Chapter Twelve
The Good News and the Bad News
Lodariel ran through the southern Rolling Hills, the wind whistling in her pointed ears and her red-gold braids streaming behind her. She ran as silently as only an elf could out of habit more than anything else. Her thoughts were devoid of anything but the words she had overheard from Melaquenya’s sentries.
“And what about Silvaranwyn?”
“You haven’t heard? Lord Eruvalion killed her when he took control of the Quenya—swatted her like a fly.”
They echoed a litany in her mind as she ran. The tiny portion of her brain that was still working tripped over the name ‘Lord Eruvalion’.
Eruvalion? But he’s dead...
He had died long ago on Ralvaniar. Iadrawyn had persuaded him to commune fully with the Quenya after he had manipulated it on behalf of
