Light Chasers: A Novel of Lasniniar

Chapter Eleven-2

Malarin rolled her eyes. “We know you’re out there,” she called. “You might as well show yourself.”

Several long moments of silence passed. Valanandir gripped his knife, dropping into a crouch at Iadrawyn’s side. Iadrawyn appeared curious, but unconcerned. Daroandir unsheathed his sword and unslung his shield, fitting it on his arm.

A shadow appeared from behind one of the hills, moving with deliberate caution. It pulled away from the sloping shelter to reveal a tall, lean elf woman, who was unmistakably a Wild Elf. Her red hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back in a wild profusion of curls and braids, twined with bits of leather and fur. Her doeskin tunic and breeches clung to her wiry form. Startling eyes the color of new leaves peered at them with suspicion from an angular face painted with green and brown whorls that reminded Valanandir of vines. She held her spear in a defensive position, crouched and ready. Her eyes widened at the sight of Malarin, but she displayed no signs of fear.

“Shall we fight one at a time, or do you plan to attack me all at once?” The stranger broke the silence, her voice ringing with challenge.

Malarin gave a snort of derision. Valanandir noticed Daroandir’s lips twitching, as though he were trying not to smile.

Iadrawyn stepped forward, unarmed. The Wild Elf turned to face her with her spear. Valanandir bit back words of caution, trying to determine whether he could protect Iadrawyn if the strange elf attacked. Although he trusted Iadrawyn to know what she was doing, there was no telling how the newcomer would react.

“Were you summoned here?” Iadrawyn asked. The other elf nodded. “Then we mean you no harm. Please, see for yourself. What you seek is right over there.” She stepped aside and indicated the direction of the Quenya.

The other elf gave her a measuring look before lowering her spear. Valanandir let out the breath he had been holding. The stranger turned to face him and Daroandir.

“What about them?”

Iadrawyn gave the two male elves and Malarin a pointed look, indicating with a jerk of her narrow chin they should move aside. Valanandir and the others obeyed. Malarin watched the strange elf with narrowed eyes.

The redhead looked past them at the glowing presence behind them. Her features softened with yearning. With one last look toward the rest of them, she took a step toward the Quenya.

“Daroandir.” Iadrawyn’s soft voice was startling in the silence. “You have also been summoned. Relinquish your sword and discover what has brought you here.”

The Earth Elf handed Valanandir his sword with a solemn nod before joining the stranger. She looked at him for a moment, as though assessing whether he was still a threat. She eventually gave him a nod and began to move forward, her spear still held ready for attack.

Side by side, they approached the Quenya. The Wild Elf’s spear arm lowered as she drew closer. The weapon slipped from her fingers to the ground, forgotten, as she knelt and leaned forward to reach into the hole in the earth. Daroandir knelt beside her, drawn by the same invisible pull. Both elves closed their eyes and their faces went slack. As the moments passed, their expressions became rapt and their bodies trembled.

Valanandir watched, fascinated to see what he had already experienced from a new perspective. He spared a glace to look over at Iadrawyn. Her eyes were also closed and she wore a beatific expression. Even though she was not even close to touching the Quenya, she was somehow communing with it. Malarin watched, clearly as interested as he was.

His gaze was drawn back to the increasing light coming from the Quenya’s direction. He turned to watch the two elves, who were enveloped in a shimmering glow. It increased in intensity until Valanandir’s eyes watered and he had to look away. A soundless chime echoed the length of his body before the light faded.

Daroandir and the Wild Elf stood, blinking. They turned to face each other in wonder. Valanandir stepped forward to see their transformation. Iadrawyn joined him.

Both now had the same golden skin as Valanandir and Iadrawyn. Daroandir’s hair was a matching, dark golden hue. His eyes had changed to a paler shade of the same color. The elf woman’s eyes were a pale green. Her flaming red locks had been tempered to a red-gold.

Although only moments had passed, Valanandir knew it had felt like an eternity for them. He watched them closely to see their reactions. Daroandir looked at the world as though seeing it for the first time. He made a bow to both Iadrawyn and Valanandir.

“Thank you for sharing this with us. It was… Words cannot describe it.” His eyes shone with wonder. “If you will let me, I would like to stay here and serve in whatever way I can. I believe you are both meant to be the leaders of this endeavor.”

In the background, Malarin rumbled her approval. Valanandir looked to Iadrawyn for guidance.

“Of course, you are welcome to stay with us. We would be honored.” Iadrawyn smiled.

The strange elf woman had retrieved her spear from where she had dropped it. She eyed them with a mixture of suspicion and awe. Daroandir turned to face her.

“What is your name? We have shared what I suspect will be the most remarkable experience of our lives, and I feel strange not knowing.” His voice was gentle, and he appeared genuinely curious.

A flicker of confusion crossed the Wild Elf’s features before she schooled her expression back to its wary mask.

“Lodariel.”

“Lodariel.” Daroandir echoed the name to himself before fixing her with his earnest, golden gaze. “Won’t you stay? I do not know your story, but I would be honored to learn it. I suspect the Quenya brought you here for a reason as well.”

For a moment, she softened. “It has.”

“So will you stay?” Iadrawyn asked.

Lodariel looked at each of them in turn before letting out a sigh. “I will.”

Iadrawyn smiled once more. “Thank you.”

Lodariel gave them one last glare as she gripped her spear. “I would have beaten you, you know. You are the only one I’m not sure about.” She indicated Malarin. “It would have been a good fight though. I have never fought a dragon.”

Malarin let out a rumbling laugh. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I quite like her.”

Lodariel stalked the perimeter of the camp, moving from the shadow of one hill to the next. A week had passed since she had first arrived. She held her spear low and ready in callused palms, the grain of the wood familiar and smooth. Beaded feathers dangled soundlessly from leather thongs below the metal spearhead. Even though she knew the darkness of night would bleed all colors into shadow, she felt painfully conspicuous without her dark skin. Certainly the physical changes wrought by the Quenya were pretty to look at, but they didn’t seem practical. She had considered smearing herself with mud to compensate, but the dragon had had the audacity to insinuate she was incapable of moving undetected in her new form.

There was also the Earth Elf to consider. For some reason she couldn’t explain, what Daroandir thought of her mattered, as no one’s opinion had mattered to her before. Although they seemed complete opposites, she had felt an immediate kinship with him she could not explain. It wasn’t attraction, but something deeper. She wanted to prove herself worthy and capable, so here she was, prowling the area for intruders with no camouflage for protection.

Despite the deficiencies of her physical appearance, there were benefits to her transformation. Her senses had become far sharper than before, and they had already been formidable. Her eyes pierced the darkness with ease and her ears were sensitive to any sound. As for her instincts, they felt as though they had been honed to a sharpness she had never known existed. It was how she sensed the intruder long before he appeared.

His scent caught her attention first. Familiar with tracking animals through the forest, Lodariel had honed even this sense to a finely-tuned edge that was now heightened even further by the Quenya. The night breeze carried it to her: an unfamiliar male smell with a salty tang that reminded her of the sea. She waited a few moments with eyes closed to listen to his approach to pin down his location. He was traveling from the southwest. Balancing her weight on the balls of her feet, Lodariel moved silently through the grass, keeping to the shadows.

Unaware he was not alone, the intruder continued on a course that would take him directly to her companions and the Quenya. Now that she was closer, she could make out his tall, lean frame. Was he a drakhal? Although there was no way to tell from her position in the darkness, something told her he was not. Still, she couldn’t take the chance and risk harm coming to those she was meant to protect. She circled him to approach from behind.

He flinched in surprise as she pressed the point of her spear between his shoulder blades. She held the muscles of her arms coiled to strike.

“One false move and I run you through.” She increased the pressure on her spear to drive her threat home. “Now turn around.”

He raised his hands in the air and slowly turned. His features could have been drakhal or elven. His skin was darkened with grime and his long hair was a mass of silver tangles in the moonlight. His clothes were weather-stained and ragged, and his face was gaunt. Lodariel pressed her spear against his chest and leaned closer to inspect his eyes, which held a long-suffering patience. They were a blue-green color as best she could tell in the darkness.

Not a drakhal then, but that didn’t mean he was to be trusted. Iadrawyn’s people had turned against her on the word of a drakhal. It was anyone’s guess who else might be working against them. Since the intruder was an elf, it was not for Lodariel alone to decide what to do with him. She withdrew her spear and clamped her fingers around his upper arm.

“Come with me.” Giving him little choice in the matter, she dragged him toward the camp. He stumbled after her.

Once they were within sight of the campfire near the resting place of the Quenya, she shoved him into the light. Valanandir, Iadrawyn, Daroandir, and Malarin startled to alertness at their entrance.

“I found this one prowling near the camp.” Lodariel indicated the stranger with her spear.

Her shove had thrown her captive off balance. He barely managed to stay on his feet. Once he regained his composure, he looked up. When his eyes fell on Valanandir, he gave a low keen and fell to his knees.

“Numril?”

It was Valanandir who spoke, his voice unstrung and eyes wide with disbelief. He was on his feet and at Lodariel’s side in moments, kneeling in front of the strange elf.

“Am I dead then?” the intruder asked in a ragged voice. He touched Valanandir’s face in disbelief. “You look just like Valanandir, and yet… you are something more.”

“No, you’re not dead.” Valanandir placed gentle hands on the stranger’s shoulders. “However did you find me?”

“I wasn’t looking for you. Word reached us your ship had been attacked by Nargaz. No survivors reached our shores. Your foster-parents and I held a vigil to honor your memory.” He shook his head, tears creating a path down his grimy cheeks. “I came because I saw the lights in the sky and sensed something beckoning me to the mainland. The others were still discussing what had happened and deciding what to do. I couldn’t wait. News of your death made me reckless. I left Arindaria and wandered here until yon warrior maiden took me captive.”

Lodariel shrugged, refusing to feel remorse for taking her responsibilities seriously.

Valanandir suddenly seemed to realize there were others present. He stood and held out a hand to help the other elf rise before turning to face the others.

“This is Numril,” he said, “my oldest, dearest friend.”

“So we gathered.” Malarin’s dry mutter was barely audible.

“Whatever happened to make you all look so different?” Numril asked after the introductions were made. “And what is that incessant tingle I feel on my skin?”

Valanandir put his arm around Numril’s shoulder and smiled. “Come with me and I will show you.”