Soul Seeker (The World of Lasniniar Book 1) (52 page)

Linwyn tried to push the feeling aside to focus on the fight, but she felt her energy being sapped away. Her attacks became slower as her reactions dulled. Time seemed to shift and the moments dragged by.

A sharp cry from behind caught her attention. She turned her head slightly to see what had happened. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the elf lord fall to his knees while a Forsworn One gripped his throat with its dark hands. The shield that blocked the glade of the Quenya warped in the air. The elf lady on the other side of it staggered.

“Father!” Silvaranwyn’s desperate call cut the air.

She turned away from the Forsworn One she was facing with Golaron to fire several of her flaming arrows at the one holding her father. The creature let go, pulling back with a hiss. The elf lord slumped to the ground, unmoving.

By turning her back on the Forsworn One she had been facing, Silvaranwyn had left herself open. The creature lunged forward, its hands outstretched.

Golaron shouted in protest and threw himself in the creature’s path to stop it from reaching Silvaranwyn. He used his flaming blade to keep it at bay.

Linwyn risked a glance in her brother’s direction. The Forsworn One she was facing pushed the advantage, using her distraction against her to move within her guard. Linwyn turned back to face her opponent. A surge of panic rose inside her. She was overmatched.

Linwyn blocked out everyone else and doubled her intensity, forcing her tired arms to move faster. A part of her knew she would not be fast enough. A dark hand snaked toward her, reaching for her throat.

Suddenly Lysandir was there, gripping the Forsworn One’s wrist, causing it to burst into flame. It withdrew its hand with a shriek. Linwyn realized Saviadro was now unopposed. The Fallen One had abandoned the battle to stand before the weakened shield. He put his hands against its shimmering surface, radiating a dark light. On the other side, the elf lady swayed on her feet as she struggled to maintain the barrier.

Linwyn only gave half her attention to the battle as she watched what happened next. That shield was the only thing protecting Iarion from Saviadro.

The dark light grew stronger. A grimace of pain crossed the lady’s face and tears rolled down her cheeks. The shield began to flicker. Saviadro pushed harder, forcing his advantage. The lady’s eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the ground. A thousand glittering sparks showered through the air.

The shield was down.

Linwyn cursed as she watched Saviadro pass into the grove. In the clutches of desperation, she called out Iarion’s name, surrendering herself to the battle madness. The fear and despair melted away. A bitter laugh bubbled up from her throat.

Iarion was doomed unless one of them could reach him in time. The three Forsworn Ones were doing everything they could to hold her and her companions back.

With a screech of frustration, Linwyn finally managed to break through. She didn’t bother to look back. She ran forward before any of the Forsworn could stop her.

The trees became a blur as she ran past them. She crossed the threshold where the shield had been, not even slowing at the sight of the elf lady’s body. Only now that she was inside the grove did she risk a look over her shoulder. None of the Forsworn had followed. The others must be keeping them busy.

Linwyn lowered herself into a crouch, darting from tree to tree. She had enough sense to know rushing in blindly to Iarion’s rescue could only get him killed. She desperately tried to slow her breathing.

The grove opened before her. Linwyn saw an enormous, golden tree that glowed. Iarion was kneeling on the ground before it with the Levniquenya in his hands. Her heart was in her throat. His unblinking eyes stared off at something she couldn’t see.

He wasn’t moving.

Barlo and Sinstari stood between Saviadro and Iarion. The cat crouched, ready to strike, and Barlo held his ax in trembling hands. This close to his source of power, the Fallen One’s presence was overwhelming.

Without a second glance, Saviadro swung his arm out to the side, sweeping dwarf and cat out of the way with his power alone. Both toppled to the ground. This casual display of sheer force turned Linwyn’s bowels to ice.

Saviadro stepped forward. Still, Iarion didn’t move. Linwyn sensed Saviadro was grinning beneath his dark hood. Nothing could stop him now. The Fallen One was going to win. Iarion was going to die and the world as they knew it would be over.

She had to do something.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Linwyn was running toward them.

–
Chapter Fifty-Four –

The Quenya

Iarion was lost in a world of his own. The glade of the Quenya had faded from existence. Dying screams filled his ears and the stench of death nearly overpowered him as he relived the visions of the Forbidden Pool. He saw Hidar struck by a spear, driving deep into his side, dropping him to the ground.

Linwyn screamed as Darkling Men overwhelmed her, carrying her off as a captive. Iarion watched as he saw her taken west to Nal Nungalid to be surrendered to one of the Forsworn. He shuddered to see the fear in her eyes.

Next, Iarion’s visions took him to Belierumar. The armies of all the Free Races in the midlands had gathered to meet the dark army and try to prevent them from moving south. But the creatures went right past them, breaking for the Narrow Pass.

Lord Eranander led his people in a desperate attack to cut them off, but a stray arrow landed in his abdomen. Many of his men fell around him in the melee. The presence of the Forsworn was overpowering. Iarion saw Eranander suffer in pain before finally dying days later with only his healer in attendance. The people of Belierumar wailed in the streets.

Iarion’s vision shifted to the Adar Daran. He saw the combined army of the Free Peoples launch their attack on the forces outside Melaquenya. Somehow, even the
Beliadar
and the dwarves from Dwarfwatch were there. He felt each death as though it were his own. He was the one who had sent the message for them to attack so he would have a distraction. Everyone who had died, had died because of him. Iarion thought he let out a moan of despair, but it was drowned out by their death screams.

Again, he felt terror as Saviadro and his Forsworn flew over Melaquenya. He saw how the Fallen One’s presence affected the
Linadar
, causing them to collapse. The dark army rushed forward, slaughtering the incapacitated elves. Iarion felt bitter tears rolling down his cheeks. He cried out for mercy. Still, the visions continued.

Feoras tried to hold the river against Saviadro, but he was overmatched. A blast from the Fallen One’s drake hit him full in the chest. The look of sorrow on Alfiabalas’s face as he bore the Learnéd One’s body back to the ship was almost more than Iarion could bear.

Next, he saw Silvaranwyn. She looked different from the last time he had seen her. She was somewhere in the forest, trying to stop Saviadro. He watched her call upon the Quenya to conjure blades of pure light. He saw her own inner light drain from her as she collapsed to the ground, unmoving. Iarion realized he was sobbing.

Now Lord Valanandir had joined the fight. A Forsworn One grabbed his throat, killing him with its touch. Iarion saw the shield protecting the Quenya weaken. Saviadro approached it, engaging Lady Iadrawyn in a battle of wills. She too, fell to the ground before him. The shock of it made Iarion go numb.

Iarion saw Saviadro stride into the grove. He saw himself kneeling before the Quenya with the Levniquenya in his hands. Barlo and Sinstari tried to block the Fallen One’s path, but he tossed them aside without a second thought.

An icy dread washed over him. This was happening now. Saviadro was here.

Iarion blinked, forcing the visions away. The air had gone still. Time itself had stopped. He looked up. Saviadro loomed over him. Barlo and Sinstari lay unmoving in the grass. Iarion forced himself to meet the fiery eyes that looked down from within the deep hood. Something about what was happening seemed familiar, but it lay just beyond his grasp.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” the hollow voice said. “You can still save some of them. You know the cause of all that death. You hold it in your hands. No one else has to die. Just give back what is mine. So many have already died because of you. If return it to me now, I will use my power to grant you immortality. I can even extend that offer to some of your friends. You can be with them forever. There will be no more death.”

Iarion considered Saviadro’s words. He was right. Everyone had died as a result of his actions. He had tried to avert their fate by leaving them behind, but it hadn’t worked. Saviadro had no way of knowing Iarion was already immortal in his own fashion, but the idea of sharing that gift with his friends was tempting. All he had to do was give Saviadro the Stariquenya. It was so simple.

Yet something nagged at Iarion. Something Lysandir had said. Iarion allowed the Learnéd One’s voice to fill his mind. He had told him the Forbidden Pool can give great insight, but it will take away all your hope if you let it. Some things it showed you were true, but many were warped and twisted.

Full realization struck him. Not everything he had seen had come to pass, at least not exactly as he had seen it. There was still a chance some of his companions were still alive.

Even if they were all dead, was it really his fault? They had followed him willingly to fight for the freedom of Lasniniar. It was Saviadro and his minions that had killed them. And if Iarion didn’t stop him now, even more would die. Had his friends died for nothing?

Iarion saw Saviadro’s words for what they really were: empty promises. If Iarion failed in this quest, he would already live until he fulfilled his hidden purpose or until he was killed. He didn’t want the endless half-life of a Forsworn One, and he wouldn’t wish it upon any of his companions.

Iarion looked back up at Saviadro. “You are right. There will be no more death, once I finish what I set out to do.” He forced himself to his feet, turning to face the Quenya.

“I gave you a chance,” Saviadro warned.

Iarion heard the metallic hiss of a blade being drawn from its sheath. He began to turn. Saviadro had a dagger, poised and ready to strike him from behind. It was forged of dark metal. Iarion felt as though he had seen the blade before. He knew no matter how fast he was, Saviadro was faster. Instead of fear, Iarion felt only a bitter sorrow.

He was too late.

Time lurched forward. Iarion frowned as he heard a familiar voice cry out in protest. The knife began its journey downward.

Then Linwyn was there, throwing herself between Iarion and the blade. Unable to stop its momentum, Saviadro plunged it deep into her chest. She pulled him down with her.

Off to the side, Barlo struggled to sit up. “Do it now, Iarion!” he yelled.

Iarion forced himself to turn away from Linwyn’s broken form, while Saviadro struggled to withdraw his blade. Iarion knew he had run out of chances. This last one would cost Linwyn her life.

Iarion stepped up to the hollow in the huge tree. With trembling fingers, he cracked open the Levniquenya, allowing the power within to be released into the golden light below. A rush of air filled his ears. As violet light met golden, a blinding flash turned everything to white.

The world stopped.

–
Chapter Fifty-Five –

Aftermath

Iarion felt as though there were several doors in his mind that had been closed and locked that were bursting off their hinges. He staggered backward from the tree, not seeing anything in front of him. There was only light as the reunited Quenya seared through his mind, blazing a path to his soul.

The visions of the Forbidden Pool were banished. They could not be sustained in the presence of such all-encompassing truth. As the phantoms fled, Iarion felt cleansed. He took a deep breath and realized he had been forever changed. The void within him was finally filled.

He turned to face Saviadro. The Fallen One was unraveling in the blinding light. The source of his corrupted power was gone. His dark cloak disintegrated to reveal the wretched creature that lay beneath.

There could be no doubt Saviadro had once been a fair-faced elf, but his features had become twisted and scarred. His attempted theft of the Quenya had not been without cost. His golden skin was charred and blackened by the backlash of the Quenya’s power he had tried to claim for his own so many years ago. Only singed clumps of withered hair remained on his scalp and where his eyebrows should have been. His cracked flesh clung to his hollow cheeks and gaunt frame, clearly defining the bones beneath.

His orange eyes narrowed in resistance as the light ate away at him. His gaze met Iarion’s and there was a sudden recognition, as though he were seeing him for the first time.

“You!” he growled before uttering a bitter laugh. “I knew you were familiar, but I never would have thought it possible. How ironic. It seems the Quenya is not without its own sense of humor. At least where I am going, I will no longer be tempted by its cursed power. For that, I thank you.”

“I did not do this for your sake,” Iarion said.

“I know. You did it to save the world. Don’t worry. I am certain you will by amply compensated.” Saviadro flashed a sly, mocking grin. “Let me know how that turns out for you.”

The light ate into him, tearing him apart. His eyes opened wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream before he faded into nothingness.

A rushing sound filled Iarion’s ears as the light returned to its home in the tree. Time lurched back into motion. From somewhere nearby, Iarion could hear a bird singing. He blinked, almost unable to believe what had just happened.

“We are free!” An unfamiliar voice speaking the Elven Tongue came to him through the trees.

He looked to the entrance to the grove. Where three Forsworn Ones had stood moments before, there were now three
Linadar
. They were looking down at themselves, and at one another in wonder. The Quenya had returned them to their original forms. They were once again the elves that had been sent as a peace delegation to Saviadro, thousands of years ago. Far in the distance there was the sound of a horn blowing, signaling the dark army’s retreat.