Void Walker: A Novel of Lasniniar E-Book

Jacquelyn Smith

• Herausgeber: WaywardScribe Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Felara’s obsession with Iarion knows no bounds.

Barlo knows the Unborn woman would do anything if she thought it in his elf friend’s best interest. Absolutely anything. And Barlo can do no less.

With Lasniniar in chaos and Iarion named as the culprit, Felara comes to Barlo for help.

...Little does the dwarf realize just what his aid might cost him.

Journey beyond the World of Lasniniar and into the unknown in this seventh novel in the epic fantasy series by the author of the Fatal Empire series, Jacquelyn Smith.

Leseprobe

VOID WALKER

A NOVEL OF LASNINIAR

JACQUELYN SMITH

WAYWARDSCRIBE PRESS

For Mark.

Always.

Void Walker: A Novel of Lasniniar

Copyright © 2023 Jacquelyn Smith

Published by WaywardScribe Press

First published in July, 2016

Cover and layout copyright © Jacquelyn Smith

Cover design by Jacquelyn Smith/WaywardScribe Press

Cover art copyright © Daniel Eskridge/Dreamstime

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Harbingers

About Jacquelyn Smith

CHAPTER ONE

AN UNEXPECTED VISIT

Barlo left the familiar packed dirt of Traitor’s Road, turning his back on the Jagged Mountains to head south into the Adar Daran. He had only set out from Dwarvenhome a few hours ago, but the day was already overcast and cool. His wildcat companion, Golhura, paced beside him, the tips of her tufted ears reaching above his waist on his short, dwarven frame. Her golden eyes peered intently into the fog bank that was rolling in from the grasslands as they stepped among the tall, withered blades. She ghosted ahead of him, her silver marked, gray pelt helping her blend in with her surroundings.

Barlo watched her go, his mind still on his trip to Dwarvenhome. Visits with his family had become awkward ever since he had become the first dwarf to be reborn—a fact no one outside the elves and a few select others were aware of, even though he had the same brown eyes, long, brown beard, and blocky features that made him the spitting image of his namesake and the dwarf he had been in his previous life. To make matters more complicated, he had been reborn as the son of Fidar, his youngest son from his first life. It was more than strange to have the tables turned in such a manner without anyone else being aware of it. Even though Barlo had since moved on to live among the elves in his new life, he still loved the dwarves he would always think of as his children, and he knew Narilga would have been happy to know he had taken the trouble to visit. He felt a familiar pang at the thought of his dead wife.

No use getting melancholy. She’s in the First Father’s Hall now with Sinstari to keep her company. She doesn’t even realize how much time has passed since we last saw each other.

Barlo had done his best to make the most of his visit to Dwarvenhome, but between the secret of his rebirth and the odd nature of his current role as the son and nephew of his former children, he had only managed to get through a few days before itching to return to Melaquenya so he could be reunited with Iarion. In many ways, the elf had become family to him, and with the anchor link that had formed between them since his rebirth, he found being separate from Iarion physically uncomfortable. Iarion had offered to accompany him on his journey, but Barlo knew he had been eager to return to Lodariel after all they had been through during their last adventure on the strange island of Belidaria. Besides, it would be good for the two of them to have some alone time before Barlo got back. His mind was still reeling from the last time he had walked in on them in the middle of their amorous activities...

He shuddered, banishing the images from his mind. He had enough to worry about with this strange fog rolling in. He saw Golhura’s outline just ahead of him. The wildcat had stopped, her entire body tensed in a crouch as she stared out into the tall grass, her ears flicking. Barlo reached for the ax at his belt, easing it loose as he crept forward. Lodariel and Iarion had trained Golhura from birth to protect him. He knew better than to ignore her warnings. A tingle settled across his flesh, making his chain mail jingle as he shivered. The air before him shimmered and a familiar figure appeared.

She was tall, and had elven features, but was far too pale to be confused with any elf. Her silver hair hung in a blunt cut that reached her chin. Her shifting, violet eyes sought Barlo’s in the fog.

“Felara,” Barlo said, allowing some of his annoyance to creep into his voice as he sheathed his ax. The weapon was useless against the likes of her. “What do you want? Iarion’s not with me, you know.”

Felara was one of the ancient spirits known as the Unborn, and she was obsessed with Barlo’s elven friend.

“I know that,” Felara said with an irritated wave. “I came here looking for you.”

“Me?” Barlo shook his head in surprise before narrowing his gaze. “What for?”

“I need your help, Barlo,” Felara said. She bit her lip.

“Ha, that’s a good one,” Barlo said with a sarcastic chuckle. “I’ve seen you at work. I know what kind of powers you have. What do you need me for? What even makes you think I would help you? You’re the least trustworthy creature I’ve ever met.” Barlo crossed his arms. The fog rolled around them, surrounding them in a swirling wall of white.

Felara held out her hands. “I know you don’t trust me, but you know I’ve always taken care of Iarion to the best of my abilities. I saved him from my cousins. I even helped Lodariel find the Sea Elf princess on Belidaria.”

“You also tried to come between Iarion and Lodariel, and you were hardly ever around when we could have used you,” Barlo said in a flat voice. “You never do anything to help anyone unless it suits your own ends.”

Felara gave a grudging nod. “I suppose that’s fair. But that is only the nature of my kind.” She shrugged.

“And it warms my heart to hear you admit it,” Barlo said with a roll of his eyes. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Why do you think I would help you?”

The fog pressed against Barlo’s face with a cool, soothing touch. He shook his head in an effort to clear it.

Felara looked away for a moment. “It’s Iarion.”

“What?”

The Unborn woman met his gaze. “Iarion needs our help. Please, I—I can’t do this on my own.” Her violet gaze turned pleading.

Golhura uttered a low growl, her tail lashing. Barlo frowned, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. His thoughts felt sluggish for some reason. He knew better than to trust Felara, but the one person she truly seemed to care about was Iarion. If his friend was in danger, Barlo couldn’t afford to ignore her warnings. He tried to use his anchor link to trace it back to the elf, but he couldn’t focus.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, trying to hide his confusion.

“I need you to come with me,” Felara said in a compelling voice as she held his gaze.

Golhura launched herself at the Unborn woman, who gave a flick of her wrist. The wildcat dropped like a stone from midair, collapsing in a limp heap. Barlo rushed to her side.

“What in the First Father’s name are you doing?” he demanded, glaring up at Felara.

“I only knocked her unconscious,” Felara said. “Her attack would not have hurt me, but I have no time for games. This is important. If you don’t come with me right now, I don’t know what will happen to Iarion. Please, Barlo.”

Barlo looked from Golhura to Felara.

“What will happen to her?” He gestured to the wildcat. Aside from the rise and fall of her breathing, Golhura did not move.

Felara shrugged. “She will wake up eventually. She is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

Barlo shivered. He seemed to remember Felara saying those exact words about Iarion on more than one occasion.

“She can’t come with us?” he asked.

“She wouldn’t understand,” Felara said with a shake of her head. “She would only get in the way. I don’t want to be forced to hurt her.”

Barlo chomped at his beard, his thoughts traveling in bemused circles. Iarion was in danger. He latched onto that concept, a tide of concern rising within him. If Iarion was in danger, Barlo had to do whatever it took to help him. He knew the elf would do the same if their roles were reversed. He only wished he could think things through more clearly... Felara was no friend of his, and somewhere in the back of his mind, part of him was screaming out in warning. Golhura had certainly made her opinion clear. But Iarion was in danger! The more he thought about it, the more his concern turned into panic.

“Will you come with me?” Felara asked, interrupting his broken train of thought. Her violet gaze was intent.

Barlo swallowed. Iarion was in danger...

He rose to his feet. “I will. We need to help Iarion.” As soon as he uttered the words, a weight seem to roll off his shoulders, easing some of his panic.

Felara gave him an encouraging smile. “I knew I could count on you. Come on. We’d better hurry.”

Barlo nodded. Felara took a few steps and beckoned for him to follow. Between the fog and his befuddled state, it was impossible to say which direction she was headed. He trotted to her side and she gave him an approving nod, reaching down to place a hand on his shoulder, making it tingle. He gave Golhura’s unconscious form one last look of regret before disappearing into the shimmering fog.

CHAPTER TWO

A GHOST FROM THE PAST

Something wasn’t right.

Iarion stepped beyond the southern boughs of Melaquenya, his thoughts churning. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to put his finger on what had been nagging at him for the better part of a week now. A cool, early spring breeze stirred his white braids as he walked. He ignored the cold damp of the dew-soaked grass against his trousers. The ancient trees of the Light Elves’ forest towered behind him. The wind rustling the gold and silver trimmed leaves almost seemed to whisper to him, mocking his unease. The undulating green carpet of the Rolling Hills stretched before him into the distance, blocking the view of the desert that lay far beyond. Iarion stared at them without really seeing.

He felt as if he had lost something, but he couldn’t place what it was. It was as if something inside him had gone missing—something that had always been there. Now there was only an empty hole left behind that he couldn’t help but probe like a loose tooth. It was almost like what he remembered from his past life, when he had been born without a connection to the Quenya—a constant, dull ache of loss that nothing seemed to fill. He had kept the matter to himself for the time being. Normally, he would have tried talking to Lodariel, but his mate was wrapped up in Silvaranwyn’s pregnancy. Getting her to focus on anything beyond the woman who would birth Lodariel’s twin brother’s child was practically impossible as far as Iarion was able to tell.

He might have tried talking to Iadrawyn and Valanandir, but Silvaranwyn was their youngest child, and they were preoccupied with her current state as well, in addition to running the day-to-day affairs of Melaquenya as Ruling Lord and Lady. Iarion had also considered trying to summon Felara to see if she could provide any insight, but something held him back. He had no logical explanation for his reluctance, but he had the vague inkling it was a cue from the Quenya. His connection to the source of the elves’ magic in his current incarnation wasn’t strong, but he wasn’t about to ignore it.

This left Iarion with no one else to confide in, so he found himself wandering the forest alone lately more often than not. If Barlo had been there...

Iarion closed his eyes against the familiar pang.

Barlo is dead. I killed him.

He had struggled for years to come to terms with Barlo’s loss. Even though it had happened long ago, it still hit him from time to time with a fresh wave of grief. Iarion knew he’d had no choice. Barlo had been bitten by the Khashada. If Iarion hadn’t killed him, his dwarven friend would have eventually turned into one of the soulless, blood drinking drakhalu—a fate worse than death.

Barlo had even asked Iarion to kill him, but it didn’t make Iarion feel any less guilty about it. His best friend was gone and was never coming back. If Barlo had been an elf, things might have been different. But the dwarves were not connected to the Quenya like the elves were. When they died, they went to the First Father’s Hall, never to return. Iarion tried to find comfort in the idea of Barlo keeping his wife Narilga company at a feast that never ended, but it did nothing to ease his own sense of loss.

Iarion golden-flecked sapphire eyes opened, blinking against the sting of tears. He took a deep breath and forced his thoughts in a more productive direction. Barlo would have been the first to tell him that no amount of moping was going to bring him back.

When did I start feeling different?

He and Lodariel had recently returned from a journey to the newly discovered island of Belidaria, far to the southwest. The journey had been fraught with danger. Aside from Felara and her few allies, the rest of the Unborn had decided Iarion was too dangerous to allow him to continue living. Felara had revealed that the Unborn viewed him as a catalyst. It was through his actions that the boundary between the realms of the Unborn and Lasniniar had been breached, even though that had not been his intention at the time. Now the strange and powerful beings were worshipped as gods among the humans. The Unborn seemed to reason that since Iarion had been the one to free them, he also had the ability to send them back where they came from, or worse.

As if I would even know how to do such a thing...

But the Unborn were taking no chances. They had stirred up their human followers against the elves and given them magical powers. Even now, the patrols scouting the northern border of Melaquenya had been doubled to safeguard against attacks, which was why Iarion’s wanderings had taken him to the far south. This put the elves in a difficult situation. They knew the human zealots were only misguided, but the powers granted to them by their Unborn masters made them dangerous. Iadrawyn and her eldest daughter, Andirlynia, were forced to hold a magical shield over the border of the forest in shifts, with Silvaranwyn spelling them out as needed. Some of the Light Elves were growing tired of maintaining a defensive position and were even talking about facing the humans in battle. Valanandir was struggling to maintain order among them. These issues only made Iarion’s internal struggles seem even more insignificant by comparison, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. The same elves who wanted to fight also tended to blame Iarion for the humans turning against them, which only gave him another reason to wander outside the forest in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

I don’t remember feeling this way on Belidaria.

The realization surprised him. The strange island was host to two races of creatures that were a cross between humans and felines—the Lion Folk and the Cat Folk—along with a pantheon of strange gods from another realm. He would have thought his visit there had something to do with his current sense of unease.

Lodariel and I sailed back from Belidaria and returned here.

He knew this for certain, but the details of the journey were hazy at best. In fact, the more he tried to focus on them, the more elusive they became. Single moments of the adventure were quite clear—Lodariel finding Rasniwyn and Prince Ahmose, Lodariel fighting King Menes in single combat—but others continued to slip through his fingers. He had no memory of meeting with Queen Iset in private, but he knew she had begged them to find her missing son, which had not happened during their public audience.

Am I going mad?

Would I even know?

A ripple of fear stirred to life in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he had brought back some kind of magical illness from Belidaria that hadn’t set in while he was there. Even though he questioned everything else, Iarion knew he hadn’t started to feel strange until after his return to Melaquenya. It felt like the only thing he really knew for certain, even though he had no way of proving it. He shook his head.

I need to figure this out, or it really will drive me mad.

He knew he was lucky Lodariel was so distracted with Silvaranwyn, or she surely would have noticed his abstracted behavior lately. He began to pace, stirred by the sudden need to be moving. The sight of the clear, blue sky, towering trees behind him, and undulating hills receded from his vision as his thoughts centered inward. Time lost all meaning as the sun rose in the eastern sky.

He whirled at the end of the flattened track of grass he had created and uttered a startled oath, drawing his long knife from its sheath.

A large, feline form the color of smoke wove through the grass toward him. Iarion blinked. His memories jarred against one another, flooding him with a fresh wave of grief. The wildcat was a bit smaller, her eyes were golden instead of green, and her markings were slightly different, but otherwise, she was the spitting image of Sinstari, Barlo’s deceased companion. A vision of Sinstari flinging himself at the Khashada as a distraction overwhelmed Iarion for a moment. The wildcat had sacrificed his life to buy Barlo the chance he had needed to kill thehalf-changeling, half-drakhal elf woman who had threatened to overrun Lasniniar, but not before she had bitten him. Sinstari had originally been Iarion’s hunting companion, but he had formed a strong bond with Barlo after Iarion had died in his previous incarnation.

The cat in the grass strode toward him, dispelling the vision. She sat back on her haunches and looked up at him with an intent expression, her tufted ears swiveled toward him. She uttered an inquiring meow.

Iarion’s thoughts swirled. He knew this cat...

“Golhura?” he said in a tentative voice. He leaned down to hold out a golden-skinned hand in greeting.

She butted her head against his leg in response. Iarion’s thoughts formed a cohesive trail as he stroked her soft fur. Golhura was a cub of Sinstari’s line. Lodariel had found her in Melaquenya before their adventure on Belidaria. He hadn’t seen her since... Well, he couldn’t remember.

Golhura paced around him in a slow circle. She sniffed at him with her mouth slightly open, her whiskers quivering. The look she gave him when she was finished was unreadable.

Can she tell something is different about me?

“What are you doing here?” Iarion asked her. “Why aren’t you in the forest?”

He hadn’t been paying attention when she had initially approached him, but she seemed to have been coming from the northeast and not from the wood.

Golhura sat back on her haunches and tilted her head, giving the impression of being puzzled. She meowed again. Her tail lashed back and forth in the grass in agitation.

Iarion spread his hands. “I don’t know what you want.”

Her resemblance to Sinstari made him feel Barlo’s loss even more keenly than before. Why had she sought him out?

Golhura pawed at the ground for a moment, appearing to be in thought. After a moment, she stood and turned away from him toward the hills. She took a few steps forward and looked back over her shoulder.

“You want me to follow?” Iarion asked.

She took a few more steps and looked back once more.

Iarion shrugged, feeling at a loss. “All right. Lead the way then.”

Golhura led him a short distance through the hills, pausing only to make sure he was still following. She seemed to have a particular destination in mind. A few moments later, she stopped in front of a particularly large hill with... a window in the side?

Iarion frowned. “What is this place?”

He approached the hill with caution. It looked like some kind of burrow, but definitely not one that belonged to any animal. He walked around it in a slow circle and found a sturdy, wooden door. He gave it a tentative knock.

“Hello?”

No one answered. Golhura walked up beside him and scratched at the door.

Iarion sighed. “I suppose you want me to open it?” She held his gaze and gave the door another scratch. “Very well then. Although it doesn’t seem like very good manners.”

Iarion tried the doorknob. It twisted easily under his hand. The door swung open on silent hinges. Golhura didn’t hesitate. She darted into the waiting darkness inside.

Iarion shook his head, but found himself following.

“Hello?” he called again. “Is anyone home?”

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the burrow. He spotted a lantern on a table near the door and took a moment to light it with the flint he carried on his belt. The warm glow revealed an entryway that led to what appeared to be a sitting room with burrow’s only window. The air was a bit stale, but otherwise breathable, and the furniture only seemed to have a thin layer of dust.

Someone had been living here not that long ago.

The ceilings were high enough for an elf, but no elf would live in a place like this. Even the former Earth Elves who lived in Melaquenya preferred the forest’s caves, and wouldn’t live beyond the edge of the Quenya’s domain.

Iarion continued his exploration. He found a basic kitchen and a tunnel that sloped gently downward, even farther underground. He took a steadying breath and followed it.

He found three sleeping rooms along the passage, each with its own privy. The first one contained a bed long enough for an elf, but the second housed a much shorter bed. It was decorated with some elven beadwork, and a vase held a bouquet of flowers that had long since dried out, giving it a feminine air. The rushes on the floors of the rooms crackled even beneath Iarion’s light footsteps. The last bedroom...

Iarion swallowed as he entered with the lantern. It housed another short bed, but that wasn’t what caught his eye. A tartan flag hung from the wall. It bore Barlo’s clan markings. He went to sit down on the bed before his legs gave way and almost tripped over Golhura. An underground home with dwarf-sized beds and Barlo’s tartan...

“Barlo could have lived here,” Iarion said in a choked voice. If he had lived, his mind taunted him. “But who else would live here with his tartan?”

Golhura sat on the rushes, staring up at him as if silently willing him to hear her thoughts. Her tail swished back and forth.

“Maybe someone from Barlo’s clan moved here...” Iarion mused. “But who? What dwarf would forsake his mountain home to live near the elves? The only dwarf I’ve ever known who might do such a thing is Barlo, but that’s not possible.” Golhura’s ears flattened.

“You don’t agree with me, I take it,” Iarion said. “Well, how would you know? You never even met Barlo.”

Golhura’s ears flattened again.

Iarion shook his head in bemusement. “You think you have met Barlo?”

Golhura butted her head against his knee.

Iarion frowned. “Nothing about this makes any sense. You lead me to some empty burrow that looks like it belongs to a dwarf, who must be a member of Barlo’s clan, and now you’re telling me you’ve met Barlo, even though he died before you were even born.”

Golhura pulled away and startled him with a low growl.

Iarion gave her a long look. Between his own jumble of memories and emotions, and Golhura’s sudden appearance, he didn’t know what to think.

“Look, I can see you’re worked up about this, but Barlo is dead.” Iarion’s voice cracked on the last word. “I should know. I killed him. Maybe some other dwarf has taken on his name—another dwarf from the same clan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Even though he said the words, and he knew they were rational, his heart desperately wanted it to be otherwise.

Golhura growled again, her tail lashing back and forth.

This entire situation is crazy. Maybe I am going mad.

“I suppose the only way to find out would be to go to Dwarvenhome and ask around,” he said, thinking out loud. “Barlo’s sons would know if anyone from their clan had made their home here.”

Golhura butted her head against his knee again with so much force, it nearly knocked him over. Her rumbling purr of approval filled the small room. Iarion stroked her face, allowing himself to take temporary comfort in the presence of a wildcat that reminded him so much of Sinstari.

The idea of getting away for a while appealed to him. Lodariel would hardly notice his absence with Silvaranwyn’s pregnancy to keep her occupied. Maybe it would even do him some good and help to clear his head.

Why not? A journey to Dwarvenhome should distract me from whatever it is that haunts me, if nothing else.

At least, that was what he told himself.

CHAPTER THREE

HARD TRUTHS

Iarion entered the hut he shared with Lodariel, Golhura trailing behind him. He found his mate serving wooden platters of herb encrusted, roasted vegetables to Daroandir and Silvaranwyn in the front room of the hut, which was the sitting area. Lodariel looked up as she placed her burdens in front of her brother and his mate, flashing Iarion a smile. The glimmers of late afternoon sun coming through the front window gave her golden skin a warm glow, and brought out the fiery strands of her red-golden braids. Her twin shared her coloring, but he had a more reserved countenance, and his eyes were golden rather than Lodariel’s vivid green. Silvaranwyn looked in fine form. She wore a flowing dress that draped over the expanding curve of her belly. She had always had a close connection to the Quenya that gave her golden eyes, hair, and skin an inner glow, but these days, she was radiant, living up to the meaning of her name as the Maid of Sunset.

“Iarion!” Lodariel greeted him. “I was just about to send out a search party.” Her gaze flickered to the wildcat and a puzzled frown clouded her features. “What is Golhura doing here?”

Iarion gave a shrug of apology. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you after dinner.” He wasn’t ready to go into what had happened in front of an audience. Golhura curled up in a corner of the room and started grooming herself.

“Well, you might as well sit down,” Lodariel said. “My foraging was quite profitable today. I found several herbs that should be good for Silvaranwyn and the baby.”

Silvaranwyn smiled and placed a fond hand over her abdomen. “You mean babies,” she said in her soft, musical voice.

Lodariel nearly dropped her own plate as she sat down to join them. “You mean...”

Silvaranwyn nodded. “I’m having twins again. I communed with them today while I was taking my turn in the Glade of the Quenya, maintaining the shield.” Daroandir wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, beaming with pride.

“Congratulations!” Iarion said, meaning it. Twins were extremely rare among elves. Even though Silvaranwyn had borne twins with Daroandir before, it had been during his human incarnation as Golaron.

“It seems to be becoming a family tradition,” Lodariel said with a grin. She reached over to give Daroandir a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Iarion was a twin in his first incarnation, there’s us, and now your new brood. Do you know their names yet?” Her gaze shifted to Silvaranwyn.

The other elf woman shook her head. “No. It’s too soon. Perhaps after I commune with them some more and the bond grows stronger.”

“Well, at least something good is coming out of all that time you spend with the Quenya lately,” Lodariel huffed. “I keep worrying that they’re working you too hard maintaining the shield. It wears her right out,” she said to Iarion. “She keeps needing longer and longer naps. It can’t be good for her in her current condition.”

Silvaranwyn bit her lip and avoided Lodariel’s gaze, but shot Iarion a pleading look. The moment passed so quickly, Iarion thought he might have imagined it, but a sneaking suspicion rose within him.

Something tells me Silvaranwyn isn’t as tired as she’s letting Lodariel think she is...

“I think spending time with the Quenya and the babies can only be a good thing,” Daroandir said, speaking for the first time in his quiet voice. “If nothing else, the Glade is the safest place in the wood.”

Lodariel rolled her eyes. “Daroandir gets to join the patrols on the northern border, while I’m relegated to the east.” She snorted. “As if any of the humans would bother to approach from that front. They may be fanatical fools, but they’re not stupid enough to try circling us in full view of our scouts.”

Daroandir leaned forward. “You know we need someone Iadrawyn and Valanandir can trust to lead the eastern patrol.”

“I’m one of the best warriors in Melaquenya!” Exasperation colored Lodariel’s words. “Anyone could lead the eastern patrol. I’d be of far more use on the northern border with you. It’s almost as if I’m being punished for something, while you get to have all the fun.”

Daroandir rolled his eyes. “Agonizing over whether or not to kill the misguided humans who insist on attacking the wood is not fun.”

Lodariel gave a negligent wave. “You know what I mean. Nothing happens on the eastern border! Our ships on the river see to that. I don’t see any point in having a land patrol as well. Besides, if I’m going to have to spend time away from taking care of Silvaranwyn, I should at least be on the same patrol as you. I feel like I hardly see you anymore!”

Daroandir sighed. “I know. But Iadrawyn and Valanandir want you leading the eastern patrol. They must have their reasons.” His gaze slid away for a moment. “So are you going to tell us about what herbs you found today?”

Lodariel immediately launched into the topic with enthusiasm, her frustration forgotten for the moment in one of her mercurial shifts of mood. Iarion only listened with half an ear as she chattered on about the benefits of each plant.

Something had just happened. He was sure of it. The strange disorientation he had been experiencing since Golhura’s sudden appearance seemed to making him more sensitive to other people’s behavior. He ran over the exchange between Daroandir and Lodariel several times as the meal went on, until their guests rose to depart. He gave them both a distracted embrace before they went out the door to find their own hut, deeper inside the forest. The sky was darkening. Lodariel went back inside to light the lanterns, filling the sitting room with a cozy glow. She began stacking the empty plates.

“Twins again!” she said with a shake of her head. “I had hoped, of course, but...”

“You know why Silvaranwyn is taking so many naps, right?” Iarion said, going over to help her clean up.

Lodariel gave him a startled look. “No. Why?”

Iarion took a deep breath and tried to choose his next words with care. The last thing he wanted was to face his mate’s considerable temper.

“Well, you and Daroandir both work different shifts,” he said. Maybe she would be able to piece it together without him spelling it out.

“So? I may not like it, but that was part of the plan. We take turns taking care of her.”

“Other than the time she spends with the Quenya maintaining the shield, most of her time is spent with either you or Daroandir.” Iarion gave her a pleading look, but his mate still seemed baffled. He threw up his arms in defeat. “She never gets any time to herself!”

Lodariel’s brow furrowed. “So when she says she needs a nap...”

“She probably just wants some alone time.” Iarion nodded. “She’s not the kind of elf who always needs to be in someone else’s company. I know your intentions are good, but she’s probably feeling a bit smothered. It’s not as if she’s ever really alone now anyway. Not only that, but she’s been pregnant before. She knows how to take care of herself.” His voice was gentle.

Lodariel collapsed onto a seating pillow. “I’m only trying to help...” She shook her head.

“I know.” Iarion sat beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “And I’m sure she appreciates that. Yes, she knows how to take care of herself, but she was also probably quite lonely the last time she was pregnant. She was the only elf living in a human city, doomed to leave Melaquenya for what she thought would be the rest of her life. You just might want to reel it in a bit. You’re even more solicitous than Daroandir, and he’s the father. You’re like a mother hen with a little chick.”

Lodariel let out a shuddering sigh. “I know Silvaranwyn is strong enough to take care of herself. It’s just...” She gave a helpless shrug.

“Is it that you wish you were the one who was pregnant?” Iarion’s voice was almost a whisper. He and Lodariel had never had a discussion about children before. He held his breath as he waited for her response.

Lodariel burst into laughter. “No! Whatever gave you that idea?”

He gave a bewildered shake of his head. “It seemed like a logical assumption...”

Lodariel turned serious. “I’m not totally against the idea of having children at some point, but I honestly can’t picture us having any right now, can you?”

Iarion bit his lip. “I suppose not.”

“Of course not! You’re always traipsing all across Lasniniar on some kind of quest, and I’m not the kind of mate who’s going to be left behind. I think we’ve already established that on multiple occasions.” She gave him a level look. “I could travel with you, and give birth on the road, but the outside world has become a more dangerous place lately. I would never want to be in a position where our newborn children would be in danger, or could be used against us.” She made a face. “Why do you think I take that bundle of herbs in my tea every night? It’s not for the flavor, believe me.”

“Yes, I see what you mean. But why are you fawning all over Silvaranwyn then?”

Lodariel shrugged. “I’m making up for lost time. I missed out on my brother and Silvaranwyn having children the first time. This is a second chance for me to be a part of that. I’ll finally get a chance to be the aunt I always expected to be—the best aunt any child could ask for.”

Iarion pursed his lips. He supposed it made sense. Lodariel had died in her previous life as Linwyn before her brother and Silvaranwyn had gotten married. They had gone on to have a long, married life together until her brother had eventually died of old age. Lodariel had only met her half-elven niece and nephew long after they had grown up, and they had no idea of her relation to them. The rebirth of two Greater Humans as elves was a closely guarded secret. Since the event had been an anomaly that was most likely related to the fact that Lodariel and Daroandir had originally been born as elves in their first incarnations, no one wanted to spread false hope among the rest of the humans about the possibility of being reborn.

“Huh,” Iarion said. “That makes total sense.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “I should have asked you sooner. I’ve been half-afraid you’ve been struggling with baby fever. I’m not ready to be a father right now either.”

“Foolish elf,” Lodariel said with a teasing smile, which turned into a frown. “But why didn’t Silvaranwyn just tell me she wanted some time alone?”

“She probably was afraid of hurting your feelings.”

Lodariel rolled her eyes. “Has everyone been tiptoeing around me all this time then?”

Iarion reached out and tweaked one of her braids. “Probably.” He toyed with its silken length between his fingers for a moment. “But I know one thing for certain. There is a reason why you’ve been stationed on the eastern border instead of with Daroandir.”

Lodariel straightened, jerking her braid free. “What? What are you talking about?”

Iarion shrugged. “I don’t know, but Daroandir seemed evasive to me. He changed the subject just a bit too quickly.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Lodariel scowled. “I should have known better. Since when has he asked me to prattle on about herbs?” She started to rise from her seat, presumably to go after her brother, but Iarion placed a firm hand on her arm.

“It can wait until tomorrow,” he said. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

Lodariel’s gaze flicked to Golhura. “I suppose it has something to do with her.”

Iarion nodded. “It does.”

He launched into a retelling of the afternoon’s events, including the discovery of the burrow and Barlo’s clan tartan. Lodariel was silent for a long time afterward.

“So you want to go to Dwarvenhome,” Lodariel said in a level voice.

“Yes. I don’t know what all this means, but I feel like I need to find out.” He had carefully avoided any mention of the strange sense of loss he had been feeling. It was too nebulous. He knew if he was going to convince Lodariel of anything, he needed to stick with concrete evidence—Barlo’s clan tartan.

“You want to believe Barlo lived there, don’t you?” she asked. There was a trace of pity in her green eyes. “Iarion, it’s not possible. Dwarves are never reborn. Why would he live so close to us and never make himself known?”

“I know!” Iarion shook his head in frustration. “But it doesn’t make any sense. Someone from his clan must have lived there.”

Lodariel’s eyes widened. “Anyone could have lived there! It could have been any manner of creature, who picked up Barlo’s clan tartan as a memento somewhere along the way. It’s not as if he never dropped anything on his travels across the lands.”

Iarion set his jaw. “I need to find out for certain. It’s a short journey to Dwarvenhome. I’ll only be gone for a few days.”

“Even though I’m sure Silvaranwyn can take care of herself, I would feel better staying behind, as long as you’re coming straight back,” Lodariel mused. “And I am the leader of the eastern patrol, even though it might only be a diversion. You know, the more I think about that, the more it makes sense. I mean, you were never even asked to join a patrol, and you’re at least as good a warrior as I am.”

“Thanks,” Iarion said in a dry voice.

Lodariel shook herself and met his gaze. “Never mind that. If you need to go to Dwarvenhome to put your mind at ease, fine. I just don’t want you going off to chase at ghosts.” She reached over to take his hand. “Barlo is gone. He’s been gone for a long time now. I know you still blame yourself, but you need to let go.” She gave him an earnest look. “I wish it were different, but nothing is going to bring him back—not even that ankh necklace of yours.”

Iarion used his free hand to finger the golden pendant at his throat of a cross surmounted by a loop. It had been a gift of the cat goddess Bastet for freeing her people from the tyranny of the Lion Folk and restoring the balance of power on Belidaria. It was a symbol of the boon she had promised him—anything he asked, so long as it was within her power.

He had considered using it to bring Barlo back, but his friend’s body had long since decomposed and the idea of violating the First Father’s Hall to summon his soul back to the realm of the living felt sacrilegious. Besides, Barlo was no follower of Bastet, and Iarion suspected the First Father’s Hall was beyond her reach. He knew it was only his own selfish desires that made him even consider the idea. Nothing else had seemed important enough for him to call in the favor owed to him. His fingers slipped from the pendant.

“I know,” he said in a rough voice. “You’re right. But I still want to go to Dwarvenhome.”

Lodariel nodded in understanding. Her expression turned sly. “Then maybe we should tell Golhura to go hunting for a few hours. If you’re going to be gone for a few days, I had better say good-bye to you properly.”

Iarion reached across the table to stroke her cheek, making her shiver. “You know, I should have thought of that myself.”

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS

Barlo tapped a small mallet against a chisel in a steady rhythm. His bushy brows furrowed as he worked. The amethyst on the smooth rock that served as his worktable glimmered in the afternoon sun. He had already spent hours lost in its depths.

He enjoyed the work. It helped to keep his mind occupied from the strange sense of aching loss that filled his idle hours. A chill breeze ruffled his beard and sent a shiver down his spine. He set his tools aside for a moment to wipe his brow. He took a deep breath, cool air filling his lungs. He would need to light a fire soon.