Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (27 page)

“What new devilry is this?” Hidar said, searching the faces of his companions for answers.

“It’s our chance to fulfill our quest,” Iarion said, stepping through the unlocked door. A flood of relief washed over him that his trust in Lysandir had not been misguided.

“What if it’s another trap?” Golaron asked.

“Better to die taking a false chance at freedom than giving up and staying here, waiting for our execution.” Linwyn shrugged and followed Iarion. The others trailed after her.

The passageway was dark. The only torches were those that lined their cell, which faded quickly into the distance. Iarion allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, seeking contrast in the shadows.

The table with their belongings was right where Lysandir had said it would be. They took a moment to rearm themselves and gather their things. Iarion opened his pack to reassure himself the Levniquenya was still there. Its smooth surface tingled under his questing fingers. Satisfied, he led the others in the opposite direction the Learnéd One had taken, traveling deep below Mar Valion.

He knew when they had reached the chamber. He could feel the ghosts of power that had formed a protective shield. A fell glow came from within.

Iarion stepped across the threshold. Nothing happened. Lysandir had spoken true. The Stariquenya was unprotected. Inside was a circular room of black stone. A basin rose up from the floor made of the same rock. The tainted Quenya lay within its depths. Iarion could feel its power, dark and twisted. It gave off a glow tinged with purple darkness, filling the room with eerie, oppressive shadows. The others stayed outside the chamber, their eyes mirroring their fear. Silvaranwyn looked as though she might be sick.

Iarion pulled himself free of the hypnotic glow. He opened his pack and drew forth the Levniquenya. The silver sphere seemed heavier somehow in the presence of the tainted Quenya. The golden runes that ran around it emitted a sullen glow of their own. Iarion held the vessel in both hands and approached the basin as the others watched from the shadows. The dark light began to dance and churn as he drew nearer. Iarion had to force his hands steady. When he finally neared the basin, he reached out, holding the Levniquenya directly over its center. Iarion held his breath, not knowing what to expect.

The runes flared to life. Iarion’s eyes began to water against the sudden light. The dark light seemed to fight back with a will of its own, resisting captivity. Half-understood words in ancient Elvish filled Iarion’s head in a far-off whisper, increasing in intensity. As the chant crescendoed to its peak, a blast of pure light filled the room, forcing Iarion to close his eyes. The Levniquenya burned hot in his hands, but he refused to let go. A strange absence of sound hammered his ears as everything seemed to rush inward.

Then there was nothing.

Iarion opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by complete darkness once more. For a moment he panicked, thinking himself blind. But the runes of the Levniquenya cut through the darkness, having returned to their pale glow, which was now chased by a violet light. The Stariquenya was inside. He had done it.

Iarion beckoned the others inside. “It’s all right. I’ve got it. Now we just have to find that secret passage Lysandir spoke of. Feel the walls for a warm rock.”

The others shuffled through the entryway, groping along the walls both to search and find their way. Iarion stowed the Levniquenya deep in his pack and turned to help. There was much stumbling around and bumping into one another as they searched. No one found anything.

“Maybe he lied,” Hidar said.

“It has to be here!” Iarion said, his voice betraying his frustration. They had come so far! It couldn’t be over now. “Keep looking.”

“I found it!” Barlo’s gruff voice pierced the darkness. “Over here. Close to the floor.”

“No one but a dwarf would look that low to the ground for a secret door,” Linwyn said. The rest of them crowded close to Barlo, trying not to trip over one another.

“That’s what he was counting on,” Iarion said. “Press it.”

There was a slight groan as part of the wall gave way, revealing a long tunnel, sloping upward toward the surface. For a moment, they stood in silence, unable to believe their freedom was at hand.

“What are we waiting for?” Iarion pushed past the others to take the lead. “Let’s go.”

The two Forsworn Ones who remained at Mar Valion with their master exchanged glances from deep within the recesses of their shadowed hoods.

They both had felt it. Something had happened to the Stariquenya. All the Forsworn were tied to the tainted Quenya, having been marked with it by Saviadro. It both bound them and gave them their dark powers. They could always sense its seductive presence deep within the bowels of Mar Valion. But something had changed. It had become more distant somehow—difficult to reach.

The Forsworn remained silent, having no need of words to communicate what both were thinking.

The Master would not be pleased.

He was busy with Numarin, who was arguing with him over Lysandir’s return. The Master had always been fond of Lysandir. It was no secret. He did not like hearing Numarin’s suspicions, which appeared to stem from jealousy. The argument had caused his mood to sour.

No, the Master would not be pleased at all.

But if the Master himself had yet to notice the change in his source of power, he could not expect the Forsworn to have done so.

How were they to know the change was not the Master’s own doing? Never mind that the timing coincided with Lysandir’s disappearance. The Learnéd One of Fire had claimed exhaustion and presumably retired to his old quarters. His whereabouts were none of their concern until the Master told them otherwise. The Forsworn were nothing if not loyal, shackled to Saviadro by the Stariquenya.

No, the Forsworn were in agreement. They would say nothing of this development until ordered otherwise.

They would bide their time.

–
Chapter Twenty-Five –

Diversion

Lysandir stormed into the main chamber after making certain to harass every guard in the tower. Numarin’s presence had provided the perfect distraction for him to help the others escape. Saviadro would never have failed to notice the theft of the Stariquenya if Numarin had not been there, demanding his attention. Now it was time for phase two of Lysandir’s desperate plan. He walked up to the Learnéd One of Air, cutting off whatever conversation he had been having with Saviadro.

“Where are they?” Lysandir thundered, causing Numarin to take a step backward in surprise.

“What are you talking about?” Numarin asked, frowning.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Lysandir seethed. He turned to Saviadro. “The prisoners. They’re gone!”

“What?” Saviadro’s eyes turned from amused to dangerous.

“I just went to check on them and their cell is empty. The lock had been opened by magic. It bore your signature!” Lysandir whirled back to face Numarin, daring his peer to contradict him. He knew the path he walked was a dangerous one.

“You!” Saviadro indicated the two Forsworn Ones who stood watch. “Go to the dungeon and investigate this matter. He turned his gaze back to the two Learnéd Ones. “What is going on here?”

“He lies!” Numarin spat. “Master, I swear it! Lysandir is the traitor.”

“How easily the lies fall from your lips. I know what you are about.” Lysandir pinned Numarin beneath his silver gaze. “You help the prisoners escape with the Stariquenya to wrench it from your master’s grasp. Then, while he is distracted with the search, you slip away to find them on your own. They trust you because you helped them.” Now came the real gamble. “You wrest the tainted Quenya from them and use your elven heritage to claim it as your own, becoming the new Master of Mar Valion!” Saviadro let out a hiss.

“That’s ridiculous!” Numarin said, his eyes wild. “Like you, only a third of my blood is elven. The Master was a full-blooded
Linadain
when he made the Stariquenya his own and it nearly killed him! How could I hope to survive?”

“The Stariquenya has been tamed,” Lysandir said. He was uncertain whether what he was saying was even possible, but it didn’t matter. The seed of doubt had to be sown. “Perhaps one third would be enough. Tell me you haven’t considered it.”

“I—”

The Forsworn Ones returned, interrupting Numarin’s protests. A tortured whisper filled the room.

“The Stariquenya is gone.”

“And the prisoners?” Saviadro asked. The other Forsworn One nodded.

Lysandir cut in before Saviadro could ask about the magical signature on the lock. “You see? Now if you are telling the truth, Numarin, and if I helped the prisoners escape, why am I still here? Why would I draw attention to my theft?”

Numarin struggled to provide a response. His eyes lit. “Master, if I freed the prisoners, when would I have done so? I have been at your side the entire time since their arrival.” This seemed to give Saviadro pause.

Lysandir’s mind raced. “That’s not true. Right after the prisoners were escorted to their cell, Father-
Khashad
and I spoke privately.” Lysandir used his pet name for Saviadro, knowing it annoyed Numarin. “You were not present.”

“Stop calling him that!” Spittle flecked Numarin’s pointed beard. “He is not your father. I am the loyal one!”

“Then tell me you’ve never considered taking the power for yourself.” Lysandir’s voice was deceptively mild. Although he knew Numarin had not freed the prisoners, his brother was fond of power. If Lysandir’s guess was correct, his accusation was not far from the mark. Numarin needed one last push before Saviadro regained control of the situation.

“Perhaps you thought if you seized the power for your own, it would force the master to acknowledge you as the one thing you could never be to him: his son.” Lysandir drew himself up with the last few words, making them a taunt.

“I hate you!” Numarin shrieked. “First you are the darling of the elves and now this. Everywhere I go, all I hear about is you! I did what I could to whisper doubts into the ears of your supporters, creating rumors you were disloyal, and still the
Linadar
believed you! I offered my counsel, but no. They only wanted you!

“I betrayed everything I believed in to escape those who would sing your praises. I serve my new master loyally, and now you show up! Suddenly I am unneeded once more, playing second fiddle to you! Have I ever thought about taking the power for myself? Of course, I have. I would take any opportunity I could find to see you brought low. In my dreams, I see you grovel at my feet!”

“Too bad that’s all they’ll ever be.” Lysandir smirked. “Face it, Numarin; you never were a match for me. Everyone knows it.”

Numarin uttered an inarticulate cry rage, his dark eyes wild. “I’ll kill you!”

An unnatural wind came down from the open sky above, whipping at Numarin’s beard and robes. With a gesture, he directed the blast at Lysandir. Saviadro and the Forsworn backed out of the way. The wind turned cold and carried shards of ice. Lysandir raised his arms and with a word, he was surrounded by a sphere of fire. The ice melted and the wind slowed.

Lysandir did not wait to launch his own attack. Before Numarin could defend himself, he began to hurl one ball of flame after the other at his adversary. Numarin could do nothing but dodge the flaming barrage.

But the battle was taking its toll on Lysandir. He had already used his powers to break out his companions and neutralize Saviadro’s shield. He could not afford to expend all his energies too soon. His assault slowed. Numarin regained his confidence, now able to focus long enough to cast a spell of his own. A giant cyclone began to build in the air of the chamber, spinning faster and faster. For a moment, Lysandir allowed himself to be distracted. It was long enough for Numarin to send the cyclone chasing after him.

Lysandir cursed and started to run. The whirlwind followed, tearing at the very rock behind him. Numarin shrieked with glee. Lysandir stopped with a sigh. There was no help for it. He allowed the whirlwind to swallow him. Numarin crowed in triumph.

Once inside the cyclone, Lysandir used his powers to perform his most powerful spell. He transformed himself into a living flame. It was draining, but it was the only thing he could do to defeat Numarin’s attack. His flames licked the edges of the cyclone. Lysandir forced them to become hotter. As the heart of the flame, he could feel no pain, but the whirlwind was now crackling with heat, searing everything in the room. Numarin had no choice but to banish his spell.

Lysandir collapsed to the floor in his own form, exhausted. He looked up to the roiling sky above as Numarin raised his arms once more.

Lysandir sighed. At least he had bought the others more time. But there was so much left to do! He knew he would be needed if Iarion was to be successful.

Numarin was laughing now. It was the shrill cackle of madness. The sky continued to churn, and thunder rumbled ominously close.