Light Chasers (The World of Lasniniar Book 0)

by Jacquelyn Smith

  Lodariel stalked the perimeter of the camp, moving from the shadow of one hill to the next. A week had passed since she had first arrived. She held her spear low and ready in callused palms, the grain of the wood familiar and smooth. Beaded feathers dangled soundlessly from leather thongs below the metal spearhead. Even though she knew the darkness of night would bleed all colors into shadow, she felt painfully conspicuous without her dark skin. Certainly the physical changes wrought by the Quenya were pretty to look at, but they didn’t seem practical. She had considered smearing herself with mud to compensate, but the dragon had had the audacity to insinuate she was incapable of moving undetected in her new form.

  There was also the Earth Elf to consider. For some reason she couldn’t explain, what Daroandir thought of her mattered, as no one’s opinion had mattered to her before. Although they seemed complete opposites, she had felt an immediate kinship with him she could not explain. It wasn’t attraction, but something deeper. She wanted to prove herself worthy and capable, so here she was, prowling the area for intruders with no camouflage for protection.

  Despite the deficiencies of her physical appearance, there were benefits to her transformation. Her senses had become far sharper than before, and they had already been formidable. Her eyes pierced the darkness with ease and her ears were sensitive to any sound. As for her instincts, they felt as though they had been honed to a sharpness she had never known existed. It was how she sensed the intruder long before he appeared.

  His scent caught her attention first. Familiar with tracking animals through the forest, Lodariel had honed even this sense to a finely-tuned edge that was now heightened even further by the Quenya. The night breeze carried it to her: an unfamiliar male smell with a salty tang that reminded her of the sea. She waited a few moments with eyes closed to listen to his approach to pin down his location. He was traveling from the southwest. Balancing her weight on the balls of her feet, Lodariel moved silently through the grass, keeping to the shadows.

  Unaware he was not alone, the intruder continued on a course that would take him directly to her companions and the Quenya. Now that she was closer, she could make out his tall, lean frame. Was he a drakhal? Although there was no way to tell from her position in the darkness, something told her he was not. Still, she couldn’t take the chance and risk harm coming to those she was meant to protect. She circled him to approach from behind.

  He flinched in surprise as she pressed the point of her spear between his shoulder blades. She held the muscles of her arms coiled to strike.

  “One false move and I run you through.” She increased the pressure on her spear to drive her threat home. “Now turn around.”

  He raised his hands in the air and slowly turned. His features could have been drakhal or elven. His skin was darkened with grime and his long hair was a mass of silver tangles in the moonlight. His clothes were weather-stained and ragged, and his face was gaunt. Lodariel pressed her spear against his chest and leaned closer to inspect his eyes, which held a long-suffering patience. They were a blue-green color as best she could tell in the darkness.

  Not a drakhal then, but that didn’t mean he was to be trusted. Iadrawyn’s people had turned against her on the word of a drakhal. It was anyone’s guess who else might be working against them. Since the intruder was an elf, it was not for Lodariel alone to decide what to do with him. She withdrew her spear and clamped her fingers around his upper arm.

  “Come with me.” Giving him little choice in the matter, she dragged him toward the camp. He stumbled after her.

  Once they were within sight of the campfire near the resting place of the Quenya, she shoved him into the light. Valanandir, Iadrawyn, Daroandir, and Malarin startled to alertness at their entrance.

  “I found this one prowling near the camp.” Lodariel indicated the stranger with her spear.

  Her shove had thrown her captive off balance. He barely managed to stay on his feet. Once he regained his composure, he looked up. When his eyes fell on Valanandir, he gave a low keen and fell to his knees.

  “Numril?”

  It was Valanandir who spoke, his voice unstrung and eyes wide with disbelief. He was on his feet and at Lodariel’s side in moments, kneeling in front of the strange elf.

  “Am I dead then?” the intruder asked in a ragged voice. He touched Valanandir’s face in disbelief. “You look just like Valanandir, and yet… you are something more.”

  “No, you’re not dead.” Valanandir placed gentle hands on the stranger’s shoulders. “However did you find me?”

  “I wasn’t looking for you. Word reached us your ship had been attacked by Nargaz. No survivors reached our shores. Your foster-parents and I held a vigil to honor your memory.” He shook his head, tears creating a path down his grimy cheeks. “I came because I saw the lights in the sky and sensed something beckoning me to the mainland. The others were still discussing what had happened and deciding what to do. I couldn’t wait. News of your death made me reckless. I left Arindaria and wandered here until yon warrior maiden took me captive.”

  Lodariel shrugged, refusing to feel remorse for taking her responsibilities seriously.

  Valanandir suddenly seemed to realize there were others present. He stood and held out a hand to help the other elf rise before turning to face the others.

  “This is Numril,” he said, “my oldest, dearest friend.”

  “So we gathered.” Malarin’s dry mutter was barely audible.

  “Whatever happened to make you all look so different?” Numril asked after the introductions were made. “And what is that incessant tingle I feel on my skin?”

  Valanandir put his arm around Numril’s shoulder and smiled. “Come with me and I will show you.”