Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (31 page)

“Ah, I see you’re girded up for battle.”

Analindë nodded gracefully. “As you see.”

Andulmaion’s wry grin gave her courage. “Good luck then.”

“Thank you.” She grinned in response, then sealed the shields behind her and padded down the tower stairs.

Most young women paid such particular attention while dressing in order to attract the attention of elven men. Or to impress one man in particular. This morning Analindë dressed to impress a woman. One woman.

Two days ago Analindë had learned—much to her amazement—that Master Harwyn was actually impressed by the styling of one’s hair. She’d realized from comments pieced together from her classmates that Master Harwyn strictly gauged her students worthiness to attend her class by how much power they wielded, indicated by their hair. And how they dressed, indicating their rank or breeding.

Analindë’s simple braids had most likely aggravated Master Harwyn. She didn’t expect much from her change in appearance, but she did hope that it would at least soften the older professor’s attitude toward her.

She slipped down the hidden passageway to her class and hummed a tune. She knew how to move gracefully and behave graciously; her mother had drilled it into her until the right words and correct movements had become second nature.

But the trauma last autumn had shaken her. Although it had given her a bit of steel to her backbone, she’d slipped into a less formal way of behaving and dressing. Her mother would not have approved.

She still remembered how to act, so she’d dusted off her old habits, moved some of her nicer dresses from the back of her armoire to the front, and then set out to win Master Harwyn over with the finesse polished beneath her mother’s attentive yet critical eye.

She exited the passageway and stepped, not too quickly yet not slowly, to the classroom. She’d arrived early on purpose and chose a seat along the far wall. She sat, spine graceful but rigid, with her hands placed gently on the desktop before her. Analindë didn’t miss the searching glance that Master Harwyn sent her, nor the surprised looks she received from her fellow students.

Poised and ready to act her part. She smiled politely and nodded her greetings to the few students who had begun to acknowledge her over the past couple of weeks while waiting for class to begin.

Analindë felt a friendly swirl of Energy sit down near her and turned to meet the icy blue eyes of the blonde haired woman who’d first spoken to her outside of the hidden passageway. “Savöwen, greetings this morning.”

The stars in her eyes danced, her face a polite mask as she replied, “Greetings of the sky returned to you.” Savöwen assumed a posture similar to Analindë’s and turned to quietly greet the student on the other side of her.

Moments later, the only two men in the class slipped into the room together. Their joking laughter contrasted sharply against the quiet restraint of the other students. By the time the men had slipped into their seats they’d caught sight of Analindë. Their blatant perusal of her new look made her uncomfortable and the tips of her ears began to burn. She glanced away, embarrassed.

“Gentlemen!” Rothair and Verdûr whipped around, straightening in their seats. “If you have yet finished ogling the young lady we’ll proceed with today’s instruction.” Deafening silence filled the room. This was not going to be good. Analindë forced her fingers to lie still, quelling the urge to fidget.

“Rothair.” The red haired elve’s jaw dropped in astonishment. If only for the moment, Master Harwyn had found a new victim. “Explain to me the advantages of using
medothoro
and in which cases you wouldn’t use it.” The young man blanched and began to stumble through an explanation. He obviously hadn’t spent much time on the assigned reading having never been on the list of not-favorites before now.

Master Harwyn prowled around the room as Rothair spoke; no one moved for fear that she’d pounce on them next. Analindë ignored his half-wrong explanation and let her eyes slip to the side to study her new semi-friend. Savöwen of Ilmarinessë. Her family had remained neutral during the Elven Wars, refusing to actively work against or assist one faction over another. They were a family of great power. As healers they’d been allowed to remain planted firmly in the middle of the war without choosing sides.

Savöwen was a powerful healer and Analindë wondered if the blonde haired beauty had masked her Energy and skills to hide her abilities like she had.

Similar to Andulmaion, Savöwen had been slated to begin her
tuvalië
last autumn, but had been retained at school by her mentor until the current situation became more stable. Her mentor had asked Savöwen to follow Master Harwyn’s course to—in his words—keep her skills up. In actuality, he wanted to keep her busy so she didn’t have much time to come up with reasons for him to let her leave.

Analindë realized, as her thoughts rambled to an end, that the room was silent. And that it had been so for quite some time. A flash of cold moved over her and her breath caught.

Had Master Harwyn asked her a question while her mind had wandered?

Without turning her head she slid her eyes around to locate the professor. Her spine sagged momentarily in relief when she caught sight of Master Harwyn glaring down at the student sitting on the other side of Savöwen. Master Harwyn’s arms were crossed, fingers tapped expectantly against her sleeves. Tense silence blanketed the room and icy rigidity held the students in place.

“I– . . . I’m s–sorry Master Harwyn, it will never happen again.” The young woman, previously out of danger, had just risen high on the list of least-favorites. What had she done? A blue light flashed on the young woman’s desk and Analindë flinched.

“See that you don’t.” The young woman slumped down into her chair and nodded, which must have been enough of a response since Master Harwyn immediately began to circle once more.

A quiet rustle of sound moved through the room as students remembered to breathe. “Where were we? Oh yes, Esgar’s Principle. Linselwen,” she paused to look down at the black haired, topaz eyed girl that had been the first to block Analindë’s access to the board that second day in class. “You will tell us the process of how Esgar discovered that
Asealōné
affects the subconscious mind and then describe the ramifications of his discovery.”

Linselwen cleared her throat and began a monologue that would proceed for the rest of class. “It all began just prior to the outbreak of the Elven Wars.” Her voice was strong and would have been pleasant to the ear except for the overtones of conceit that laced her words.

“The younger sons, and daughters I might add, had grown stifled from years of oppression.” An uncomfortable stir moved around the room. Linselwen’s words identified her quite clearly as being on the side of the rebellion. Analindë carefully glanced around the room, taking in the expressions on the faces around her. She saw outrage, pity, sympathy, and fear. Only a few wore calm masks that betrayed nothing and she wondered to which side their loyalties belonged.

“When Esgar discovered that
Asealōné
influences the subconscious and that he was able to persuade his older brother to be fairer and more considerate in his decisions, he was joyful.”

Persuade? Manipulate or subvert would be more accurate. But joyful was right. Esgar had used the drug to strip his brother of his birthright and kick him out of the home where his ancestors had lived for unnumbered generations.

Esgar’s treachery had been discovered after his older brother had been found by a healer. Savöwen’s great-grandmother’s great-grandmother to be exact. Esgar’s older brother had been weeks in healing. And by the time he’d regained the faculties of his mind, the damage to the brothers’ relationship had solidified and no forgiveness was given.

It hadn’t taken long for use of the drug to become widespread. Its use became one of the major triggers that had catapulted the Realm into the Elven Wars, where brother fought against brother.

“It showcases that people can be driven to do horrible things.” At least Linselwen acknowledged that what Esgar had done was wrong, Analindë thought as the haughty young woman continued. “But, if the elder brothers would have shared their heritage more fairly and evenly it never would have happened.”

Analindë was astounded at Linselwen’s complete lack of understanding and rolled her eyes. The inheritance laws were clear; the eldest or most powerful inherited. However, there was always room for exceptions. Her parents had been only children, and since her mother’s heritage had held more power, her father had come to live with her mother. Either Riian or herself could claim their father’s lands should they choose to do so. . . . Riian. Her heart clenched.

He’d never claim anything.

If he’d lived–.

He hadn’t. . . . But if he’d lived and they’d both decided to stay near the place she’d called home then her rights would be equal to her power.

Riian would inherit, but she also would have had all rights to use any and all knowledge and resources of the estate if she’d had the strength and ability to do so. Even her brother would have been ruled by the same rights. If he hadn’t had enough power, he would simply be denied the use of things he was not strong enough to wield.

Not by any person, but denied the right by the house itself. If he chose to leave, he was free to do so and the birthright would fall to the next in line or be held in trust should no one be there to take his place. It had always been thus.

And if by chance they’d both stayed at home and they hadn’t wanted to share, Analindë could have raised her own tower or home which would have been an extension of the first in all ways, except that it would belong solely to Analindë.

The problems arose when younger siblings coveted the elder’s abilities and couldn’t match them. If they’d been strong enough they would have had what they wanted. But they hadn’t.

After Esgar had driven his brother from home and yet the house still would not answer to him, he’d become filled with rage. That rage drove him until he was slaughtered during The Battle of Twilight Falls, which was a decisive and bloody battle marking a turning point of the war.

War.

Would they go to war again? The laws had been changed to allow more freedom and great concessions had been made. One of the concessions was that elves could now settle outside of the major cities. Not many had grasped the opportunity; it took a lot of power to hold the land. Analindëssë, her namesake, had done so.

Analindëssë hadn’t fought on the side of the rebellion, but as soon as the new laws were in place, she’d acted. Promptly vacating The Eastern Desert City, she established a house high up in the Mountains of Lóresse as far away from the poisonous intrigue as she could manage. She’d had enough power to lay claim to and hold enough land to make sure her isolated valley remained isolated. She’d been happy in the calming wilds of Lóresse, and her descendents had remained there ever since.

Analindë’s thoughts were interrupted by a particularly loud, “And so, we see that even though Esgar had the ability to control another person, he had no right to do so.” One of the old books Analindë had studied had hinted that toward the end of the war the rebels had begun to use the drug on each other.

One of the other laws established after the great war was that anyone caught in possession of the drug would be stripped of all rights and be imprisoned immediately, pending judgment and execution. A harsh sentence for a heinous crime. “But that when viewed from a broader perspective, Esgar’s intent could be judged as–”

“That will be all Linselwen, our time runs short, yet we thank you for your most interesting description of
Asealōné
and Esgar’s Principle.”

Analindë kept her polite society mask clamped in place as she wondered what side Master Harwyn’s ancestors had fought on and why the professor had let the biased commentary run for so long with no correction.

“Class dismissed.”

“For example, chamomile tea,” said Master Roshär, her Potions Professor.

“What do you have if you break it down to its most basic component? Chamomile.” Master Roshär wore his auburn hair short because he said he couldn’t be bothered to style it. His eyes were golden and radiated excitement. Analindë leaned forward expectantly. Whenever Master Roshär’s eyes began to gleam like that they were in for a treat.

“What is an ingredient? Why specify different ingredients at all if it doesn’t matter what you put into a concoction? Yes, Pedar? By the way, it’s good to have you back,” he grinned.

Her human-loving, flying friend spoke, “Because specific ingredients retain inherent characteristics from the moment they begin to take shape. And as you layer them together they form a foundation on which you build.”

“Very good. And who can tell us the characteristics of chamomile?” He pulled a long rectangular case out from under the counter and placed it on the table. Good, today was a show and tell lesson. She grinned in anticipation and leaned even closer.

He tapped the case once on the top and twice on its sides and it unfolded itself to reveal a row of glass containers filled with dried chamomile blossoms. “Elinessë.” He called on the young elve next to Analindë. She was one of the forest elves from along the southern border.