Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (26 page)

Mar Valion, the seat of Saviadro’s power, was a single spike of black rock. Perhaps it was obsidian. Barlo would know. Whatever the tower was made of, the dark stone seemed to absorb what meager light remained in the overcast sky. It could not be compared to Belierumar or Mar Arin. It was too crude by comparison. Iarion had the feeling most of the tower’s complex lay sprawling deep within the earth below, like hungry roots burrowing in search of hidden sustenance.

Two trolls stood guard at the tower’s entrance. They hastened to swing the large doors open for the Forsworn and their captives, bowing and scraping as they did so. The Forsworn paid them no heed.

Iarion found himself stopping at the threshold. Silvaranwyn had dug in her heels, her head shaking back and forth in silent denial. Her silver eyes were wide with unshed tears. The entrance yawned open before them, a fey light coming from somewhere deep within.

The Forsworn turned their dark cowls upon the two elves. Iarion felt an icy ball of fear growing in the pit of his stomach. Somehow it cut through the fog of despair. He spoke soothing words to Silvaranwyn in Elvish, urging her to take the final steps into what would most likely be their tomb, feeling like a traitor all the while.

Trembling, Silvaranwyn allowed herself to be led. The others followed. The Forsworn took them down an echoing passageway that led to a central chamber. The time it took to arrive at their destination seemed too short. Iarion looked around to see a large, semicircular room with a dais at the far side. The room was open to the dark sky above. The tower’s spire thrust high into the clouds overhead, casting a shadow like a long, clawed finger.

A throne rose from the floor, made of the same stone as the rest of the tower. A figure sat upon the throne, cloaked and hooded in deepest black, with fiery eyes looking out from the shadows. Bony hands gripped the arms of the throne, their flesh charred and blackened by the portion of the Quenya they had stolen millennia ago. Iarion felt his knees go weak. Beside him, Silvaranwyn stumbled and fell.

It was Saviadro.

“Thank you.” The Fallen One nodded to the Forsworn, who drew back to stand out of the way. “You have done well.” His hollow voice was full of amusement.

“So,” he said, turning his attention to his captives. “You thought to enter my domain undetected? Let me see… The daughter of my most hated enemies, Valanandir and Iadrawyn, the children of the Lord of Belierumar, the Chief of Clans of Dwarvenhome, the son of a chief of Lesser Men, a Shadow Elf, and my old friend and sometime apprentice, Lysandir.” His terrible gaze lingered for a moment on Iarion before moving on. “Somehow I do not think you decided to drop by for a social visit. No, if my informant is to be believed, you are here to try to take something that belongs to me.”

A second figure stepped forth from the shadows behind the throne. Iarion’s mind shrieked in denial at what he saw. It was a tall man in blue and silver robes. He had dark eyes and his coal-streaked, white beard had been brushed to a point.

Lysandir gave the man a look of disgust. “Numarin. I might have known.”

“Have you been looking for me, Brother?” Numarin sneered.

“You are no brother of mine.” Lysandir’s voice was filled with contempt. Saviadro seemed amused by the exchange, his glowing eyes narrowed as he watched.

“Indeed. I am what you could never be, Lysandir. A loyal ally to an unquestionable power.”

“You dare speak to me of loyalty?” Lysandir raised his voice and took a step forward. The Forsworn tensed, but did nothing. “While you have been off spying and playing it safe, I have spent years living among the
Linadar
, convincing them I was worthy of their confidence. While you have merely brought news, carried like a coward over the borders of this land by flocks of birds, only to be spotted by dwarves, I have come openly with willing hostages!” He swept out his arm, gesturing to his companions.

Iarion’s heart dropped, unable to comprehend what he had just heard.

“What?” Numarin laughed, but his dark eyes narrowed. “You mean to tell me you have been working for the Master all along?”

“I never stopped serving.” Lysandir drew himself up to his full height as he spoke. “I only orchestrated my ‘escape’ from these lands to convince the elves I had never been under the Master’s influence, so they would welcome me back into the fold. It took years of good behavior, but they brought me into their confidence. When they insisted on sending a group to attempt to regain the portion of the Quenya they had lost, I insisted on leading them. What better way to neutralize our enemies and steal the Levniquenya from under their noses? I have spent centuries bringing this plan to fruition, so do not snivel to me about loyalty.” His silver eyes flashed.

“This is good news,” Saviadro said. “I have always suspected you would return to me. You were ever the son I desired. You have done well.”

“Thank you, Father-
Khashad
.” Lysandir bowed. “I am sorry for my deception. Please believe me when I say I only did it to serve you.”

“Master, I do not believe him.” Numarin shot Lysandir a look of contempt. “Doesn’t it seem a bit convenient?”

“Your jealousy is misplaced,” Saviadro said. “I raised Lysandir myself. He served faithfully at my side for centuries. You should be happy another of your brethren is on our side. He will be of great use to our cause.”

He returned his gaze to Lysandir. “You say you bring hostages. How do you recommend we use them?”

“The Free Races of Lasniniar are soft,” Lysandir said. “We can use these prisoners to persuade the men, elves, and dwarves to stand aside as you claim what is rightfully yours. The prisoners I have brought represent the upper echelons of all the Free Peoples.”

“You believe they would be persuaded?” Saviadro leaned forward.

“Do you really think the Lord and Lady of the
Linadar
would not capitulate at the sight of their own daughter being tortured?” Lysandir’s words fell like blows. Iarion shook his head in denial.

“And if they agree, what then?” Saviadro’s eyes narrowed.

“We use the hostages to take what we want.” Lysandir’s voice went cold. “And then we kill them.”

“Yes!” Saviadro’s eyes glowed with pleasure. “Without the Quenya, Valanandir and Iadrawyn will be powerless. When they see their daughter slaughtered before them, they will be broken. Meanwhile, I will be unstoppable! I will finally be able to crush them beneath my heel. They always believed themselves to be my betters. They will soon learn otherwise.”

Saviadro raised his gaze to the Forsworn. “Two of you fly out to the army in the Lower Adar Daran. They must be prepared. The other two will relieve our guests of their belongings and show them to their new quarters. Lysandir and I have much to discuss.” A flash of bitterness washed over Numarin’s features.

The Forsworn moved to obey. Before Iarion could stop him, Barlo pulled out his ax, determined to make a last stand. Linwyn, Golaron, and Hidar drew their weapons. Silvaranwyn was still crumpled on the stone floor.

Iarion was frozen, unable to move. This couldn’t be happening! Barlo shouted something at him, but he couldn’t seem to understand. The Forsworn moved in and they were all swallowed by darkness as their weapons clattered useless to the floor.

It was over.

–
Chapter Twenty-Four –

Stariquenya

It was impossible to say how much time passed before Iarion regained consciousness. He awoke to find himself and his companions in a cool, dank room somewhere deep underground. He rubbed his eyes, hoping they were deceiving him.

When he opened them again, he noticed Silvaranwyn lying beside him on the stone floor. He sat up with a jolt, stark reality setting in. They were in Saviadro’s dungeon. Lysandir had betrayed them.

“I knew it! I just knew it!” Barlo ranted. “I knew he couldn’t be trusted. But no, I allowed myself to be fooled.” He continued in the same vein, swearing in Dwarvish.

“We were all fooled,” Linwyn said with a rueful expression. “Make sure you pass the blame around before taking it all upon yourself. None of us could have foreseen Lysandir’s betrayal.” Barlo grunted.

“Perhaps one of us could have,” Golaron said in his quiet voice. Everyone turned to look at him. “Lesser Men are common vassals of the Fallen One. Doesn’t it seem convenient we just happen to meet one on our way here? And isn’t it interesting Lysandir had no problem with a complete stranger joining our group?” He gave Hidar a pointed look.

“What are you implying?” Hidar’s green eyes widened.

“I already told you, I was on my way to Nal Huraseadro to beg aid for my people!”

“Yet you abandon that quest to tag along with us!” Golaron stood. “Six people you have never met.”

“Speak plainly,” Hidar said, rising to face him. “And think on your accusations. If I were party to Lysandir’s plan, why am I here with you in a dungeon?”

“Perhaps you are a spy to make certain we do not escape,” Golaron said in a deceptively mild tone.

“How could you say such a thing?” Hidar’s face reddened. “I have fought alongside you!”

“So did Lysandir, as long as it suited his purpose.” Golaron took a step forward.

“I knew it would only be a matter of time before you turned against me,” Hidar muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Golaron was right up in the other man’s face now. The others watched, mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them.

“You’ve had it in for me from the start!” Hidar snarled. “Looking down your nose at me with all the pride of your race. You think you’re too good to have dealings with my kind.”

“Perhaps if your kind weren’t always consorting with the enemy, I’d have reason to think otherwise.”

Hidar swung his fist, landing it squarely in Golaron’s face. “That’s not true!” he bellowed.

For a moment, Golaron reeled. Then he shook his head and charged, pinning Hidar against the wall. Iarion knew he should intervene, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. For a few moments, the two men grappled with Linwyn and Barlo standing hesitant on the sidelines.

Then Silvaranwyn was there. Iarion did not even remember seeing her rise. She wedged herself between the two combatants, pushing them apart. They resisted for a few moments before they even realized she was there. Golaron seemed frozen under her silver gaze. He started to say something, but Silvaranwyn cut him off.

“Stop.” Her voice was tired. “I was the one who advised Iarion to accept Hidar as a member of our group. If you have a problem with him, you must take it up with me.”

Golaron stepped back, wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve. “What? But why?”

“The Quenya had shown me he was to be a part of our group. He is necessary to our success. All of us are.” Silvaranwyn lowered her arms.

“Success!” Linwyn snorted. “How can you possibly speak of success now? In case you haven’t heard, we’re to be brought like lambs to slaughter. Did your precious Quenya show you that?”

“The Quenya only shows me what is needful.” Silvaranwyn lowered her eyes.

“And a lot of good it’s done us too,” Linwyn said. “Face it, the Quenya can’t help us now. It failed us. It’s failing you. Each time you try to use it, you become more of a changeling freak.”

“Linwyn!” Golaron took a step back, his eyes full of shocked hurt.

“Come on, Golaron, you know it’s true. You men all fall to your knees before her, but look at her now!” Linwyn began to pace. “And what has she done to aid us? She’s next to useless, always collapsing at the first sign of danger.”

“If not for her, you would have been trampled by your own horse!” Golaron crossed his arms.

“Better to have died on the battlefield than be murdered in captivity!”

“What in Galrin’s name is going on here?” Barlo spoke up for the first time. He shook his head as though waking from a deep sleep. “Why are you all arguing?”

“It’s this place,” Iarion heard himself say. Once he spoke the words, he knew them to be true. The others turned to look at him, as though just remembering he was there.

“Iarion is right. It is in Saviadro’s best interest to have dissention among you.” Lysandir appeared out of the darkness to stand at the barred door to their cell.

“You!” Barlo spat.

“I know you will not want to listen to what I have to say, but I must speak quickly.” Lysandir’s silver gaze met Iarion’s. “I have not betrayed you. What I did was only to prevent you all from being killed. You must take the Stariquenya and go.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Linwyn said. “How can you even expect us to trust you?”

Lysandir muttered a word and the door unlocked with a click. “Your belongings are on a table at the end of the hallway. None of the Forsworn dare touch the Levniquenya. Go down the stairs to the lowest level. That is where Saviadro keeps the Stariquenya. I have already dealt with the shields.

“Within that room is the secret tunnel I created long ago when I lived here, dreaming of escape. It has not been tampered with, which means Saviadro still does not know it exists. Search the walls for a stone that feels hot. Press it, and the passageway to the surface will open.”

“You’re serious,” Golaron said. “But how did you manage to create a secret passage in the very room where Saviadro keeps the Stariquenya? Why didn’t you take it with you when you left?”

“What better place to create such a passage than in the room Saviadro believes most secure? I cannot take the Stariquenya, so he never feared to allow me access. Only an elf may come into contact with any portion of the Quenya and expect to live.”

“You’re not coming with us,” Iarion said as he climbed to his feet. His feeling of hopelessness had vanished.

Lysandir shook his head. “If you are to stand any chance of success, I cannot. I must stay to create a distraction and throw Saviadro off your trail.”

“But he will know you have aided us!” Silvaranwyn protested.

“That is my affair. My time here has run out. Now go!” He disappeared into the darkness.