“Is he alone?” Linwyn asked. Silvaranwyn relayed the question. The Sky Elf answered.
“No,” she translated. “A dwarf and a large cat travel with him.” Golaron found himself smiling at the news.
Linwyn collapsed into her chair with a look of relief. She glanced around the table at the other leaders.
“This is the news we have been waiting for. We need to move as quickly as possible.”
Golaron cleared his throat. “This may seem a strange question, but if the dark army is so large, why have they not stormed the wood and claimed the Quenya already? Why do they wait?”
Silvaranwyn leaned forward. “My people are not violent, but they will guard the Quenya with their lives. They also have access to the Quenya’s magic. Although it cannot be used as a weapon, it can provide protection. They will use it to shield the Quenya from the dark army.”
“The dark army is waiting for reinforcements,” Lysandir said. “The rest of the Forsworn are still unaccounted for. They will come, along with their master. Their combined force is the only thing that could overpower the magic of the Light Elves.” Silvaranwyn nodded her agreement.
“Then we need to strike now, before it is too late,” Linwyn said. “Iarasinta, can you show us the exact location of the dark army?” She pointed to the map lying on the table.
Silvaranwyn translated once more and the Sky Elf pointed to the region just north of Melaquenya. His finger trailed from the Rolling Hills in the west to the eastern coast.
Linwyn chewed her lip in consideration. “We will have to split into groups to spread out and create as much chaos as possible. We should use hit-and-run tactics and attack when the dark creatures are at their least alert.”
“Just before dawn would be best,” Lysandir said. “They will be preparing to sleep and we will need a time when the sun is not fully out in order to disguise our numbers.”
“How can they sleep during the day out in the open?” Golaron asked.
“A large, dark cloud has followed them south as they travel,” Lady Melalynia of the Wood Elves said. “It provides them the darkness they need.”
“Saviadro’s doing,” Golaron muttered. Several people around the table nodded in agreement. Although Iarion bore the Stariquenya, the Fallen One could still tap its power.
“The Rolling Hills would provide a good base to strike from,” Lord Daranadil of the Earth Elves said. The dwarf leaders nodded in agreement.
“Where are the Sea Elves?” Golaron asked. They were the only elves not accounted for. “Why have they not come?”
Lady Melalynia wound a lock of chestnut hair around her finger and frowned. “No one has been able to contact them. They have kept to themselves for many years. We are all insular people, but the Rasadar are physically isolated from the rest of us by the Daran Falnun and the sea. I wound not count on their assistance.”
“When I was in Mar Valion with Saviadro, he hinted he had corrupted all the Learnéd,” Lysandir said. “If what he said is true, Feoras will not allow the Rasadar to join this war.” Shocked murmurs made their way around the table. Lysandir continued. “But I am here with you. I can help put the fear of fire into our enemy.”
“Lysandir managed to kill the steeds of two of the Forsworn Ones at Belierumar,” Linwyn said. The eyes of those who had not been there to witness it widened.
“I am also hoping I can get Silvaranwyn’s help with something,” the Learnéd One said.
“Oh, no.” Golaron was already shaking his head. “Not again. I will not let you use her like that again. Do you remember what it did to her? Every time she uses her magic, she fades some more. I won’t allow it.”
“Won’t allow?” Lysandir raised an eyebrow. “I did not think your permission was required.”
Golaron instantly regretted his choice of words. He flushed. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that, well, look!” He gestured at Silvaranwyn’s radically altered appearance. “She loses another piece of herself each time. It could kill her!”
“So can riding into battle,” Silvaranwyn said. She placed a hand on Golaron’s shoulder. “I am not any more dead if I am killed by magic. I was willing to come along and risk my life for this cause. It is what I was born to do. I will do everything in my power to stop Saviadro from attaining the Quenya. Please do not ask me to do any less.”
Linwyn gave Silvaranwyn a nod of approval, and Golaron felt his shoulders slump in defeat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to Silvaranwyn. “It’s just…”
“I understand,” she said. “I had best go with Lysandir to see what he has planned. I will see you when we move out.”
She gave him one long, last look with her silver eyes before turning away. Golaron tried to suppress the wave of dread rising in the pit of his stomach as he watched her walk off with the Learnéd One.
– Chapter Forty-Seven –
Among the Enemy
“Why don’t we wait another night to make sure they got our message?” Barlo asked.
He and Iarion were crouched in the tall grass just south of the Wandering River. The dark army’s camp sprawled before them, as far as his dwarven eyes could see. He and Iarion had already taken two nights to travel this far. Iarion had become increasingly cautious as they moved south. They didn’t want to stumble across any dark army scouts.
“Our message will have been delivered by now,” Iarion said as he stared off into the distance. “We have to go now if we want to make it. If we wait any longer, we will get swept up in the battle. We don’t want to give these creatures a chance to get organized.”
“And just how are we supposed to walk through the enemy camp undetected? I don’t care how much confusion there is. We’ll stick out like a bearded elf maid at a dwarven drinking party.”
“I’m going to take care of that right now,” Iarion said. “Wait here.”
Barlo sighed as Iarion disappeared into the darkness. He looked over at Sinstari, who crouched beside him. “Well? What do you think of all this?” The cat let out a sigh of his own.
“We’ll just have to do our best to protect him, since he seems so bent on getting himself killed.” Barlo thought for a moment and frowned. “I hope he isn’t trying to sneak off without us.” Sinstari’s green eyes blinked in silence.
“Bah, what am I doing? Talking to a cat.” Barlo shook his head. “Foolishness. You probably can’t even understand me.” Sinstari gave a low growl, flattening his ears.
Barlo held up his hands in a warding gesture. “All right, all right. My apologies. It’s just strange, is all. Iarion wouldn’t be happy with you if you decided to eat me, you know.” Sinstari’s growling stopped and his tufted ears perked back up. Barlo decided to keep his mouth shut to avoid getting into any more trouble.
Iarion returned nearly an hour later, stealing through the darkness as only a Shadow Elf could to crouch beside Barlo, who yelped in surprise.
“Blasted elf!” he whispered. “Try to give me some warning next time. I can’t see in the dark like you can.”
“Sorry. I found our way in.” Iarion held up some clothes.
“What are those?”
“They belonged to a goblin and an ogre. They should fit. If we dress like them and smear our faces with dirt, we should pass a cursory inspection.”
“You’re mad!”
“They won’t be looking for us right under their noses. It just has to get us through the camp. If our side does their job, the creatures will be distracted enough not to look too closely.” Iarion held some filthy rags and armor out to Barlo. The foul stench of them made the dwarf wrinkle his nose in disgust.
“What about the cat?” Barlo stalled.
“Sinstari can take care of himself. He’s good at being unseen. He found us after we came back out of the dark lands, remember?”
“I suppose he did.”
“All right. Then hurry up and get changed. The next shift of sentries could arrive soon. I don’t want them to find their two dead friends until we’re
in the camp.”
Barlo took the clothing with a grumble and set to work. The ogre’s clothes were dirty and tattered, and the armor was rusty. His skin crawled at their touch. Once he had finished, he took a handful of dirt and rubbed it on his face.
“What about the tusks?” he asked. All ogres had tusks. If he didn’t have any, it would be noticed.
“I took care of that too.” Iarion rummaged through his pack.
“Just what I wanted to hear.” Barlo rolled his eyes in the darkness.
Iarion pulled out a pair of long ogre tusks tied to a thong. “Here. Tie this around your neck, under your beard.”
“You can’t be serious. Iarion, that’s disgusting! You took those from the sentry, didn’t you?”
“Well I certainly didn’t find them lying around on the ground. If you want to come with me, you’ll need them. I rinsed them off.” Iarion held them out.
Barlo sighed and snatched them up. “Fine. But when this is over, I’m going to bathe for a week! Now help me put these things on.”
He held up his beard with one hand and slipped the strange necklace underneath. He shifted the tusks around until they felt like they were in place. Behind him, Iarion lifted his hair and tied the ends of the thong, so the tusks were held tight against Barlo’s jaw. Barlo arranged his beard around the tusks, and Iarion stepped back to take a critical look.
“Not bad,” he said. “You’ll do. If anyone tries to talk to you, just growl a lot. You should be able to handle that without a problem.”
“Very funny. Now what about you? You’re wearing the clothes of a goblin, but your eyes are wrong and so is your skin.”
“I’m going to take care of that,” said the elf. “Wait here.” He disappeared in the grass for several moments before returning. His skin was a dark shade of green.
“How’d you do that?” asked Barlo.
“Green mud. I’m going to wear this helm I found the goblin wearing. It’s big enough that it should disguise my eyes. I’ll just try to keep my head down.” He tucked his braided silver hair up into the helm and crouched beside Sinstari, speaking to the cat in Elvish. A few moments later, Sinstari loped off into the night.
Iarion straightened. “Let’s go.”
They reached the dark army’s camp all too soon. Barlo felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach as they stepped into the light of the watch fires. Iarion was walking with a crouched, sporadic gait that reminded Barlo of a spider.
“Quit trying to sneak,” Iarion whispered from the side of his mouth. “This is supposed to be our camp, remember? Start tromping.”
Barlo bit back a retort and used his frustration to create a heavy, shuffling step. He allowed his jaw to slacken and adopted an ogre’s squint.
The camp was huge. Dark creatures walked in and out of primitive tents made of some sort of skins Barlo didn’t recognize. It creeped his flesh even more than wearing the tusks. Groups of creatures sat around the watch fires, drinking and gambling. At first, Barlo took the white objects they tossed to be dice. He nearly choked when he realized they were knucklebones. Some games got heated, and small scuffles broke out until a large troll was sent to break it up. Barlo had never felt so conspicuous in his life.
He was so busy looking at his surroundings, he didn’t notice one of the trolls approaching them until its shadow loomed directly overhead. Barlo looked up and tried not to jump in startlement. The huge troll stared down at them with its pale blue eyes as it gripped a mace in one gray hand.
It said something Barlo could not understand, its foul breath nearly knocking him over. It didn’t take any knowledge of the Black Tongue to know they were being challenged. What had he been thinking, agreeing to this plan?
Barlo was surprised when he heard Iarion reply in the same harsh language in a raspy voice. He had forgotten his friend knew the Black Tongue. Iarion spoke at length, gesturing at Barlo and off to the northwest, rather than the direction from which they had come. The dwarf got over his surprise and remained at Iarion’s side, holding onto his fiercest scowl.
The troll scratched its head and frowned. Iarion spoke rapidly, while Barlo held his breath. Finally, the troll shrugged and nodded, seeming to accept whatever Iarion was saying.
Once the troll seemed won over, Iarion asked it a question. This time Barlo did recognize one of the words he used: Narashu. It was the word for the Forsworn. The troll gestured to a huge tent at the center of the camp and replied, using the same word with another that seemed familiar: Khashad. Iarion nodded his head in thanks and waved farewell to the troll before heading further into the camp.
Barlo let out the breath he had been holding. “What was that all about?” he muttered.
“I had to convince him we had been relieved early from sentry duty,” Iarion spoke under his breath. “I told him you were a mute. If anyone else challenges us, I’ll tell them the same, so don’t make any sound. We were lucky it was a troll. A goblin or ogre would have been much more suspicious.”
“What was that bit about the Forsworn?”
“I could sense them here, but I wanted to know how many.” Iarion nodded his head toward the largest tent. “They are in there. Not all of them, but the rest are coming soon. I can only hope our close proximity to the Quenya will muffle the presence of the Stariquenya.”
“And what does ‘Khashad’ mean?”
“It means ‘master.’” Iarion’s face became expressionless. “Saviadro is also on his way.”
“Then let’s get out of here, before we meet anyone else.”
Iarion nodded his agreement and led the way through the camp. He took a twisting route, avoiding any large groups or places near the watch fires that were well lit. Many dark creatures looked up as they passed, but paid them little heed.
The calm pace Iarion set nearly drove Barlo mad. He desperately wanted to run. He felt as though everyone must be staring at them, they were so obvious. He was already drenched in a nervous sweat. He briefly wondered where Sinstari was and how he was faring. He wished he had the cat’s ability to pass unseen.
The journey through the camp seemed to take hours. Barlo had no idea how close they were to Melaquenya. With a strange, heavy cloud looming overhead, it was too dark for him to tell. Dawn could not be far off. The camp had quieted and most of the creatures not on duty were curled up by the fires to sleep. No one else challenged them as they passed.
Perhaps they would be able to pull this off after all. Barlo only hoped they would reach the other side of the camp soon. His constant tension had faded to a dull fatigue. His shuffling gait was no longer an affectation.
Barlo was jarred from his numb fog when all the campfires suddenly took on a life of their own, flaring high into the sky and spewing flames onto anyone nearby. The sleeping creatures roared as they woke, running around and screaming. But no matter how much they rolled on the ground, the flames would not go out. Inhuman shrieks of terror filled the air, and the stench of burning hair and flesh assaulted Barlo’s nostrils. From somewhere far off, a horn was blaring. The call was taken up by others and the camp sprang to life. Dark creatures poured out of tents with weapons in hand, heading north.
It took Barlo a few moments to realize he and Iarion had stopped moving to watch. He shook himself and turned to face his friend. Iarion was smiling.
“Lysandir,” he whispered. “It’s Lysandir. He’s alive!”
“Yes, well he’s given us the perfect distraction, so we had best use it.” Barlo tugged on Iarion’s arm.
“They got our message. The dark army is under attack!” Iarion shook himself and turned serious. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t hold out much hope of us getting any help, especially not from Lysandir. Come on!” Iarion broke out into a run, much to Barlo’s relief.
The camp was in chaos. At first it was difficult for them to make their way past all the dark creatures traveling in the opposite direction, but no one seemed to notice them. Barlo could make out the large shadow that was the edge of the forest. He pu
shed himself even harder. They were going to make it.
The closer they got to their goal, the more empty the camp became. With the thinning of the crowd, they were forced to a walk once more to remain inconspicuous. Barlo’s breath came in heavy gasps. He could feel the dirt he had smeared on hours earlier running down his cheeks. The tusks had come loose and dangled freely about his neck. Iarion’s features were becoming visible under streaks of green mud. The way before them appeared to be open.
A figure sprang from the shadows, intercepting them. It was a goblin. Barlo bit back a groan. They should have known there would be sentries on the edge of the camp. They could only hope the shadows would help hold their thinning disguise. Iarion pulled up short and gave a respectful nod. Only one goblin was visible, but who knew how many others were within shouting distance?
The goblin asked a question in its foul language. Iarion responded in kind, gesturing toward the burning camp.
“Gaz?” the goblin asked, staring at the flames in the distance. “Tremblash!” It hissed the second word.
Iarion nodded emphatically. “Lysandir,” he said.
Barlo knew as soon as Iarion used the Learnéd One’s name, he had made a mistake. The goblin’s red, slitted eyes returned to Iarion’s face and narrowed. It leaned forward, sniffing before letting out another low hiss. Iarion held out his empty hands in a peaceful gesture, speaking low and fast.
Not fast enough.
“Shadvar!” the creature screamed.
It took a deep breath to shout once more as it drew its dagger. Barlo heard a low growl just before a large shadow landed on the goblin, silencing it. Green eyes stared up at them. It was Sinstari.
No one answered the goblin’s call of warning. Barlo felt a wave of relief. It was instantly replaced by an almost overwhelming and familiar sense of dread. He saw the color drain from Iarion’s mud-streaked face.
Barlo looked back toward the camp. Dark shadows that seemed to swallow all light had emerged from the largest tent. Although he couldn’t see their inhuman eyes, he felt their heavy gaze upon him. They had heard the goblin’s cry.
Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) Page 35