Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse)

by Melissa Bitter

  “He looked pretty banged up.”

  “Um, yes, I’ve seen him worse off. He didn’t have any bones sticking out this time.” She shuddered and pulled her cloak more tightly around herself.

  “Doesn’t he know elves can’t fly?”

  “Seems he doesn’t want to hear it. He’s tried to bespell just about everything. He usually makes it off the ground, but it drains him quickly.”

  “And the humans?”

  “His family has turned them into a hobby of sorts. They’ve studied Humans for generations. They’re experts in the Realm, I’m surprised the Council hasn’t summoned one of them.”

  “They are probably far speaking them into council sessions,” said Andulmaion.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” she asked. “There are only so many times you can get hurt that badly before your luck runs out.”

  “I think he’ll probably be okay. The healers were moving quickly but weren’t running.”

  Analindë nodded her head. A moment later and she’d refocused her thoughts on their earlier words. “So, I’m not going to let you off the hook. The Mageborn Books, what have you learned? You must know something.”

  Andulmaion stretched, leaning back in his chair, getting comfortable. “What do you want to know?”

  “What news do you have from the Council?” she said.

  “The historians have dusted off some of our oldest records; they date back several generations, even before the Elven Wars. The old tomes make mention of many interesting things.”

  “And what do they tell us of the Mageborn Books?” she prompted.

  “A little here and there, not as much as we need, but more than we had before,” he said. She bristled.

  “And the little they say?” It was like unwedging a stuck door to get him to tell her anything. He wasn’t making this easy.

  He looked up at her; the stars in his eyes flowed deeply, rising and swirling together with a ferocity she hadn’t seen before. The fingers pulling at the cuff on his robes stilled as he looked away. Oh, dear. Her levity was entirely out of place. Her heart sank; he wasn’t going to tell her. Her eyes shifted toward the fireplace.

  “They tell us very little,” her eyes shot back to his face. He was frowning. “But what they say gives us cause for fear. The time before the Elven Wars was a period of peace and prosperity; a time of great enlightenment.” He drummed his fingers along the arm of his chair, then stopped just as quickly as he’d begun, tucking his hand under a fold of his cloak.

  “During that era, great strides in learning and discovery occurred. Energies and specialties were mastered. There was one elven mage-turned-historian who was greater than them all. Over the course of his lifetime he compiled all of this knowledge together. He had not one library, but many.”

  “I can’t imagine how many books that might have been,” said Analindë.

  “Almost too many to count. Near the end of his life he compiled all that he knew into three books: one for healing, one for mage knowledge, and the last for all remaining specialties.”

  “How could you fit all that knowledge into three books?” she said.

  “Therein lies his mastery. The old mage wove the different books into one another, compacting the knowledge from all his books into three small volumes. To use the books, one just has to ask the right question or have intent in his mind as he opens the appropriate book. What he seeks will appear. The knowledge itself is embedded within the molecules of the paper, glue and leather.

  “It is said that copies were made, gifted only to trusted friends.” He stared at the hearthstones for a moment and then shifted in his chair. “With such knowledge comes danger.”

  “There is something more you are not telling me. What is it?” she said.

  Andulmaion looked up from the hearth; his eyes pinned her to her chair. “The books. They contain all knowledge at that time, plus whatever each successive owner chose to weave in.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “All knowledge at the time Analindë.” He sat forward in his chair, agitated. Her mind ran the statement over and over again through her mind as he waited for her to understand the ramifications. “Many evil and dangerous spells were discovered during those years. It is partly what led to the Elven Wars, brother pitted against brother.” Analindë felt cold at his words. “So commenced the time when elves began to hide; this school was founded as a haven far away from harm in the tops of the mountains.”

  Analindë shivered, “Why do the Humans want such books? Can they work our weaves and spells?”

  “Yes, some of them, but we still haven’t been able to find Gildhorn. And over the past several weeks since you sent the warning about traitors, other elves have disappeared. There is much discussion about the Second Sons, and I fear–”

  Just then Laerwen appeared from a side hall. “Andulmaion, Analindë, come. I am sorry to keep you waiting. There was a matter that required my attention.”

  Analindë felt startled; how unfortunate that Laerwen had arrived at just that moment. She pulled her thoughts together and glanced at Andulmaion as she rose. His serious expression had vanished, his eyes were hooded, and a congenial smile lit his face, welcoming an old friend. Mother would have been so proud of his court mask, the elegant face he showed others; how he guarded his strength and resolve from any and all. In the millennia since the Elven Wars not much had changed. Elves danced a courtly dance around each other, maintaining the delicate peace that had been reached to save them all.

  And now there were those who tired of the dance and had shown their hands. After the concessions that had been made and sacrifices given, it was offensive to now restart the feuds. She thought of Gildhorn. Did he want to destroy them all?

  They followed Laerwen through the halls of healing to her office. It was small and unassuming; the afternoon light drifted through windows cheering the room. Overflowing bookshelves lined the walls of her office with an occasional space reserved for a small portrait or ornamental object.

  “Please sit. Be welcome while I prepare tea.” They sat silently, not looking at each other and definitely not speaking. Too much had been too recently shared for comfortable conversation to take place.

  A moment later Laerwen returned bearing a tray. She poured a cup for each of them in turn and sat in an old chair facing them. “It gives me great pleasure to see you both. Analindë, you are yet healing?”

  “Yes, I make great progress. Each day my strength returns ten-fold.” She ran her fingers along the rim of the porcelain cup she held. “But my sleep is troubled, and Andulmaion spoke of a tea that would soothe my dreams.”

  “Yes, there is such a tea; it is usually reserved for those who have survived some sort of horrific event such as war or great fire. In your case the use would be justified.”

  Relieved, Analindë looked to Andulmaion, then back to Laerwen. “I thank you much; at times I’ve become a very poor student because of my lack of focus. It would greatly please both myself and my teacher,” she said, switching to a more formal speech in response to Laerwen’s.

  “There are rules for its use, and only a small amount should be used each night as too much can be harmful. Prolonged use will also cause a different kind of damage, so I will give you only a little bit at a time. Come to me again when you have need of more.” She smiled.

  A sharp rap sounded at the door; Laerwen called, “Enter.”

  A flustered apprentice popped his head into the room, “It is time.”

  “Oh! You know what to do, start the procedure, I will follow in but a moment.” Laerwen turned back to Andulmaion and Analindë, a ready smile on her face. “Come, let us walk to the supply room. I apologize that I have not much time to visit. Perhaps another time.”

  The Seventeenth Chapter

  ANALINDË STUDIED THE SMALL SILVER tin that Laerwen had pressed into her hands before they’d left the healer’s quarters. Delicate scrollwork covered the entire surface. She tucked it into an insi
de pocket of her cloak and looked up at Andulmaion. They did not speak as they retraced their steps to Master Therin’s tower. Andulmaion appeared deep in thought as his fingers fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve.

  As they neared the tower steps Analindë finally asked, “Andulmaion, what troubles you?” His head jerked up, surprised; he blinked at her.

  “Oh, I am sorry; my mind was elsewhere.”

  “Yes, but what has you worried.”

  He frowned, “The new spell I’ve been working on. There is one part of it I can’t work out.”

  “Perhaps Master Therin could help?”

  “No. He said I had exceeded his experience on the matter and could think of no one to help.” He shot her a wry look. “Can you believe it? I never thought I’d live to see the day when I had bested Master Therin at anything.” He looked at the paving stones at his feet and shook his head. He gestured for her to proceed before him; she started up the tower steps.

  “What type of spell is it?”

  “An offensive spell.” He shrugged, “I can’t make out the last part of it; it keeps breaking apart and dissipating just when I want it to become the strongest.” His voice brightened. “You see, it is a spell that eats another spell, or another person’s Energy.”

  Analindë skidded to a halt, “What?”

  Andulmaion stopped on the step beside her. Somber eyes stared down at her, “I thought it would be a good defense against the human wizard. We know not yet what spell he used to defeat your family, nor how many other wizards the traitors have given the spell to. If the Energy could be drained from the wizard before he can use it . . .”

  Analindë blinked back tears. “It’s a wonderful spell. I wish my parents had known such a thing when the Humans came.”

  He nodded and they started climbing again. “You see, my spell keeps breaking as I work the last steps. In a way, I have actually succeeded, because it functions the right way. The problem lies in that the spell keeps turning on itself, eating all of its own Energy instead of focusing outward to a specific target.”

  “Andulmaion, be careful.” She reached out to lay a hand on his arm. The finely spun threads of his jacket felt soft and warm beneath her fingertips; she noticed the hardened muscle which lay just underneath. “Such a spell is dangerous. What will you do if it turns on you?”

  “I take precautions; you need not worry.” He exuded confidence. Not prideful, just a surety that comes with hard work and repeated success.

  He gestured her forward once more, and as they climbed the tower steps, Analindë couldn’t help but think about the man who walked beside her. He was smart and thoughtful. He was patient with her and generous with his knowledge. He was diligent and responsible. She couldn’t help but think that her family would have liked him had they the chance to meet him.

  Analindë released the shielding on the door but Andulmaion stopped her before she could enter their suite of rooms. He sent a tendril of Energy out to search for anything harmful that might have entered in their absence. He sensed nothing; they both entered. With a wave of the hand he reset the shields in place.

  “If you would like, I’ll ask Master Therin if we may eat meals with the other students. I think it would be good for us both to leave these rooms.”

  “Yes, please. I hadn’t realized how much of a prison they’d become. And thank you for taking me to see Laerwen,” she said, holding up the small tin, lightly shaking it. “Perhaps now I’ll have strength enough to shield you out for longer.” She grinned and headed for her room to put the tin away.

  “Meet me in the workroom in a half hour; let’s put your shielding to the test.”

  Analindë’s grin quickly faded. She slumped, then spoke cheerfully, “Yes, of course.” She shouldn’t have mentioned practicing.

  That evening Analindë and Andulmaion found themselves standing in the entranceway to the dining hall. Nervous to be around so many people at once after such a long period of time, she kept her expression neutral to hide any weakness. After the quiet seclusion of the tower, the noise from the students was daunting and the swirl and flow of Energy a bit overwhelming to her heightened senses.

  Large fireplaces flanked the room and long tables filled the floor. Each table brimmed with activity. Meals were eaten, games played, the latest gossip was discreetly traded, but most of all, students shouted. The cacophony was frightening.

  Andulmaion took one look at Analindë’s face and said, “We can go back to the tower if you wish.”

  Analindë’s friends had just caught sight of her; a cry of welcome reached her. “No, I’ll have to face it sometime. It’ll be better once I’ve gotten used to it.”

  “I’ll meet you here, near the entrance doors, when you’ve finished. Come find me if you wish to leave sooner.” He headed off to the right side of the hall where his friends were gathered. They welcomed him with slaps on the back and sly looks directed in both his and Analindë’s direction. Little did they know, Andulmaion didn’t think of her like that. Not that she would have minded if he had. She pushed the thought away and turned toward her friends.

  Analindë managed only a few steps before she was stopped by Julwen of Tawilissarë. Her sycophants fanned out behind her in order of how much favor they’d been able to curry that day. Analindë looked past the polite social mask Julwen wore to her eyes. What did she want? Their families had never gotten along and often found themselves on opposing sides of conflicts, arguments, points of view, just about everything.

  “We were so sorry to hear of the horrific events this past autumn and are pleased that you have regained your strength.” The earnest words oozed sweetness. Too sweet. Analindë searched Julwen’s eyes for the real meaning behind her words. What did they say? She couldn’t read them; too many strong emotions vied for space.

  Julwen had never bothered to speak with her before, but she’d heard numerous stories from Riian of the barbed attacks he’d endured and how the feud still ran strong.

  Analindë reasoned out that Julwen actually meant the opposite of what she said and that her family had been pleased by the attacks and hoped that she’d died as well. She bristled and ignored the hand that had been flicked out in a gesture of respect. “Yes, thank you.” She stepped around the daughter of her family’s enemy and faltered briefly as a look of hurt flashed across Julwen’s face.

  Had Analindë been wrong? She hesitated, about to turn around, but Julwen had already turned away as her court trailed after her. Too late now.

  Analindë worried about Julwen as she wove her way between the tables heading for her friends. She actively worked to avoid eye contact with the students who had treated her poorly in the past.

  She dodged away from the insincere welcomes, knowing that she was simply the topic of the moment and that once the crowds had found the next new thing to gossip about, she’d be shunted to the side like last year’s clothes making room for new.

  Very few of the well-wishers were earnest and friends. To those who managed to catch her eye, she nodded her thanks and smiled back while moving on.

  There was one more type of student . . . those who didn’t care to hide their true feelings behind polite social masks. They stared at her as she crossed the hall, faces filled with hate. Mother would have called them jealous. Jealous of what, she couldn’t imagine. Analindë simply ignored them.

  “Is it always this noisy? I can’t remember,” she asked as she slumped down onto a chair next to Erulissé. She was wearing a new perfume today; it smelled like jasmine.

  “What did she want?”

  Analindë didn’t have to ask who she was. “To extend her condolences.”

  “No,” Erulissé looked puzzled, “What did she really want?”

  Analindë looked down, unsure, then flicked her gaze back up to search her best friend’s eyes. “I’m not sure.” That Erulissé doubted Julwen’s words made her feel better. Well, a little better. Babble surged around her. “What’s everybody bothered about?”

  “
The latest round of gossip is more outrageous than the last and it has everyone in a fit. You really don’t want to hear it.” She turned back to her food, and grabbed a piece of flatbread.

  “If you say so.” Analindë looked at Erulissé, eyebrows raised. Analindë waved a hello across the table to Maliel, grabbed a plate from the stack at the center of the table, and poured herself a glass of spiced cider.

  “Okay, okay, but it really isn’t worth the breath.” Erulissé caved, turning toward her once more. Erulissé tried and failed to keep a smirk off of her face when she said, “The latest rumor going round is that the betrayers have recruited griffons to work with them.” Unfortunately, Analindë hadn’t quite finished swallowing the cider. Caught by the hilarious news, she choked on the drink and couldn’t breathe. Erulissé pounded her on the back while she sputtered, trying to draw in a breath.

  Erulissé gabbed at her side, “I know, I know, everyone knows that griffons don’t exist. Besides if they did exist, they wouldn’t ally themselves with the traitors. Everyone knows that griffons stand with the just and for truth. If anything, they would stand with us, not against us.”

  “Well, thanks for telling me anyway,” Analindë managed to say while rolling her shoulders back to stretch out the ache in her back where Erulissé had whacked her repeatedly. “It was worth it.” She chuckled as she reached across the table to grab a serving spoon. The cooks had prepared curried foods again; it all looked delicious. “How much longer will they be practicing the spicy foods?” She placed a dollop of yogurt at the side of her plate; it would help to stop the burn she was about to encounter.

  “I estimate about another week. They usually save the spiced basmati rice for the end of the unit.” Erulissé ladled another spoonful of the fragrant rice onto her plate. “It’s my favorite.” She guiltily added one more scoop to the mound on her plate. “According to rumor, next week they shift to savories.”