.

  Iarion’s heart dropped, unable to comprehend what he had just heard.

  “What?” Numarin laughed, but his dark eyes narrowed. “You mean to tell me you have been working for the Master all along?”

  “I never stopped serving.” Lysandir drew himself up to his full height as he spoke. “I only orchestrated my ‘escape’ from these lands to convince the elves I had never been under the Master’s influence, so they would welcome me back into the fold. It took years of good behavior, but they brought me into their confidence. When they insisted on sending a group to attempt to regain the portion of the Quenya they had lost, I insisted on leading them. What better way to neutralize our enemies and steal the Levniquenya from under their noses? I have spent centuries bringing this plan to fruition, so do not snivel to me about loyalty.” His silver eyes flashed.

  “This is good news,” Saviadro said. “I have always suspected you would return to me. You were ever the son I desired. You have done well.”

  “Thank you, Father-Khashad.” Lysandir bowed. “I am sorry for my deception. Please believe me when I say I only did it to serve you.”

  “Master, I do not believe him.” Numarin shot Lysandir a look of contempt. “Doesn’t it seem a bit convenient?”