A sweet melody filled his mind; it tasted of gentle breezes through pine forests. It was her. Gasps echoed across the hall, and then everyone spoke at once.
“Send for the healers.”
“Who is the traitor?” someone shouted.
“Do you sense her power?”
“I cannot believe it.”
“Who were they? Can you describe them?”
“What did they want?”
High Lord Mallhawion cut them off with a gesture, ushering them all back into the Grand Council Chamber with a wave of his hand. With the aid of a spell, Therin picked Analindë up and carried her into the room. He sat upon a padded bench off to the side and cradled her close as she struggled to control her tears.
“Send for Andulmaion,” ordered Therin. A page nodded, then disappeared from the room.
High Lord Mallhawion hushed the chattering mages surrounding him, “Rácion, give us your report.” He swiveled away from Therin and Analindë to face the entrance where the two officers waited, both of them House Guards. A rustle sounded through the room and silence fell as the council mages settled to listen.
Rácion, the senior officer, stepped forward. “High Lord Mallhawion, Analindë passed the scouts and sentries posted along the forest trail, from the edge of the valley to our very door without notice. She asked entrance but could not be seen. Bälédur asked that she show herself.” He gestured to the sentry. “She appeared directly in front of him.”
“And your trident?”
“None of our aprenti could sense her, and knowing of the stories passed down to us from the Elven Wars, with a traitor in the land I thought to try her shield. The shield was too strong to pierce.” He held up his trident. “There is now a small pool of metal in the courtyard. The stories did not tell of that. . . . I do believe it caused her pain.” He grimaced, then looked away.
“So they are of no use to us then?” one of the mages asked.
“I do believe in those days they knew their enemy and struck first to kill. I pinned her shield to warn, siding with caution in the event that it was Analindë.” Then Rácion added, “It felt as if I hit faceted stone: hard, unyielding, slippery, with ridges.” A few nodded knowingly in the circle.
Mallhawion turned to Therin, “Can she yet speak?”
Analindë nodded to him, then shifted to sit up straight beside Therin, causing a stir in the room. The poor girl looked ready to topple off the bench. “Three humans came, one woman and two men. One of them was a Human wizard. I was in the woods on an errand for . . . ” her lip quivered, “for my mother when I felt a powerful backlash from a broken ward or spell. I then saw billowing smoke in the sky. When I arrived, I found Glendariel and her husband dead. Murdered.”
“I saw three humans enter the great house; the west-wing was a pile of rubble.” Analindë paused for a moment; the only sound to fill the room was the scratch of quill on paper. Her eyes filled with tears and then she spoke again. “Riian told me to hide as I would be safer and less of a distraction out of the way. He ran into the house.” The scratching continued, then stopped, waiting for her to go on. An uncomfortable silence descended on the room.
“I heard raised voices; mother and father were inside with Riian. I . . . felt a surge of power greater than I’ve ever felt anyone summon. It rose and peaked in waves and generated energies that I did not recognize. When the crescendoing waves of power finally burst, it physically knocked me over.” She turned to look at Therin, “I . . . I didn’t understand what had happened. First there was silence, a long moment of silence. Then laughter. When the Humans came back out of the great house, I still didn’t understand.” Her face fell.
She looked up at the High Lord Mallhawion and the others. “I heard them say that they would have to look for the Mageborn Books in the Mountain City since ours were destroyed.”
“The Mageborn Books,” Master Sírewen the Sea City mage mused. “I had thought they were legend.”
“They are,” someone answered.
“And the Elven betrayer?” Mallhawion turned back to the young woman. An anticipatory silence hung heavy in the room.
“They said that Gildhorn would be furious if I escaped.” Shock was echoed in all but a few faces, and understanding and thoughtfulness resonated in those few. Mallhawion ignored them and instead focused on the haggard face in front of him.
“Send for the historians and for the loremasters of the Southeastern Plains,” he heard Noriel, the Forest City mage, say behind him. A page ran to the door and passed the message along to another waiting just outside the chamber.
“My Lord, I almost forgot,” Analindë said.
The High Lord stepped closer and nodded.
“There was an amulet. I saw the Human wizard tucking it beneath his robes as he exited the great house. It had Elvish markings and was made of silver with green enamel.” The young woman’s earnest eyes searched his face looking for something he hoped she would not find. He nodded, then turned to watch as the healers slipped into the room.
Laerwen, his Chief Healer, strode directly toward them, took one look at Analindë’s gaunt body, and state of exhaustion, then bluntly asked him, “Are you yet finished with her?”
“One more question,” Mallhawion answered. “Analindë,” he knelt close to her, and gently clasped her hand in his. Her hand was cold. “Your parents and brother, what did you find?”
Her eyes would haunt his dreams for many nights to come, the stars in them faded. “Nothing my Lord. I searched and searched but found no trace. If they lived, they would not have left me.” Her face fell. “And the laughter . . . “
At Mallhawion’s nod, Laerwen stepped forward and put Analindë into a deep healing sleep. Therin laid his young charge down onto the couch and moved away as healers crowded in around her.
“Too much too quickly–” was followed by tsking noises.
“I wonder if they’ll heal.”
“–burnt to a crisp–”
“You know they used to die often like this.”
“Shhh, don’t say things like that,” someone gasped.
“–she’ll need two weeks at least–”
“Surely not.”
“Yes.”
“No, three, I insist.”
“We’ll see how it goes.”
“Have you ever seen the size–”
“No, not since Nyärwen during my mother’s time.”
The mages exchanged glances, then moved away from the upset healers. “I did that to her,” Master Therin stated guiltily to friends.
“You could not have known,” said Noriel.
“Yes, but I scared her. I was so frantic. I had finally found her, and then she ran from me into that.” He gestured toward her. “The Human wizard was sending out enough death strikes to affect the Energy flow for miles around. I looked for hours and finally found her when she started a fire to warm herself.
“I should have come to find a few of you first, to help build a portal to go myself, but it would have taken hours, and I was so worried. I thought– . . . and by the time we built the portal, she was gone and I couldn’t track her.” Therin shook his head, “She had not yet learned to draw on energies outside her own.”
“She has learned now,” voiced Sírewen, the Sea City mage. “It is beautiful. Have you yet looked?” Her question went unanswered. “It’s a good thing she taught herself the alternate plane shielding; she would have died from the pain had the shield not kept it from her,” she shook her head.
Therin gripped his hands together. “She learned quite a bit about shielding those first few days,” he mused. “I had a difficult time working my way through the ones she created, and the last couple she set me were quite . . . difficult to unravel from a distance. She might have a few things to teach me when she has recovered.” A wry smile flashed briefly across his face. Then he soberly looked back at his pupil, “I hope for her parents’ sake that she heals quickly and wholly.”
A knock sounded at the
door. Andulmaion entered the Grand Council Chamber poised, tranquil, and with a polite look of inquiry on his face. Therin was pleased. The young elve had probably dashed to the council room, but didn’t look it. Therin watched him glance from the couch where Analindë lay with healers clustered about her and then to the High Council mages. “You sent for me?” He bowed gracefully to the High Lord, who in turn gestured to Therin.
Therin studied the strongest and brightest apprentice he’d taught in centuries. “We have an important duty for you to perform.” He ignored the uncomfortable thought that at one hundred fifty-two years, Andulmaion was long since ready to begin his tuvalië. In fact, as of late, he’d never had to work so hard to keep a mental grasp on an apprentice.
“Yes, my Lord.”
He should have sent Andulmaion out last year. Annoyed, Therin pushed back at the jabbing pulse of Energy that flared along their connection and re-established his mental dominance.
“You will move your belongings back to my tower, then stay and keep watch over Analindë.” He ignored the covert glances that many of the council members exchanged. “If the Human wizard can defeat three Mages of Lindënolwë single-handedly, then who knows what he is capable of sending. The traitors want her dead. I think you’ll serve nicely as temporary guardian. It is doubtful that an attack or threat will make it through the school’s defenses unnoticed, but in the event one does, it is hoped that you will recognize and neutralize it.”
While Therin spoke, Andulmaion’s face stilled, his eyes turned thoughtful. “Of course my Lord.” He bowed low again and moved toward the group of healers.
High Lord Mallhawion spoke, “Laerwen, what are your plans?”
Laerwen stepped away from the couch, where Analindë lay in the healing sleep she’d placed her in and replied, “I will keep watch throughout the night and Vinriel will take over in the morning. Once Analindë has stabilized, we will reduce our watch to a few times a day to monitor her progress.”
High Lord Mallhawion stood up, “So be it.” Therin watched the powerful mage turn to Rácion and say, “Thank your men for their hard work. Send word to your scouts and sentries that she is found and will be well. Reduce their watch accordingly. Alert the Court of the High Lady and the other cities of Gildhorn’s betrayal, and warn the Mountain City of the humans’ intentions.”
“It will be done,” said Rácion. The house guards bowed low and left the room. The healers had moved Analindë to a stretcher while High Lord Mallhawion had spoken. Therin studied the daughter of his friend as they towed her toward the door. To his senses her entire body throbbed as if on fire. Andulmaion’s face betrayed nothing as he followed the healers out of the room. Therin looked on in approval. His young apprentice had finally learned to hide his thoughts and emotions, which boded well for his path in life.
Therin watched High Lord Mallhawion survey the occupants of the room; only High Mages were left. He called the historians and loremasters in from the outside corridor. Once they’d entered, the High Lord shut the door himself, sealing the room against all outside observers and sounds with a muttered spell and the wave of his hand.
“So Master Therin,” Noriel looked toward him and smiled.
“What?”
“Matchmaking are we?” High Lord Mallhawion remarked as he strode to his chair. The High Lord missed nothing.
Therin shrugged his shoulders. “Andulmaion needs a task, he is almost ready to start his travels and I fear for him wandering at this time.”
“Wise thoughts,” Noriel said as others nodded in agreement.
“Besides, now he has a good reason to stay.” Therin smiled. The council resumed their chairs in the circle, fifteen in all. The newcomers pulled chairs forward into empty spaces joining them as equals.
The High Lord turned his attention to the historians and directly asked, “Tell us what you know of the Mageborn Books.”
And so thus began long days and discussions deep into the night as the council searched for hints to the mysteries contained within the Mageborn Books and for the reasons of Gildhorn’s betrayal. The oaths that had been broken when the Mages of Lindënolwë had been attacked would have far reaching consequences. For the events of a few weeks ago had firmly put the Realm on the path toward civil war. All elves remembered the devastation that had befallen them when brother had warred against brother five thousand years ago. The attack on Lindënolwë had not been lightly made. And reactions to that attack would not be lightly decided upon.
Things could yet be done to prevent war, but if the rot and evil had roots deep enough, so be it. War would come. For if the Realm was to survive, dissenters who would break the established peace must be crushed else all was lost. There was yet time to root the traitors out. And now that they knew where to look, spies would be sent.
The Eleventh Chapter
ANDULMAION SAT IN MASTER THERIN’S tower summoning fire; little fires for warming tea, roaring fires upon the fireplace grate to heat the room, and blue white fires strong enough to melt metal. Two petals fell from an arrangement of wilted flowers. Before they reached the tabletop, two separate fires sprang up in the room, one in the fireplace, the other within the hollow of a silver bowl.
Andulmaion edged forward in his chair; reverently closing the tattered book in his lap, he gently set it to the side. He extinguished the fire in the grate with a glance and focused on the bowl. This second fire was tricky, a protective shield had to be set around the bowl before the fire started to burn else the heat would mar the beautiful metal work on the surface. While searching the shield he’d quickly set for weakness he admired the mastery the metal artisan had shown when making the dish. Birds in flight ringed the outside, each one unique.
A knock sounded at the door. Andulmaion released the fire, double-checked the location of the yellowed, age old book he’d been studying earlier, then stood. He glanced at the spells ringing the tower suite as he strode across the room to open the door. Laerwen greeted him, a tray of food in her hands. “Lunch time already?” He questioned while dissolving the part of the shield barring the door. He reached for the tray.
Laerwen slipped into the room without releasing her burden and headed for a nearby table. “Already? Are you joking? It has been five hours at least since I last checked in on you both.”
Andulmaion reset the shield on the door and looked through the window at the mid-day sun. “Oh, it is later.” He shrugged. “I’ve been working on a new spell. Would you like to see it?”
Laerwen turned an indulgent smile upon him, “It would please me greatly to see this latest skill you have acquired.” She straightened up from setting dishes on the table and settled back to watch.
His eyes twinkled in response, “Pick a dish in the room, any dish.”
“Hmmm, let me see, that one.” She pointed to a serving platter made of cherry wood with mother-of-pearl inlay.
“Sorry, I need a bowl or cup of some sort.”
“How about that one?” She said, pointing to a bowl made of red oak. A pattern of leaves graced its sides.
“Watch closely.” Andulmaion took a moment longer than usual to set the protective shield before starting the most dangerous of fires to burn in its hollow. A bright blue-white flame flashed gleefully along its surface.
“Oh no! It will catch fire! Quickly–”
Andulmaion gently caught her arm. “Wait. See, it is safe.”
“But how d– . . . I have never seen such a thing in my life.”
He glanced at the silver streaking her hair, “Really?”
She nodded. “How?”
“A protective shield. I’ve been practicing them. I thought the day might come when I might have need of such a skill.”
“How very clever,” she nodded slowly in approval. “What did Master Therin have to say?”
“I haven’t had the chance to tell him yet. He spends all his time in the Grand Council Chamber.” Andulmaion handed Laerwen a thin silver chain. She looked at him in confusion. “Here, dro
p it in. See how hot the fire burns.”
Laerwen reluctantly lowered the fine necklace into the fire. “How long?”
“Not long, usually within the turn of a thought.” By the time he finished speaking, a silvery-white light shone up through the blue light of the fire. With a wave of a hand Andulmaion dissolved the flames, “Look.”
In the bottom of the wooden bowl sat a pool of molten silver. He picked up the bowl and held it out to Laerwen, “Feel how cool.”
“I can’t believe it.” She cradled the wooden bowl in her hands. “Yet the silver still moves within,” she said while swirling it around in the bottom of the bowl.
Andulmaion smiled, took the bowl from her and gently set it back down on the table. “Enough of my tricks? May I help with yours?”
“If you wish. There are a few things you could learn. Come.” Laerwen led the way to Analindë’s room.
“I do so wish.” He scraped low to the ground in a courtly bow, then followed her into a side room to check on their charge.
Analindë lay on a four-poster bed, pink silk hung from the canopy in swaths as embroidered silk lined the walls. The room always made him feel uncomfortable, but it looked just right for the lady. She lay just as she had when he’d last checked on her: face up, arms resting on her stomach, legs straight. He shivered. “She never moves, does she?”
“She won’t while she’s in the healing sleep that I’ve set.” Laerwen glanced at Andulmaion out of the corner of her eye and smiled. “Others do not have such luck; their patients toss and turn like beached fishes out of water. They cannot seem to match my touch.”
“Can they not?” He drawled, enjoying their banter. They’d become friends of a sort over the past many days.
Laerwen chuckled, “Enough. Come and learn, watch a master at work.”
Andulmaion fell into a now familiar stance as he relaxed and spun his energies out toward Laerwen. The healing work she would perform on Analindë required a lot of Energy and he was happy to share his as a price for tagging along to learn.
Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) Page 13