Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1)

by Smith, Jacquelyn

  Lysandir’s mind raced. “That’s not true. Right after the prisoners were escorted to their cell, Father-Khashad and I spoke privately.” Lysandir used his pet name for Saviadro, knowing it annoyed Numarin. “You were not present.”

  “Stop calling him that!” Spittle flecked Numarin’s pointed beard. “He is not your father. I am the loyal one!”

  “Then tell me you’ve never considered taking the power for yourself.” Lysandir’s voice was deceptively mild. Although he knew Numarin had not freed the prisoners, his brother was fond of power. If Lysandir’s guess was correct, his accusation was not far from the mark. Numarin needed one last push before Saviadro regained control of the situation.

  “Perhaps you thought if you seized the power for your own, it would force the master to acknowledge you as the one thing you could never be to him: his son.” Lysandir drew himself up with the last few words, making them a taunt.

  “I hate you!” Numarin shrieked. “First you are the darling of the elves and now this. Everywhere I go, all I hear about is you! I did what I could to whisper doubts into the ears of your supporters, creating rumors you were disloyal, and still the Linadar believed you! I offered my counsel, but no. They only wanted you!

  “I betrayed everything I believed in to escape those who would sing your praises. I serve my new master loyally, and now you show up! Suddenly I am unneeded once more, playing second fiddle to you! Have I ever thought about taking the power for myself? Of course, I have. I would take any opportunity I could find to see you brought low. In my dreams, I see you grovel at my feet!”

  “Too bad that’s all they’ll ever be.” Lysandir smirked. “Face it, Numarin; you never were a match for me. Everyone knows it.”

  Numarin uttered an inarticulate cry rage, his dark eyes wild. “I’ll kill you!”

  An unnatural wind came down from the open sky above, whipping at Numarin’s beard and robes. With a gesture, he directed the blast at Lysandir. Saviadro and the Forsworn backed out of the way. The wind turned cold and carried shards of ice. Lysandir raised his arms and with a word, he was surrounded by a sphere of fire. The ice melted and the wind slowed.

  Lysandir did not wait to launch his own attack. Before Numarin could defend himself, he began to hurl one ball of flame after the other at his adversary. Numarin could do nothing but dodge the flaming barrage.

  But the battle was taking its toll on Lysandir. He had already used his powers to break out his companions and neutralize Saviadro’s shield. He could not afford to expend all his energies too soon. His assault slowed. Numarin regained his confidence, now able to focus long enough to cast a spell of his own. A giant cyclone began to build in the air of the chamber, spinning faster and faster. For a moment, Lysandir allowed himself to be distracted. It was long enough for Numarin to send the cyclone chasing after him.

  Lysandir cursed and started to run. The whirlwind followed, tearing at the very rock behind him. Numarin shrieked with glee. Lysandir stopped with a sigh. There was no help for it. He allowed the whirlwind to swallow him. Numarin crowed in triumph.

  Once inside the cyclone, Lysandir used his powers to perform his most powerful spell. He transformed himself into a living flame. It was draining, but it was the only thing he could do to defeat Numarin’s attack. His flames licked the edges of the cyclone. Lysandir forced them to become hotter. As the heart of the flame, he could feel no pain, but the whirlwind was now crackling with heat, searing everything in the room. Numarin had no choice but to banish his spell.

  Lysandir collapsed to the floor in his own form, exhausted. He looked up to the roiling sky above as Numarin raised his arms once more.

  Lysandir sighed. At least he had bought the others more time. But there was so much left to do! He knew he would be needed if Iarion was to be successful.

  Numarin was laughing now. It was the shrill cackle of madness. The sky continued to churn, and thunder rumbled ominously close.

  Lysandir couldn’t believe his luck. Was it possible? He reached with what little power he had left and felt what he needed within his grasp.

  Fool. By calling the storm, Numarin had handed him the weapon he needed.

  “Fire may be flashy Lysandir,” Numarin sneered, “but in the end, it is air that will be victorious!”

  “Numarin,” Lysandir said, his voice calm as another boom of thunder rolled overhead. “It’s over.”

  Numarin looked up. “Wha—”

  A bolt of lightning blasted down from the sky, striking Numarin in the chest. He screamed in agony as it charred him, flesh and bone. The air reeked of ozone and scorched flesh. Only a pile of ash remained. Lysandir struggled to his feet.

  “You did well, my son,” Saviadro said.

  “Thank you, Father-Khashad,” Lysandir mumbled, exhausted. His ruse had worked.

  Saviadro turned to the Forsworn. “Go search for the escaped prisoners. I want them brought back here with the Stariquenya. Alive.” The Forsworn nodded and left.

  “It is a shame about Numarin,” he said to Lysandir. “I thought I had all three of you on my side.”

  Lysandir hid his surprise. Had his other brother, Feoras, been turned as well?

  “What will you do now?” he asked instead.

  “We will continue as planned.” Saviadro led Lysandir out of the ruined chamber to another room that housed a table map of Lasniniar with figures to mark the position of his armies. “One of my Forsworn holds Nal Nungalid here in the north. Nal Huraseadro is already weakened from their battle in the Pass of Stars. When our position in Nal Nungalid is solidified, we will take Nal Huraseadro.” Saviadro leaned forward to caress some of the markers.

  “In the south, we block the Southern Passage with an army led by another two Forsworn Ones. It is only a matter of time before Belierumar falls. Then that force will join my advance party hiding in the Adar Daran, led by the two Forsworn Ones I sent off earlier. I have spent years filtering my creatures through the Southern Passage in small groups, right under Belierumar’s nose.

  “Once we recover the Stariquenya, I will fly south with my remaining two Forsworn Ones to lead the final assault on Melaquenya. With the entire Quenya in my possession, the elves will be powerless. My armies will march across the land, killing anyone who refuses to swear allegiance to my rule. The elves who survive will become my new slaves. Valanandir and Iadrawyn will be made to watch their people suffer. I will become a god!” Saviadro’s eyes glowed with savage pleasure.

  He turned his gaze to Lysandir, who was trying his best to mask his despair. “For this great task, I will need you by my side. Until now, you have always served me from a distance. That time has passed. Stay with me, and together we will grind the Free Peoples of Lasniniar beneath our heels! You will rule at my side as a prince. Perhaps I will even reward the loyalty you have shown me by giving you what Numarin so desperately wanted. I will wield the Quenya and you, the Stariquenya. Together, we will be unstoppable! What say you, my son?”

  Lysandir bowed his head, knowing he had no choice.

  “Father-Khashad, I would be honored.”

  – Chapter Twenty-Six –

  Dark Waters

  Iarion led his companions through the tunnel of darkness. The secret door in the chamber of the Stariquenya had closed behind them of its own accord. Iarion hoped this would further confuse their pursuers, who would assume they remained somewhere in the maze of Mar Valion. He and his companions wanted to be long gone from the dark lands before Saviadro realized they had left the tower.

  Unlike the secret tunnels of the dwarves, this one was man-sized, but the darkness was complete. The walls were strangely smooth. Iarion realized Lysandir must have used magic to carve them.

  The harsh breathing of his companions echoed around him, amplified in the darkness. Iarion stifled the irrational fear the sound would alert their pursuers. No one spoke except to mumble an apology when they stumbled into someone else. Iarion’s breathing became rapid and shallow as they ascended.

 
He had been right to trust in Lysandir. They were going to make it.

  Iarion yelped as he stumbled into something, forgetting himself in his thoughts. The others bumped into one another behind him with grunts of complaint. Iarion ran his hands over the surface of the obstacle and cursed in frustration. It was a solid brick wall. He peered through the darkness, but he could see no other path.

  “What is it?” Linwyn hissed.

  “I can’t go any further,” Iarion said, trying to keep the panic from his voice. “It’s a dead end.”

  “Blasted Learnéd One,” Barlo grumbled. “He could have given us better directions.”

  “There wasn’t enough time,” Silvaranwyn’s voice protested from the darkness.

  “Well a fat lot of good that does us now. It’s not as if we’ve got all eternity to get out of here!” Barlo began to shuffle about as he spoke. “Feel the walls. Maybe there’s another stone that triggers the exit. We’re close to the surface, I can feel it.” The others began to search as well.

  At first, Iarion felt the stones closest to the floor, thinking of the one in the chamber far behind them. Then he shook his head. Lysandir would not do something so obvious as to use the same trick twice. Iarion reached as high as his arm would go, feeling the stones near the ceiling. He and Lysandir were almost the same height. He rose up on the tips of his toes. After a few moments of fumbling, he felt it. There was no mistake. The stone was hot.

  “I’ve got it!” Iarion pressed the stone.

  Iarion heard the dry, metallic hiss of the twins drawing their swords as the wall moved aside with a shudder. Iarion drew his knife, blinking. Although it was night and the enchanted clouds above the dark lands blocked the moon and stars, the valley before them seemed bright after the tunnel.

  Iarion’s eyes roved the shadows. They appeared to be alone. He led the group out of the tunnel. The door slid shut behind them.

  They were somewhere south of Mar Valion. The Mountains of Fire lay before them. Behind them was the edge of the Dark Forest and a pile of large stones. It was through those stones that they had exited, but no sign of the door could be seen.

  Barlo ran his hands over the rock. “Nice work,” he said. “Even a dwarf would be hard put to top that.” The others looked around, breathing deeply. Even Silvaranwyn looked better, standing on her own instead of leaning on Golaron for support.

  “Which way do we go now?” Linwyn asked. “We’ve lost our only guide. We don’t dare go back the way we came. They will be watching the pass.”

  “We cannot stay here,” Golaron said. “We need to keep moving.”

  “Hidar,” Iarion said, turning to face the Lesser Man. “Some of your people pay tribute to the Fallen One.”

  “Not this again!” Hidar growled. “I thought you were different.”

  Iarion shook his head. “You misunderstand me. What I mean is the tribes that have defected must have a path through the mountains so they can meet with Saviadro’s forces. Your tribe lives close to the mountains. Do you know where such a pass might be?”

  “That makes sense…” Hidar considered for a moment before his eyes brightened. “Yes! I have heard of such a pass from one of the other tribes.”

  “Do you know where it lies?” Iarion pressed.

  “I know of it, but I have never traveled it, especially not from this direction.” Hidar frowned.

  “Can you try to lead us to it?” Iarion silenced Golaron’s protests with a look.

  “I will do my best.” Hidar shrugged. He spared a few moments to look around and orient himself. He took a deep breath and faced southeast. “This way.”

  Iarion and his companions traveled as quickly as caution permitted, ignoring their exhaustion. As soon as their absence was discovered, search parties led by the Forsworn would be sent to hunt them. They had to take advantage of every moment if they were going to escape.

  They soon found signs their caution might not be necessary. The valley between the forest and the mountains was empty. No one seemed to be left in the rude villages they passed. They had all gone to war in the south.

  The emptying of the valley only made their quest more urgent. By unspoken agreement, they began to run.

  As they fled, a strange storm built behind them over Mar Valion. The sky churned and they saw far-off flashes of fire and wind.

  Iarion’s stomach dropped. It was the distraction Lysandir had promised. The sky rumbled with great claps of thunder. Iarion found himself stopping to watch. A large fork of lightning split the sky, forcing him to look away. The storm subsided and the clouds overhead grew still once more.

  Did Lysandir still live?

  Iarion shook himself and ran on, urging the others to follow. Whatever Lysandir’s fate, there was nothing they could do to help him now. They had to make certain his sacrifice was worth the cost.

  For hours they ran through the darkness, until Iarion reluctantly called for a rest. They stopped at the edge of a small lake, its inky waters casting no reflection. While the others relaxed, eating and drinking from the supplies given to them by the dwarves, Iarion found himself drawn to the water. Its stillness called to him in a strange language he did not recognize. He wandered away from the others, walking closer to the water’s edge.

  Did something move below the surface? A familiar face perhaps…

  A voice from the past whispered at the edges of his memory. It was the Lady Iadrawyn, warning him of the Forbidden Pool. It seemed so long ago.

  Yes. This was the Forbidden Pool. Lysandir had tasted its waters and learned how to escape Saviadro. Both he and Iadrawyn had warned him about it.

  Iarion knew their quest was long from being over. They still had many leagues to go and now they traveled without Lysandir’s wisdom. They needed guidance.

  Of course Iadrawyn had warned against drinking from the pool. She was Lady of the Linadar. Her connection with the Quenya spanned millennia. She knew her destiny. And who was Lysandir to speak against such a course, when he had followed it himself?

  Iarion was the only one of his kind to be unaware of his life’s purpose. He had searched for so long. If he succeeded in his quest to reunite the Quenya, he might be given his answer. Then again, he might not. The Lord and Lady of the Linadar had promised him nothing.

  But the Forbidden Pool… Perhaps it could give him some clue. If nothing else, it would give him insight that would help him complete his quest. Lysandir had warned of the risks, but wouldn’t it be worth it? To finally have the answer…

  The temptation was more than he could bear. He sank to his knees at the water’s edge and allowed the cold liquid to fill his cupped hands.

  As though summoned by Iarion’s traitorous thoughts, Barlo’s head swiveled toward him from where he rested with the others. His brown eyes filled with horror.

  “Iarion, no!” He ran toward the pool.

  Too late.

  Iarion raised his hands to his lips and tilted his head back, allowing the icy water to burn down his throat, filling his mouth with a bitter tang. It tasted like blood.

  For a moment, time stood still. Nothing happened. Iarion wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. He had taken this foolish risk for nothing.

  Suddenly, the cold burning spread through the rest of his body. Iarion went rigid, paralyzed as Barlo shook him. His surroundings disappeared from his vision and he was plunged into chaos. He felt his eyes roll back into his head as he sank to the ground.

  And then he knew no more.

  – Chapter Twenty-Seven –

  A Heavy Burden

  Barlo cursed as he saw Iarion tilt his cupped hands to his lips. What was the fool elf doing? The lady had warned them about the Forbidden Pool!

  Barlo suppressed a surge of panic. He shook Iarion by the shoulders, but the elf’s body had gone stiff. Moments later, Iarion slumped to the ground.

  “Iarion! Iarion, wake up!” He yelled another few choice words at him in his own tongue as he continued to shake his friend’s shoulders.

 
; “Be still!” Golaron hissed. “Do you want to alert the entire countryside to our presence?” Barlo lowered his voice, but continued trying to rouse Iarion. Linwyn seemed paralyzed, her eyes wide with panic.

  Silvaranwyn crouched at Iarion’s side and laid her hand upon his brow. “He still lives. He struggles with visions given by the water.”

  “Why did he drink the foul stuff in the first place?” Hidar asked.

  “Iarion has chosen to perform this quest to learn his own destiny,” Silvaranwyn said. “The pool called to him, seducing him with promises of the answers he so desperately seeks. I should have been watching him more closely.”

  “What can we do to help him?” Barlo asked, nearly frantic.

  Silvaranwyn gave him a sympathetic look. “There is nothing we can do but wait to see if he will come back to us. Few have been known to taste the waters of the Forbidden Pool and live. The visions it shows its drinkers usually causes them to give in to despair. But Iarion is an elf, and strong in mind and spirit. If anyone has a chance, it is he. Still, it could be hours or even days before he regains consciousness.”

  Linwyn bit back a sob. Barlo began to busy himself by trying to make Iarion comfortable. He straightened the elf’s limbs with gentle hands.

  “We cannot stay here,” Hidar said, his words cutting through Barlo’s panicked fog.

  Golaron sighed. “He is right. We have to keep moving. We have already lingered here too long.”

  “Well we can’t just leave him here!” Barlo snapped. Linwyn crouched at his side, taking up Iarion’s hand in her own.

  “If we carry him, he will only slow us down,” Hidar said. He held up his hands to forestall any protests. “I have great respect for Iarion, but would he want to be responsible for the failure of the quest if we were recaptured?”

  “Iarion must come with us.” Silvaranwyn’s voice was firm. “He carries the Levniquenya.”

  “Can you not carry it?” Hidar asked. “You are an elf.”