Kinslayer Lasniniar Collection

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Vessel

Saviadro walked the underground streets of Dwarvenhome, his feet leading him toward the forge district. After so many visits over the years, the journey required little thought. The hour was late, but the few dwarves he encountered nodded their bearded heads with respect as he passed. Despite being a Light Elf, he had become a familiar sight within their mountain halls. He moved with a lithe grace, a golden figure striding soundlessly with his long braids trailing through the air behind him, the keen beauty of his features forming a polite mask as he nodded in return.

He had become used to the constant, heavy presence of countless tons of solid rock looming over him. He found he didn’t mind the echoing stone chambers, lit only by hissing torches that filled the air with the scent of burning pitch.

Iadrawyn and Valanandir had made contact with the stunted creatures who dwelled beneath the earth long ago, eventually forging an alliance with them. What had begun with a basic trade agreement of elven jewels in exchange for starsilver had slowly become a bond of mutual trust and respect, much to Saviadro’s disgust.

I should have interfered when I had the chance.

Even though Saviadro now reaped the rewards of the alliance Iadrawyn and Valanandir had built, he longed to secure allies of his own that he could turn against the Lord and Lady of the Light Elves. But the dwarves were infernally stubborn and loyal once they had committed to something, and Saviadro was unwilling to overplay his hand.

No one living knew he had been the one to betray his people to the dark creatures of Ralvaniar, killing thousands of elves and forcing the survivors to flee to the shores of Lasniniar.

He intended to keep it that way.

No, he had decided on a different approach, leveraging Iadrawyn and Valanandir’s alliance and using it for his own ends with no one the wiser. Even though it meant charming the dwarves instead of ordering them about as he wished, it would ultimately serve the same purpose.

Iadrawyn and Valanandir.

Saviadro suppressed a scowl, his hands balling into fists. The precious Lord and Lady of the Light Elves were probably still celebrating their whelp’s wedding, along with all of their spineless followers. At least the ceremony served as a suitable distraction for him to slip out of Melaquenya unnoticed. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to be aware of his plans.

He reached the door he sought, marked by a tartan flag of green and yellow. He grasped the brass ring embedded in the stone and knocked. Moments later, it slid open, revealing a squat figure with a seamed face and silver beard darkened with soot.

“Saviadro?” The dwarf squinted up at him. “Come in, come in!” He stepped aside and gestured for the elf to enter.

“Greetings, Zoltralan,” Saviadro said, his face tightening in a forced smile. “I have come to check on your progress.”

Zoltralan shut the door behind them. “I believe this time I have managed to perfect the alloy. Starsilver is a fickle metal, and the absolute purity you require for your project is difficult to produce.”

Saviadro stepped over to the roaring fire, ignoring the sweltering heat to inspect the contents of a large crucible. Thick, molten starsilver bubbled within, seeming to pulse with a life of its own. The close air was filled with the tang of hot metal. The flames reflected off its undulating surface, sending flashes of light dancing on the walls and ceiling. Saviadro leaned over it, using his connection with the Quenya to probe it gently for any taint of lesser metal. After several moments, a true smile of satisfaction stretched his lips. His golden eyes narrowed with pleasure.

“It’s perfect.”

His connection to the Quenya thrummed in agreement. Saviadro pulled his thoughts away before the source of the elves’ magic probed any further. The Quenya was not a sentient being exactly, but it was a mighty, cosmic force that possessed a certain set of ethics. Saviadro suspected it would not approve of his plan. For as long as he could remember, he had walked a fine line of having a strong enough connection to use the Quenya to his advantage, while being able to withdraw from its awareness at will—a feat he doubted even Iadrawyn could achieve.

“The mold is finished as well,” Zoltralan said, interrupting his thoughts. “That was the easy part.”

At the dwarf’s urging, Saviadro inspected the two halves of the mold. Each formed a perfect semicircle, reminding him of the ones he had seen his friend Daroandir use long ago when he had crafted the original vessel to contain the Quenya for transport—the Levniquenya. It had taken him several attempts to craft it, using a blend of Iadrawyn’s magic and Daroandir’s own metal craft.

Little had they known Saviadro had been watching, hidden among the trees.

Saviadro pushed down a surge of frustration. If he had been able to get his hands on the original Levniquenya, none of this would have been necessary. But as far as he could learn, it was kept hidden somewhere in Iadrawyn and Valanandir’s home—a place even he didn’t dare to go. Instead, he had been forced to move slowly, forming a relationship with the dwarves before convincing them to aid him. Even after his plan had been set in motion, it had taken even longer to figure out how to replicate what Iadrawyn and Daroandir had accomplished. And then there had been the matter of siphoning enough power from the Quenya in preparation of completing his task, without any elf being the wiser. Now he was so close...

“I have put many long hours into this project over the years,” Zoltralan said, stroking his beard. “It’s nice to finally see everything come together as planned. Do you think your lord and lady will be pleased?”

“I appreciate all your hard work. This is the finest starsilver I have ever seen. Iadrawyn and Valanandir will be very surprised.”

Saviadro bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from chuckling. He had told the foolish dwarf he was commissioning the vessel as a gift.

Zoltralan’s bushy brows drew together in a confused frown. “Begging your pardon, but I still don’t understand what this thing you’ve designed is for.”

“It is a tool for elven magic,” Saviadro said with an airy wave. The dwarves seemed to possess no magic of their own, and held the few powers demonstrated by the elves with a certain awe. “I trust you have kept our arrangement a secret?”

“Of course!” Zoltralan said, looking slightly offended. “I haven’t breathed a word to anyone.”

“Good.” Saviadro nodded in approval. “I will complete the rest of the process alone.”

Zoltralan gave him a wary look. “Are you certain—”

“I know what I’m doing,” Saviadro said, cutting the dwarf’s protests short while trying to maintain his friendly facade. “The final steps will require magic. I thank you for all you have done, but your presence will only complicate matters.”

In truth, the final steps involved both smith work as well as magic, and would likely be easier with a second person who could help with the mundane task of working the metal, but Saviadro had already trusted Zoltralan as much as he had dared. He was determined to complete his vessel unaided.

The dwarf swallowed visibly at the mention of magic being performed in his forge. “Very well. I’ll leave you to it then. How long will it take, do you think?”

“Several hours,” Saviadro said. “I will be very weak afterward. I may need to rest for a few days.”

Zoltralan sighed. “I will check on you tomorrow morning. You can come stay with me if you need to. I only hope your lord and lady appreciate all you are doing.”

Saviadro seriously doubted they would. Then again, he doubted Iadrawyn and Valanandir even suspected in their wildest dreams that one of their own subjects was plotting against them, scheming to seize the Quenya for his own.

No, if he succeeded, they wouldn’t realize until too late.

Saviadro’s plan unfurled before him in an intimately familiar fantasy. Once his task was complete and he had recovered, he would use his vessel to steal the Quenya out from under the Light Elves’ noses. With its full power firmly in his grasp, he would be unstoppable. The long millennia of waiting and planning, of caring for the stunted, unhatched dark dragon eggs he had smuggled in secret from Ralvaniar, and playing the loyal elven subject would be over.

Finally, he would be the master of the Quenya, and the world would see a new order. For as long as he could remember, his people had cowered from the dangers of the outside world, depending on Iadrawyn and Valanandir to protect them, even though the golden witch and her mate had proven time and again they were too foolish or weak to do so.

Oh, they went on and on about how the Quenya was a force of life and harmony rather than a weapon, but they had used it to destroy Ralvaniar readily enough. All of the dark dragons, fire demons, and blood drinking drakhalu had been annihilated in that world-altering h*******t, triggered by Iadrawyn herself.

Just imagine if the precious lord and lady had thought to strike sooner... Mother and Father would still be alive! Instead, they’re just two more elves who fought and died for no reason in a needless battle.

Iadrawyn and Valanandir’s inaction had made him an orphan of war—something he would never forgive. And after all they had wrought, the elves still treated them with blind reverence, as if they were somehow deserving of respect! Couldn’t they see Iadrawyn and her family were keeping all the power of the Quenya for themselves while leaving mere trickles of power for everyone else, like scraps at a banquet? Saviadro had tasted that power during his stolen moments in the Glade of the Quenya. He was no beggar. He meant to have it all for himself.

Then the elves would see how power was meant to be wielded.

“Saviadro?”

Zoltralan’s gruff voice distracted Saviadro from images of a demoralized Iadrawyn and Valanandir groveling at his feet, begging for mercy.

“Ah, yes,” Saviadro said, struggling to remember the dwarf’s last words. “I am certain my little surprise will be something my lord and lady never forget.”

Zoltralan seemed reassured by his response. As much as he hated to admit it, the dwarf had proven very useful to him. Perhaps he shouldn’t rule out taking the creatures under his wing once his power was secured. There were other potential allies as well—human mortals that dwelled to the north of Melaquenya, near the Barrier Mountains. Iadrawyn and Valanandir had gotten to them already, but Saviadro thought they might be swayed. He would have tried reaching out to them earlier, but his project and dragon eggs had kept him too busy.

Zoltralan headed toward the door, pausing only to drape a swatch of oiled silk over a row of newly forged weapons lined neatly on his worktable. An elegant, unadorned dagger caught Saviadro’s eye before disappearing from view.

“Wait.”

Saviadro walked over to the table, twitching back the fabric. The dagger was forged of an unfamiliar, dark metal that gleamed dully in the firelight. It was cold to the touch.

“Ah, that one,” Zoltralan said with a sigh. “That was an experiment. A friend of mine in the mining district found the metal and sold me the ingot. I’ve never seen its like. There was only enough of it for a dagger. We dwarves are all about axes and warhammers, so I thought I’d go for an elven design as it were, but your folk seem to favor the brighter metals. I probably shouldn’t have bothered with the thing. It holds a keen edge though.”

Saviadro caressed the weapon, running his thumb along the blade. It parted his skin effortlessly, drawing a thin line of blood. He watched as crimson beads welled to the surface in morbid fascination. Zoltralan gave him a speculative look.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I do,” Saviadro admitted. He lifted the weapon, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It was perfectly balanced. It felt as if it had been made for him. “How much will it cost me?”

Zoltralan’s expression turned shrewd. If Saviadro had learned anything about the dwarves over the years, it was that they loved to bargain. Zoltralan stroked his beard for a few moments before answering.

“Normally I would ask for several gems as payment, especially seeing how fond you are of the blade.” He blew out a sigh. “But, you’ve already paid me handsomely for my work on the vessel, and I’m a fair dwarf. Just make sure when you give your gift to the lord and lady that they know the name of the expert smith who aided you.”

“Done,” Saviadro said, hoping his vast amusement did not show.

Zoltralan had no idea what he was asking... Saviadro slid the weapon into his belt. It rested against his hip as if it had always been there.

“My thanks,” the dwarf said with a nod. “I suppose I’d better give you your privacy. I’ll check on you tomorrow. I’ll lock the door behind me so you’re not disturbed.”

Saviadro watched him go, waiting for the faint sound of the tumblers falling into place. He paced toward the crucible of starsilver, rolling up his sleeves.

He had a long night’s work ahead of him.