Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (35 page)

Iarion enjoyed being on the deck of a ship again. It had been a long time, but he quickly regained his sea legs.

Barlo was another matter. It seemed there was a reason dwarves did not usually have much to do with water. He was only aboard the ship for a few moments before his face turned green. He spent the rest of the journey with his head hanging over the side. Sinstari curled up in an out-of-the-way spot and slept in the sun.

It took most of the day to reach their destination. As the dark lands faded into the distance, Iarion began to feel a sense of relief. They were slipping out of the Fallen One’s influence.

The sky was turning pink as the silhouette of Rasdaria came into view. A single twisting spire rose into the sky in the center of the island. It was Mar Ras, the tower where the Lord and Lady of the
Rasadar
ruled.

Barlo pulled his head back over the rail and wiped flecks of something unpleasant from his beard. “I think I hate you,” he said to Iarion. “Why couldn’t you leave me behind?”

“You’re the one who insisted on coming.”

“Well, you could have warned me about this.”

“To be honest, I didn’t even think of it. I never get seasick.” Iarion shrugged.

“
I never get seasick,”
Barlo parroted in a singsong voice. “I could just smack you one right now.”

“Just take some deep breaths,” Iarion said, demonstrating. “In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

Barlo followed Iarion’s advice. “Hey! I do feel a bit better.” He took a few more breaths, encouraged by his progress.

“Oh, no. Wait—” Barlo ran back to the side and heaved once more. Iarion shook his head in sympathy.

Suddenly, they were in the wide harbor of the island and the elves were lowering a gangplank. Barlo pushed himself away from the side and barreled past the crew, splashing his way toward shore. Once he reached dry land, he threw himself facedown upon the earth and lay there.

Alfiabalas smiled. “Welcome to Rasdaria.”

Once Barlo had collected himself, Alfiabalas led them to the tower. The path beneath their feet was lined with shells, their familiar presence flooding Iarion with memories. As the tower drew nearer, Barlo’s eyes widened. Mar Ras was a beautiful structure. Its delicate spire was tiled with seashell and pearl, giving it an opalescent glimmer.

“Iarion, you never told me of this.” The dwarf’s tone was accusatory.

“You like our tower?” Alfiabalas asked.

“I would very much like to know how it was constructed.” Barlo looked up in admiration. “That mail you’re wearing also interests me. It looks light, but strong.”

“It is fish mail,” Alfiabalas said. “It is crafted from the scales of a certain fish. We are often on the water, so we need something light in case we go over the side, as well as something that will not rust.”

“Brilliant!” Barlo shook his head in amazement.

The trip to the tower was short. Rasdaria was not a large isle. The Sea Elves watched them as they passed, looking up from their work. Most were either fishing or building and repairing ships, although they did pass a smithy along the way. A few recognized Iarion and called out his name in greeting. Iarion waved back.

Few
Rasadar
lived on the island. It was home only to the lord and lady, Feoras, and shipwrights, as well as a few other craftspeople. The rest of their kind lived in the Forest of the Sea on the mainland.

Alfiabalas ushered them through the shimmering archway of the tower. Sinstari padded behind them. The main hall was decorated with rugs and tapestries of blue, green, silver, and white—the colors of the sea. The lord and lady sat on twin thrones under a large window, flanked by three elf maidens with long, silver hair.

Iarion stifled a groan. Alfiabalas chuckled at Iarion’s discomfort before excusing himself with a bow. The three elf women squealed in delight and ran forward to embrace him. Iarion forced himself to remain still.

“You came back!” the one with blue eyes cooed in Elvish.

“I always knew you would,” the one with green eyes said, shouldering her way in front of the others.

“Now you can make your choice!” The third batted silver eyes at him.

Iarion gently disentangled himself from the flock. They were Rilriel, Nimrilriel, and Rasniwyn, the three daughters of the Lord and Lady of the
Rasadar
.

Years ago, he had spent time living among the Sea Elves to see if they could give him the answer to his problem. It was during that time he had gone on a voyage to Ralvaniar, the land where the elves were first born, hoping to find something. All that remained was a huge, circular waterfall where the continent had once been.

This was also when the daughters of the lord and lady had taken a liking to him. They constantly competed for his favor, each hoping to win him as husband, and perhaps future Lord of the
Rasadar
.

This created a difficult situation for Iarion. He had no interest in becoming a lord, even if the
Rasadar
would accept him. And unlike the
Beliadar
, the Sea Elves took things like chastity and monogamy very seriously, especially where their leaders were concerned. So instead of bedding all three of them and keeping the peace, Iarion had no choice but to turn them all down. The only way for him to bed any of them would be if he wed them first, which would never happen. It was what had forced Iarion to leave the isle.

“As I have said in the past, I can never choose between three such lovely maidens.” Iarion tried to regain his composure.

Barlo was watching the exchange with great interest. Although the dwarf could not understand what was being said, he no doubt got the gist of it. Iarion stifled a groan, knowing he would hear about it later.

“We will have to see about that,” Rasniwyn said with an arch of her brow.

“All right, you have all had your fun,” their father said. “Now run along and leave the poor elf in peace.” The three of them giggled and left.

Iarion breathed a sigh of relief. Now it was only him, Barlo, Sinstari, and the lord and lady. The lord and lady both looked the same as Iarion remembered them. Lord Telariras’s silver hair and eyes had not dimmed with the passage of years. Although his features were stern, there was a kindness in his eyes. Lady Raslynia’s flowing hair was still the purest white, like the crest of a wave. Her eyes shifted between clear blue and murky green, depending on her mood. They were currently somewhere between the two colors, and unreadable.

“Never before has a dwarf been brought to the shores of Rasdaria,” she said in the Common Tongue.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Iarion said with a bow. “It was only at my insistence that Alfiabalas brought him. I understand your desire to be apart from the rest of Lasniniar, but times are changing. Barlo has been my close friend for many years and he is Chief of Clans among his people. His honor is the highest.”

“Indeed, times are changing. Although we are isolated here on our isle, we can feel the turn of the tide.” Telariras sighed. “So tell us, why have you come? You have not sought our counsel for many long years.”

Iarion took a deep breath and launched into their tale. On a hunch, he made a point of glossing over Lysandir’s actions at Mar Valion. Although there were times during his narrative that the lord and lady’s eyes widened with interest, Iarion could tell much of what he said was not news to them. A knot of fear formed in his stomach.

Outside, the sky grew dark, casting shadows in the audience chamber as the torches were lit. There was a long silence after he was finished.

“You bring interesting news.” A tall figure in muted, blue-green robes detached itself from the shadows. Torchlight revealed chestnut hair, a long, graying beard, and eyes like deep pools of water.

Feoras. Sinstari let out a low growl.

Iarion felt a stab of certainty, his subconscious fear surfacing.

“The gulls over the Wild Lands. It was you. That was how the Forsworn knew we were coming. You’ve been spying for Saviadro!”

“It is true.” For a moment, Feoras’s gaze dropped. “The
Rasadar
are my people. They are like kin to me. I am only trying to protect them from what is to come. The Fallen One promised they would be left alone if I aided him.”

“You did not consult us on this decision,” Telariras said, turning to glare at him. “It is true we do not involve ourselves with many of the affairs of the mainland, but this will affect all of Lasniniar! If Saviadro gains all of the Quenya for himself, none of us will be able to fulfill our higher purpose and become
Linadar
.”

“I understand what you are saying,” Feoras said, “but you must see there is no hope in resistance. He is too strong. Both of my brothers now serve him. He is unstoppable.” His shoulders slumped. “Although Iarion did not mention it, I have seen it through the eyes of my birds. Both Numarin and Lysandir sit at the side of the Fallen One.”

“This is dire news,” Raslynia said. “Numarin has always been proud and fond of power, but Lysandir has been deep in counsel with the
Linadar
for centuries.”

“It seems it was all an act to gain our trust,” Feoras said.

Iarion exchanged glances with Barlo, who nodded. It was time to take a gamble.

“All is not as it seems,” Iarion said.

“What do you mean?” Telariras asked, his silver eyes narrowing. “Explain yourself.”

“I did not tell you everything. Lysandir only pretended to be back on Saviadro’s side so he could work against him. It was Lysandir who freed us from Mar Valion and helped us gain access to the Stariquenya.”

Feoras frowned. “But I saw—”

“How old is your news?” Iarion pressed. “The night we escaped, we saw a lightning storm centered on Mar Valion. When Lysandir set us free, he said he was going to create a diversion so we could escape. I believe he cast doubt on Numarin’s allegiance and challenged him in order to solidify his position at Saviadro’s side. And with the storm we saw, I also believe only one of them could have survived.”

“We did see such a storm on the eastern horizon several nights ago,” Telariras said.

“What you say may be true,” Feoras said, “but I still must do what I can to protect my people.” A hint of doubt crept into his voice.

“Forgive me, old friend,” Raslynia said with a smile. “But we are not your children to shelter without concern for our opinions. I know you meant well, but we have a large stake in this. Please tell me you do not intend to tell Saviadro Iarion is here.”

“I am supposed to, yes.” Feoras looked torn.

“Feoras, please,” Iarion said. “Reconsider. The situation has changed. We can win now, but only if I can reach Melaquenya before Saviadro. Your help could be instrumental to our success.”

“What can I do?” The Learnéd One’s expression was torn.

“You can help us make swift passage south,” Iarion said. “You control the waters. Think! The Quenya is housed on Eraquenya, which is surrounded by the Rillin. You could hold the river against Saviadro as a last line of defense.”

“You are asking me to defy the Fallen One!” The blood drained from Feoras’s face.

“I am asking you to help save the people of Lasniniar.”

“You have given us much to consider,” Telariras said. “We do not have much involvement in the outside world, but I sense we cannot abstain from this decision. We all need some time to contemplate this matter. In the meantime, you will be our honored guests.”

“Feoras.” The lord turned his gaze upon the Learnéd One. “You also have a decision to make. But know that we will not be party to handing Iarion and the Stariquenya over to Saviadro. Consider your options well. If I discover you have sent any of your gulls to Saviadro, I will have no choice but to name you traitor and exile you from Rasdaria and all lands held by our people. We do not make deals with the Fallen One, regardless of the cost. Now go.”

Feoras left without looking back.

–
Chapter Thirty-Five –

Torn

Golaron could see his breath. It would be winter soon. Would they see any snow before returning south? Years ago, there had been a winter so cold, it had snowed in Belierumar. Golaron remembered making snowballs and having mock battles with Linwyn.

Silvaranwyn had probably never even seen snow before. He tried to imagine the look of delight that would cross her face as she saw it for the first time, and smiled.

He and Silvaranwyn had followed the trail of Linwyn’s captors for three days. After the Pass of Stars, they were careful to look for any signs his sister had escaped, but it seemed the men had learned their lesson and kept Linwyn under closer guard. He and Silvaranwyn had followed the trail along the Great North Road, heading west, then north toward Nal Nungalid. They met no one on the road. The area was eerily quiet.