Light Chasers (The World of Lasniniar Book 0)

by Jacquelyn Smith

  — Chapter Nineteen —

  An Unexpected Reunion

  Valanandir paced inside his hut, considering his options. Lodariel had arrived just before dawn, the last surviving member of the scouting mission. She had brought tales of not one, but two approaching drakhal armies, who also claimed to have a secret weapon. Many elves did not want to believe the village was in danger, but Valanandir knew it was true. Iadrawyn had sensed it, and the dead scouts confirmed it.

  Refusing rest, Lodariel was now with the remaining elven guard, preparing them for the battle to come. Valanandir had already spoken with Malarin, begging her to do whatever it took to get the rest of her dragon brethren to arrive before nightfall. Iadrawyn spent the time communing with the Quenya, trying to discover some power she could use to protect them. At least she knew the secret of creating a shield. She would try to place one over the entire village, but Valanandir knew it would be tiring for her to maintain.

  Although Valanandir would have preferred to attack the drakhalu during the day while they slept, there wasn’t enough time to prepare for such a mission. The elves would have to rely on their defenses.

  Would it be enough? The look he had seen in the drakhal leader’s eyes during the last attack on Vila Eadros had been filled with cruel determination and hunger for the Quenya’s power. Valanandir hoped he would have the chance to face Numril’s killer himself.

  A saluting member of the home guard drew him from his dark thoughts. He shook himself and tried to focus. “Yes, what is it?”

  “We found someone trying to enter the village,” the guard said.

  Valanandir frowned. The sun was still high in the sky. “Why didn’t you take them to Lodariel?”

  “She is busy preparing for the attack. I thought it wise we brought this one to you.”

  He stepped aside to allow Valanandir to see the intruder standing between two other members of the guard. It was a tall, lean creature, dressed in rags. Long, matted hair that might have been white obscured its face. Its pale skin was dirty and bruised, showing only the barest hint of a familiar golden hue. Grime was packed under broken fingernails on callused hands. Despite the stranger’s wretched appearance, Valanandir felt a chill go through him. An irrational fear told him to walk away before he saw the stranger’s face. He brushed the feelings aside and forced himself to stand firm.

  As if sensing Valanandir’s gaze, the creature’s head lifted, tangled hair falling back to reveal familiar blue eyes in a gaunt face. Valanandir was pinned, unable to move, unable to even breathe.

  The stranger was Numril.

  Valanandir fell to his knees. Numril scrambled down on the ground in front of him, his expression filled with concern. Valanandir barely had the presence of mind to wave the guards away.

  “How? How is this possible?” Valanandir reached a shaking hand out to touch his friend’s shoulder. It was solid. “I watched you get bitten.”

  “Vlaz only drained me enough to make you think I was dead.” Numril’s mouth twisted in bitterness.

  “Vlaz? The creature who bit you?”

  Numril nodded. “He is leader of the drakhalu. He is the oldest and most powerful of their kind.”

  A wave of horror washed over Valanandir as he put together the meaning of Numril’s reappearance. “You were alive. You’ve been alive all this time! Oh Numril, I thought you were dead. I’ve mourned you for three years! If I had only known, I would have gone looking for you. I would have found you and taken you away from them!” Tears were streaming down his face.

  “You couldn’t have known.” Numril gripped Valanandir’s shoulders with cool fingers and held his gaze. For a moment, Valanandir thought he noticed a flicker in his friend’s eyes, but then it was gone. “It was all part of Vlaz’s plan. He wanted you to think I was dead so he could use me against you, but I escaped.”

  Numril’s words penetrated Valanandir’s maelstrom of emotions. “They are coming. Two drakhal armies. They killed all our scouts, but Lodariel escaped. We think they will strike tonight.”

  “That is their plan. I was going to tell you. Is the village preparing?” The strange glint reappeared.

  “Yes, we will be as ready as we can be.”

  “Then let me help you.”

  “Numril, no. You are an escaped prisoner. You’ve been living among the drakhalu for years! You should rest.”

  “I can help you. As you say, I have lived among them for three years. I know them better than anyone. Let me help you.” Numril’s blue gaze turned hard. “I want Vlaz to pay for what he has done.”

  Valanandir sighed, sensing the futility of trying to convince him otherwise. “Very well. But you should clean yourself up and get some rest first.”

  Numril shook his head. “I need to go to the Quenya. I need to be cleansed. Please, Valanandir. I have been away from it for so long, living among those foul creatures. I won’t be able to truly rest until I have had a chance to commune with it.” His voice had turned almost desperate and his eyes shone with unshed tears.

  Although something deep inside Valanandir warned him against it, he didn’t have the heart to turn Numril away. This was his dearest friend! What reason could there possibly be to keep him away from the Quenya? He placed a gentle hand on Numril’s shoulder.

  “Very well. Let’s go.” Valanandir led the way toward the glade of the Quenya. “Perhaps we will see Iadrawyn. Since the last drakhal attack, she spends almost all her time with the Quenya. She blames herself for not being able to save you, you know.”

  Numril froze. “Iadrawyn will be there?” He shook his head back and forth in denial. “I can’t see her now. Valanandir, I don’t want her to see me like this!” He grabbed Valanandir’s arm, his knuckles turning white.

  Valanandir frowned, unsure what to make of his friend’s strange behavior. Still, he was an escaped prisoner. He had lived among the drakhal for three years. Perhaps he had seen, or even done things he didn’t want Iadrawyn to know about until he had a chance to commune with the Quenya. Valanandir wished Iadrawyn were here with him now. She would be able to read Numril’s strange behavior. Numril seemed almost a stranger to Valanandir.

  “I will go in first to see if she is there,” Valanandir said, prying Numril’s chilled fingers loose. “You don’t have to see her yet if you aren’t ready.”

  Numril calmed himself and they walked the rest of the way in silence. As they drew closer, he became more agitated, his limbs twitching. Valanandir did not know what to make of this. He hoped the Quenya would be able to help Numril.

  Once they arrived at the ring of hills that surrounded the glade, Valanandir slipped inside to look around while Numril waited in the shadows. The glade was empty. Strange. With the impending drakhal attack, he would have thought to find Iadrawyn camped out here. Where was she?

  He turned back to Numril. “The glade is empty. Let’s go.”

  Again, Numril shook his head in violent denial. “No. I need to be alone. Please, Valanandir…” The naked plea in his voice halted any protests.

  “I’ll wait here then,” Valanandir said, putting a comforting hand on Numril’s shoulder. “If you need me, just call out and I will be there.” He wished there was more he could do to support his friend.

  For a moment, Numril’s expression softened, and he seemed his old, familiar self. “Thank you, Valanandir. I—” His features went rigid again, and the gleam in his eyes returned. “I’m glad you understand. I just want some privacy.” He gave a tightlipped smile before turning away to walk into the glade.

  Not knowing what else to do, Valanandir watched him go and sat on the grass to wait, puzzling over his friend’s behavior. If anything, the Quenya should make Numril whole again.

  Numril alive! Valanandir’s mind reeled. No Light Elf had ever survived the bite of a drakhal. The creatures usually drained them in moments. What plans did this Vlaz have for Numril to keep him alive all this time? Valanandir’s entire world had changed since he had woken up that morning.


  The sun traveled across the sky to linger in the west, painting the clouds pink. Soon it would be nightfall and the drakhalu would attack. Still, Numril did not emerge from the glade. Although Valanandir wanted to give his tortured friend his privacy, he became more concerned as time passed. It would be time to prepare for the coming battle soon. Iadrawyn would be arriving to commune with the Quenya and create the shield. Not knowing what else to do, Valanandir entered the glade.

  Something was wrong. Valanandir sensed it almost immediately. The presence of the Quenya was somehow muffled. Numril knelt before the hollow that housed it, his head in his hands. His body rocked back and forth. A sack lay on the ground beside him. Valanandir had not noticed him carrying it before. Tiny fingers of light pierced the crude stitching that held it together. It appeared to be made of patches of skin. As Valanandir looked more closely, he noticed the skin was smooth and golden, belonging to no animal. A stab of fear went through him.

  “Numril?” He approached with caution. “Are you all right?”

  Numril looked back over his shoulder, his dirty face streaked with tears. “Valanandir? Please—” His face contorted and his voice became harsh and unfamiliar. “I’m fine, Valanandir. Can’t you see I’m communing with the Quenya?” Alarm bells went off in Valanandir’s mind.

  “What’s in the sack, Numril?” He kept his voice low and calm.

  “Valanandir, I tried not to, but I’m not strong enough—”

  “Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?” Numril’s blue eyes narrowed, glinting.

  “No! Don’t come any closer! Please, Valanandir…” Numril’s expression flickered back and forth as the two voices spoke through him. What was going on?

  Although the voice warning him to stay away seemed sincere, if the Quenya was in the sack, Valanandir had to get it back. He took a tentative step forward. Numril tucked his head against his knees and wrapped his arms around himself.

  Alarmed, Valanandir rushed forward to crouch beside him. Numril’s head snapped up in response.

  “Valanandir, you have to kill me. Please kill me. I can’t stop it!” He gripped Valanandir’s arm.

  Valanandir shook his head. “I’m not going to kill you. Now tell me what has happened here and we will figure it out.”

  “There’s no time! He’s waking. He’ll be here soon…” The shadows deepened as the sun slipped below the horizon, accented by the spears of light coming from the contained Quenya.

  “Who? Who are you talking about?” He gripped Numril’s shoulders in frustration, shaking him.

  The fey light in his eyes returned. “Who? Why the Master, of course. I’m his secret weapon.”

  Secret weapon? Valanandir’s mind shrieked in protest, a horrible suspicion building. It was unthinkable…

  Seeing the fear and understanding in his eyes, Numril pulled him close. His cold grip was like a vise on Valanandir’s arm. As Numril’s mouth opened in an evil grin, a pair of sharp fangs protruded from his gums, fulfilling Valanandir’s deepest fear. Numril was a drakhal. Valanandir’s mind and body were frozen in horror. Surely this was a dream…

  “I tried to warn you,” the creature chided him.

  Numril’s face twisted. “Valanandir, please! Do it now! I can’t—”

  The achingly familiar voice was cut off, the fanged mouth open wide and moving toward him. Valanandir still couldn’t move. This was his best friend! How could Valanandir possibly kill him? If he had only been able to protect Numril during the drakhal invasion, he would never have been turned in the first place.

  Instinct alone made Valanandir search for some way to defend himself. His free hand brushed against the knife at his belt. It was the only weapon he had, which was none at all against a drakhal at close range. Valanandir’s mind started working again. Perhaps he could wound the creature, which might give him enough time to free the Quenya. It was the only option he had.

  The drakhal uttered a harsh laugh as he noticed Valanandir’s knife. Using unnatural strength, he pinned Valanandir’s head into his lap and pried the weapon from his nerveless fingers. Valanandir knew the complete darkness of despair. He could only hope the creature would kill him and not turn him into one of his own kind. Struggle as he might, he could not escape the drakhal’s grip. Numril’s mouth widened like some horrific mask come to life as the monster housed inside him prepared to drink. No trace of Valanandir’s childhood friend remained in his blue eyes.

  A faint, whizzing sound was followed by a wet thud of impact as something flew past Valanandir’s face. Numril’s eyes widened. A sharpened wooden arrow protruded from his chest. Absently, Valanandir noticed the fletching as Iadrawyn’s.

  Numril’s body went slack, and Valanandir slid free from his lap to cradle his dying friend in his arms. Now that he was on the brink of death, whatever power had controlled him was gone. Valanandir bit back a sob as Numril looked up at him with recognition in his eyes.

  “Valanandir.” His voice was weak. “I’m sorry. Vlaz, the Quenya…” He struggled weakly in Valanandir’s arms until Valanandir managed to sooth him.

  Suddenly Iadrawyn was there, crouched at his side. She placed a gentle hand against Numril’s cheek. Tears streamed down her face.

  His eyes drawn by her touch, Numril looked up at her. “Thank you.” He let out one last sigh as the light fled from his eyes. Numril was gone.

  Valanandir sobbed like a brokenhearted child. This was far worse than losing him the first time. He should have known Numril still lived. He should have searched for his body! Instead, he had given up without even trying. Numril had spent three years of torture among the drakhalu, and it was all his fault.

  “You couldn’t have known. None of us did.” Iadrawyn’s arms were around him, holding him as he wept.

  “I see you’ve received my little gift,” a voice as smooth as silk said from the darkness.

  Both elves’ heads snapped up to identify the intruder. Valanandir felt a stab of fear. It was the drakhal leader that had bitten Numril and made him his own. He was in the midst of the elven village, in the very glade of the Quenya. He held the glowing sack of elven skin in his arms with a smirk. The foul creature had the Quenya!

  Valanandir snatched up his knife and stood to face him, Iadrawyn at his side. “You must be Vlaz.” Valanandir fought to keep his voice even.

  “Only to those closest to me, like your friend here.” He indicated Numril’s body with a jerk of his chin, his dark eyes mocking. “To the rest of the world, I am Vlazkashad, Orag of the drakhalu.”

  “A title, how cumbersome,” Valanandir said. “Well, however you preferred to be called, I suggest you drop the bag, or Iadrawyn will shoot.”

  “That would be a mistake. To kill me, she will have to shoot through what you seek to retrieve. Will it destroy the arrow? Will it lash out at her in response? Who knows? Will you chance it?” Vlaz cocked an eyebrow.

  After a moment of indecision passed, he continued. “As I thought. Besides, even if you think to overwhelm me two against one, think again.”

  At his gesture, a host of drakhalu stepped forward. Many of them had blood on their faces already. For the first time, Valanandir noticed the sound of muffled screams in the distance. While he and Iadrawyn had been distracted by Numril, the two drakhal forces had attacked. Now Vlaz had the Quenya. The elves had lost everything. This sudden realization brought on a wave of despair that hit Valanandir like a blow, making him want to double over in pain.

  “I had hoped Numril would have taken care of you for me as I had instructed, but at least he provided a suitable distraction.” Vlaz shrugged. “No matter. I will take the Quenya, and you will die regardless. You are quite outnumbered. I will leave you to your fate.” Before Iadrawyn could try to get an arrow in the air, Vlaz disappeared into the crowd of creatures surrounding him, taking the elves’ best hope of defense with him.

  The drakhalu closed in.