Legends of Lasniniar: Shipwrecked – Jacquelyn Smith

Legends of Lasniniar: Shipwrecked

Series: The World of Lasniniar

Feoandir fights to maintain control of his ship in the midst of a magical maelstrom. The lives of his fellow elf passengers and crew depend on him—a mishmash of the various tribes flung together under dire circumstances.

Striking and opinionated, Silvariel suffers no fools. She knows someone must take charge to keep the elves united. Someone willing to listen to her advice and ready to take the blame if things go from bad to worse. Feoandir seems like the perfect choice.

…If she can convince him to take responsibility for more than his battered ship.

A stand-alone, meet cute story from the elves’ past, “Legends of Lasniniar: Shipwrecked” explores the origins of the Lost Elves in the World of Lasniniar epic fantasy series by Jacquelyn Smith.

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

Feoandir gripped the ship’s wheel with both hands until his knuckles ached. He knew it was a futile gesture. The rudder had snapped at least an hour ago, leaving them completely at the mercy of wind and wave. Now he clung to the sodden wood in an effort to remain upright as the deck bucked beneath him. A storm of epic proportions raged all around him. Gusts of wind slammed into him from different angles, and rain pelted against his skin.

The almost constant crackle and boom of thunder made it nearly impossible to communicate with the rest of the crew. His throat was ragged and sore from trying to shout over it. Instead, he and the other elves who manned the ship were forced to use rapid hand gestures to communicate during the frequent flashes of lightning that lit up the dark sky.

The rest of the fleet was a mere smudge in the darkness ahead of them. He had lost track of how much time had passed since all the ships’ lanterns had gone out. He lost sight of the other ships for a moment as his own vessel plunged between two enormous waves. As it rose again, he noticed the fleet was dwindling from sight, veering toward the northwest. He shouted a curse of frustration at his own impotence. He could do nothing to change course and follow them. Perhaps if the storm hadn’t forced him to drop sail, he could have compensated for his lost rudder… He contemplated the tightly furled sheets of sailcloth.

Using them now would be suicide.

Even with the sails bound, the ship’s mast swayed in the tempest wind. A prickle of warning traveled down Feoandir’s spine. A deafening crack of thunder sounded directly overhead.

Less than an eyeblink later, a bolt of lightning sizzled down from the heavens, blasting the mast. Startled elves flew backward, disappearing over the side to be swallowed by the waves. Feoandir could do nothing but watch in helpless horror as splinters of scorched wood struck him. The air around him tingled his nostrils with a metallic tang.

His shocked gaze was drawn southward by a flicker of movement on the horizon. Another lightning bolt lit up the churning sky, haloing a large figure in the clouds and burning it across his vision during the split second it appeared. Even after the darkness returned, he could see the silhouette shimmering behind his eyelids.

It took him a few moments to make sense of the image, but the bat-like wings and serpentine neck and tail left little doubt. He had seen a dragon.

[Copyright © Jacquelyn Smith, 2021]