Storm Rider Lasniniar Collection

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Blind Man’s Bluff

Iarion led Barlo south through the Adar Daran, his mind elsewhere. He had spent a few days in Dwarvenhome with Barlo’s family before the two of them had set out. It was their third day in the grasslands. They had decided to take things easy, and now the Jagged Mountains were far behind them. Even though Iarion knew it was empty, the three-pronged tower of Mar Arin seemed to watch over them from the west. Melaquenya was a growing smudge on the horizon before them.

While a small part of his mind noticed the sound of birdcalls coming from the tall grass that stretched all around them, and the rustle of Barlo and Sinstari’s passage behind him, he couldn’t set aside the memory of his vision. Over and over, he watched himself hold his knife to Barlo’s throat while his friend begged for mercy.

Iarion simply couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. Barlo was his best friend, both in this life and the one that had come before it. As much as he wanted to unburden himself to Barlo and tell him everything, he couldn’t bear to do it. How could he possibly explain what he had seen?

No. I will keep it to myself and do everything I can to prevent it from coming to pass.

But if that were true, why was he allowing Barlo to accompany him? If Barlo went back to Dwarvenhome, perhaps Iarion’s vision could be averted. His guilt gnawed at him. He knew he was being selfish by involving Barlo in his quest.

Iarion also knew that trying to alter the outcome of such visions was usually futile. He had tried it in his previous life and still, many had died. It was a no-win situation. He wanted Barlo at his side, but he didn’t want him to die. Iarion was willing to believe the vision would come true one way or another whether Barlo traveled with him or not because it suited him, yet he wanted to prevent it from happening. It made absolutely no sense. His thoughts ran in circles, and he struggled with the nagging impulse to tell Barlo to go back home.

Barlo was stubborn though, and loyal to a fault. If Iarion asked him to stay behind, he would want to know why. Even if Iarion told him, Barlo would likely scoff at his worries and insist on coming anyway. The dwarf also wasn’t above trying to follow him if he tried to leave him behind. Barlo wasn’t a skilled tracker though, and if he tried to follow Iarion at a distance, he might come to a bad end anyway, which would make Iarion feel just as bad.

Iarion resisted the urge to tug at his braids in frustration. He had been walking in silence for too long and Barlo knew him too well. He needed to start talking or Barlo would begin to suspect something.

“How is Silvaranwyn doing these days?” he asked, keeping his voice casual. “Have you visited her lately?”

“It’s been awhile.” Barlo sighed. “Her children are good rulers. She advises them occasionally, but mostly keeps to herself. She still misses Golaron.”

Iarion took a moment to remember the man who had been a companion on their quest to overthrow Saviadro and had later become Lord of Belierumar. “How long has it been since he died? A hundred years?”

Barlo grunted. “About that. Do you still think he’ll be reborn, even though he was only a human? You and Silvaranwyn hinted at it when Linwyn died.”

“I still think it’s possible. The elves are closest to the Quenya, but all living creatures are connected to it in some way, and both served to reunite the Quenya and defeat Saviadro. If Golaron does come back, Linwyn will come back with him. As twins, their souls are connected.”

“You would know something about that, I suppose,” Barlo said with a wry smile. “But poor Linwyn! If you’re right, that means she’s been waiting for hundreds of years for Golaron to die so she can be reborn. She was never a patient lass.”

Iarion chuckled. “You’re right.”

Iarion didn’t mention that he had been making discreet inquiries among the Shadow Elf tribes since Golaron’s death to learn whether any twins had been born among them. Only elven children were born with reincarnated souls, and all elves started as Shadow Elves before being reborn as Light Elves.

Linwyn had sacrificed herself for Iarion so he could defeat Saviadro. Iarion had learned she had fallen in love with him shortly before, but they never had a chance to speak of it. Linwyn had been a fiery, brave, clever, infuriating woman, and Iarion had been blind to her feelings for him. In retrospect, he wished he hadn’t been so obsessed with fulfilling his quest to reunite the Quenya. He couldn’t help but wonder how things might have turned out between them.

“Iarion, how long will Silvaranwyn live?” Barlo asked, scattering Iarion’s thoughts. “I hate to see her so... forlorn. She sacrificed everything, and now she’s stuck watching everyone around her die. She could even outlive her children with only half their blood being elven.”

“I don’t know. No other Light Elf has left Melaquenya permanently before and faded to become a Shadow Elf. All I can say for certain is she will go on living until her purpose has been fulfilled.”

“You would think she’s done enough already,” Barlo said. “She could go on living forever! I mean, look how long you lived in your last life. It doesn’t seem right.”

“It might not seem fair to us now, but who knows what the future has in store? We have to trust in the Quenya.”

Barlo snorted. “Says you. You elves are too mystical and complicated. All this reincarnation and destiny business is enough to make a dwarf’s head hurt. Just give me a place at the First Father’s table at the end of my days, and keep the food and ale coming.”

“Barbarian,” Iarion teased.

“It’s not primitive; it’s practical,” Barlo said. “You don’t see me getting bogged down with existential questions all the time. Sometimes simpler is better. You should try it sometime.”

“So now you’re a spiritual adviser?” Iarion looked back, raising an eyebrow.

Barlo gave him a mocking, blissful smile. “Come with me, Iarion, and I will show you the way.” He broke out in a grin. “What do you think?”

Iarion laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

Iarion, Barlo, and Sinstari arrived under the eaves of Melaquenya a few hours before sunset. Both elf and dwarf received scowls from those who guarded the borders of the wood. Iarion ignored them, leading his friend toward Eraquenya. The small isle lay at the heart of the forest. It was home to both the Quenya and Iadrawyn.

The familiar presence of the Quenya soothed him as they approached the seat of its power. Iarion headed for the meeting glade. Iadrawyn was likely still holding audience there.

The golden and silver flecked tree trunks gave way to a grassy clearing, their ancient branches intertwining high above in a roof of leaves. The glade was still quite full. The Light Elves came here to exchange news, seek counsel, and present their newborn children.

Iadrawyn sat on a throne of interlacing branches that seemed to grow from the ground, an intricately wrought crown of starsilver on her brow. She absently pushed her golden hair behind her ears and focused on the speaker before her. Valanandir sat on a matching throne beside her, wearing a crown of his own. It was easy for Iarion to forget his foster brother was Lord of the Light Elves. Valanandir and Iadrawyn had discovered the Quenya during Valanandir’s previous life and become Ruling Lord and Lady. He had died shortly before Iarion during the battle with Saviadro and was eventually reborn. The young couple who had sired Valanandir in his current incarnation had sensed they were not the ones meant to raise him. Iarion’s parents had taken him in as their own.

“I know we go over this every time,” Barlo said in a low voice, “but I still have trouble keeping everything straight. So Iadrawyn and Valanandir had three children during Valanandir’s previous life.”

“Andirlynia, Silvaranwyn, and my father, yes.”

“And now in this life, Valanandir’s son has become his foster father?” Barlo shook his head in confusion. “Which means even though Valanandir is your foster brother in this life, he’s also your grandfather in a roundabout way.” He frowned.

“And Iadrawyn is my grandmother, and Andirlynia and Silvaranwyn are my aunts.” Iarion patted Barlo on the back. “Try not to think about it too much.”

“See? This is what I mean about complicating things. All this reincarnation business is so messy. I don’t know how you keep it all straight.”

Iarion felt a tug on one of his braids. He turned around to find one of the very relatives they had been discussing.

“Aunt Andirlynia!” He gave her a mischievous smile. “We were just talking about you.”

Andirlynia cringed. “Don’t call me that. It makes me feel ancient.” They spoke Common for Barlo’s benefit.

“Something that’s been around for thousands of years is usually the definition of ancient,” Iarion said.

“Beast!” Her green eyes sparkled. “And to think of all the times I took turns watching over you and dealing with your soiled loincloths.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Barlo said. “Only an i***t would call you ancient. You’re as young and comely looking as any lass could wish.”

It was true. Andirlynia was an echo of Iadrawyn’s serene beauty. Aside from the pale, white hair she had inherited from Valanandir, she and Iadrawyn could almost be twins.

She gave Barlo a mock curtsy before turning back to Iarion. “At least your friend has manners. Valanandir has been keeping quiet, but I know he has been worried about you. What’s going on?”

Iarion sighed. “Something dark. I think the whole family should hear the details. I don’t want to have to go over it more than once.”

Andirlynia nodded, turning serious. “I will find your parents. You see if you can catch Valanandir’s eye. There are no audiences that cannot wait until tomorrow.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before melting into the crowd.

“You heard her,” Barlo said. “Let’s go.”

He started shouldering his way through the throng, moving toward the front. Elves gave him offended looks as he pushed them aside. Barlo ignored them. Most of them would have been offended by his presence alone. It would make no difference whether he was polite to them or not. Iarion and Sinstari followed in his wake.

As soon as they were close enough, Iarion gave Valanandir a discrete wave. His foster brother gave him a measuring look and nodded before leaning over to whisper in Iadrawyn’s ear. Iadrawyn straightened and looked out at the crowd.

“This audience is now over,” she said in Elvish, her lilting voice carrying through the glade. “We will be available again tomorrow.”

Murmuring, the elves began to disperse. Andirlynia approached with Iarion’s parents in tow. Even though she was quite pregnant, his mother still seemed to glide along, her white hair trailing through the air behind her like a cloud. She already looked concerned, which was never a good sign. She pulled Iarion aside.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, her deep-blue eyes filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” Iarion said. “You would know if I wasn’t. I just have some... dark news.”

“Why didn’t you come to me with it? You know I am here for you. I have always been here.”

Iarion suppressed a frustrated sigh. In one of his past lives, Iarion had been his mother’s twin brother. She had gone mad when he had been murdered, wandering the forest in search of his lost soul and even changing her name. Their parents had died in the war that had followed, leaving her to carry her burden of grief alone. Since Iarion had been reborn as her son, she had regained her birth name and her sanity. She also clung to him, wanting everything to be the way it had been before, which was impossible as far as Iarion was concerned. Yes, their souls were still bonded, but Iarion had lived an entire lifetime since then. He wasn’t the same person.

Maybe Barlo’s right. All this reincarnation is too complicated.

“Eransinta, give him some space,” Iarion’s father said, coming to his rescue. “He’s only just returned.” Curuadil put a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“I just worry about him,” she said, looking up at him. “I wish he would stay here with us in Melaquenya instead of always wandering off.”

“Why don’t we move this meeting somewhere more private?” Iadrawyn asked. Both she and Valanandir had risen from their seats. “I think this conversation would best take place in the presence of the Quenya.”

Iarion flashed her a grateful smile. If Valanandir had made such a suggestion, his mother might have ignored it since she had helped raise him. But coming from the woman who was both Lady of the Light Elves and her mother-in-law, Eransinta had little choice but to agree. The six elves left the meeting glade with Barlo and Sinstari trailing behind them.

The glade of the Quenya was much smaller, and was guarded by two elf sentries. Iarion felt the familiar tingle on his skin as he entered. An enormous, golden tree stood in its center. Swirls of light and color came from a hollow in the tree’s trunk.

For a moment, no one spoke. This was the most sacred place in Lasniniar for the elves. Their entire lives were devoted to fulfilling the destiny the Quenya gave them. Valanandir was the first to break the silence.

“Something happened to Iarion a few days ago,” he said. “We were in the forest, practicing our tracking when he collapsed. I stayed with him. I didn’t know what else to do. When he finally woke, I knew he had had a vision, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He promised he would speak with Iadrawyn about it when he returned from Dwarvenhome. I respected his privacy—”

“You knew about this?” Eransinta wailed in Elvish. “How could you—”

“Eransinta, please,” Iadrawyn said in a firm, but gentle tone. “We should use the Common Tongue so Barlo may understand.”

“Anyway,” Valanandir continued, “now Iarion has returned, and I am hoping he can explain what happened.”

Iarion nodded, taking up the thread of conversation. “I wanted to speak with all of you since what I saw could affect the future of the elves. You are the only ones who have ever taken my concerns seriously.”

“What about your sisters?” Eransinta asked. “Should they be here?”

“I don’t think so,” Iarion said. “They may be my sisters, but they are almost like strangers to me. They have also made it clear they find my concerns for our safety ridiculous.”

Iarion’s mother sighed. “There is too much age between you. Perhaps if you had grown up together...”

“I’ve always thought they might be jealous,” Barlo said. “After all, Iarion has a special bond with you that they don’t. Even though they were born first, you will always be closer to him.”

Iarion’s eyes widened in surprise. That thought had never occurred to him.

Curuadil gave Barlo an appraising look. “You may be right. The twin soul bond would be enough to make any child jealous, no matter what their age.”

“So we are the only elves you trust?” Eransinta asked.

“I have few friends I am close to,” Iarion said with a shrug. “The only other elf I would include is...” He winced, realizing his mistake.

“Silvaranwyn,” Iadrawyn said. Her expression was sad and wistful. “You can say her name. We will always miss her presence here in our wood, but we have all grown accustomed to the ache of her absence. Now perhaps you should tell us of your vision. What did you see?”

With a surge of relief, Iarion related what he had been shown. He told them everything except the part about killing Barlo. Even after he finished, no one spoke for several moments. Iarion tensed, waiting for a response.

What if they don’t believe me?

It was something he had never considered. Iadrawyn finally broke the silence.

“Iarion, this vision did not come from the Quenya,” she said, giving him a knowing look.

Iarion held her steady, green gaze. “No. It came from the Forbidden Pool.”

“What? Iarion, please tell me you didn’t go into the dark lands...” Eransinta wrung her hands.

“Of course not!” Iarion suppressed the urge to shake her. “I haven’t been there since my previous life.”

“So that’s why you didn’t want to talk about it,” Valanandir said. “Well, if your visions did not come from the Quenya, can they be trusted?” He looked to Iadrawyn for answers.

“Although I counseled you not to drink from those dark waters, we may all end up being grateful you did,” Iadrawyn said, her expression grave. “For years, the Quenya has been silent, and I have had no visions, but I, too, have felt a growing fear.”

Andirlynia frowned. “I have felt a nagging cloud of darkness as well, but nothing as strong as what Iarion has been feeling.”

Curuadil looked from one elf woman to the other. “Why didn’t you say anything before? Of all the elves, you two have the strongest connection with the Quenya.”

“I said nothing precisely because there have been no visions to confirm it,” Iadrawyn said. Andirlynia nodded her agreement. “I did not want to cause panic among our people based only on a vague feeling. All I could do was support Iarion when he began trying to prepare us for a possible attack.”

“So what does this mean?” Eransinta asked.

“It means two things,” Iadrawyn said. “Although Iarion drank from the Forbidden Pool in a previous life, it somehow affected his soul to send him a warning in this life, which is something I would not have thought possible. I wish Lysandir were here. He is the only other living person who has drank from the Forbidden Pool. Perhaps he might have some insight.”

Iarion mentally kicked himself for not making the connection to Lysandir. The Learnéd One of Fire was an old friend. Perhaps Iarion should have sought him out.

“Where is he now?” Barlo asked.

Valanandir shook his head. “We are not sure. We know he is not at Mar Arin. He could be anywhere. He has not been seen in the midlands in years.”

“Blasted sorcerer,” Barlo muttered. “He’s never around when you need him.”

“What is the second thing?” Curuadil asked. “You said Iarion’s visions meant two things.”

“It means we can no longer depend on the Quenya to warn us of future threats,” Iadrawyn said. A shocked silence followed. “We know the visions of the Forbidden Pool always contain a hidden truth. We cannot dismiss them out of hand.”

“But elves killing elves, dragons... It makes no sense,” Eransinta said. “The last dragon died thousands of years ago! Even if the visions are true, how can we guard against them?”

Iarion steeled himself. “I’ve already told you that I sensed the dark swamp I saw was somewhere to the south. I plan to go there.”

“Iarion, no!” His mother gripped his arm. “What are you saying?”

“I’m going, Mother,” he said, gently prying her fingers loose. “This vision must have come to me for a reason. The Quenya may not have shown us anything, but I feel as though I am meant to go south. Someone needs to learn what all this means. Our lives could depend on it.”

Eransinta collapsed into his arms, sobbing. “Don’t leave me!” she said in Elvish. “Not again...”

Iarion murmured reassurances, holding her in his arms. He understood her fear. If he died, she would know. She could go mad all over again. But he couldn’t live his life in a bubble to keep her happy. He knew he had to go. Curuadil joined them, wrapping his wife and son in his arms for a few moments, before managing to pull Eransinta free. She huddled in his arms as he tried to soothe her.

Iadrawyn gave Iarion a sympathetic look. “I think your decision is a wise one, although I will be sad to see you go. But you should not go alone. I would go with you, but my place is here. I must stay with the Quenya and protect our people if the threat you have foreseen comes to find us.”

“And I should make certain our defenses are ready.” Valanandir gave a half-smile of apology.

Iarion nodded in understanding. Valanandir was his foster brother, but he was also Lord of the Light Elves and a cunning strategist. His place was in Melaquenya at Iadrawyn’s side.

“Part of me would like to go, if only to keep an eye on you,” Andirlynia said. “But my connection with the Quenya is strong. Mother may need my help if magic is required.”

“And I must stay with your mother, who is in no condition to travel,” Curuadil said, provoking a fresh bout of sobs from Eransinta.

“I understand,” Iarion said. “I know you all have your places here. Barlo has agreed to accompany me, unless he would like to take this chance to change his mind?” He gave his friend an inquiring look.

“Are you questioning a dwarf’s word?” Barlo growled.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Iarion said. “I only wanted to give you an opportunity to bow out gracefully. I would understand.”

“Well, that’s not necessary. I’m coming and that’s final.”

“How will you find the swamp from your vision?” Valanandir asked. “No one we know of has traveled the lands south of here. We have no idea how vast they may be.”

Iarion shrugged. “I’ll just have to keep going south until I find it. I know it’s not much of a plan, but if I’ve been given a vision of the place, I’m probably meant to find it.”

“Or we could just ask for directions,” Barlo said in a dry voice. “There’s bound to be people living somewhere down there.” Iarion suspected his friend was holding back a few choice comments about elves and their need to complicate things.

Valanandir nodded. “When will you leave?” For a moment, Eransinta quieted her sobbing to listen.

Iarion and Barlo shared a look. “Tomorrow,” Iarion said, provoking another wail from his mother.

Barlo nodded in approval. He had left his home and family behind for this quest. He hadn’t done it so he could languish in Melaquenya. Iarion suspected they were both thinking the same thing.

The sooner we set out, the better.