Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse)

by Melissa Bitter

  Analindë rocked back on her feet as her mind reeled. Images flashed through her mind. Some of them included her nightmares of past days. Mostly, she’d thought that the Humans were the threat, but now she realized that the current treachery ran deeper than she thought. Why, there could be elves hiding behind the pillar just now, waiting to snatch her.

  Pedar tightened his grip, then let go. Patting her on the arm, he said over her shoulder, “Erulissé, I need to go. Take care of her, will you?” And with that he was gone before she had a chance to collect herself and respond.

  The opaque bubble surrounding them burst as he strode away, Maliel dogging his heels. Erulissé and Analindë looked at each other in shock. Actually, Erulissé looked more appalled than shocked. Analindë glanced out into the room, searching for watchers.

  A frightened squeal came out of Erulissé just as Analindë caught sight of a Sword Sworn nonchalantly leaning against a wall, an open book in hand. He was staring directly at her, his face blank.

  Erulissé clutched her arm, “Analindë, let’s get out of here.” And so they went, scurrying out of the room in haste.

  The Twentieth Chapter

  TWO WEEKS HAD PASSED SINCE Analindë had first ventured into the library. She now spent all available afternoons curled up on a chair on the third floor, a book propped open on her lap. There was so much to know and a million places in which to start learning it all. She rubbed her eyes and sighed heavily. She was tired.

  Thanks to Laerwen’s tea Analindë slept fairly well now. But her suppressed nightmares had begun to surface at day, usually during the worst of times. Most often they came when there were lots of people around. Students had begun to give her pitying glances when her eyes watered or rush to her side when she got the shakes. It was more embarrassing than being whispered about. At least with the whispering she could pretend everyone was talking about someone else.

  Her eyes fluttered shut as she stifled a groan of embarrassment, only this morning a particularly bad moment had passed while working with Master Therin.

  She’d been mortified when it had happened, so she’d shunted the horrific images, her memories and feelings to the side with such single mindedness that Master Therin had mistaken the determination on her face. “Analindë dear, most mages specialize in one area or another; as you progress through your studies you’ll find what interests you most. You do not have to learn it all at the same time.” She had not bothered to correct him.

  He liked it better that way. He helped her freely with some things and then thought that was all she needed. He always became fidgety when she asked him for anything further.

  Regardless of what he told her, it was difficult to let go and take things slowly. Life was rushing past her at great speed. Choices—she was not ready for—were being foisted upon her. Memories—she’d rather not deal with—came at her anyway. So she boxed the choices, nightmares and memories up, locking them away, and hid. Hid in the library that is.

  She buried herself in books and read, and read, and read. Seeking all knowledge except for knowledge that would provoke the things tucked away within that box, forcing her to loose the tempest within. She pursued safe topics only and kept that box locked up tight. Analindë flipped the pages of the book in her lap back to the beginning of the chapter and began to read, again, this time trying especially hard to actually see and understand the words on the page, not just glance at them as her eyes moved along. Unfortunately, her mind kept wandering.

  She’d rejoined the same set of classmates she’d studied with last year in Potions and they’d warmly welcomed her back. It was the one place besides the library and tower that she felt at peace.

  The contrast between the welcome of her friends and the coldness she felt while in Master Harwyn’s class couldn’t have been greater. Master Harwyn ruled her class with rigid control. None of the students ever truly felt at ease under her hawkeyed stare. She’d learned that the professor didn’t play favorites, but least-favorites. Analindë was simply the newest victim, or least-favorite, in a game Master Harwyn had perfected centuries ago. It hadn’t taken Analindë many days to realize that her classmate was right and that Master Harwyn thought she didn’t deserve to be in her class and treated her accordingly. The other students followed her lead, mostly in order to avoid the same treatment. There really wasn’t much anyone could do about it, otherwise the game the professor played would have been over long ago.

  Analindë reshelved the book she’d been perusing, no, the book she’d been staring blankly at, and trod down the stairs to the main entrance. She ignored the faint tug from the books on the second floor, their pull on her growing ever fainter as she continued to ignore them. The dinner hour fast approached and she was hungry. She felt a faint shimmer as she passed through the ward placed on the library doors. She’d noticed it two days ago after Andulmaion had taught her a fourth-order ward and sensed that the weave on the library was probably along the lines of an eighth-order ward. She wondered if her abilities to sense things would continue to increase as she learned more. She hoped so; it was kind of exciting to make new discoveries. Her afternoons of shielding practice with Andulmaion were proceeding well, for the most part.

  She rarely saw Master Therin anymore; theirs was an unusual relationship. He really didn’t know what to do with her. She didn’t know enough for private tutoring, yet her abilities were too far progressed for her to attend regular classes. Students usually took general coursework with several teachers and only moved to the towers to complete their studies after thirty years of study. Analindë had only been in school for a few years and still had much to learn before being allowed the honor of tower mentorship.

  The root of the problem? Analindë was too powerful to be left unattended and Master Therin was too busy to spend the needed time with her. He was tied up with the High Council Mages, and besides, she didn’t know enough to warrant one-on-one lessons. This left her in an atypical state.

  Fortunately, she’d been able to continue on with her Potions class since not much Energy work was performed. They mostly discussed the theory behind potions, not the actual making of them. However, in Healing, she’d been moved up the ranks and had been expected to play catch-up. Healing was very hands-on for the first several levels. It would have been a waste of Analindë’s time to have her sit and watch her fellow students attempt to learn something—over a period of fifteen years—that she’d picked up in one or two healing sessions with Laerwen. No, that would not have been good. But her core skills were still lacking, as well as her implementing techniques. So she read and studied harder, hoping that she could glean enough from books so that the technical side of her skills weren’t hobbled for the rest of her life. With just a few topics to work on, shielding, potions, and healing, it looked as though she was going to play catch-up with all of her subjects one at a time. She wondered how many years it was going to take her and what sorts of bad habits she was going to develop along the way.

  And then there was poor Andulmaion, who had been charged with tutoring and keeping watch over her in his spare time. Which, as a fellow apprentice and peer, made things awkward from time to time.

  Her shielding work with Andulmaion was often frustrating. She would cast shields. He would break through them.

  It was more disconcerting than it sounded.

  It was hard work. She was only allowed to activate two shields at a time, one for general defenses and the second as a specific defense. It required all of her concentration to rotate her basic defensive shield to keep Andulmaion from breaking through while forming shields against his other attacks. If he got through both of her shields before he called it quits he would zap her with a numbing mage bolt. Thus her motivation to keep him blocked and to work quickly was strong. Mage bolts stung quite horribly. Needless to say, Analindë was becoming quite adept at keeping him out.

  Then there was the rest of the time she spent in the tower. Every now and then Andulmaion—or Master Therin when he happened
to be around—would send her a zing when the mask hiding her source and strength became too weak or slipped. And no matter how hard she tried to feather the edges on the illusionary shield—hovering just above her mask—the edges remained crisp and clear.

  She paused before entering the dining hall, wondering if she should eat here or take something up to her rooms. She didn’t feel up for much company but didn’t want to haul food through the hallways. Perhaps she could just eat quickly, then escape to her rooms so she could think in peace.

  She slipped around groups of chattering students to the back of the hall. It was difficult being surrounded by so many people. Not because she’d grown up in a small village, but because her senses were under constant assault from the swirling energies around her. Maybe this was one of the reasons why her ancestors had settled so far away from everyone. The cacophony of Energy made her anxious. Tonight, she would see if she could corner Master Therin and ask if there was a better way to block the noise out.

  None of Analindë’s friends had arrived yet so she sat down at their empty table and began to serve herself. Tonight dinner was some sort of beef dish that had simmered for hours in a rich herbed wine sauce.

  She spooned some wavy pasta onto her plate and caught a whiff of herbed olive oil as she reached for a slice of crusty warm bread. The bread was so fresh it burnt her fingers. She dropped it on her plate, grinning just before a cold chill raced up her back. What!

  She forced herself to appear normal by reaching for her cup to take a sip of water. Covertly, she sent out a subtle swath of seeking Energy to track the prod she’d felt against her mask. Faint residues remained, but she didn’t know how to read them. She slipped into magesight, and without turning, she followed the flickering trail through the morass of disputing energies in the dining hall to the busy doorway where the flickers stopped.

  It could have been anyone. She dropped her cup onto the table.

  Whoever had sent the questing thought was long gone. She sent her seeking tendril of thought around the room, searching for Andulmaion. He wasn’t here. She turned back to her meal. All pleasure she’d had in the savory dish was gone. She couldn’t eat fast enough in order to get out of there.

  Master Therin was going to lock her back up in his tower. She panicked. “Perhaps I was mistaken Master Therin. I’m still new into my powers; I could have thought that I sensed something that never really happened.”

  He stopped his pacing to study her, he rubbed his head as if it ached. “Are you sure?”

  “Most likely. I certainly couldn’t identify what I saw, nor make sense of what I felt. I think that I just guessed that someone had prodded me.”

  He dropped his hand, wandered over to the side table and began to peel an orange. “Well, if you think so, maybe I’m overreacting. Why don’t you take a day off from classes. Stay here and study, then venture out the day after that to see how you feel?”

  One day was better than an indefinite slew of days so she acquiesced. “That sounds like a good idea, and thank you for your time Master Therin.”

  “Anytime Analindë, anytime.” He smiled congenially as she left the room. Analindë tried not to let her heart sink as she pulled her bedroom door shut behind her. She’d gone to him for advice, to see if he’d tell her what area to study so that she could learn to decipher the flickering residue she’d sensed, to see if he’d perhaps allow her to begin weapons training. But his response had been to lock her up in the tower where there was safety.

  She slumped down on her bed. What did he expect her to do? Never venture outside ever again? Her cause was hopeless, caught in a situation cast by fate, and pushed along by circumstances beyond her control. She was going to have to muddle through this very carefully, very carefully indeed. She needed to be brave and to not panic.

  A few mornings later, Analindë styled her hair carefully. She chose an intricate design that left her hair half up and half down. On the top half, tiny braids were woven into a graceful pattern that showed off her ears to advantage. The bottom half hung in long loose curling waves down her back. She stepped back from the mirror to study her reflection; the saffron dress she wore was elegant. It had just enough sophistication to give her courage, but was still young enough to match her age. Satisfied that all was in order with nary a hair out of place, she picked up her papers and books and glided out the door.

  “Ah, I see you’re girded up for battle.”

  Analindë nodded gracefully. “As you see.”

  Andulmaion’s wry grin gave her courage. “Good luck then.”

  “Thank you.” She grinned in response, then sealed the shields behind her and padded down the tower stairs.

  Most young women paid such particular attention while dressing in order to attract the attention of elven men. Or to impress one man in particular. This morning Analindë dressed to impress a woman. One woman.

  Two days ago Analindë had learned—much to her amazement—that Master Harwyn was actually impressed by the styling of one’s hair. She’d realized from comments pieced together from her classmates that Master Harwyn strictly gauged her students worthiness to attend her class by how much power they wielded, indicated by their hair. And how they dressed, indicating their rank or breeding.

  Analindë’s simple braids had most likely aggravated Master Harwyn. She didn’t expect much from her change in appearance, but she did hope that it would at least soften the older professor’s attitude toward her.

  She slipped down the hidden passageway to her class and hummed a tune. She knew how to move gracefully and behave graciously; her mother had drilled it into her until the right words and correct movements had become second nature.

  But the trauma last autumn had shaken her. Although it had given her a bit of steel to her backbone, she’d slipped into a less formal way of behaving and dressing. Her mother would not have approved.

  She still remembered how to act, so she’d dusted off her old habits, moved some of her nicer dresses from the back of her armoire to the front, and then set out to win Master Harwyn over with the finesse polished beneath her mother’s attentive yet critical eye.

  She exited the passageway and stepped, not too quickly yet not slowly, to the classroom. She’d arrived early on purpose and chose a seat along the far wall. She sat, spine graceful but rigid, with her hands placed gently on the desktop before her. Analindë didn’t miss the searching glance that Master Harwyn sent her, nor the surprised looks she received from her fellow students.

  Poised and ready to act her part. She smiled politely and nodded her greetings to the few students who had begun to acknowledge her over the past couple of weeks while waiting for class to begin.

  Analindë felt a friendly swirl of Energy sit down near her and turned to meet the icy blue eyes of the blonde haired woman who’d first spoken to her outside of the hidden passageway. “Savöwen, greetings this morning.”

  The stars in her eyes danced, her face a polite mask as she replied, “Greetings of the sky returned to you.” Savöwen assumed a posture similar to Analindë’s and turned to quietly greet the student on the other side of her.

  Moments later, the only two men in the class slipped into the room together. Their joking laughter contrasted sharply against the quiet restraint of the other students. By the time the men had slipped into their seats they’d caught sight of Analindë. Their blatant perusal of her new look made her uncomfortable and the tips of her ears began to burn. She glanced away, embarrassed.

  “Gentlemen!” Rothair and Verdûr whipped around, straightening in their seats. “If you have yet finished ogling the young lady we’ll proceed with today’s instruction.” Deafening silence filled the room. This was not going to be good. Analindë forced her fingers to lie still, quelling the urge to fidget.

  “Rothair.” The red haired elve’s jaw dropped in astonishment. If only for the moment, Master Harwyn had found a new victim. “Explain to me the advantages of using medothoro and in which cases you wouldn’t use it.” Th
e young man blanched and began to stumble through an explanation. He obviously hadn’t spent much time on the assigned reading having never been on the list of not-favorites before now.

  Master Harwyn prowled around the room as Rothair spoke; no one moved for fear that she’d pounce on them next. Analindë ignored his half-wrong explanation and let her eyes slip to the side to study her new semi-friend. Savöwen of Ilmarinessë. Her family had remained neutral during the Elven Wars, refusing to actively work against or assist one faction over another. They were a family of great power. As healers they’d been allowed to remain planted firmly in the middle of the war without choosing sides.

  Savöwen was a powerful healer and Analindë wondered if the blonde haired beauty had masked her Energy and skills to hide her abilities like she had.

  Similar to Andulmaion, Savöwen had been slated to begin her tuvalië last autumn, but had been retained at school by her mentor until the current situation became more stable. Her mentor had asked Savöwen to follow Master Harwyn’s course to—in his words—keep her skills up. In actuality, he wanted to keep her busy so she didn’t have much time to come up with reasons for him to let her leave.

  Analindë realized, as her thoughts rambled to an end, that the room was silent. And that it had been so for quite some time. A flash of cold moved over her and her breath caught.

  Had Master Harwyn asked her a question while her mind had wandered?

  Without turning her head she slid her eyes around to locate the professor. Her spine sagged momentarily in relief when she caught sight of Master Harwyn glaring down at the student sitting on the other side of Savöwen. Master Harwyn’s arms were crossed, fingers tapped expectantly against her sleeves. Tense silence blanketed the room and icy rigidity held the students in place.

  “I– . . . I’m s–sorry Master Harwyn, it will never happen again.” The young woman, previously out of danger, had just risen high on the list of least-favorites. What had she done? A blue light flashed on the young woman’s desk and Analindë flinched.