Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1)

by Smith, Jacquelyn

  Iarion’s eyebrows shot upward. “You would petition on our behalf?”

  “We will not allow Feoras and our parents to forget the fate they have decreed for you,” Rasniwyn said. Her sisters nodded their agreement. “We will also tell our people of your situation and have them to voice their opinions. Our parents seek to protect them without asking what they think is best. By doing so, they make the same mistake as Feoras.”

  “This is good news, although I do not hold much hope.” Iarion sighed. “Thank you.”

  “We do this for you, Iarion, but we also do it for our people. For too long, we have lived apart from the other elves and Free Races. It is time we took our place in this world.” Rasniwyn’s silver eyes sparkled with conviction.

  “Do not lose hope,” Rilriel said. “Eventually we always get our way.” She winked.

  “We have also brought some gifts,” Nimrilriel said. She saw Iarion’s panicked expression and clarified. “These gifts are for Barlo. We have already given you what we thought you might need for your journey.”

  Each of the three elves stepped forward with a wrapped package. “A waterproof cloak,” Rilriel said, handing the dwarf her package.

  “A pair of waterproof boots.” Nimrilriel said.

  “And an elixir.” Rasniwyn handed hers over with a smile. “Take it tomorrow morning before you board the ship and it will prevent you from becoming seasick.”

  Barlo threw his arms around the youngest elf. “Thank you, my lady!” Propriety overcame his enthusiasm and he pulled away, blushing furiously.

  “Thank you, ladies,” Iarion said, giving them a grave nod. “You give us new hope.”

  “Perhaps once your quest is complete, you will come back and reward us sometime.” Nimrilriel gave him a sly smile.

  Rilriel grabbed her sister’s hand and towed her toward the door. “We will do all we can to aid you.”

  Rasniwyn looked back over her shoulder as she went to leave. “May the Quenya guide your footsteps.”

  Barlo looked at Iarion. The elf looked dumbstruck. Barlo laughed.

  “Well, that was interesting,” he said. “If they manage to succeed, perhaps you should come back and reward them!”

  For once, Iarion was speechless.

  – Chapter Thirty-Nine –

  The Art of Persuasion

  Linwyn did not like the idea of returning to the Fey Wood. She did not want to see any of Iarion’s children or the elves who had once been his lovers. The first time it had been a surprise. She didn’t think she could bear it again, knowing what she knew now. But Iarion needed help. They needed the Wild Elves to join them. Linwyn tried to remember they were doing this for him.

  After the battle of Nal Nungalid, the remaining companions had taken some time to rest before setting out. Silvaranwyn looked somewhat better for it, but there could be no doubt she was changing. Golaron seemed protective of her, which made Linwyn wonder. Silvaranwyn showed him a deep respect and perhaps even some affection, but nothing more. Linwyn hoped Golaron would not find himself getting hurt.

  She smiled and shook her head. Hadn’t Barlo given her the same warning about Iarion? Her brother was no fool. She decided to hold her tongue.

  Galfidar accompanied them with a large contingent of dwarves. More had arrived from Dwarfwatch with the rest of the refugees to help reclaim Nal Nungalid.

  Galfidar had been easy to convince when it came to joining their cause. These dwarves had lived in the shadow of the Fallen One for generations, keeping watch. They knew what Saviadro was capable of. They also knew the time for sitting back and keeping watch was past.

  Galfidar had sent a message to his brother with a runner, telling him of their plan to move south. The Chief of Clans’ reply had arrived only a few hours later, giving his consent.

  That had been yesterday. Since then, they had forded the Sunset River and made camp in the Wild Lands for the night. Now it was late on the second day, and the Fey Wood was drawing near.

  Linwyn was glad to leave Nal Nungalid. The memory of her fear and helplessness lingered in the back of her mind. It felt good to be back in her armor and carrying her sword. It reminded her of who she was, or at least who she had been before she had become the Forsworn One’s prisoner. Golaron had even returned her helm, which she had thought lost.

  Linwyn knuckled her eyes, stifling a yawn. She had spent most of the previous night keeping watch over the camp, not wanting to see the Forsworn when she closed her eyes. When her exhaustion had finally claimed her, she had fallen asleep in her armor, her dreams filled with darkness.

  She had told no one of her secret fear, but she knew Lysandir and Silvaranwyn suspected. Golaron was oblivious, completely wrapped up in Silvaranwyn. Linwyn refused to speak to him of it, not wanting him to know how badly her confidence was shaken. She was always the brave one. It was only the thought of Iarion needing their help that kept her going.

  Linwyn shook herself from her reverie. They had reached the borders of the wood. An elf stepped forward to challenge them, his bow drawn. It was not Falan. Lysandir spoke quickly, using the Elven Tongue. The elf’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed to accept whatever the Learnéd One had said. He made a gesture to the dwarves and said something before beckoning for the rest of them to follow.

  “I am sorry, Galfidar,” Lysandir said, “but they will not permit your people to enter their wood. You must wait here.”

  “Fine by me,” the dwarf said. “Trees make us anxious anyway, and we wouldn’t want any misunderstandings.”

  Lysandir turned to Silvaranwyn, Golaron, and Linwyn. “Come.”

  Linwyn could feel curious eyes watching them from the trees as they passed. They followed in the shadows, and by the time she and her companions reached the glade where Numadil and Salimarawyn held court, it appeared the majority of the Wild Elves had arrived to observe the audience. It made Linwyn nervous.

  “Why have you returned?” Lord Numadil asked, wasting no time on pleasantries. He at least had the good grace to use the Common Tongue.

  “And where is Iarion?” Lady Salimarawyn leaned forward on her throne.

  “We were captured by the Fallen One and have since been separated,” Lysandir said. “We do not know where Iarion is, but he has the Stariquenya.” The lord and lady’s eyes widened. “As to why we have returned, it seems we are in further need of your help. Saviadro and his army are headed south for Melaquenya. We are trying to muster an army of our own to stop him.”

  Numadil sighed. “Then I am afraid you have come here in vain. You know we do not meddle in affairs beyond the borders of our wood. We will not send our people off to be slaughtered in a war that need not concern us. I am sorry Lysandir, but you should have known better than to return. And you even bring an army of dwarves to our doorstep!” The lord shook his head. “You and your companions may rest here for the night, but in the morning you must depart and take the dwarves with you.”

  “You cannot dismiss what is happening,” Lysandir persisted. “The fate of Lasniniar is at stake!”

  “We are not the rulers of the rest of Lasniniar,” Salimarawyn said. “I am also sorry, Lysandir, but we will hear no more.”

  Linwyn felt a tide of frustrated rage rise within her. Lysandir seemed at a loss. Although the self-involved nature of these elves infuriated her, they would be needed if Iarion was going to have a chance of success. She stepped forward, her fists clenched at her sides.

  “No.”

  The elves all looked at one another in surprise, murmuring in their own tongue.

  “This audience is not over. I would like to speak.” Linwyn looked to the lord and lady, who nodded their assent with puzzled expressions.

  “You.” Linwyn jerked her chin at Silvaranwyn. “Translate. I want everyone here to understand what I have to say.” Silvaranwyn nodded her agreement.

  Linwyn removed her helm and began to pace, using her anger to fuel her speech. Lysandir stepped back to give her the floor, his face unreadable.

 
“You say this is an outside matter that does not concern you. That is not true. If Iarion fails and Saviadro gains possession of the Quenya, do you really believe he will leave you in peace? No. He will rally his Forsworn and come here for you. Perhaps not right away, but it is only a matter of time before he remembers your existence and his gaze turns to your wood.” Linwyn waited for Silvaranwyn to finish translating before she continued.

  “Let’s say you do manage to be forgotten. The Quenya is now in enemy hands. Do any of you know what it is like to live without your connection to it? I have heard Iarion is the only elf to ever experience this, and at times I think it may drive him mad. He is an extraordinary elf and bears it well, but he cannot stop his search for meaning. It has made him live far longer than any of his kind, and forced him to wander all of Lasniniar searching for answers. How will all of you fare? There will be no inner compass, no hope for ascension to Light Elf status.

  “There won’t even be any Light Elves left. Saviadro is going to kill them all. Lady Iadrawyn and Lord Valanandir, the two elves who discovered the Quenya and brought your kind to this continent, will be gone. As for Melaquenya, only the charred stumps of its glorious trees will remain.” Linwyn watched as her words reached the elves. Their eyes widened and they began to whisper among themselves. She stopped her pacing and looked out at them, challenging them to meet her gaze.

  “Perhaps you are still asking yourselves what this has to do with you. Melaquenya is far away. Few of you have ever seen it or the elves who live there, protecting the Quenya. Perhaps you think it a better price to pay compared to facing the Fallen One. I will tell you this: If you turn your back on us now, you are turning your back on one of your own.

  “For many years, Iarion lived among you. He has been a brother, a son, a lover, or a father to many of you. He has fought to protect your wood. Now he needs your help. The hope of Lasniniar hinges on his success, and things are not looking good. He needs a distraction. He is not here to ask you himself to do this. I am asking you for him.” Linwyn held her voice steady. She realized there were tears streaming down her face.

  “There is no other elf like Iarion, and I know that you love him. How could you not? So what you need to ask yourselves is whether you are willing to sit back and do nothing, knowing your inaction will destroy Melaquenya, the Light Elves, countless others, and your beloved Iarion. If you will not do this for yourselves, then at least do it for his sake. I am begging you.”

  Linwyn had run out of words. She realized Golaron was staring at her, his eyes wide. Linwyn wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to compose herself. She felt completely wrung out.

  To her surprise, Lysandir placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You did well,” he murmured.

  Silvaranwyn was just finishing her translation. When she was done speaking, a heavy silence fell over the glade. Linwyn looked out at the sea of elven faces. Many of them looked away, unable to meet her eyes. Some of them merely looked thoughtful. The faces of the lord and lady were unreadable. The air had become completely still.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Salimarawyn finally spoke.

  “You are right. This is our concern. We were only trying to fool ourselves by saying otherwise. Still, we do not like the idea of sending our people into battle. But they must have a say in this matter. Are they willing to fight for Iarion?” She addressed the elves in their own tongue. Another tense silence followed.

  “I will fight for Iarion.” Beliriel stepped forward, giving a nod to her parents.

  Linwyn felt a surge of surprise immediately followed by jealousy. This woman had borne Iarion’s child! She reminded herself it didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting these elves to take a stand.

  Beliriel’s sister, Luniwyn, hung back. “I want to fight for Iarion, but someone must care for the children if the worst should happen. I am sorry.” She met Linwyn’s gaze to let her know she meant it.

  Falan stepped forward to stand beside Beliriel. “I will fight for Iarion.”

  Everything started happening at once. The elves began to talk and argue among themselves as more stepped forward to join Falan and Beliriel. Soon, roughly three-quarters of the Wild Elves had volunteered.

  “It seems we have reached a decision,” Lord Numadil said with a wry smile. “The Beliadar will go to war.”

  “The rest of the army awaits us on the border of your wood,” Lysandir said.

  “Wait.” Falan frowned. “You do not expect us to march off to war with dwarves, do you?”

  Linwyn lurched forward, her hands clenched. Someone put a hand on her shoulder. She looked back to see Golaron shaking his head.

  “One battle at a time.”

  – Chapter Forty –

  A Cold Welcome

  Iarion paced. Every moment that passed during the voyage back to the mainland grated on him. He knew it was only because of his and Barlo’s necessary confinement. The dwarf lounged in a hammock, seeming at ease with the rocking motions of the ship. Rasniwyn’s potion for seasickness seemed to be working. It was a good thing too. It would be difficult to remain inconspicuous with Barlo’s head hanging over the side the entire way. Sinstari lay stretched out on the floor, unconcerned.

  The passage brought back more memories for Iarion. He had traveled in a ship much like this one to search for Ralvaniar, the lost continent. He had accompanied a group of Rasadar on the expedition. The other elven tribes had moved on since the exodus to Lasniniar, but the Rasadar still pined for the old days. They even lived on an island between the old world and the new. Iarion had gone with them to try to find something of the missing continent where the Quenya had originated, but the Rasadar had been searching for something else.

  When the Sea Elves had lived in the old world, they had made their home on the isle of Arindaria. It was in the surrounding waters they had first discovered the Sea Folk. They were creatures with the upper body of an elf and the tail of a fish, rather than legs. They had their own language, and dwelled deep beneath the sea.

  The Rasadar had befriended them and learned to speak their language. They had continued to keep in contact with them even after all the elves had united to become Linadar and moved their home to the ancient forest of Melavalion to live in hiding from the dark creatures that had begun to run rampant.

  But there had been no time to warn the Sea Folk of the final battle that would result in the cataclysm that destroyed the continent. The Rasadar had not seen them since, despite their efforts to make contact. Iarion suspected they had been swept deep into the bottom of the ocean by the strange, circular waterfall that lay where Ralvaniar had once been. Perhaps they lived, even still.

  Iarion forced himself to stop pacing and looked over at Barlo. “I’m sorry this was a wasted trip.”

  “We don’t know that yet,” the dwarf said. “Those girls seem pretty persuasive. You should have more faith in them. If nothing else, we got a chance to rest, resupply, and recover.”

  “Thank you for coming with me, Barlo. You are a good friend.” Iarion gave him a smile.

  “You should know by now you can’t get rid of me!” Barlo grinned back before turning serious. “What will we do now?”

  “We will see what news we can gain from the elves on the mainland and go from there.”

  “I wonder what the others are up to.” Barlo gnawed on his bearded lower lip. “Are they still alive?”

  “There is no way to find out, unless they somehow were given refuge by the mainland Rasadar, which is highly unlikely.” Iarion sighed. “We can only hope they are safe. We must press on without them. It’s for their own good.”

  There was a slight lurch as the anchor was thrown overboard. The ship glided to a stop.

  “We’re here,” Iarion said.

  Someone knocked on the door to their cabin. Iarion called for the visitor to enter in Elvish. It was Alfiabalas.

  “We have arrived,” he said. “You must put on your cloaks. Do not expect much from the elves here on the m
ainland. They will abide by the lord and lady’s decision.”

  “Thank you for your help,” Iarion said, holding out his hand.

  Alfiabalas gripped his forearm. “I am only sorry I cannot do more. Good luck to both of you on your quest.”

  Iarion and Barlo donned the waterproof cloaks they had been given, drawing up the hoods to hide their faces. They were identical to the cloaks the rest of the ship’s crew wore.

  They went above deck to find the crew waiting with their own hoods drawn. It was dusk. They joined the group as they left the ship for the pier. Sinstari weaved among them, staying close to the center. Barlo, whose lack of height made him conspicuous, was also kept within the heart of the group. If anyone was watching, it would be difficult to spot anything out of the ordinary.

  They remained in formation until they were safely under the boughs of the Forest of the Sea. A scout appeared, and Alfiabalas spoke in hushed tones, explaining the situation. After several moments, the scout nodded.

  Alfiabalas turned to face them. “This is farewell. My crew and I must rest if we are to make the morning tide and maintain your cover. Cargo for the island is being loaded to give reason for our visit.”

  “Thank you again,” Iarion said.

  “Be safe.” Alfiabalas nodded and left with his crew trailing behind him.

  The scout stepped forward. “Will you be departing now?” he asked in Elvish.

  “Is there someplace we might rest first?” Iarion asked. “We have some decisions to make before moving on.”

  A frown flickered over the scout’s features as his eyes passed over Barlo and Sinstari. “I believe I know a place.” He continued to speak in Elvish.

  “Do you not speak Common?” Iarion asked.

  “I do not,” the scout said with a sniff in the dwarf’s direction. “There are few here who do.”

  Iarion sighed. “Very well. Take us to this place.” He explained to Barlo what was happening as the scout led them through the forest.

  There were no other elves about. The forest appeared deserted. Haunting, airy melodies lilted through the air from somewhere above them in the ancient trees. Barlo looked around in confusion. Iarion smiled and said nothing, not wanting to ruin the surprise.