Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (17 page)

“When I really take time to think about it, I feel as if part of me has been ripped out, leaving a gaping hole, an aching sense of loss that never goes away.” She looked away from the view of the austere world outside, blinking rapidly as wetness filled her eyes. She did not want to cry, especially, in front of
him
.

“Oh Analindë,” Andulmaion moved to sit next to her and gently pulled her into a hug.

Sensing the concern and comfort he offered, she gave up, lay her head on his shoulder, and let the tears roll down her face. He felt solid and strong. Kind. All things she needed.

Sniffing now and then, she told him the events of that horrible day five and a half weeks ago when the Humans had come to her village and her family was murdered.

By the time she’d finished the tale her tears had stopped and she felt more at peace and safe. She felt safe. She rested a little while longer while he held her, relishing being cradled in his arms, but eventually she sat up, blew her nose and dried her eyes. “Thank you, I feel much better now.” She attempted a smile.

“Consider my shoulder available whenever the need arises.” He smiled; she nodded. For some reason the darkness inside her didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore. Andulmaion drew away from her, moving back to his armchair, saying. “Now watch and learn.”

He sat forward on the edge of his seat like the great loremasters when they were about to begin an epic story filled with excitement and daring.

Fully intrigued, Analindë slipped into magesight and watched as Andulmaion slowly went through the motions of setting up the illusion. He showed her how to infuse her intent into the spell, and how to make illusions solid to the touch if necessary. “If you build a forest and someone wants to lean against one of your trees, then what?” They both laughed.

By the time the evening meal came, Analindë could barely hold her eyes open. It wasn’t as if she’d even accomplished very much. Just spun a few basic illusions that weren’t even constructed sturdily enough to fool a child. And she’d watched, using her magesight quite extensively, and now she had a softly throbbing headache just behind her eyes. This time Vinriel brought their dinner.

“I have a daughter about your age; she takes after her father’s side of the family. Stone Master,” the woman chattered as she ladled carrot ginger soup into a bowl.

The words washed over Analindë as she looked longingly at the spicy beef with basil over fragrant rice that Andulmaion was preparing to eat. At least she had hot sourdough bread with her soup. “I kept hoping she would take after my side of the family, but then she reached the age of fifty years and started speaking with rocks.” Vinriel shrugged and brushed a silvery blond lock of hair back behind one arched ear.

“I knew then it was settled so I sent her off to live with her uncle. Her father travels around the Realm so much with his responsibilities that I wanted her to get a solid grounding before she started school. Her uncle was the best bet.”

“How long has she been at Mirëdell?” Analindë managed to interject.

“Three years now. It’s nice to have her around again. I missed her while she was gone. She came to visit a lot, but still it’s not the same.”

Analindë ate quietly, trying not to fall asleep between bites. Vinriel continued to babble, then ducked into Analindë’s room, emerging a moment later with a pile of items to be laundered. She opened the laundry cupboard and shoved them in, then approached the table. “Your clothes should be back tomorrow. I’ll put them away when I come. I see the tea’s wearing off,” Analindë managed a nod. “It lasted longer than I expected. You are making good progress,” she said as she half carried Analindë to her room.

Vinriel helped Analindë into nightclothes and to bed. As Analindë’s eyes drifted shut, Vinriel spun a little bit of Energy out into the young woman. The healer checked for any lingering hurts that had not yet healed and searched Analindë’s Energy network to check its progress. She nodded briskly. The small illusions Analindë had practiced this afternoon had helped cement the healing work completed earlier in the day. The healer nodded smartly to herself; Analindë would be fine. She showed vast improvement since yesterday’s healing and was growing stronger.

Content, Vinriel drew her energies back into herself, and left the room.

“Analindë’s getting better. It won’t be long until she has fully regained her strength.”

“That makes good hearing. Master Therin will be glad to know it,” Andulmaion replied.

“I’ll be back in the morning to bring your breakfast and check on her again. Are you in need of anything in particular?” Andulmaion shook his head. Vinriel nodded, then gathered the empty dishes together. “Are you sure I can’t bring you fresh flowers? Those are so dreary.”

“No, these are just what I need.” He felt a slow grin spread across his face.

“Well goodnight then, until morning,” she said with one more scowl directed at the dying flowers sitting beside him.

“Till then.” Andulmaion unsealed the door and let her out, sealing it behind her as she left.

With Vinriel’s chatter gone, the tower once again descended into silence. He drifted through the rooms making his security rounds. Eventually he ambled over to Analindë’s room and re-checked the wards and spells guarding her rest. All were active and intact. Analindë lay sound asleep, her hair draped over one shoulder. It was long, longer than most. The raven black tresses caught the light from the candles at her bedside. He wanted to reach out and touch the silky tresses. Instead he held his hands firmly behind his back. It wasn’t proper; she was under his care and he dared not breach that trust. The delicate arch of her ears drew his eye and he hastily looked away, rechecking the wards once more.

What color were her eyes? He wondered, once again snared by the sleeping woman on the bed. Oh yes, grey-green. Quite an unusual color for elves with black hair. Andulmaion had been surprised by her eyes. Most black haired elves had vivid blue eyes, as he did himself, although his own were closer to a deep aquamarine. Andulmaion glanced at Analindë again and told himself that it was with the fondness for the little sister he’d always wanted. He mused the thought. He supposed she was like his sister since both of them were under Master Therin’s tutelage.

He’d known Riian at school, and the man hadn’t deserved a death like the one he’d gotten. Andulmaion thought about the moment when Master Therin had placed Analindë in his care and how protectiveness had sparked and continued to grow inside him since that time. Drained, her mage pathways burnt to a crisp and looking half-dead, he’d vowed to himself to do all he could to protect her from the same fate that had befallen her family. He took a few steps away from the bedside, putting a respectful distance between them, then purposefully turned away from her. He had work to do.

He snuffed the bedside candles with the wave of a hand, then methodically went around the tower rechecking the shields for tampering. Satisfied at last that they were safe, he returned to the large sitting room to resume practicing. Actually, he should call it what it was . . . playing with fire. With a grin he glanced at the dying arrangement of flowers. The healers had tried to replace them with fresh ones days ago, but dying ones served him better. Several dozen petals remained, plenty enough
.

He settled down into his favorite armchair to read, a tattered old book propped open in his lap. He turned a few brittle looking pages and began to read. Several moments later, a faded petal dropped. Without looking up from his book, a roaring fire appeared in the grate.

Late into the night a disturbance at his shields pulled Andulmaion away from his game. He felt a small bit of Energy skim over his shield at the door, then circle around the tower. He sent out a tendril of his own, felt his way through and around his shields without disarming them, then said, «Master Therin?»

«You are getting good my boy. I can’t find the trigger to release it.»

«I modified them this morning after you left.” He grinned, happy that he’d bested his mentor, for the moment.

«Pretty soon you will be teaching me instead of the reverse.»

«I doubt that very much Master Therin.»

«A hint for a tired old elve?»

«Combination between Jenyaré the Old One and Maicûr. I was able to meld the two different techniques together.»

«I have never seen the combination before; it is quite solid, there is no weakness. It’s interesting how both strengthen the other where there was weakness before. Amazing.»

«Thank you.»

«You will have to let me in. I would seek my bed.»

«Yes, my Lord.»

«How much Energy does it take?»

«Enough. More than it usually does, but not so much that I can’t study while you are gone.»

Andulmaion released the shield on the door and Master Therin entered. “Very good. Quite an inventive use of advanced techniques. Master Nárion will be pleased to hear of their use and of the way you linked them.” They moved across the room together. Master Therin discarded various items as he went. A cloak managed to end up on a chair and the book he was carrying on a side table; other items were not as fortunate.

“Thank you Master Therin. I try.” He bowed low.
“Ah Andulmaion, ever the humble servant.” His lips twitched, then his eyes turned sober. “How is she today?”

“Better. Laerwen let her stay awake this afternoon. I taught her how to make illusions.”

“That makes good hearing. Continue to practice the small weaves with her when she has the strength; it will help her heal more quickly.”

“Yes, Master Therin.”

“It has been a long day, I bid you good night.” He turned toward the stairs and had his foot upon the first step when Andulmaion’s voice stopped him.

“Any news of the humans? Have the High Mages been able to track them?”

Therin paused looking back. “Yes and no. Sometimes we find them, and then at other times they disappear from our view. We have not quite worked it out yet, but know they are being helped by the Traitors. The humans are headed toward the Mountain City; our scouts watch from a distance and report regularly.” He stopped speaking and his face grew old. “We wait because we still don’t know what type of spell was used against the Mages of Lindënolwë.”

“And the rainstorms you sent?” He asked hesitantly, his mentor looked tired and Andulmaion didn’t want to keep him much longer.

“Have slowed them down. They are making very little progress in their travels.”

“Thank you for telling me. . . . Goodnight Master Therin.” Andulmaion gave Master Therin a half bow.

“Goodnight.” His old mentor turned and slowly trod up the stairs. Silence descended upon the tower once more.

The Twelfth Chapter

In the Mountains West of the Mountain City

A
randur ducked behind an outcropping
of boulders, slid through an opening in the cliff’s face, and stepped along a dark tunnel. Moments later the warm glow of firelight reached him and he slowed his step. They’d been lucky to find this cave a few days back, just as the human’s progress had slowed down to a crawl once more.

The deep cavern was sheltered from the elements, hid their firelight from view, had outlets to circulate fresh air, and even had sufficient crevices to afford some privacy. Natural or not, he was grateful for the shelter.

Arandur was tired, both physically and mentally. He’d just run a wide circle around the human’s camp looking for signs of recent passage. There were none, which meant that the humans weren’t being resupplied by overland transportation. This meant that the scouts themselves were being watched. Contact was only being made when the scouts’ attention was turned elsewhere. He sighed deeply as he walked; so much knowledge had been lost. There was much he wished they could protect against. Some were things that scouts had been able to shield against in the past, but scouts no longer had the skill to do so. The furtive murmur of his friend’s voices reached him as he approached. The Sword Sworn were the topic of the night . . . again. It looked as if he wasn’t the only one rethinking the current state of affairs. He hid his thoughts on the matter as he sank down to sit next to Sintriel.

“That’s why they have us.” Urúvion shrugged, “I think that the Sword Sworn have over-reached. Who knows what they do with the information that they gather? Who do they report to? To whom do they swear allegiance? We should take back the roles we once performed. There should be a better balance, a check to those who hold too much power.”

“Yes, but should the scouts revert back to spy work? I’m not sure that I want that role,” Morcion interjected. “I know that scouts reported back information in the past, but I prefer the clean-cut lines of our traditional work. We watch and fix problems with the power lines, fluctuations of Energy flows, imbalances with nature, and ensure that neighbors don’t encroach on each other. All the rest, I’d prefer to do without.”

Thalion shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said, “I see the scouts more as guardians of public land, the land reserved for the Realm, ensuring that resources are preserved for posterity and that those who try to claim the land have sufficient power to hold it.”

“Yes, but can we at least agree that the inner secret workings of the Sword Sworn are somewhere that we would rather not go?” Morcion argued, while pounding the dirt of the cave floor beside him. “The history of the scouts indicate that we almost ended up like them, filling that role. But then the corps of Sword Sworn were created.”

Thalion studied the man for a moment, then glanced at Urúvion quickly before saying slowly, “I remember hearing elders speak of just that issue while I was young. Of how scouts used to wield more power than they do now. How something had gone awry with a few corrupt officials, and then after that the Sword Sworn were created, taking many of our trades and crafts with them.” The crackle of the fire lent an eeriness to what Thalion said.

He continued on. “I’m not saying that it is right or correct, I’m just saying that this is how things are today.”

Sintriel spoke rapidly, her voice hushed. “I suppose that leads us to how society has changed on the whole. How we’ve become stagnant as a people, disconnected from the true Energy work that was done in the past.”

“Yes, exactly!” Came the too loud response. Urúvion cringed and then continued in a quieter voice. Some things were best discussed in low tones or not at all. “Scouts could be so much greater. Think of all the things that the Sword Sworn do that we should be doing, or at least things we should have training and skills to do should there be a need.”

Arandur watched Sintriel shift in her seat, her face completely blank. He stifled a grin. If he knew Sintriel well—and he did—then she was about to say something very shocking to shut them all up. It was dangerous to speak of such things for any great length of time. She did not disappoint; a short moment later she blurted out.

“I saw a prison belonging to the Sword Sworn once. It frightened me. It was a dark, dark place. Silent. Dampened. Not a very nice place to be. Are you sure that’s who you want to become? A person who rules over such a place?” Sintriel sat back, pulled a blade from some hidden pocket and began to sharpen it.

Arandur decided he’d had enough of tonight’s banter as well and so changed the discussion while the others were too lost to introspection to reply.

“I did a perimeter sweep of the area and checked on the human encampment. All seems to be in order; however, we did miss them speaking with their contacts. The scrying bowl was bright with recent use.” The disappointment he felt was echoed on his friends faces. “It looks like Thalion may be correct that we, ourselves, are being watched. Morcion, would you mind checking with the local wildlife to see if any of them might have been close enough to see or hear anything and what they might have understood from the exchange?”

“Yes, of course.” Morcion stood up and pulled his winter coat on. “I’ll go out and check right now, if it is okay.”

“At your leisure,” Arandur replied.

Morcion nodded, then headed outside, his footsteps brisk.

“Any new information to report?” Arandur asked the others.

“Yes. I’ve heard of Analindë. News of her recovery is very difficult to come by, but I hear that her health is returning.”

“That makes good hearing,” said Sintriel.

And so the conversation that evening slipped into more congenial topics and the night wore on.