Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (38 page)

It was a song of complexity. Counterpoint and balance. Preparation for battle, coupled with the need to remain at peace. Wisdom and skill, youth and vitality.

The unfettered freedom of flight, grounded with the need to be wielded. She smelt the sweat of hard work and felt the exhilaration of accomplishment while the fierce desire to protect kindled within her heart.

There was honor here. Integrity born of diligent adherence to the truth. Courage to stand for what was right. Protect the weak, defend those that need defending. Committed, not just now, but forever, through all time.

And just underneath those stalwart themes lay the greatest of sorrows. Pain, suffering, and guilt. Knowledge of the horrors of war and grief stemming from loss. The complete and utter exhaustion at battles end and the weary spirit of the survivor. Always the wise counterpoint arguing of not rushing off to war, that there was no gloriousness in battle, but only that of expedient need. These harsh things were softened. Gentled by years of passing.

It was a siren’s song. It called to her, offering comfort and companionship. It wanted to sing among the living once more and be allowed to do good deeds. It was something to be relied upon in times of great need. It was indomitable. It would never falter. It was making her dizzy.

The
djari
flashed brightly, she blinked and the light was gone. She gripped the counter in front of her to hold herself upright. At least she meant to, but her hands didn’t work so she leaned against her hip. The store seemed darker than before; dull shafts of light illuminated columns of dusty air.

She blinked again. Her mind spun, trying to make sense of where she was, what was happening. She looked down at the pair of
djari
she clutched tightly; they’d transformed themselves into swords. She didn’t remember pulling the weapons from the wall, but they felt right in her hands, like they were at home. The grip was perfect, made for her hand. Each stave-sword perfectly weighted and balanced. The cool ebony and silver grips tingled against her fingers, then stilled. Calm filled her and all seemed right in the world.

Analindë reverently laid the
djari
on the counter before her. Letting her fingers trace the silvery patterns etched on their blades as she withdrew her hands, she stepped back. It was a reverent moment.

The
djari
did
not
fit in with her plans of being normal. She took another step back, putting a respectful distance between herself and the shelf.

“Analindë,” her softly spoken name sounded loud in the room. Tierielle stood close at her side but did not touch. Erulissé stood just behind the Sword Sworn peering over and around her shoulder. The rhythms and cadences of the
djari
still thrummed loudly in her mind. It took her a moment to realize that her friend’s eyes were wide in shock. Oh dear, had she done more than hold the weapons? Her mind shifted from sluggish visions of things long past to rapid calculation. Her gaze snapped from Erulissé’s worried eyes to Tierielle’s guarded ones.

“I am sorry. I never meant to remove them from the wall,” said Analindë.

“Worry not, sometimes they call too strongly to resist. May I see which pair interested you?”

Analindë stumbled back out of the way. “Yes, please.”

Tierielle leaned close to examine the
djari
but did not touch. A second later shocked eyes fastened on her face, searching. The stars in her eyes swirled in worry.

“Who did you say you were?” she demanded.

“Analindë, of Lindënolwë.”

Her face became shuttered and the stars in her eyes began to dance in curiosity. “Oh.” She nodded once, then stepped back.

“It has a beautiful song,” Analindë said tentatively.

“You heard it?”

“Yes,” she whispered. It’s complex rhythms and melodies still rang softly in her head.

“Tell me?” The woman coaxed. So Analindë did.

“You hear well.” The Sword Sworn’s eyes turned, calculating as she swept her gaze over Analindë. “Better than most, or dare I say, all but the best.”

Analindë didn’t know what to say to the woman who had more experience and renown than any other Sword Sworn of her or her parent’s generation. What was a reply to that? She swallowed; her throat hurt and her mouth was dry. Had she been singing or shouting some old battle cry as she’d held the
djari
? Oh Stars! She hoped not.

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.”