“Obviously.” She could hear the sneer in the wizard’s tone.
“Maybe we were too close to the rubble for the compass to work,” the woman suggested. The human language sounded abrupt and disjointed to Analindë’s ears. It wasn’t lyrical and reminded her of the harsh things in life.
“Yeah, they’re–”
“They were here.” Arrogance oozed off the wizard in waves. “Gildhorn said the Mageborn Books would be in the west wing. Pity that it’s now blown to bits.”
Gildhorn! Sadness washed over her. Why was he working with the humans? Seconds later an icy rage filled her. She inched closer so she wouldn’t miss a word.
“What do we do now?” the scratchy voice asked.
“We’ll have to find a way into the Mountain City. They have a set,” the brawny man said grimly.
“We’ll never make it past the city gates,” the woman whined.
“You doubt my abilities?” the wizard said.
“No, no of course not.” Shoe leather scraped against stone and gravel crunched. “You have proved yourself admirably.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” said the wizard. “Now, we have work to do. . . . There is still one left.”
Silence ensued.
“The daughter,” the wizard prompted.
“She could be anywhere.”
“They said she’d already left for the Harvest Festival,” said the brawny man. Analindë heard metal slide against metal, the sound of a sword being re-sheathed.
“No. She’s here,” the human wizard said. “Gildhorn checked this morning before we came. Besides this thing,” Analindë heard the tap of a fingernail against metal and the rattle of a chain, “is indicating that there’s still one more around. Once I figure out how to link to it properly–” His words stumbled to a halt. Analindë would have felt glad that the arrogant wizard had admitted he was unable to do something, if not for the meaning of what he’d said. Basically, the longer she stayed around, the more likely she was to get caught. She thought of the great house and wondered how much time she’d have to search for her family.
“We’ll never find her,” the gravelly voice said.
“We’ll find her, don’t worry. After that,” the wizard paused, “She won’t hide from us. She’ll come to us. All the while wondering what has happened.”
“Let’s split up and sweep the village. She could already be here,” the brawny man said.
“Yes, of course,” the wizard drawled. “Quite good at stating the obvious, aren’t you.” Analindë almost felt sorry for the man, almost.
“Henry, you should set up . . . ” their voices drifted out of range. Blvaren! She wanted to know what they were planning.
She waited until she couldn’t hear their footfalls any longer, then counted to ten. Hoping that the humans would be out of sight, Analindë eased up and gazed out the window while working the stiffness out of her knees. Her eyes roved over her home, studying it, checking the windows for a sign or signal. She felt a pain in her chest and willed it away. The only reason the humans would have walked back out of the great house alone was if her family had been unable to stop them. Were they lying injured somewhere? She turned away from the view, heading for the door, and ignored the spot deep inside her, next to the ache in her chest that hinted they were dead.
She blinked away thoughts of Riian’s body torn open from the woman’s sword. Had there been fresh blood on it when the humans had left the great house? She frowned. She couldn’t remember.
Feeling brash, Analindë glanced the way the humans had gone, then darted across the courtyard toward the closest corner of her home. She crawled through an open window into the receiving room and silently wove her way past wreckage while searching for any sign of her family. The room had been upended. Portraits—ripped from the walls—lay scattered and tables were tipped over. She scanned the room as she walked to the doorway, ducking to look under and behind chaises, tables, and couches.
The Mageborn Books, she mulled. Weren’t they elvenlore? Fifty years studying history and she’d never seen a hint of the books actually existing. Scarce rumors about them flitted about like the ones about dragons, yes. But the books existing in reality, no. She looked back at the room with sadness before she entered the hall and strode to the entryway, then to the sitting rooms, the morning room and dining room, the music room and the council room—which she’d never entered before—and the kitchen.
Nothing.
As Analindë’s search progressed, rising anger and worry battled within her. Her spirits flagged, and the hope that her family had dragged themselves away somewhere safe began to dim.
She shook herself mentally and jerked away from the anguish. They had to still be here, it wasn’t possible. Three fully-trained elven mages against a few measly humans? Everyone knew that any one elven mage was several times more powerful than any number of human wizards put together.
In growing disbelief, Analindë frantically threaded her way through the disaster that was her parent’s bedroom, over-turned chairs and tables, strewn bedding, books of poetry flung across the room, broken glass crunched underfoot. She shied away from the loveseat her parents sat in during their winter night discussions and screamed aloud, “Where are you?”
Silence answered.
Her chin trembled, “Why did you leave me?” She whispered, wounded. Her eyes fluttered shut as she heard a block of stone break away from her home, whoosh down, and then crash and tumble against other stones in the great pit where the west wing had once stood.
It didn’t take her long to search her entire home. She’d gone through the small and great receiving rooms, the gathering room, the pantry and cellars, the breakfast nook, the bedrooms, the conservatories, the guest towers, the inner courtyard, and the back passageways and hiding rooms, yet she found no clue as to where her family was or what had happened. There was neither blood nor bodies to give her closure. Certainly she should have found something?
All of the books in the great house were gone, except a few books of elven poetry that had been torn apart and thrown across her parent’s room. The humans hadn’t carried any books when they’d left the house, but they had performed a number of spells. . . . Analindë recoiled. The humans had stolen their books!
Her anger quickly subsided into sorrow as she realized the books had most likely been destroyed during their search. The humans were only interested in one set of books. The Mageborn books.
She mildly wondered if her parents had known that they’d had a copy? Impossibly her heart sank once again, deepening the hollow part inside of her that ached.
Analindë trudged back out of her parent’s room for the second time to the end of a hallway on the third floor. A gaping hole overlooked where the west wing of the great house should have been. She ran her fingers along the jagged tears in the stone. The remaining stones clung valiantly to their perches, holding up the rest of the floor and surrounding walls.
They were gone. She slumped. . . . Dead? . . . No, they couldn’t be. She slumped further. Truth stared bleakly at her.
If they were alive, they would not have left her.
Analindë scrutinized the scorched barren earth where the foundation had been blasted from the ground. A feeling of not quite rightness settled into the back of her mind. Of course it wasn’t right. She brushed the feeling aside. Frozen in grief, her thoughts had space for only one thing.
She was alone.
Loss overwhelmed her.
Her family? Gone.
The books which had been carefully passed down from generation to generation through the millennia? Gone.
Her home and safe haven? Gone.
The corners of her mouth forced themselves down as images flashed through her mind. Glendariel lying face down in a pool of her own blood, her husband’s broken body lying in the herb garden. Riian’s sad but smiling face as he kissed her on the forehead then walked away, the empty house, her family nowhere to be found. Her heart felt as if it would b
reak in two; silent tears streamed down her face. Another block of stone shifted, then fell from the house, landing below with a crash. The sound startled her from the mindless fog that had trapped her.
She turned away from the horrible sight and meandered through her father’s study where he’d transcribed his notes and spent his leisure time reading. She trailed fingers along the cool leather of his favorite chaise and remembered the countless evenings she’d spent watching him catalog his work and the discoveries he’d made. Gone.
She turned angrily from the room and scrubbed the wetness from her face with a sleeve.
Humans. She scowled.
The Mageborn Books. A bitter feeling grew within her. . . .
Gildhorn!
Betrayed.
Gildhorn was the formal name given to the leader of the elves living in the southeastern lands bordering the trade river. Her stomach churned and something within her hardened. They’d been betrayed not just by one of their own but by one who held power.
Bitterness grew to anger, then flamed into revenge before all three feelings mixed together. “I need to get out of here.” She spun around, stiff with fury. Wishing she knew how to farspeak, she stalked out of the room, glancing out of windows as she went. How much time did she have before the Humans returned? Anger made her blind to everything around her as she sped toward the back of the house. Thoughts catapulted around her head as she hurried down the back stairs. She focused intently so that her rage did not overtake her.
Where to go? She wondered as she zipped down the last flight of stairs. She’d need to pack food. Enough to last at least two weeks. She flung the kitchen door open in front of her and stumbled to a halt at the disastrous sight that met her eyes. Having been blind to it before while searching for traces of her family, she wasn’t prepared to actually see the fine details of destruction. The rest of the house was in similar shape. But this sight was enough to push her even further over the edge. All of her mother’s fine china had been dashed to pieces. Bits of the beautiful porcelain lay scattered across the floor, so lay the crystal, and the drinking glasses. Even the silverware had been bent out of shape, some of which had been rammed into the walls. The place was a mess.
She shook off her shock, pushed her wounded feelings to the side, and tensely moved into the room. Careful not to cut herself, she skirted her way across the kitchen intent on seeing if any of the food stores were left intact. But then she paused, first in confusion and then in surprise. One cupboard in the room remained closed.
“Oh please, let it still work.” She dashed the rest of the way across the room. Inside the cupboard was an archaic messaging system that had fallen out of use ages ago, too blunt, indiscrete, and obvious for everyday use. It operated with an absolute lack of nuance unless you had the mastery to control it and send a more complex message. It had no subtlety at all since it broadcast widely, which happened to be a strength, not a weakness, in her situation. It’s most important feature? The feature that had ensured that it was installed in every home built during wars past? It was simple enough for even a child to use. A tool created in a time of war so that anyone could send word no matter the skill level.
“It must have been hiding,” she whispered reverently as she ran her fingers along the smooth light-colored wood, searching for the catch. She’d never dared to open it before and she now hoped the device hadn’t been gutted or disabled.
She carefully pressed an inset piece of wood and the door popped ajar. She drew the door open and looked inside at the board. Words and numbers were carved along the top half of the space and jeweled stones of various colors were embedded directly to their left. The bottom half of the space was covered by a blank sheet of copper where her message would appear as she composed it. She hoped it worked.
She let out the breath that she’d been holding, reached out, then softly trailed her finger along the name of her home which had been carved into the top of the board, Lindënolwë. Lindënolwë began to glow softly. Then the copper sheeting shifted so that Lindënolwë was now etched into the soft metal below. Thank the ancestor’s thoughtfulness and planning, her heart eased, and she quickly thought through the rest of the message she wanted to send.
Simple yet effective, the board was primitive. It was simply a matter of activating and combining colored stones with words to create the right message. She pressed the ruby, which in this case meant War and the blood-red stone began to pulse with light. She pressed the number three and the word Human, and they glowed softly. Words formed below on the copper sheeting.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, her hand hovered over the number two for a long while before she moved her hand to gently caress the number five and the word Elven. She then pressed the onyx stone, Death. The black stone pulsed with an odd light. She quickly pressed the number one and the cat’s-eye stone, Alive. Then the canary stone, Stay Away, or in her case, Do Not Attempt Rescue. Stones pulsed faintly and words glowed softly; she hoped it was an indication of stealth, not that the board was too weak or old to send the message. By now her message should have appeared on all of the boards across the Realm, the doors to their cupboards thrown open wherever they lay hidden—in closets, kitchens, and grand halls—a faint buzzing sound projected to all who could hear it.
Analindë searched the board in front of her for a way to warn them about Gildhorn. Frustrated at the lack of choices, she pressed the word Elven again, then the amethyst stone which in this case would signify Betrayal. Finished, she reached for the clear stone at the bottom right and heard faint voices coming from the front of the great house. She quickly pressed the stone to end the message. Numbers, words, and stones flared brightly then began to fade. Moments later the copper sheeting rippled, then shifted to a blank state.
It was done.
The Human voices sounded closer, spurring her into action. She carefully slipped back across the room and into the pantry, avoiding shards of glass, and dragged the scout pack off her back. She pulled food off the floor and shelves and piled it onto a counter: dried and fresh fruits, cured meats, cheeses, journey bars, nuts, and a couple of small loaves of honey wheat bread freshly-baked yesterday. Poor Glendariel. Analindë’s face contorted immediately into a grimace of sorrow and a sob welled up. She immediately swallowed it back down, cursing herself silently. She couldn’t cry; they’d hear her.
She quickly thought through escape routes as she shoved items into her pack. It was pretty straightforward and simple. Escape the valley, then choose. Mirëdell and Mirëtasarë were the closest cities, but each was a two-week journey from Lindënolwë. For the third time in her life Analindë wished that their little valley was not so isolated from the rest of the Realm.
Mirëdell was one day closer than Mirëtasarë. And Master Therin was at Mirëdell, which were two marks in favor of the school. Either city would work, but the paths were known to her only by map. Her family had never traveled by foot to the school but had always gone by portal. Supposedly one of her ancestors had blazed a trail long ago to the school. The question was, would she be able to find it? More importantly, would it still be there?
She hesitated, wondering if she should hide and wait for someone to come rescue her? Perhaps the guard would be sent. But she immediately discarded that idea. She’d told them to stay away. And it had been a good decision to push that canary stone on the board. It was a stupid idea to stand idly beside the portal hoping someone authorized and keyed to her home would just happen to activate it.
If she lingered by the portal not only would the Humans easily find and kill her but anyone else who happened to step through it. Until the High Council discovered which spell the Human wizard had used against Riian and her parents, no one was safe; it was better for everyone if she escaped on her own. She needed to go to them, not wait for them to come to her.
Which city would it be?
Mirëtasarë or Mirëdell? . . . A lot could happen in one day. In one day her home had been blown up and her family murdered. She shi
vered. She’d go to Mirëdell.
Bracing herself, she stuffed a few more items into her scout pack, tied it up, swung it onto her back, then eased the kitchen door open while tightening the straps. She turned away from the sight of freedom and glanced back into her home where she could hear movement a few rooms away. Chairs scraped across the stone floor, there was a loud crash, and then the scratchy-voiced woman was cursing. They must be looking for hidden panels and rooms. She hoped it would keep them occupied for awhile.
Analindë looked back to the warning board. The cupboard had closed itself and now blended in seamlessly with the rest of the kitchen.
She turned to face the trees. Courage rushed into her heart and she bravely dashed across the kitchen garden into the awaiting forest.
The Third Chapter
A LONG WHILE LATER, Analindë leaned, panting against a fallen tree as images from the village continued to flash through her mind. She struggled to shut them out, but nothing she did kept the thoughts from coming back. Dusk was not long past and she was tiring.
She had climbed out of the small valley that the village occupied and was halfway around the mountain heading toward Mirëdell, but she’d left none of it behind. Murder, betrayal, destruction, possible civil war, even the Humans had managed to follow her up into the surrounding mountains. She pushed that thought away too as she briefly rested. She just needed to reach the High Mages before the Humans reached her. She didn’t need to think about anything else. If she survived long enough, the High Council of Mages at the school could take her burden of knowledge from her. The mages could add Gildhorn’s betrayal to what they’d already discussed and she’d be free. She thought of Master Therin, an old friend of her parents. He was at the school too and was on the High Council. He’d be able to guide her once she reached the safety of the Mirëdell. She didn’t need to worry. He’d take care of her.
With that slight hope in her heart, Analindë pushed forward once more, struggling up the mountain trail. As she walked she wished for the umpteenth time that she had the strength and knowledge to summon a portal or to farspeak at the very least. She’d have been unable to form a portal by herself even if she had the strength, and it took years of training to learn to farspeak. She sighed and batted thoughts of portals from her mind, focusing on Master Therin instead. The next several days were going to be long enough without her wishing for things that weren’t.
Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) Page 3