Legends of Lasniniar By the Light of the Moon coverLegends of Lasniniar: By the Light of the Moon

Series: The World of Lasniniar

No matter where their journeys take them, Barlo and Iarion always seem to find trouble.

The eve of the Harvest Festival. The dwarf and elf pair find themselves potentially lost on the way to the closest human village. A blanket of mist drifts from the nearby hills to obscure the dirt road as night closes in.

Barlo remains content to let Iarion lead the way. At least then he can blame his elf friend if—no when—things go wrong. Still, Barlo’s hand stays close to his ax.

What danger lurks in the darkness beyond the mist?

The infamous duo of Barlo and Iarion return in this spooky, stand-alone misadventure story from the World of Lasniniar epic fantasy series by Jacquelyn Smith.

→ Read an Excerpt

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This title is also available as part of the Godmaker Lasniniar Collection.

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By the Light of the Moon Excerpt

“Are we there yet?” Barlo asked, allowing a slight moan to creep into his voice.

Iarion’s brow furrowed. “I think so…”

“What do you mean, you think so?” Barlo demanded as he did his best to keep pace with his elf friend’s long legs.

Iarion shrugged. His long, white braids rustled around his shoulders. “I’ve never actually been to Misthaven before.”

Barlo rolled his eyes. “Well that’s comforting…”

Iarion looked over his shoulder past his bow and quiver to give the dwarf a dark look with his golden-flecked, sapphire eyes. “Do you want to lead the way?” He cocked a slender eyebrow.

“Oh, no.” Barlo shook his bearded head. “And miss my chance to complain? Be serious, Iarion.”

They both fell silent for the next few moments. The only sound was the faint jingle of Barlo’s chain mail. He knew they made an odd pair—not that anyone was around on the well-worn dirt track to see them.

Iarion glided ahead of him on silent feet with all the innate grace of his kind. Barlo did his best to emulate him. Countless years with the elf had made Barlo more graceful than most dwarves, but he knew there was no comparison. His lips twisted beneath his long, brown whiskers. Iarion was quick to remind him of it, with half-joking comments about Barlo’s ‘tromping,’ as he called it.

Still, Iarion had little cause to complain this time. Barlo’s heavy boots made hardly any sound against the dirt road that led south along the Mountains of Shadow. The late afternoon air was damp and close beneath the gray, low-hanging clouds, carrying the scent of rain to come. It seemed to muffle all sound like a thick blanket, creating a feeling of isolation.

And then there was the mist.

Barlo had somehow forgotten how close they were to the Hills of Mist that bordered the Barrier Mountains to the south, marking the entry to Middle Lasniniar. Pale, translucent fingers of air seemed to brush against Barlo’s feet as he walked, often obscuring the dirt road from view. It carried a thick, earthy smell that filled his mouth with the taste of wet grass.

Their destination was invisible, hidden by tentacles of the swirling mist. Barlo narrowed his brown eyes in an effort to pierce it, but all he could sense was vague shadows. Anything could be out there, just off the side of the road, and he wouldn’t know it. He stifled a shiver and let his callused fingers wander to the ax that hung from his belt.

[Copyright © Jacquelyn Smith, 2021]

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