Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (30 page)

–
Chapter Twenty-Eight –

Homecoming

Iarion tried once more to push the visions away. They continued to gnaw at him since he had woken. He set his exhaustion aside and followed Hidar with the others.

In all his long life, Iarion could never remember feeling so weak and tired. He didn’t dare let his companions know what poor shape he was in, but he had a feeling Barlo already suspected.

Drinking from the Forbidden Pool had almost cost his friends their lives as they had borne him away from the dark lands. The visions it had shown him had been horrible. But if he could use the wisdom he had gained to save just one of his companions, he would consider it worth the price.

It was strange to flee through the mountains in broad daylight. But the pass was clear, and Iarion could sense the Forsworn were somewhere far off in the distance. Soon the mountains parted, and the Daran Falnun lay before them. It was a harsher land than the Daran Nunadan. The grass was sparse and browned by the sun. The River of Dawn sparkled in the distance to the south. The ocean lay to the east. Iarion had wandered these lands long ago, before Hidar had been born.

Hidar gained confidence as they returned to the lands he knew so well. “My tribe is not far from here,” he said with a smile. “They will be amazed to see the company I have been keeping!”

Iarion noticed Golaron looking in his direction from time to time to see whether he would resume his place as guide. Iarion knew he was not up to the task after his ordeal. Besides, Hidar lived in these lands and knew their people. Iarion remained silent.

Linwyn was acting strangely toward him once more. Iarion could feel her eyes on him, but every time he looked over at her to meet them, she flushed and shifted her gaze elsewhere. She maintained a wary distance. Iarion didn’t know why she suddenly seemed so uncomfortable around him.

They continued traveling southeast. A cluster of hide tents appeared in the distance. Iarion could see they were painted with the crimson circle and horn insignia Hidar wore. Men and women puttered around the village, performing their daily tasks. Naked children ran laughing among them.

“There it is!” Hidar gestured with pride.

He led them across the grass toward the village, but a group of men came forward and barred their way. The women gathered the children and took refuge in their tents.

The approaching men carried spears, but their armor was leather rather than the steel breastplate Hidar wore. Their ranks parted and a man stepped forward. His hair and beard were a graying red, and he had pale green eyes. His steel breastplate matched Hidar’s.

“Father,” Hidar said as he embraced the man. Out of respect for his companions, he spoke the Common Tongue.

“Greetings, my son. What have you brought to our village?” The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Friends and allies who will stand with us against the Fallen One,” Hidar said with a grin. “They are powerful. I have journeyed with them to the heart of the Fallen One’s domain so they could retrieve the source of his power. We only just escaped the Forsworn when we left the dark lands. I brought them here to hide and rest before continuing south.”

“You were sent to bring us aid from the Sea Elves against the Forsworn,” Hidar’s father chided.

“I could not cross their enchanted river. I went to request aid from Lord Andiraron, but most of the men of Nal Huraseadro have already fallen trying to block the Pass of Stars from an advancing army. Nal Nungalid is under the control of a Forsworn One. There was no one to bring.” Hidar squared his shoulders. “I have done all I could. I believe these people have the best chance of defeating the Fallen One.”

“These people are your friends?” Hidar’s father pressed.

Hidar spoke without hesitation. “They are.”

“Then it seems we have a problem.” The man switched to his own dialect, but Iarion understood. The men of the village fanned out, surrounding Iarion and his companions. “They have something the Forsworn want.”

“
What
?”
Hidar shook his head, not comprehending.

“You have a choice, Hidar. You can either side with your tribe, or with your friends.”

“You pay tribute to the Forsworn now?” Hidar’s voice broke as he made the accusation. He had also lapsed into his own tongue.

“They are too powerful to be fought. We were foolish to believe otherwise. When their war against the elves is over, they will be the new leaders of Lasniniar, and with us on their doorstep!” Hidar’s father gestured toward the Mountains of Fire. “What else would you have me do? We have no allies. I must do what is best for the tribe. I will kill anyone who stands in my way.”

“Even your own son? Father, I have brought you mighty allies. The real war has yet to begin. We have stolen the Fallen One’s source of power! There is still hope. Do not do this. I beg you.”

“Will you hand it over? If you give it willingly, your friends will be spared a great deal of pain. The Forsworn need not know of your part in this. I will tell them you betrayed your companions.”

“You might spare them pain, but the Fallen One will not. How can you force me to choose between my own people and doing what is right?”

“What will you choose?”

“Father, please…” Hidar’s green eyes pleaded in anguish.

“Choose, Hidar. Now.” The man took his own spear from one of his men and held it ready.

An agonized pause hovered over the two groups. Iarion and his companions slowly began to reach for their own weapons. Even without understanding the exchange, the others could sense the tribe’s hostility. The circle of men surrounding them tightened.

Hidar’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his spear. With eyes closed, his words came out in a tortured whisper.

“I choose them.”

His father gave a grim nod. “So be it.”

Iarion was already in motion, his knife a blurred arc as he swung it through the air to slit the throat of the man in front of him, who was too slow to raise his spear. Iarion didn’t like spilling the blood of any of the Free Races, but it seemed they had no choice. He shifted his attention to the next attacker and tried to forget they were outnumbered. Drinking from the Forbidden Pool had drained him. Exhaustion permeated every fiber of his body. But he had to keep going. Barlo remained at his side.

Somehow they got separated from the others in the scuffle, and were pushed northeast. Iarion and Barlo doubled their efforts, trying to reach their companions, but too many of Hidar’s tribesman stood in their path.

A spear slipped inside Iarion’s guard while he was holding off two other opponents. Iarion tried to dodge at the last moment, but he was too slow. His normally quick reflexes were dulled. He stifled a cry as the spear bit into his side. The wound was not serious, but he cursed nonetheless.

Beside him, Barlo was working furiously with his ax to stem the tide. Taking heart from his friend’s courage, Iarion pushed away the successful attacker with a roar of fury and kicked the spear from his grasp. He knew he and Barlo could not keep this up forever. The others were even farther away now as the two of them were forced to give more ground.

Iarion snarled in frustration at the thought of losing everything they had fought for after coming so far. If he had never tasted the waters of the Forbidden Pool, he would have been the one to guide the group out of the dark lands. Perhaps they never would have met these people. But it was too late for that now.

Iarion’s limbs trembled and he felt his legs begin to give way. The men pushed them farther north. Iarion gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain standing.

He stifled a gasp as a large, dark form flew through the air past his face. It landed on the man closest to him with a growl. Iarion let out a wild laugh of relief.

Sinstari had returned! The cat must have hidden when the Forsworn had captured them and then tracked them all the way here. Now they faced an opponent Sinstari could fight.

Iarion felt a burst of energy from some reserve he didn’t know he had. The men closest to him tried to back away in surprise, but they were too slow. Barlo rallied beside him, uttering a war cry in his own tongue. Sinstari was unstoppable, fighting his way through the men surrounding them with tooth and claw. Soon most of the enemy lay on the ground in pools of their own gore.

The three fighting companions turned to face the remaining men, who were beginning to show signs of fear. Just then a horn sounded in the distance. The men stopped their attack, turned and fled, leaving Iarion, Barlo, and Sinstari unopposed. None of the men looked back as they ran.

“Must be a retreat,” Barlo panted. “I wonder what happened? They outnumbered us three to one.”

Iarion’s exhaustion finally overcame him. His shaking legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground. Sinstari walked up beside him and gave him a look of concern. Iarion reached out and rubbed the cat’s head, scratching him behind his tufted ears.

“Thank you,” he said in Elvish, meeting the Sinstari’s luminous, green eyes. Reassured, the cat began to groom himself clean. His paws and muzzle were covered in blood.

“What now?” Barlo asked.

“I can’t go on right now,” Iarion said, his voice thick with fatigue. “I don’t even think I can move. I need to rest.”

“Well, we probably wouldn’t be able to find the others anyway. It’s getting dark.” The sun was beginning to sink below the mountains in the west. “Can you crawl at least? I don’t like the thought of setting up camp in the middle of this mess.”

Iarion nodded and struggled to his knees. Barlo led the way north, away from the battlefield and Hidar’s village. He stopped when they reached the southern fork of a delta. They had arrived at the banks of the Forgotten Streams. The ocean lay before them to the east, while the Mountains of Fire blocked the west. If there were any more men out there, they could only approach from the south.

Satisfied with the position, Barlo called a halt and began to set up camp. It was all Iarion could do to unfurl his bedroll and curl up on it under his blankets. Sinstari lay beside him.

Barlo fed a small fire. The northern air was too cold to go without one. “Don’t worry. The cat and I will share the watches. You rest.”

“What would I do without you?” Iarion asked with a yawn.

“I ask myself that question almost every day.” Barlo rolled his eyes. “Foolish elf.” Iarion closed his eyes and waited for oblivion to claim him.

Neither of them spoke of the fate of the others.

–
Chapter Twenty-Nine –

Separate Ways

Golaron fought like a man possessed, trying to keep the attackers at bay. Silvaranwyn was at his side. Hidar was also with them and Linwyn was somewhere nearby. Golaron could hear his sister’s battle cries as she fought.

At first, Silvaranwyn merely watched in disbelief, her arms limp at her sides. But as it became clear Hidar’s tribe was fully committed to their attack, she began to fire arrows into the fray. Golaron’s heart wrenched at the look of agony on her face as she killed those who had once been free men. Saviadro’s malice had corrupted them like a disease. Even though Golaron and his companions had fled the dark lands, they could not escape his influence.

Golaron cursed. They never should have trusted Hidar. Yes, the man had sided with them against his own people, but he was the one who had led them to this impasse. Golaron blamed himself for not being more vigilant. Now all the Free Peoples of Lasniniar would pay the price.

Iarion and Barlo were missing. Somehow they had become separated from the rest of the group. Golaron hoped they still lived and had the Stariquenya in their possession.

The sun was setting and still they fought. Golaron’s shoulder and arm groaned in protest each time he raised his shield to block another attack. His sword felt heavy in his sweat-slicked grip. Soon Silvaranwyn would run out of arrows and she would be forced to use her knife. Golaron increased his efforts in an attempt to spare her what he could.

Hidar fought like a madman beside him. His face was a mask of anguish as he attacked his own people. When the fighting had first broken out, he had hesitated to join the battle. A hit scored on his shoulder by a fellow tribesman had finally stirred him to action. Now he killed anyone who got within reach of his spear. Still the attackers came on.

Silvaranwyn ran out of arrows. Golaron saw her draw her knife with a look of despair.

“No!” The word was wrenched from his lips. He threw himself in front of her, between her and the men.

He knew he couldn’t hold off all of them, but he had to try. Three men went down. More surged forward. Golaron pushed his hopelessness aside and concentrated on protecting Silvaranwyn. He fought desperately to keep five men at bay. He couldn’t possibly watch all of them at once. He focused only on defensive maneuvers. A brief flash of movement teased the edge of his vision.

“Golaron!” Hidar’s voice rang out in warning.

Golaron turned his head.

Someone had thrown a spear. It was in midair, speeding toward his chest. Time slowed. Silvaranwyn cried out.

Golaron was blocked on all sides. He wouldn’t be able to move out of the way in time. The spear hurtled toward him.

But Hidar was already moving. He dived into the spear’s path in an attempt to knock it from the air. But his arm was extended, revealing his exposed armpit, which was unprotected by his breastplate.

The spear landed with a solid thunk, driven deep into Hidar’s torso. It snatched him from the air, sending him to land in a limp heap on the ground. His own spear slipped out of his hand as his mouth formed a silent ‘oh,’ his green eyes wide.

Golaron nearly forgot himself in his shock. It was Silvaranwyn’s cry that reminded him he had to keep fighting. Bitter tears stung his eyes. He had mistrusted Hidar from the start, and had treated him with disrespect based only on his race. Now the same man had set himself against his father and tribe, and had sacrificed his own life to save Golaron’s.