The Analinde Trilogy: The Loresse Collections, #1

By Lyssa EmBee

An enchanting tale of adventure, magic, and courage.

Analindë is a strong elven mage just new into her powers. When her village is attacked by Humans, she races to the nearest elvish stronghold to give warning. Unfortunately, once she reaches safety things don't go as planned.

Her magic is causing problems, she doesn't know who she can trust, and no one will tell her anything. The traitors are just one step behind her, and she doesn't know where to turn.

All she wants is for life to go back to normal, but this is impossible.

Will she pursue the magical potential she sees all around her? Or will she allow herself to be sheltered, protected and kept out of harm's way?

This collection was originally published in 2013, and includes the following books:

1. Powers of a Mage
2. Oaths from the Past
3. The Void

• Language: English
• Publisher: Biabe Publishing
• Release date: Jan 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393351771

Book preview

Chapter One

Analindë’s hands slid over the smooth bark and the knobby bits of a giant aspen tree as she scampered her way up to the top. Happy, she hummed a tune as she climbed. As it soughed through the branches surrounding her, wind tousled the hair escaping her long black braid. Fat yellow leaves brushed against each other, adding a soothing percussive counterpoint to her improvised melody.

She loved her home. The tiny age-old village of Lindënolwë was tucked deep within the Mountains of Lóresse. The peaceful valley which cradled the village was rimmed by tall, craggy peaks. Densely forested foothills abutted steep scrub-covered slopes. Pine trees, millennia old, grew straight, tall and so wide that it took thirty paces to circle around the trunks of most trees. Groves of aspens were interspersed among the pines, their golden leaves knocked against each other in the gentle autumn breeze.

Loving the way she was enveloped in the sea of gold, Analindë watched the moving leaves as she hoisted herself up onto the next branch. She looked to the sky; dusk wasn’t afar off. She inhaled deeply—filling her lungs with that crisp, clean scent which comes only when the leaves change color and days grow short—before resuming her climb upward.

She loved these shorter days because they brought longer nights. Longer nights meant cozy evenings spent with her family, lost in deep discussions of the topic of the day. Tonight, just after dinner they were going to outline and discuss theoretical machinations behind the divisive civil wars throughout Elven history. Not one of her favorite topics, but she would enjoy the evening nonetheless. She loved the way the fire crackled in the grate while her family chatted and sipped cups of hot chocolate; she loved the way her parents considered her thoughts and ideas as equally as they did Riian’s (meaning that her parents challenged his ideas just as much as hers); but most of all she loved how her parents would snuggle up to each other on the couch in her father’s den, well-contented to be amongst family. Analindë always reveled in the pervasive sense of belonging that knit them together.

Last night they’d discussed the folklore surrounding an ancient Elven Mage Master named Olwë. He had risen to great power very quickly, which was much more common back then than it was now. Olwë had gained such a mastery over the varying branches of study that books and tools would call to him, pledging their aid when he had need for them. The discussion had been spirited, with Analindë siding with mother and Riian siding with father. The men had called them hopeless dreamers, stating that for the most part spells and weaves didn’t work that way and that the lore surrounding the great Master had been trumped up to ridiculous proportions. Analindë had exchanged knowing looks with her mother; surely anything was possible when Energy work was involved.

She paused for a brief moment and studied the branches along her chosen route. They looked like they’d hold her weight. She pulled herself up over a thick branch, twisted around to the left, deftly grabbed the next limb and swung herself up. She had no idea what her mother planned to do with the aspen twigs that she’d been tasked with collecting, but she was happy to gather them if it kept her in good graces. It had taken years of begging to gain permission to begin Mage Studies. Most of the young adults her age had begun their studies decades ago. Why her family had to do things differently she’d never understand. She’d been ecstatic when her mother had relented, allowing her to begin. She wasn’t about to mess things up now, even though she didn’t understand the rationale behind the task.

Using Energy wasn’t as easy as her family had made it appear and she was determined to prove to herself that she was up to the task. She’d not complained when her father had set her to practicing a strengthening spell, a near impossible task, nor when her mother had tasked her with solving several books worth of the most complex logic puzzles she’d ever come across. She hadn’t complained earlier and she wasn’t going to start now. If her mother wanted her to do something as simple as collect new growth twigs from the giant aspens, then she’d do it.

Using Energy was hard work. Today’s work was hard and dirty. She briefly rubbed at the dirt smeared across the back of her left hand before swinging up to the next branch. Her thoughts circled back around to her current task—running errands for her mother.

Her mother had filled the weeks away from school with lessons and errands. She wasn’t quite sure how running these errands fit in with Mage Studies unless the task was to teach her diligence and patience.

Our family has always used breaks from school for learning. It’s how we become skilled so quickly. Her mother’s voice rattled through her mind and Analindë wondered if she was lucky or not, that her parents had finally relented just before the summer break. Her mother had ignored Analindë’s pleas to start her studies after the summer break, and it had only been her brother Riian’s smirks and the fear that her parents would change their minds about her starting Energy work at all that had eventually sealed her lips shut.

It irked her slightly that mother had been right. She had learned a lot during the past several weeks. Even so, she would have rather spent her summer clambering about the mountainside enjoying nature, than complete the tasks her parents had given her. At least she’d been able to scramble around and take great pleasure from being in the forest today.

She paused for a brief moment to catch her breath and felt a grin spread across her face. The branches had begun to thin in the tree she was climbing, and she could see quite a distance. She looked out into the forest around her, enjoying the dance of golden leaves on the wind, as she thought back on her experiences of the summer. It hadn’t all been dreary, mindless tasks. On a good day, when things clicked into place, and if she remained very still, she could feel energies flowing within whatever she worked upon. The flow of Energy was a glorious feeling and made her so happy inside. She secretly hoped that she’d always feel that excitement and never become jaded as she sensed some of her parents’ friends had long since become.

She searched for an accessible perch near this year’s newest growth. Sighting a spot, she edged out onto a limb and the tree swayed gently beneath her. A breeze played with the hair that had escaped her braid, tossing it into her face. She tucked the loose strands behind her arched ears and reached into her shoulder pack. Pulling out a well-honed knife, she deftly cut off a few twigs, each about the length of her hand, then tucked them and the knife away. Again, she wondered what her mother was going to do with the bits of wood; her mother always asked for the oddest things.

Analindë shook her head, smiling wryly as she edged back toward safety. The wind gusted, the branch swayed beneath her, and her heart soared. She loved the wind.

A moment later the strong breeze quickly died down, unnaturally still. Analindë paused, alertly looking around. Something was wrong.

Moments later, a powerful wave of Energy washed over her in pulse-like fashion. Prickles raced across her skin as the hair along the nape of her neck stood on end. The wind picked back up, shifting dangerously. Energy hung heavy enough in the air that even she—barely new into studying mage craft—could sense it without trying. Frightened, she scrambled toward firmer footing and a more sure grip on the tree. She grabbed hold just in time. Wind gusted to life, shifting into a turbulent burst.

The wind raged past her and the top of the tree bent sideways in pursuit, leaving her to dangle like a pennant snapping in a storm. Terrified, it was all she could do to keep her grip from slipping. Her hands ached as she swung back and forth.

Sobbing and afraid, she wished she could haul herself closer to safety. But she’d been caught off guard and her grip was wrong. The roar of the wind whipped past her; too frightened, she closed her eyes and wondered how much longer she’d be able to hold on.

Abruptly, the rush of air quieted and slowed. The tree swung back upright, swaying as eerie oppressiveness blanketed the forest. As the breeze stopped completely, she stifled her whimpers and attempted to smooth the hitch in her breathing. Shivering, she did her best to regain her footing, then nervously unclenched her hold on the branch.

She slithered down the tree as quickly as her clumsy movements would allow, completely shaken by what had just happened. Her ears buzzed and her sight wasn’t quite right; adrenaline thrummed through her.

What in the stars had just happened? Analindë wondered. The wind and the Energy pulse had come from the direction of the village.

She didn’t know what had happened. And at that moment, she didn’t care to know. She simply wanted to reach the firm, solid ground beneath her without delay. In a hurry, she didn’t notice that the stillness had shifted. Neither did she notice the prickles that had resumed position on her skin, nor the individual hairs practically standing on end all the way up her arms, past her neck, and onto her scalp.

Analindë was half-way down the tree when the wind pulsed back to life with a snarl so fierce that the tops of the trees bent sideways again without the slightest bit of resistance. Not flexible enough to outlast the strength of the micro-burst, branches cracked and splintered violently around her and throughout the surrounding forest. She closed her eyes and gripped the trunk tightly as her head spun. It wasn’t the roar of the wind or the fact that she was dangling over the ground that made her dizzy, it was the oppressive squashing sensation in her head. Right here, right now, she was going to die. She knew it. Either she’d fall to her death, or whatever spell had been cast in the valley would finish her off.

Thick Energy was swirling around her, but there was nothing she could do about it, she didn’t understand. So she turned her focus toward the task of not falling. With single-mindedness, she trained her attention on the swaying trunk above her, determined not to let go. She used the momentum of her swinging body to pull herself close enough to swing one leg up and around the trunk. A moment later, the other leg followed. She roared a hoarse cry as she pulled herself up to hug the tree trunk with all her might. It was not a moment too soon.

The pressure of the Energy surrounding her pulsed. Silence descended oppressively around her as the wind continued to rage.

Limbs bent, wood splintered, leaves fluttered violently.

Yet, she heard no sound.

She shuddered.

The silence was more than not hearing. It was an absence of resonance and all that went with it. It was a cloying deafness that pressed. Her skin prickled and her apprehension rose.

Something tugged at her from the direction of the village, pulling her against the wind. It was as if a rope-like band of Energy had looped itself around her chest and arm, cinching itself taut. She wrapped her arms and legs tighter around the tree trunk, but her grip slipped anyway.

Afraid, she wildly craned her neck around, searching. How far was it to the ground?

Not close enough.

The pulling sensation coming from the direction of the village did not yank or jerk at her, but simply grew stronger. It towed her from safety, while drawing at her steadily. She cried out in fear—or at least she would have, but no sound passed her lips—when she realized she’d let go of the trunk and had flung her left arm out toward home. The only thing keeping her in the tree was her right arm and leg, which were hooked around the tree trunk. Her muscles ached as she resisted. It felt as if her arms were going to be ripped off her body, torn from their shoulder sockets.

She grimaced as the Energy connection pulling at her stretched thin, broke, then snapped back with a wallop, catapulting her from her perch. The blustery wind softened as she crashed downward. Bouncing from branch to branch, she fell until a large one caught her in the middle with an oomph.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t think.

Oh, she hurt!

Her scout pack swung wildly below her, pulling her off balance. Still stunned and unable to stop the momentum, she slid off the limb and hit the loamy earth with a silent thud.

Unnaturally loud, the hum of the forest rushed in to fill the previous void.

It was the birds chirping overhead that finally broke through the foggy haze in her mind. She wasn’t sure what hurt worse; the pain radiating through her body, or the pulsing throb in her left arm where the spell had recoiled.

What was that? Analindë muttered into the rich soil. She rolled onto her back, panting for a few moments before gingerly reaching up to brush dirt and bits of bark off her face.

She contemplated lying still for the rest of her life; it hurt too much to move.

She thought of Riian, her older brother, who had recently returned from his tuvalië and wondered if he was responsible for the backlash. He’d been so full of himself since he’d been back, strutting around like he owned the place, trying new spells, reading the books in her father’s locked cabinet, and experimenting with spells of which they’d only ever dreamed. Just because he’d traveled around on his own for three years and handled real-life problems and issues while honing his skills didn’t mean anything.

Well, actually it did. She frowned.

He really had learned a lot while he was gone. Even mother had thought he’d done well, which was saying something. Analindë slowly stretched side to side feeling out her aches and pains. It didn’t feel like anything was broken.

She’d live.

Analindë relaxed and focused on her breathing, willing the pain to recede.

The moment that band of Energy had snapped back on itself, she’d recognized the disturbance in the forest for what it was. A backlash. She’d never felt one quite like this and wondered if Riian needed help.

It was obviously Riian’s. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s. Since he’d been back, the peaceful valley hadn’t been the same. Fortunately, the isolated mountain village was the perfect place for mages to work with Energy, because if any major spell went awry, the devastation wouldn’t harm many people. Riian’s spells often went awry. That was why she knew the backlash was his. To whom else would it belong?

Analindë wondered how much damage had resulted this time. This shock wave had been significantly stronger than when he’d attempted to locate the mythic mountain dryads earlier in the summer. That time the trees had pulsed slightly from the released energies, but only his maps had incinerated and his workshop been gutted. He’d then proceeded to sulk for a month. Oh, how she had missed her brother while he’d been gone. She grinned.

Riian was probably fine, the parents were there to help him. They had put safeguards in place and would take care of him. She shook her arm, attempting to lessen the painful throb, and then sat up with a grunt.

So far, so good.

Analindë thought about the last time she’d fallen out of a tree, fifty-seven years ago, and felt her cheeks flush. She would never hear the end of it if Riian found out about today’s mishap; never mind that it was his fault she’d fallen.

She clambered to her feet, brushed stray leaves and dirt from her clothes, and rolled her shoulders. It appeared that the worst of her injuries would be bruises and aching shoulders. She readjusted her scout pack and transferred the twigs she’d harvested to the bag of plants lying on the ground. She wondered what type of spell Riian had botched as she absently rubbed the spot on her arm where the backlash had recoiled.

To be fair, she’d admit that he was quite good at what he did, and he seemed to be learning and adapting to his mistakes. She looked up at the branch she’d fallen from and rolled her shoulders again, stretching out the aches. It had been nice to have him back; he didn’t tease her half as much since he’d finished school at Mirëdell and he really did know his Energy work. So, if she had to put up with the occasional backlash or fall from a tree to have him around, that was fine. It was definitely better to have him around, than to not have him around. She only worried now because he was experimenting with advanced spell weaving, which was dangerous. And today, something had gone terribly wrong.

Anxious thoughts of Riian swirled through her mind as she shook her arm again. Maybe she’d better go home. Analindë shouldered the plant bag, it swung around and bounced against her scout pack. She turned and a moment later was headed off down a deer track through the forest at a brisk walk. The path toward the village was strewn with broken branches and mounds of scattered leaves, forcing her to dodge piles as she went.

A short while later, the babble of a nearby brook pulled her from her musings. This was likely the last time she’d come this way before returning to school. Could she spare a few moments for a brief stop or should she continue home? Her longing to see her favorite hideaway won out.

She left the trail and wove between the trees. Gurgling water enveloped her in a wash of sound. Nestled up against a towering pine was a sun warmed sitting rock. Her sitting rock. Five steps away, a cascading brook—bordered by ferns—was hemmed in by moss-covered stepping-stones. A small pool formed at the base of the last fall where fish swam and eddies swirled leaves in rich, golden patterns. The misting water continued on past the sitting rock, winding its way through the forest and eventually out of the valley.

Compelled by longstanding habit, she crouched down next to the towering pine, reached out to touch the rough sticky bark, and frowned in concentration.

Grow swift and strong, straight and true. She pushed Energy from her center in order to back the words she’d spoken. A dull ache formed behind her eyes. Her neck muscles tensed as she attempted to slip into magesight. Were those puny sparks of yellow really sputtering from her fingertips or was she seeing things again? She pushed harder and the minuscule sparkles died out.

Oh, what’s the use? She stood abruptly and then readjusted the two packs she carried. Working with energies was difficult; sensing them was even more complex, and this afternoon she no longer had the patience or strength to contemplate doing either.

She was tired, achy and she still had a lot to do before the sun fell. Hesitating just a moment, she frowned. Then obedient daughter that she was, she plunked herself down onto the ground, legs folded in front of her, palms up on her knees, eyes closed, and breathed deeply three times—the minimum required by her mother after she’d attempted to work Energy—then she stood back up. She really didn’t have time to dawdle. Tomorrow morning, her parents were going to activate a portal to transport their family and the two remaining villagers to the Harvest Festival in Mirëtasarë and she hadn’t packed yet. Better get going, she thought as she approached the river bank. Four mages were usually required to activate a portal, but her parents were powerful and they’d manage with just the two of them. Analindë wondered if she’d ever be that powerful, then realized that if she ever voiced that question aloud her mother would assign her a dozen tasks to keep herself occupied with more appropriate thoughts.

She sighed and rubbed a grubby, sappy palm against her leg, then wondered if her family would have to delay their departure. They’d probably wait for a day or two, just long enough to clean up Riian’s latest debacle and miss the best parts of the festival. She massaged her throbbing left arm for a moment before turning to cross the brook. Stepping lightly across the moss-covered stones jutting out of the water, she looked back one last time to engrave the tranquil scene on her mind. She studied the graceful sweep of the brook and how submerged rocks enhanced the play of water, then turned her gaze to the gentle ferns and proud trees lining the water’s banks.

A violet-breasted bird caught her eye as it swooped down from the sky, landing in the pool with a splash. It rose again, a small trout clutched in its talons. Water sprayed from the beautiful bird’s wings as it laboriously climbed back into the sky. She followed the bird’s flight, then gasped. Behind it she saw smoke.

Fire.

She tracked the menacing black smoke in the sky toward earth until treetops blocked her view. It was coming from the village. Horror quickly replaced curiosity. Stars, what had happened?

Analindë dashed across the remaining stones and pushed through the underbrush. She found a smooth track that had been used for thousands of years to cut through the woods, clutched the plant bag to her chest, and ran.

She quickly passed through a growth of young trees, then entered a section of forest filled with pines older than her parents and tall enough to touch the sky. Not as many branches had fallen to the ground on this stretch of the track so she lengthened her stride and practically flew along the forest floor.

A shout followed by an unintelligible scream quickened her already harried pace; unease wound up her spine as her mind raced. Her footsteps thudded unusually loud in the quiet forest. She’d released the plant bag from her arms and it now bounced awkwardly against her hip, slowing her down. She stopped to stuff the bag under a protruding root, vowing to come back for it later, then quickly resumed her headlong flight along the path.

Analindë was truly worried now; she panicked as she ran. Different scenarios flashed through her mind. The spell Riian had been working on, ending in explosion; her mother’s workshop on fire from a complex chemistry experiment gone wrong: surely there was nothing that could catch fire in her father’s conservatory beyond his books? She didn’t think he was breeding any fire plants. Her parents would have been able to bring any fire easily under control unless they’d been injured in the initial blast. Something in her chest clenched.

She paused at the edge of the woods near a large pile of boulders to catch her breath. Hovering just out of sight, she kneaded a pain in her side with her fist. Unease built within her as she scanned the small village. Tranquil well-kept grounds and welcoming cottages met her gaze. It was surreal and perfectly quaint, but a feeling of not-quite-rightness made her muscles ratchet tighter with tension.

The billowing black smoke in the sky was now replaced by slim tendrils of white. As her eyes trailed the streaks of white smoke down to the earth, her skin prickled and her stomach roiled. The stables obscured her view, and so she took several faltering steps to the side.

The entire west wing of the great house was gone.

Chapter Two

Shock rocked her back, her heart thumped painfully as she sank to her knees, struggling to breathe. Charred wood and cracked stone lay strewn about the courtyard and insidious white smoke rose from various bits of rubble. Large gaping holes taunted her from the house where hallways and rooms should have connected.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. The words ran through her mind like the paddle on a river wheel, around and around, over and over again.

What in the stars happened? she groaned.

The west wing was the oldest part of her home, built six generations ago by the great-ancestor she’d been named after, Analindëssë. It housed all of their workshops; no one had practiced spells outside that wing for generations, ever since Great-Uncle Jesar burnt down the suite of rooms he’d been living in.

Now, it was all gone.

She felt violently ill.

Mother. Father. Riian. Her right hand clenched the leather strap of her scout pack until her knuckles turned white. Her other arm cradled her aching stomach. White dots exploded at the edges of her vision and her head spun.

Too weak to rise, she rocked back and forth, pebbles jabbing into her knees and shins, but she didn’t feel them. She leaned down until her forehead pressed against the rough ground and she panted. Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. They would have been shielded. Please be okay. Please be okay.

I’m sure they’re fine, she whispered, lying to herself. Tears dripped unchecked off the tip of her nose.

And the books. Gone. She groaned. Stifling a sob, she pulled herself up and walked swiftly toward the village searching for someone, anyone.

Glendariel’s home was closest.

The smell of yeast from rising bread wafted toward her. It reminded her of the many pleasant afternoons she’d spent watching Glendariel knead bread on her marble countertop, of scorched fingers as she’d helped to shift the baking loaves in the enormous stone oven and cold winter nights spent curled up in her kitchen corner dipping fresh, crusty pieces of buttered bread into rich, hot chocolate.

She sped along the side of the two-story cottage on her way to the kitchen entrance while trailing her fingers along the smooth stones and mortar. She rounded the corner to the backyard, tripped over something and fell to her knees.

She caught herself with her hands, wincing. Ignoring her stinging palms, she looked back to see what had tripped her and then wished she hadn’t. Her panic-heightened senses ingrained the horrific sight forever in her mind. Tremors and a flash of heat rushed over her as she looked back in mute horror at Glendariel lying face down in a pool of her own blood. Analindë quickly looked away, only to find Glendariel’s husband lying awkwardly in the herb garden just to her right. Blood rushed from her head, bile rose to her throat, and she slumped to her side gagging. She shakily pressed the heels of the palms of her hands to her eyes, attempting to blot out the glassy-eyed stare looking at her from between stems of thyme and flat-leafed parsley.

Prickly chills replaced the tremors as her gagging subsided. She felt clammy and hot at the same time; her scout pack was too constricting. She tugged at the strap of her pack while she batted her racing thoughts aside in an attempt to clear some space in the swirling melee of her mind. What was going on?

Long moments later—with hands pressed back up against her eyes, her thoughts jumpy, but quieter—she succeeded. She’d carved out a small space to think.

Had the percussion of the explosion killed them? No, if the blast had been that powerful, then more buildings would have collapsed, not just the west wing itself. And then there was all that blood. She blanched.

Mother! She whimpered and pushed herself to her feet.

She staggered away from the baker and her husband. She searched the village looking for signs of anyone else, moving forward hesitantly but urgently, afraid of what she might find. She rubbed a spot at the back of her neck where a slight prickling sensation had taken up residence. It was all she could do to not turn around every other second to make sure she wasn’t being followed. As she neared the gathering hall, she caught a glimpse of the great house just in time to see three humans approach the front entrance.

Humans!

She ducked back behind an empty cart, wondering if there were others in the village. Unease churned in her gut. What were THEY doing here?

She peered around the side of the cart and trembled as a burly man, his lank hair tied back from his face, opened the front door; a middle-aged woman—a sword stained with blood hanging from her hand—entered first. Both of them wore odd-looking brown clothes. No, not odd. Just sterile and serviceable. Straight cuts that did not drape well, and rough cloth that probably itched. The third—a human wizard dressed in a tattered dark green mage robe, the hood drawn low to hide his face—entered last.

Understanding washed over her like one of the great waves that hit the coast every few years. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes again and groaned. Pools of blood, glassy-eyed stares, and blood-stained swords. Rage washed through her, blotting out the images. She flung her arms down to her sides with fists clenched and then growled, What do They want?

She covertly moved closer, and shouting reached her from the inside of the house. She couldn’t make out the words but recognized her parent’s voices.

Thank the stars! They’re alive! Her knees went weak as relief swept through her. Her legs buckled, and she leaned heavily against the wall. She needed to sit down.

As she began to slide to the ground, her brother Riian appeared next to her, and startled, she ended up lurching sideways instead. He caught her by the arms, pulling her upright, then tugged her into an embrace. She rested her head against his broad shoulder as he quietly made shushing sounds while patting her back. She felt soothed and safe.

Moments later, when she felt calmer, he pulled away from her and motioned for her to remain silent. Inky black hair was tied back with a thin strip of green ribbon; his face was carved with concern. He glanced after the humans, frowning. He grasped her arms once again, then drew her completely out of sight of the great house. Pulling her forward, he kissed her on the forehead and looked down into her face. His silver-flecked blue eyes were somber. Analindë, it isn’t safe. Go, . . . hide in the Stonemason’s house until we’ve taken care of them.

The silver specks in his eyes, reminiscent of a galaxy in the sky, swirled slowly. Not only was he somber, but he was worried. He glanced away from her, scanning the space around them, and then his eyes were back upon her.

She hurriedly searched his eyes again. There was something else in them now, but she couldn’t quite make it out. He’d gotten good at hiding his feelings and suddenly she was more afraid than ever.

Panic gripped her and her legs shook unsteadily beneath her as worry, fear, and anger rose within her again. The sheltered daughter she’d been earlier that day wanted to go hide. Begged for it actually. But newly awakened rage wanted to act. Glendariel and her husband’s deaths, the loss of millennia’s worth of books in the west wing, made her sick.

But I want to help! The words sounded more plaintive than confident, but she didn’t worry about the fear in her voice. He would easily read it in her eyes, just as their mother had taught them. No need to be embarrassed that she’d spoken her fear aloud.

His eyes softened, and her stomach turned over in worry.

You haven’t yet learned warfare spells. You’ll be safest out of the way. Riian tenderly brushed the side of her face with his knuckles.

But there must be some way that I can help.

There is. By staying safe. He swatted her lovingly on the arm—he always did that—and pushed her toward the Stonemason’s house.

Riian, she called out in an urgent whisper. He paused, turning back from the great house. The words stuck in her throat. What if something terrible happened? Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Be safe.

He nodded quietly, and something shifted in his stance. He became fiercer. A moment later he’d resumed his pace. She watched him move down the street in stealth; foreboding grew in the pit of her stomach.

Analindë crept away but doubled back as soon as she knew her brother was out of sight. She’d stay away from the great house but remain close enough in case they needed her. She darted across the village square toward the building closest to her home. She slipped through the front door, opened a window, and then settled down to wait.

Only a few moments had passed before Analindë felt unfamiliar surges of power begin to stir within the great house. She heard shouting again but couldn’t make out the words. The surges were powerful. She knew, because she hadn’t yet developed the skill to fully sense energies, and she felt these Energy fluctuations without even trying.

The surges were different from the powerful backlash she’d felt earlier in the forest. These didn’t pull at her but ebbed over her in rebounding waves.

The raging power built upon itself, rising into peak after peak, ever larger. When the cone of power had grown to encompass an enormous area, it exploded with enough force to literally knock her over. The shouting ceased, the energies were gone. She scrambled forward, listening, but she heard nothing but the rustle of leaves on the wind.

She pulled herself back up onto her knees, settled next to the window, willing herself to hear something.

Anything.

But there was nothing.

What had happened?

What was happening?

She pressed closer to the open window. She closed her eyes, slipped into magesight, attempting to see. The world was black before her, but she sensed strange bursts of Energy pulsing intermittently from the great house: human spells. Her chest felt heavy with worry and her breathing became labored. She lacked the skills to identify what kind of spells they were, but she recognized their alien feel. Her knees ached from crouching for so long and she began to think about leaving her hiding spot and entering the great house when she heard it.

Laughter.

Then voices getting louder.

She didn’t recognize them. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as she trembled against the cool smooth wall. She slipped out of magesight, then took a peek out the window.

She watched the three humans stride out of the great house and into the courtyard. The human wizard had drawn the hood back away from his head and was tucking an amulet with Elvish markings on it beneath his robes. His hawkish face was pale and covered in sweat.

He looked giddy. Not the happy kind, but jittery. The type filled with the skittish elation one feels after one thinks one is going to die but doesn’t. The spell must have pressed his limits and she momentarily wondered, before despair kicked back in, what would have happened if he’d lost control. She ducked down out of sight and shivered against the cool wall while waiting for the sound of their footsteps to fade out of range.

She’d never seen humans before; their rounded ears had looked stubby, and she finally understood what the word ‘tanned’ meant, as in beautifully rich, olive tinted skin. She wished that her first encounter with humans had been under different circumstances. Any other circumstances.

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. Analindë 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