She looked pleadingly at Erulissé. Why hadn’t she said anything? Usually she could count on Erulissé to fill in any awkward silences. Unfortunately, her friend still bore the same shocked expression, with her jaw hanging slack. Great. Erulissé was speechless. What had happened while the sword had been singing to her?
“You do not have to buy it, you know. Just because they call to you doesn’t mean you need to answer their call.”
“Is that what the djari were doing? Calling to me?”
Tierielle’s eyes softened at her question. Good, the woman was going to explain. Analindë sighed in relief and the stiff muscles in her neck and shoulders began to relax.
“These are the djari of Yeslinthan.” Analindë’s muscles immediately knotted back up.
“Yeslinthan,” Analindë said flatly.
“Oh good. You’ve heard of them.” Analindë nodded in shock. Tierielle said to Erulissé, “They were one of the families lost to us during the Elven Wars. These particular djari were made prior to the wars. About seven generations before, which would make that about twelve or thirteen thousand years ago.
“The mage who forged them wove with great skill. These djari are not sentient, but are close enough to being so. Great honor and responsibility come to the bearer of such ancient weapons. Tell me Analindë, what other weapons do you own?”
Analindë thought about the practice sword she used at home. She hadn’t touched it in ages, at least since Riian had given up on becoming Sword Sworn. “I have one sword, at home. I know not how well it was forged, and had not the skill to test it before this past autumn.”
Tierielle nodded as if she’d expected the words Analindë had said. “What weapons training do you have?”
“Very little. My father insisted I learn kaji, The Dance of Warriors, to keep me limber and in shape, and I’ve had basic training with swords, but nothing else.”
Tierielle shook her head and frowned, looking slightly agitated. Analindë’s palms began to sweat. Of course someone who had dedicated her entire life to master the art of blade would be impatient with someone who hadn’t even finished the cursory steps recommended to all elves.
“I’ve mastered the bow and arrow,” she said suddenly, as if it could redeem her in Tierielle’s eyes. Tierielle ignored the comment.
“You might as well train for the djari since you’ve not chosen a path already. And they’ll definitely be a good fit, since they called to you.” She turned around, scribbled something on a paper, and handed it to her. It was an invoice. The sum was staggering. She could afford it, but it was expensive even for a pre-Elven War weapon.
“It is worth more,” she said. “But since it called to you, I’m giving you thirty percent off.”
“Thirty–” Analindë needed to sit down.
“Oh, and would you mind telling me where you found them? I need to record the placement in the books.”
Analindë looked up at the older woman in confusion. “Up there.” She pointed to a spot where a broadsword of significantly newer make was now hanging. “They’re like books,” she murmured.
Tierielle looked at her in confusion.
“Like the books in the library,” Analindë said. She still received blank looks from the two women. “The old ones that appear when you need them.” She finished lamely; they obviously had not spent much time in the library.
Understanding worked its way into Tierielle’s eyes. Erulissé simply turned around and left her, muttering. “I need to sit down.”
“Give me a moment; I’ll go fetch their case and halter,” The Sword Sworn said before she turned and sauntered away.
“But I don’t have enough money with me.”
“No matter, you can sign transfer paperwork and when payment has been received, I’ll send them to you,” she called over her shoulder. “In the meantime, I’ll box them up and mark them as yours.” Analindë nodded numbly and turned to trail her finger along the hilt of her new acquisition. A tingle ran up her finger and she felt . . . happy. Or was it the djari that felt happy? She didn’t know and swung away looking for Erulissé.
Tierielle returned from the back room a few moments later and swiftly packed the djari away. She produced the necessary papers for her to sign, to show proof of ownership, and for payment to be made. Before she knew it, her new blades were neatly boxed and waiting to be delivered, and a receipt of purchase was in her pocket.
Tierielle pulled a piece of stationery from a side cupboard and began to write.
To the Most High Lord Mallhawion,
You should be aware that the House of Lindënolwë has purchased a pair of djari from my store. Please ensure that proper training is allowed her. I recommend . . .
Analindë stepped away; she hadn’t meant to pry and didn’t want to know what else the Sword Sworn was going to write to the High Lord. Today was not going as planned. She took a deep breath, attempting to qualm her anxiousness. She drifted over to where Erulissé was making her final decision. It appeared that she’d narrowed her choice down to two swords. Erulissé would eventually be working on a ship; as a Sea Master she’d need something lightweight and easily used while being tossed about on a shifting surface. Either of the two remaining swords would serve her well.
“What do you think Analindë?” She looked longingly at the sword with swirly designs. It was the prettier of the two, but she reached out to touch the more functional looking one.
“You’re afraid Lothorian will make fun of you for choosing the prettier one?”
Erulissé nodded. “What do you sense?” She looked up at Analindë, eyes pleading.
Analindë didn’t hesitate, but spun a thread of Energy out and sent it to explore the two blades. They were both well made. Expert wards and spells had been woven into their make. Both were good choices, but one had a tiny flaw. Analindë grinned, then looked back up at her friend.
“They are both good and will tolerate sea water very well. Excellently made and constructed with precision, but this one,” she pointed at the plain sword, “Has a very slight flaw in the design work of the hilt.”
Erulissé squealed, hugged Analindë, grabbed her choice of weapon and ran back to the counter to pay for her new blade. Analindë grinned after her; now that was normal. It made her happy. Several moments later a smiling Erulissé rejoined her with a long paper wrapped bundle under one arm.
“It has been my pleasure to help you. Should you need any other blades, know that you are welcome here.” Sword Sworn Tierielle gave them a half bow. The woman was dressed in trousers; a curtsey just wouldn’t have looked right.
“Thank you for your assistance. Lothorian assured me this was the best place to come. He was right; why we both found just the right thing.” Erulissé grinned and they curtsied in response.
Analindë looked at the row of forgotten daggers. She hadn’t really wanted to carry them anyway. She looked over at Tierielle, thoughtful. “Perhaps—”
“We should not mention the djari, or their finding to others. Yes? That’s what you wanted to say is it not?” Analindë nodded, Tierielle understood. Erulissé’s mouth formed a surprised, “Oh.”
“I’ll tell Master Therin of course.”
“As is proper.” Tierielle nodded. “And in the meantime, you should begin training at the House of Swords. It will be some years yet before you begin to wield the djari. In the meantime, you train.” The woman was serious.
Analindë suppressed a shudder. She didn’t like the more brutal contact work of sword work. It was harsh and it hurt, but she nodded in respect. The djari had chosen her. She was honor-bound to be worthy of wielding them. “Yes. I will contact the House of Swords to begin my training.”
Tierielle looked pleased. “Tell Sword Master Karethielle that I sent you. I will send notice to her of the djari and she will see to your training.”
Analindë tried not to blanch; the horror stories of Sword Master Karethielle were legion. “Thank you, it will be my honor,” she managed to say grac
efully.
Erulissé and Analindë took their leave of the retired Sword Sworn and quickly walked in silence up the narrow road. Analindë was in complete shock. Her worries were exploding around her, chasing peace from her mind and leaving only chaos. Analindë tugged her cloak closer and wished that winter would end. When they reached sunlight at the end of the alley, Analindë stepped to the side and sagged against the sun-warmed wall. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Erulissé took one look at her and said, “I know just the place. Come, let’s go get lunch; it’s two streets over from here.” They quickly walked toward the busier part of town. Analindë didn’t think, but simply trailed along; depression was starting to ebb in on her. One dark alleyway and one bright crowded street later, Erulissé tugged her out of the chilling wind and into a cozy restaurant called The Hidden Garden. The lunch rush was just ending so Erulissé commandeered them one of the better tables. They walked past the crowded tables in front to the secluded area of the back garden atrium.
The atrium was nice. The green trees surrounding them were pleasant; a fountain filled the room with a wash of sound. They ended up in a private alcove; smaller bushy plants hid them from view and Analindë felt herself relax. The muscles in her neck began to unknot and her racing heart calmed. The continuous splash of water was soothing; the sound echoed off the stone floors and walls, lulling her to think of nothing, which was pleasant for a change.
Analindë jumped when Erulissé shoved a tea cup into her hands.
“Drink.”
She sipped the tea. It burned her tongue. She drank it anyway. A second later, a plate full of tiny sandwiches appeared in front of her.
“Eat.”
Analindë bit into one of the sandwiches. Cucumbers, herbed goat cheese and creamy butter. She was suddenly ravenous. She wolfed down three of the tiny squares, grabbed a fourth, then stopped with it halfway to her mouth.
“Why is this happening to me?” She sought out her friend’s eyes hoping for reassurance. She found agitation instead.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s just too much.” She shoved the fourth sandwich in her mouth and chewed, swallowed, thought about shoving another sandwich in her mouth so she wouldn’t have to talk, then blurted out, “My parents, my home, the Humans. The sudden power and understanding.” She shivered. Pedar’s oath, the War Room, Yeslinthan, and the void. “Now the djari. Will it ever stop? Why me? Why all at once?”
Erulissé reached out to grip her hand, hard. “Analindë,” tears streamed down her friend’s face. “I don’t know why this is all happening, but I am here for you. Will always be here for you. If you need help and I can’t fill the need, I’ll find someone who can.” And she would. With Erulissé’s vast network of friends, coupled with her amiable personality, she’d get anyone or anything Analindë could ever need. Except what she wanted most. Her family. Tears smarted at Analindë’s eyes; she inhaled deeply and fanned her face with her free hand while Erulissé gripped the other.
They stayed like that for a long time, until Analindë had finally calmed and their tea had grown cold.
The love and support she felt from Erulissé was balm to her soul. It brought peace to her heart. A different sort of peace, not of tranquility, but of surety.
“I–”
A chair scraped against the stone floor and Analindë stilled. She didn’t want to be overheard. Erulissé bobbed up to peer over the leafy bushes, searching for the room for other occupants.
The dim flutter in the void vividly sparked to life. It felt like it was bearing down upon her, sitting right beside her. Analindë’s hand darted out to grab Erulissé, yanking her down. Annoyed, Erulissé looked at her and stilled.
“What?” She mouthed the word, before slinking back into her chair.
“The Traitor.” Analindë mouthed back and pointed in the direction of the sound they’d heard.
Erulissé’s face turned ashen.
“Did you check the room?” a strong male voice asked.
“No, but . . . okay, I’ll check.”
Analindë panicked. They were as good as dead. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest as she listened to footsteps circling around the room. She heard the shake of leaves as branches were pushed to the side. Erulissé half crouched, craning her neck around searching for an exit. Any exit. There were no doors—or windows suitable for clambering out of—within reach. The only real exit was on the far side of the room.
Footsteps grew closer. They were trapped.
Unless . . . Analindë sprang to her feet, pushed Erulissé back into her chair, and shoved the new sword into her arms. She grabbed her winter cloak, stepped behind Erulissé and clamped her hand down on her friend’s shoulder. Then, she cast a flat shield to cover them both and quickly wove a shield of invisibility.
Erulissé tensed and Analindë squeezed her shoulder, willing her to remain quiet. Erulissé would have seen the shimmer of the invisibility shield from the inside, but wouldn’t have known what Analindë had done. She had no idea how Erulissé would experience the numbness and disorientation of the flat shield.
The footsteps sounded louder and an elven man, wearing the jade green robes of The Southern Forest, rounded the corner into their alcove. He stopped abruptly and Analindë tensed. But he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at the table.
He looked away, scanning the secluded area as he walked forward to stick his finger into her cup of tea. What was he doing?
Less than a pace away, Erulissé and Analindë did not move and dared not breathe.
He shook his finger dry and grabbed one of the tiny cucumber sandwiches and ate it. He licked his lips and grabbed the plate as he turned to walk away. But he stopped before completely exiting the alcove to breathe in deeply. He spun back around and walked back to the table.
No, not back to the table but back to the chair where Erulissé sat and that Analindë stood behind. He sniffed again while looking down at the chair.
Erulissé’s perfume!
She hadn’t woven the shield for scent.
She hadn’t imagined.
She didn’t dare shift the weave now.
He’d sense it.
The man leaned forward over Erulissé and sniffed again. She shrank back slightly. The man breathed in deeply once more, then shrugged. He straightened, plopped another sandwich into his mouth and strode out of the alcove.
“All is clear Veralcar.”
“Good.”
Analindë let out a shaky breath.
Erulissé panted in terror.
Analindë slowly hunched her shoulders forward attempting to loosen the rigid tenseness that filled her. She felt brittle, fragile. An aching throbbing migraine worked its way up the right-hand side of her neck to her forehead. That she could feel it through the use of the flat shield surprised her. The new pain settled in deeply and began to throb.
They heard a door slam, she jumped. No!
Please, let that be the front door! Please, let that be the front door. If that was the door to the atrium they’d be trapped indefinitely. She heard the approach of leather boots slapping against stone and relaxed. They could still get out. As soon as both Erulissé and Analindë stopped shaking, they’d leave.
“Narion, Thorontur already checked. The room is clear,” said Veralcar.
“Good. Are you going to share?”
“Maybe,” Thorontur answered. Analindë heard the crunch of cucumber. The flutter in her mind grew brighter as new footsteps entered the room.
“Dûrion, well met,” said a new voice.
“Not well met Mapar. Gildhorn is going to be the death of us all,” Dûrion fumed. Power rippled around him and through the room. The spark in the void was spitting sparks at her; her situation couldn’t have been more perilous. They needed to get out of here. Analindë glanced down at Erulissé. She was still shaking.
“Gildhorn’s a fool. He moved too quickly and ruined everything.”
A rumble of agreement echoed
around the room accompanied by the trickling rush of water. Analindë turned, shifted her hand so she maintained contact with Erulissé, then peeked over the tightly packed leaves of the bush behind her. The group had thrown themselves into chairs circling the table in the center of the room. There were five of them in all, tall elven mages, dark haired.
Thorontur, dressed in the jade green robes of the Southern Forest, complained bitterly. “If he would have just waited two weeks longer the humans would have succeeded and we wouldn’t have been in this predicament. The Lindënolwën mages wouldn’t have had warning and blown up their west wing. I had received an invitation to visit. I could have found the books or smuggled the humans in. . . .”
“Gildhorn’s hiding something from us. He’s too happy even though he’s failed,” said Dûrion. The others around him blanched but didn’t elaborate.
“Mapar, you’ll pour,” Veralcar demanded as he surveyed the room.
Mapar grabbed a bottle off the table; it contained a fiery looking liquid. He poured a small amount into each glass and set the bottle back. “Master Veralcar,” he snarled.
Veralcar snatched a glass from off the tray, downed it in one swallow, and then poured himself another. The others sipped theirs slowly; Mapar sat down in the remaining chair looking smug in a vile sort of way.
“Now, now children, let’s not squabble. We need to work together to see this through,” said Narnion.
The others bristled at the comment. But understanding the underlying threat, they straightened up to listen.
Narion continued, “We need to come up with a plan. What do we know of the humans’ progress through the mountains?” he asked. A chill ran down Analindë’s spine. She felt Erulissé stand up beside her, then grip her hand.
Dûrion spoke up, “They are trapped in the high passes a few days journey from Mirëdell. The high mages at Mirëdell watch them constantly. Every. Move. They. Make. We’ve practiced blocking their sight now and then but fear giving our location away if we do so for longer periods.”
Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) Page 32