Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1)

by Smith, Jacquelyn

  Eventually, they reached a large oak deep in the heart of the forest. A spiral walkway wound up its trunk.

  Barlo’s eyes widened. “Surely you don’t mean for us to go up that!”

  “The Rasadar dwell in the treetops,” Iarion said. Flickers of light were visible among the branches high above them. “You go first. I’ll catch you if you misstep.”

  “There’s a comforting thought,” Barlo grumbled. The scout looked back at him with disdain before beginning to ascend.

  It was a long climb. Sinstari had no difficulty, but Barlo was panting before they reached the top, his short legs trembling. Once or twice Iarion thought the dwarf might fall, but he managed to keep his balance through sheer pride and will alone.

  When they reached the treetops, the village of the Rasadar opened before them. Huts were built on platforms held up by branches with swaying walkways running between them. The scout led them off in one direction without even looking back to see whether they followed.

  Iarion thought he heard Barlo groan, but the dwarf did not give their guide the satisfaction of complaining, even when they had to cross the airy walkways. Barlo gripped the ropes on both sides as he crossed the wooden planks. Finally, they reached a small hut at the edge of the village.

  The scout gestured for them to enter. “Here is a guest hut. You may rest here for the night.”

  The elf looked as though he were about to leave, but Iarion placed a hand on his shoulder. “Wait. We need news of what has happened recently in this area and beyond the borders of your forest. Can you help us?”

  The scout shrugged off Iarion’s hand. “I will have someone sent.” He turned his back and left. Iarion shook his head, bewildered at the elf’s behavior.

  “He was a pleasant fellow,” Barlo panted. “Can we go inside now? I really need to sit.”

  Iarion stepped aside to allow his friend to enter first. The hut was sparsely furnished with a sitting area in the front and a sleeping area behind a curtain. The same haunting melody they had heard below filled the air.

  “What is that racket?”

  “Look out the window,” Iarion said.

  He knew what Barlo would find. Each Rasadar hut had a set of delicate pipes made of shell and coral that were hung from the window so the wind could blow across them.

  “Pipes? What do they have those for? How do they sleep?” Barlo collapsed in the nearest chair.

  “It makes them feel closer to the sea,” Iarion said. “It’s also what they once used to summon the Sea Folk. They still hope for their return.”

  “Sea Folk! Bah. If only they devoted as much interest in showing some hospitality to their real visitors who can walk on land! That scout wanted nothing to do with us.”

  “I apologize for him.” A strange, elven face popped through the doorway, causing Barlo to jump in his seat. The intruder had rippling silver hair and deep, blue-green eyes. He spoke slowly in the Common Tongue. “I apologize for interrupting also. I am thinking you might want some refreshment, yes?” The elf stepped through the doorway with a tray bearing a decanter, two goblets and some food.

  “You are most welcome,” Iarion said. “I am Iarion and this is my friend, Barlo. And you are?”

  “I am called Riltelari. I am sorry. My Common, it is not good, but I was thinking that someone should come and talk with you.”

  “Thank you. Please, sit down.” Iarion indicated one of the chairs.

  Riltelari sat with fluid grace, placing the tray on the table. Barlo wasted no time filling a plate with fresh seafood and greens. Iarion put a plate of fish on the floor for Sinstari, whose whiskers were twitching at the scent.

  “Please be forgiving of my people,” the Rasadain said. “We do not normally have contact with outsiders.”

  “Well, this is starting to sound familiar,” Barlo muttered between bites. “You elves really need to socialize more.” Riltelari frowned in confusion.

  “Pay no attention to him,” Iarion said with a negligent wave. Barlo would have protested, but his mouth was full. “Tell me, have you had any other outsiders here recently?”

  “No.” The elf shook his head. “You are the only ones to come here, perhaps in living memory. A Falnuna tried to contact us several weeks ago, but Feoras would not let him cross our river.”

  A Lesser Man? Iarion seized this information, realizing the elf was referring to Hidar. “You have not seen him since?”

  “No. For several days, he tried to reach us. Then he was gone.”

  “Have you had any news from beyond your borders?” Iarion pressed, hoping for some sign their companions were alive.

  “There was a battle, very fierce, in the Daran Falnun several days ago.” The elf frowned. “Our gulls bring news of a large force of Falnun traveling west through the Pass of Stars also. There was another battle there. The Falnun, they were victorious. They travel with great speed. They had a woman with them. She was bound—a prisoner.”

  Iarion’s breath caught in his throat. “A woman, not an elf?”

  “Definitely not an elf. She wore metal armor and had long, red-brown hair in…” Riltelari indicated Iarion’s hair, at a loss for the correct word.

  “Braids,” Iarion said, his heart sinking.

  “Yes, braids. That is the word. She was one of the Nunadan–a Greater Woman.”

  “Linwyn!” The word escaped Barlo’s lips as a moan. “They’ve taken Linwyn. She must have gotten separated from the others during the battle.”

  “She is a friend,” Riltelari said, trying to follow their exchange. Iarion nodded. “Why do they only take her as hostage? She was at their mercy. They could have killed her.”

  “Saviadro doesn’t know where we are,” Iarion said, biting his lip. “He is trying to flush us out. Was anyone following them?”

  “There was. A Greater Man and an elven woman.”

  “Where did the army go once they cleared the pass?” Iarion asked.

  Riltelari shrugged. “They left the Daran Falnun. We stopped watching them.”

  “Why go west and not north, directly to the Fallen One?” Barlo frowned.

  “They fear him.” Iarion spoke his thoughts aloud. “They are taking Linwyn to the Forsworn One at Nal Nungalid.”

  Barlo paled at his words. “We have to help her!”

  “No,” Iarion said with a shake of his head. “That is what they want. We must continue to move south while they are distracted and hope Golaron and Silvaranwyn can rescue Linwyn.”

  Barlo sighed and slumped his shoulders. “I know you’re right, but I don’t like it.”

  “You could always go after them,” Iarion said.

  “Oh, no.” Barlo shook his head. “You won’t be rid of me that easily. “I wonder what happened to Hidar. Do you think he turned?”

  “I don’t think so.” Iarion felt a growing certainty as he spoke, remembering the visions of the Forbidden Pool. “I fear the worst for him.”

  Riltelari had sat quietly, watching them trade words with an anxious expression. “What will you do now?” he asked. “Where will you go?”

  “We must move south,” Iarion said. “But the Southern Passage will surely be watched. I do not like our odds of making it through to the Lower Daran Nunadan.” He frowned and considered. “Barlo, do you think you could find that secret door to Dwarfhaven?”

  “I don’t know, Iarion. It was well made. It blended right in.” Barlo frowned and gnawed at his beard. “Even if I could find it, I’m not even sure how I would go about opening it. Many dwarven doors are not made to open from the outside.”

  “I like it better than our chances with the Southern Passage. There are going to be Forsworn Ones all over that area. I don’t think they know how we slipped past them on our way north. I believe Dwarfhaven is our best bet.” Iarion knuckled his eyes in frustration.

  If only the Rasadar had sailed them south! They could have bypassed the Fallen One’s entire army and completed their quest before Saviadro realized what had happened. Iari
on knew locating and opening the secret door might prove an impossible task, but it seemed the best option.

  “I am sorry that my people will not help you,” Riltelari said, echoing Iarion’s thoughts. “But I must tell you that there are those who are understanding the importance of your quest. We argue for our support. Right now, there is a council for this. I am hoping that a group will be sent to Rasdaria. They will tell the lord and lady our concerns.”

  “Thank you, Riltelari, but I fear you might be too late.” Iarion gave him a wry smile.

  “I know it is not much, but tell me where you are wanting to go once you leave us. I will guide you there myself.” The elf’s eyes were wide with sincerity.

  Iarion shared a look with Barlo. The dwarf sighed. “Well it seems that we are going to the Hills of Mist. I just hope it’s not on a fool’s errand.”

  Iarion looked from Riltelari to Barlo and nodded. “We leave at first light.”

  – Chapter Forty-One –

  Confrontation

  It took a few days for the Wild Elves to mobilize. It had been an uneasy business merging the elven army with the dwarves, but Linwyn would brook no argument. In the end, it was she who led the army south.

  Golaron shook his head in amazement from his familiar position behind his sister. He was not surprised by her ability to bully the elves and lead them. It was the impassioned speech she had given in the Fey Wood that disturbed him. When logic and self-preservation had failed to convince the elves, Linwyn was the one who had thought to use their love for Iarion to rally them to war.

  Golaron knew his sister better than anyone, and he had seen the look in her eyes as she had spoken of Iarion to these people. He could no longer ignore what was right in front of him.

  He thought back to other times during their journey when she had acted strangely around Iarion. He remembered how incapacitated she had been when Iarion had tasted the waters of the Forbidden Pool and how disappointed she had seemed when she realized the Shadow Elf had not come to rescue her from Nal Nungalid. Golaron cursed himself for an idiot. He would have to talk to his sister, and soon.

  The opportunity presented itself that afternoon. Linwyn had called for a halt shortly after they had forded the Wild River. With such a large group, progress was slow.

  A storm was moving in from the east. The Wild Elves had brought tents, which were quickly struck before the rain began to fall. Golaron left the shelter he was sharing with Silvaranwyn, Lysandir, and an assortment of elves and dwarves to find his sister.

  He was drenched by the time he found the command tent. Linwyn was poring over a map, deep in conversation with Falan and Galfidar. Golaron cleared his throat to get her attention.

  “Yes?” Linwyn asked in a distracted tone, not even looking up.

  “Linwyn, may I speak with you a moment?” Golaron said, forcing down his frustration.

  Linwyn looked up at him with a curious expression. “What is it?” Golaron gave a pointed look to the others in the tent. Linwyn sighed. “Oh, very well. Come here.” She led him through a flap to a separate room in the tent so they could speak privately.

  Once they were inside, Linwyn planted her hands on her hips. “Well?”

  “I want to talk to you about Iarion,” Golaron said in a soft voice, forcing himself past his own awkwardness.

  “What about Iarion?” Linwyn’s eyes narrowed. Golaron knew he was treading on dangerous ground.

  “About your feelings for him.” A deadly silence followed his words.

  “I really don’t think that is any of your business.” Linwyn’s voice was cold.

  “Linwyn, you’re my sister, which makes it my business.”

  “Oh, really? And why do you choose to bring this up now?” Golaron flushed in response. “It’s because you’ve just noticed, isn’t it? Some twin you are!”

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. He’s an elf, Linwyn, and he is completely wrapped up in this quest. He probably hasn’t even noticed your feelings for him.” Golaron found himself throwing the words in Linwyn’s face. A barely perceptible flinch crossed her features.

  “None of that changes the way I feel!” Linwyn brought her face close to his. “And who are you to criticize me for falling in love with an elf? The only reason you haven’t noticed is because you spend all your time mooning after Silvaranwyn!”

  “Now that is none of your—”

  “Ha! Shoe’s on the other foot now, isn’t it?” Linwyn backed away, looking pleased with herself.

  “At least I might actually have a chance with her!” Golaron spluttered. “She has decided to leave her people. Iarion, on the other hand, is doomed to spend the rest of his long life searching for answers. Even if he succeeds, he will probably want to settle down with his own kind.

  “And where is your precious Iarion anyway?” The words started pouring out of him before Golaron could stop himself. “Did he come to your rescue in Nal Nungalid? No! He abandoned us, not even knowing whether we lived or died. He could be anywhere by now! He didn’t even ask you to tag along.”

  In less time than it took to blink, Linwyn’s hand snaked forward to clutch Golaron’s throat. As much as he wanted to retaliate, Golaron forced himself to remain still.

  “I know you mean well, Brother, but this is none of your affair. Barlo knew well enough to leave it alone and so should you. This is my choice. Now, I am going with Falan and Galfidar to scout the Southern Passage to see whether it is open. I do not want to have this conversation again. Go enjoy your time with your beloved Silvaranwyn and leave me alone.” She released her grip and turned her back on him.

  Golaron waited a moment, feeling guilty. He could think of nothing more to say. He left the command tent, ignoring Falan and Galfidar’s curious looks as he passed.

  It was still raining. Golaron didn’t feel ready to return to his tent yet, so he decided to take a walk to clear his head. The sentries nodded as he passed, their hoods raised to keep off the rain. Golaron left his own hood drawn back, enjoying the feel of the raindrops hitting his scalp.

  Linwyn was right. Her feelings for Iarion were none of his business. His sister was smart, and she could certainly take care of herself. It was just that she was so reckless where her own safety was concerned. He had always been her stabilizing influence.

  But how could he criticize her when he was already in love with Silvaranwyn? He felt a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach. It was the first time he had ever admitted his true feelings for the elf, even to himself. He was in love with a Light Elf! He groaned. What was he thinking?

  Did Silvaranwyn feel the same way about him? Golaron searched inside himself for the answer. If she did, she hid it well. He got the impression she liked him and felt affection for him perhaps, but nothing more. He also had the strange feeling she would stay by his side if he asked.

  Was it enough? The rain continued to pour down. Golaron tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

  He decided it was. He had never felt this way about anyone. Perhaps Silvaranwyn would learn to love him in time. She seemed willing enough to stay by his side. They would never grow old together, but did that really matter? And once he was gone, she would remain to watch over their children, and their children’s children, until she had fulfilled her destiny. Golaron knew her fate was a tragic one, but perhaps he could give her some measure of happiness.

  It suddenly made sense to him that Linwyn could lead an army to war for an elf that was who knew where, and had no idea of her feelings for him. If not for her love for Iarion, there would be no army to lead. Golaron sighed and accepted the tangled fate they had been dealt.

  A cold trickle of water worked its way down Golaron’s neck, moving inside his collar and down his back, causing him to shudder. A loud sneeze escaped his lips. It was definitely time to return to his tent.

  An hour later, the rain stopped and Linwyn returned from her scouting expedition. Silvaranwyn had not commented on Golaron’s sorry state when he had returned. She
handed him a blanket and kept her thoughts to herself. Lysandir had left for the command tent to speak with the generals of the army. He returned a short time later with news.

  “Pack your things and prepare to move out,” he said. The Learnéd One ran his silver eyes over Golaron, who tried not to flush. Even though he had changed into dry clothes, he felt as though Lysandir knew exactly what had transpired since he had visited his sister.

  “What of the pass?” he forced himself to say.

  “It is clear. The dark army has moved on. We can only hope it has been stopped at Belierumar.” Lysandir grabbed his pack and repeated the news in Dwarvish and Elvish for the benefit of the others sharing their tent.

  Once everyone was packed, they worked together to take down their tent. It was a clever contraption that was both compact and lightweight. The tents were carried by the Wild Elves’ horses that had been brought along for the elven cavalry. The dwarves made up most of those who traveled on foot. Golaron swung into the saddle of his own mount that had been brought back from Dwarfwatch and nudged him to catch up with his sister. Linwyn gave him a sidelong glance.

  “I’m sorry,” Golaron said. “I was an idiot.”

  “You certainly were.” Linwyn’s scowl turned into a smile in one of her mercurial shifts of mood. “And I am sorry I haven’t been more understanding of you and Silvaranwyn. My jealously tends to get in the way. If you have something with her, treasure it while you can.”

  “Friends?” Golaron held out his arm.

  Linwyn clasped it. “Family. Now let’s go home.” She rode ahead to her spot with Falan and Galfidar.

  Golaron fell back to his place at Silvaranwyn’s side. He rode beside her in silence, enjoying her presence.

  The Barrier Mountains rose on both sides of the passing army as it traveled south. Golaron found himself tensing, waiting for something to happen. He noticed Linwyn taking covert glances up at the sky, but there was nothing to be seen. The area was eerily quiet except for their own hoofbeats and tramping feet.