Light Chasers: A Novel of Lasniniar

Chapter Seventeen-2

She caught sight of a small piece of dark cloth snared in a slimy looking bramble. It looked like the corner of a cloak. She waved for the others to follow. They hadn’t spoken a word in the hours since the group had split. Not only was the weather miserable, but they were now deep in enemy territory.

When Lodariel tested the ground near the bramble with the butt of her spear, she hit something solid. It did not feel like earth. She cautiously stepped forward to investigate. It was stone. Where there was stone, there could be caves. She felt a thrill of excitement. Turning back to the others, she used hand signals to instruct them to follow her in wedge formation. If there were caves ahead, it was possible the drakhal was still in them, and perhaps not alone. They moved forward in silence, as only elves could. The rain continued to fall.

The island of rock rose out of the swamp to form a large cave. Its dark entrance yawned before them. Lodariel signaled the others to wait while she investigated. It was no use leading them all into what could be a trap. At least one of them had to survive to tell Valanandir and Iadrawyn what they had found.

Lodariel crept up to the cave entrance. She forced herself to breathe slowly even though her heart was pounding. Although she knew it was possible the drakhal they were tracking had already moved on, something told her this wasn’t the case.

Edging along the rim of the entrance, she slowly moved her head just enough to peek inside. As her eyes became adjusted to the darkness within, she made out the form of a nodding drakhal facing the entrance. It might be the one they were tracking, but from the way he had been posted as a sentry led her to believe there were more of the creatures inside. She had to know the size of the force they were facing. It would be useless to turn back now.

Every moment she waited brought them closer to nightfall. Lodariel took a deep breath and stepped inside the mouth of the cave.

Once she had crossed the threshold, she stood completely still for several moments, waiting for a reaction. The sentry did not move. Sweating with fear, she forced herself to creep closer. Her soft leather boots made no sound. She bit back the scream building inside her, keeping her mouth clamped shut. She was a proficient tracker, but attacking from the shadows was not her preferred method of combat. She would much rather give a berserker’s cry and meet her enemy head-on. But this mission wasn’t about personal pride or death in glory. Keeping her impulses under tight control, she crept in front of the drakhal.

He was only dozing. Lodariel could tell from his shallow breathing his sleep was a light one. She couldn’t afford for him to wake before she had finished looking around. She also didn’t want to alert any drakhalu inside the cave to an enemy presence by killing him, as much as she would like to.

With an internal sigh of regret, she reached around the back of the drakhal’s head, her fingers scant inches from touching him. She would only get one chance. She would have to be quick.

Alerted by her proximity, or perhaps prompted by some dark dream, the drakhal began to stir. Lodariel was out of time. Before the creature’s eyes could open, she pressed her fingers against the base of his skull and gave hidden pressure points a twisting jab. His eyes opened, but immediately rolled into his head as he slumped forward. She caught him before he could hit the ground and settled him against the cave wall.

She had bought herself more time, but not much. Drakhalu were notoriously strong and quick to recover. She took a steadying breath and crept deeper into the shadows of the cave.

As the dim light from the entrance faded into the distance, she was forced to go slower to allow her eyes to adjust to the inner chambers, which were completely dark. The stale air carried the metallic tang of blood. A strange whispering sound filled her ears.

Huddled figures began to distinguish themselves from the darkness. Lodariel felt an icy fear in the pit of her stomach. The entire cave was filled with sleeping drakhalu. There had to be hundreds of them. Their soft breathing echoed through the cave.

Her instincts screamed it was time to leave. She had to get this information back to Vila Eadros. Moving carefully, she retraced her steps, straining her ears for any sign her presence had been noticed. Her skin was damp with sweat as she arrived at the entrance. As much as she wanted to run, she forced herself to go slowly.

Despite her care, she still managed to step on a stray pebble as she was passing the unconscious guard. It skittered out from her boot and bounced across the cave floor before rolling to a stop. Lodariel stood frozen, waiting for a reaction.

The guard began to stir. Abandoning caution, she opted for speed and ran on light feet out of the cave. The murky late-afternoon light seemed unnaturally bright. The drizzle of rain felt cold on her skin. She pressed herself against the outside of the cave and strained her ears for sounds of pursuit while she waited for her eyes to stop watering. Nothing happened.

Peeking around the edge of the opening, she saw the guard settling back into a crouch facing the entrance. The creature seemed somewhat dazed, but calm. She let out a slow breath of relief and went to gather the rest of her team. They needed to be far from this place when the sun went down.

After sparing a few moments to relay what she had seen to the others, Lodariel and her team retraced their steps to where the trail had split and began to follow the other branch that led east. Some of it had washed away, but the signs were still there. The ground that this drakhal had chosen was firmer and held better prints, but if the rain came down any harder, the elves would be in trouble.

They traveled as quickly as they dared, not wanting to be caught in the fens after dark. If they could just cross the Rilloda, the southern branch of the Riliara, Lodariel would feel much better. It would make their group more difficult to track, should the drakhalu find any sign of their visit.

She felt a surge of relief as the sluggish river came into sight. The trail was headed straight for the water. The last rays of the sun were fading in the west and the rain clouds loomed overhead. If only their luck would hold awhile longer…

They sloshed across a ford in the river, revealed by the faint trail they followed. By the time they reached the other side, it was almost completely dark. They had left the murk of the Dira Nelar behind for the open plains of the Pelo Gali, another buffer zone between the elven regions and the dark lands. The area was mostly barren, covered by a stubby, dried brown grass. It almost crunched under Lodariel’s feet. She cringed at the feel. Beckoning to her scouts, she drew them into a huddle.

“I don’t think we can track much farther now that the light is gone,” she said in a low voice. “As good as our eyes are, we’re tired and we might miss something. I also don’t want to wait here until morning for any drakhal to find us. There is little shelter in these lands, so the best we can do is get some distance from where we forded. Let’s go north a ways and set up a cold camp. We can come back to pick up the trail in the morning.”

The others nodded and they began to head northward. No one mentioned the dark clouds overhead. There was a good chance the trail would be washed away when they returned. Still, they shouldn’t be blundering around in the dark when there could be two groups of drakhalu nearby. They walked for an hour before setting up camp.

Despite what an exhausting day it had been, Lodariel couldn’t sleep. Iadrawyn’s words of warning echoed through her mind. She wondered how the other scouting party was faring, and hoped she had made the right decision by splitting their forces.

After an hour of tossing and turning, she got up and went for a walk. She nodded to the elf on sentry duty as she left the borders of the camp.

Her feet led her to the bank of the river, which glittered in the faint moonlight that shone through the heavy clouds. The rain had stopped, at least for now. The sounds of the sluggish water lapping at the shore soothed her, clearing her thoughts. She turned to look across the Pelo Gali. Her camp was invisible in the darkness. She nodded in satisfaction before scanning the rest of the area.

Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed a large campfire a short distance to the north. Since it was around a slight bend in the river, it wasn’t visible from her camp. She wanted to believe it belonged to the other half of her scouting party, but she knew they wouldn’t be foolish enough to light a fire in enemy territory. The campfire was too close for comfort. Squaring her shoulders and deciding to trust her luck for the second time that day, Lodariel went to investigate.

She was able to get close to the camp without encountering any sentries. Her fear mounted. Only drakhalu would be so confident. Crawling on her belly in the short, spiky grass, she slithered as close as she dared. She was a sizeable cave, which could serve as a shelter during the daylight hours. Now that the sun was down, the members of the camp were lounging around the large bonfire outside. They were drakhalu, sure enough. They were also a sizeable force, equal to the one she had discovered in the fens.

Lodariel’s heart sank. The drakhalu planned to attack on two fronts.

She was distracted by the voice of one of the dark creatures. “All is going according to plan.”

She concentrated on the words spoken in the Black Tongue. The wood where she had lived until the day she had met Valanandir and Iadrawyn bordered on this foul land, so she had studied the language to aid her tracking and spying. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the speaker.

The drakhal’s voice was rich and compelling. He had black hair that flowed over his shoulders and eyes so dark, they looked like pits. She recognized his sneering, aquiline features. This was the one who had led the attack on Vila Eadros three years ago. This was the foul creature who had killed Numril.

“Soon, the power that the foolish elves call the Quenya will be ours,” the leader continued.

“Are you certain this secret weapon of yours will succeed?” one of the other creatures asked.

“I am most confident.” The leader gave a sly smile and stroked the head of someone crouched at his feet. Unlike the other drakhalu, this one had dirty, white hair. It was a tangled mess, and obscured the creature’s face as it pressed against the leader’s leg, leaning into his touch.

The leader’s attentions were distracted by another drakhal sauntering from outside the camp. He had something large hoisted over his shoulder.

“Ah,” the leader said. “News from our camp in the fens. Are you in position? Will you be ready for tomorrow night?”

Lodariel stifled a cry. She had to get back to Vila Eadros in time to warn everyone!

“We are ready, and eager to serve.” The visitor’s voice was fawning. “I have also brought you something.” He dumped his burden onto the ground where the firelight could reveal it.

It was the sentry from Lodariel’s camp.

Lodariel fought the urge to flee. She had to find out whether the rest of her camp was still alive before she went back to warn them. At first she thought she might find some way to save the captured elf, but after closer inspection, it was clear his neck had been broken.