Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (31 page)

A deep shame washed over him. He used it to fuel his rage. Now he fought to protect both Silvaranwyn and a mortally wounded Hidar. He heard Linwyn cry out in alarm from somewhere in the fray. As usual, she had surged ahead on her own. But for once, Golaron was not there to watch over her. Iarion and Barlo were still missing. Hidar’s tribe continued their onslaught.

Soon it would be over.

From a safe distance away, Hidar’s father watched the battle unfold. His son’s friends were mighty warriors. Many of his own men fell under their weapons.

Things were not going as well as he had hoped. Hidar had always been a stubborn boy. Still, he had thought his son would see reason, at least for the sake of his own people.

What choice did they have in times like these? To stand alone against the Fallen One when they lived under his shadow was a death warrant.

The older man was distracted from his dark thoughts as one of his scouts came running toward him.

“My chief,” he panted, falling to one knee.

“What news?”

“Your son is dead. He was impaled by a spear intended for one of his companions.” The scout trembled.

“Our people do not cast their spears to miss.” The chief’s voice was hard.

“No, my chief. Hidar threw himself into the spear’s path to protect his companion.”

Hidar’s father struggled to contain a wave of grief. Hidar had been his only child.

“What else?” He forced his voice to remain even.

“The male elf and the dwarf have been separated from the others and driven northeast, but a large wildcat has joined them. Many of our men have fallen.” The scout waited for his chief’s nod to continue. “Also, the woman warrior has been isolated. She is vastly outnumbered. Our men await your orders.”

“And what of the man and the female elf?”

“The elf woman shoots arrows at our men, killing many of them. The man fights like a wild bear, but he is tiring.”

The chief took a moment to consider, knowing more of his men were dying as he did so. He turned to one of his guards. “Sound the signal for retreat.”

“My chief?” The scout frowned.

“My son is dead, killed by his own people. Our numbers have been greatly diminished. We will not risk extinction to gain the favor of the Fallen One. We will take the warrior woman hostage and journey to Nal Nungalid to present her to the Forsworn One that rules there. Once her companions have regrouped and recovered, they will seek her out, bringing the Forsworn One what its master wants.”

“The journey to Nal Nungalid is a long one,” the guard said. “Forgive me, my chief, but why do we not take the woman directly to the Fallen One?”

“It is death to enter the dark lands. Besides, the Fallen One be displeased we have failed to retrieve what he desires. We stand a better chance dealing with one of his Forsworn while its master is distracted with his plans to conquer the midlands.”

“The male elf and the dwarf are too far away to be a hindrance, but what of the elf woman and the man?” the scout asked.

“Make certain the man cannot follow as we make our escape. The elf woman will not follow us on her own.” The chief was loath to injure one of the legendary creatures, especially one of such beauty. “Now go.”

The scout ran off to relay the orders. In a few moments the signal for retreat would be sounded. It was a good plan, and it would spare the lives of many of his men. Still, it did little to comfort him.

Hidar was dead.

He knew the bitter taste of regret that it should come to this. And yet he could not help feeling a surge of pride. As always, Hidar had done what was right, regardless of the cost. But as chief, his father was bound to do what was best for his people. It was a bitter draft to swallow, but it was the cost of survival. The chief sighed and stared off into the distance.

“Forgive me, my son.”

The attackers seemed to double their efforts. Golaron tried to keep up, but he was tiring. His arms were heavy with exhaustion. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer.

One of the men lunged at Silvaranwyn. Golaron threw himself between them, leaving his guard wide open and causing his helm to slip from his head to fall to the ground. One of his attackers struck him across the temple with their spear. A blinding flash shot across Golaron’s vision as it connected with his skull. He could feel the warmth of his own blood spilling over his scalp. His legs gave way and he slumped to the ground.

Silvaranwyn rushed forward and caught his shoulders, easing him down. Somewhere in the distance a horn sounded. Golaron thought he heard his sister call out his name. Miraculously, the attackers put up their weapons and ran off.

Golaron’s head lolled to the side. He was lying next to Hidar. To his surprise, the other man cracked one of his eyes open to look at him.

“Hidar!” Golaron’s gasp was the result of both surprise and pain.

“It’s almost over now.” Hidar’s voice was hoarse. The fatal spear still protruded from his side.

Silvaranwyn knelt to examine him. She shook her head. “I am sorry. There is nothing I can do for you.”

“Hidar.” Golaron burned with a deep shame. “Hidar, I’m sorry. Sorry for everything. The way I’ve treated you, all those things I said when we were in the Fallen One’s dungeon… You were always loyal. I was just too blind to see it.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” Hidar’s breathing was ragged. “My own father has betrayed our cause, along with the rest of my people. I was a fool to have brought us here.” Tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving trails through blood and grime.

“You had no way of knowing,” Silvaranwyn said, squeezing his hand.

“I should have known better.” Hidar was wracked by wet coughs. Some blood spilled from his mouth onto his chest. “My father will always do what he thinks is best for the tribe.” He began to cough once more.

“You should relax.” Silvaranwyn tried to get Hidar to lean back.

“There will be plenty of time for that soon. Who knows? I might even get to see this Quenya you all talk about.” Hidar managed a weak smile, before turning serious. “But there is something I have to tell you. My father would only call for a retreat if he already had what he wanted, or if he has taken a hostage. He will try to lure you to him on stronger ground.”

Hidar gripped Golaron’s arm. His hand was covered with blood. “Finish the quest, Golaron. Promise me you will see it through. I need to know that one day my people and everyone else in Lasniniar will be able to live in a world where father and son aren’t turned against each other for someone else’s gain. Swear it to me, Golaron.”

“I swear it.” Golaron’s eyes filled with tears.

Hidar looked off into the distance with a look of wonder on his face. “I can hear singing. Can you hear it?”

“I can’t hear any singing.” Golaron frowned. “Hidar…”

Hidar’s grip on Golaron’s arm slackened as he gasped his last breath. Silvaranwyn bowed her head and closed his pale green eyes for the last time.

Golaron sighed. “What now?” he asked, meeting Silvaranwyn’s gaze. “Iarion and Barlo got swept off somewhere. They could be dead for all we know.” He struggled to rise, but was overcome by a wave of dizziness and nausea.

“You are in no condition to move,” Silvaranwyn said. “You have a serious head wound.” She held a piece of someone’s shredded cloak to his skull to stem the flow of blood. The sky was darkening. “You will need to rest for the next day at least.”

“Perhaps Iarion and Barlo will show up by then.” Golaron let his thoughts wander. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright.

“Wait. Where’s Linwyn?”

–
Chapter Thirty –

Captive

Linwyn cursed. She had been a fool to leave the others, but when Iarion had gone missing, she had been unable to resist trying to find him.

She was well aware the elf could take care of himself, but he was still weak from drinking the waters of the Forbidden Pool. Although she suspected Barlo was with him, she felt compelled to join him if she could.

Hidar’s tribe-mates had underestimated her at first. Men always did, believing she only played at being a warrior. She used it to her advantage, killing many of them before they learned to become wary of her blade. Now dusk was falling over the land and she was surrounded.

But Linwyn refused to surrender. Instead, she swung her shield about to knock spears from startled hands, while driving her sword into the gut of the man closest to her. She panted as blood and sweat trickled down her face, blinking it from her eyes. She had at least a dozen minor wounds, which she did her best to ignore. She intensified her attack, forcing most of the men to take several steps back to avoid her swinging sword and shield.

Linwyn frowned. Something strange was happening. Until a few moments ago, these men had seemed fully committed to killing her. Now their game had changed. They pulled their blows, settling for containment instead.

A shiver of warning traveled down her spine. Here she was, alone and surrounded. She did not fear death in battle. But what she saw in the eyes of the men around her said something different.

They wanted to take her prisoner.

She shouted a wild cry, throwing herself at the men closest to her. But they had seen the dawning of realization in her expression. All the men swarmed toward her in a rush. Linwyn cried out as they overwhelmed her, fighting for all she was worth. She felt a thrill of panic as they forced her to the ground, wrenching her sword and shield from her hands.

Her helm fell from her head in the scuffle. She screamed her brother’s name. She remembered all the times he had guarded her back as she had ridden recklessly into battle. This time she had truly left him behind.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs to call out once more. But before she could get Golaron’s name past her lips, someone slammed her unprotected skull with the butt of their spear.

A wave of blackness washed over her.

Linwyn’s teeth rattled in her skull. She cracked one eye open. Under her lashes, she saw legs and feet running at a brisk pace. Rope bit into her wrists and bound her ankles. She was still wearing her armor, which had cut through the underpadding in several places to bite into her flesh. Her sword and shield were missing.

The sky was darkening. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. She was being carried, flung unceremoniously over some man’s shoulder, which was why her teeth were rattling. It made her wounded head ache.

The memories came trickling back. She had been captured by the men of Hidar’s village. Why had she been spared? Her mind shied away from answering. She vaguely remembered them making camp near a river and forcing her to eat and drink.

How many days had passed since she had been taken? As she considered, she decided this must be the second day.

She wished she could see where they were going. The men ran as though their lives depended on it. When one tired of carrying her, she was passed to another. All Linwyn knew was at this pace, the battlefield was long behind them.

She hoped the others still lived. But there were only two reasons she could think of that would cause these men to take her captive. Either all her companions were dead and the Fallen One sought her for questioning, or she was a hostage to be used to draw the others into a trap.