Luthiel's Song: Dreams of the Ringed Vale

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “That poor lady! Why doesn’t he just leave her alone? Hasn’t she suffered enough?” she said.

  The Vyrl didn’t reply.

  “We hoped to spend more time with you, so that you might understand us more before you made a decision whether or not to help us,” Ahmberen said. “Now, it seems, we may have only days. So our hand is forced and I must ask you now.

  “Luthiel, we need your blood. There is no one else who can give what you have. In return, there are things we possess that may help you. Will you hear what we have to offer?”

  Sitting before them, dwarfed by their size and intimidated by their terrible eyes, she found it difficult to recall the anger she’d felt in the hall.

  “I will hear what you have to say,” she said.

  Each Vyrl nodded before Ahmberen continued.

  “Though your lineage may seem mysterious to you, to us, your blood is proof enough. That blood is something we must have to stave off the

  hunger and the madness. It is precious to us—of greater value than anything else in all of Oesha.”

  Luthiel trembled.

  They’ll never let me leave.

  “Over three thousand years ago, we made a pact with Vlad Valkire. We would not drink the blood of any other living creature so long as Valkire fed us his own blood. Once a year, he would return and let us consume enough of his blood to sustain us. Eventually, we became as we were before the fall. In return, we were his protectors and patrons. We would offer the same to you, if you decide to help us.”

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  They’re offering me what they offered Valkire?

  The Vyrl, seeing her expression, mistook it for rejection.

  “If you do not,” continued Ecthellien, “we will return to our old ways.” His eyes seemed to grow darker and he thumbed the hilt of his sword as though in an afterthought. “Your sister is Chosen. Though the blood we took from you may sustain us for a month, eventually our hungers will rise again. When it does, Othalas will be sent for her.”

  “You must understand that, for us, it is not a question of what we want to do,” Elshael said. “It is a question of survival. The curse of Gorthar would, in time, consume us utterly.”

  “We will give you one day to think about our offer,” said Ahmberen.

  Luthiel looked at the Vyrl, stared into the sinking abyss of their eyes.

  I could wait and see what these seven do. Ashiroth may save my sister.

  She opened her mouth, about to take their offer under the pretense of delaying them further. But something stopped her.

  Fearing and hating them for so long, she pitied them now. If what they said was true, if she didn’t help, the hunger and madness would slowly consume them until they were little more than wild beasts. They were victims as much as they were monsters.

  Then she had a vision of needle teeth biting into her neck. It was enough to raise gooseflesh upon her skin.

  I should be happy, she thought. They’ve given me Valkire’s bargain. My sister’s going to live. I’m going to live.

  With that thought, her anger faded and she shook her head, ashamed.

  “Melkion, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I should have listened to you. You were right. Though they are terrible their offer seems more than fair.”

  Melkion nodded.

  “You may, one day, find out that the lord of wolfriders is not so kind. Hope that Zalos never discovers you for who you really are. Indeed, the Vyrl seem terrible—as terrible as Zalos seems fair. But I fear the jealous lord would offer more terror than you could find even in this Vale of Mists.”

  He’s right. If Zalos ever found out about me, I may one day need the protection of Vyrl.

  “When I came to the Vale,” Luthiel replied. “I had little hope of living, and even less of helping my sister. To see her alive and to live as well, that is all I ask. I don’t need a day to consider your offer. It is more than I hoped. I accept.”

  Again the Vyrl were silent. This time, Luthiel got the impression that they were communicating with one another.

  “There are other things to consider,” Ahmberen said. “If you accept our offer, you must understand that we will want you to stay alive. We could enslave you, keeping you here for all time against your will. But I don’t think it would be wise. The day may come, soon, when we will need your friendship.”

  “Luthiel, we depend on you to stay alive,” said Elshael.

  “I came here expecting you to take my life,” Luthiel said. “Now you offer to protect it?”

  “We grow tired of life as monsters,” Ahmberen said. “Your blood gives us the freedom to choose. It is not a hard choice to make. Of our kind which once numbered in the thousands, there are only four left. Three sit before you and one reigns alone in the Dark Forest.”

  “See how great our wars made us?” said Elshael.

  “We wish to become the friends of elves again,” Ahmberen continued. “You could help us teach them that they have no reason to fear us anymore. Blade Dancers will stop plotting our overthrow. Even Zalos may, one day, be appeased. If you learn to love us, then you could be our ambassador. If we treat you poorly, then that chance will be lost and our time here will end.

  “One day, perhaps very soon, the elves may try to rid the world of the last Vyrl. Even now, clouds of war gather. It is a war we must escape; a war we cannot win.”

  “Long ago, before Gorthar turned us to ill, we worked alongside the mother and father shaping the first living things that grew on Oesha,” Elshael said. “Even the Dark Lady Elwin, spirit of mother Oesha, loved us then. Perhaps, one day, she will wake and we can return to our old labor. But before that happens, we have much to relearn about life and the living. It starts with you.”

  Luthiel was struck by their words. Relief flooded into her. These were the monsters she’d feared since childhood. But they only wished to live and to make peace.

  “How could I not?” she asked. “If my blood makes it so, then I will suffer a little to help you.”

  She stood and placed her hand over her breast.

  “I swear by my heart and by all things good and full of light that I will help you as best I can. If you are good to me in return and hunt no other creatures, I will do my best to make the elves see that you are no longer monsters.”

  “And to become the mother of many children,” Elshael said.

  Luthiel was taken aback. She’d not, in her wildest imaginings considered children. Her face flushed.

  “Children?”

  “Think of what it would be like to live a life filled with endless hunger, living for thousands of years in torment until the curse devours you. If children are born with your blood, we are safer.”

  As she said this, a wight walked into the great hall. Luthiel’s eyes were drawn once more across the chamber, over tables with their hollow bloodstained basins, to the jerking form that was the victim of the Vyrl’s atrocities so long ago.

  What have I done? she thought. My children?

  How could she defend these Vyrl who caused so much suffering, who by all rights deserved to die many times over?

  Or was it as the Vyrl claimed? That they were victims of an uncontrollable hunger, a madness set upon them by the Lord of Death? Wasn’t it their choice in the beginning? Her head spun. She didn’t know. Even Leowin wouldn’t know.

  How was she going to convince others if she doubted? Her gut sank as she thought of the impossible task she’d sworn to.

  “I—“ Luthiel stammered. “The wights,” she said. “Is there some way to restore them?”

  They seemed such hollow, soulless things. Was there any hope for these wights?

  Dear Ëavanya! Could even you heal these poor creatures?

  “Valkire asked the same thing,” Ecthellien replied and then grinned his predator’s smile.

  “There is little hope for them. Unless you can do what Valkire could not,” Elshael said.

  “I am afraid they are lost,” Ahmberen s
aid. “When we devoured their dreams, a large part of their spirit went with it. All that remained were the dark parts—hunger, anger, despair.”

  Luthiel sat down again. She was starting to feel tired and dizzy.

  They did this! These creatures lived in torment every day for thousands of years because of them!

  “I wouldn’t know where to start or even how to try,” she said.

  Melkion flew from his perch on her chair back and landed before the Vyrl.

  “Can’t you see, she’s exhausted? Do you expect her to fix all your wrongdoing in one day? That blow to her head didn’t help either! She needs to rest and, I think, she needs a place that doesn’t look, smell and taste like a slaughterhouse! You have a long way to go before elves or anyone will think you’re anything less than monsters! You’re lucky she’s not from Rimwold or Ashiroth. They wouldn’t care one bit for your meager, ages-late, gestures!”

  “Melkion, stop,” she said. “It’s all right.” Using the arm of her chair for support, she stood. “They’re taking the only chance they have.”

  She turned to the Vyrl.

  “I think I will rest some more, though.”

  “Then rest well,” Ahmberen said. “The night after tomorrow we are going to the Miruvoir. You will need all of your strength.”

  Luthiel nodded but didn’t ask what would happen at the lake. By the way he looked at her with his hungry, swirling eyes, she already knew.

  Without another word, she stood and walked down the long hall past the bloodstained table. The Vyrl rose from their tall seats, inclining their heads to her as she departed. She felt odd, having the Vyrl, who towered over her, bow to her.

  Melkion followed her, landing on her shoulder as she passed the gates.

  Seven Ride To Ottomnos

  She returned to her room as fast as she could. It was the only place in the entire fortress that didn’t seem as though it were crawling with creatures out of nightmare, the only place where she felt something akin to normal.

  “Could you let me know when Othalas comes back?” she asked Melkion, who’d returned to his perch at the slit window.

  “Of course,” he said.

  She was exhausted. The long road and all her hurts were still exacting a heavy cost.

  “I’m going to take a nap now,” she said. “Wake me up if anything happens.”

  With that, Luthiel was soon fast asleep in her bed. The late morning soon became noon. The grendilo brought in a lunch of fish stakes, cheese and vegetables.

  Still Luthiel napped. The light through the window grew pale as it stretched across the room.

  It wasn’t until early evening that she woke up, stretching groggily.

  “Is he back yet?” Luthiel asked.

  “No,” Melkion replied.

  She picked up a plate of food and began wolfing it down.

  “How long do you think it will take for him to return?” she asked in between mouthfuls.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s normally very fast.”

  She nodded and Melkion hopped from his perch at the slit window and landed on the back of her chair.

  “I’d like to go outside the gates for a look around. Will you come with me?”

  “Of course!” she said, quickly wolfing down the rest of her food. She wanted nothing more than to leave this palace of charred glass and feel the living earth beneath her feet once more or to look up and see an open sky with only leaves and tree branches to frame it.

  She slid out of her bed, careful not to move too quickly. She noticed that she was feeling a little stronger, and if her head still spun a little when she moved, it didn’t bother her as much as it had the day before or even this morning.

  Luthiel took a moment to adjust her belt before following Melkion into the hall. They made their way quickly through the winding passages of charred glass and into the courtyard. Outside, Soelee had already set and Oerin’s Eye was hanging low in the western sky. A few of the brightest stars were visible as wan pinpricks and Merrin and Somnos rode at mid-sky and on the eastern horizon. The wight’s eyeless heads followed her as she approached the gates.

  “Open the gates!” Melkion cried.

  The wights hesitated at first as though considering some silent instruction and then went to work on the wenches. The gates parted like the many-chambered-jaws of some strange monster.

  Luthiel and Melkion walked past the wights. She again noticed the burning smell as she passed the giant Gormtoth who stood in a pool of white light cast by his eyes. He stood still as a statue, giving no sign that he noticed their passing. Soon, they were on a path beside Miruvoir. The mists, for once, seemed to have retreated back into whatever crack they issued from and she could see the entire Vale from end to end.

  Great cliffs and steep hills ringed it in all directions and wild, misshapen forest grew everywhere in a great tangle. In Miruvoir she could see a chain of islands made up of the same charred glass as the fortress Ottomnos. The surface of Miruvoir was flat—a perfect reflection of the sky above.

  “This way,” Melkion said, gesturing with his tail.

  She took the right bend of a crossroads that led beneath a thick canopy of growth. Most of the branches were stripped bare from the storm of a few nights ago. But here and there leaves shaped like hands, fingers or teardrops stretched out to her from the woodline. She had to pick her way through debris as she made her way down the trail and deeper into the wood.

  “Wait here, I’m going to have a look,” Melkion said.

  Luthiel nodded and with one flap of his wings, he was climbing through the thick canopy and into open sky.

  Luthiel was alone. With a sigh, she sat down on a log. Time dragged on. The light was dimming and Oerin’s Eye cast thin shadows as it set. She grew restless.

  “Where is that little dragon?” she said to no-one in particular.

  Finally, tired of waiting, she sprang up into the branches of a nearby tree. Ten-legged white insects covered its bark but they jumped to other places on the tree or scurried into hollows as she passed. Jumping and climbing, she made her way into the top of the tree in only a few moments. Her hair was a mess of leaves and cobwebs and she spit out a twig that had somehow fallen into her mouth. Wrapping her arm around the trunk, Luthiel took in her surroundings. She noticed that, in this forest, no two trees were the same. One bore leaves the shape and size of her finger: another had red and golden colored bark; a third was covered in thorny protrusions the length of her arm. An ominous quiet seemed to have fallen over the wood. A flock of green, four-winged bats shot past her. Her ears twitched at their twittering song. Far off she could see a bear with a wolf’s head rooting through the brush. In another direction, a creature with a body like a horse but with great wings sprouting from its back and the head of a leopard galloped through a clearing. Peering still further into the far south of the Vale, she noticed that the shadows there seemed to bend in upon one another at odd angles.

  Her skin prickled at the sight.

  Spiders, here?

  She peered at it for a long while trying to make sure her eyes weren’t fooling her in the twilight. But the more she looked, the more she was reminded of the cunning maze of shadowebs she’d passed through on her way to the Vale.

  Suddenly, she felt very alone and vulnerable. Remembering the speed and brutality with which she’d been attacked the first time, she wondered if a great spider wasn’t even now stalking her. She clambered back down beneath the canopy, careful to be quiet and to keep herself hidden. Silently, she settled herself into a nearby bush and waited for Melkion to return.

  “Hurry up Melkion,” she whispered, making certain her Cauthrim blade was loose in its sheath.

  It seemed forever before Melkion came back. When he finally did, she stood up from her hiding place.

  “There you are!” she said, trying to keep her feeling of relief out of her voice. “Did you see him?”

  “I did,” he said.

  “So how far away is he?”<
br />
  “Not far at all, he’s just over the next rise. He should be here shortly.”

  Luthiel let out a breath. She was more worried about the werewolf than she cared to admit.

  “I’m glad he’s back,” she said.

  “You may not be,” Melkion replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s bringing the Seven with him.”

  For a moment, Luthiel only stood there.

  “Zalos’ Seven are coming with him?” she asked. Again, she felt a sharp sense of anxiety. There was something about the way Melkion talked about them that gave her a strong sense of foreboding. And Mithorden’s warning weighed heavy in her thoughts.

  Melkion nodded.

  “Why would they come here?” she whispered.

  “Perhaps they are coming to give Zalos’ demands in person. I don’t understand why, though. They’re taking a great risk. The mists could change them.”

  Luthiel shook her head.

  “There’s something strange happening that we don’t understand. Melkion, I think that Widdershae have entered the Vale.” The last she said in almost a whisper.

  Melkion’s violet eyes glowed in the low light.

  “How? Why?” the dragon said.

  Luthiel pointed toward the south.

  “I climbed this tree while you were gone. Far away in that direction I noticed a place where the shadows seemed to bend together. That’s what their webs look like. It’s easy to miss if you don’t know what to look for.”

  Melkion flew from his perch and landed on a branch near the treetop, then swung his head around in a slow arch. He noticed it almost immediately, his keen dragon eyes taking in the unnatural bend to the shadows. He let out a long hiss and a plume of smoke rose from his nose.

  “Let’s get out of the undergrowth. Though the web is far away, I don’t want to take any chances. I’ve never known such vicious hunters.”

  Relieved, Luthiel followed Melkion back toward the fortress.

  “How do you know so much about Widdershae?” she asked as they walked.

  “My father’s lair was in the mountains near Elgaldas. From our mountain we witnessed firsthand what happened to the elves who lived there.”