— Chapter Twenty-Three —
Taking Charge
Daroandir’s hammer chimed against the thick, silver metal. Iadrawyn watched him as he worked, his lean muscles bunching and sweat dripping from his brow.
This time, there would be no mistakes. The vessel they were creating to contain the Quenya was a combination of Daroandir’s smith skill and her tentative channeling of the smallest wisp of the Quenya’s power. It took all her focus and energy to reach across the distance to the dark lands, where it was being held.
They had created two discards already. This was the third attempt. She hoped it would be the last. Each time they tried this, it left her weak and useless for days afterward. No one else could take her place. No other elf could even sense the Quenya. Only her long hours of communing allowed her to do so. She was glad she had made Saviadro leave before they had begun.
The orphan elf-child had been rescued by Daroandir during the Second Battle of Vila Eadros after his parents had been killed by Vlaz’s drakhalu. The boy had been Daroandir’s shadow ever since. Daroandir was endlessly patient with him.
For some reason Iadrawyn couldn’t identify, Saviadro was uneasy in her presence. She suspected he blamed her for not saving his parents. She had tried several times to get him to talk to her, but unless Daroandir was around, he usually found an excuse to flee.
For once, his apprehension of her worked in her favor. She could not afford any distractions today. Even now, he was scattering her thoughts like windblown leaves, and he was not even present. She shook her head and focused on the task at hand.
The metal was Daroandir’s secret. With the polished sheen of silver, it was harder than diamonds once it cooled. Malarin had flown him back to his former home in the Hamad Sinta to find it. Although Daroandir was a master of his craft, he and Iadrawyn had found that the tiniest flaw in the metal or the slightest lapse in Iadrawyn’s concentration would cause the fusing of metal and magic to go awry.
Perhaps they should use an elfskin bag like Vlaz. Iadrawyn suppressed a shudder at the thought. She doubted there would be any volunteers for that procedure. Since the Quenya had not been moved before it was stolen, the elves had limited knowledge of what kind of material could be used to house it without sustaining damage or harming the bearer. Although there was no way to know whether their device would work the same way as Vlaz’s crude sack, Daroandir’s intimate knowledge of metalcraft and Iadrawyn’s intuition told them it was the right choice.
Once the piece Daroandir was working on was a perfect half-sphere, he used a pair of tongs to lower it into the waiting tub of water with its identical counterpart. The water hissed and the air filled with steam. The next part would be Iadrawyn’s job.
When both pieces were cool, Daroandir handed them to her. Despite the metal’s strength, they were surprisingly light. Holding one half in each hand, she held them together to form a single, hollow sphere the size of an elf’s head. Once she was satisfied with the alignment, she focused inward to find the faint trail of power the Quenya had left behind. After a few moments of concentration, she found it and made herself a vessel, allowing its magic to trickle into her. This was nothing compared to the wild rush she used to deal with. It took some time for her to gather sufficient energy for her task. While she waited, she also opened her thoughts to the Quenya, straining with all her might to divine the far off murmur of its guidance.
Iadrawyn felt beads of sweat forming on her brow as she worked. Her eyes opened to focus on the metal in her hands. It was time.
She allowed the power within her to flow out in a steady stream, using it to meld the two pieces together. A golden glow surrounded her. The light continued to increase in intensity, until Daroandir was forced to look away. Iadrawyn forced her eyes to remain open, though they streamed with tears of pain.
They could not fail this time.
The light became even brighter, filling the glade and blocking out everything around them until Iadrawyn was at the heart of a world of pure light. A deep ringing tone filled her ears like the sound of an enormous bell being struck. She felt it vibrate down her spine. Still, she continued to focus and keep the two metal pieces together as she suppressed her surprise. This had not happened during any of their previous attempts.
As the ringing faded into the distance, the light went with it. Iadrawyn blinked to find herself still standing in the glade with Daroandir, who wore a shocked expression. Both of them looked down at what she held in her hands.
The two half-spheres were now a single, flawless whole. It was the Vessel of the Quenya: the Levniquenya. Ringing its center where the seam should have been were runes in the Elvish script, bound above and below by a set of thin lines. They gleamed golden against the silver metal, filled with an inner glow. Iadrawyn knew what words she would find there. They were the same ones that had been written in her heart the day she had first discovered the Quenya with Valanandir, most likely by the same hand: Children of the light, guardians and servants of the Quenya, always.
Daroandir shook his head in wonder. His words dropped like stones into the silence.
“Well, I think it worked.”
Light Chasers (The World of Lasniniar Book 0) Page 43