Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (17 page)

As Iarion’s eyes adjusted, they widened at the sight within. Even Barlo was speechless.

They were in a main hall that branched off into several directions. The hallway was wide enough for all of them to stand with their horses without being crowded. The floor was smooth and polished beneath their feet. The ceiling arched high above even Lysandir’s head.

Huge torch-bearing pillars lined the walls, inlaid with more starsilver. The highly sought metal was as tough as diamonds, but could be delicately wrought. It twinkled with its own internal light, causing the torchlight to dance and reflect as though they were standing underwater. No one spoke. Barlo ran an appreciative hand over the rare metal.

“We have had no one to trade with and nothing to do but improve our halls over the long years,” Lorugo said.

“It is beautiful,” Silvaranwyn said, her golden eyes filled with wonder.

Lorugo beamed at Silvaranwyn’s compliment. “Your horses will be cared for and sent back to Belierumar,” he said as other dwarves arrived to take their mounts. “They will not fit through the tunnel you plan to use. Tomorrow, I will lead you through the passage to the Hills of Mist, but today you should rest.” He made a bow and gestured for the group to follow him.

“Welcome to Dwarfhaven.”

–
Chapter Fifteen –

Hidar

Iarion and his companions spent the day resting in the halls of Dwarfhaven. That evening, the dwarves held an enormous banquet that lasted for hours. Aside from Lysandir, it was the first time in living memory they had ever entertained outsiders.

Many of the dwarves were shy around their guests, having never seen men or elves before. But once the ale was flowing, their curiosity got the better of them. Iarion and his friends were bombarded with stilted questions in the Common Tongue. It was a long, but entertaining evening.

The companions spent the next morning packing their supplies and preparing to move on. The dwarves had added to their stores. Iarion hefted his full pack onto his shoulders. Beside him, Barlo let out a huge yawn. The dwarf had spent most of the previous day wandering the halls and mines of Dwarfhaven instead of resting with the others. Lorugo had been eager to show Barlo around. Now Barlo was paying the price. It appeared the new peace between Dwarfhaven and Dwarvenhome would be a lasting one.

Lorugo popped his head through the door to the sitting room that connected the chambers their group had been staying in.

“It is time.” He flashed them a grin.

The young dwarf was enjoying his new status as guide to the exciting outsiders. Iarion and his companions shouldered their packs and followed him out of the room.

Lorugo led them through a maze of halls and chambers that lay deep beneath the mountains. From the way they had been constructed, it was almost easy to forget they were under several tons of rock. The chambers were spacious and the ceilings high. The occasional window or skylight allowed daylight to filter down under the mountains.

Iarion’s mind reeled as he considered how much work had gone into the construction of Dwarfhaven. Dwarvenhome was well built, but the dwarves of Dwarfhaven had had little to do with themselves over the last two thousand years except improve their craft. The result was breathtaking.

As they traveled northward, the hallways became smaller until they reached a chamber that stored barrels of ale, which appeared to be a dead end. Lorugo chose one of the many barrels and pushed it across the floor. The movement triggered a set of doors in the stone wall, which were impossible to see until they began to swing open.

“This is our escape route, should Dwarfhaven ever fall,” Lorugo said. He gestured for the others to follow.

Once they were all on the other side of the door, Lorugo triggered another hidden lever to seal the entrance behind them. Everyone except the two dwarves was forced to stoop. The roughly hewn tunnel had been made dwarf-height and narrow to slow any pursuit, should it ever be discovered. It wound deep into the mountains, twisting as it went.

The torches on the walls were spaced far apart, creating welcome pools of light in the gloom. Iarion found himself beginning to sweat in the tunnel’s close confines. Ahead of him, Silvaranwyn was trembling as she made her way along, her dimmed, golden hair falling in her face and becoming plastered there. Only Barlo and Lorugo seemed untroubled.

The journey felt endless, but Iarion knew it was only because the going was so difficult. His back and shoulders ached from maintaining his crouched position for so long. His legs were shaking. He comforted himself with the knowledge they were finally moving forward on their quest. He tried to force his mind elsewhere with limited success. His breathing became rapid and shallow, and he began to slip into panic, imagining they were running out of air. With each new step, he expected the tunnel to collapse on them.

He was relieved when the tunnel finally opened into a small chamber. Two dwarves sat inside, sharpening their axes on whetstones. Two additional chambers branched off to either side. From what Iarion could make out, one was a room for storage and a makeshift kitchen, while the other was where the guards slept when they were off duty. The snoring of additional guards confirmed his guess.

The two guards on duty sprang to attention at the arrival of such a strange group. It was unlikely any news had reached them about the arrival of Iarion and his companions. The elf realized the dwarves must work these shifts several days at a time.

Lorugo calmed the guards and spoke to them in the Dwarven Tongue while gesturing to the group. The guards relaxed and their expressions became curious as they looked at each of their visitors in turn.

“Please forgive our welcome,” one said slowly in Common. “We were not expecting visitors, especially not strangers to Dwarfhaven.”

“We require passage to the Hills of Mist,” Lysandir said. “Will you show us the door?”

“Of course,
Lazmiru
.” The guard bowed to the Learnéd One. “But know that once you leave, you will not be able to return this way. The door cannot be opened from the outside and it is made to remain hidden.”

“That should not be a problem,” Lysandir said.

“Very well. Stand back.”

The guard stood on a stool and traced his hands across the ceiling. Having found the spot he wanted, he applied light pressure. Part of the stone ceiling slid aside to reveal a trap door. The dwarf pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked it before stepping down.

“Good luck on your quest,” Lorugo said with a grin.

“Thank you for all your help,” Lysandir said as he climbed onto the stool. “It seems Dwarfhaven has finally gotten the chance to make a fresh start.”

“I look forward to returning here once our quest is complete to talk business with your uncle,” Barlo said. Lorugo’s eyes lit at the prospect.

Lysandir threw the trapdoor open and climbed toward the light. Once he reached the surface, he held an arm down to help Silvaranwyn. Linwyn and Golaron went next. Iarion stayed behind to give Barlo a much needed boost. He knew the dwarves must have some ladder that would allow them to reach the surface, but Barlo was too proud to ask.

“Not a word from you, elf,” Barlo snapped as Iarion helped him reach Golaron’s outstretched arm.

“Did I say something?” Iarion asked with mock innocence.

“Never mind.”

Iarion was the last to climb up. He blinked rapidly in the sudden light. Once his eyes had cleared, he looked around. The Barrier Mountains now lay behind them to the south. They were surrounded by grassy hills shrouded in a white mist. The air was cooler north of the mountains.

It felt good to be above ground and back in open spaces. He took several deep breaths and pushed his damp and disheveled hair back from his face.

Iarion narrowed his eyes and tried to glimpse the sky through the mist. It was about midmorning. He heard a soft click and looked down to discover the dwarves had sealed the trapdoor behind him. It was covered with a seamless, grassy hummock. If Iarion had not just come through it, he would never have guessed it even existed. There were no landmarks to be seen. Now there was no way to go but forward. It was a relief to be able to stand upright once more. He and the others took a few moments to stretch their cramped muscles.

“Come,” Lysandir said. “Let’s move on. We will head for Nal Huraseadro to learn what news we can of what is happening in the north.”

The Learnéd One led the way, heading northwest. Silvaranwyn walked behind him, followed by Linwyn, Golaron, and Barlo. Iarion took the rear. Except for Silvaranwyn and Lysandir, the companions held their weapons close and gave wary glances out into the strange mist. Even Iarion had difficulty penetrating it with his elven sight. The group walked in silence, hushed by the unnatural quiet of their surroundings. They traveled for several hours, weaving through the hills. It would be easy to become lost in such a place.

Silvaranwyn was the first to hear the voice. She gestured for the others to stop and listen. Iarion strained his ears. Someone was singing. It was a male voice, singing in a deviation of the Common Tongue. The language was vaguely familiar to him and he struggled to remember where he had heard it before.

Whoever the singer was, he seemed unconcerned about anyone hearing him. He continued his rousing song as he drew nearer.

A figure came into view from the east as the singer emerged from the mist. It was a man with flaming red hair that touched his shoulders and bright, green eyes the color of new shoots. He wore a chestplate with the symbols of an upturned horn and a circle, which were inlaid with scarlet. He carried a spear at his side. He came to an abrupt halt as he noticed he was not alone.

He was a Lesser Man. The difference between him and the twins was obvious. While they were beautiful, proud, and grim, the man’s eyes were merry and full of vitality. His skin was weather-beaten, but pale next to their bronze complexions. Lesser Men were the youngest of all the races. They had no contact with the elves, unlike their Greater cousins. Even Lysandir had little to do with them.

They lived in scattered tribes in the Daran Falnun, southeast of the dark lands. Each tribe spoke its own dialect of the Common Tongue. Iarion had wandered those lands long ago, which was why the language seemed familiar. The man clutched his spear in a defensive posture, his eyes darting from one member of the group to the other. His expression was awestruck at the sight of two elves. To Lesser Men, elves were merely creatures of legend.

Iarion stepped forward with his empty palms facing upward in a peaceful gesture.

“Greetings,” he said in the Common Tongue and waited to see if the man would respond.

“Greetings,” the man said haltingly. “Who are you?”

“My name is Iarion. My companions and I are headed for Nal Huraseadro. So long as you do not fight for the Fallen One, we mean you no harm.” Lesser Men were much easier to corrupt than their cousins. Many tribes had sworn fealty to Saviadro to become Darkling Men.

The man spat in disgust. “I am no lackey of his. I am Hidar. My father is Chief of the Tribe of Horn.”

“My apologies,” Iarion said. “What brings you so far from your home?”

“The dark forces are gathering in the north. Many other tribes have decided to join them. My people are isolated and in desperate need of allies. We are one of the few tribes left that has not fallen under the Fallen One’s spell. My father is so desperate, he sent me to the Forest of the Sea to beg the aid of the Sea Elves who our legends say dwell there. I tried to enter the forest, but the enchanted river that surrounds it would not let me pass. So I decided to travel southwest to Nal Huraseadro to see if they can help. I cannot return to my people empty-handed.”

“These are indeed dark times,” Iarion said.

“If you are going to Nal Huraseadro, perhaps we can travel together.” Hidar’s face brightened.

“I suppose it would make sense.” Iarion did not like the idea, but he could see no way around it. He looked over at his companions to gauge their responses.

Linwyn and Golaron watched Hidar with distrust. They were from the midlands and had no contact with their Lesser cousins. Lysandir and Barlo both seemed to indicate the decision was up to Iarion, but Barlo was the more reluctant of the two.

Silvaranwyn caught Iarion’s eye and gave him an affirming nod. Although Silvaranwyn was fading, she did have more of a connection with the Quenya than anyone else in the group. Perhaps she could sense something about Hidar the rest of them could not.

Hidar pulled Iarion aside to speak to him in a low voice. “If we are to travel together, there are two questions I must ask.” He looked over at the others. “Did you know you travel with one who used to work at the side of the Fallen One?” His green eyes darted in Lysandir’s direction.

“It was not by choice,” Iarion said. “In the end, he escaped. Now he works against Saviadro. He is a trusted friend.”

Hidar nodded. “If you trust him, so be it. But know that my people still tell tales of his time in the dark lands.”

“What is the other question?”

“Why is that woman carrying a sword?” He jutted his stubbled chin in Linwyn’s direction. “Everyone knows women do not fight.”

Iarion hid a smile. “I wouldn’t ask her that if I were you. I know among your people women are forbidden to take up the blade, but it is an honored calling among hers.”

“Is she any good?”

“She has led armies into battle and emerged victorious.” Iarion shrugged. “I have seen her fight with my own eyes. She is fierce and very brave.”

“Really? What an amazing thing!” Hidar smiled and slapped Iarion on the shoulder. Iarion hid a wince. “It’s settled then. Introduce me to your companions and we can be off.”

Iarion made the introductions, ignoring the silent suspicions of Barlo and the twins. They would get over it. Hidar seemed friendly enough. Even if he wasn’t what he appeared to be, they only had to travel with him as far as Nal Huraseadro.

–
Chapter Sixteen –