Melda bit her lip. The evil elf, Leonir, was yelling again, and she stopped listening to him, just as she used to ignore her nanny in Diadron. It was so tiresome listening to his demands all the time! When he gave her fun toys to play with at first, she was entertained, but now she preferred to test the boundaries, to see what she could get away with around him. The combination of being spoilt by her guardians and sharing the fiery blood of her mother only exacerbated the impishness that seemed to grow stronger, rather than diminish, with age.
“Listen to me, child!” Leonir roared, enraged at her glassy-eyed stare. She responded by covering her ears with her small hands and humming a Diadronian lullaby loudly. At this affront, the elf stood at his full, intimidating height and prepared to slap the girl.
“Stop, you fool!” the Voice demanded. “This is no way to win over the child. Harsh words and beatings do not encourage cooperation in a child, as you should well know…it only leads to rebellion. Give her gifts, pretty clothes, easy tasks that build her confidence in you.”
“But she has been up to something…I can tell. I don’t know what it is—her mind is closed to me as it has never been before,” Leonir whined mentally. “She needs to be punished, so that she fears to make any other attempt.”
The Voice rattled Leonir’s brains. “She is but a child…she is unable to plot or to counteract our efforts. Her powers are strong, but not well-controlled yet—they are there to be harvested by us. If she were older, able to plan as an adult, there would be a terrible risk in keeping her as she is, but her mind is raw, innocent still. Stop your screaming and concentrate on directing her power to confuse and distort reality for those who would save the Sorceress.” With that, the Evil Within shook Leonir’s crippled frame until his teeth ground together. He would obey his Master, but he would tag the girl mentally, follow her mental patterns as much as possible.
“Melda,” Leonir sang sweetly, “there is someone who would love to meet you—a beautiful Princess. Would you like to see her too?”
By this time, the child had removed her hands from her ears. Leonir’s silent conversations with the Voice Within him fascinated her, so she tended to listen like a fly on a wall, unnoticed by either. Much of what they said was unintelligible to her, but she was starting to think that they were both very bad.
“Yes, please,” she smiled broadly.
Gently taking her hand in his large, arthritic hand, he took her down the melancholy hall to a simple wooden door. He knocked softly until they heard a muffled “Come in”.
Upon opening the door, the two were greeted by the sight of a copper-haired woman brushing her long tresses next to an ornate dresser with three gilded mirrors. The woman’s melodic voice filled the air around them, lulling Melda nearly to sleep with its gentleness. Slowly, gracefully, the woman turned upon her silk seat and smiled at the young girl, her face filled with bright sunshine, almost too much to bear.
“So this is Meldamorë?” The woman asked, beckoning to her, and placing the child on her emerald gown after Melda confidently stepped forward.
“Yes,” replied Melda. “Who are you?”
The stormy grey eyes of the woman glittered merrily as she looked up at Leonir. “You have not told her?” He grimly shook his head.
“I am Lurea, the Princess of Diadron.”
Melda inquisitively turned her head slightly, scanning for something intangible as she held the sorceress’s chin in her tiny hands. “You look exactly like my mother, but you are not her. How can you be so alike in face and mind?”
“I have her memories, her thoughts. We are connected, she and I. As long as our link remains unsevered, I AM Lurea.” Gently, the woman stroked Melda’s red hair. “Would you like me to brush your hair?”
Melda nodded eagerly, for she dearly loved having her hair brushed. As soon as the sorceress’ brush touched her hair, her mind became filled with fog, cutting off the mental links she had with those she wanted to help. Melda’s mind had become ensnared by the simple sorceress’ spell, but not before she sent out a single, panicked message to Hobbituk: “Beware Lurea—she cannot help you.”