Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (44 page)

War must not come among the elves again.

Could war be stopped? Could they totter back over the brink and away from the line without battles being fought? Whether or not they could, she was done sitting on the sidelines. She wanted to play a more active role, helping and assisting where she could in ways that intersected her daily life.

She thought of the current dilemma and felt anger toward the Traitors. They had done grievous harm when they’d turned against their own. The capricious humans only aggravated her. Their short lives, seventy to eighty years at best, compelled them to be one day friend, the next day foe. Such was their nature. It was the Traitors and perhaps the second sons who were ultimately responsible.

Revenge kindled in her heart, smoldering and burning within her, and she wondered what harm it would do to let that fire rage within the hollow shell she was. If she could harness that anger, perhaps it would be okay for the interim, but she’d been her mother’s daughter for long enough to know she couldn’t let the hurt rage for very long.

Determined, Analindë vowed that she
would
find a way to search out the Humans in the void, and then she’d lead the high council to them. She knew she could find them, she just didn’t know how to look for them yet. When she did find them, the Humans would be questioned and the elves that betrayed the Realm would be hunted down and held responsible for their crimes.

She turned her thoughts to the problem the void presented. She wouldn’t think about her fears just now. She’d only think on things she needed to do. First off, she needed to find out everything she could about anchoring. If she were to survive the void again, she’d need to know how to properly form her anchor. Next, she wondered if searching the void was akin to scrying? Perhaps Andulmaion would know.

She quickly finished her bath, dried herself off with one of the soft towels stacked on the shelves and donned a robe. She began to brush out her hair and was shocked when she actually
looked
at her reflection in the mirror. She was not surprised by the face that had filled back in or the midnight tresses that had grown longer, but by her eyes. They were different. They were still grey-green, but the eyes looking back at her were not her own. They were tired and wiser; the stars within them had deepened. The naiveté inside her was gone, replaced by the hardness of reality. Anger and strength radiated in their depths, the innocence of youth set aside for adult things.

Having been sheltered by her family her entire life, she wondered which was worse, living in blissful ignorance or brutal realism.

Analindë braided the sides of her hair, gathered the braids to the back, and let the rest hang free. She gently replaced her brush on the counter and turned away from the starkness that the mirror had revealed.

She quickly dressed in a pale rose gown shot with silver threads. It flowed gently around her while its loose sleeves came to points at her hands. Embroidered flowers decorated the hem and neck. Satisfied that her appearance was good enough, she pulled on some slippers, grabbed her favorite ring from her bedside table and left the room.

She was the first to arrive for breakfast. Releasing the shields, she opened the door to the landing and picked up the breakfast tray. Ripe strawberries and fresh cream sat in separate bowls, a few apples were stacked to the side, along with some sweetbreads that were a favorite of hers. The cooks made them with almonds and honey with a dab of creamed cheese in the center.

Analindë carried the tray to the table, sealing the door behind her with a wave of her hand, then started tea. She sipped the hot fragrant drink, eyed the ripe strawberries—their enticing fragrance wafting toward her—and thought of the forgotten mage millennia ago that had discovered the preserving spell used in the cellars.

The sun had fully risen by the time Andulmaion and Master Therin emerged from their rooms. Master Therin looked as if he’d had little rest in the night. Andulmaion wouldn’t quite meet her eyes; his posture was stiff and she began to feel embarrassed. Should she apologize for getting him into trouble with Master Therin? Did he hate her now? No sense in asking either of them about scrying or anchors now; she was not likely to get a straight answer. Unasked questions buzzed around her head, making it difficult for Analindë to sit still. Guilt started to edge in on her, but then that just made her feel angry. The mood in the room was such that breakfast was completed in silence.

Master Therin rose to leave. “I will be in council meetings all day. Analindë, you will attend your regular classes this morning and work on shielding with Andulmaion this afternoon. Andulmaion, see if you can finish your spell. We may have need of it. I have mentioned your newfound skill to the council and they have great interest in whether it can be used.” Gone was his anger from last night; today he was back to his normal self, except he looked more tired and spoke even less. He paused at the door. “Analindë, before you go to class could you please describe to Andulmaion the spell that killed your parents, what it felt like? This way he can recognize if one is being cast.” And then he was gone, making his way quickly down the tower stairs and to the council meeting that awaited. She sat still, unmoving. It was the first time he’d put it so bluntly. Killed. It was not a pretty word.

“There was not much to it.” She finally said to Andulmaion as she stared at the crumbs on her plate. “Just a welling of power, wave after wave, and then it burst, washing over me in a deluge. At that time I couldn’t have told you who had cast the spell. Even now I cannot tell you whether an elve or Human cast it, except that I saw no other elves and that Humans came out of my home quite happy and laughing at their success.” She started to shred the sweet roll on the serving plate into tiny bits with her fork. “I think that they were surprised that it worked.” She remembered the shocked elation on the Human wizard’s face.

Andulmaion reached out to hold her hand, but he changed the hold to an awkward pat at the last moment. “I am so sorry for your loss Analindë and apologize that you have to revisit those events in order help me.”

Analindë drew in a long breath, letting it calm her troubled heart, then breathed out a well of sorrow, letting it go, move on, away from her. “It is no matter Andulmaion. I would help you if I could.”

“Tell me about the power, and if you can, more about what the explosion felt like. If indeed I am called upon to help disable the humans, I need to know how to recognize when the spell is about to be triggered,” he replied.

“It happened slowly, just a subtle gathering of power. So there would be time for you to prepare. Actually, now that I think about it, from the very beginning the waves of Energy were powerful, for I could sense them back when I sensed not much of anything. At the time I thought that my parents were about to cast a spell. But the power felt different, and when I would have expected them to cast their spell, the waves of power kept growing bigger, and peaking higher, until it could grow no more. And then the explosion was exactly that. It was as if a bubble had been popped. The Energy dispersed in but a moment, scattering in a mere fraction of the time it had taken to be gathered. It was a long while later when I heard the laughing.

“After the casting I felt nothing abnormal, but my senses were not like they are now. I wonder that the wizard did not seem fatigued at all.” She put her fork down and looked over at Andulmaion. “Now that I think of it, shouldn’t his Energy have been used to fuel the spell?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he had the power or spell stored in some way. During ages past, when our ancestors went to war, it’s said that they gathered their power and stored it in precious stones. They carried the stones with them for use when there was great need and they had no more to give. Perhaps the Humans learned the technique from us. Or perhaps the ancient artifact that he carries does it for him.”

“Yes, that must be it; he couldn’t have managed it otherwise. Do you know how to work such spells?” She looked around the room at the innocuous looking stones embedded in the walls; she didn’t sense any power radiating from them, but she wondered.

He shook his head side to side, “No, I don’t. Perhaps the High Mages have such knowledge, but I haven’t yet learned it. Perhaps after completing my
tuvalië
they’ll share the information with me.”

Analindë nodded, “I hope that one day they do. May the Stars shine upon you and the Lady give you her light when you finally go. And may she watch over and protect you as you journey the path.”

They left the tower together, heading for class. When Andulmaion finally left her, turning off for his offensive spellwork class, Analindë changed directions, doubling back toward the library. Since she’d not been able to ask any questions of Master Therin or Andulmaion—she’d felt too guilty to ask him anything that might get him into further trouble— she was going to go find answers on her own. First she’d look for information about the void, anchoring, and scrying, and then perhaps, if she was lucky, she’d find a book about storing power in stones.

A Sword Sworn stood by watching students as they entered the library. Analindë didn’t care; word was not likely to make it back to Master Therin that she’d skipped class.

She ignored the now familiar tug from the second floor and the quiet chatter from the books she passed. She headed for the section on the third floor, most likely to hold books about scrying and the void, and began to hunt. She’d spent a lot of time in the library over the past several weeks, and books seemed to come to her a little more easily now. Despite this, none of the books about the void seemed to fit her needs. She finally gave up and began the hunt for a scrying book. A very short while later she found success.

She headed for a secluded corner of the floor where curious eyes wouldn’t bother her and where the babble from the shelves was muted, and glanced out the windows. A towering tree waved back and forth, blown by the wind. Turning away from the cold scene, she settled down to study at a table away from the windows where it was warm.

The book looked like it was from the fourth floor. It was bound in a curious kind of tooled leather which glistened under the sunlight. She wondered to what kind of animal it had belonged.

She opened the cover.
“An Apprentice’s Guide to Scrying,” by Lithilwen of the Northern Hills,
the ancient elvish script read. It was a practical step-by-step book that outlined the proper way to set the spell, from finding and assembling the correct materials to the exact words and intent that should be used.

According to the book, the easiest method of scrying involved a bowl with any kind of liquid poured within it, although clean water worked the best. The spell could also be cast by using a mirror or polished object that could reflect something, but this method was more difficult to use. The clearer the reflection to begin with, the easier it would be to cast the spell and the clearer the image would be when it appeared.

She was surprised to find that a mage could scry anyone or anything provided he had seen whatever they were scrying some time before. She just needed to have that first image to start the scrying session; then she could scry the surrounding area. She’d seen the Humans; she wondered why the council hadn’t ask her to help them when they scryed?

A slight variation of the spell allowed the caster to hear sound as well as see. It used more Energy, but when necessary, was worth the expense. ‘
Palan
’ the power word in the scrying spell, changed to ‘
Palan lastaqua
’
, meaning to hear and see.

Analindë eagerly committed the steps of the scrying spell to memory; she’d become very adept at memorizing knowledge during her many years of study. The skill she’d mastered long ago now served her well. As soon as she was confident that she knew the scrying steps forward and backward, she went to shut the book, then decided to leaf through the blank pages at the back. On the last page was scrawled:

To call her, say her name. Serethiel, Fanyarë-Tari.

Puzzled, Analindë flipped back through the entire book looking for the meaning of the words she’d read. Written in ancient elvish, she couldn’t quite make out the woman’s title. Fanyarë-Tari had something to do with clouds, but nothing in the scrying book had mentioned anything about clouds or even mists for that matter. Finding no other written comments in the book, she turned back to the last page.

Uneven and jerky in places, the hastily penned words flowed across the page. Elves prided themselves in the beauty created with the written word. Whoever had written these words had not cared about making sure the writing was perfect, but with making sure the message had made it onto the page.

She traced the lettering with her finger, saying the name aloud. “Serethiel, Fanyarë-Tari.” Lightning fast, an electric buzz zipped from the page up her arm. Confusing images flashed through her mind: a courtyard, a woman in loose flowing clothing, red hair. Her eyes widened in surprise. The words in front of her flared brightly, like embers as if they burned from the inside, then faded from the page. Within the space of two breaths, no trace of them was left except for the tingling in her arm. Even the images in her mind were fading, becoming fuzzy.

She unconsciously rubbed at the ache as she stared at the page. “I wonder who she was?” she whispered. She closed the book and studied it a moment longer before standing up to return it to the shelves. The book was old and looked as if it could have dated prior to the Elven Wars. “She must’ve been a powerful mage if she could hear you from simply saying her name.” Shaking her head, she placed the book back on the shelf and searched for another that would teach her about anchoring.

Three rows over and on the top shelf she found what she was looking for. It was a short book of instructions. This book was covered in supple brown leather; the words
“Grounding, Centering, & Anchoring”
were burned into the cover. Back at her reading spot she quickly leafed through the book. It reiterated the basics she’d already learned with Master Therin several weeks ago. Calm your breathing and thoughts, make your mind a place of order, and settle yourself firmly against the ground beneath you. She dove into the last section of the book. Anchoring. She carefully read and reread the sparse instructions.