Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (3 page)

It was rare that humans attacked elves; the last time had been about six hundred twenty years ago. They’d been at peace since then. Why had they attacked? What did they want? Why here? And why now?

She wondered if the humans were far enough away by now that she could go search the house for her family. She studiously avoided asking herself questions of why her parents had let the humans walk away. Her eyes smarted. She blinked furiously to make the wetness go away, then began to inch out of her crouch.

“They weren’t there,” a man grunted. She froze. The humans were just steps away from her window. She felt hot all over and her hands turned clammy.

“The elves couldn’t have hidden them. They didn’t know we were coming.” The woman’s gravelly voice reminded her of beginning music students, bows scratching awkwardly across strings.

“Obviously.” She could hear the sneer in the wizard’s tone.

“Maybe we were too close to the rubble for the compass to work,” the woman suggested. The human language sounded abrupt and disjointed to Analindë’s ears. It wasn’t lyrical and reminded her of the harsh things in life.

“Yeah, they’re–”

“They
were
here.” Arrogance oozed off the wizard in waves. “Gildhorn said the Mageborn Books would be in the west wing. Pity that it’s now blown to bits.”

Gildhorn!
Sadness washed over her. Why was he working with the humans? Seconds later an icy rage filled her. She inched closer so she wouldn’t miss a word.

“What do we do now?” the scratchy voice asked.

“We’ll have to find a way into the Mountain City. They have a set,” the brawny man said grimly.

“We’ll never make it past the city gates,” the woman whined.

“You doubt my abilities?” the wizard said.

“No, no of course not.” Shoe leather scraped against stone and gravel crunched. “You have proved yourself admirably.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” said the wizard. “Now, we have work to do. . . . There is still one left.”

Silence ensued.

“The daughter,” the wizard prompted.

“She could be anywhere.”

“They said she’d already left for the Harvest Festival,” said the brawny man. Analindë heard metal slide against metal, the sound of a sword being re-sheathed.

“No. She’s here,” the human wizard said. “Gildhorn checked this morning before we came. Besides this thing,” Analindë heard the tap of a fingernail against metal and the rattle of a chain, “is indicating that there’s still one more around. Once I figure out how to link to it properly–” His words stumbled to a halt. Analindë would have felt glad that the arrogant wizard had admitted he was unable to do something, if not for the meaning of what he’d said. Basically, the longer she stayed around, the more likely she was to get caught. She thought of the great house and wondered how much time she’d have to search for her family.

“We’ll never find her,” the gravelly voice said.

“We’ll find her, don’t worry. After that,” the wizard paused, “She won’t hide from us. She’ll come to us. All the while wondering what has happened.”

“Let’s split up and sweep the village. She could already be here,” the brawny man said.

“Yes, of course,” the wizard drawled. “Quite good at stating the obvious, aren’t you.” Analindë almost felt sorry for the man, almost.

“Henry, you should set up . . . ” their voices drifted out of range.
Blvaren
! She wanted to know what they were planning.

She waited until she couldn’t hear their footfalls any longer, then counted to ten. Hoping that the humans would be out of sight, Analindë eased up and gazed out the window while working the stiffness out of her knees. Her eyes roved over her home, studying it, checking the windows for a sign or signal. She felt a pain in her chest and willed it away. The only reason the humans would have walked back out of the great house alone was if her family had been unable to stop them. Were they lying injured somewhere? She turned away from the view, heading for the door, and ignored the spot deep inside her, next to the ache in her chest that hinted they were dead.

She blinked away thoughts of Riian’s body torn open from the woman’s sword. Had there been fresh blood on it when the humans had left the great house? She frowned. She couldn’t remember.

Feeling brash, Analindë glanced the way the humans had gone, then darted across the courtyard toward the closest corner of her home. She crawled through an open window into the receiving room and silently wove her way past wreckage while searching for any sign of her family. The room had been upended. Portraits—ripped from the walls—lay scattered and tables were tipped over. She scanned the room as she walked to the doorway, ducking to look under and behind chaises, tables, and couches.

The Mageborn Books,
she mulled. Weren’t they elvenlore? Fifty years studying history and she’d never seen a hint of the books actually existing. Scarce rumors about them flitted about like the ones about dragons, yes. But the books existing in reality, no. She looked back at the room with sadness before she entered the hall and strode to the entryway, then to the sitting rooms, the morning room and dining room, the music room and the council room—which she’d never entered before—and the kitchen.

Nothing.

As Analindë’s search progressed, rising anger and worry battled within her. Her spirits flagged, and the hope that her family had dragged themselves away somewhere safe began to dim.

She shook herself mentally and jerked away from the anguish. They had to still be here, it wasn’t possible. Three fully-trained elven mages against a few measly humans? Everyone knew that any
one
elven mage was several times more powerful than any number of human wizards put together.

In growing disbelief, Analindë frantically threaded her way through the disaster that was her parent’s bedroom, over-turned chairs and tables, strewn bedding, books of poetry flung across the room, broken glass crunched underfoot. She shied away from the loveseat her parents sat in during their winter night discussions and screamed aloud, “Where are you?”

Silence answered.

Her chin trembled, “Why did you leave me?” She whispered, wounded. Her eyes fluttered shut as she heard a block of stone break away from her home, whoosh down, and then crash and tumble against other stones in the great pit where the west wing had once stood.

It didn’t take her long to search her entire home. She’d gone through the small and great receiving rooms, the gathering room, the pantry and cellars, the breakfast nook, the bedrooms, the conservatories, the guest towers, the inner courtyard, and the back passageways and hiding rooms, yet she found no clue as to where her family was or what had happened. There was neither blood nor bodies to give her closure. Certainly she should have found something?

All of the books in the great house were gone, except a few books of elven poetry that had been torn apart and thrown across her parent’s room. The humans hadn’t carried any books when they’d left the house, but they
had
performed a number of spells. . . . Analindë recoiled. The humans had stolen their books!

Her anger quickly subsided into sorrow as she realized the books had most likely been destroyed during their search. The humans were only interested in one set of books. The Mageborn books.

She mildly wondered if her parents had known that they’d had a copy? Impossibly her heart sank once again, deepening the hollow part inside of her that ached.

Analindë trudged back out of her parent’s room for the second time to the end of a hallway on the third floor. A gaping hole overlooked where the west wing of the great house should have been. She ran her fingers along the jagged tears in the stone. The remaining stones clung valiantly to their perches, holding up the rest of the floor and surrounding walls.

They were gone. She slumped. . . . Dead? . . . No, they couldn’t be. She slumped further. Truth stared bleakly at her.

If they were alive, they would not have left her.

Analindë scrutinized the scorched barren earth where the foundation had been blasted from the ground. A feeling of not quite rightness settled into the back of her mind. Of course it wasn’t right. She brushed the feeling aside. Frozen in grief, her thoughts had space for only one thing.

She was alone.

Loss overwhelmed her.

Her family? Gone.

The books which had been carefully passed down from generation to generation through the millennia? Gone.

Her home and safe haven? Gone.

The corners of her mouth forced themselves down as images flashed through her mind. Glendariel lying face down in a pool of her own blood, her husband’s broken body lying in the herb garden. Riian’s sad but smiling face as he kissed her on the forehead then walked away, the empty house, her family nowhere to be found. Her heart felt as if it would break in two; silent tears streamed down her face. Another block of stone shifted, then fell from the house, landing below with a crash. The sound startled her from the mindless fog that had trapped her.

She turned away from the horrible sight and meandered through her father’s study where he’d transcribed his notes and spent his leisure time reading. She trailed fingers along the cool leather of his favorite chaise and remembered the countless evenings she’d spent watching him catalog his work and the discoveries he’d made. Gone.

She turned angrily from the room and scrubbed the wetness from her face with a sleeve.

Humans.
She scowled.

The Mageborn Books. A bitter feeling grew within her. . . .

Gildhorn!

Betrayed.

Gildhorn was the formal name given to the leader of the elves living in the southeastern lands bordering the trade river. Her stomach churned and something within her hardened. They’d been betrayed not just by one of their own but by one who held power.

Bitterness grew to anger, then flamed into revenge before all three feelings mixed together. “I need to get out of here.” She spun around, stiff with fury. Wishing she knew how to farspeak, she stalked out of the room, glancing out of windows as she went. How much time did she have before the Humans returned? Anger made her blind to everything around her as she sped toward the back of the house. Thoughts catapulted around her head as she hurried down the back stairs. She focused intently so that her rage did not overtake her.

Where to go?
She wondered as she zipped down the last flight of stairs. She’d need to pack food. Enough to last at least two weeks. She flung the kitchen door open in front of her and stumbled to a halt at the disastrous sight that met her eyes. Having been blind to it before while searching for traces of her family, she wasn’t prepared to actually see the fine details of destruction. The rest of the house was in similar shape. But this sight was enough to push her even further over the edge. All of her mother’s fine china had been dashed to pieces. Bits of the beautiful porcelain lay scattered across the floor, so lay the crystal, and the drinking glasses. Even the silverware had been bent out of shape, some of which had been rammed into the walls. The place was a mess.

She shook off her shock, pushed her wounded feelings to the side, and tensely moved into the room. Careful not to cut herself, she skirted her way across the kitchen intent on seeing if any of the food stores were left intact. But then she paused, first in confusion and then in surprise. One cupboard in the room remained closed.

“Oh please, let it still work.” She dashed the rest of the way across the room. Inside the cupboard was an archaic messaging system that had fallen out of use ages ago, too blunt, indiscrete, and obvious for everyday use. It operated with an absolute lack of nuance unless you had the mastery to control it and send a more complex message. It had no subtlety at all since it broadcast widely, which happened to be a strength, not a weakness, in her situation. It’s most important feature? The feature that had ensured that it was installed in every home built during wars past? It was simple enough for even a child to use. A tool created in a time of war so that anyone could send word no matter the skill level.

“It must have been hiding,” she whispered reverently as she ran her fingers along the smooth light-colored wood, searching for the catch. She’d never dared to open it before and she now hoped the device hadn’t been gutted or disabled.

She carefully pressed an inset piece of wood and the door popped ajar. She drew the door open and looked inside at the board. Words and numbers were carved along the top half of the space and jeweled stones of various colors were embedded directly to their left. The bottom half of the space was covered by a blank sheet of copper where her message would appear as she composed it. She hoped it worked.

She let out the breath that she’d been holding, reached out, then softly trailed her finger along the name of her home which had been carved into the top of the board, Lindënolwë
. Lindënolwë
began to glow softly. Then the copper sheeting shifted so that Lindënolwë was now etched into the soft metal below.
Thank the ancestor’s thoughtfulness and planning
,
her heart eased, and she quickly thought through the rest of the message she wanted to send.