Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse)

by Melissa Bitter

  “Has the Grand Council decided what they’ll do with the humans once they are found?” Andulmaion inquired intently. He leaned forward on the edge of his chair; anxious Energy emanated from him.

  Analindë shifted nervously in her chair, wondering if Master Therin would answer or brush off the question. It was one from her list, and she desperately wanted to know the answer just as much as Andulmaion.

  “They have not. It has been many ages since we have been forced to move so quickly to determine the strength of a foe while creating a decisive plan to combat them.”

  Saying nothing of the months that had passed, Analindë gently pressed, “But there must be something that is written about facing the Humans in such a manner.”

  “There is one account, but the elven warrior who confronted them did not fare well, and the details recorded were not . . . complete.”

  Andulmaion rubbed his palms along his legs and cleared his throat. “Master Therin,” he said respectfully, “What of the fate of the warrior? . . . and was he successful in stopping the human?”

  Analindë tried to hide her astonishment as Andulmaion pressed Master Therin for more information. He must have made plans of his own; she wondered if they aligned with hers.

  “In this case, the human he faced used a similar spell as the one that killed Analindë’s parents. A great welling of power followed by a popping sound and enormous wash of Energy, with no trace of bodies left in its wake. The warrior was able to deal a killing blow to the wizard before the second spell was cast, but as the wizard lay dying, he threw a strike upon the warrior. It crippled him and halved his life. He died at five hundred and sixty three years, and was in so much pain that the healers could do little for him.”

  A moment of silence passed before Andulmaion spoke again, “But were such a warrior to be shielded from attack, perhaps the outcome could be changed?”

  “Yes, perhaps. The warrior was shielded before, but by a novice mage just into his powers. The same will not happen again. Only senior mages will confront the wizard and his associates this time.”

  “And will the humans be killed or will they be taken for questioning?” Andulmaion fingered the sleeve of his robe.

  “They will be killed. It is too unsafe. We know not what spell they wield so we have no way to defend against it. We will make the killing blow when opportunity arises.”

  “And what of their elven conspirators?” he asked.

  “Enough of them are known at present. Through interrogation, the rest will be found, then hunted down.” Master Therin’s face hardened, his blue eyes turned frigid, the stars in them stopped moving. “The traitors were not as clever as they thought they were when trying to cover their tracks. Many of the council are involved in ferreting out the truth. With the humans out of the way, we will have more time to devote to tracking the traitors down and holding them responsible for what they have attempted to do and for the deaths that have happened so far.”

  His eyes softened as he added, “The humans probably know very little about what they have become entangled in; Gildhorn and his cohorts would not have entrusted them with any truly important knowledge. Gildhorn values other’s lives so little that he considers humans with their short life spans as expendable. He has always been thus, even when we were younger. He has led the three humans on a fool’s errand to be slaughtered.” A great sadness etched itself onto his face when he continued, “He never did learn after all that happened . . .”

  When Master Therin’s silence continued, Analindë inquired as nonchalantly as possible, “Do you have any idea where they might be hiding?”

  Master Therin softened ever so slightly, “My dear, worry not. They will be found and dealt with.” Analindë felt shame when she realized that Master Therin thought she was afraid the Humans were still searching for her. He continued, “They are far from here. There are pockets in the hills where one might hide and not be found, and there is a small dell on the eastern side of the city where one could burrow. I suppose they hide in one of those, although there are many opinions on the subject; those are the only two places three people could hide out of sight for any length of time.

  “The council has asked me to go to the city; I leave in the morning.” Andulmaion and Analindë’s heads snapped up, eyes widened. “I will join my skills with the others and will help confront the humans once they are found. Andulmaion, you will remain here.”

  “But Master Therin–,” said Andulmaion.

  Master Therin raised his hand silencing Andulmaion’s outburst. “You forget that I have a few more tricks to my name than the ones you know. I will be fine, whereas you would not survive the encounter. As useful as your spell would be, it is not ready and is too dangerous. At present, I would keep you out of harm’s way. Perhaps next time.” He stood and shook his robes out.

  “Now I am off to bed, as I have an early morning. Both of you keep at your studies. Andulmaion, aid Analindë with any questions that arise in my absence.”

  “May the stars be with you,” Analindë said softly.

  “And watch over you,” Andulmaion finished the phrase.

  Master Therin nodded and then slowly climbed the stairs that led to his rooms; weariness hung heavy in every line of his body.

  Disappointment shone in Andulmaion’s face, as he sank back down into his chair, his fists clenched. “I had hoped to journey with him when he went.”

  “Perhaps a way yet exists.”

  “No. The way is closed.” He frowned. “They wouldn’t let me come now even if I had perfected my spell. Master Therin has made his wishes clear; he holds much sway with the council.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It matters not.” He stared broodingly into the woodless fire.

  Stung by his reply, she left him and went to her room. Analindë sealed her room against all intrusion and set to work. She would find the Humans and then use her knowledge as leverage. She was going with Master Therin; he just didn’t know it yet.

  She’d spent all day thinking about how to get around the tower’s newest shield without setting off an alarm. She knew she wouldn’t get very far if the other two tower occupants noticed her scrying the void. And dropping the shield, even partially, was not an option.

  She circled her room looking for anything amiss and fiddled with one of her rings. Her hands were clammy. She glanced back at the door. Yes, it was still sealed shut. The shield she’d made radiated out from the door, circling the room, separating it from the tower. It would keep any stray ebbs of Energy from flowing beyond her room. Unless someone broke through her shield, no one would ever know what was happening inside. At least as far as she could tell.

  Analindë poured fresh water into the same bowl she’d used earlier that afternoon and settled herself on the couch. She steadied her breathing and prepared to attempt scrying. Ripples played across the water’s surface. She sent a tendril of Energy down to mesh into the stone’s energies beneath her, anchoring herself below.

  She snapped to center and did her best to brush away her fears, but she was still anxious.

  Not wanting to prolong the ordeal, she sent a tendril of thought away from her body. It passed easily through the shield she’d cast and moved gently through the stone walls encircling her. She followed the natural pathways within the rock until she ran up against the tower shielding.

  The shields had changed in the past day. It looked as if Master Therin had completely rewoven them. She refused to let that stop her, and so she sat back to study the shield in front of her, looking for patterns and understanding. Power solidly thrummed before her; she knew that if she tried to access it in the wrong manner then she’d likely be incinerated on the spot. That knowledge helped her be patient; she did not rush.

  Unfortunately, no matter how hard she focused, the light and patterns that made up the shield wouldn’t sit still. They slipped and skidded from one place to another, refusing to align or slow. Frustration almost made her careless, and she had to stop
herself, many times, from pushing through the shield and taking a path of which she wasn’t entirely confident. She held herself back each time, cursing, and pled with the Stars for patience. Even if she managed to not get incinerated, Master Therin and Andulmaion would immediately know if she didn’t bypass the shield perfectly.

  After a very long while spent studying the shield, the edges of the pattern still winked at her in defiance, sparkling, glistening, and writhing back and forth before her sight. Analindë let her thoughts hover before the shield and contemplated defeat.

  An option of last resort hovered at the back of her mind. She could wait until tomorrow morning and then ask Andulmaion to take the shield down. She sighed. He’d never agree. . . . Yesterday he would have, but after her encounter with the void last night, never.

  Andulmaion wouldn’t waver; he wasn’t that type. He hadn’t even told her what his punishment had been. He only blanched whenever she’d asked, then quickly changed the subject. She felt guilty whenever she thought about it.

  Analindë decided to try one last time to get through the shield unnoticed; if she failed, then so be it. If not, then she wouldn’t need risk asking for Andulmaion’s assistance; she’d be through.

  She had studied the shield for so long that it now looked familiar to her. This time she let herself drift back and forth between the two shields, hers in the back and theirs in the front. Theirs sparkled brightly, the veins of light and the gossamer filaments stretching between the power hubs were things of beauty. The constant shifting became pattern, yet not. It shone a design as complex as the one that was worked into the sword Andulmaion bore.

  She breathed in sharply as the pattern slipped to the side and clicked into place. Analindë stared in amazement as the pattern righted itself and continued to shift. It was beautiful. It was a work of art. She saw a way through it. She would always remember the way through. It was so simple in its complexity.

  She spun herself out and followed the path through the shield; it was glorious being surrounded by such beauty. And then it was over. The clear, crisp darkness of the other side waited before her. She left a tendril of thought outside the shield and followed the pattern back through to herself and opened her eyes.

  Pulling herself together she focused on her family home, firmly planting herself against the stones that lay below, and said, “Palan,” then pushed Energy and intent toward the bowl. Water stilled and became black. Her home appeared before her; the image was as crisp and clear as if she stood before her home herself. She smiled.

  She held the image in the bowl, and turned inward to watch the flow of Energy within. She tightened herself here and loosened herself there and the flow of Energy became smoother and the image easier to hold and maintain. Content that she’d managed this much so far, she changed the thought in her mind.

  She fixed an image of Arandur in her mind as she had last seen him, playing on the hills with her brother; the water in front of her swirled and the bowl filled with mist. Flashes of the valley near her home shone out of the water and then the image shifted to show Arandur’s face. One or the other, but neither at the same time. Realizing the water was trying to show her both her village and Arandur, she pushed the memory of long ago away and focused only on Arandur himself.

  The water settled, turned inky black, then shifted to a bluish white. It took a moment to realize that Arandur was sleeping outside, surrounded by snow; the light of the moon and stars filled the landscape with a glowing blue light. Fatigue lined his face. Analindë felt a sharp pang inside. Her friend was suffering.

  She pulled back to a wider perspective, and his companions came into focus. There were five of them in all; two of them she recognized. These days Arandur didn’t travel anywhere without Sintriel and Thalion. It was because they worked so well together that they’d risen through the ranks of the scouts so quickly. Rumor said that they read each other’s minds and completed each other’s thoughts. She could almost believe it, except that Elves couldn’t read minds. They simply knew each other extremely well.

  Wanting to know how far they camped away from the Mountain City, she zoomed out yet again to view the landscape around them. Large piles of snow-covered rocks surrounded the scouts, separating them from the icy white barrens. They slept about a half day’s journey away from the city.

  Where were the Humans?

  She envisioned the Human wizard and the bowl filled with blackened mist. Alarmed, she dropped the thought, refocused, and then switched back to a view of the Mountain City. This time she simply searched for any signs of passage. The Northern and Southern entrances to the city were well used; the snow had been trampled and was icy in places. They must not have an apprentice to melt the path, she mused. Everywhere else the snow lay crisp and pristine as if it had just fallen. Unless they’d smoothed the snow behind them, no one had passed over other routes.

  She scanned the valley, occasionally finding a path broken by a scout or sentry and by deer or other wildlife. She glimpsed no other signs of passage.

  With trepidation, she changed tack; thinking firmly of the three Humans, the sight of the city vanished only to be replaced by swirling black mist. She waited for a moment, and when the ominous black mist didn’t do anything to her, she continued on.

  Thinking that perhaps the Humans had split up, she thought only of the wizard. Water swirled and black mist rose and pooled over the side of her bowl, but other than that, she saw nothing. She thought of the woman and then the burly man in turn, then of the three Humans together in different combinations, and then of places they could be hiding. She pictured them hiding in a cave or inside the hollow of a great tree, or perhaps inside the burrow of some large animal. She imbued each place with a sense of where the Humans were. Nothing worked.

  Analindë focused her mind back on the valley containing the Mountain City and pushed the image toward the bowl. A pre-dawn blush now lit the sky as the stars and moons slowly faded away. A few moments later and there would be enough light to aid her search of the caverns which Master Therin had mentioned. She turned her focus to the western foothills near the city walls and painstakingly searched them out.

  She looked into each crevice or crack she saw, looking for signs of habitation, and found many burrows and caves filled with wildlife. She found a fox and her kits, rabbits burrowed deep within the earth, even a puma sleeping in its den, but no Humans.

  Her hopes were raised when she found the faint tracks of something that walked on two feet; the signs of passage were expertly hidden. She followed the tracks along as they wound through the forest until they neared a cave of sorts.

  Elated, she pushed the image forward. She rounded the cavern opening and her excitement plummeted; there sat an elven scout warming his morning meal. No wonder the tracks were so expertly hidden. She criticized herself.

  With sinking hopes she turned her thoughts toward the forestland on the eastern side of the city. The hunt for tracks was accomplished that much easier in the pale morning light. She made quick work of the last bits of her search.

  With the search of the surrounding areas completed, she released her hold on the scrying spell and watched the residual energies from the spell dissolve away. Disappointed, she slumped back into the chair and drummed her fingers quickly along the desktop.

  She abruptly sat up straight in the chair and gripped its arms; her knuckles went white and the fabric strained beneath her touch. Only the void remained. She’d have to try again. She took deep breaths attempting to steady the rapid beat of her heart. She thought one more time of asking Andulmaion to come and sit with her, but he would never consent. Not now. She pushed thoughts of doom away from her mind and reached down to the stone beneath her yet again.

  Seeking the solidity of the ground beneath her, she meticulously reinforced her anchor, blending another tendril of thought down into the stone below her until she could not tell where one began and the other ended.

  Again and again she sent tendrils down until she had fo
ur anchors in the ground beneath her. Not until she had calmed herself and become completely focused on the task at hand did she push herself out into the void beyond. She immediately recognized her surroundings.

  No wonder she’d felt so drained last night, she’d forced the void to take shape. And it had held! The inky blackness immediately surrounding her was still black, but not quite as inky.

  She mentally wove her way through the tower shields and with little effort followed the path she’d taken before. While she traveled, she realized her grievous error. She guessed that forever more these spots of her void would retain the form she had forced it to. Never again would she be so foolish as to make everything take shape before her eyes so that she could see. It was a beginner’s error that had almost cost her more than she had to give.

  She paused in the black velvet surroundings of a forest glen deciding she might as well try the version of the scrying spell she’d adapted for the void. She looked back to check her anchoring. It remained intact. She checked her source; Energy flowed into her through the connection. She smiled at the newfound knowledge that anchoring brought and turned back to the forest.

  Honing her focus even sharper she brought the image of the Humans to her mind for the second time that night and said, “Palan Sinomë.” There was a slight resistance; she gripped the image harder, giving it a punch of Energy. Then she flew, first being pulled then pushed quite a distance from where she’d been. The familiar prickling black lights she’d tracked in her mind so many weeks ago flared to life in front of her, zooming ever closer.

  When her movement finally stopped she looked back to her anchoring. Shaken, she realized how truly lost she would have been had she not clearly marked the place to return. This knowledge was almost enough to have her scampering back to safety, but she didn’t.

  She’d decided to act, not quake in fear. Well, that wasn’t quite true. It was possible to quake in fear and to act at the same time. She was doing it right now.