Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (14 page)

He pried his eyes open to see what had happened to Lysandir. He walked out onto the scorched stone of the balcony to find the Learnéd One leaning over the side, chuckling to himself. His beard and eyebrows were singed and his crimson robes blackened.

“Look at them, Iarion!” Lysandir’s voice was rough. He indicated the dark army below. Iarion looked down. The creatures had fallen into confusion. They appeared to be arguing among themselves.

“I thought you said the Forsworn couldn’t be killed,” Iarion said.

“It’s true. But I never said anything about their drakes!” Lysandir resumed his wild laughter, but it soon deteriorated into a series of dry coughs. He made an effort to calm himself.

“The Forsworn will need time to regain their strength and find new mounts. Until then, their army is leaderless. We have only to wait for the arrival of our allies.”

“If they decide to come,” Iarion muttered, not loud enough for Lysandir to hear.

The people of Belierumar took hope from the death of the drakes. They began to believe they might have a chance against such an overwhelming enemy. Greater Men were a proud and grim people. They would fight regardless of the odds, especially with their beloved twins leading them, but it helped to know the dark army was now leaderless.

It was the second day of the siege. Lysandir was taking some well-deserved rest, as were Barlo and Linwyn. Iarion sat at Silvaranwyn’s bedside.

Silvaranwyn looked terrible. She had dark circles under her eyes and her golden coloring remained dimmed. Although Golaron was also supposed to be resting, Iarion could sense him standing in the shadow of the doorway behind him, watching.

“Why is this happening?” Iarion asked Silvaranwyn in Elvish.

“This is what I meant about separating from the Quenya.” Even her voice seemed weak. “I am not to return to Melaquenya, so the Quenya is slipping out of my reach. Every time I use it, it becomes more difficult, and makes me more of a
Goladain
. Soon I will be like you, unable to tap into the power of the Quenya at all. The only difference is that I will still be able to sense a whisper of its presence.”

“You should go back,” Iarion said. “It’s not too late.”

“I cannot.” Silvaranwyn shook her head in protest. “This is my path. I must find the courage to stay on it. The Quenya has its reasons for having me come with you. I believe if I do turn back, your quest may fail. If you could sense the Quenya and your purpose, would you turn back?”

“No.” Iarion sighed. “I suppose not. Still, it pains me to see you like this.”

“You must steel yourself then, because it will only get worse. It is only a matter of time before I am no longer
Linadain
.”

“You are far braver than Linwyn gives you credit.” Iarion took hold of her hand. Even it seemed less substantial somehow.

“It is a courage beyond her understanding.” Silvaranwyn shrugged. “It is of no moment. But now I must rest if I am to be ready to continue on with the rest of you.” She stifled a yawn.

“You mean if the siege is ever broken. Our allies might not come.”

“They will come.” Silvaranwyn’s eyes began to close. “Tomorrow…”

Iarion waited for her to finish her sentence, but she had drifted off to sleep. Freeing his hand, he slipped out of the room.

Golaron was already gone.

The day dragged on and the dark army began to regroup. It seemed after some deadly internal squabbling, a few leaders had emerged. The invading forces surged against the gates of Belierumar once more.

The sky was filled with storm clouds, which blocked the sun and gave the dark army the advantage it needed. The men and women on the walls felled scores of them with their arrows, but wave after wave of attacks kept coming. Eventually the sheer numbers of the enemy would overwhelm them. Several ladders were raised against the walls and some trolls were at work on the gate, trying to smash it down.

Iarion and Barlo stood together on the wall. Iarion was slaying as many of the enemy as he could, firing one arrow after another. Each creature screamed as it fell to the ground.

“It doesn’t look good, does it?” Barlo said, as he shoved the top of a ladder off the wall with a grunt. A series of shrieks echoed below as the creatures who had been trying to climb it found themselves flying backward to land atop their own forces.

Another shudder rocked the wall as the trolls threw themselves at the gate.

“The gate won’t last much longer,” Iarion said. “Then there will be fighting in the streets. Lysandir still thinks help will come. I’m not so certain. It has been millennia since the Free Races last joined forces to oppose Saviadro. Even then, the Northern Wars ended in a stalemate. I know it’s important Belierumar stand, but I fear we’ll be trapped here, and the quest will remain unfulfilled.” Iarion narrowed his eyes and let another arrow fly. It was followed by a scream from below.

“If it comes to that, we could always escape through the aqueduct tunnels,” Barlo said. “The elders and the children are already there, waiting for the signal to evacuate. Silvaranwyn is with them. Linwyn and Golaron probably won’t leave, but they will have to understand. One way or another, we’ll see the quest through.” Barlo reached up to clap his hand on Iarion’s back. “I give you my word as a dwarf. You can’t get any better than that.”

“Thank you, Barlo.” Iarion gave him a small smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I just wish I could trust to faith like Lysandir does. In a few moments, the gate will be broken and we’ll be overrun.” A cracking noise split the air as the gate began to give way.

Barlo looked away for a moment, his eyes drawn by movement in the north. “There’s something happening over there. Can you see?”

Iarion turned to look where Barlo was pointing. His narrowed gaze cut through the gloom. He shook his head, unable to believe what he saw.

“Dwarves. They come from out of the mountains. But they don’t wear any clan colors of Dwarvenhome.”

“The clans of Dwarfhaven?” Barlo’s jaw dropped. “The traitor dwarves?”

“I believe so. They must have traveled through the mountains to get here unseen.”

Iarion watched as the traitor dwarves used hit-and-run tactics to get the dark creatures to follow them into the mountains as he and Barlo had done. None of the enemy returned. The attackers at the gate lost their momentum as they were faced with this new distraction.

Eventually the creatures realized it was not a good idea to follow the taunting dwarves away from the battlefield. The dwarves came to them instead. Hundreds of the tartan-clad warriors poured onto the Lower Daran Nunadan to make a stand at the mountains’ base.

“We must join them!” Iarion cried, already running down the stairs. Barlo trotted after him. Linwyn was mounted at the gate, gathering her forces and preparing to charge. Golaron was at her side.

Linwyn gave the order, and the warped and splintered gate swung open. The soldiers of Belierumar flooded onto the battlefield, surprising the distracted dark creatures. Iarion ran on foot, putting his knife to good use. Barlo was beside him, wielding his ax to deadly effect.

Overhead, the heavy clouds burst and the rain poured down. The grass was soon churned to mud. The footing became treacherous for the horses. Several men and women went down before Linwyn gave the order to dismount.

The dark creatures were slow to recover with the Forsworn no longer there to rally them. Order among them soon disintegrated and the battle turned to chaos.

The dwarves advanced from the north. If Belierumar’s army could reach them to join forces, perhaps the city stood a chance.

Iarion’s deadly speed and agility intensified as he turned from one opponent to the next. His knife moved in graceful arcs as he slid it between the ribs of an ogre only to spin and slice the throat of a goblin behind him. He became a living weapon, bringing death to anything that stood in his way. The expression on his blood-spattered face caused the dark creatures to flee before him. The metallic tang of their foul blood filled his nostrils.

The dwarves were near. Iarion pushed himself onward leading the foray that would join the two forces. Even Linwyn was somewhere behind him. Iarion paid the others no heed as he surged ahead. No one could keep up with Iarion in his current state.

“Iarion!” Barlo’s cry of warning was all he had to jar him from his death trance, alerting him to the attack coming from behind.

The hot breath of a large ogre ruffled Iarion’s hair, making him gag. He took a moment to intuit the creature’s position before whirling around. The ogre squealed as Iarion slid his knife between its tusks, under its chin, and up into its brain. He gave his blade a twist before pulling it free. The ogre fell to the ground.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Barlo shouted at him once he had caught up. “Getting that far ahead on your own. You could have gotten yourself killed!”

Barlo likely would have continued his tirade, but there were other problems at hand. Several creatures remained between them and the dwarves, but their resistance was weakening. After several moments of brutal combat, they pushed through to reach their new allies. Now they turned to face the dark army as a single force.

The situation seemed to have turned in their favor. But Iarion could see it would not be enough. The dark creatures were still too many, and the slower trolls were beginning to enter the fray. The corpses of dwarves, and Greater Men and Women littered the battlefield, with more falling every moment. It was too late to retreat. They had been cut off from the gate. This was where they would have to make their stand.

Iarion steeled himself, hoping he and his friends would survive the approaching massacre. The dark creatures sensed their advantage and surged forward once more.

The call of a horn from across the field drew everyone’s attention. It was coming from the south. Iarion turned to look. His eyes pierced the rain and the crowd of enemies to see yet another army approaching. Actually, it appeared to be two armies. The taller force was led by standard bearers. Two familiar pennants flapped in the wind: an oak on a field of green, and a mountain crag on silver.

Iarion let out a whoop. His people had come, and the Earth Elves with them. The second army was composed of shorter warriors who wore tartans of varying patterns. Dwarvenhome had answered Barlo’s summons.

“What is it?” Barlo demanded. “What do you see?”

“Elves and dwarves coming from the south,” Iarion cried. “They must have set out as soon as our messages arrived, and marched day and night to make such good time. Now we’ll see what these foul creatures can do!” Iarion gave a silent thanks to the Lord and Lady of the
Linadar
for sending their initial warning to make ready for war.

The warriors of Belierumar saw the approach of their new allies and doubled their efforts. Now the two opposing forces were even. The dark creatures did not like these new odds. Some goblins began to flee before the onslaught of the approaching elves and dwarves. They ran for the safety of the Southern Passage.

The newcomers fought their way to the side of the soldiers of Belierumar and Dwarfhaven. Even more of the dark creatures abandoned the battle. The goblins and ogres who had fought for supremacy among their own yelled at the others in the Black Tongue, threatening punishment to those who ran. It did no good. Their morale had finally been broken.

To make matters even worse, the rain stopped and the clouds began to dissipate, allowing the sun to break through. It was more than the creatures could bear. The majority of the dark forces retreated. Those who stayed behind were cut down.

Soon the Lower Daran Nunadan was empty of goblins, ogres, and trolls except those who lay dead or dying on the field. Everyone left standing was battered and bloodied. Iarion leaned against the body of a troll be had slain, trying to catch his breath. Barlo was beside him with his hands on his knees, panting.

“Good fight, eh?” the dwarf said.

“Not bad,” Iarion said. “Even if I did have to save your neck a few times.”

“
My
neck? If I hadn’t warned you about that ogre, you’d be dead!” Barlo punctuated his words with mock swings of his ax, which Iarion easily dodged.