She was alone. It took her another minute to gather the courage to start. When she finally did, she took the Sorcerer’s advice. She kept out of sight of the river and continued at a walking pace, careful to inspect any out of the ordinary masses of shadow before she crossed through them.
Now and again, she would stop and look at the sky.
Oh if it would hold! she thought.
When she sat down beneath a willow tree for a bite to eat, she saw something that made her ears prick. Far off, in the northwest, she saw a small gray smudge near the horizon. It looked like a patch of haze just a shade darker than the pasty sky.
It wasn’t until after she repacked her things and started walking again, that she realized the smudge was no mere patch of haze, but the topmost fluff of a behemoth storm cloud. By midafternoon it had grown until it covered a full quarter of the sky. Thankfully, it was moving very slowly. But by evening, the entire sky was covered in clouds the color of clay. In the northwest, where the smudge first appeared, the sky was black. She could still see Orin’s Eye, though, dimly through the pall. Soelee had set like violence through a tear in the clouds almost an hour before.
She was so focused on the storm that she almost missed it. Digging her heels in at the last second, she backed carefully away, and then hid behind a tree as she watched. The thing that had caught her eye was a bear. It was suspended among the shadows some two feet above the ground. It was no longer alive. In fact all that remained was a desiccated husk. The carcass was so dry that in places it was crumbling away to dust. It was as though all its fluids had been sucked out.
Around the bear, tree-shadows seemed to bend toward one another. They formed a rough circle criss-crossed with the jagged shades of branches. Now that she looked closer, she could see other creatures, some of them still alive, caught within them. There were birds, small rodents, and insects of every kind. A flutterfler flapped its wings wildly as it tried to pull away from the dark thing that had snatched it.
The breeze shifted, blowing out from the Vale. It was cold and on it was the stench of dying things.
A shadow web! She pressed her back against the tree and trembled.
She was close to the web, too close for her liking. She glanced around trying to guess the most likely places for a spider to hide. Then, very carefully, she tiptoed away from the web.
It was only the first of many shadow webs. Soon she’d slipped by another two. She was beginning to get very nervous. The third was laid parallel to the ground and so low that she didn’t see it until she was almost on top of it. Soon it would be dark and she’d have almost no way of seeing the webs. In the gloom of twilight and the growing storm she was already having trouble.
But it looked like she was getting close.
Beside her, the river Rendalas rumbled over rapids. Dimly she could hear a low roar that she hoped were Withy Wraith falls. Beyond lay the Vale of Mists. A shiver of fear ran like spider legs up her spine. The Vale of Mists. Its name whispered through her mind like the breath of a nightmare. She wanted to run all the way back to Flir Light and its comforts, to hear mother Winowe’s tea kettle whistling or Leowin’s chattering.
She still couldn’t shake her memory of the night she left. Of how Leowin had screamed at her. “Coward!” She could hear it even now. She grit her teeth forcing herself to move. She still had the shadow webs to worry about and they seemed to be all around her now.
The darkness was growing deeper and deeper. She was forced to walk beside the river where the light was the brightest and on the way, she snared her cloak on a web. She untied it and left it hanging, scampering away as fast as she could, heart pounding in her ears.
That was too close, she thought. Are they near?
Her skin crawled. Her eyes darted side to side.
Could be all around, hiding in the deep shadows, and I wouldn’t even know.
She thanked Ëavanya that Gorothoth was not riding in the sky adding its own murk to the night. She crouched low and made her way cautiously along the bank, ducking through the webs that she could now barely see. There was no help going under them now. They were strewn everywhere she looked as though a mad weaver had run through the forest, spinning out black thread wherever she went. It was darker here and cold, as though the webs would let neither light nor heat pass. Eerie, though the trees danced in the storm wind, the webs were still.
Then her eyes caught movement. Behind her, no more than fifty feet, she saw a pair of green eyes drifting down among the webs. They were strange—bulbous, like those of an insect, but almond shaped and elongated, like those of the fae. Black orbs glittered around them. It moved with a horrible, slow, deliberateness, all its limbs in uncanny coordination.
The movement was accompanied by a low clicking. It was choppy and it took her a few moments before she realized the thing was talking to itself.
“Hard to see is it? Soft and sneaky is it? But I saw it, oh yes! I saw it first,” the clicking said. “It’s mine. Nice fair elf-flesh, yes? Just a little further. No pouncing!”
Luthiel froze in panic.
It was talking to itself wasn’t it? She didn’t want to think about another of these things. One was terrible enough to watch. She couldn’t keep her eyes off it as it continued its deliberate progress, legs questing toward her. She fumbled with Hueron’s knife. Her hand trembled, but on the second try it snicked free of its sheath.
“Does it have a fang?” it twittered. “Does it now?” It stopped for a second and tilted its head as though it were taking her into account. “May leave this one to you, nobble knees, may be tougher than it looks. But won’t be tough after it’s dangled for a while, will it? Just one prick! That’s all, then it’ll be soft. Nice elf, soft elf, put away your fang. No, we wouldn’t want to have to hurt you. Would we, nobble knees?”
The forest was quiet but for the distant rumbling of the oncoming storm.
Luthiel started to walk sideways down the riverbank, careful to keep the knife between her and the advancing spider. Her eyes darted everywhere. What was it talking to? She looked around frantically but a sudden movement drew her eyes back to it. It was pulling its legs tight; its body quivered.
“That’s close enough!” she yelled, brandishing the knife before her. “Or so help me, I’ll stick you!”
“Stick you! Stick you!” the thing chattered back. “We’ll see who gets stuck and who does the sticking now won’t we nobble knees? Not too fast is it? All alone is it?”
But it seemed, for the moment at least, that Luthiel’s display had worked. The great spider stopped moving and chattered to itself as though it were having some lengthy internal debate.
“I am going to walk right down this river and then I’m going to go down the stairs beside the waterfall. I don’t want you following me. You’ll just have to find easier prey.”
“EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttttttttttttttttttccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhh!” It screamed. “NO IT WON’T!” The chittering was shrill and screechy like the scraping of metal on metal. “No one can go there. We’re to take those that try. Take them and taste them!”
It seemed to have resolved itself and it started moving toward her again, rapidly making up the ground it had lost.
“Stay back!” she cried, brandishing her blade.
“Oh it’s close nobble knees! I can almost taste it. It’s mine nobbles, no nibbles for you this time! No no!” It poked one of its long legs at her.
She didn’t know what it intended—to push her over or to prod her like a piece of fat meat. But she was going to have none of it. With a yell of fury that surprised her with its ferocity, she lashed out with her knife. It was a good blade and it must have been made with the last of Hueron’s Cauthrim for it sparked as it cleaved clean through the insect’s appendage, flashing briefly with blue flame. The first three feet of its leg fell to the ground. Immediately, it balled itself up around its wounded limb.
“EEEEEEERRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTCCCCCHHHHHHHHKILLL IT! K
ILL IT!” It screamed.
The attack was swift, brutal and came without warning. The hidden thing lashed out with a speed and force never seen in nature, except perhaps, in the white sharks of the ocean. Such was the strength released in such a bound that it could tear creatures much larger than itself in half. That was its favorite way to fight—to sting from the shadows, to leave its prey bleeding and poisoned as it leapt back into the safety of darkness waiting until the victim was helpless. Then it would return and collect the hapless thing for its larder.
As it leapt, its glossy body tipped with fangs like axe heads, it was certain of the outcome. It was not like its mate—a careless male half-wit. No, it would not fail or risk itself; it had attacked from behind in that instant when its prey was least aware. In anticipation of the blow, poison flooded into its fangs.
At the first sign of movement, Luthiel sprang away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a vast creature pounce from the shadows, grasping for her with its barbed legs, fangs poised to plunge through her flesh but striking instead on the rock beneath it. It missed her by a thread’s width, front leg tips slicing through her tunic, cutting her chest. In the place she was standing, two deep furrows scored the rock.
She jumped in the only direction she could—toward the river.
With a splash, she landed waist deep and was soon swept away by the strong current. She let it happen. The brutality of the attack overwhelmed her. How could something so big move so fast? How could she not have seen it? So close! It was only ten feet from her and she hadn’t seen it at all. She felt a great sense of relief as the spiders disappeared behind her—one in a ball and the other bobbing its bulbous body up and down in rage.
She twisted and tumbled in the river, trying to stay near the left bank but still afraid to leave the water. The spiders could be chasing her, or worse, warning others. So she did her best to avoid the rocks while staying close enough to shore to get out if she needed to. It wasn’t long before the roaring around her grew louder and the current became a raging rapid. She was jostled up and down, side to side, banged against rocks and held under the water for longer than she liked. She began to struggle in earnest—fighting for the bank but the current tossed her like a bit of deadwood. She was hauled under again and when she finally broke the surface she could see the river arching up into a great wave about four hundred yards ahead and then disappearing into a cloud behind. The roar now was deafening.
The falls! She’d already come to the falls!
She struck out with renewed effort but it did her little good. Then, she was swirled around in an eddy that shot her closer to shore and she had a glimmer of hope. She pushed hard but couldn’t make any progress. The eddy started to pull her back out toward the middle of the river.
This is it, she thought. If I can’t make it this time, I’m finished. She fought with everything, her muscles strained. Then she saw a black blur in front of her. Another spider, she thought and despair flooded into her limbs. She’d let the river take her before the spiders. But, suddenly, it was in the river beside her and she felt sudden pressure around her neck. To her amazement, she was lifted bodily from the water by a great black wolf.
She was unceremoniously dumped on the bank and found herself with her back against the ground, with a single paw the size of a small tabletop on her chest. A pair of large yellow eyes stared down at her.
He was black—like a piece of starless night cut in the shape of a wolf. And he was huge—at least six feet tall at the shoulder. His yellow eyes gleamed wickedly in the blackness. Those eyes regarded her and she froze.
“Othalas,” she whispered.
She was stunned. Her heart leapt up into her throat and she trembled like a rabbit.
She’d heard the tales, listened on in disbelief as elves boasted that Othalas was larger than a horse, had laughed when they told her his coat was the night itself and turned her head in disgust as they bragged about how he could snap off an elf’s head with one bite. She’d never believed the stories. Even now it was difficult for her to accept her own sight. Othalas was massive, more than twice the size of even the greatest of the Urkharim—the mighty wolves of Ashiroth—but he moved with a grace like the roll of a powerful wave. And he had plucked her from the river as though she were little more than a cork bobbing in the water.
The claws of the paw on her chest unsheathed and then retracted. “It seems you’ve wriggled your way off of one plate and onto another. Tell me. How did you get past them?”
His voice was like a boat bottom grinding over rocks. The sound of it grated through the woods and was answered by the distant rumble of thunder.
Luthiel squirmed with fright.
“There–there were spiders,” she said, doing her best not to stutter. She was still coming to grips with having nearly been swept over the waterfalls just after a narrow escape from two monster spiders. Now she was cowering beneath the very Othalas that would take Leowin to the Vyrl if she didn’t stop him.
“I know. They just keep weaving their webs. I’d like to know how you got through so fast.”
“Jumped in the river.” Her lips trembled and she could do little more than utter dumb phrases.
“Mrrrrrrhurrrr! River’s not fast enough until you get close to the falls. Spiders are out much further. How did you get—ah, I think I see now. Very cunning.”
Now it was her turn to stare. “Wha—what do you mean?” she stammered.
“There’s the remains of a cunning enchantment,” he said pawing her clothes. “But you lost something. A cape perhaps?”
Luthiel started when he pawed her. She cowered, trying to make sense out of what he was saying.
“Might prove useful if you could do it again. If you lay it upon me, I won’t eat you. Agreed?”
“Enchantment?”
“Don’t play stupid.” The werewolf growled.
“But I didn’t make any–” and then it dawned on her. Mithorden had whispered something just before she left. He must have enchanted her so that she could slip by the spiders. They noticed her only after she lost her cloak.
“I didn’t do it,” she said finally. “It was a friend.”
“That doesn’t help me,” the great wolf growled.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Sorry! That doesn’t help me either!” he growled. “And I thought you were a sorcerer!” He opened his great maw and started to lower it over her.
“Wait! I know why you’re going! And you don’t have to! I’m here to see the Vyrl!”
The werewolf stopped, closed his massive jaws and peered at her with his great, yellow eyes. She trembled beneath that terrible gaze waiting for the snap of teeth that would end her. But the wolf seemed to be regarding her with curiosity.
“You’re to see the Vyrl?” he growled.
“Yes,” she replied. It wasn’t entirely a lie.
The werewolf pulled back a bit and showed his fangs. “Is your name Leowin?”
She wriggled out from under his paws and stood before him. The top of her head didn’t even reach the tip of his chin.
She took two steps back from him. He eyed her, calculating.
“Are you?” he growled.
“No,” she said. “I’m Luthiel. I came to replace her.” She felt that she should be lying. But something told her the wolf would know if she did.
The wolf’s muscles seemed to tense themselves into a hundred knots.
“Please,” she pleaded. “She’s my sister.”
“Chosen don’t choose themselves.” He crouched low, jaws unhinged, ready for the bite that would end her. “It is not done.”
“I chose!” she yelled, drawing her knife a second time. “I’ll fight you if I must!” With one yank, she ripped the Wyrd Stone from the bag that hung around her neck and clenched it tightly.
“Luthiel!” she sang and felt the cool rush flood over her as she passed into the world of dreams. The fury and fear inside of her spilled out in a gout of white fire, illuminating t
he wood around her. Othalas changed too. His teeth and claws gleamed like silver in that wavering light and inside of him, beneath the black of his fur, she could see a shape in the outline of a man.
“I have endured Blade Dancers, sorcerers’ cronies, a grueling journey, and spiders with nothing better to do than kill elves to come here. I don’t doubt you could kill me as well. But I might hurt you. What do you care if I die trying to reach the Vyrl? I know that I am no match for you, but my blade might find you first. It has already tasted spider blood. Why not werewolf’s blood as well?”
Her voice seemed to echo in the dreaming world as she spoke and to her the sound of it was terrible—more like a rising storm wind than the sound she was so used to hearing. She brandished her blade, singing soft but angry.
Othalas’ eyes narrowed—shining like embers in the Wyrd Stone’s light. But he waited, searching for some weakness.
“Methar Anduel,” he growled. Then, slowly, his muscles relaxed.
“Hah! If you can make it to the Vyrl, you’re welcome to offer yourself. But I’ll let you know something. I’m not going to be easy on Leowin. No, I think I’ll make it harder on her.”
With that, he turned and plodded off toward the shadows.
Luthiel followed after him.
“But the spiders are keeping you,” Luthiel sang, the strength gone from her voice.
“Then I will hunt them all.” His yellow eyes burned like twin torches.
“It would be much easier if you just took me.” She was pleading now and she was too strained to conceal it. “Why can’t you?”
“Because it’s not what’s done, it’s not our law.”
“That’s no good reason,” she sang.
“Who are you to judge the reasons of Vyrl!” He growled, snapping his jaws at her.
“Someone who wouldn’t see her sister’s life thrown away for an unjust law.”
The rumble in Othalas’s chest was indistinguishable from the thunder. He paced from side to side, his great flanks walling her in. With each passing moment, she felt smaller, less capable. Finally, with a snort, Othalas lowered his head.
Luthiel's Song: Dreams of the Ringed Vale Page 11